by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER X
A STATEMENT OF THE CASE
Bernard, _alias_ Mr. Grant, had made free with Conniston's clothes, asMrs. Moon had stated. But, being much taller than his friend, he lookedrather uncomfortable, and indeed had hidden the shortcomings of thegarments under a gorgeous dressing-gown, a relic of Dick's 'Varsitydays. But Conniston had procured through Durham several suits of Gore'sclothes which had been left behind at the Hall when he was turned awayby his grandfather. These he had brought with him, and Bernard was gladenough to get into comfortably-fitting garments. These, and the societyof Conniston, a good dinner and the super-excellent port made him feel anew man.
After dinner the two friends piled the fire with great logs as it wasfreezing hard without. Mrs. Moon brought up coffee hot and strong, andwhen she left the room the young men produced their pipes. ThenConniston sat on one side of the fire and Bernard on the other, and bothof them prepared to go into the case and to see exactly how mattersstood.
"In the first place," said Dick, filling his pipe carefully, "let usconsider what actually happened. Sir Simon was alone that evening."
"He was when I found him dead, unless you call Mrs. Gilroy anyone."
"I call her a very important person," said Dick, dryly. "I tell youwhat, Gore, you evidently don't know everything. Just tell me what youdo know."
"I have told you," said Bernard, impatiently. "I left Durham's house atten o'clock; you mentioned the time yourself."
"I did," responded Conniston, gravely, "and I mentioned also the day ofthe month. It was the----"
"The twenty-third of October. Shall I ever forget a date so ominous tome? I left the house, and a small boy stopped me. He said that alady--he did not mention her name--had told him to inform me to followhim to the Red Window."
"Your cousin Lucy knew of that?"
"Yes. And I thought the lady in question was Lucy, but the boy did notmention any name. He simply said that he had been spoken to by the ladydown Kensington way. Now I knew from Durham that Lucy was living withSir Simon, who was in Crimea Square, Kensington, and that knowledge,coupled with the mention of the Red Window, made me follow the boy."
"Can you describe the lad?"
"Not very well. I caught a glimpse of him under a lamp-post, but the fogwas so thick that I obtained only a vague impression. He seemed to be afair, innocent-looking boy with fair hair--the kind of pure angeliccreature depicted by painters as a chorister."
"By Jove!" Conniston dashed down his pipe excitedly. "You describe Judasto the life. The plot thickens."
"The plot----"
"The plot which was to involve you in the crime, and, by Jove! those whocontrived it must have hired Judas to be your guide."
"Are you sure that this is the lad--Mrs. Moon's grandson?"
"As sure as I can be from your word-painting. Jerry--Judassuits him much better--is just what you say: an innocent,butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth sort of brat who looks like an angel andacts like a denizen of the infernal regions. And now I remember," wenton Dick, "the little brute spoke to me after you left me when we talkedin the Park. He was then bare-footed and selling matches."
"This boy must be the same," said Bernard, thoughtfully. "He also hadbare feet and carried boxes of matches in his hand."
"It's Judas sure enough!" muttered Conniston, pulling his mustache andstaring gloomily into the fire. "I wonder what he was doing in thatgalley? You followed him?"
"Yes, because he mentioned the Red Window. But for that I should havesuspected something wrong. I don't care about following strange urchins.But only Lucy knew about the Red Window."
"She might have told Beryl."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind. Go on with your tale."
"Well, I followed the boy. He kept a little ahead of me, and severaltimes when I got lost in the fog he reappeared."
"Judas is as clever as his father, the Accuser of the Brethren. How longwere you getting to Crimea Square?"
"Allowing for stoppages, three-quarters of an hour. All the trouble tookplace about a quarter to eleven."
"Did you see the Red Window?"
"I saw a red glare in a window on the first floor. I don't suppose theglass was red, but think some red material must have been placed over alamp and that placed close to the window."
"Might have been a blind," mused Dick, "and yet when Beryl looked andhis friend Mrs. Webber they saw no Red Window. Are you sure?"
"I am certain," responded Gore, emphatically. "When I saw the Red WindowI was convinced that Lucy had sent for me, and, thinking that she hadpersuaded my grandfather to relent, I would have entered the house for apersonal interview but that Mrs. Gilroy came out."
"Could you be seen from the house?"
"I don't think so, the fog was very thick remember."
"Was any signal given?"
Bernard looked hard at his friend. "You think it was a trap?"
"I am certain. Was there any signal?"
"A peculiar kind of whistle. Something like this!"
Gore whistled in a kind of ascending scale shrilly and in a particularlyhigh key. The effect on Conniston was strange. He jumped up from hisseat and walked hurriedly to and fro.
"Judas," he said. "I remember when I was down here that the little scamphad a kind of whistle like that--something like it. Listen!" Connistonwhistled also, and Bernard nodded.
"That's it," he declared; "the whistle was given twice."
"Then the boy was Judas. He used to signal to Victoria in that way whenthe pair were up to their pranks. Wait!" Conniston opened the door andwhistled loudly in the same way. Twice he did this. Shortly after thesecond time the pattering of steps was heard and Victoria came runningup the stairs with a lighted candle in her hand. She looked white andscared.
"Did you expect to see Jerry?" asked her master, blandly.
The girl stared and turned even whiter than she was. "I thought it wasJerry, sir," she murmured, leaning against the balustrade. "He used towhistle like that when he came home!"
"I learned it from Jerry," said Conniston, mendaciously, "and I tried tosee if it would bring you. Go downstairs, girl. There's nothing wrong."
Victoria stared at Conniston with a suspicious look in her hard eyes,and then with a toss of her head ran down the stairs. Dick returned tothe room and shut the door. "What do you think now?"
"It was Judas sure enough," said Bernard.
"Of course. And the signal was given to someone in the house to intimatethat you were outside. Who came out?"
"Mrs. Gilroy?"
"Ah! Then she must have been waiting for the signal. By the way, youalways seemed mixed over Mrs. Gilroy. When we first met you said thatshe didn't like you. Then you said she was your friend. Now which do youthink she is?"
"I can hardly say. She always pretended to be my friend. I was neversure of her."
"Then you can be sure of her now. She is your bitter enemy."
"I am afraid so," sighed Gore, remembering the accusation.
"Well," said Dick, resuming his seat, "what next?"
"Mrs. Gilroy came out screeching 'Murder!' She dragged me upstairs andinto the sitting-room----"
"Did you notice if there was a red lamp in the window?"
"No. I was too horrified by the sight of my dead grandfather. I loosenedthe handkerchief round the throat----"
"That was a bandana, Sir Simon's own, and was produced at the inquest.What about the one over the mouth?"
"The one steeped in chloroform? I don't know. I had it in my hand whenMrs. Gilroy accused me. Then I lost my head. I must have dropped it."
Conniston looked disappointed. "That's a pity," said he. "I fancied youmight have unconsciously taken it with you. You see, it was a whitehandkerchief and Sir Simon never used one of that color. If therehappened to be a name on the corner----"
"It would be that of the assassin. Is that what you mean?"
"Yes, that is what I mean. The assassin
must have used his ownhandkerchief."
"Why do you think that?"
Dick made an impatient gesture. "Why, it's the most natural thing hewould do," was his reply. "He enters the room, and talks with Sir Simon.In his pocket he has the handkerchief steeped in chloroform and uses itunexpectedly. It's as clear as day."
"Why do you think the assassin is a man?"
"I'll tell you that later. Go on."
"There's nothing more to say. Mrs. Gilroy said that I was the assassinand tried to hold me. The policeman came and arrested me. Seeing what afix I was in I bolted."
"You should have stood your ground," insisted Dick.
Bernard rose and in his turn paced the room. "Man alive, how could I dothat?" he said irritably. "The position was dangerous enough to appalthe bravest man. Mrs. Gilroy accused me, saying that I had been in thekitchen and had left there about six; that I had returned after ten andkilled my grandfather. Also the housemaid Jane recognized me as thesoldier who had been courting her. Not only that, but she addressed meas Bernard. Can't you see how strong the circumstantial evidence was andis? I did not get to Durham's before seven, and I was by myself beforethat. I can't prove an _alibi_ then, and I left at ten, after which hourMrs. Gilroy said I had come into the house. In three-quarters of an hourthere was ample time for me to kill my grandfather. It is barely aquarter of an hour's walk from Durham's house on Camden Hill to CrimeaSquare. I could not prove an _alibi_, nor could you or Durham havehelped me. I was at Durham's in the evening, but where was I before sixand after ten? Dick, had I stayed I should have been hanged. Thesethoughts flashed through my mind and I made a dash for liberty, so thatI might have time to think out my position. How I gained this refuge youknow. And here I have been thinking ever since how to extricate myselffrom the dilemma and prove my innocence. I can't see how to do it, Dick.I can't see how to act."
"Steady, old boy. Come and sit down and we'll thresh out the matter."
He led Bernard back to the chair, into which the poor fellow threwhimself with a weary sigh. Conniston could not but acknowledge that thecase against his friend was very strong. As he could not prove an_alibi_, the evidence of Mrs. Gilroy, of the cook, and page, andhousemaid, would probably hang him. And also a sufficient motive for thecrime might be found--by the jury--in the fact that Bernard hadquarrelled with his grandfather and had been disinherited. Then, toperplex affairs still more, Judas had disappeared, and the Red Window,on the evidence of Beryl and Mrs. Webber, was non-existent. Certainlythe lady declared she saw it, but afterwards she thought she had beenmistaken. In the interval someone must have removed the red light. Butthat was a detail which could be argued later. In the meantime it wasnecessary to fix, if possible, the identity of the soldier who hadhaunted the kitchen and who apparently so strongly resembled Bernard asto be mistaken for him by Jane.
"It's a plot," said Conniston, at length, while Bernard gazeddespairingly into the burning logs. "This fellow who resembled you andwho took your name is the assassin."
"How do you make that out?"
"Why! He was in the kitchen before six and was sent for by yourgrandfather. He at once left. Then he came back after ten and wasadmitted by Mrs. Gilroy, who might have made a mistake."
"She could not mistake another man for me."
"I don't know. This fellow evidently was your double, or at least wasmade up to resemble you. But that would not be easy," added Conniston,staring at his friend, "for you have no beard or mustache, and it isdifficult to make up like another chap without such aids. At least Ishould think so. And remember the lamp in the hall did not give a verygood light--so Durham told me. The housemaid saw you only in that light,and therefore might have mistaken you for the fellow who courted her.Mrs. Gilroy----"
"She saw me in the full glare of the light in the sitting-room. Sherecognized me."
"Yes. But according to her evidence she only admitted your double justafter ten and introduced him into the sitting-room. She did not see himsave under the hall lamp."
"That is true. But my grandfather would soon detect the imposition."
"Quite right," rejoined Dick, smoothly, "he did, and then the assassinmurdered him after stifling him with the chloroform."
"But you forget my grandfather was a passionate man. He might andprobably would have made a scene. Mrs. Gilroy below would have heard therow and would have come up."
"She may be lying when she declares she heard nothing," admitted Dick."On the other hand, the assassin may have crossed directly over to yourgrandfather and have stifled his cries by placing the handkerchief atonce over his mouth. Then he could strangle him at his leisure and clearout, as he did."
"And then Mrs. Gilroy runs up, finds the dead, and rushes out to accuseme. I must have been brought in the nick of time," said Bernard,ironically. "No, Dick, there's more in it than that. Mrs. Gilroy is inthe plot whomsoever contrived it."
"Why, Beryl contrived it. He wanted the money."
"Was he in the house at the time?"
"No. He didn't commit the crime himself, if that is what you mean. Hewith Miss Randolph was at the Curtain Theatre, which is near CrimeaSquare. He drove up in his friend's Mrs. Webber's carriage just when therow was on."
"Yes." Bernard passed his hand across his forehead. "I should haveremembered that. I was in the hall at the time with the hand of thepoliceman on my shoulder. But I have grown so confused, Dick, that it'sall like a dream."
"A nightmare rather. But why do you think Mrs. Gilroy is----"
"Is in the plot. Because, before she accused me, she said to herself,but loud enough for me to hear, 'It's the only way!'"
"Ha, ho!" said Conniston, excited, "you can swear to that."
"Of course I can. But I can't swear in the dock, and that is the onlyplace I'm likely to occupy should I be caught."
"Is Mrs. Gilroy a friend of Beryl's?"
"I can't say that she was ever anyone's friend. She even seemed to hatemy grandfather, although he was so good to her. She and Lucy were alwaysquarrelling, and though she behaved civilly to me, I was--as I saidbefore--never sure of her."
"You can certainly be sure of her now. But I can't help thinking Berylhad something to do with this plot. He had a lot at stake. I have heardtales about his gambling that would open your eyes. Durham made it hisbusiness to find out when he heard that Sir Simon intended to disinherityou in favor of Beryl."
"Durham has always been my friend," said Bernard, wearily. "But as Berylwas out of the house he can't have anything to do with the crime."
"I'm not so certain of that. He might have set things in train, and thenhave arranged the theatre business so as to provide himself with an_alibi_."
"You think he hired someone to represent me?"
"I do, though, as I say, it would be hard for anyone to disguise himselflike you. You haven't a double, have you?"
"Not that I ever heard of," said Gore, unable to restrain a smile; "butthey say everyone has a double."
"Well, we must hunt out yours. If we find the soldier who resembled you,and who called himself by your name, we will be able to prove that hecommitted the crime."
"But how can you go to work?"
"I hardly know, Bernard. I must ask Durham. Meantime you can stay here.And there's Judas. I'll make it my business to hunt him out. I daresayhe was employed by Beryl also."
"How you harp on Beryl."
"Because I am sure he has everything to do with the matter. It was acarefully-arranged trap, and you have fallen into it. What Mrs. Gilroyexpects to gain I can't think. However, Beryl has found himself mistakenover the money. The new will--so Durham told me to tell you--was burntby the old man, and so the old one, giving you all, stands. Both Mrs.Gilroy and Mr. Beryl are left out in the cold. And that is all thebetter for your safety."
"Why?" asked Bernard, looking puzzled.
"Because the person they hired to do the business--your double--willexpect to be paid a large sum. If not, he will round on them."
"You forget. If he confesses h
e puts a rope round his own throataccording to your theory."
"True enough. But there's Judas. He'll have his pound of flesh, or makean unholy row."
"Dick," said Bernard, seriously, "it's impossible that a lad of thirteencan be such a villain as you make him out to be."
"I tell you that lad is a born criminal, and if he goes on as he isdoing he'll come to the gallows, where, according to his grandmother,his forefathers suffered before him. Judas is as cunning as a fox, andvery strong as to his will. Also, he is greedy of money----"
"You describe a man of experience."
"I don't know where Judas got his experience," said Conniston, coolly,"but as Mrs. Gamp said of Bailly, junior, 'All the wickedness of theworld is print to him.'"
"I can't believe it of such a lad."
"You'll have an opportunity of testing it some day," retorted the younglord. "I only hope Victoria doesn't correspond with Judas. If she does,she'll tell him about a stranger at Cove Castle, and Judas, having seenyou with me in the Park, will be quite sharp enough to put two and twotogether. Then there will be trouble."
"But why should he connect me with the crime unless----"
"Unless he knows all. He does. You are a marked man, Bernard. However,it's getting late. We'll talk of this to-morrow. I must go and seeDurham, and bring him down ostensibly for shooting."
"I wish you would bring Alice over," said Bernard. "My heart aches for asight of her sweet face."
"And dearly her face has cost you," said Conniston. "However, I'll askmy dear aunt to come over, and bring Alice. As Miss Berengaria is arelative, it will be thought nothing out of the way. We'll save you yet,Bernard; only I wish we had that one piece of evidence--the handkerchiefyou lost. When that is found we shall know who is guilty."
