Loe raamatut: «The Third. Volume», lehekülg 7

CHAPTER XIII
ON THE TRACK

It was nearly six o'clock when Claude returned to Earls Street, and Tait, already dressed for the evening, was waiting his arrival with considerable impatience. His usual imperturbability had given place to a self-satisfied air, as though he had succeeded in accomplishing a difficult undertaking. He uttered a joyful exclamation when he saw Claude enter, but a look of apprehension passed over his face when he noted the altered appearance of his friend.

"What is wrong?" he asked, as Claude threw himself into a chair, with a sigh of fatigue. "Do you bring bad news? My dear fellow, you are completely worn out. Here, Dormer, a glass of sherry for Mr. Larcher."

The servant, who was putting the finishing touches to the dinner-table, speedily obeyed this order, and Tait made his friend drink the wine without delay. Then he proceeded to question him regarding the reason of his pallor, but with his usual caution first sent Dormer out of the room. Only when they were alone did he venture to speak on the subject about which both were thinking.

"Well!" he demanded anxiously, "you saw Mrs. Bezel?"

"Yes; I was with her for two hours."

"Ah!" said Tait, with great satisfaction; "she must have told you a good deal in that time."

"She did. She told me more than I expected."

"Did it concern your parents?"

"It did."

"Good! Then you no doubt heard her version of the crime."

"Yes!"

These unsatisfactory replies, which dropped so strangely from Larcher's lips, at once puzzled and irritated the questioner.

"You don't seem anxious to confide in me," he said, in a piqued tone.

"I will tell you all. I am anxious to tell you all," replied Larcher, finding his tongue, "but I do not know how to begin."

"Oh, I shall save you that trouble by asking you questions. In the first place, who is Mrs. Bezel?"

"My mother!"

Tait bounded from his chair with an expression of incredulity. This unexpected information, so abruptly conveyed, was too much for his self-control.

"Your mother!" he stammered, hardly thinking he had heard aright. "Are you in earnest? I cannot believe it. According to the notice in the newspapers, according to Hilliston, your mother died in London in 1867."

"She did not die. Her death was a feigned one, to escape the notoriety gained by her trial at Canterbury."

"Did Mr. Hilliston know she was alive?"

"Yes. It was by his advice that she changed her name."

"Oh! Oh!" said Tait, with marked significance; "Hilliston knew, Hilliston advised. Humph! John Parver may be right, after all."

"Tait, be silent! You are speaking of my mother."

"I beg your pardon, my dear fellow, but I really do not understand."

"You will shortly. I will tell you the story of my mother's troubles, and Hilliston's kindness."

"Hilliston's kindness," repeated Tait, in a skeptical tone. Nevertheless he resumed his seat, and signified his willingness to hear the narrative.

The wine had done Claude good, and restored his self-possession; so, now master of himself, he related all that had passed between himself and Mrs. Bezel. Gifted with a retentive memory, and no mean powers as a narrator, he succeeded in giving Tait a vivid impression of the conversation. The little man, with his head slightly on one side, like a bright-eyed sparrow, listened attentively, and not till the story was finished did he make an observation thereon. To this capability of listening without interruption Tait owed a great deal of his popularity.

"Truth is stranger than fiction, after all," said he, when Claude ended; "and the novel is less dramatic than the episode of real life. John Parver did not dare to insinuate that the supposed dead widow of the murdered man was alive. Humph! this complicates matters more than ever."

"At least it clears the character of Hilliston."

"Yes," assented Tait doubtfully; "I suppose it does."

"Can you doubt it?" said Larcher, dissatisfied with this grudging consent. "You can now see why Hilliston was agitated at our interview; why he asked me not to see Mrs. Bezel, so-called; why he called here the same evening to find out if I had gone; and finally why he wished to prepare me before seeing her, by telling of the tragedy."

"Oh, I see all that," said Tait quietly. "Nine men out of ten would consider Hilliston a most disinterested person. But I am the tenth man, and am therefore skeptical of his motive."

"But what motive can he have for – "

"That is just it," interrupted Tait vivaciously. "I can't see his motive, but I will find it out some day."

"Well, you can speak for yourself," said Claude, frowning. "After what my mother has told me, I believe Hilliston to be an upright and honorable man."

"You are quite right to do so on the evidence. Still, if I were you I would not keep him informed of all our movements, unless – Do you intend to go on with the matter?" he asked abruptly.

"Assuredly! I am determined to find out who killed my father."

Tait walked to the fireplace and took up his position on the hearth-rug. An idea had entered his mind, which he did not intend to put into words. Nevertheless it was indirectly the reason for his next speech.

"I think, after all, it would be best to take Hilliston's advice, and let sleeping dogs lie."

He had not calculated the effect of these words on his hearer, for Claude also arose from his chair, and looked at him with angry surprise.

"I don't understand you," he said coldly. "Some hours back, and you were more eager than I to pursue this unknown criminal. Now you wish to withdraw. May I ask the reason of this sudden change."

"It seems to be useless to hope to find the assassin," replied Tait, shrugging his shoulders. "One cannot discover a needle in a haystack."

"Oh, yes you can – by patient research."

"Well, even that would be easier than to hope to solve a mystery which has been impenetrable for five-and-twenty years."

"It has been impenetrable for that time because no one has tried to solve it. This is not your real reason for wishing to end the case. What is your reason? Speak! I insist upon knowing the truth."

The other did not reply, but thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, and maintained a masterly silence. Irritated by this negative attitude, Claude placed his hands on the little man's shoulders and looked at him indignantly.

"I know what your reason is, Tait," he said rapidly; "it is not that you fear we may learn too little, but that you expect we will learn too much."

"Yes," replied Tait simply, "that is the reason. Is it not an all-sufficient one for you to pause?"

"No!" shouted Claude savagely; "it is all-sufficient for me to go on. You think that I may discover that Hilliston is the criminal, or learn that my mother is accountable for the crime. I tell you no such thing will happen. Hilliston was not near The Laurels on the fatal morning. My mother – I have told you how she exonerated herself, and the exoneration was substantiated by Denis Bantry. Both are innocent."

"It may be so. But who is guilty?"

"Jeringham. I believe that he discovered that my father had returned, and perhaps knowing of this intrigue between him and Mona Bantry, remained at The Laurels, unknown to my mother, in order to assist her as a friend."

"How did Jeringham obtain possession of the dagger?"

"I cannot say. We must find out. But he did obtain possession of the dagger, and during a quarrel with my father killed him with it. He fled to avoid the consequences. Oh, yes! I swear that Jeringham is guilty. But I will hunt him down, if I have to do it alone."

"You will not do it alone," said Tait quietly. "I am with you still."

"But you said – "

"I know what I said! I think it is best to leave well alone. But since you are set on learning the truth, I will help you to the best of my ability. Only," added Tait explicitly, "should you discover the truth to be unpalatable, do not blame me."

"I won't blame you. I am certain that you will find that I am right, and that Hilliston and my mother had nothing to do with the affair. Help me, that is all I ask. I will bear the consequences."

"Very good! Then we had better get to work," said Tait dryly. "Just go and dress, my dear fellow, or you'll keep dinner waiting."

"Why should I dress? I am not going out to-night."

"Indeed you are! We are due at Mrs. Durham's 'At Home' at ten o'clock."

"I shan't go. I am in no mood for frivolity. I would rather stay at home and think over the case. It is only by hard work that we can hope to learn the truth."

"Very true. At the same time it is necessary for you to go out to-night, if only to meet with John Parver."

"The author of 'A Whim of Fate,'" asked Claude eagerly, "is he in town?"

"Yes. And he will be at Mrs. Durham's to-night. We must see him, and find out where he obtained the materials for his novel."

"Do you think such information will lead to any result?" asked Claude dubiously.

"I don't think. I am sure of it," retorted Tait impatiently. "Now go and dress."

Larcher departed without a word.

CHAPTER XIV
THE UPPER BOHEMIA

The name Bohemia is suggestive of unknown talent starving in garrets, of obdurate landladies, of bacchanalian nights, and shabby dress. Murger first invested the name with this flavor, and since his time the word has become polarized, and indicates nothing but struggling humanity and unappreciated genius. Yet your true Bohemian does not leave his country when he becomes rich and famous. It is true that he descends from the garret to the first floor; that he fares well and dresses decently; but he still dwells in Bohemia. The reckless air of the hovels permeates the palaces of this elastic kingdom of fancy.

Mrs. Durham was a Bohemian, and every Thursday received her confrères in the drawing room of a very elegant mansion in Chelsea. She had written a novel, "I Cling to Thee with Might and Main," and this having met with a moderate success, she posed as a celebrity, and set up her salon on the lines of Lady Blessington. Everyone who was anyone was received at her "At Homes," and by this process she gathered together a queer set of people. Some were clever, others were not; some were respectable, others decidedly disreputable; but one and all – to use an expression usually connected with crime – had done something. Novelists, essayists, painters, poets, and musicians were all to be found in her rooms, and a more motley collection could be seen nowhere else in London. Someone dubbed the Chelsea Mansions "The Zoo," and certainly animals of all kinds were to be found there, from monkeys to peacocks.

It was considered rather the thing to be invited to "The Zoo," so when brothers and sisters of the pen met one another there they usually said: "What! are you here?" as though the place were heaven, and the speaker justifiably surprised that anyone should be saved except himself or herself. Literary people love one another a degree less than Christians.

Hither came Tait and Claude in search of John Parver. That young man had made a great success with his novel, and was consequently much sought after by lion hunters. However, Tait had learned that he was to be present at Mrs. Durham's on this special evening, and hoped to engage him in conversation, so as to learn where he had obtained the materials for his story.

When they arrived the rooms were quite full, and Mrs. Durham received them very graciously. It was true that they were not famous, still as Tait was a society man, and Claude very handsome, the lady of the house good-humoredly pardoned all mental deficiencies. Tait knew her very well, having met her at several houses, but she addressed herself rather to Claude than to his friend, having a feminine appreciation of good looks.

"My rooms are always crowded," said she, with that colossal egotism which distinguished her utterances. "You know they call me the new George Eliot."

"No doubt you deserve the name," replied Claude, with mimic gravity.

"Oh, I suppose so," smirked the lady amiably. "You have read my novel, of course. It is now in its fourth edition, and has been refused by Smith and Mudie. I follow the French school of speaking my mind."

"And a very nasty mind it must be," thought Larcher, who had been informed about the book by Tait. He did not, however, give this thought utterance, but endeavored to generalize the conversation. "You have many celebrities here to-night, I presume?"

"My Dear Sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Durham, in capitals, "every individual in this company is famous! Yonder is Mr. Padsop, the great traveler, who wrote 'Mosques and Mosquitoes.' He is talking to Miss Pexworth, the writer of those scathing articles in The Penny Trumpet, entitled 'Man, the Brute.' She is a modern woman."

"Oh, indeed!" said Claude equably, and looked at this latest production of the nineteenth century, "she is rather masculine in appearance."

"It is her pride to be so, Mr. Larcher. She is more masculine than man. That is her brother, who designs ladies' dresses and decorates dinner tables."

"Ah! He isn't masculine. I suppose nature wanted to preserve the balance in the family. The law of compensation, eh?"

"Oh, you are severe. Tommy Pexworth is a dear little creature, and so fond of chiffons. He knows more about women's dress than his sister."

"So I should think," replied Claude dryly. He took an instant and violent dislike to Mr. Pexworth, who was one of those feminine little creatures, only distinguished from the other sex by wearing trousers. "A charming pair," he added, smiling. "I don't know which I admire the most. The sister who is such a thorough gentlemen, or the brother who is a perfect lady."

"You are satirical," smiled Mrs. Durham, enjoying this hit at her friends. "Now you must take me down to have some refreshment. Really, you must."

Thus inspired, Claude elbowed the hostess through the crush, and escorted her to a bare counter in the dining room, whereon were displayed thin bread and butter, very weak tea, and fossil buns. Mrs. Durham evidently knew her own refreshments too well to partake of them, for she had a mild brandy and soda, produced from its hiding place by a confidential waiter. She asked Claude to join her, but he refused on the plea that he never drank between meals.

"But you are not a brain-worker," said Mrs. Durham, hurriedly finishing her brandy and soda, lest her guests should see it and become discontented with the weak tea; "if I did not keep myself up I should die. Ah! Why, here is Mr. Hilliston."

"Hilliston!" said Claude, astonished at seeing his guardian in this house.

"Yes. Do you know him? A dear creature – so clever. He was my solicitor in a libel action against The Penny Trumpet, for saying that I was an ungrammatical scribbler. Just fancy! And they call me the new George Eliot. We lost our case, I'm sorry to say. Judges are such brutes! Miss Pexworth says they are, ever since she failed to get damages for her breach of promise case."

"Here comes Mr. Hilliston," said Larcher, rather tired of this long-tongued lady. "I know him very well, he is my guardian."

"How very delightful!" said Mrs. Durham, with the accent on the "very." "Oh, Mr. Hilliston," she continued, as the lawyer approached, "we were just talking about you!"

"I trust the absent were right for once," replied Hilliston, with an artificial smile and a swift glance at Claude. "I have just come to say good-by."

"Oh, not yet, surely not yet! Really!" babbled Mrs. Durham with shallow enthusiasm. Then finding Hilliston was resolved to go, and catching sight of a newly arrived celebrity, she hastened, after the amiable fashion of her kind, to speed the parting guest. "Well, if you must, you must. Good-by, good-by! Excuse me, I see Mr. Rawler, a delightful man – writes plays, you know. The new Shakspere; yes!" and thus talking she melted away with a babble of words, leaving Hilliston and his ward alone.

They were mutually surprised to see one another, Claude because he knew his guardian did not affect Bohemianism, and Hilliston because he thought that the young man had left town. The meeting was hardly a pleasant one, as Hilliston dreaded lest Mrs. Bezel should have said too much, and so prejudiced Claude against him.

"I understood from your refusal of my invitation that you had gone to Thorston with Tait," said he, after a pause.

"I am going to-morrow or the next day," replied Claude quickly, "but in any event I intended to call on you before I left town."

"Indeed!" said Hilliston nervously; "you have something to tell me?"

"Yes. I have seen Mrs. Bezel."

"Good. You have seen Mrs. Bezel."

"And I have made a discovery."

"Oh! Has the lady informed you who committed the crime?"

"No. But she told me her name."

"Margaret Bezel!" murmured Hilliston, wondering what was coming.

"Not Margaret Bezel, but Julia Larcher, my mother."

"She – she told you that?" gasped Hilliston, his self-control deserting him for the moment.

"Yes. I know why she feigned death; I know how you have protected her. You have been a kind friend to me, Mr. Hilliston, and to my mother. I am doubly in your debt."

Hilliston took the hand held out to him by Claude, and pressed it cordially. The speech relieved him from all apprehension. He now knew that Mrs. Bezel had kept their secret, and immediately took advantage of the restored confidence of Claude. His quick wit grasped the situation at once.

"My dear fellow," he said with much emotion, "I loved your poor father too much not to do what I could for his widow and son. I hope you do not blame me for suppressing the truth."

"No. I suppose you acted for the best. Still, I would rather you had informed me that my mother was still alive."

"To what end? It would only have made you miserable. I did not want to reveal anything; but your mother insisted that you should be made acquainted with the past, and so – I gave you the papers."

"I am glad you did so."

"And now, what do you intend to do?" asked Hilliston slowly. "You know as much as I do. Is there any clew to guide you in the discovery that your mother still lives?"

"No. She can tell me nothing. But I hope to find the clew here."

"Ah! You intend to speak with John Parver?"

"I do," said Claude, rather surprised at this penetration; "do you know him?"

"I exchanged a few words with him," replied Hilliston carelessly. "I only came here to-night at the request of Mrs. Durham, who is a client of mine. As I paid my respects to her, she was talking to John Parver, and he was introduced to me as the latest lion. So you still intend to pursue the matter?" added Hilliston, after a pause.

"Assuredly! If only to clear my mother, and restore her to the world."

"I am afraid it is too late, Claude. You know she is ill and cannot live long."

"Nevertheless, I wish her to take her own name again. She will not do so until the assassin of her husband – of my father – is discovered, so you see it is obligatory on me to find out the truth."

"I trust you may be successful," said Hilliston, sighing; "but my advice is still the same, and it would be best for you to let the matter rest. After five-and-twenty years you can discover nothing. I cannot help you; your mother cannot help you, so – "

"But John Parver may," interrupted Larcher sharply. "I will see how he learned the details of the case."

Before Hilliston could make further objection, Tait joined them, and not noticing the lawyer, hastily took Claude by the arm.

"I have been looking for you everywhere," said he. "Come and be introduced to Mr. Linton."

"Who is Mr. Linton?"

"John Parver. He writes under that name. Ah, Mr. Hilliston, I did not see you. How do you do, sir?"

"I am quite well, Mr. Tait, and am just taking my departure," replied Hilliston easily. "I see you are both set on finding out the truth. But you will learn nothing from John Parver."

"Why not, Mr. Hilliston?"

"Because he knows nothing. Good-night, Claude – good-night, Mr. Tait!"

When Hilliston disappeared Tait looked at Claude with a singular expression, and scratched his chin.

"You see," said he quietly, "Mr. Hilliston has been making inquiries on his own account."

"You are incurably suspicious," said Claude impatiently. "Hilliston is my friend."

"Yes. He was your father's friend also, I believe."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing! Nothing! Come and cross-examine Frank Linton, alias John Parver."

Clearly Tait was by no means so satisfied with Hilliston as Claude.