The Third Volume

by Fergus Hume

  CHAPTER VI.

  TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION.

  THIS astonishing statement was received by Claude with a disbelievingsmile; and so convinced was he of its untruth that he affected anger atwhat he really believed to be the flippancy of Tait's conduct.

  "It is no doubt very amusing for you to ridicule my story," said he,with cold dignity, "but it is hardly the act of a friend. Some mattersare too serious to form the subject of a jest; and this----"

  "I am not jesting," interrupted Tait eagerly. "I assure you that thetragedy which concerned your parents forms the subject-matter of thisnovel. You can read the book yourself, and so be convinced that I amspeaking the truth. The names and places are no doubt fictional, but thewhole story is narrated plainly enough."

  Larcher turned over the three volumes with a puzzled expression. That astory with which he had only become acquainted within the lasttwenty-four hours should be printed in a book, and that the book itselfshould be brought so speedily under his notice, seemed to him quiteinexplicable. The strangeness of the occurrence paralyzed his will, and,contrary to his usual self-dependence, he looked to Tait for guidance.

  "What do you think of it?" he asked irresolutely.

  "Ah! That requires some consideration, my friend. But before we go intothe matter let us understand our position toward each other. You believethis story of your father's death?"

  "Certainly. Mr. Hilliston would not tell me an untruth, and moreoverthis bundle of extracts from provincial newspapers confirms hisstatement. I truly believe that my father, George Larcher, was murderedat Horriston in 1866 by--and there you have me--I know not by whom. Myown opinion is that Jeringham is----"

  "One moment, Claude! Let us settle all preliminaries. Are you resolvedto take up this matter!"

  "I am! I must clear the memory of my mother, and avenge the death of myfather."

  "Would it not be better to let sleeping dogs lie?" suggested Tait, withsome hesitation.

  "I do not think so," replied Claude quietly. "I am not a sentimentalman, as you know; and my nature is of too practical a kind to busyitself with weaving ropes of sand. Yet in this instance I feel that itis my duty to hunt down and punish the coward who killed my father. WhenI find him, and punish him, this ghost of '66 will be laid aside;otherwise, it will continue to haunt and torture me all my life."

  "But your business?"

  "I shall lay aside my business till this matter is settled to mysatisfaction. As you know, I have a private income, and am not compelledto work for my daily bread. Moreover, the last four years have broughtme in plenty of money, so that I can afford to indulge my fancy. And myfancy," added Claude in a grim tone, "is to dedicate the rest of my lifeto discovering the truth. Do you not approve of my decision?"

  "Yes, and no," said Tait evasively. "I think your hunt for anundescribed criminal, whose crime dates back twenty-five years, israther a waste of time. All clews must have disappeared. It seemshopeless for you to think of solving the mystery. And if you do,"continued the little man earnestly, "if you do, what possible pleasurecan you derive from such a solution? Your father is a mere name to you,so filial love can have nothing to do with the matter. Moreover, thecriminal may be dead--he may be----"

  "You have a thousand and one objections," said Larcher impatiently,"none of which have any weight with me. I am in the hands of Fate. Afactor has entered into my life which has changed my future. Knowingwhat I now know, I cannot rest until I learn the truth. Do you know thestory of Mozart?" he added abruptly.

  "I know several stories of Mozart. But this special one I may not know."

  "It is told either of Mozart or Mendelssohn! I forget which," pursuedLarcher, half to himself. "When Mozart--let us say Mozart--was ill inbed, one of his friends struck a discord on the piano, which requiredwhat is technically known as a resolution for its completion. Theomission so tortured the sensitive ear of the musician that, when hisfriend departed, he rose from his bed and completed the discord inaccordance with musical theory. Till that was done he could not rest."

  "And the point of your parable?"

  "Can you not see? This incomplete case of murder is my discord. I mustcomplete it by discovering the criminal, and so round off the case, orsubmit to be tortured by its hinted mystery all my life. It is notfilial love, it is not sentiment, it is not even curiosity, it is simplya desire to complete a matter hitherto left undone. Till I know thesequel to the Horriston tragedy, I shall feel in a state ofsuspense--and suspense," added Claude emphatically, "is torture to menof my temperament."

  "Your reason is a trifle whimsical," said Tait, smiling at theapplication of this musical theory to the present instance, "but I canunderstand your feelings. Indeed, I feel the same way myself."

  "You!"

  "Why not? In reading 'A Whim of Fate,' I could not go to rest withoutknowing the end, and I feel a like curiosity toward this tragedy of reallife. I shall not be content till I learn the truth. My feelings areprecisely the same as your own. Therefore," pursued Tait, with emphasis,"I propose to assist you in your search. We will discuss the mattercalmly, and see what is best to be done. In spite of the lapse offive-and-twenty years, who knows but what we may lay hands on themurderer of your father, who is no doubt now living in fanciedsecurity."

  "Unless he is dead."

  "Who is making the objections now?" said Tait, smiling. "Well, Claude,will you accept me as your brother detective in this matter?"

  "Willingly, and I thank you for this proof of your friendship."

  "I am afraid there is an element of selfishness mixed up in my offer,"said Tait, shrugging his shoulders. "It is not every day that one canfind an interesting case like this to dissect. Excitement is the joy oflife, and I rather think we will be able to extract a great deal fromthis investigation. Come! We now understand one another."

  Larcher grasped the hand held out to him, and gratefully accepted theaid thus offered. From that moment the two dedicated themselves to huntdown the criminal at whose hands George Larcher had met his death. Itwas as strange a compact as had ever been made. Halting Nemesis, who hadrested all these years, once more resumed her stealthy progress, andbefore her ran these two young men, as ministers of her long-delayedrevenge. This junction of unforeseen circumstances savored of thedramatic.

  "The first thing to be done," said Tait, when the compact was thusconcluded, "is to read both cases."

  "Both cases!" repeated Claude curiously.

  "Yes! You remember how Browning gives half a dozen aspects of the samecase in his 'Ring and the Book.' In a minor degree we benefit in thesame manner. There," said Tait, pointing to the roll of newspapers, "isthe case from the real point of view, and here, in these three volumes,we will find the same case as considered in a fictional fashion by thenovelist. By reading both we may come to some conclusion whence to startin our talk. Last night you read the newspapers; I the novel. To-day wewill reverse the process. I will view the affair as set forth by theprovincial press, and you will devour the three volumes of John Parveras I did last night."

  "And afterward?"

  "Eh! Who can say?" replied Tait, shrugging his shoulders. Severalsojourns in Paris had left their trace in Gallic gestures, and possiblyin Gallic flippancy. "We must know what foundation we have before webuild."

  Claude nodded. He was of the same way of thinking himself, and commentedon his friend's speech after his own fashion.

  "Yes," said he a trifle vindictively, "we must build our gallows stanchand strong. You can proceed with your toilet, and afterward we will readnovels and newspapers, as you suggest. The result of our reading mustappear in our actions. I rather think," he added slowly, "that theresult will be a visit to Mr. Hilliston."

  "Without doubt. He was an eye-witness, and it is always preferable toobtain evidence first hand."

  "Then," said Claude reflectively, "there is Mrs. Bezel."

  "Quite so! The enterprising lady who started the whole thing. Was shealso an eye
-witness?"

  "I can't say. Her name does not appear in the newspapers."

  "Humph!" muttered Tait, scratching his chin. "Nor in those three volumescan I find a character likely to develop into Mrs. Bezel of Hampstead."

  "I wonder who she can be," said Claude curiously, "or what she can haveto do with the case."

  "That we must find out. Depend upon it, there is more in this case thanin newspapers or novel. We must find out all about Mrs. Bezel, and,"said Tait, with emphasis, "we must learn all that is to be learnedconcerning John Parver."

  "Who is John Parver?"

  "Who was the Man in the Iron Mask?" replied Tait, in a bantering tone."I cannot say. But whomsoever he may be, he knows all about this case."

  "There is that possibility, certainly," assented the other smoothly,"but I think it hardly likely. A man of to-day would not readily comeacross the account of a tragedy occurring in a little known towntwenty-five years ago. Do you know," he added, after a pause, "that itoccurs to me that the publication of this book, containing an account ofthe case, may have been the cause which incited Mrs. Bezel to write theletter."

  "I thought so myself. Mrs. Bezel may think that John Parver is a _nom deplume_ assumed by Claude Larcher."

  "Or another alternative. Mrs. Bezel may be John Parver herself. It isthe fashion nowadays for women to write under the names of men."

  There was a few minutes' silence, during which each man was intent onhis own thoughts. Tait, whose brain turned quicker than that ofLarcher, was the first to break the silence.

  "Well," said he, moving briskly toward his bedroom door, "before we cansay or do anything we must learn the facts of the case."

  As he vanished into his room Claude laid his hand on the first of thethree volumes.