CHAPTER XXXI.
CONTAINS THE PLAIN TRUTH.
A sudden idea occurred to me, and I acted instantly upon its impulse.There was a second entrance through the morning room; and I dashedround to the other door, which fortunately yielded.
The sight that met my gaze was absolutely staggering. I stood upon thethreshold aghast. Sir Bernard, his dark eyes starting from his ashenface, stood, holding a woman within his grasp, pinning her to thewall, and struggling to cover her mouth with his hands and prevent hercries from being overheard.
The woman was none other than Ethelwynn.
At my unexpected entry he released his hold, shrinking back with awild, fierce look in his face, such as I had never before seen.
"Ralph!" cried my love, rushing forward and clinging to my neck."Ralph! For God's sake save me from that fiend! Save me!"
I put my arm around her to protect her, at the same instant shoutingto Jevons, who entered, as much astounded as myself. My love hadevidently come to town and kept an appointment with the old man. Thesituation was startling, and required explanation.
"Tell me, Ethelwynn," I said, in a hard, stern voice. "What does allthis mean?"
She drew herself up and tried to face me firmly, but was unable. I hadburst in upon her unexpectedly, and she seemed to fear how much of theconversation I had overheard.
Noticing her silence, my friend Jevons addressed her, saying:
"Miss Mivart, you are aware of all the circumstances of the tragedy atKew. Please explain them. Only by frank admission can you clearyourself, remember. To prevaricate further is quite useless."
She glanced at the cringing old fellow standing on the further side ofthe room--the man who had raised his hand against her. Then, with asudden resolution, she spoke, saying:
"It is true that I am aware of many facts which have been until to-daykept secret. But now that I know the horrible truth they shall remainmysteries no longer. I have been the victim of a long and dastardlypersecution, but I now hope to clear my honour before you, Ralph, andbefore my Creator." Then she paused, and, taking breath and drawingherself up straight with an air of determined resolution, went on:
"First, let us go back to the days soon after Mary's marriage. I thinkit was about a year after the wedding when I suddenly noticed a changein her. Her intellect seemed somehow weakened. Hitherto she hadpossessed a strong, well-defined character; this suddenly developedinto a weak, almost childish balance of the brain. Instead ofpossessing a will of her own, she was no longer the mistress of heractions, but as easily led as an infant. Only to myself and to mymother was this change apparent. To all her friends and acquaintancesshe was just the same. About that time she consulted this manhere--Sir Bernard Eyton, her husband's friend--regarding some otherailment, and he no doubt at once detected that her intellect had givenway. Although devoted to her husband, nevertheless the influence ofany friend of the moment was irresistible, and for that reason shedrifted into the pleasure-seeking set in town."
"But the tragedy?" Jevons exclaimed. "Tell us of that. My owninquiries show that you are aware of it all. Mrs. Courtenay murderedher husband, I know."
"Mary----the assassin!" I gasped.
"Alas! it is too true. Now that my poor sister is dead, concealment isno longer necessary," my love responded, with a deep sigh. "Marykilled her husband. She returned home, entered the house secretly,and, ascending to his room, struck him to the heart."
"But the wound--how was it inflicted?" I demanded eagerly.
"With that pair of long, sharp-pointed scissors which used to be onpoor Henry's writing-table. You remember them. They were about eightinches long, with ivory handles and a red morocco case. The woundpuzzled you, but to me it seems plain that, after striking the blow,in an endeavour to extricate the weapon she opened it and closed itagain, thereby inflicting those internal injuries that were sominutely described at the inquest. Well, on that night I heard asound, and, fearing that the invalid wanted something, crept from myroom. As I gained the door I met Mary upon the threshold. She stoodfacing me with a weird, fixed look, and in her hand was the weaponwith which she had killed her husband. That awful moment is fixedindelibly upon my memory. I shall carry its recollection to the grave.I dashed quickly into the room, and to my horror saw what hadoccurred. Then my thoughts were for Mary--to conceal her guilt.Whispering to her to obey me I led her downstairs, through the backpremises, and so out into the street. A cab was passing, and I put herinto it, telling the man to drive to the Hennikers', with whom she hadbeen spending the evening. Then, cleaning the scissors of blood bythrusting them several times into the mould of a garden I was passing,I crossed the road and tossed them over the high wall into the thickundergrowth which flanks Kew Gardens. At that spot I felt certain thatthey would never be discovered. As quickly as possible I re-enteredthe house, secured the door by which I had made my exit, and returnedagain to my room with the awful knowledge of my sister's crime upon myconscience."
"What hour was that?"
"When I retired again to bed my watch showed that it was barelyhalf-past one. At two o'clock Short, awakened by his alarum clock,made the discovery and aroused the house. What followed you know wellenough. I need not describe it. You can imagine what I felt, and howguilty was my conscience with the awful knowledge of it all."
"The circumstances were certainly most puzzling," I remarked. "Italmost appears as though matters were cleverly arranged in order tobaffle detection."
"To a certain extent they undoubtedly were. I knew that theHennikers would say nothing of poor Mary's erratic return to them.I did all in my power to withdraw suspicion from my sister, at therisk of it falling upon myself. You suspected me, Ralph. And onlynaturally--after that letter you discovered."
"But Mary's homicidal tendency seems to have been carefullyconcealed," I said. "I recollect having detected in her a strangevagueness of manner, but it never occurred to me that she was mentallyweak. In the days immediately preceding the tragedy I certainly sawbut little of her. She was out nearly every evening."
"She was not responsible for her actions for several weeks togethersometimes," Sir Bernard interrupted. "I discovered it over a yearago."
"And you profited by your discovery!" my love cried, turning upon himfiercely. "The crime was committed at your instigation!" she declared.
"At my instigation!" he echoed, with a dry laugh. "I suppose you willsay next that I hypnotised her--or some bunkum of that sort!"
"I'm no believer in hypnotic theories. They were exploded long ago,"she answered. "But what I do believe--nay, what is positively provedfrom my poor sister's own lips by a statement made beforewitnesses--is that you were the instigator of the crime. You met herby appointment that night at Kew Bridge. You opened the door of thehouse for her, and you compelled her to go in and commit the deed.Although demented, she recollected it all in her saner moments. Youtold her terrible stories of old Mr. Courtenay, for whom you hadfeigned such friendship, and for weeks you urged her to kill himsecretly until, in the frenzy of insanity to which you had broughther, she carried out your design with all that careful ingenuity thatis so often characteristic of madness."
"You lie, woman!" the old man snapped. "I had nothing whatever to dowith the affair! I was at home at Hove on that night."
"No! no! you were not," interrupted Jevons. "Your memory requiresrefreshing. Reflect a moment, and you'll find that you arrived atBrighton Station at seven o'clock next morning from Victoria. Youspent the night in London; and further, you were recognised by apolice inspector walking along the Chiswick Road as early as half-pastthree. I have not been idle, Sir Bernard, and have spent a good dealof time at Hove of late."
"What do you allege, then?" he cried in fierce anger, a dark, evilexpression on his pale, drawn face. "I suppose you'll declare thatI'm a murderer next!"
"I allege that, at your instigation, a serious and desperate attemptwas made, a short time ago, upon the life of my friend Boyd byruffians who were well paid by you."
"A
nother lie!" he blurted forth defiantly.
"What?" I cried. "Is that the truth, Ambler? Was I entrapped at theinstigation of this man?"
"Yes. He had reasons for getting rid of you--as you will discernlater."
"I tell you it's an untruth!" shouted the old man, in a frenzy ofrage.
"Deny it if you will," answered my friend, with a nonchalant air. "It,however, may be interesting to you to know that the man 'Lanky Lane,'one of the desperate gang whom you bribed to call up Boyd on the nightin question, is what is known at Scotland Yard as a policeman's'nose,' or informer; and that he made a plain statement of the wholeaffair before he fell a victim to your carefully-laid plan by whichhis lips were sealed."
In an instant I recollected that the costermonger of the London Roadwas one of the ruffians.
The old man's lips compressed. He saw that he was cornered.
The revelation that to his clever cunning was due the many remarkablefeatures of the mystery held me utterly bewildered. At first it seemedimpossible; but as the discussion grew more heated, and the factspoured forth from the mouth of the woman I loved, and from the manwho was my best friend, I became convinced that at last the whole ofthe mysterious affair would be elucidated.
One point, however, still puzzled me, namely, the inexplicable scene Ihad witnessed on the bank of the Nene.
I referred to it; whereupon Ambler Jevons drew from his breast-pockettwo photographs, and, holding them before the eyes of the tremblingold man, said:
"You recognise these? For a long time past I've been making inquiriesinto your keen interest in amateur theatricals. My information led meto Curtis's, the wigmakers; and they furnished me with this picture,showing you made up as as Henry Courtenay. It seems that, under thename of Slade, you furnished them with a portrait of the dead man andordered the disguise to be copied exactly--a fact to which a dozenwitnesses are prepared to swear. This caused me to wonder what gameyou were playing, and, after watching, I found that on certain nightsyou wore the disguise--a most complete and excellent one--and with itimposed upon the unfortunate widow of weak intellect. You posed as herhusband, and she believed you to be him. So completely was the womanin your thrall that you actually led her to believe that Courtenay wasnot dead after all! You had a deeper game to play. It was a clever anddaring piece of imposture. Representing yourself as her husband who,for financial reasons, had been compelled to disappear and wasbelieved to be dead, you had formed a plan whereby to obtain thewidow's fortune as soon as the executors had given her completemastery of it. You had arranged it all with her. She was to pose as awidow, mourn your loss, and then sell the Devonshire estate and handyou the money, believing you to be her husband and rightly entitled toit. The terrible crime which the unfortunate woman had committed atyour instigation had turned her brain, as you anticipated, and she,docile and half-witted, was entirely beneath your influence until----"and he paused.
"Until what?" I asked, utterly astounded at this remarkableexplanation of what I had considered to be an absolutely inexplicablephenomenon.
He spoke again, quite calmly:
"Until this man, to his dismay, found that poor Mrs. Courtenay'sintellect was regaining its strength. They met beside the river, and,her brain suddenly regaining its balance, she discovered the ingeniousfraud he was imposing upon her." Turning to Sir Bernard, he said, "Shetore off your disguise and declared that she would go to the policeand tell the truth of the whole circumstances--how that you hadinduced her to go to the house in Kew and kill her husband. You sawthat your game was up if she were not silenced; therefore, withoutfurther ado, you sent the poor woman to her last account."
"You lie!" the old man cried, his drawn face blanched to the lips."She fell in--accidentally."
"She did not. You threw her in," declared Ambler Jevons, firmly. "Ifollowed you there. I was witness of the scene between you; and,although too far off to save poor Mrs. Courtenay, I was witness ofyour crime!"
"You!" he gasped, glaring at my companion in fear, as though heforesaw the horror of his punishment.
"Yes!" responded Jevons, in his dry, matter-of-fact voice, his sleepyeyes brightening for a moment. "Since the day of the tragedy at Kewuntil this afternoon I have never relinquished the inquiry. The SevenSecrets I took one by one, and gradually penetrated them, at the sametime keeping always near you and watching your movements when youleast expected it. But enough--I never reveal my methods. Suffice itto say that in this I have succeeded by sheer patience andapplication. Every word of my allegation I am prepared to substantiatein due course at the Old Bailey." Then, after a second's pause, helooked straight at the culprit standing there, crushed and dumb beforehim, and declared: "Sir Bernard Eyton, you are a murderer!"
With my love's hand held in mine I stood speechless at thosestaggering revelations. I saw how Ethelwynn watched the contortions ofthe old doctor's face with secret satisfaction, for he had ever beenher enemy, just as he had been mine. He had uttered those libelloushints regarding her with a view to parting us, so as to give himgreater freedom to work his will with poor Mary. Then, when he hadfeared that through my love I had obtained knowledge of his dastardlyoffence, he had made an attempt upon my life by means of hiredruffians. The woman who had been in his drawing-room at Hove on theoccasion of my visit was Mary, as I afterwards found out, and theattractive young person in the Brighton train had also been a callerat his house in connection with the attempt planned to be made uponme.
"You--you intend to arrest me?" Sir Bernard gasped at last, with somedifficulty, his brow like ivory beneath the tight-drawn skin. A changehad come over him, and he was standing with his back to a bookcase,swaying unsteadily as though he must fall.
"I certainly do," was Ambler Jevons' prompt response. "You have beenthe means of committing a double murder for the purposes ofgain--because you knew that your friend Courtenay had left a will inyour favour in the event of his wife's decease. That will has alreadybeen proved; but perhaps it may interest you to know that the latestand therefore the valid will is in my own possession, I having foundit during a search of the dead man's effects in company with my friendBoyd. It is dated only a month before his death, and leaves thefortune to the widow, and in the event of her death to her sisterEthelwynn."
"To me!" cried my love, in surprise.
"Yes, Miss Ethelwynn. Everything is left to you unreservedly," heexplained. Then, turning again to the clever impostor before him, headded: "You will therefore recognise that all your plotting, so wellmatured and so carefully planned that your demoniacal ingenuityalmost surpasses the comprehension of man, has been in vain. By theneglect of one small detail, namely to sufficiently disguise youridentity when dealing with Curtis, I have been enabled, after a longand tedious search, to fix you as the man who on several occasions wasmade up to present in the night the appearance of the dead Courtenay.The work has taken me many tedious weeks. I visited every wig-makerand half the hairdressers in London unsuccessfully until, by merechance, the ruffian whom you employed to entrap my friend Boyd gave mea clue to the fact that Curtis made wigs as well as theatricalcostumes. The inquiry has been a long and hazardous one," he went on."But from the very first I was determined to get at the bottom of themystery, cost me what it might--and I have fortunately succeeded."Then, turning again to the cringing wretch, upon whom the terribledenunciation had fallen as a thunderbolt, he added: "The forgivenessof man, Sir Bernard Eyton, you will never obtain. It has been ever lawthat the murderer shall die--and you will be no exception."
The effect of those words upon the guilty man was almost electrical.He drew himself up stiffly, his keen, wild eyes starting from hisblanched face as he glared at his accuser. His lips moved. No sound,however, came from them. The muscles of his jaws seemed to suddenlybecome paralysed, for he was unable to close his mouth. He stood for amoment, an awful spectacle, the brand of Cain upon him. A strangegurgling sound escaped him, as though he were trying to articulate,but was unable; then he made wild signs with both his hands, clutchedsuddenly at the air
, and fell forward in a fit.
I went to him, loosened his collar, and applied restoratives, but inten minutes I saw that he was beyond human aid. What I had at firstbelieved to be a fit was a sudden cessation of the functions of theheart--caused by wild excitement and the knowledge that punishment wasupon him.
Within fifteen minutes of that final accusation the old man lay backupon the carpet lifeless, struck dead by natural causes at the momentthat his crimes had become revealed.
Thus were the Seven Secrets explained; and thus were the CentralCriminal Court and the public spared what would have been one of themost sensational trials of modern times.
The papers on Monday reported "with deepest regret" the sudden deathfrom heart disease of Sir Bernard Eyton, whom they termed "one of thegreatest and most skilful physicians of modern times."
* * * * *
Just two years have passed since that memorable evening.
You, my reader, are probably curious to know whether I have succeededin obtaining the quiet country practice that was my ideal. Well, yes,I have. And what is more, I have obtained in Ethelwynn a wife who isdevoted to me and beloved by all the countryside--a wife who is thevery perfection of all that is noble and good in woman. The Courtenayestate is ours; but I am not an idle man. Somehow I cannot be.
My practice? Where is it? Well, it is in Leicestershire. I dare not bemore explicit, for Ethelwynn has urged me to conceal our identity, inorder that we may not be remarked as a couple whose wooing was sostrangely tragic and romantic.
Ambler Jevons still carries on his tea-blending business in the City,the most confirmed of bachelors, and the shrewdest of all criminalinvestigators. Even though we have been so intimate for years, and heoften visits me at ---- I was nearly, by a slip, writing the name ofthe Leicestershire village--he has never explained to me his methods,and seldom, if ever, speaks of those wonderful successes by whichScotland Yard is so frequently glad to profit.
Only a few days ago, while we were sitting on the lawn behind myquaint old-fashioned house awaiting dinner, I chanced to remark uponthe happiness which his ingenuity and perseverance had brought me;whereupon, turning to me with a slight, reflective smile, he replied:
"Ah, yes! Ralph, old fellow. I gave up that problem in despair fully adozen times, and it was only because I knew that the future happinessof you both depended upon its satisfactory solution that I beganafresh and strove on, determined not to be beaten. I watchedcarefully, not only Eyton, but Ethelwynn and yourself. I was oftennear you when you least suspected my presence. But that crafty oldscoundrel was possessed of the ingenuity of Satan himself, combinedwith all the shrewd qualities that go to make a good detective; hencein every movement, every wile, and every action he was careful tocover himself, so that he could establish an _alibi_ on every point.For that reason the work was extremely difficult. He was a veritableartist in crime. Yes," he added, "of the many inquiries I've taken up,the most curious and most complicated of them all was that of TheSeven Secrets."
THE END.
PRINTED BY A. C. FOWLER, MOORFIELDS, E.C., AND SHOREDITCH, E.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author'swords and intent.
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