The Third. Volume

"Well, this young lady cannot be one of those persons. How old is she?"

"Four-and-twenty!"

"Ah!" said Hilliston with a sigh of relief, "she was not born when your father was murdered. You must see she can know nothing positive of the matter."

"Then how did she supply Linton with the materials for this book?"

"I can only answer that question by reverting to my theory of the newspaper."

"Well, even granting that it is so," said Larcher quickly, "she knows details of the case which are not set forth in the newspaper."

"How do you know this?" asked Hilliston, biting his lip to control his feelings.

"Because in the third volume – "

"Nonsense! nonsense!" interrupted Hilliston violently, "you seem to forget that the hard facts of the case have been twisted and turned by the novelist's brain. We do not know who slew your father, but the novelist had to end his story, – he had to solve the mystery, – and he has done so after his own fashion."

Rising from his seat, he paced hurriedly to and fro, talking the while with an agitation strange in so hard and self-controlled a man.

"For instance, the character of Michael Dene is obviously taken from me. It is not a bit like me, of course, either in speech, or looks, or dress. All the novelist knew was that I had given evidence at the trial, and that the dead man had been my dearest friend. The circumstances suggested a striking dramatic situation – that the dear friend had committed the crime for the base love of the wife. Michael Dene is guilty in the novel – but the man in real life, myself – You know all I know of the case. I would give ten years of my life, short as the span now is, to find the man who killed George Larcher."

This was strong speaking, and carried conviction to the heart of Claude, the more so when Hilliston further explained himself.

"On the night of the murder I was at the ball three miles off. I knew nothing of the matter till I was called upon to identify the corpse of your father. It was hardly recognizable, and the face was much disfigured, but I recognized him by the color of his hair and the seal on his finger."

"How was it that my father was dressed as Darnley?"

"John Parver explains that," said Hilliston sharply. "Jeringham – I forget his name in the novel – was dressed as Darnley, and I believe, as is set forth in the book, that George Larcher assumed the dress so that under his mask your mother might mistake him for Jeringham. Evidently she did so, as he learned that she loved Jeringham – "

"One moment," interposed Claude quickly, "my mother denies that Jeringham was her lover."

"Your mother?"

"Mrs. Bezel."

"True; I forgot for the moment that you knew she was alive. No doubt she is right; and Jeringham was only her friend. But in the novel he is her lover; Michael Dene, drawn from myself, is her lover. You see fact and fiction are so mixed up that there is no getting at the truth."

"I shall get at the truth," said Claude quietly.

"Never. After such a lapse of time you can discover nothing. Better let the dead past bury its dead. I advised you before. I advise you now. You will only torture your life, cumber it with a useless task. George Larcher is dead and buried, and dust by this time. No one knows who killed him, no one ever shall know."

"I am determined to learn the truth!"

"I hope you may, but be advised. Leave this matter alone. You do not know what misery you may be laying up for yourself. Why, you have not even a clew to start from! Unless," added Hilliston, with a sneer, "you follow the example of the novelist and elucidate the mystery by means of the scarfpin."

Again Tait was right. Hilliston had himself introduced the subject of the scarfpin. Claude immediately took advantage of the opening.

"I suppose that episode is fiction?"

"Of course it is. No scarfpin was found in the garden. Nothing was found but the dagger. You know that Michael Dene is supposed to drop that scarfpin on the spot. Well, I am the living representative of Michael Dene, and I assure you I never owned a garnet cross with a central diamond."

"Is that the description of the scarfpin?"

"Yes. Do you not remember? A small Maltese cross of garnets with a diamond in the center. The description sounds fictitious. Who ever saw such an ornament in real life. But in detective novels the solution of the mystery turns on such gew-gaws. A scarfpin, a stud, a link, a brooch – all these go to hang a man – in novels."

This assertion that the episode of the scarfpin was fiction was in direct contradiction to that of Tait, who declared it to be true. Claude was torn by conflicting doubts, but ultimately put the matter out of his thoughts. Miss Paynton alone could give a correct opinion as to whether it had emanated from her fertile brain, or was really a link in the actual case. Judging from the speech of Hilliston, and the silence of the newspaper reports, Claude believed that Tait was wrong.

The lawyer and his guest did not go to the drawing room, as Mrs. Hilliston sent word that she was going to bed with a bad headache. Under the circumstances Claude took his leave, having, as he thought, extracted all necessary information from Hilliston. Moreover, he was anxious to get back to Tait's chambers and hear what the little man had to tell him about Mrs. Bezel. Hilliston said good-by to him at the door.

"I shall see you at Eastbourne, I suppose," he said genially.

"Yes. I will drive over and tell you what Miss Paynton says."

The door closed, and Hilliston, with a frown on his face, stood looking at the floor. He was by no means satisfied with the result of the interview.

"I wish I could stop him," he muttered, clenching his fist; "stop him at any price. If he goes on he will learn the truth, and if he learns the truth – ah – "

He drew a long breath, and went upstairs to his wife. As he ascended the stairs it seemed to him as though he heard the halting step of Nemesis following stealthily behind.

CHAPTER XIX

TAIT BRINGS NEWS

As quick as a fast hansom could take him, Claude drove to Earls Street, and found Tait impatiently waiting his arrival. The little man had a look of triumph in his eyes, which showed that his interview with Mrs. Bezel had been to some purpose. Dormer had placed wine and biscuits on the table, and, made hungry by his long journey to Hampstead, Tait was partaking of these modest refreshments when Claude entered the room.

"I thought you were never coming," said he, glancing at his watch; "past ten o'clock. You must have had an interesting conversation with Hilliston to stay so long."

"I have had a very interesting conversation. And you?"

"Oh, I got back thirty minutes ago, after being more than an hour with your mother."

"Was she disappointed at my non-appearance?"

"Very much so, but I explained that you had to dine with Hilliston. She did not seem to like that either."

"Absurd! She thinks no end of Hilliston, and advised me to see as much of him as possible."

"Nevertheless, the idea that you were dining with him did not please her; I could only quiet her by telling all I know about Mrs. Hilliston."

When Tait made this remark Claude was taking off his cloak, but he paused in doing so to ask a question.

"What possible interest can my mother have in Mrs. Hilliston?"

"I don't know. But she asked me who she was, and where she came from. Insisted on a description of her looks, and altogether pumped me dry on the subject. I suppose she wished to know something of Hilliston's domestic felicity, and, as he has not enlightened her on the subject, applied to me."

This explanation, which was accepted implicitly by Claude, was by no means the truth. With his usual sharpness Tait had noted Mrs. Bezel was profoundly jealous of the lawyer's wife, and from this, and sundry other hints, had drawn conclusions by no means flattering to the lady herself. Still, as she was Claude's mother, he had too much good breeding, and too much liking for his friend, to state his belief – which was that the bond between Mr. Hilliston and Mrs. Bezel was not of so harmless a nature as they would have the world believe.

With this idea in his head, Tait began to look at the case from the point of view adopted by John Parver. Might it not be true that Hilliston was the secret lover of the wife and the murderer of the husband? Certainly the efforts he was making to stay Claude in solving the mystery gave color to the idea. If he were innocent of crime and illicit passion he would surely be anxious to hasten, instead of retarding, the discovery. Tait's private opinion was that Hilliston had the crime of murder on his soul, but for obvious reasons, not unconnected with Mrs. Bezel, he did not care to speak openly to Larcher. On the contrary, while admitting a disbelief in the lawyer, he feigned a doubt of his complicity in the matter which he was far from feeling.

Under these circumstances he had advised Claude to leave the matter alone, for he dreaded the effect on his friend's mind when he learned the truth.

Whether Hilliston proved innocent or not, the unraveling of the mystery would necessarily result in the disclosure of the relations existing between him and Mrs. Bezel. Tait shrank from pursuing investigations likely to lead to such a result, but the determination of Claude to avenge his father's murder left him no option. Against his better judgment he was urged along the path of discovery; but trusted when the time came to soften the blow of the inevitable result.

In silence he heard the story related by Claude of the evening at Hilliston's, and did not comment on the information thus given so speedily as Larcher expected. He thought it wiser to delay any remarks till he had told the young man of his interview with Mrs. Bezel.

"I need not go into details, Claude," he said, anxious not to say too much, "but will tell you as shortly as I can. Mrs. Bezel – it is more convenient to speak of her so than to call her your mother – is not pleased that you should try and solve this mystery."

"I know that. She thinks it is hopeless, and is unwilling that I should waste my time to no purpose. But she should have thought of that before inducing Hilliston to show me the paper. Now it is too late, and for my own satisfaction, if not for hers, I must go on with the matter. Did you relate our conversation with Linton?"

"Yes. And she takes the same view of it as Hilliston. That Miss Paynton got the case from a bundle of old newspapers."

"What do you think yourself?"

"I still hold to my opinion," said Tait quietly. "The affair was related to Jenny by someone who lived in Horriston at the time the murder took place. Else she would never have given Linton that fact about the scarfpin, which, as we know, is not mentioned in the report of the trial."

"Hilliston says that the episode is fiction."

"Mrs. Bezel says it is fact."

"What! Was a scarfpin of garnets really found in the grounds of The Laurels?"

"It was. Mrs. Bezel described the jewel to me, and asserted that it was discovered near the bank of the stream."

"Does she know to whom it belonged?"

"No! She had no recollection of having seen it before. Neither your father nor Jeringham wore a scarfpin of that pattern."

"It is curious that Hilliston should insist that such a pin never existed."

"It is very curious," assented Tait significantly, "especially as it was shown to him by Denis Bantry. This one fact ought to convince you that Hilliston is playing us false."

"My doubts were confirmed by his manner to-night," replied Claude gloomily. "I don't know what his reason may be, or how I can reconcile his present behavior with his kindness to my mother, but he certainly seems anxious to thwart us if he can."

Tait guessed what the reason was very well, but was too wise to explain himself. Granted that a bond existed between Mrs. Bezel and the lawyer, and the whole thing became clear, but Mrs. Bezel was Claude's mother, so Tait held his peace.

"Why wasn't the scarfpin produced at the trial?" asked Claude, seeing his friend made no answer.

"Only one man can answer that question – Denis Bantry."

"Does my mother know where he is?"

"No. She has not set eyes on him since she left Horriston."

"It is strange that he should have suppressed so important a piece of evidence," said Claude meditatively, "devoted as he was to my father. I should have thought he would have done his best to bring the murderer to justice."

"Perhaps he did not know who the murderer was. However, there is no doubt that the scarfpin must have told him something about which he judged it wise to hold his tongue. Perhaps Miss Paynton can enlighten us on the subject."

"Then she must know Denis Bantry."

"So I think," said Tait thoughtfully. "The episode of the scarfpin was only known to your mother, to Hilliston, and to Bantry. Jenny Paynton does not know your mother, who denied all knowledge of her. She cannot be acquainted with Hilliston, or he certainly would not have let her make use of the affair for Linton's book, even if he had told her. There only remains Denis Bantry. Now, I know that Jenny has lived all her life at Thorston, so if she saw this man anywhere it must have been there."

"Is there anyone in the neighborhood you think is he?" asked Larcher, greatly excited.

"None that I can call to mind. But then, I don't know the neighborhood very well. We must make a thorough exploration of it when we are down there."

"Certainly. But it seems to me that the only one who can put us in the right track is the girl."

"True enough. I only hope she will be amenable to reason."

Larcher poured himself out a glass of wine and drank it slowly. Then he lighted his pipe and returned to his chair with a new idea in his head.

"I wonder why Hilliston told that lie about the scarfpin, Tait?"

"Ask me something easier. I cannot say. We'll learn nothing from him. My dear fellow, it is no use asking further questions of your guardian or of your mother. We have found out all from them that we can. Nothing now remains but to see Jenny Paynton."

"Quite right. And we go to Thorston to-morrow?"

"By the ordinary train. I have written for the dogcart to meet us. By this time next week we may know a great deal – we may know the truth."

"That is, if Hilliston doesn't thwart us. He is going down to Eastbourne, remember."

"I know. But I intend to get what the Americans call the 'inside running,' by seeing Jenny to-morrow evening. The whole case turns on her explanation of the scarfpin episode.

"Well," said Claude, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, "we found Linton through his book, we found Jenny through Linton. Through her we may find Denis Bantry."

"And through Denis Bantry we may find the man who killed your father," finished Tait triumphantly.

"Well, I know what the name of the man will be."

"What will it be?"

"Jeringham."

Tait shrugged his shoulders. Knowing what he did he was by no means certain on that point.

CHAPTER XX

A PRÉCIS OF THE CASE

A month ago had anyone prophesied that I, Spenser Tait, would be engaged in playing the part of an amateur detective, I should have flatly contradicted his prognostication. Yet here I am doing my best to solve the mystery which hangs round the death of my friend's father. I cannot say that I object to the task, for there is something tremendously exciting in this man hunt. My friendship for Claude is the principal factor which induces me to meddle with the business; but a slight flavoring of selfishness is also present.

Hitherto we had been fairly successful, and have at least found a clew likely to lead to some certain result. Between Mrs. Bezel, Hilliston, and Linton's book, we have learned a good deal of the case; and all our knowledge points to an interview with Jenny Paynton as the next step to be taken.

To-morrow we start for Thorston for this purpose, but before exploring the new field I judge it wise to set down all the facts which have come to our knowledge, and to deduce therefrom, if possible, a logical reason for our future actions. I have my suspicions, but these are vague and intangible. Claude has his suspicions, but these do not coincide with mine. He believes Jeringham to be guilty of the crime. I think Hilliston is likely to prove the assassin. Both of us may be wrong.

To take the case of Mr. Hilliston. His attitude is decidedly aggressive at the present moment, and he is doing his best to dissuade Claude from investigating the case. Why should he do so? George Larcher was his dearest friend, and met with a cruel fate. If there is any chance of his fate being avenged, surely Hilliston should be the first to prosecute the inquiries. Instead of doing so he hangs back, and throws cold water on my efforts and on Claude's. He must have some reason for his actions. Is that reason to be found at Clarence Cottage in Hampstead?

This question brings me to a delicate point. My work is hampered by the fact that Mrs. Bezel is Claude's mother, and I dare not express myself as I should wish. I gather from the report of the trial that Mrs. Larcher was a vain and silly coquette, who threw away the love of a good man for the indulgence of her own selfish instincts. Guilty she may have been, but not with Jeringham. If she had any lover, it was Francis Hilliston. After a visit to Clarence Cottage I believe the view taken of the case by the novelist to be the right one.

During my interview with Mrs. Bezel I noted her every look and action. When Hilliston's name occurred she flushed up and looked savage; she was anxious to know all about the wife at Kensington Gore, and in every way showed that she had more interest in the man than she cared to confess. Again, she told me that her illness was of ten years' duration. Hilliston has been married ten years. What is more likely than that he should have wearied of the invalid, and so deserted her for Mrs. Derrick, the rich widow.

Mrs. Bezel is jealous of Hilliston and of his wife. Her love has changed to hatred, and I verily believe that she would harm him if she could. Already she has attempted to do so, for it was only her threat to reveal all to Claude that made Hilliston produce that report of the Larcher affair. She has told me all she knows, but I cannot help thinking that she is keeping back certain facts connected with the case. There is a hesitancy and doubt in her speech which points to some secret. If I could learn that secret it might establish the guilt of Hilliston.

And yet I cannot believe that. No woman, however vain, however frivolous, would have lived with the man who murdered her husband, who slew the father of her child. Mrs. Bezel's secret may not directly inculpate Hilliston, but it may point toward him as the possible assassin. But I cannot believe that she thinks him guilty. Their relations with one another forbids so horrible a supposition.

Nevertheless, Hilliston is afraid of the truth coming to light. He denies that the garnet scarfpin ever existed, while Mrs. Bezel said she saw it herself. If the lawyer is not afraid, why should he tell a deliberate lie? It is his word against that of Mrs. Bezel, and as her statement is backed up by the description in the novel, I believe she is telling the truth. Can it be possible that the scarfpin belonged to Hilliston and was dropped by him in the garden of The Laurels on the night of the struggle?

Here Hilliston proves an alibi. He stated to Claude that at the hour of three o'clock, when the crime was presumably committed, he was at the ball in the Horriston Town Hall. If that can be proved, he must, perforce, be innocent.

Another supposition: Can Mrs. Larcher be actually guilty of her husband's death, and, knowing this, is Hilliston anxious to stop Claude in his investigations lest he should learn so terrible a truth? I cannot believe this, for Mrs. Larcher, or Bezel, set the ball rolling herself, and were she guilty she certainly would not have run such risk.

Then, again, Jeringham fled on the night of the murder. For what reason? If Hilliston killed Larcher why should Jeringham fly? If Mrs. Bezel killed her husband why should Jeringham fly? I see no reason in his flight, and yet if he were guilty and Hilliston knew him to be guilty why should he try and screen him at the present time? Altogether the case is so confusing that I do not know what to think or whom to suspect.

I wonder what has become of Mona Bantry and her child? Mrs. Bezel said she had not seen the girl or her brother for twenty-five years. Yet they must be somewhere. Circumstances point to Jenny Paynton having heard the story of the tragedy from Denis, for no one else could have revealed the episode of the scarfpin, or have described the jewel. If Denis told her he must live at Thorston, and if he lives there his sister must be with him. If this pair, who were in the house on the night of the murder, can be found, the truth may come to light.

After searching Thorston and finding out all I can from the Bantrys, – presuming them to be there, – it is my intention to go down to Horriston and find out someone who remembers the case. In spite of the lapse of time there must be some old people alive who danced at that ball in their hot youth. They may be able to say if George Larcher was there present in the character of Darnley, and at what time Hilliston left the ball. I may also hear what they think of Jeringham, and of the conduct of Mrs. Bezel. In making these investigations I shall not take Claude, as I shrewdly suspect the opinions of these oldsters regarding his mother are anything but flattering to that lady. If I go to Horriston I must go alone.

On reading over these notes I am hardly satisfied with them. They do not seem to give me much basis on which to work. I suspect this person and the other, but I have very little evidence to back me up in such suspicions. The only thing that seems clear to me is that Hilliston has some object in thwarting our plans. What the object is I must find out. Perhaps I shall do so at Thorston, where I am certain to meet both Hilliston and his wife.

And that reminds me of what Claude related about her emotion this evening. It is certainly curious, but the worst of dabbling in detective business is that one is apt to get over-suspicious. In this case I think there is no ground for suspicion. Mrs. Hilliston is an American, and came to England twelve years ago. I know this for certain, for I remember when she made her début in society. This being the case, she cannot possibly have any connection with Horriston, and her emotion must have been merely the recollection of the story related by her husband when he told her of Claude.

Well, it is past midnight, and I had better end these unsatisfactory notes. Detective business is harder than I thought. How am I to evolve order out of all this chaos I hardly know, save to trust to luck and Jenny Paynton. And so to bed, as saith worthy Samuel Pepys.

CHAPTER XXI

THORSTON

It is astonishing how closely one village resembles another in appearance. The square-towered church, the one winding street, the low-roofed inn, and red-tiled cottages, isolated by narrow alleys; corn lands and comfortable farms around, and still further the mansions, more or less stately, of the county families. Go where you will in the southern countries, all the villages are so constituted; one description serves for all, though on occasions the expanse of the Channel introduces a new feature into the landscape. Thorston was of the same class, but, in its own opinion, had more pretentions to grandeur than its neighbors.

Before the Conquest it had been a considerable Saxon town, and, as its name indicates, had flourished before the introduction of Christianity into England. There, according to tradition, a temple to Thor the Thunderer had stood on the hill now crowned with the church; hence the name of Thor's town. Report said that Edward the Confessor had built the church, but of his work little remained, and the present building was due to the piety or fears of a Norman baron, who wished to expiate his sins after the fashion of those times, by erecting a house to some interceding saint. In the present instance this church was dedicated to St. Elfrida, the holy daughter of Athelstan, who renounced her father's court to found a nunnery by the winding river Lax, famous for salmon, as is plainly hinted by its Scandinavian appellation. Yet notwithstanding church and tradition, Thorston had never since been of much importance, and it was now but an ordinary rural village, quaint and sleepy.