The Yellow Holly

"Who has that confession?"

"I have! I got it from Lola!"

"And how did she manage to obtain it?"

For answer George related how Lola had called to see Mrs. Jersey, and how she had managed to steal the confession. "It was from reading it," finished George, "that she learned of the church in which my parents were married. Desiring that I should marry her, and thinking I would not do as were my birth proved, she went to the church to destroy the registers. She was caught with the torn leaves, and arrested."

"Arrested?"

"Yes. I wonder you did not see the case reported in the papers."

"I have been too ill to read the papers lately," said Ireland, looking round the room in rather a helpless way, "and none of my servants told me. What happened?"

"Oh, Lola was let off with a small fine. She is now back dancing at her music-hall. She gave the confession to me."

"Did any one else see it-the authorities?"

"No. You can set your mind at rest, Mr. Ireland. I got it from Lola before she was taken to prison. No one had seen it but myself and Lord Derrington."

Ireland drew a long breath of relief. "You made a strange remark just now, George," he said, not looking at the young man. "You told me to set my mind at rest. Why did you say that?"

"I have read the confession," said George, quietly.

Mr. Ireland rose from his chair and began to pace the room. He seemed so weak that George wished him to return, but the old man waved his hand impatiently. "It's all right-it's all right," he said, then stopped opposite to George. "Then you know?"

"I know that my father's death was due to an accident."

"What! Did that wretched woman tell the truth?"

"She told the truth."

"And she did not accuse me of having murdered your father?"

"No. She did not. I suppose she thought it was as well to go to her long home with as few sins as possible on her conscience. But she certainly exonerated you."

"Thank God for that," said Ireland, and returned to his seat. Then he looked at his visitor in a piteous manner. "George," he said in faltering tones, "I have suffered greatly on account of that most unhappy accident-"

"I am sure you must have, sir. But don't let it worry you any more. It was an accident, and both Lord Derrington and I heartily forgive you for having been the unconscious cause of my father's death."

Ireland nodded. "Thank God again," he said solemnly. "Your father and I were not very good friends, as I found it difficult to forgive him for having taken from me the woman I loved. But at San Remo we got on better together. I stifled my resentment so that I might see as much of you as possible, George. Knowing that I was not on good terms with Vane, I thought that Mrs. Jersey might have accused me of the crime. She did try to get money out of me."

"So Bawdsey told me."

"Bawdsey. Who is he?"

"I forget you don't know. He is a private-inquiry agent who has been looking after the case on behalf of Lord Derrington. I learn from the confession of Mrs. Jersey that he is her husband."

"George Rates. I remember. She told me she married him and went to America. It was after her return from America that she tried to get money out of me. I refused; not that I did not realize the danger to which she could expose me, but I knew that if I once yielded I would be in her power. Besides, I had a defense, as she got the stiletto from the woman Velez."

"And it was with that same stiletto that Mrs. Jersey was killed."

"By whom?" asked Ireland. "Did her husband-"

"No. We do not know who killed her. Perhaps you may know?"

"I!" Ireland looked genuinely surprised. "No; how should I know?"

"Well," said George, rather awkwardly, "it seems that Bawdsey has got it into his head that you knew about this confession."

"I did not!"

"That you were afraid it would be published after her death, and that you went to the house on that night to get it."

"I did not. How could I have entered the house?"

"Bawdsey thinks you had a latch-key."

"No. All the keys were handed to Lord Derrington's agent when the house was sold. In plain in words, George, this man Bawdsey-Rates-whatever he calls himself; accuses me of the murder."

"He doesn't exactly accuse you, but-"

"I don't know what else you would call his statements but accusations," retorted Ireland with some heat, "but I never was near the house. I certainly thought that Mrs. Jersey might leave some such confession, but I never asked her about it. I never thought that such a healthy woman would die before me, and I knew that sooner or later my bad heart would carry me off in spite of the regularity of my life."

"Then you cannot guess who killed her?"

"No. I was never near the house. I was in bed and asleep. My servants will tell you so."

"I need not ask them," said George, quickly. "I never thought you were guilty, and I only came to receive your assurance, so that I might tell Bawdsey and prevent him troubling you."

"If Bawdsey comes here I'll soon make short work of him," said Ireland, sharply. "I am not afraid."

"You need not be. Mrs. Jersey's own confession exonerates you."

"I don't mind even that. I would have faced the worst had it to be faced. I never was a coward-except in one thing." He paused and looked timidly at George. "I shrank from telling you how I was the unhappy cause of your father's death."

"You were not the cause, in my opinion. Mrs. Jersey was the cause."

"Well, I thought you would shrink from me did you know all."

"I do know all, and I do not shrink from you," replied George, leaning across the desk to shake Ireland's hand. "It was a pure accident, and has been related by your enemy."

"I am so glad the truth is known to you at last," faltered the old man, "and that you see how unconsciously I caused the death. You are her son, George, the son of the only woman I ever loved-of the woman for whose sake I have remained lonely all these years. Had you condemned me-" His emotion prevented him from saying more.

George grew alarmed by his pallor. "Please think no more of the matter, Mr. Ireland," he said; "you are ill. Go and lie down!"

"Yes, I'll lie down." Ireland leaned heavily, on George's arm. "I shall lie down for ever. But I am glad you know. I am glad you are not angered."

"We are the best of friends, Mr. Ireland. You have always been kind to me. And I am sure my dead mother blesses you for all your goodness to her orphan boy."

"Rosina! Rosina!" murmured Ireland, "how I loved her. You have her eyes, George, and her kind nature. Come, let me get to bed. Soon the curtain will drop."

"I am afraid my visit has been too much for you."

"No. I am glad you came. I am glad you spoke out. I always intended to do so, but I feared lest you should blame me."

By this time they were ascending the stairs. George conducted the old man to his room and sent for the doctor. Ireland undressed and got to bed. Then he insisted on George leaving him.

"But you are ill," protested the young man.

"I am dying, but what of that? I am glad to die. I shall meet Rosina again after long, long years of sorrow. Go, George. We understand one another, and you have forgiven me. There is no more to be said."

"There is nothing to forgive," replied George, softly; then, to humor his old guardian, he departed. A strong grip of the hand was exchanged between them. George left the room and saw Ireland lying as still as any corpse. Only his lips moved, and they murmured continuously, "Rosina! Rosina!" He was true to the woman he loved to the very end.

George left the house, as there was nothing he could do, but he intended to call in again. Meanwhile he repaired to Amelia Square to see Bawdsey. Derrington wished him to tell the detective to stop looking after the case and discharge him from his employment. In his pocket George had a check for one thousand pounds, and when this was paid the whole case was to be relegated to obscurity. Now that Derrington was reconciled to his grandson he was anxious, for obvious reasons, that the sordid tragedy of Mrs. Jersey's death should not come to light. He had not played a very respectable part in it himself, and, moreover, he did not wish that confession published. It would only be a case of washing the family linen in public, and both George and he agreed that this was undesirable. The sooner Bawdsey married Lola and went to America the better, Derrington thought. And for his own sake Bawdsey would hold his tongue, seeing what a close connection he was of the dead woman.

Bawdsey was at home and saw George at once. He looked rather excited, and could hardly keep his seat. "Well, Mr. Brendon," he asked, "what is it?"

"I should rather ask you that;" said George; "you seem excited."

"Not very. Only I have been fortunate in some business, and-"

"What is the business?"

"I'll tell you that later. What is yours?"

"A pleasant one," rejoined George. "Here is the check for one thousand pounds which my grandfather promised you. Marry Lola and go to the States, and stop searching for the assassin of Mrs. Jersey."

"Thank you," replied Bawdsey, taking the check eagerly, "your grandfather is a prince, Mr. Brendon. As to the case, why should I stop searching?"

"You will never find the assassin."

"Pardon me," said Bawdsey, in high glee. "I have found the assassin. Yes!" as George uttered an ejaculation. "Miss Bull killed Mrs. Jersey."

CHAPTER XXV

THE TRUTH

George stared at the triumphant detective in surprise. It seemed impossible that what he stated could be true. Miss Bull was the very last person whom Brendon would have accused. No one had been more candid than she had been, and no one at the time of the discovery of the crime had done more to help the detectives.

"You must mean Margery," said George after a time.

"No, I don't," replied Bawdsey, in a determined voice. "I mean that little white old woman with the black eyes-Miss Bull, or, as you know her, Miss Jenny Howard."

"But what reason-"

"Ah, that's a long story! She shall tell you herself."

"Have you had her arrested?"

"Not yet. But she will be arrested before the end of the day. I have already communicated with Scotland Yard."

George rose and walked to the window. He felt irritable and upset now that the truth had come to light. He wished that Bawdsey had not been so confoundedly interfering, and the detective's next words annoyed him still further.

"It was your idea about Margery that put me on the scent," he said with great complacency; "though, to be sure, I had my suspicions before. It was to watch Miss Bull that I came here."

"What made you think that she was guilty?"

"She has confessed-in the calmest manner, too-that-"

"I mean before. Why did you suspect her?"

"Well, it seemed to me that she was the only person who could have killed Eliza. She and Eliza hated one another because of their mutual love for your father."

George groaned. What a lot of trouble his father had caused with his handsome looks and charming manners. Even after his death the fatal attraction he exercised seemed to bring about disaster. "She did not kill Mrs. Jersey on that account," he said.

"Wait till you hear. She will tell you. In fact, she asked me to send for you, as she wishes to speak."

"Where is she now?"

"In the famous sitting-room playing Patience."

"Doesn't she realize the peril of her position?"

"In a way she does. But she seems quite ready to face the worst."

"Poor woman," said George, thinking of the sad life which the old maid had led; "if she has sinned, she has suffered."

"If people will use knives in that way they must be punished," was the rather harsh retort of Bawdsey.

"Don't talk stuff, Bawdsey. You have your own sins to think of."

"I never committed murder."

"No one said you had, but you may do so before you die."

Bawdsey shuddered. "I hope not, Mr. Vane," he said. "I don't know why you should say such a thing. I am an honest man."

"You say that so often that I shall begin to disbelieve it," replied Brendon, rather cynically; "but if you marry Lola, either you will kill her or she will kill you."

"I'll take my chance of that. And if you-"

George made an impatient gesture with his hand and returned to his seat. "Never mind further chatter. Let me hear how you came to learn that this poor creature struck the blow."

"If you talk that way of a criminal, Mr. Vane, what will you say of a good woman?"

"My good man, there is more joy over a sinner that repenteth-"

"But Miss Bull doesn't repent," said Bawdsey.

"I'll hear the story before I give an opinion on that point. You say that it was some remark I made which-"

"Yes, it was," said Bawdsey, eagerly, and throwing himself into a seat. "Your remark that Margery might be guilty-"

"One moment," interrupted George, in his turn. "I may tell you that I have seen Mr. Ireland, and he declares that he never was near the house on that night, that he knew nothing of the confession, and that he had no latch-key. He is innocent."

"Now that I have heard Miss Bull I know that, sir. She's the one."

"Well, and how did you find out?"

Bawdsey cleared his throat and began, with a most important air: "I rather agreed with your idea that Margery might be guilty," he said, "and when I turned it over in my own mind I thought it more and more probable. I therefore determined to get Margery alone and work on her fears."

"Pah!" said Brendon, with disgust.

"Well, sir," retorted Bawdsey, shrugging his shoulders. "I had to get at the truth somehow, and detective's work is not all so honorable as novelists make out. I got Margery alone."

"And how did you set to work?"

"Well, it was this morning in the sitting-room. Miss Bull had gone out and had left Margery to make up some accounts. The girl was laboring away at them and getting into a hopeless mess. I came to speak with her, and offered to do them. I soon put the accounts to rights and then began to talk of Miss Bull."

"Why of Miss Bull?"

"Why-" Bawdsey pinched his lip-"I thought at the time that Margery was guilty, and that if in talking to her I laid the blame on Miss Bull that the girl would speak out."

"You traded on the poor wretch's friendship. Bawdsey, I'm ashamed of you."

"I'm ashamed of myself," replied the detective, penitently; "but Lord bless you! Mr. Vane, one gets used to this sort of thing. In our business the means justifies the ends far more than in religion."

"I certainly don't think it justifies any end in religion," said George, sharply. "Well, you accused Miss Bull of the crime?"

"In a way I did. Margery denied it."

"What did you say?"

"That she might as well confess. I declared that I had evidence to prove Miss Bull's guilt, and that she would be arrested when she came back. I declare, Mr. Vane, I thought that girl would strike me. She was like a wild-cat."

"I wish she had," growled George, whose generous spirit was revolted by the use Bawdsey had put Margery to.

"She said if I arrested Miss Bull she would kill me. I said, 'As you killed your aunt.' She up and said: 'Yes, I did kill her. Miss Bull is innocent, and you know she is.' Of course, when she admitted the fact I at once began to suspect Miss Bull."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because if Margery had been guilty she would not have owned up. But if Miss Bull was guilty, Margery would certainly take the guilt on herself."

"Poor girl!" murmured George "there is something noble in that dull soul."

Bawdsey could not see this, and mentally disagreed with it. However, he did not want to argue down Brendon's too tender conscience, so he went on with his recital. "While Margery was threatening me and taking the guilt on herself, Miss Bull came in. That stupid girl ran to her and fell at her feet, crying that I knew all, but that she would die for her dear Miss Bull."

"And what did the woman say?"

"She asked me if I knew. I said I did. She demanded how I found out. I told her that that was my business. She began to smell a rat and suspected that I was bluffing. She would have held her tongue, but Margery was in such terror for her friend that she came out with the whole story. Miss Bull tried to stop her, but Margery kept repeating that she would die for her dear Miss Bull, and so let the cat out of the bag."

"The girl is half-witted-all this may not be true."

"Oh, yes, it is. When Miss Bull saw that the game was up she sat down and admitted that she had killed Mrs. Jersey. She also said that she was glad the truth had come to light, that she wished to die, and so on."

"She was raving," said George, incredulously, not thinking any one would incriminate himself or herself so freely.

"No, she wasn't. She told me the whole story in the calmest manner, just as though she were asking me to have a cup of tea. Then she asked me to send for you and sat down to play Patience."

"I wonder you are not having her watched," said George, with scorn.

"Oh, she won't run away," replied Bawdsey, easily, and not perceiving the irony of the remark. "Come along, Mr. Vane, we'll go down and see her. She is desperately anxious to see you."

"Do any of the boarders know?"

"Not yet, but they will when she is arrested."

George shuddered and followed Bawdsey down the stairs. It seemed terrible to him that such a fragile little creature as Miss Bull should be subjected to this disgrace. He did not condone her crime. She had acted wrongly and must take the consequences. But he could not forget that she was Dorothy's aunt, and he wished he could see some way of rescuing her from this dreadful position.

Miss Bull was-as Bawdsey had stated-playing Patience. Seated at the very table where her victim had sat, she dealt the cards, and seemed quite interested in the game. Margery was seated in a chair near at hand, looking with tearful eyes into the face of her friend. Beyond the fact that Miss Bull was whiter than usual, she showed no signs of emotion.

"You have come, George," she said, addressing him by his name. "I am glad to see you. Mr. Bawdsey, you may go."

The detective was taken aback and would have remonstrated, but Margery rose and approached him. "You have done your worst," she said, her eyes flashing. "Go, or I'll twist your neck."

Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders, and with a glance at George went out. After all, he had heard the story before and did not particularly care to hear it again. Besides, Bawdsey was a kindly man, and he felt sorry that he had proceeded to such extremities.

Miss Bull shuffled her pack of cards and laid them away in a box. "I shall play that game no more," she said. "I have been playing Patience all my life, but the end has come, and I am glad it has come. Hush, Margery," for the girl had burst into tears, "I will see that you are left well off and looked after, my dear."

"I don't want that. I want you," sobbed the girl. She slipped to the floor and laid her head on Miss Bull's knee like a faithful dog. Miss Bull patted her head and allowed her to remain in this position while she spoke to George. Margery sobbed for a time, and then remained quiet, listening to every word, and quite content to feel the gentle hand of the old maid smoothing her hair.

"I suppose you were astonished when Mr. Bawdsey told you?" said Miss Bull, looking with piercing eyes at Brendon.

"I was. I never thought that you-you-"

"That I would kill Mrs. Jersey," finished the woman, quietly. "Why not? She was a bad, wicked creature, and caused the death of your father. She boasted of it."

"Where? When?" asked the astonished young man.

"In this very room, in my presence. But to make you understand, I had better tell you all."

"One moment, Miss Bull. When you told the fortunes on that night, did you intend to kill Mrs. Jersey?"

"No. The death card did turn up. That was a strange coincidence, George. When I came down the stairs I had no more idea than you of killing the wretched woman."

"What made you do it?"

"I am telling you," replied Miss Bull, folding her hands on her lap. "Wait and hear. Mrs. Jersey was very rude to me on that night. I intended to remonstrate with her. She added insult to injury by locking Margery in her bedroom, so as to keep her from me. I heard her scolding Margery in the passage, and when all was quiet, and Mrs. Jersey had gone down the stairs, I went up to Margery's room and unlocked the door. Mrs. Jersey had struck the poor child, and she was sobbing on her bed. I then determined to go down for the second time and see Mrs. Jersey."

"For the second time? Were you down before?"

"I was," replied Miss Bull, calmly. "I wondered who Mrs. Jersey had coming to see her, particularly after she had lost her courage when she saw the yellow holly in your coat."

"You noticed that?"

"Yes, and I noticed the holly also. I wondered why you wore it. The sight of it put into my mind that fatal night when he-" Miss Bull brushed aside her thoughts-"but no matter. I thought I would see if Mrs. Jersey was seeing any one, and also I wished to talk about the yellow holly."

"But why should you trouble about her seeing any one?"

Miss Bull looked down and then looked up abruptly. "Mrs. Jersey would have sent me back to the asylum if she could, and I was always afraid lest she should see some one secretly about the matter. I crept down the stairs, leaving Margery in my room playing at Patience. Mrs. Jersey's door was closed. I heard the murmur of voices and I put my ear to the keyhole. I heard that dancer-afterward I learned that it was the dancer-I heard her accuse Mrs. Jersey of having killed Percy Vane."

"On what grounds did Lola base that accusation?"

"She said her mother told her."

"I remember," muttered George. "The mother, on receiving back the stiletto, certainly might have thought so. And what did Mrs. Jersey say?" he asked aloud.

"She denied it, and made some sort of excuse. I remained to hear no more. I knew then that Mrs. Jersey had killed my Percy."

"But she did not; it was an accident."

"I know. She explained. But she was the cause. I was right to kill her. But for her Percy would have been alive, I would have been his wife, and you, George, would have been my step-son."

"What did you do next?"

"I went up to my room and resumed my game of Patience. I intended to have a talk with Mrs. Jersey the next morning, but when I found that she had struck Margery I came down at once-"

"That was after eleven?"

"About a quarter past. Mrs. Jersey was in her room. We talked, and I told her what I had heard. She denied it. I pointed to the stiletto which was on the table as a proof that the girl had been here. Mrs. Jersey said that it was the same stiletto with which Percy had been killed, as Lola had received it from her mother. That put the thought into my head that God intended Mrs. Jersey should be slain with the same weapon with which my darling had been stabbed."

"A terrible thought. You should have put it away."

"I did, but it came again. I accused Mrs. Jersey of having killed Percy. She gloried in the fact that it was through her he had died. She declared that if Ireland had not held her hand she would have laid him dead at her feet. She exulted that the accident had fulfilled her intention, and taunted me with the fact that I never became his wife. I was very quiet," added Miss Bull, her eyes glittering, "but my blood was boiling. Mrs. Jersey turned her back on me with an insolent laugh and sat down. The stiletto was on the table, her head was turned away. I softly took the dagger, and-"

"No! no!" cried Margery, wailing, "you never did it-you never did it, dear Miss Bull. It was I who-"

"Don't be a fool, child! I did it, and I would do it again." Miss Bull rose. "George, you now know all, go-no, do not shake hands. I have avenged your father, and I expect I will be hanged."

Margery burst out into renewed weeping, and Miss Bull soothed her, talking to George the while. "Tell my sister," she said, "that the name of Howard will not be mentioned. I will die under my false name. No disgrace will be brought on her. As to Dorothy-" here Miss Bull's eyes grew tender-"no disgrace will befall her. Marry her, George, love her, make her a good husband, and-take this kiss to her from a sorely tried woman."