by Fergus Hume
And so Madge Frettlby, true woman as she was, had nailed her colours to the mast, and refused to surrender to anyone, whatever arguments they brought against her. He was innocent, and his innocence would be proved, for she had an intuitive feeling that he would be saved at the eleventh hour—how, she knew not, but she was certain that it would be so. She would have gone and seen Brian in prison, but that her father absolutely forbade her doing so, and she was dependent upon Calton for all news respecting him, and any message which she wished conveyed.
Calton was very much annoyed at Brian’s persistent refusal to set up the defence of an alibi, and as he felt sure that the young man could do so, he was anxious to find out the reason why he would not do so.
‘If it’s for the sake of a woman,’ he said, to Brian, ‘I don’t care who she is—it’s absurdly Quixotic—self preservation is the first law of nature, and, if my neck was in danger, I’d spare neither man, woman, nor child to save it.’
‘I dare say,’ answered Brian, ‘but, if you had my reasons you might think differently.’
In his own mind, the lawyer had a theory which sufficiently accounted for Brian’s refusal to answer for his doings on that night. Fitzgerald had admitted that he had an appointment on that night, and that it was with a woman. He was a handsome fellow, and probably his morals were no better than those of other young men, so Calton thought that Brian had some intrigue with a married woman, and had been with her on the night in question, hence his refusal to speak. If he did so, her name would be brought into the matter, the outraged husband whosoever he might be would interpose, and the whole affair would probably end in the divorce court.
‘It’s better for him to lose his character than his life,’ argued Calton, ‘and that woman ought to speak—it would be hard on her I admit, but when a man’s neck is in danger she ought to risk anything rather than see him hanged.’
Full of these perplexing thoughts, Calton went down to St Kilda to have a talk with Madge over the matter, and also to see if she would help him to obtain the information he wanted. He had a great respect for Madge, knowing what a clever woman she was, and thought that, seeing Brian was so deeply in love with her, if she saw him about the matter he might be induced to confess everything.
The lawyer found Madge waiting anxiously to see him, and when he entered she sprang forward with a cry of delight.
‘Oh, where have you been all this time?’ she said anxiously, as they sat down, ‘I have been counting every moment since I saw you last—how is he—my poor darling?’
‘Just the same,’ answered Calton, taking off his gloves, ‘still obstinately refusing to save his own life—where’s your father?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Out of town,’ she answered impatiently, ‘he will not be back for a week—but what do you mean that he won’t save his own life?’
Calton leaned forward, and took her hand.
‘Do you want to save his life?’ he asked.
‘Save his life,’ she reiterated, starting up out of her chair, with a cry, ‘God knows, I would die to save him.’
‘Pish,’ murmured Calton to himself as he looked at her glowing face and outstretched hands, ‘these women are always in extremes.’ ‘The fact is,’ he said aloud, ‘Fitzgerald is able to prove an alibi, and he refuses to do so.’
‘But why?’
Calton shrugged his shoulders.
‘That is best known to himself—some Quixotic idea of honour, I fancy—now he refuses to tell me where he was on that night, perhaps he won’t refuse to tell you—so you must come up and see him with me, and perhaps he will recover his senses, and confess.’
‘But, my father,’ she faltered.
‘Did you not say he was out of town?’ asked Calton.
‘Yes,’ hesitated Madge, ‘but he told me not to go.’
‘In that case,’ said Calton, rising and taking up his hat and gloves, ‘I won’t ask you.’
She laid her hand on his arm.
‘Stop! will it do any good?’
Calton hesitated a moment, for he thought that if the reason of Brian’s silence was as he surmised an intrigue with a married woman he would certainly not tell the girl he was engaged to about it—but on the other hand there might be some other reason, and Calton trusted to Madge to find it out. With these thoughts in his mind he turned round.
‘Yes,’ he answered, boldly, ‘it may save his life.’
‘Then I will go,’ she answered recklessly, ‘he is more to me than my father, and if I can save him, I will—wait,’ and she ran out of the room.
‘An uncommonly plucky girl,’ murmured the lawyer as he looked out of the window. ‘If Fitzgerald is not a fool he will certainly tell her all—that is, of course, if he is able to—queer things these women are—I quite agree with Balzac’s saying that no wonder men couldn’t understand woman, seeing that God who created her failed to do so.’
Madge came back dressed to go out, with a heavy veil over her face.
‘Shall I order the carriage?’ she asked, pulling on her gloves with trembling fingers.
‘Hardly,’ answered Calton dryly, ‘unless you want to see a paragraph in the society papers to the effect that Miss Madge Frettlby visited Mr Fitzgerald in gaol—no—no—we’ll get a cab—come my dear,’ and taking her arm he led her away.
They reached the station, and caught a train just as it started, yet notwithstanding this Madge was in a fever of impatience.
‘How slow it goes,’ she said, fretfully.
‘Hush, my dear,’ said Calton, laying his hand on her arm, ‘You will betray yourself—we’ll arrive soon—and save him.’
‘Oh, God grant we may,’ she said with a low cry clasping her hands tightly together, while Calton could see the tears falling from under her thick veil.
‘This is not the way to do so,’ he said, almost roughly, ‘you will go into hysterics soon—control yourself, for his sake.’
‘For his sake,’ she muttered, and with a powerful effort of will calmed herself. They soon arrived in Melbourne and getting a hansom drove up quickly to the gaol. After going through the usual formula they entered the cell where Brian was, and when the warder who accompanied them opened the door, found the young man seated on his bed, with his face buried in his hands. He looked up, and on seeing Madge, rose and held out his arms, with a cry of delight—she ran forward and threw herself on his breast with a stifled sob. For a short time no one spoke—Calton being at the other end of the cell, busy with some notes which he had taken from his pocket, and the warder having retired.
‘My poor darling,’ said Madge, stroking back the soft fair hair from his flushed forehead, ‘how ill you look.’
‘Yes,’ answered Fitzgerald, with a hard laugh, ‘prison does not improve a man, does it?’
‘Don’t speak in that tone, Brian,’ she said, ‘it is not like you—let us sit down and talk calmly over the matter.’
‘I don’t see what good that will do,’ he answered wearily, as they sat down hand in hand. ‘I have talked about it to Calton till my head aches, and it is no good.’
‘Of course not,’ retorted the lawyer sharply, as he also sat down. ‘Nor will it be any good until you come to your senses, and tell us where you were on that night.’
‘I tell you I cannot.’
‘Brian dear,’ said Madge, softly, taking his hand, ‘you must tell all—for my sake.’
Fitzgerald sighed—this was the hardest temptation he had yet been subjected to—he felt half inclined to yield, and chance the result—but one look at Madge’s pure face, steeled him against doing so. What could his confession bring but sorrow and regret to one whom he loved better than his life.
‘Madge,’ he answered, gravely, taking her hand again, ‘you do not know what you ask.’
‘Yes, I do!’ she replied quickly. ‘I ask you to save yourself—to prove that you are not guilty of this terrible crime, and not to sacrifice your life for the sake of—of—’ Here she stopped, and looked helpl
essly at Calton, for she had no idea of the reason of Fitzgerald’s refusal to speak.
‘For the sake of a woman!’ finished Calton, bluntly.
‘A woman!’ she faltered, still holding her lover’s hand, ‘is—is—is that the reason?’
Brian averted his face.
‘Yes,’ he said, in a low, rough voice.
A sharp expression of anguish crossed her pale face, and sinking her head on her hands, she wept bitterly. Brian looked at her in a dogged kind of way, and Calton stared grimly at both of them.
‘Look here,’ he said at length to Brian, in an angry voice, ‘if you want my opinion of your conduct I think you’re an infernal scoundrel—begging your pardon, my dear, for the expression. Here is this noble girl, who loves you with her whole heart, and is ready to sacrifice everything for your sake, comes to implore you to save your life, and you coolly turn round, and acknowledge that you love another woman.’
Brian lifted his head haughtily, and his face flushed.
‘You are wrong,’ he said, turning round sharply; ‘there is the woman for whose sake I keep silence;’ and rising up from the bed, he pointed to Madge as she sobbed bitterly on it.
She lifted up her haggard face, with an air of surprise.
‘For my sake!’ she cried, in a startled voice.
‘Oh, he’s mad,’ said Calton, shrugging his shoulders, ‘I will put in a defence of insanity.’
‘No, I am not mad,’ cried Fitzgerald, wildly, as he caught Madge in his arms. ‘My darling! My darling! It is for your sake that I keep silence, and will do so though my life pays the penalty. I could tell you where I was on that night, and save myself; but if I did, you would learn a secret which would curse your life, and I dare not speak—I dare not.’
Madge looked up into his face with a pitiful smile as her tears fell fast.
‘Dearest,’ she said, softly, ‘do not think of me, but only of yourself; better that I should endure misery than that you should die. I do not know what the secret can be, but if the telling of it will save your life, do not hesitate. See,’ she cried, falling on her knees, ‘I am at your feet—I implore you by all the love you ever had for me, save yourself, whatever the consequences may be to me.’
‘Madge,’ said Fitzgerald, as he raised her in his arms, ‘at one time I might have done so, but now it is too late. There is another and stronger reason for my silence, which I have only found out since my arrest. I know that I am closing up the one way of escape from this charge of murder, of which I am innocent; but as there is a God in heaven, I swear that I will not speak.’
There was a silence in the cell only broken by Madge’s convulsive sobs, and even Calton, cynical man of the world though he was, felt his eyes grow wet. Brian led Madge over to him, and placed her in his arms.
‘Take her away,’ he said in a broken voice, ‘or I will forget I am a man;’ and turning away, he threw himself on his bed, and covered his face with his hands. Calton did not answer him, but summoned the warder, and tried to lead Madge away. But just as they reached the door she broke away from him, and running back flung herself on her lover’s breast.
‘My darling! My darling!’ she sobbed, kissing him, ‘you shall not die. I will save you in spite of yourself!’ and, as if afraid to trust herself any longer, she ran out of the cell, followed by the barrister.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MADGE MAKES A DISCOVERY
Madge stepped into the cab, and Calton paused a moment to tell the cabman to drive to the railway station, when she stopped him.
‘Tell him to drive to Brian’s lodgings in Powlett Street,’ she said, laying her hand on Calton’s arm.
‘What for?’ asked the lawyer, in astonishment.
‘And also to go past the Melbourne Club, as I want to stop there.’
‘What the deuce does she mean?’ muttered Calton as he gave the necessary orders, and stepped into the cab.
‘And now,’ he asked, looking at his companion, who had let down her veil, while the cab rattled quickly down the street, ‘what do you intend to do?’
She threw back her veil, and he was astonished to see the sudden change which had come over her. There were no tears now, and her eyes were hard and glittering, while her mouth was firmly closed. She looked like a woman who had determined to do a certain thing, and would carry out her intentions at whatever cost.
‘I am going to save Brian in spite of himself,’ she said, very distinctly.
‘But how?’
‘Ah, you think that, being a woman, I can do nothing,’ she said bitterly. ‘Well, you shall see.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ retorted Calton, with a grim smile, ‘my opinion of your sex has always been an excellent one—every lawyer’s is; stands to reason that it should be so, seeing that a woman is at the bottom of nine cases out of ten.’
‘The old cry.’
‘Nevertheless a true one,’ answered Calton. ‘Ever since the time of Father Adam it has been acknowledged that women influence the world either for good or evil more than men—but this is not the point,’ he went on rather impatiently—‘What do you propose to do?’
‘Simply this,’ she answered. ‘In the first place, I may tell you that I do not understand Brian’s statement, that he keeps silence for my sake, as there are no secrets in my life that can justify him saying so, but the facts of the case are simply these: Brian on the night in question left our place, at St Kilda, at eleven o’clock. He told me he would call at the club to see if there were any letters for him, and then go straight home.’
‘But he might have said that merely as a blind.’
Madge shook her head.
‘No, I don’t think so. I never asked him where he was going, and he told me quite spontaneously. I know Brian’s character, and he would not go and tell a deliberate lie, especially when there was no necessity for it. I am quite certain that he intended to do as he said, and go straight home. When he got to the club, he found a letter there, which caused him to alter his mind.’
‘But who did he receive the letter from?’
‘Can’t you guess?’ she said impatiently. ‘From the person, man, or woman who wanted to see him, and reveal this secret about me whatever it is. He got the letter at his club, and went down Collins Street to meet the writer. At the corner of the Scotch Church, he found Mr Whyte, and on recognising him, left in disgust, and walked down Russell Street to keep his appointment.’
‘Then you don’t think he came back.’
‘I am certain he did not, for as Brian told you there are plenty of young men who wear the same kind of coat and hat as he does. Who the second man who got into the cab was, I do not know, but I will swear that it was not Brian.’
‘And you are going to look for that letter?’
‘Yes, in Brian’s lodgings.’
‘He might have burnt it.’
‘He might have done a thousand things, but he did not,’ she answered. ‘Brian is the most careless man in the world, he would put the letter into his pocket, or throw it into the wastepaper basket, and never think of it again.’
‘In this case, he did, however.’
‘Yes, he thought of the conversation he had with the writer, but not of the letter itself. Depend upon it, we will find it in his desk, or in one of the pockets of the clothes he wore that night.’
‘Then there’s another thing,’ said Calton, thoughtfully. ‘The letter might have been delivered to him between the Elizabeth Street railway station and the club.’
‘We can soon find out about that,’ answered Madge, ‘for Mr Rolleston was with him at that time.’
‘So he was,’ answered Calton, ‘and here is Rolleston coming down the street. We’ll ask him now.’
The cab was just passing the Burke and Wills monument, and Calton’s quick eye had caught a glimpse of Rolleston coming down the street on the left hand side. What first attracted Calton’s attention was the glittering appearance of Felix. His well brushed top-hat glittered, his varnished
boots glittered, and his diamond rings and scarf-pin glittered, in fact so resplendent was his appearance that he looked like an animated diamond coming along in the blazing sunshine. The cab drove up to the curbing, and Rolleston stopped short, as Calton sprang out directly in front of him. Madge lay back in the cab and pulled down her veil, not wishing to be recognised by Felix, as she knew that if he did it would soon be all over the town.
‘Hallo! old chap,’ said Rolleston, in considerable astonishment. ‘Where did you spring from?’
‘From the cab, of course,’ answered Calton, with a laugh.
‘A kind of deus ex machina,’ replied Rolleston, attempting a bad pun.
‘Exactly,’ said Calton. ‘Look here, Rolleston, do you remember the night of Whyte’s murder, you met Fitzgerald at the railway station.’
‘In the train,’ corrected Felix.
‘Well, well, no matter, you came up with him to the club.’
‘Yes, and left him there.’
‘Did you notice if he received any message while he was with you?’
‘Any message,’ repeated Felix. ‘No, he did not; we were talking together the whole time, and he spoke to no one but me.’
‘Was he in good spirits?’
‘Excellent, made me laugh awfully—but why all this thusness?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ answered Calton, getting back into the cab. ‘I wanted a little information from you, I’ll explain next time I see you! Goodbye.’
‘But I say,’ began Felix, but the cab had already rattled away, so Mr Rolleston turned angrily away.
‘I never saw anything like these lawyers,’ he said to himself. ‘Calton’s a perfect whirlwind, by Jove.’
Meanwhile Calton was talking to Madge.
‘You were right,’ he said, ‘there must have been a message for him at the club, for he got none from the time he left your place.’
‘And what will we do now?’ asked Madge, who, having heard all the conversation, did not trouble about questioning the lawyer about it.
