Faust Upset had been put into rehearsal at once, and three weeks after the murder of Lazarus it was to be produced. Mortimer had hurried on the production of the burlesque with the uttermost speed, as "Prince Carnival" was now playing to empty houses. The Bon-Bon company were kept hard at work, and, what with rehearsals during the day, the performance of the opera-bouffe in the evening, and rehearsals afterwards till two in the morning, they were all pretty well worn-out.
In spite of Kitty's indomitable spirit, she was looking haggard and ill, for the incessant work was beginning to tell on her system. The doctor told her plainly that she was killing herself, and that absolute rest was what she required; but in spite of those warnings she never gave herself a moment's peace.
I don't care two straws if I die, she said recklessly to Dr. Chinston; "I've made arrangements for the future of my child, and there's nothing else for me to live for."
She was determined to make the burlesque a success, and worked hard at rehearsals getting the author and composer to alter some things, and cut out others, making several valuable suggestions as to stage-management, and in every way doing her best. But though friendly towards Keith, yet he was conscious of a kind of reserve in her manner towards him, and thought it was due to the knowledge that he was engaged to Eugénie.
He had become reconciled to his sweetheart, and she went down every day to teach Meg at Toorak. It had been arranged that in three months she was to go to England with Meg, and Kitty guaranteed to pay a certain sum annually for the salary of the governess and the maintenance of the child. Of course Eugénie never meant to take any money, as she had become strongly attached to Meg, but still kept up her semblance of poverty till such time as she judged it fit to tell Keith. Meanwhile, in spite of Keith's opposition, she lived with Caprice, and led a very quiet life, for what with the state of her health and constant rehearsals, Kitty gave no Sunday receptions.
But while Stewart fumed and fretted over the fact of his sweetheart staying with a woman of bad character like Caprice, and attended to all the rehearsals of the burlesque, Naball was silently winding his net round him. The detective had made inquiries at the Skylarks' Club, and found that Keith had been there on that night, in the company of Fenton. On discovering this, he went to Fenton and discovered that Stewart had lent the American the knife with which the crime had been committed, to cut the wires of a champagne bottle, and afterwards slipped it into his coat pocket. From the club he went to the Bon-Bon Theatre, and, as the detective knew from Keith's own admission, had left there at half-past twelve.
And then, said Naball to himself, "he told me he wandered about the streets till two o'clock, and then saw Villiers--rubbish--he went straight to Russell Street and committed the crime."
It had taken Naball some time to collect the necessary evidence, and it was only on the day previous to the production of "Faust Upset" that he was able to get a warrant for Keith's arrest, so he determined to let the performance take place before he arrested him.
If it's a success, said Naball to himself, as he slipped the warrant in his pocket, "he'll have had one jolly hour to himself, and if it's a failure--well, he'll be glad enough to go to gaol." So, with this philosophical conclusion, Mr. Naball settled in his own mind that he would go to the theatre.
Keith wanted Eugénie to go to a box with him in order to see the play, but she said she would rather go to the stalls by herself, in order to judge of the effect the burlesque had on the audience. After a good deal of argument, Stewart gave way; so on the momentous night she took her seat in the stalls, eager to see the first bid her lover made for fame.
Tulch had been recalled from his task of watching Stewart, as Naball judged that the vanity of an author seeing his work on the stage would be enough to keep the young man in Melbourne; but Tulch, true to his instincts of finishing a job properly, took his place in the gallery and kept his eye on Keith, who sat with Ezra in a private box. The Jew was calm and placid, as having succeeded to his father's fortune, he had not staked everything, like Keith, on the burlesque being a success; still, for his partner's sake as well as his own, he was anxious that it should go well.
Such a crowded house as it was--everybody in Melbourne was there--for a new play by a colonial author was a rare thing, and a burlesque by a colonial author, with original music by a colonial composer, was almost unheard of.
The critics who were present felt an unwonted sense of responsibility to-night, for as this was the first production of the piece on any stage, they had to give an opinion on their own responsibility. Hitherto the generality of plays produced in Melbourne had their good and bad points settled long before by London critics, so it was comparatively easy to give a verdict; but to-night it was quite a different thing, therefore the gentlemen of the press intended to be extra careful in their remarks.
Although "Faust Upset" was called a burlesque, it was more of an opera-bouffe, as there was an absence of puns and rhyme about the dialogue, besides which, the lyrics were really cleverly written, and the music brisk and sparkling. Keith had taken the old medi?val legend of Faust, and reversed it entirely--all the male characters of the story he made female, and vice versa. There was a good deal of satire in the piece about the higher education of women, and the devotion of young men to athletics, to the exclusion of brain work. In fact, the libretto was of a decidedly Gilbertian flavour, albeit rather more frivolous, while the music was entirely of the Offenbachian school, light, tuneful and rapid.
After a medley overture, containing a number of taking melodies in the piece, the curtain rose on the study of Miss Faust, a blue-stocking of the deepest dye, who, after devoting her life to acquiring knowledge, finds herself, at the age of fifty, an old maid with no one to care for her. The character was played by Toltby, who was a genuine humorist; and he succeeded in making a great deal out of the part, without ever condescending to vulgarity. His appearance as a lank, long maiden, in a dingy sage-green gown, with wan face and tousled hair, was ludicrous in the extreme.
The opening chorus was sung by a number of pretty girls, in caps and gowns, and on their going out to meet their lovers, Miss Faust, overcome with loneliness, summons to her aid the powers of evil, and in response "Miss Mephistopheles" appears.
Kitty looked charming as she stood in the centre of the red limelight. She was arrayed in the traditional dress of red, but as a female demon wore a petticoat, and her face was also left untouched. Miss Faust fainted in her chair, and Miss Mephistopheles, with a bright light in her eyes, and a reckless devil may-care look on her expressive face, whirled down to the footlights, and dashed into a rattling galop song, "Yes, this is I," which melody ran all through the opera.
With the assistance of various cosmetics, new dress, and sundry other articles of feminine toilet, which were brought in by a number of small imps, Miss Mephistopheles succeeds in making Miss Faust young; shows her a vision of Mr. Marguerite, a young athlete; and finally changes the scene to the market-place, where there was a chorus of young men in praise of athletic sports.
It would be useless to give the plot in detail, as Keith followed the lines of the legend pretty closely. Miss Faust meets Mr. Marguerite, who is beloved by Miss Siebel, a sporting young woman. There was the garden scene, with a lawn tennis ground; a vision on the Brocken, of the future of women, with grotesque ballets and fantastic dresses; the scene of the duel, which was a quarrel scene between Mrs. Valentine and Miss Faust, after the style of Madame Angot; then Miss Mephistopheles runs off with Mr. Marguerite, having fallen in love with him; the lovers are followed and thrown into a prison, which is changed by the magic power of Miss Mephistopheles to a race-course, in which scene there is a bewildering array of betting men, pugilists, pretty girls, and fortune-tellers. Miss Mephistopheles then resigns Mr. Marguerite to Miss Siebel, and wants to carry off Miss Faust to the nether regions, when a flaw is discovered in the deed, and everything is settled amicably, the whole play ending with the galop chorus of the first number.
When the curtain fell on the first act, the audience were somewhat bewildered; it was such an entirely new departure from the story of Faust, that they almost resented it. But as the piece progressed, they saw the real cleverness of the satire, and when the curtain came down they called loudly for the author and composer, who came forward and bowed their acknowledgments.
When Mortimer heard the eulogies lavished on the piece, he drew a long breath of relief.
Jove! I thought it was going to fail, he said, "and I believe it would have, if Caprice hadn't pulled it out of the fire."
And, indeed, Caprice, with her wonderful spirits and reckless abandon. had carried the whole play with her, and saved it at the most critical moment, A young man sitting near Eugénie summed up his idea of the piece in a few words.
It's a deuced clever play, he said; "but Caprice makes it go--if any one else plays her part, the theatre will be empty."
Eugénie turned angrily to look for the author of this remark, but could not see him. Just as she was turning away, a shrill voice near her said,--
Ain't Caprice a stunner! I've seen 'er lots of times at old Lazarus's.
The speaker was a small, white-faced Jewish youth, being none other than Isaiah.
Miss Rainsford pondered over these words as she walked out of the theatre.
Goes to old Lazarus's, she said to herself; "that was the old man who was killed. I wonder why she went there."
There was a crowd in the vestibule of the theatre, and she saw Keith standing in the corner, looking as pale as death, talking to a man.
She went up to congratulate him on the success of the performance, but something in his face made her afraid.
What's the matter, Keith? she asked, touching him.
Hush! he said in a hoarse whisper, "don't say a word--I'm arrested."
Arrested! What for? she gasped.
The man standing next to Keith interposed.
For the murder of Jacob Lazarus, he said in a low voice.
Eugénie closed her eyes with a sensation of horror, and caught hold of the wall for support. When she opened her eyes again, Keith and the detective had both vanished.
Arrested for the murder of Lazarus! she muttered. "My God! it can't be true!"
As a rule first performances in Melbourne take place on Saturday night, consequently the criticisms on "Faust Upset" were in Monday's papers. Simultaneously with the notices of the burlesque, there appeared an announcement that the author of the piece had been arrested for the murder of Jacob Lazarus.
Keith was very little known in Melbourne, so his arrest personally caused little talk; but the fact that a successful author and a murderer were one and the same person caused a great sensation.
The criticisms on the burlesque were, as a rule, good, and though some of the papers picked out faults, yet it was generally agreed that the piece had been a wonderful success; but the sensation of a successful colonial production having taken place was merged in the greater sensation of the discovery of the Russell Street murderer.
Keith Stewart, protesting his innocence of the charge, had immediately been taken off to gaol, and Eugénie was unable to see him until she got the permission of the proper authorities; but feeling certain that he had not committed the crime, she called on Ezra at The Penny Whistle early on Monday morning.
On sending up her card, she was shown into Ezra's room, and there found that Naball was present. The detective, who was fully convinced of Keith's guilt, had called in order to find out for certain from Ezra all about the prisoner's movements on the night in question.
When Eugénie entered the room, Ezra, who looked pale and careworn, arose and greeted her warmly. He then introduced her to Naball, who looked keenly at the sad face of the woman who was engaged to the man he had hunted down.
Mr. Naball, said Ezra, indicating the detective, "has called upon me to find out about Stewart's movements on the night my father was murdered."
Yes; that's so, replied Naball, with a shrewd glance at the Jew.
Well, said Eugénie impatiently, "surely you can explain them, for Keith told me you were with him all the time."
Ezra looked dismal.
No, I wasn't with him all the time; I only met him at the Bon-Bon, and I left before he did.
Yes, interposed the detective smoothly; "and, according to Mr. Mortimer, Stewart left there about half-past twelve o'clock."
And then, I presume, said Eugénie, with fine disdain, "you think he went and murdered Lazarus right off?"
Well, observed Naball, deliberately smoothing his gloves, "according to the doctor's evidence, the crime was committed about twelve o'clock, or a little later. Now Stewart can't say where he was between the time he left the theatre and the time he met Villiers."
He was wandering about the streets, explained Eugénie.
Naball smiled cynically.
Yes; so he says.
And so every one else says who knows Keith Stewart, retorted the girl. "He is incapable of such an act."
Naball shrugged his shoulders as much as to say that he had nothing to urge against such an eminently feminine argument.
Eugénie looked angrily at the detective, and then turned in despair to the Jew.
You don't believe him guilty? she asked.
No, on my soul, I do not, he replied fervently; "still appearances look black against him."
Miss Rainsford thought for a few moments, and at last bluntly asked Naball the same question.
Do you believe him guilty?
As far as my experience goes, said the detective coolly, "I do."
Why?
Naball produced a little pocket-knife, and began to trim his nails.
The evidence is circumstantial, he said, shrugging his shoulders, "but the evidence is conclusive."
Would you mind telling me what the evidence is?
The detective shut his knife with a sharp click, slipped it into his waistcoat pocket, and, leaning over the table, looked steadily at Eugénie.
Miss Rainsford, he said gravely, "I admire you very much for the way you stand up for Stewart, but, believe me, that though I would gladly see him free, yet the proofs are too strong to suppose him innocent."
Eugénie bent her head coldly. "Would you mind telling me the evidence?" she reiterated.
Naball, rather perplexed, looked at Ezra. "Yes, tell her all you know," said that gentleman. "I think, myself, Stewart is innocent, and perhaps Miss Rainsford may throw some light on the mystery."
I don't call it a mystery, retorted Naball impatiently; "it's as clear as day. I'm willing to tell all I know; but as to Miss Rainsford throwing any light on the subject, it's absurd."
Eugénie questioned him for the third time in the same words.
Would you mind telling me the evidence?
Certainly, said Naball sharply. "Stewart was in employment of the deceased as his clerk. He came to Melbourne with no money, and, according to his own account, given in this very room, and in the presence of this gentleman, he becomes possessed of a sum of five hundred pounds, which was mysteriously placed to his credit at the Hibernian Bank. I went to the bank, and discovered from the manager that such a sum had been placed to the prisoner's credit, but he refused to tell me by whom, so, as was only natural, I concluded that Stewart had robbed his employer of the money, and under a feigned name placed it to his credit. My reasons for such a belief are this--he had full command of all the books, and could cook the accounts as he liked. He did so, and obtained this money. Lazarus, however, who I know was a very sharp man, had suspicions, and determined to examine the books; this, of course, meant ruin to Stewart, so he made up his mind to kill his master. He was at the Skylarks' Club on the night of the murder, and gave Mr. Fenton, the manager of The Never-say-die Insurance Company, his knife to open a champagne bottle; that knife was one given to him by the child of Kitty Marchurst, and has on it an inscription, 'From Meg.' On receiving it back, he placed it in the pocket of his overcoat, and walked to the Bon-Bon. After an interview with Mr. Mortimer, he left the Bon-Bon at half-past twelve o'clock, went up to Russell Street, and entering by the back window (the position of which he knew thoroughly), killed the old man; then he took the keys from under the pillow, and robbed the safe of various things, including bank-notes to the amount of one hundred pounds, which he knew were placed therein; while leaving the place, he dropped his knife outside the window; he then wanders about the streets, perhaps goes home, but horror-struck with the dread of being found out, returns to the scene of his crime, and there sees Villiers, whom he questions, but getting no response from him, thinks Villiers is drunk. Villiers, however, was only shamming, and tells me some time afterwards that he picked up a knife under the open window, and was cognisant of the murder. I obtain the knife, and it is the one Stewart had in the club, with the inscription on it. I think, therefore, the evidence is very clear."
In what way? asked Eugénie quietly.
The detective became a little exasperated.
Good heavens! he said in an annoyed tone of voice, "there are three strong proofs: first, he is possessed of a large sum of money he can't account for; second, he is unable to prove an alibi; and third, his knife, covered with blood, is found on the scene of the crime."
So far so good, said Eugénie ironically; "your reasoning is excellent, Mr. Naball, but untrue."
Untrue?
I repeat untrue, she replied. "With regard to the five hundred pounds--I paid that into his credit."
You, said Ezra, while Naball stared at her thunder-struck, "a poor girl."
I'm not a poor girl, said Miss Rainsford coolly. "On the contrary, I'm worth fifty thousand pounds left to me by a sharebroker in Sandhurst. I did not tell Keith of my fortune as I wanted him to love me for myself. But as I knew he was poor, I placed to his credit the sum of five hundred pounds; so that settles your first proof, Mr. Naball."
Well, it's certainly very curious, said Naball, after a pause. "I hardly know what to think--what about my second proof?"
Oh! that's more difficult to prove, said Eugénie; "but I quite believe he did wander about. He's rather absent-minded, I know."
Your answer to my second proof is weak, replied Naball sardonically. "And the third--"
About the knife? Well, said Miss Rainsford, knitting her brows, "he had it at the club, you say, and slipped it into his overcoat pocket."
Exactly.
Then he went to the Bon-Bon.
He did.
"And what happened to his overcoat there?' asked Eugénie. I can tell you,"" replied Ezra. ""He took it off, and in mistake Caprice carried it downstairs with her fur mantle.""
"Oh, did she take it away with her? asked Naball quickly.
No, said Ezra quietly, "she found out she had it when she was putting on her mantle in the carriage, and called me back to return it. I took it upstairs again, and gave it to Keith, who put it on."
And the knife was still in the pocket? said Eugénie.
I suppose so, replied Ezra, rather confused. "I didn't even know the knife was there."
What do you think? asked Miss Rainsford, turning to Naball.
That astute young man wrinkled his brows.
I see what you are driving at, he said rapidly. "You think that Caprice took the knife out of the pocket, saw the whole chance in a flash, and committed the crime."
No! no! cried Eugénie, horror struck. "I'm sure I don't believe she could be guilty of a crime."
Humph! I don't know so much about that, said Naball disbelievingly.
What nonsense, broke in Ezra angrily; "she could not have done such a thing--she had no motive."
Naball did not reply to this remark, but rising from his seat, walked hurriedly up and down the room in a state of great excitement. He had been fully convinced of the guilt of Stewart, but the conversation of Eugénie had shaken his belief, and he began to puzzle over the new aspect of the case.
I wonder if Caprice ever had any dealings with Lazarus? he said to himself, thinking of the diamond robbery.
Yes, broke in Eugénie sharply, "she had--at least," in answer to Naball's questioning look, "when I was at the theatre on Saturday night a boy near me said he had seen her at Lazarus's place."
A boy, asked Ezra sharply, "what boy?"
I don't know, she replied; "a thin, pale-faced Jewish-looking boy, with a shrill voice."
Isaiah, said Naball and Ezra with one voice, and then looked at one another, amazed at this new discovery.
By Jove! said the detective, "this is becoming exciting. You are sure you heard the boy say that?"
Yes, I'm sure--quite sure, answered Eugénie firmly; "but I don't think that could prove Caprice guilty. Much as I wish to serve Keith, I don't want to ruin her."
Naball glanced at her keenly, then turned to Ezra.
Send for the boy, he said sharply, "and we'll find out all about Caprice's visits to your father's place."
It mightn't have anything to do with the murder, said Ezra, ringing the bell for the messenger.
True, replied Naball, "but, on the other hand, it might have a good deal to do with the diamond robbery."
When the messenger had been despatched, Naball drew his seat up to the table, and began to make some notes, after which he turned to Eugénie.
I was firmly convinced of Stewart's guilt, he said quietly; "but what you have told me throws a new light on the subject. I said you could not do that--I beg your pardon--you can."
Eugénie bowed her head in acknowledgment of the apology, and asked him a question in a hesitating manner.
You don't think Caprice is guilty?
I think nothing at present, he replied evasively; "not even that Stewart is innocent. When I see the boy, I'll tell you what I think."
They talked on together for a few minutes, and then there came a knock at the door. In reply to Ezra's permission to enter, the door opened, and Isaiah appeared on the threshold, holding some papers in his hand.
Oh, you've come, said Ezra, as the boy shut the door after him.
Yes; did you want me? demanded Isaiah in a jerky manner, "'cos I never knowed you did."
Didn't you meet a messenger? asked Naball, turning his head round.
Isaiah deposited the papers he carried on Ezra's desk, and shook his head.
No, I never met any one, I didn't, he answered. "Mr. Ezra asked me to bring all letters that came to the old 'un, so as these came, I did."
That's right, said Lazarus, looking through the letters. "By-the-way, Isaiah, this gentleman wants to ask you a few questions."
What, Mr. Naball? said Isaiah in alarm. "Oh, sir, I never had nothing to do with it."
Naball smiled.
No! no! that's all right, he said good-naturedly. "It would take a bigger man than a sprat like you to commit such a crime; but, tell me, do you know Caprice?"
Isaiah leered significantly.
I've seen her on the stage, that's all.
Never off?
Drivin' about the streets.
Anywhere else?
Isaiah glanced uneasily at Ezra, who laughed.
Go on, Isaiah; it's all right.
Well, I've seen her at the old 'un's place.
Oh, indeed, said Naball quickly. "Often?"
Yes--lots of times--at night--came to do business, I s'pose.
When did you see her last?
Oh, not for a long time, replied Isaiah; "but do you remember the week them diamonds were stolen?"
Yes, yes, said Naball eagerly.
Isaiah nodded.
Well, she came to see the old 'un, then.
Naball suppressed his exultation with difficulty, and asked Isaiah another question.
I say--those bank-notes that were stolen--
I never stole 'em.
No one said you did, retorted Naball tartly; "but you wrote something on the back of one of 'em."
Isaiah turned scarlet, and shifted from one leg to the other.
Well, you see, he murmured apologetically, "Mr. Stewart wanted to know a good 'un to back for the Cup, so I was afraid of the old 'un hearing, and as there wasn't no paper, I wrote on the back of one of 'em, 'Back Flat-Iron.'"
In pencil?
No, in ink. Mr. Stewart, he laughs and nods, then puts the notes in the cash box, and puts 'em in the safe.
That's all right, said Naball, dismissing him; "you can go."
Isaiah put on his hat, put his hands in his pockets, and departed, whistling a tune. When the door closed on him, Naball turned to his two companions with an exulting light in his eyes.
What do you think now, Mr. Naball? asked Eugénie.
Think. I think as I've done all along, he replied. "Caprice stole those jewels herself, and sold them to old Lazarus."
But what's that got to do with the death of my father? asked Ezra.
Perhaps nothing--perhaps a lot, said the detective. "I don't know but that boy's evidence has given me a clue. Suppose--I'm only supposing, mind you--Caprice stole her own diamonds, with Villiers as an accomplice. Suppose she took them to old Lazarus and sold 'em. Suppose Villiers, thinking the old man has them in his safe, goes to rob him, and commits the murder to do so. Suppose all that--I should think there would be a very pretty case against Villiers."
Yes; but Keith's knife? said Eugénie.
Ah, now you have me, answered Naball, puzzled. "I don't know, unless Villiers managed to get it while Stewart was fighting with him on that night, and covered it in blood in order to throw suspicion on him."
All your ideas are theoretical, said Ezra drily. "Perhaps Caprice never stole her own jewels, or sold them to my father."
Yes, she did, I'll swear, retorted Naball decisively. "Why wouldn't she prosecute? why did I find Villiers with one of the jewels? You bet, she stole them for some freak, and I daresay Villiers committed the murder to get them back."
I don't think my father would have kept such valuable jewels as that about the premises.
No; he'd put 'em in the bank.
No, he wouldn't, retorted Ezra; "he sent all his jewels to Amsterdam. And here," holding up a letter, "is an envelope with the Dutch postmark."
By Jove! ejaculated Naball, under his breath, "what a queer thing if it should turn out to be those diamonds of Caprice's. Open the letter."
Suppose it does turn out to be the diamonds, said Ezra, slowly tearing the envelope.
Well--Naball drew a long breath--"it will be the beginning of the end."
I hope it will end in Keith's being released, said Eugénie, looking at Ezra with intense anxiety.
That gentleman took out the letter, and glancing at it for a moment, gave vent to an ejaculation of disgust.
What's the matter? asked Eugénie and Naball together.
The letter is in cypher, said Lazarus, tossing it over to the detective. "I don't think we'll be able to read it."
Oh, we'll have a try, said Naball, quickly spreading oat the letter. "Let's have a look at it."
The letter was as follows:--
Dsidanmo seaf utnes teh ssteon ryiks sgenlil gto teher tdhnoaus sgennid it lses teher hduenrd bneiertns.
What the deuce does it mean? asked Naball in a puzzled tone.
It's a cypher, evidently, of which my father alone possesses the key, said Ezra. "I'll have a look among his papers, and if I find it, it will soon make sense of this jumble of words."
It's like a Chinese puzzle, observed Naball, glancing at it. "I never could find out these things."
Let me look, said Eugénie, taking the letter. "I used to be rather good at puzzles."
We'll find this one out, said Naball significantly, "and you'll do some good for Stewart."
You think it's about Caprice's diamonds? she asked.
I think it's about Caprice's diamonds, he replied.
I think the words have been written backwards, said Ezra, looking over her shoulder.
Eugénie shook her head.
I don't think so, she replied, scanning the letter closely. "If so, the word 'it' would have been written 'ti.'"
Try a word of three letters, if there's one, suggested Naball, "and you can see how the letters are placed."
Here's one spelt 'g-t-o.' What word can be made out of that.
Got, said Ezra eagerly.
Well, if so, in the cypher it reads, the first letter 'g,' the last, letter 't,' and the middle letter at the end.
What do you think of that? asked Naball bluntly.
That the sender of this has taken the first and last letters of a word, and written them in rotation.
I don't understand, said Naball in a puzzled tone.
I think I do, said Eugénie quickly. "Let us take another word, and instead of guessing it, try my idea, Here is a word, 'teher.' Now, Mr. Naball, take a sheet of paper and write down what I say."
Naball got some paper and a pencil.
Now, said Eugénie, "this word 'teher.' The first letter is 't,' now the second letter, which, I think, is the end one of the proper word, is 'e'--place that at the end."
Naball wrote "t--e."
The third letter of the cypher, and the second of the proper word, is 'h'--put that next the 't;' and the fourth letter of the cypher, and third of the proper word, is 'e'--place that at the end also.
Naball added two letters as instructed, "t,h--e,e."
Now, said Eugénie, "there's only one letter left, which must naturally be in the middle."
Naball finished his writing thus: t-h-r-e-e.
That is three, he said, with a cry of triumph. "By Jove! Miss Rainsford, you are clever; let's make certain, by trying another letter."
Take 's-s-t-e-o-n,' suggested Ezra.
Naball wrote the letters as follows:--
s -- s
t -- e
o -- n
Then he wrote them in a line, down the first column and up the second, which made the word "stones."
Glad we've got it right, after all, he said delightedly, and then the whole three of them went to work on the same system, with the result that the letter read thus:--
Diamonds safe, unset the stones, risky selling, got three thousand, sending it less three hundred, bernstein.
Ah! said Naball when he read this, "wasn't I right?"
So I think, said Ezra sadly; "my father evidently bought the jewels from her, and sent them to Amsterdam to be sold."
Still, said Eugénie impatiently, "this does not clear up the mystery of the murder."
You don't think Caprice did it? said Ezra.
No, replied the detective; "but Villiers might have done it in order to recover the jewels. But I tell you what, there's only one thing to be done, we'll go down and see Caprice."
This was agreed to, and without losing a moment they started.
I may be wrong, as I was before, said Naball when they were in the train, "but I'll lay any money that Villiers has seen Caprice since the murder."
You don't think she's an accomplice? cried Eugénie.
I think nothing, retorted Naball, "till I see Caprice."
The trio soon arrived at Kitty's house, and Ezra was just about to ring the front-door bell, when suddenly Naball touched his arm to stop him.
Hist! he said in a quick whisper; "listen."
A woman's voice, talking in a high key, and then the deep tones of a man's voice, like the growl of an angry beast.
What did I tell you? whispered Naball again. "Villiers and Caprice, both in the drawing-room; wait a moment, count twenty, and then ring the bell."
He stepped round the corner of the porch, stepped stealthily on to the verandah, and then stole softly towards one of the French windows in order to listen. He was correct in his surmise; the two speakers were Kitty Marchurst and Randolph Villiers.
You'd better give me what I ask, growled Villiers in a threatening tone, "or I'll go straight and tell how you were at Lazarus's on the night of the murder."
Perhaps you'll tell I killed him? said Caprice, with a sneer.
Perhaps I will, retorted Villiers; "there's no knowing."
There's this much knowing, said Kitty deliberately, "that I won't give you a single penny. If I am called on to explain my movements, I can't do so; but it will be the worse for you, it will place--"
At this moment the bell rang, and Caprice started in alarm.
Hush, she cried, advancing towards Villiers; "come to me again. I must not be seen talking with you here. Go away--not by the door," she said, with an angry stamp of her foot as Villiers went towards the door; "by the window--no one will see you."
Villiers moved towards the French window, opened it, and was just about to step out when Naball stepped forward.
I'm afraid some one will, he said serenely, pushing Villiers back into the room, and closing the window.
Naball! cried Kitty and Villiers in a breath.
Exactly, replied that gentleman, taking a chair. "I've come to have a talk with you both."
How dare you force your way into my house? cried Kitty angrily, while Villiers stood looking sullenly at the detective.
It's about the diamond robbery, went on Naball, as if he never heard her.
Leave the house, she cried, stamping her foot.
And about the murder, he finished off, looking from one to the other.
Kitty glanced at Villiers, who looked at her with a scowl, and sank into a chair. Just as he did so, the drawing-room door opened, and Eugénie entered, followed by Ezra Lazarus.
I don't understand the meaning of all this, said Caprice, with a sneer; "but you seem to have a good idea of dramatic effect."
Perhaps so, replied Naball lazily. Kitty shrugged her shoulders and turned to Eugénie.
Perhaps you can explain all this, Miss Rainsford? she said coolly.
Yes, answered Eugénie slowly; "it's about Mr. Stewart. You know he has been arrested for this murder?"
Know, repeated Kitty impatiently, "of course, I know. I'm sure I ought to--morn, noon and night I've heard nothing else. I don't know how it will affect the piece, I'm sure."
Never mind the piece, said Ezra, a trifle sternly. "I don't mind that, as long as I save my friend."
I hope you will, said Caprice heartily. "I am certain he never committed the crime. What do you say?" turning to the detective.
I'm beginning to be of your opinion, replied Naball candidly. "I did think him guilty once," fixing his eyes on Villiers, "but now I don't."
What about the knife I gave you? asked Villiers abruptly.
Ah! said Naball musingly, "what, indeed."
I found it on the scene of the crime, said Villiers in a defiant manner.
So you said.
Don't you believe me?
Humph!
At this ambiguous murmur Villiers gave a savage growl, and would have replied, but Kitty stopped him by waving her hand.
It's no good talking like this, she said quickly. "There is some reason for you all coming here; what is it?"
I'll tell you, said Naball in a sharp official tone. "Do you remember the diamond robbery at this place? Well, those diamonds were sold to old Lazarus, and he sent them to Amsterdam for sale. The person who stole those diamonds thought they were still in the safe of Jacob Lazarus; and the person who stole those diamonds murdered Jacob Lazarus to recover them."
He finished triumphantly, and then waited to see what effect his accusation would have on Kitty. To his astonishment, however, she never moved a muscle of her face, but asked calmly,--
And who is the thief and the murderer?
That's what I want to find out.
Naturally; but why come to me?
Because, you know.
I! she cried, rising to her feet in anger. "I know nothing."
Yes, you do, and so does Villiers there, persisted Naball.
Villiers glanced strangely at Kitty, and growled sullenly.
Now, look here Miss Marchurst, said Naball rapidly, "it's no use beating about the bush--I know more than you think. You denied that you stole your own jewels, but I know you did, in order to pay the money embezzled by Malton. Lazarus's boy saw you go to his place during the week of the robbery, late at night. You did so in order to dispose of the jewels. The crescent I took from Villiers down Bourke Street was given to him by you as an accomplice; and I listened at that window to-day and heard Villiers say you were on the Russell Street premises on the night of the murder. Now, what do you say?"
Kitty, still on her feet, was deadly pale, but looked rapidly at Naball.
You have made up a very clever case, she said quietly; "but entirely wrong--yes, entirely. I did not take my own jewels, as I told you before, therefore I was unable to pay the money for Mr. Malton. I did go to see Lazarus one night during the week of the robbery, in order to get some money, but was unable to do so. I never gave the crescent to Villiers, as he will tell you; and lastly, as you overheard him state, I was at Lazarus's on the night of the murder, but did not think it necessary to state so. I went there after I left the Bon-Bon, and made no secret of my doing so, as my coachman can inform you. I found the door locked, and no light inside, so thinking the old man had gone to bed, I came away, and went home; so, you see, your very clever case means nothing."
Is this true? asked Naball, turning to Villiers.
Is what true? asked that gentleman angrily.
What she says.
Some of it. Well, yes, most of it.
You'd better go a little further, said Kitty quietly, "and say all of it. Did I give you the diamond crescent?"
No, you didn't.
Then, who did? asked Naball pertinaciously.
I sha'n't tell you, growled Villiers.
Oh, yes, you will, said the detective, "because if you know who stole the diamonds, you know the murderer of Lazarus."
No, I don't, retorted Villiers savagely. "I tell you I saw her round about the place on that night, and I picked up the knife I gave you; that's all I know."
Humph! we'll see about that.
You are sure that the person who stole the diamonds committed the crime? asked Caprice, with a strange smile on her pale lips.
Well, I'm pretty sure; it looks uncommon like it.
And you think I stole the diamonds?
Yes, retorted Naball bluntly; "I believe you did."
In that case, by your own reasoning, I'm a murderess, said Caprice.
I don't say that, said the detective; "but I believe you know who did it," looking significantly at Villiers.
I'm afraid your reasonings and your assertions are at variance, said Kitty quietly. "I don't know who committed the murder, but I do know who stole my diamonds."
Who? asked Ezra, in an excited tone.
Keith Stewart!
Keith Stewart! echoed all; "impossible!"
Eugénie stepped forward with a frown on her pale face, and looked at Kitty.
I don't believe it, she said, "and you are a wicked woman to say so."
Unfortunately, it's true, replied Caprice, with a sigh. "I have kept the secret as long as I could, but now it's impossible to do so any longer. Keith Stewart was at my place on the night of the robbery, and heard me say where my diamonds were. He was coming to the drawing-room, and saw my child descending the stairs, having got out of bed. He picked her up, and put her in bed again. The temptation was too strong to resist, I suppose, and he opened the drawer of the mirror, and took the jewels. He then got out of the window, and came round by the front of the house so as to enter by the front-door. Meg was awake all the time, and told it to me in her childish way, how he had gone to the window and got out of it. I told her not to speak of it, and kept silence."
Why did you keep silence? asked Naball.
Why, cried Kitty, her face flushing with anger, "because he saved my child from death. He might have stolen anything of mine, but I would have kept silent, nor would I have betrayed him now but that you accuse me of murder."
There was a dead silence in the room, as every one was touched by the way in which Kitty spoke. Then Villiers gave a coarse laugh.
Ha! ha! he said harshly; "you said, Naball, that the person who stole the diamonds committed the murder also, so you've got the right man in gaol."
Naball cast a look of commiseration at Eugénie, and said nothing.
Wait a moment, cried Ezra, stepping forward, "we've got to find the stolen bank-notes first. I don't believe Keith Stewart committed such a base crime; he is no murderer."
No, cried Eugénie, springing to her feet; "nor is he a thief. I will prove his innocence."
I'm afraid that's difficult, said Naball reflectively; "things look black against him."
Of course they do, said Villiers coarsely. "Who knows he is innocent?"
Eugénie stepped in front of the ruffian, and raised her hand to the ceiling.
There is One who knows he is innocent--God.
All this time while his friends were trying to prove his innocence, Keith was mewed up in prison, having now been there a week. The disgrace of being arrested on such a charge had aged him considerably, and his face had changed from a healthy bronzed colour to a waxen paleness, while the circles under his eyes, and the deep lines furrowing his brow, showed how deeply he was affected by the position in which he found himself.
He steadily denied that he committed the crime imputed to him, and regarding the knife found by Villiers, could only say that, after putting it in his pocket at the club, he thought no more of it till next morning, when, having occasion to use it, he found it had disappeared.
Some time after the interview with Kitty, when she told how Keith had stolen the diamonds, Eugénie was admitted to the presence of her unfortunate lover. She had tried to see him before, but had always been refused; so when she did gain her object at last, and they stood face to face, both were so overcome with emotion that they could hardly speak. Keith held out his arms to her, with a smile on his wan face, and with an inarticulate cry she flung herself on his breast, weeping bitterly.
Don't cry, dear, he said soothingly, making her sit down on the bed. "There! there!" and he quieted her as if she had been a little child.
I can't help it, she said, drying her eyes; "it seems so terrible to see you here."
No doubt, replied Keith quietly; "but I know I am innocent, and that robs the disgrace of a good deal of its sting."
I know you are innocent, answered Eugénie, "but how to prove it; I thought things would have turned out all right; but when we saw Kitty Marchurst--"
She said I had stolen her diamonds, finished Stewart, with a satirical laugh. "I've no doubt she fully believes it, and I thank her for having held her tongue so long; but she was never more mistaken in her life. I did put Meg back to bed, but I came down the stairs again, and did not leave the room by the window."
But how is it the child saw you? Of course, you know--
I know everything. Yes. Naball told me all. Meg says she saw a man she thought was me getting out of the window. I've no doubt she did see a man, but not me.
But why should she think it you? asked Eugénie, puzzled.
Simply in this way. I put her to bed when she was half-asleep, and she knew I was in the room with her. When I left, she fell asleep, and as her slumber was fitful, as I am sure it was, seeing she came downstairs, she no doubt woke up at the sound of the window being opened, and saw a man getting out. You know how an hour's sleep passes as a moment when one wakes, so I've no doubt Meg thought she'd just closed her eyes, and opened them again to see me getting out of the window.
I understand, said Eugénie; "but who could it have been?"
I believe it was Villiers, observed Keith thoughtfully. "He was about the house on that night; he was in want of money, so no doubt when Caprice left him in the supper-room, he walked upstairs to the bedroom, stole the diamonds, and left by the window. He could easily do this, as every one was in the drawing-room. Then Naball found that diamond clasp in his possession, or, at least, in the possession of the Chinaman to whom he sold it."
But if he sold all those diamonds to old Lazarus, he must have got a good deal of money for them. Why did he not leave the country?
Keith sighed.
I'm sure I don't know. It seems all so mysterious, he said dismally. "What do you think should be done, Eugénie?"
I think I'll see Naball again, or some other detective, and sift the whole affair to the bottom.
Keith looked at her with a pitying smile.
My dear child, that will cost a lot of money, and you have not--
Eugénie gave a laugh. She was not going to tell him just yet, so she gave an evasive answer.
I've got my salary, she said gaily. "Some of it was paid to me the other day. See!" And taking out her purse, she emptied it into his hand.
Oh! what a lot of money, said Keith smiling. "A five-pound note, three sovereigns, and two one-pound notes."
Which makes exactly ten pounds, remarked Eugénie, with a smile; "and I'm going to pay it all away to Naball, to get you out of this trouble."
Stewart, kissed her, and smoothed out the notes one after the other.
It's no use, Eugénie, he said, offering her the notes back; "it will take more than that to help me; besides, you forget I have five hundred pounds in the bank."
Yes, she said, turning away her face; "five hundred."
And you'll have it--if--if I die.
She turned to him, and threw her arms round his neck.
Oh, my darling! my darling! she cried vehemently, "why do you say such things? You will not die. You will live to be happy and famous."
Famous! he said bitterly, "no; I'm not famous yet, but notorious enough. There's only one chance of escape for me."
And that is?
To trace those notes that were stolen--twenty five-pound notes like this, taking up the five-pound note.
But you haven't got the numbers.
No; but, as I told Naball, that boy wrote something on the back of one of them. Here Keith turned over the five-pound note; and then, giving a cry of surprise, sprang to his feet. "Eugénie, look, look!"
She snatched the note from him, and there on the back were traced in ink the words, "Back Flat-Iron."
One of the notes, said Keith hoarsely. "One of the notes stolen on that night by the person who murdered Jacob Lazarus."
Eugénie had also risen to her feet and her face wore a look of horror. She looked at her lover, and he looked back again, with the same name in their thoughts.
Kitty Marchurst!
Good God! said Stewart, moistening his dry lips with his tongue, "can she be guilty, after all?"
I can't believe it, said Eugénie determinedly, "though Naball says he thinks she did it. But I certainly got this note from her."
She may have received it from some one else, cried Keith eagerly. "God knows, I don't want to die myself, but to put the rope round the neck of that unhappy woman--horrible," and he covered his face with his hands.
Eugénie put on her gloves, and then touched his arm.
I'm going, she said in a quiet voice.
Going? he repeated, springing to his feet.
Yes, to see Naball, and show him the note.
But Kitty Marchurst!
Don't trouble about her, said Eugénie, a trifle coldly. "She is all right, and I've no doubt can explain where she got this note. Wherever it was, you can depend it was not from the dead man's safe. Good-bye, Keith," kissing him. "This note gives us the clue, and before many days are over you will be free, and the murderer of Jacob Lazarus will be in this cell."
When Eugénie left the prison, she went straight to Naball's office, and finding him in, told all about the wonderful discovery of the veritable five-pound note endorsed in Isaiah's writing. To say that Naball was astonished would be a mild way to state his feelings on receipt of this intelligence.
It's an uncommon piece of luck, he said, looking at the note; "we might have searched for a twelvemonth, and never come across this piece of evidence. I think we'll get to the bottom of things this time. You got it from Kitty Marchurst?"
Yes, I got it yesterday in payment of my salary
Naball whistled softly.
Things look uncommon black against that young woman, he observed thoughtfully. "I didn't half believe that story of hers about Stewart's stealing the diamonds, and now this note turning up in her possession--humph!"
But you don't think she's guilty? said Eugénie, clasping her hands.
I don't say anything, replied Naball savagely, for the difficulties of this case were beginning to irritate him. "I only say things look black against Caprice--she's as deep as a well."
What are you going to do now? asked Miss Rainsford in a trembling voice, as she rose to go.
The detective placed his hat jauntily on one side of his head, drew on his gloves, then taking his cane, walked to the door of the office, which he he held open for Eugénie to pass through.
What are you going to do now? she repeated when they were standing in the street.
I'm going down to Toorak, said Naball quietly, "to trace this note, beginning with Kitty Marchurst as the last holder of it; she'll tell lies, but whether she does or not, I'll get to the bottom of this affair. Good-day, Miss Rainsford," and taking off his hat with a flourish, he left her abruptly, and strolled leisurely down the street.
Eugénie watched him with eager eyes until he was out of sight, and then turned round to walk home.
Oh, my dear! my dear! she murmured, "if I can only save you from this terrible danger--but not at the cost of that poor woman's life--oh, not that!"
The detective, on his way down to Toorak, went over the case in his own mind, in order to see against whom the evidence was strongest. At last, after considerable cogitation, he came to the conclusion that, after all, Villiers must be the guilty man, and that Kitty knew more about the crime than she chose to tell.
I can't get over Villiers having had that diamond crescent, he thought, looking out of the carriage windows. "She denied it was hers, and then Fenton told me he gave it to her. I wonder if he had anything to do with the affair--humph!--not likely. If she thought it was him, she'd tell at once. Perhaps she really thinks Stewart stole the diamonds. Pish! I don't believe it. She's had a finger in the pie, whoever did it, and this murder is the outcome of the robbery. Well, I'll see if she can account for her possession of this five-pound note--that's the main thing."
Kitty Marchurst was at home, and sent a message to the detective that she would see him in a few minutes, so Naball walked up and down the long drawing-room with some impatience.
If she'll only tell the truth, he muttered restlessly; "but I'm getting to doubt her, so that I can't be sure. There's one thing, Keith Stewart's fate rests entirely with her now, so if he saved her child's life, as she says he did, this is the time to prove her gratitude."
At this moment the door opened, and Caprice entered. She looked pale and weary, for the trials of the last few months had not been endured without leaving some mark of their passage. Naball did not know whether this haggard-looking woman was guilty or innocent, but he could not help pitying her, so worn-out did she seem.
You are not well, he said when she seated herself.
Kitty sighed wearily, and pushed the loose hair off her forehead.
No, she replied listlessly. "I'm getting worn-out over this trouble. It's no good my telling you anything, because you don't believe me. What is the matter now? Have you got further proof of my guilt?"
I don't know, said Naball, coolly producing the five-pound note; "unless you call this proof."
A five-pound note, she said contemptuously. "Well?"
It is a five-pound note, explained Naball smoothly; "but not an ordinary one--in fact, it is one of the notes stolen from Lazarus's safe."
Oh, how do you know that? By a very curious thing. One of the notes placed in the safe on the night of the murder was endorsed by the office-boy with the words 'Back Flat-Iron,' and strange to say the endorsed note has turned up.
And that is it?
Exactly. Now, do you understand?
Kitty shrugged her shoulders.
I understand that you have secured an excellent piece of evidence, nothing more. Where did you get the note?
From Miss Rainsford.
From Miss Rainsford! repeated Kitty in surprise; "but you surely don't suspect--"
No, I don't, interposed the detective; "because she was able to tell me where she got the note from."
Well, I presume she got it from me.
Yes, replied Naball, rather surprised at this cool admission. "She received it yesterday from you."
Oh! then, you think I'm guilty?
Not if you can tell me where you got the note from.
Certainly I can--from Mortimer--paid to me the day before yesterday.
Your salary?
Not exactly, answered Kitty; "if it had been, you'd never be able to trace the note further back. No; I was at the theatre in the morning, and found myself short of money, so I asked Mortimer for some. He gave me that five-pound note, and, as he took it, from his waistcoat pocket, I've no doubt he'll be able to recollect from whom he received it."
Why?
Because Mortimer doesn't carry fivers in his waistcoat pocket generally, said Caprice impatiently, "so he must have put that note there for some special reason. You'd better go and ask him."
Certainly, said Naball, and arose to his feet. "I'm very much obliged to you."
Then you don't think me guilty? asked Kitty, with a smile.
Upon my word, I don't know what to think, said the detective dismally. "The whole case seems mixed up. I'll tell you when I find the man who can't account for the possession of this fiver."
Kitty smiled, and then Naball took his leave, going straight from Toorak to the Bon-Bon Theatre, where he found Mortimer in his sanctum, up to the ears in business, as usual.
Well, Naball, said the manager, looking up sharply, "what's up % Look sharp, I'm awfully busy."
I only want to know where you got this? asked Naball, giving him the five-pound note.
Mortimer took it up, and looked perplexed.
How the deuce should I know; I get so many. Why do you want to know?
Oh, nothing. I just want to trace the note. Caprice said you gave it to her the day before yesterday.
Eh! did I?
Yes. You took it from your waistcoat pocket.
Of course; to be sure, she wanted some money. Yes; I kept it apart because it was made money--won it off Malton at euchre.
Malton! repeated Naball in amazement; "are you sure?"
Yes, quite. You know I'm generally unlucky at cards, and this is about the first fiver I've made, so I kept it just to bring me luck; but Caprice wanted money, so I handed over my luck to her. There's nothing wrong, eh?
Oh, dear, no, replied Naball; "not the slightest--only some professional business."
Because I shouldn't like to get any poor devil into a row, said Mortimer. "Now, be off with you, I'm busy. Good-day."
Good-day, good-day.
Naball departed, curiously perplexed in his feelings. He had never thought of Malton in the light of a possible criminal, and yet it was so very strange that this note should have been traced back to him. Then he remembered the conversation he had overheard between Mrs. Malton and Kitty concerning the embezzlement, when Kitty denied that she had paid the money.
By Jove! said Naball, a sudden thought striking him, "he was present at that supper, and was in a regular hole for want of money. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he stole those diamonds to replace the money, and his wife's thanking Caprice was all a blind, and then this note--humph!--things look rather fishy, my friend."
When he arrived at the Never-say-die Insurance Company Office, he sent in his card to the assistant manager, and in a few minutes was shown into Malton's room, where that individual received him with visible uneasiness.
Well, Naball, and what brings you here? he asked, watching the detective's face stealthily.
Only a little business, in which I want your help, said Naball, taking the note out of his pocket-book. "Can you tell me where you got that?"
Malton's pink-and-white complexion grew a little pale, but he laughed in a forced manner as he glanced at the note.
Got this? he said. "I can't tell you. Was it ever in my possession?"
It was, asserted Naball. "You gave it to Mortimer the day before yesterday."
Oh, yes, I remember now, said Malton quickly. "He won it off me at cards."
Exactly. Where did you get the note?
Malton shifted uneasily in his seat, and his nether lip twitched uneasily.
I'm afraid I can hardly remember, he murmured, pushing back his chair.
Naball's suspicions were now rapidly ripening to certainties. If Malton were innocent, why these signs of agitation? He wriggled and twisted about like an eel, yet never once met the keen eye of the detective.
You'd better remember, said Naball mercilessly, "or it will be the worse for you."
Why? asked Malton, trying to appear composed.
Because, explained Naball, in a low voice, "that note is one of those stolen by the man who murdered Jacob Lazarus."
Malton, with a smothered exclamation, started to his feet, and then, shaking in every limb, sat down again.
No, no, he stammered, "that's absurd. It can't be--I tell you, it can't be."
Oh, but it can be, and it is. I tell you, the note is endorsed 'Back Flat-Iron,' which was done by the office-boy a few moments before the notes were put in the safe by Stewart. They were gone after the murder, so there is no doubt they were taken by the man who committed the crime. I got this note from Miss Rainsford, who received it from Caprice; she, in her turn, got it from Mortimer, and he has referred us to you. Now, where did you get it?
Malton drummed nervously on the table.
I can't tell you, he said in a tremulous voice.
You must.
It's impossible.
I tell you what, sir, said Naball coolly, "if you don't tell, it means trouble for you and the other man."
What other man? asked Malton shakily.
The man you got this note from.
Malton thought for a moment, and then apparently made up his mind.
You saw I was taken aback? he asked Naball curiously.
The detective nodded.
It's because I'm sorry for what I have to tell you--the man I got the note from was Ezra Lazarus.
Naball jumped to his feet with a cry.
The dead man's son? he said.
Yes; the dead man's son, replied Malton slowly.
Naball stood for a few minutes, then putting the note in his pocket-book, once more took up his hat, and moved to the door.
Where are you going? asked Malton, rising.
To see Mr. Ezra Lazarus, said Naball, pausing a moment. "In the meantime, till I have certain proof of his guilt, you hold your tongue." And he walked out, leaving Malton standing at his desk as if turned into stone.
Naball, on his way to the newspaper office, rapidly ran over in his own mind all the details of the case against Ezra.
His father wouldn't give him any money, and he wanted to get married to that girl; father and son had a quarrel on the day preceding the murder; he was at the Bon-Bon on that night, and took Caprice downstairs to her carriage; she gave him Stewart's coat to take back to him again; in that coat was the knife found by Villiers under the window; she left the theatre long before Stewart,--where did he go? to his office, or--good heavens! if it should turn out to be true--
Ezra received him, looking rather knocked up, but his face, though pale, was quite placid, and Naball wondered how a man guilty of such a terrible crime as parricide could be so calm.
You look tired, he said, taking a seat.
I am tired, admitted Ezra wearily. "I've been busy with my father's affairs."
Humph! thought Naball; "counting his gains, I suppose."
Any fresh development of the case? asked Ezra.
Yes, said Naball solemnly. "I received this note to-day, and traced it back to Malton; he says it was given to him by you."
Ezra examined the note with great interest, and on turning it over saw the fatal words endorsed. He looked up quickly to Naball.
This is one of the notes that were stolen? he asked.
Yes, replied Naball; "and Malton said it was given to him by you."
By me! repeated Ezra in amazement. "How on earth could I come across this note?"
That's what I want to find out, said Naball.
Ezra looked at him for a moment, then the whole situation seemed to burst on him, and with a stifled groan the unhappy young man fell back into his chair, burying his face in his hands.
Good God! he cried, "you don't suspect me of killing my father?"
If you are innocent, you can explain where you got the note.
I cannot--I cannot, cried Ezra feverishly. "I had to pay some money to Malton, and did so last week. There were some five-pound notes among that money, but I cannot tell where this particular one came from."
Where did you get the money? asked Naball.
From the Hibernian Bank.
Oh, but if you had to pay Malton money, why did you not do so by cheque?
Because I wanted some money myself, and did not care about drawing two cheques, so I drew one, covering what I owed to him and a little over.
Humph! Naball thought a moment. "You are sure of this?"
Yes; it's the only way I can account for having the note. Whoever killed my father, must have paid it into the bank, and it came round to me by some fatality.
Where were you on the night of the murder?
At the Bon-Bon Theatre.
Afterwards?
At this office.
You can prove an alibi?
I'm afraid I can't. I was all alone.
Look here, Mr. Lazarus, said Naball in a kind tone, "I must say things look black against you; but I'm not satisfied yet about the real criminal. To-day is Saturday, so I'll go to the bank the first thing on Monday, and find out what I can. There's so many suspected of this business, that one more or less don't matter."
Ezra groaned.
You don't think I'm guilty? he asked imploringly.
Naball looked keenly at him.
No; I believe you innocent, he replied abruptly.
The next day was Sunday, and Caprice, quite worn-out with the excitement of the week and the strain of the performances of "Faust Upset," was lying in bed. The burlesque had become a great success, but the papers, with their usual kindly generosity towards authors, declared that it was due not so much to the intrinsic merit of the work, as to the wonderfully clever acting of Caprice. Last night, however, she had acted badly, going through her part with mechanical precision, but without that dash which usually characterised her performance. The worry of this murder case, anxiety for the future of her child, and pity for the unfortunate young man now in prison, had all wrought on her nerves, so that she felt overcome with extreme lassitude, and lay supinely in bed, with half-closed eyes, incapable of the slightest exertion.
From this state of tranquillity she was aroused by the entrance of Eugénie, who was also looking pale and worn. She had learned all about the tracing of the five-pound note to Ezra, and had now come to tell Kitty about it.
The room was in a kind of semi-darkness, as all the blinds had been pulled down to keep out the dazzling sunlight, and the atmosphere was permeated by the smell of some pungent scent which Kitty had been using to bathe her aching head. Eugénie came straight to the bed, and bent over it, on which Kitty opened her eyes and smiled faintly.
Oh, is it you, Miss Rainsford? she said drowsily. "I did not expect you to-day."
No! replied Eugénie. "I came to tell you all about that five-pound note; but I'm sorry to find you so ill."
I'm worn-out, said Kitty fretfully. "All the worry and trouble of my earlier years are beginning to tell on me, and the anxiety of this case is the climax. I believe I'll die soon, and I don't much care, for I have your promise about the child."
You have!--my solemn promise.
Thank you. I don't mind when I die. My life has been a very unhappy one. I've had more than my share of sorrow, and now I would like to go to sleep, and slumber on--on for ever.
She finished the sentence in a sleepy tone, then suddenly recollecting why Eugénie had come down, she opened her eyes wide, and spoke briskly.
Well, what about this five-pound note? To whom did it originally belong?
I'd better go through the whole history, said Eugénie slowly. "I received it from you."
Exactly, interrupted Caprice, raising herself on her elbow; "and I got it from Mortimer. Who gave it to him?"
Mr. Malton, for a gambling debt.
Malton, repeated Kitty vivaciously. "Why, is he--did they--"
Suspect him of the murder. No; because he says he got the note from Ezra Lazarus, and he cannot tell from whom he received it.
Kitty was wide awake by this time, and sitting up in bed, pushed the fair curls off her forehead.
But, my dear, she said rapidly, "surely they don't suspect that poor young man of murdering his father?"
Not exactly suspect him, observed Eugénie; "but, you see, Mr. Lazarus cannot account for the possession of that particular note, so that makes things look bad against him."
I don't see why, said Caprice impatiently. "I'm sure I couldn't account for every individual five-pound note I receive--it's absurd;--is that all the case they have against him?"
I think so; but Mr. Naball says--
Says! interrupted Kitty impatiently; "Naball's a fool. I often heard what a clever detective he was, but I'm afraid I can't see it. He's mismanaged the whole of this case shamefully. Why he suspects every one all round on the slightest suspicion: first he thought it was me, because I was at Lazarus's place on that night; then he swore it was Villiers, because he found the knife Meg gave Mr. Stewart; then poor Mr. Stewart is arrested simply because he cannot prove an alibi. I daresay, when he found Malton had the note, he suspected him, and now, I'll be bound, he has firmly settled in his own mind that Ezra Lazarus killed his own father--pish! My dear, I tell you again Naball's a fool."
That may be, observed the other woman bitterly; "but he's a fool on whose folly Keith's life depends."
Not a bit of it, said Caprice cheerfully; "we'll find some way to save him yet. The only evidence against him is that knife, and I don't believe it was in his possession at the Bon-Bon Theatre."
Why not?
Because no one could have taken it out of his overcoat pocket there. I took the coat downstairs by mistake, but I'm sure I never abstracted the knife. Ezra Lazarus took it back, and I'll swear, in spite of Mr. Naball, he didn't take it. It's not likely Mortimer would go fiddling in another man's pockets, so I believe the knife was taken from the coat pocket, without his knowledge, at the club.
But who took it, and how? asked Eugénie, with great interest.
My dear, replied Kitty, with a shrug, "how do I know. Perhaps, after receiving back the knife from Fenton, and putting it in his pocket, he hung his coat up again; in that case, anyone who saw him put the knife away could have stolen it."
But who would do so?
That's what our clever Naball ought to find out, said Caprice, with a disdainful smile, "only he's such an idiot. I tell you whom I suspect--mind you, it's only suspicion--and yet appearances are quite as black against him as any one else."
Who is it?
Malton.
Malton! repeated Eugénie, starting up.
None other, said Kitty coolly. "He was at the club, and I know was hard up for money. His wife came to me one day, and told me he had embezzled a lot of money at his office. Then, after the crime, she came to me, and thanked me for paying it. I never did so. Fenton said he did, but I doubt it, as there isn't much of the philanthropist about him, so the only one who could have replaced the money was Malton himself. How? Well, easily enough. He was at the club--saw Keith's knife, and, knowing he was Lazarus's clerk, the idea flashed across his mind of murdering the old man with the knife, and dropping it about, so as to throw suspicion on Stewart. So, by some means, I don't know how, he obtains the knife before Stewart leaves the club, commits the crime, gets the money, circulates the notes, and when taxed with the possession of a marked one, says he got it from Ezra Lazarus--very weak, my dear, very weak indeed. Ezra says he paid him some money, so naturally doesn't know each individual note; so such a thing favours Mr. Malton's little plan. So there you are, my dear. I've made up a complete case against Malton, and quite as feasible as any of Naball's theories. Upon my word," said Kitty gaily, "I ought to have been a detective."
Eugénie was walking to and fro hurriedly.
If this is so, he ought to be arrested, she said quickly.
Then go and tell Naball, my dear, said Kitty in a mocking voice. "He'll arrest any one on suspicion. I wonder half the population of Melbourne aren't in jail, charged with the murder. Oh, Naball's a brilliant man! He says the man who committed the murder stole my diamonds--pish!"
And you say Keith stole them, said Eugénie reproachfully, "therefore--"
Therefore the lesser crime includes the greater, finished Kitty coolly. "No, my dear, I don't believe he is a murderer; but as to the diamonds, what am I to think after what Meg told me?"
Meg! Meg! said that young person, dancing into the room, holding a disreputable doll in her arms, "mumsey want Meg?"
Yes, said Kitty, as Meg came to the bedside.
Come up here, dear, and tell mumsey how you are.
Meg is quite well, and so is Meg's daughter, holding out the doll for Kitty to kiss; "but, mumsey, why is the lady so sad?"
Eugénie, who had remained silent since Kitty's speech, now came forward and kissed the child.
I'm not sad, dear, she said quietly, taking her seat by the bed, "only I want Meg to tell me something."
Meg nodded.
A fairy tale? she asked sedately.
Kitty laughed, though she looked anxious.
No, my dear, not a fairy tale, she said, smoothing the child's hair; "mumsey wants you to tell the story of the man who got out of the window."
My Mr. Keith, said Meg at once.
Kitty glanced at Eugénie, who sat with bowed head, gazing steadfastly at her hands.
You see, she observed with a sigh, "the child says it was Mr. Keith."
Miss Rainsford re-echoed the sigh, then looked at Meg.
Meg, dear, she said in her soft, persuasive voice, "come here, dear, and sit on my knee."
Meg, nothing loth, scrambled down off the bed, and soon established herself on Eugénie's lap, where she sat shaking her auburn curls. Kitty glanced affectionately at the serious little face, and picked up her doll, which was lying on the counterpane.
Now, Meg, she said gaily, "you tell Miss Rainsford the story of the man and the window. I'll play with this."
Meg's daughter, observed Meg reprovingly.
Yes, Meg's daughter, repeated Kitty with a smile.
Come, Meg, said Eugénie, smoothing the child's hair, "tell me all about the man."
It was my Mr. Keith, you know, began Meg, resting her cheek against Eugénie's breast, "He took me upstairs--'cause I was so sleepy--an' he put me to bed, an' then I sleeped right off."
And how long did you sleep, dear? asked Eugénie.
Oh, a minute, said Meg, "just a minute; then I didn't feel sleepy, and opened my eyes wide--quite wide--as wide as this," lifting up her face in confirmation, "and Mr. Keith, he was getting out of the window."
How do you know it was Mr. Keith? asked Eugénie quickly,
'Cause he put me in bed, said Meg wisely, "and he was there all the time."
He didn't speak to you when he was near the window?
No; he got out, and tumbled. I laughed when he tumbled, finished Meg triumphantly; "then I sleeped again, right off."
Eugénie put the girl down off her knee, and turned to Kitty.
I believe Keith did put the child to bed, she said quietly, "but I think she must have slept for some time, and that the man she saw getting out of the window was some one else; of course, being awakened by the noise, she would only think she had slept a minute."
A minute, a minute, repeated Meg, who had climbed back on to the bed, and was jumping the doll up and down.
But who could the second man have been? asked Kitty, perplexed.
You know Naball's theory that the man who stole the diamonds committed the murder, said Eugénie. "You think Malton is guilty of the murder, why not of the robbery also? He was present at the supper-party, and knew where the jewels were kept."
Kitty drew her brows together and was about to speak, when Meg held up her doll for inspection.
Look at the locket, she said triumphantly; "it's like Bliggings's locket--all gold."
Kitty smiled, and touched the so-called locket, which was in reality part of a gold sleeve-link, and was tied round the neck of the doll with a bit of cotton.
Who gave you this? she said. "Bliggings?"
No; Meg found it herself, here, after the man had got out of the window.
Eugénie gave a cry, and started up, but Kitty in a moment had seized the doll, and wrenched off the gold link which Meg called the locket.
When did you find this, Meg? she asked the child in a tone of suppressed excitement.
After the man went out of the window, said Meg proudly.
In the dark? asked her mother.
No, when Meg was dressed, and the sun was shining, said Meg, trying to get back the locket.
Wait a moment, dear, said Kitty, pushing the child away.
Miss Rainsford, do you know what this link means?
I half guess, faltered Eugénie, clasping her hands.
Then you guess right, cried Kitty, raising herself on her elbow. "It means that the man who stole the jewels dropped this link, and I know who he is, because I gave it to him myself."
Keith? said Eugénie faintly.
Keith! repeated Caprice in a tone of scorn. "No; not Keith, whom I have suspected wrongfully all these months, but my very good friend, Hiram J. Fenton."
Fenton! echoed Eugénie in surprise.
Yes; he must have committed the crime, said Kitty in anger, grinding her teeth. "The coward, he knew I suspected Keith, and let another man bear the stigma of his crime. I spared Keith when I thought him guilty, because he saved my child's life; but I'll not spare Fenton now I know he is a thief."
What will you do? asked Eugénie quickly.
What will I do! cried Caprice, with a devilish light shining in her beautiful eyes. "I'll put him in prison--ring the bell for pen, ink, and paper--I'll write him to come down here to-night to see me; and when he comes, I'll have Naball waiting to arrest him."
But Keith? faltered Eugénie.
As for Keith, said Caprice, throwing herself back in the bed, "I'm sure he'll soon be free, for it's my belief that Fenton stole the diamonds, but was too cowardly to commit a murder. No; he did not do it himself, but he got some one else to do it."
And that some one? cried Eugénie.
Is Evan Malton, said Caprice solemnly.
Evan Malton had a house in Carlton, not a very fashionable locality certainly, but the residence of the assistant manager was a comfortable one. His wife and child were invariably to be found at home, but Malton himself was always away--either at his club, the theatre, or at some dance. He was one of those weak men who can deny themselves nothing, and kept his wife and child stinted for money, while he spent his income on himself. But with such tastes as he possessed, his income did not go very far, so in a moment of weakness he embezzled money in order to gratify his desires.
When he told his wife what he had done, the news came like a thunder-clap on her. She knew her husband was weak, pleasure-loving and idle, but she never dreamt he could be a criminal. With the desire of a woman to find excuses for the conduct of a man she loved, Mrs. Malton thought that his crime was due to the evil influence of Kitty Marchurst; hence her visit and appeal to the actress. It seemed to have been successful, for the money had been replaced, though Kitty denied having paid it, and Mrs. Malton breathed freely.
Her husband loved her in a kind of a way; he did not mind being unfaithful himself, but he would have been bitterly angered had he found her following his example. This type of husband is not uncommon; he likes to be a butterfly abroad, to lead a man-of-the-world existence, neglecting his home; yet he always expects on his return to find a hearty welcome and a loving-wife.
Of course, as Mrs. Malton was a handsome woman, with a neglectful husband, the inevitable event happened, and Fenton, the bosom friend of the husband, fell in love with the solitary wife. She repelled his advances proudly, as she really loved her husband; but the effect of long months of neglect were beginning to tell on her, and she asked herself bitterly if it was worth while for her to remain faithful to a husband who neglected her.
On the Sunday afternoon following the interview Malton had with Naball, she sat down in her drawing-room, idly watching the child playing at her feet. Malton had come home in a fearful temper the night before, and had been in bed all Sunday. Dinner had been early, and she had left him in the dining-room, with a scowling face, evidently drinking more than was good for him.
What is the use of trying to make his life happy? she said to herself with a sneer. "He cares no more for me than he does for the child. If I were to allow his dearest friend to betray me, I don't believe he would care a fig about it."
While she was thus talking, the door opened, and her husband came into the room, with a sullen look on his face. He was, as she saw, in a temper, and ready for a domestic battle; but, determined not to give him a chance, she sat in her chair in silent disdain.
Well, he said, throwing himself on the sofa, "haven't you got a word to say for yourself?"
What can I say? she replied listlessly.
Anything! Don't sit there like a cursed sphynx. How do you expect a man to come home when he finds things so disagreeable?
She looked at him scornfully.
You find things disagreeable, she said slowly. "You, who have neglected me ever since our marriage; who have passed your time with actresses and betting men; you, who--"
Go to the devil, said Malton sulkily, cutting short her catalogue of his vices. "I don't want you to preach. I'll go where I like, and do what I like."
Yet you deny me the right to do the same.
What do you mean?
Mean! she cried, rising to her feet; "mean that I'm tired of this sordid way of living. I'm tired of seeing you at the beck and call of every woman except your wife. I have tried to do my duty by you and the child, yet you neglect me for others. You squander your honestly earned money, and then embezzle thousands of pounds. I tell you, I'm sick of this life, Evan Malton; and if you don't take care, I'll make a change."
He listened in amazement to this tirade coming from his meek wife, then, with a coarse laugh, flung himself back on the sofa.
You'll make a change! he said, with a sneer. "You--I suppose that means bolting with another man--you do, my lady, and I'll kill you and your lover as well."
My lover, as you call him, could break your neck easily, she said contemptuously.
Then you have a lover! he cried, starting to his feet in a transport of fury. "You tell me that--you a wife and a mother--in the presence of our child."
Without a word, she touched the bell, and a maid-servant appeared. Mrs. Malton pointed to the child.
Take her away, she said coldly, and when the door closed again, she turned once more to her husband. "Now that the child is away," she said calmly, "I do tell you I have a would-be lover. Stay," she cried, holding up her hand, "I said a would-be lover. Had I been as careless of your honour as you have been of mine, I would not now be living with you."
Evan Malton listened in dogged silence, and then burst out into a torrent of words.
Ah! I knew it would be so--curse you! What woman was ever satisfied with a husband?
Yes, and such a husband as you have been, she said sarcastically.
He stepped forward, with an oath, to strike her, then restraining himself by an effort, said in a harsh voice,--
Tell me his name.
Mrs. Malton walked over to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and taking from thence a bundle of letters, flung them on the floor before him.
You'll find all about him there.
Malton bent down, picked up the letters, and staggered back, with a cry, as he recognised the writing.
My God! Fenton! he cried.
Exactly, she said coolly. "Your dear friend Fenton, who came to me with words of love on his lips, and lies in his heart, to get me to elope with him--in the last letter, you see, he asked me to go with him to Valparaiso."
Oh, did he? muttered Malton vindictively; "and you were going, I suppose?"
If I had been going, she replied, with grave scorn, "I would not now be here, for he leaves for Valparaiso to-night."
To-night!
Yes. I presume he's followed your example, and embezzled money. At all events, I refused his offer, and left him as I now leave you, Evan Malton, with the hope that this discovery may teach you a lesson.
Where are you going? he cried hoarsely, as she moved towards the door.
She turned with a cold smile.
I am going to our child; and you--
And I, he said vindictively, "I'm going to Hiram Fenton's house, to give him back those letters. He'll go to Valparaiso will he? No, he won't. To-night, the police shall know all."
All what? his wife cried in sudden terror.
All about the diamond robbery and the Russell Street murder.
She shrank back from him with a cry; but he came straight to the door, and taking her by the arm, flung her brutally on the floor.
You lie there, he hissed out. "I'll deal with him first, and afterwards with you."
She heard the door close, and knew that he had left the house: then, gathering herself up slowly and painfully, she went to the chamber of her child, and sank on her knees beside the cot.
Meanwhile, Malton, with his brain on fire, his heart beating with jealous rage, and the bundle of letters in his breast-pocket, was rapidly walking down the hill, intending to go to Fenton's rooms and tax him with his treachery. It was partly on this account that he wished to see him; but there was also a more serious cause, for in the event of Fenton bolting, as he intended to do, things would be very awkward for his assistant manager.
Curse him! muttered Malton as he hailed a hansom, and told the man to drive to East Melbourne. "Does he think I'm such a fool as to let him go now? No, no, my boy; we've floated together for a good time, and, by Jove! we'll sink together."
Like all weak men, he was unable to restrain his temper, and was now working himself up into a state of fury which boded ill for the peace of Mr. Fenton. Fast as the cab was rolling along, it seemed hours to the impatient man, and it was with a cry of joy that he jumped out at Fenton's door, keeping the hansom waiting in case he should find the American absent.
The woman who opened the door told him that Mr. Fenton had gone out about half-an-hour ago, with a black bag in his hand, and had told her he was going to see some friends.
Curse the man, groaned Malton, who saw what this meant at once, "he's off; I must follow---but where? I don't suppose he'd leave his address in his room, but I'll see if I can find anything there."
Can I give him any message, sir? asked the woman, who was still holding the door open.
Yes; that is, I'll write him a note; show me up to his sitting-room.
Yes, sir, and in a few minutes Malton found himself alone in the room so lately occupied by his enemy. He sat down at the writing-table till the woman closed the door, then springing to his feet, began to examine the desk with feverish energy to see if Mr. Fenton had left any trace as to his whereabouts.
There was a newspaper lying on a small table near, and Malton, seizing this, looked at the shipping announcements to see by what boat Fenton intended to go to South America.
He's certain to go there, he said, as he ran his finger eagerly down the column, "or he wouldn't have told my wife. Here, oh, here it is--The 'Don Pedro,' for Valparaiso, at eight, Monday morning. He's going by that boat, now," he went on, putting down the paper, and pulling out his watch; "it's about six o'clock--why did he leave to-night, eh? I suppose he means to go on board, so as to avoid suspicion by going so early in the morning. He can't have gone back to see my wife, or she would have told me, for I'll swear she's true. Confound him, where can he have gone?"
He turned over the papers on the desk in feverish eagerness, as if he expected to find an address left for him, when suddenly, slipped in between the sheets of the blotting-pad, he found a note in Caprice's handwriting asking Fenton to come down to Toorak on that night. Melton struck a blow on the desk with his fist when he read this.
He's gone there, I'll swear, he cried, putting the letter in his pocket. "It was only because Caprice laughed at him that he made love to my wife. Now she's whistled him back, he'll try and get her to go off with him to Valparaiso. Ah, Hiram Fenton, you're not off yet, and never will be--sink or swim together, my boy--sink or swim together."
He called the woman, gave her a short note for Fenton, in order to avert suspicion, then getting into the cab once more, told the man to drive to Toorak as quickly as possible.
If I don't find you there, my friend, he muttered angrily, "I'll go straight down to the 'Don Pedro' at Sandridge. You won't escape me--sink or swim together, sink or swim together."
The evening sky was overcast with gloomy clouds, between the rifts of which could be seen the sharp, clear light of the sky, and then it began to rain, a tropical downpour which flooded the streets and turned the gutters to miniature torrents; a vivid flash of lightning flare in the sky, and the white face of the man in the hansom could be seen for a moment; then sounded a deep roll of thunder, as if warning Hiram Fenton that his friend and victim was on his track.
It was certainly a remarkable thing that when Kitty had prepared her trap for Fenton just on the eve of his going away, by having Naball in hiding to arrest him, that Malton, the only man who could effectually accuse the American, should also have come down to Toorak in the nick of time. But, then, coincidences do happen in real life as well as in novels; and had Kitty carefully constructed the whole scene with an eye to dramatic effect, it could hardly have turned out better.
Eugénie sat with the actress in the drawing-room, waiting for the arrival of Fenton, and talking to Naball, who was seated near them. The detective had listened to all with the keenest interest, but, much to Kitty's disgust, seemed doubtful of the American's guilt.
You were quick enough in accusing other people, she said angrily, "myself among the number, and now, when I show you plain proof, you disbelieve."
I don't think the proof is strong enough, that's all, replied Naball drily. "We have only the word of a child that she picked up the link in the bedroom."
Meg never tells falsehoods, interposed Eugénie quickly.
I daresay not, he replied coolly. "However, Fenton may have lost this link before."
No, he didn't, said Caprice decisively. "He had the links on when he was at supper. I saw them, and I ought to know, because I gave them to him myself."
But why should Fenton steal your diamonds? He's got lots of money, argued Naball, who was rather annoyed at Kitty finding out more than he had.
I don't know why he should, retorted the actress; "it's not my business or yours to discover motives--all I know is, he did it, and I'm going to have him arrested."
Perhaps he'll be suspicious, and won't come.
Oh yes, he will. He thinks I believe Stewart to be the thief, and as to coming, I can whistle him back at any moment. Hark! as a ring came at the door. "There he is; get behind that screen. Miss Rainsford, you go into the next room till I call."
Naball promptly did as he was told, so did Eugénie, and when Fenton entered the room, he only found Kitty, calmly seated beside a little table, reading a book.
Fenton was looking wonderfully well, but with a watchful look on his face, as if he feared discovery. He had a good sum of money with him, his passage to Valparaiso, and never for a moment thought that he was on the edge of an abyss. Of course, Kitty did not know he was about to abscond, and never thought how near her prey had escaped. She received him quietly, with friendly interest, and Fenton, pulling a chair next to hers, began to talk eagerly, never dreaming that an officer of the law was listening to every word.
Not only that, but outside, crouching on the verandah, was a dark figure, with a livid face, listening to what the man inside was saying. Hiram Fenton, utterly unconscious, was surrounded on all sides by his enemies, and went on telling all his plans to Kitty, never thinking how near he was to the felon's dock from which he was flying.
And what did you want to see me about! asked Fenton, taking Caprice's hand.
Nothing in particular, she replied carelessly; "the fact is, I haven't seen you for such a long time."
Then you do care for me a little?
Caprice shrugged her shoulders.
As much as I do for any man; but I didn't ask you to come here to make love. I want to talk seriously about giving up the stage.
She was leading him on so that he should betray himself to the detective, and he walked straight into the trap.
Oh, you're tired of acting, said Fenton thoughtfully.
Yes; and of Melbourne. I want to go away.
Fenton started, and wondered if she knew he was going away also. He thought for a moment, and then replied,--
Then, why not come with me?
With you! cried Kitty derisively. "What about Mrs. Malton?"
I tell you, I don't care two straws about Mrs. Malton, he rejoined angrily. "I was only amusing myself with her."
Amusing himself! The man outside ground his teeth together in anger, and clutched the packet of letters fiercely.
And what about your dear friend--her husband?
Oh, Malton, said Fenton carelessly. "I don't know, nor do I care; he was a very useful man to me for a time. But, now, I'm off."
Off!--where?
To Valparaiso. Yes, I'm sick of Australia, so I sail to-morrow morning for South America. Will you come with me, Kitty?
Kitty looked doubtful.
I don't know. We have no money.
I have plenty. I've arranged all that, and if there's a row, my dear friend Malton will have to bear it. But now, Kitty, I've told you all, you must come with me. We can live a delightful life in South America. I know it well, and some of the places are Paradises. Come, say you'll come to-night.
He put his arms round her, and pressed a kiss on her lips. She shuddered at the impure caress, then pushing him away, arose to her feet.
Don't touch me, she said harshly, "you--you thief!"
In a moment Fenton was on his feet, with an apprehensive look on his face.
Thief! thief! he cried fiercely; "what do you mean?"
Mean, she said, turning on him like a tiger, "that I know now who stole my diamonds, Mr. Hiram Fenton."
Do you accuse me? he asked, with a pale face, gripping her wrist.
Yes, I do, said Kitty, wrenching her wrist away, "and I've got a proof--this broken sleeve-link, dropped by you in my room on the night of the robbery."
It's a lie!
It's true! I accuse you of stealing my diamonds. Detective Naball, arrest that man.
Fenton started as Naball stepped out from behind the screen, and then folded his arms, with an evil smile.
So! he said coolly, "this is a trap, I see; but I'm not to be caught in it. You say I stole your diamonds?"
I do, said Kitty boldly.
And your proof is that you picked up a broken sleeve-link?
Yes.
Then, Mr. Detective, said Fenton, holding out both his wrists to Naball, "if you examine these, you will see neither of the links are broken."
Naball, with an ejaculation of surprise, examined both the links, and found what he said was correct--neither of the sleeve-links were broken.
Have you not made a mistake? he said to Caprice.
No, I have not, she replied coolly. "When he found he had lost a sleeve-link, he got another made, in order to avert suspicion. I say Hiram Fenton stole my diamonds, and I give him in charge."
Naball stepped forward, but the American, who was now uneasy at the turn affairs had taken, waved him back.
Wait a moment, he said quickly; "I deny the charge, and will prove it false to-morrow."
Kitty laughed derisively.
By which time you will be on your way to Valparaiso. No, I'm not going to let you go.
Neither am I, said Naball decisively. "I arrest you on this charge of robbery now," and he laid his hand on the shoulder of the American.
In a moment Fenton twisted himself away, and dexterously throwing Naball on the ground, darted towards one of the French windows.
Not so fast, my friend, he said sneeringly, while Naball, half-stunned, was picking himself up; "guess I'll beat you this time. I care nothing for you nor that she-devil there. You can prove nothing."
Naball made a bound forward, but with a mocking laugh Fenton was about to step lightly through the window, when he was dashed violently back into Naball's arms, and Malton, pale as death sprang into the room.
Hold him, he cried, clutching Fenton, who was too much astonished to make any resistance. "Don't let him go. He's guilty--I can prove it."
Eugénie had hurried into the room, attracted by the noise, and Kitty was standing near her, the two women clinging together for protection. Naball held Fenton firmly, while Malton, in a frenzy of rage, spoke rapidly.
He is guilty of the robbery, he shrieked, menacing Fenton with his fists. "He embezzled money with me, and had it been found out, we would both have been put in prison. He stole the diamonds on the night of the supper, by going upstairs to your room, and then leaving by the window, so as to make people think it was a burglary."
A cursed lie! growled Fenton, making an effort to shake Naball off.
No, it isn't, cried Malton furiously. "Villiers can prove it. You met him as you were coming round the house, and gave him some diamonds to make him hold his tongue."
Oh, the crescent! cried Naball.
Yes, yes; and then he sold the diamonds to old Lazarus, and afterwards murdered him. Yes, he killed Jacob Lazarus!
Fenton's nostrils dilated, he drew a deep breath, and gave a cry of anger; but Malton went on speaking rapidly.
I got that note not from Ezra Lazarus, but from Fenton, and lied to shield him; but now, when I find out he makes love to my wife, I'll do anything to hang him. See, these letters--your cursed letters, flinging them on the ground before Fenton. "You liar, thief, murderer, you're done for at last!"
Not yet! yelled Fenton, and with a sudden effort he flung Naball off, and dashed for the window, but Malton sprang on him like a wild cat, and they both rolled on the floor. Naball jumped up, and went to Malton's help, when suddenly the American, with a supreme effort, wrenched himself clear of them, and ran once more for the window.
Seeing this, Kitty, who had remained a passive spectator, tried to stop him, but with an oath he hurled her from him, and she, falling against a table, knocked it over, and fell senseless on the ground. Fenton, with a cry of anger, dashed through the window, and disappeared into the darkness. But, quick as he was, Malton was quicker; for seeing his enemy escape him, he also sprang through the window, and gave chase.
Naball, breathless, and covered in blood, was about to go also, when a cry from Eugénie stopped him. The girl was kneeling down beside Kitty, while the frightened servants crowded in at the door.
Oh, she is dead I dead! cried Eugénie, looking down at the still face. "No; she can't be. Brandy--bring some brandy!"
A servant entered with the brandy, and Eugénie, filling a glass, forced some of the liquid between Kitty's clenched teeth. Naball also took a glass, as he was worn-out with the struggle, then, hastily putting on his hat, went out, leaving Kitty lying, to all appearances dead, in Eugénie's arms.
Meanwhile, Malton was close on the heels of the American, who had cleared out by the gate, and was making for the railway station. There were few people about; but the spectacle of two men racing bare-headed soon brought a crowd around. Fenton, with deep curses, sped on through the driving rain, and at last flew on to the platform, followed by Malton, who gasped out,--
Seize him! Murderer! murderer!
The station-master, a porter, and some passengers who were waiting, all sprang forward at this; so Fenton, seeing himself surrounded, gave one yell of rage, and, jumping on the line, ran along.
My God! cried the station-master, "the train is coming down; he will be killed."
He tried to hold Malton, who was mad with anger at seeing his prey escape him, and, foaming with anger, wrenched himself away.
You'll be killed! cried the porter; but Malton, with a hoarse cry, sprang on to the line, and sped after Fenton through the driving rain.
It was pitch dark, and the rain swept along in slanting sheets, through which gleamed the red and green of the signals. Malton, only actuated by a mad desire to seize Fenton, staggered blindly over the sleepers, stumbling at every step.
Suddenly he heard the hard breathing of the man he was pursuing, and the foremost figure loomed up dark and misshapen in the thick night. They were now near the railway bridge which crosses the Yarra-Yarra at this point, and the steady sweep of the river could be heard as it flowed against the iron girders.
Fenton, hearing some one close behind him, made a bound forwards, then fell on the line, with a shriek of despair. In a moment Malton was on him, and the two men rolled on the line, fighting like devils.
Curse you! hissed Malton, putting his knee on Fenton's chest, "I'll kill you!--I'll kill you!" And he dashed Fenton's head against the iron rails.
The American, in despair, flung up his hands, and caught Malton round the neck. Once more they fought, wrapped in a deadly embrace, when suddenly they felt the bridge vibrate, and, even in their struggle, saw rapidly approaching, through the darkness the light of the down train.
Malton, with a cry of horror, tried to release himself from Fenton's grip, but the American held him tight, and in another moment the train, with a roar, was on the bridge, and over their bodies.
One hoarse yell, and all was over. Evan Malton and Hiram Fenton were torn to pieces under the cruel wheels.
So this was the end of it all. The criminal, guilty of the two crimes which had agitated Melbourne for so many months, turned out to be the respected manager of The Never-say-die Insurance Company. After the discovery of his guilt, the affairs of the company were examined, and found to be in a terrible state of confusion. Fenton, aided by Malton, had embezzled large sums of money, and so carefully manipulated the accounts that their defalcations had never been noticed.
It was true that once they were on the verge of discovery unless some of the money was paid back, and this had been accomplished by the robbery of Kitty Marchurst's diamonds. As the two guilty men were dead, the only man who knew anything about the affair was Mr. Villiers, who soon found things made so warm for him that he confessed all he knew about the crime.
It appeared that, on the night of the supper, Fenton was in great straits for want of money to replace that embezzled by himself and Malton. Hearing Kitty state where she kept her diamonds, he determined to steal them if he could do so with safety. In going to the drawing-room, he saw Stewart descending the stairs, and, as the young man told him he had been in Kitty's room putting the child to bed, he thought he could steal the jewels on that night, and let Stewart bear the blame.
With this idea, he went upstairs, took the diamonds from their place, and, in order to make things doubly secure, should his idea of implicating Stewart fail, he got out of the window, and clambered down, so as to show that the house had been burglariously entered.
In stealing round to the front of the house, he met Villiers, who had seen all, and, in order to make him hold his tongue, had given him the small diamond crescent which Naball secured in Little Bourke Street. Of course, Kitty would not prosecute Keith, as he had saved her child's life; and it was his security in this belief that caused Fenton to urge on the detective.
About the murder, Villiers, as a matter of fact, knew very little; but when Naball said that the man who stole the diamonds also committed the crime, he went to Fenton, and taxed him with it. Fenton, at first, indignantly denied the accusation, but ultimately confessed to Villiers that he had done so. After giving back Keith his knife at the club, he had seen him hang up his coat, and dexterously extracted the weapon therefrom unknown to the owner. Then he went to Russell Street and committed the crime, in reality to gain possession of the diamonds, thinking they were in the safe, as he did not know that Lazarus had sent them to Amsterdam.
Therefore, the whole mystery was cleared up; and after making his confession, Villiers found public opinion so much against him, that he left the colony, and disappeared, no one knew where.
The dead bodies of the American and Malton were found on the railway line, and, after an inquiry had been made, were duly buried. Mrs. Malton went back to live with her father, and shortly afterwards married again.
Stewart was released from prison and became quite the hero of the hour, as every one sympathised with him for the way in which he had been treated. Eugénie told him all about her accession to fortune, and they agreed to get married and go to Europe. Ezra, also, now that he was wealthy, turned Benedict, and was united to Rachel a short time after his father's death.
Faust Upset ran for some time, but was ultimately withdrawn, as the part of Miss Mephistopheles was taken by another woman, and she failed to draw the public.
But Caprice?
Ah! poor woman, she was dying. In the struggle with Fenton, she had fallen in a perilous position, and had so injured her spine, that there was no hope of recovery.
It was on a Tuesday evening, and poor, wicked Kitty was lying in bed, with her weary eyes fixed on Meg, who was seated on Eugénie's lap, rather puzzled by the whole affair. Keith and Ezra were also present, in deference to Kitty's desire, as she wanted to formally give Meg over to Eugénie to bring her up. All the legal formalities had been gone through, and now they were waiting for the end--alas! it was not very far off.
Do you feel easier, dear? asked Eugénie, gently bending over the bed.
Yes, replied Kitty in a slow, tired voice. "Better now; it will soon be over. You--you will look after my child?"
I promise you, I will, said Eugénie fervently. "Would you like to see a minister?"
Kitty smiled with a touch of her old cynicism, and then her eyes filled with tears.
A minister, yes, she said in a faltering voice. "God help me! and I was a minister's daughter. Look at me now, fallen and degraded, dying, with my life before me, and glad--yes, glad to die."
In obedience to a sign from Eugénie, Keith had slipped out of the room in order to bring the clergyman, and Kitty lay quiet, with the clear light of the evening shining on her pale face.
Give me my child, she said at length, and then, as she took Meg to her breast and kissed her, she wept bitterly.
God bless you, my darling, she sobbed; "think of me with pity. Eugénie, never--never let her know what I was. Let her believe me to have been a good woman. If I have sinned, see how I was tempted--see how I have suffered--let my child think her mother was a good woman."
Eugénie, crying bitterly, promised this, and then tried to take Meg away.
Mumsey, said Meg, clinging to her mother, "why do you cry? Where are you going?"
I'm dying, Meg, darling.
Dying! said Meg, to whom the word conveyed no idea, "dying!"
Yes, dear; going away.
I'll go, too.
No, dear, no. You must stay here, and be a good girl. Mumsey is going far away--to the sky, finished poor Kitty, in a faltering voice.
To the sky--then you'll see God, said Meg.
At this Kitty could bear no more, but burst into tears, and Meg was taken out of the room, being pacified with difficulty. Then Keith entered with the clergyman, who was left alone with the dying woman for some time.
When they all returned, they saw she was sinking rapidly, but she smiled faintly as Eugénie approached.
I've told him all, she said in a low voice, "and he says God will forgive me."
I'm sure He will, dear, said Eugénie in a faltering voice.
Strange, said the dying woman, in a dreamy voice, "I, who never cared for religion, should want it now. I'm glad to die, for there was nothing to live for; but this terrible Death--I fear it. I don't know where I'm going--where am I going?" she asked piteously.
To Heaven, dear, said Eugénie.
Heaven! repeated Kitty, her memory going back to her childhood; "that is where there is neither sun nor moon--the glory of God is there. Oh, I'll never go there--never--never!"
The room w T as now filled with floating shadows, and all present were kneeling by the bed. Meg, who had been brought back, and held by Eugénie, was beside her mother, awed by the solemnity of the scene. A pale shaft of clear light came through the window, and shone on the disordered white clothes of the bed and the still face of the dying woman.
No sound save the sighing of the wind outside, the sobs of Eugénie, and the grave tones of the clergyman's voice, reading the Sermon on the Mount, which in former days had been a great favourite with Kitty.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Poor soul, she that had not been pure was now dying, and dreaded lest her impurity should be brought up against her.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
Ah, Kitty Marchurst, what mercy did you ever show? The inward voice came to her like an accusing spirit, and she shrank back in the bed. Then she opened her eyes.
I would have been a good woman, she said pathetically; "but I--I was so young when I met Gaston."
Her voice became inarticulate, and with an effort she kissed her child, while the clergyman said the Lord's Prayer.
Our Father which art in Heaven.
Meg, Meg, she murmured, "Meg--God bless my little child!" And those were the last words of Kitty Marchurst, for when the prayer was ended she was lying back, with her pure, childlike face stilled in death.
So she went into the outer darkness laden with sins, but surely God in His mercy pardoned this woman, whose impurity was more the result of circumstances than anything else.
Let us not deny to others the mercy which we ourselves will need some day. Kitty was dead, with all her frailties and passions; and as the clergyman arose from his knees, he repeated reverently the words of his Master,--
He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.
The End