The Red Window

His friend had already heard his hasty footsteps, and was on his feet staring at the door. "I'm glad you've come, Conniston," he said breathlessly. "That boy Jerry is here, and I've locked him up in case he should get away and tell Beryl."

"Beryl has his hands full at present," said Conniston, grimly. "As to Judas, he's wanted by the police."

"The dickens! What for?"

"For trying to poison Michael Gilroy!"

Bernard stared. "Michael Gilroy? Where is he?"

"At Miss Plantagenet's. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you as soon as I can get my breath. Where's Jerry?"

"Shut up in an empty room," said Bernard. "He came last night at nine or thereabouts. I was outside the castle door and saw him coming. I did not know it was him until I stepped into the hall. When Jerry saw me, his hair rose on end, and he appeared to be frightened out of his life."

"As he well may be," muttered Conniston.

"I collared him, and he tried to get away. But I took him to my room and kept him there. He refused to answer my questions unless I let him go. Of course not being able to trust him, I declined, so I am quite in the dark as to what he has been doing. I then shut him up in an empty room, with a barred window, and sent Victoria in to take him some food. And then a queer thing happened, Conniston. Victoria took him in the food, and was with Jerry for about ten minutes. When she came out she went downstairs and dressed herself in her best. Then she left the castle, and has not been heard of since. I am afraid she has gone to tell Beryl where I am," concluded Bernard, gloomily. "And I may be arrested to-day. I should have looked after Victoria, but I never knew that Jerry would act so promptly. He is a perfect imp for cleverness."

"Don't you trouble your head about being arrested," said Dick, drawing a long breath. "It's not about that Victoria has gone."

"But what can the boy have sent her away for?"

"To warn Beryl. It's a pity you didn't keep the two apart," said Conniston, much vexed. "But as you have been so much in the dark, you can't help the mistake you made. As to arrest, you may have to give yourself up. Mark told me to inform you to hold yourself in readiness."

"I shall be delighted," said Gore, emphatically. "I am about tired of this hole-and-corner business. But what about Michael Gilroy?"

"Sit down," said Conniston, lighting a cigarette. "I will tell you the whole story. It was not told you before, as Mark was afraid, with your impatient disposition, you would insist on turning up and spoiling the whole business."

"I daresay I should have done so," admitted Bernard, frankly. "But, tell me, what's up, old chap? I'm on tenterhooks."

"Well, in the first place, we have discovered that Julius killed your grandfather."

Bernard started to his feet. "What!" he shouted, then calmed down. "I almost expected to hear you say that," he added. "How was the villain found out?"

"You may well call him a villain," rejoined Conniston; "he has tried to poison Michael."

"What for?"

"To get rid of an undesirable witness, I suppose. He employed Jerry to give him some arsenic in a cup of tea. Jerry did so, and then cleared out, Mark communicated with Scotland Yard about Jerry, but we never expected he would be here. It's a lucky thing you kept the young wretch prisoner, Bernard."

"This is all very well," said Bernard, who looked bewildered. "But you tell me so many facts without detail that I can't understand how to connect them. Tell me the whole story."

"You won't interrupt if I do?"

"No," said Gore, impatiently, "fire ahead, Dick."

Conniston did so at once, and related all that had hitherto been kept from Gore's knowledge. Bernard listened in silence, save for an occasional ejaculation, which showed how difficult he found it to keep his promise not to interrupt. "And I think Mark was about right to keep these things from you, Bernard," said Conniston, when he ended. "For you are in a wax hearing them now."

"And who wouldn't be in a wax?" demanded Gore, furiously. "Look at the way in which I have been treated. Beryl has made me a scape-goat for his own wickedness. I have been compelled to hide my head. I have been accused of an awful crime – my reputation has been ruined. I should think I am furious, and I have a right to be."

"Bernard! Bernard!" said Dick, shaking his smooth head, "your troubles have taught you little. It was your furious temper that led you to fight with Sir Simon. You then said words which made it probable to outsiders that you committed this crime. And now, when all is on the eve of being cleared up, you have as bad a temper as ever."

"But think of that man Michael masquerading as me," went on Bernard, determined to speak out. "It was bad enough in London, but that he should dare to come to Alice – oh!" in an access of rage he shook his fist. Then he sat down to recover himself. "You are right, Dick," he remarked, wiping his forehead, "I'm a fool. I'll never learn wisdom. Heaven knows I have had a severe lesson. I will try and control this beastly temper of mine. But, after all, seeing that I love Alice so much, it is not to be wondered at that I should be annoyed at another man taking my place."

"He didn't," replied Conniston, calmly and soothingly. "Miss Malleson guessed the truth about him straight off. She has only used him as an instrument to learn what she could. Don't you fuss, Bernard. What we have to do is to question Judas, and see if he can supplement the revelations of Michael, your half-brother."

"Don't talk about that fellow being my half-brother."

"Well, he is, isn't he?"

"Yes, but – well, I suppose I should rather pity than blame the chap."

"I think so too," said Dick gravely. "Miss Berengaria says there is much good in him. She intends to assist him when she can."

"I shall help him also," said Bernard, after a pause. "The poor fellow can't help his birth, and I owe him something for the way in which my father behaved to his mother."

"This is a change of temper," laughed Conniston.

"Oh, I soon get into a rage and soon get over it," rejoined Gore, impatiently. "But we must examine this boy, Dick. He won't answer me though. I have been asking him plenty of questions."

"He'll answer me," said Conniston, rising. "I know about the poisoning. He won't face that."

"But did he really – "

"Yes, he did. I told you he was an imp of darkness, though, to be sure, I never expected he'd begin to murder people at his tender age. Come along, Bernard, show me the captive."

Gore led the way from the room and along a narrow passage. At the end of this was a door, which he opened. It led into a large empty room, but no sooner was the door opened, than a small boy darted out and endeavored to get away. He ran straight into Conniston's arms.

"Now then, young Judas," said Dick, setting the boy on his legs and giving him a good shake. "Come and be tried."

"My lord," gasped Jerry, who was pale with terror, and who had red eyes and disordered hair.

"Yes! I know all about your poisoning, young man."

Jerry dropped on his knees. "I didn't," he declared, "oh lor, I really didn't. Miss Plantagenet ordered the tea. She gave me the cup I – "

"Here," said Conniston, giving him another shake, "stop that rubbish, you young beast. You dare to say such things of my aunt, who has been so kind to you. Hanging is too good for such a scamp. Come along, and answer our questions."

But Jerry, grovelling on the floor, embraced Conniston's riding-boots in an agony of terror. "Oh, please," he whimpered, "I didn't mean to do any harm. Mr. Beryl gave me some white stuff and told me to give it in tea to the sick gentleman. I thought it would do him good!"

With great disgust Dick picked up the young liar in his arms and carried him kicking to the sitting-room, followed by Bernard. When the door was closed, Bernard locked it, and there was no chance of Jerry getting away, as the window was thirty feet from the ground. Gore took a seat in one arm-chair and Conniston threw himself into the other, after flinging Jerry on the hearth-rug. The boy lay there, kicking and howling, nearly out of his wits with terror.

"Shut up!" said Dick, sharply. "You have to answer questions."

"I sha'n't," said Jerry. "You'll hang me."

"There's no chance of that, worse luck," said Conniston, regretfully.

On hearing this, the boy sat up. "Isn't he dead?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh!" mocked Bernard, "and you thought the white stuff would do the sick gentleman good – you young scoundrel! No. He isn't dead, Lord Conniston says, but small thanks to you."

"Oh!" Jerry seemed at once relieved and disappointed. "I won't get the two thousand pounds now."

"And you won't be hanged either, though you richly deserve it."

"I don't. I've done nothing," said Jerry, sulkily.

"You have attempted to poison Michael Gilroy – "

"Do you know his name, Mr. Grant?"

"Yes! And you know mine, Master Jerry. Come now, you must reply to the questions which Lord Conniston wishes to put."

"Sha'n't," said Jerry, and set his pretty, tearful face firmly.

"Judas," said Conniston, taking his riding-whip from a near table, "there's only one course to be pursued with boys like you. If you don't speak out, I'll give you one of the finest thrashings you ever had in your life."

"I'll have an action against you then," snapped Jerry, very pale.

"Certainly. But you'll have to get out of prison to bring it."

"Prison?" Jerry quavered and shook all over.

"Yes, prison," mimicked Conniston. "Do you think you can behave like a young criminal and get off scot free?"

"I was deceived by Mr. Beryl. He's older than I am. I am only a boy."

"You are old enough to be hanged, at all events."

"You said I wouldn't be, my lord."

"That depends upon my good word," said Conniston, bluffing; "and you won't have that unless you confess."

"Confess what, my lord?"

"All about this business connected with Beryl," put in Gore. "It was you who led me to the house in Crimea Square."

"I didn't – I didn't!" And then Jerry uttered a howl as Conniston's whip came across his back.

"Hold your tongue and answer."

"How can I hold my tongue and answer at the same time, my lord?"

Conniston took out his watch. "I'll give you two minutes to make up your mind to talk sense. You are clever enough when it suits you. If you won't speak, I'll thrash you thoroughly, and then take you up to be handed to the police."

"And if I do, my lord?"

"I'll spare you the thrashing. But you must go to the police. You are being enquired for, young Judas. Only by confessing the whole can you avoid danger to your neck."

"Only Mr. Beryl can get me into trouble, and you won't find him," said Jerry, tauntingly. "I sent Victoria to him with a letter last night, and she must have caught the eleven train to London. I daresay she saw Mr. Beryl last night, and he's got away."

"Why did you act so promptly?" asked Gore.

"Because I saw you, Sir Bernard. I knew the game was up, and that you were playing the fool with Mr. Beryl in getting that will signed."

"Ah! so we all were," said Conniston, calmly. "The game is up, so you had better explain your share in it. Begin from the time you were kicked out of Taberley's for stealing."

"I sha'n't," said Jerry. "I don't believe you can hurt me."

Dick's patience was exhausted. He caught the young wretch by the scruff of the neck and thrashed him thoroughly. Jerry, who had never been beaten before in his life, wept and howled and begged for mercy. At last Conniston threw him again on the rug thoroughly cowed, and between sobs Jerry expressed his willingness to reply to whatever questions were put to him. The examination was conducted as though Conniston was a barrister and Jerry a witness. Bernard, in the character of a reporter, went to the writing-table and took notes. Jerry stood wiping his eyes and replying tearfully.

"When did you meet Beryl?" asked Dick.

"At Taberley's. He knew I was Mrs. Moon's grandson, as he saw me here at one time. When I was kicked out, he promised to help me. I was told to watch Sir Bernard, and I did. I saw you, my lord, with Sir Bernard in the Park. I was always watching Sir Bernard."

"I see. That was why you sold matches. Well, and it was you who told Beryl that Sir Bernard was at Mr. Durham's house on that night?"

"Yes," snuffled Jerry. "I saw him go in. I then went to the theatre, and Mr. Beryl came out to see me. I told him, and he said I was to bring Sir Bernard to the Square."

"In any case, Beryl intended Sir Bernard should be brought there on that night?"

"Yes. About eleven o'clock or a little earlier. And I waited outside on that night and – "

"You needn't explain that," said Gore, turning his head. "I remember how you drew me to the place. Did Beryl tell you to speak of the Red Light?"

"Yes. He said you would come if I talked of a lady and the Red Window. And Sir Simon had arranged the red light with a lamp and a handkerchief, Mr. Beryl told me afterwards. I didn't know it on the night. All I had to do was to bring you to the Square."

"And what about the whistle you gave?"

"That was to let Mr. Beryl know you were outside?"

"Was Beryl in the house at that time?"

"No," said Jerry, after a few moments of thought. "He should have been there, but he afterwards told me that he had come earlier and had gone away."

"Did he intend to murder Sir Simon?"

"I can't say," replied the boy, doubtfully. "He made that chap, Gilroy, dress up as you, and court the housemaid. His idea was to get Sir Simon to think you were making love to Jane. I think he wished to bring you to the house, so that on seeing the red light you might go in, and then Sir Simon would have quarrelled with you for loving Jane. I don't think he intended murder. But Michael Gilroy came and saw Sir Simon, and then bolted when he saw the Italian, thinking he was a detective. He told Mr. Beryl that the next day!"

"Who came to the house on that night, Jerry? State the time they came also."

Jerry thought again. "The Italian came first, and while he was in the room, about ten I think, Michael came. Then Michael bolted, and the Italian followed. Then shortly after ten Mr. Beryl came from the theatre – "

"Did you see him?"

"No," rejoined Jerry, tartly. "How could I? I was leading you then."

"Didn't you see Beryl at all that night – I mean again after you saw him to tell him where Sir Bernard was?"

"Yes, I did," said Jerry, rubbing his legs which were sore. "I may as well tell the truth. Just as we turned into Crimea Square, Sir Bernard, I brushed past Mr. Beryl."

"How could you recognize him in the fog?"

"I did. I saw him under a lamp. He was going back to the theatre and was very pale. Then I cut to look after Sir Bernard. I gave the whistle and then I cleared. Next day Mr. Beryl told me all that had taken place."

"Did you think he had committed the crime?"

"No, I thought that Michael had. He had forged a check, and I thought that he would quarrel with Sir Simon and kill him."

The boy spoke in all earnestness, so apparently Julius had been clever enough to keep the fact of his own guilt secret. But for the handkerchief it would have been difficult to have accused him. Conniston asked a final question. "How much do you get for all this?"

"Two thousand pounds if Michael died."

"If you poisoned him?" asked Bernard.

"Yes," said Jerry, sulkily. "I did intend to poison him, as I wanted the two thousand pounds. I came on here, and was then going to hide in London. After that, I should have sent for Victoria, and when Mr. Beryl paid, we would have gone to America."

"And why didn't you carry out this clever plan?" asked Gore.

Jerry turned still more sulky. "Because I saw you, and then I knew the game was up. Even if Michael had died, you would have been able to claim the property."

"Then Beryl really believed I was dead?"

"Yes, he did – so did I. When Victoria wrote me that you were here, I thought you were Michael. And when Michael came over to the Bower, I thought he had come from here. If I had known the truth – "

"Well?" said Bernard, dryly.

Jerry smiled amiably. "I'd have chucked Mr. Beryl and offered to prove your innocence if you gave me the two thousand. No," added Jerry, with a charming smile, "I'd have asked three thousand from you."

The young men looked at one another in wonder at this precocious criminality. "Can you prove my innocence?" asked Bernard.

"Yes," said Jerry.

"You know who killed Sir Simon?"

"Yes, I do. But I won't tell till I have seen Beryl," and this was all they could get out of him, in spite of threats of further whippings and cajolings. So Jerry was taken back to his room, and Bernard arranged with Conniston that the boy should be taken to London that very day.

"And then, when Durham lets me know, I'll surrender myself. But I wonder who killed my grandfather after all."

"Julius Beryl," said Conniston.

"Hum! I don't know. This boy seems to have some idea. I tell you what, Dick, I shouldn't be surprised if the boy did it himself."

CHAPTER XXII

THE TRUTH

The arrest of Sir Bernard Gore made a great sensation. It was generally supposed that he was dead, and his unexpected appearance surprised every one. Also, as he was believed to be guilty, the public was amazed that he should thus thrust himself into jeopardy. But more thoughtful people saw in Gore's surrender a proof of his innocence, and argued very rightly that were he guilty of the murder of Sir Simon, he would not come forward as he had done to stand his trial.

An additional surprise came in the arrest of Michael, who was said to be the half-brother of Gore, and to resemble him very closely. A rumor got about – no one knew how – that this resemblance between the two would be made the basis of the defence. Also, the boy, Jerry Moon, who was implicated in the matter, was in charge of the police, and it was expected that he would make startling revelations. On the whole, there was every chance that the forthcoming trial would be extremely interesting. Every one looked forward with great expectation to the time when Sir Bernard would be placed in the dock. Inspector Groom, formerly in charge of the case, was now attending to the matter again. He said very little, although the reporters tried to make him give his opinion. But, from the few words he let drop, it would seem that he believed firmly in the innocence of the accused man.

"I don't see anything about Beryl in the papers," said Conniston, when at Durham's office.

"There is nothing to say about him at present," replied the lawyer. "We have not caught him yet, and perhaps never may."

"Victoria warned him, then?"

"Yes. That imp of a boy wrote a letter stating that Bernard was at Cove Castle, and advising flight. Victoria caught a train shortly before eleven and came straight to Beryl's rooms, the address of which she received from Jerry. Beryl – as Jerry had done – saw that the game was up, and realized that we, knowing Gore to be alive, had been simply playing with the imposture of Michael. He bolted that same night and managed to cross to the Continent. At least, we suppose so, as no trace of him can be found."

"What will you do about him, then?"

Durham shrugged his shoulders. "There is nothing can be done," he answered. "With the evidence of Michael, Jerry and Miss Randolph and Tolomeo, we shall be able to prove Bernard's innocence and his cousin's guilt. Bernard will be set free without a stain on his character. But as to how Beryl will be arrested, or whether he will ever be punished, I am unable to give an opinion."

"What about Mrs. Gilroy?"

"Ah, we want her. But we cannot find out where she is. Even her son doesn't know. He would speak out if he did know, as I fancy he is sincerely repentant for the trouble this new edition of the Corsican Brothers has caused."

"But had you not some plan to lure Mrs. Gilroy out of her hiding?"

Durham searched amongst his papers and produced a journal. "Read that," said he, pointing to a column.

It was an article dealing with the case, in which the writer hinted that Michael was guilty and Bernard innocent. It was also stated that Michael would certainly be put in the dock, and that sufficient evidence was in the power of the prosecution to procure his condemnation. The whole article was written strongly, and after reading it, Conniston, had he not known the true facts of the case, would have fancied Michael guilty. He said as much. Durham smiled.

"That is exactly the feeling I wish to convey to Mrs. Gilroy," he declared, taking back the paper. "She, if any one, can prove the guilt of Beryl, but for some reason – perhaps for money – she is hiding. If she reads that paragraph she will at once come forward to save her son, and then we'll be able to prove Beryl's guilt beyond a doubt."

"But she may not take in the particular journal," said Conniston.

"Oh, this is only one paper. Within the next few days that article will be copied in every newspaper in London. Mrs. Gilroy is bound, wherever she is, to hear of the arrest of her son, and of Bernard giving himself up. To learn what is taking place she will read whatever papers she can get hold of. Then she will see that article, and if it doesn't bring her forward to save Michael and condemn Beryl, I am very much mistaken."

"It sounds rather like contempt of court," said Dick, gravely.

Durham laughed. "It is, in a way. Every man has a right to be considered innocent in English law until his guilt is proved. But I arranged with Scotland Yard that this article should appear in the hope that Mrs. Gilroy – an important witness, mind you – should be brought forward. I can't exactly tell you all the details, but you may be sure that the thing has been done legally. Besides," argued Durham, calmly, "seeing we have such a strong proof of Beryl's guilt, there is no doubt that Michael will have a fair trial."

"I say," said Conniston, rising to take his leave, "do you know it's Bernard's idea that Jerry might have committed the crime. It seems to me that Beryl is too great a coward to do it himself."

"Stuff!" said Durham, quite in the style of Miss Berengaria. "The boy could not have possibly strangled the old man. He was leading Bernard to the Square to within a few minutes of the time when Mrs. Gilroy came out shouting murder. No, Conniston, Beryl is the man, as is proved by his handkerchief. He came to the house immediately Tolomeo left, since he passed that man in the Square. The boy saw him departing, after Bernard was lured to be on the spot. Beryl was hurrying back to the theatre to arrange for his alibi. Everything was beautifully arranged. But for the discovery of Michael, we might have learned nothing. Also Tolomeo's evidence is valuable. Mrs. Gilroy, having been in the house at the time, is the woman who knows all. Doubtless Beryl threatened to denounce her son, and that was why she accused Bernard, counting on the resemblance to carry the matter through."

"What an infernally wicked woman!" said Dick, angrily.

"Oh! not at all. Mrs. Gilroy is a mother, and she naturally would sacrifice the whole world to save her son. Besides, she may have acted on the spur of the moment, and then had to go on with the matter."

"Well," said Conniston, putting on his hat, "I sincerely hope your net will capture her."

"It is sure to. A woman who would try and save her son by accusing an innocent man would not remain quiet to see him hanged. By the way, Miss Berengaria is in town, I believe?"

"Yes, with Miss Randolph and Alice. They are stopping at the Waterloo Hotel, Guelph Street. I believe they expect you along to dinner this evening."

Durham nodded. "I received a note from the old lady, and intend to come. By the way, Dick, I hope you are fascinating her. Remember, she can leave you five thousand a year, and can't last much longer."

"I believe Miss Berengaria will see her century," said Dick. "Besides, now you have my affairs in order, I have enough to live on."

"But not enough to marry on," said Durham, significantly.

Conniston flushed. "If you speak of Lucy," he said, "she has a little money of her own, and our two incomes will keep us alive."

"It won't keep up the dignity of the title."