The first words she uttered after the terrible pronouncement which she
had just made were:
“I’ll wear my white cloth gown to-morrow, Mary. It is the most
becoming frock I have, and I want to look my best on my wedding-day.”
4
Captain Hubert de Mazareen was married to Lady Molly Robertson-Kirk
by special licence on April 22nd, 1904, at the Church of St. Margaret,
Westminster. No one was present to witness the ceremony except the
Earl of Flintshire and myself. No one was apprised of the event at the
time, nor, until recently, did anyone know that Lady Molly of Scotland
Yard was the wife of De Mazareen the convict.
As you know, he was arrested at Appledore railway station the
following morning and charged with the wilful murder of Alexander
Steadman, solicitor, of Carlisle.
Everything was against him from the first. The draft of the will which
Mr. Steadman was taking up to Sir Jeremiah for signature supplied the
motive for the alleged crime, and he was the last person seen in
company with the murdered man.
The chauffeur, George Taylor, who had driven to Carlisle to fetch Mr.
Steadman, and brought him back that evening, explained how two of his
tyres burst almost simultaneously after going over a bit of broken
road close to the coppice. He had suggested to Mr. Steadman the idea
of walking through the wood, and, as he had not two fresh tyres with
him, he started pushing his car along, as the village was not more
than half a mile away. He never saw Mr. Steadman again.
The stick with which the terrible deed had been committed was the most
damning piece of evidence against the accused. It had been identified
as his property by more than one witness, and was found within twenty
yards of the victim, obviously cleaned and scraped, but still bearing
minute traces of blood. Moreover, it had actually been seen in Captain
Hubert’s hand by one or two of the porters when he arrived at
Appledore Station on that fatal night, was met there by Lady Molly,
and subsequently walked away with her previous to meeting Mr. Steadman
on the edge of the wood.
Captain de Mazareen, late of His Majesty’s Household Brigade, was
indicted for the wilful murder of Alexander Steadman, tried at the
next assizes, found guilty, and condemned to be hanged. The jury,
however, had strongly recommended him to mercy owing to his hitherto
spotless reputation, and to the many services he had rendered his
country during the last Boer War. A monster petition was sent up to
the Home Office, and the sentence was commuted to twenty years’ penal
servitude.
That same year, Lady Molly applied for, and obtained, a small post on
the detective staff of the police. From that small post she has worked
her way upwards, analysing and studying, exercising her powers of
intuition and of deduction, until at the present moment she is
considered, by chiefs and men alike, the greatest authority among them
on criminal investigation.
The Earl of Flintshire died some three years ago. Kirk Hall devolved
on a distant cousin, but Lady Molly has kept a small home at Kirk
ready for her husband when he comes back from Dartmoor.
The task of her life is to apply her gifts, and the obvious advantages
at her disposal as a prominent member of the detective force, to prove
the innocence of Captain Hubert de Mazareen, which she never doubted
for a moment.
But it was sublime, and at the same time deeply pathetic, to see the
frantic efforts at self-sacrifice which these two noble-hearted young
people made for one another’s sake.
Directly Captain Hubert realised that, so far as proving his innocence
was concerned, he was a lost man, he used every effort to release Lady
Molly from the bonds of matrimony. The marriage had been, and was
still, kept a profound secret. He determined to plead guilty to murder
at his trial, and then to make a declaration that he had entrapped
Lady Molly into a marriage, knowing at the time that a warrant was out
for his arrest, and hoping, by his connection with the Earl of
Flintshire, to obtain a certain amount of leniency. When he was
sufficiently convinced that such a course was out of the question, he
begged Lady Molly to bring a nullity suit against him. He would not
defend it. He only wished to set her free.
But the love she bore him triumphed over all. They did keep their
marriage a secret, but she remained faithful to him in every thought
and feeling within her, and loyal to him with her whole soul. Only
I--once her maid, now her devoted friend--knew what she suffered, even
whilst she threw herself heart and mind into her work.
We lived mostly in our little flat in Maida Vale, but spent some
delightful days of freedom and peace in the little house at Kirk.
Hither--in spite of the terrible memories the place evoked--Lady Molly
loved to spend her time in wandering over the ground where that
mysterious crime had been committed which had doomed an innocent man
to the life of a convict.
“That mystery has got to be cleared up, Mary,” she would repeat to me
with unswerving loyalty, “and cleared up soon, before Captain de
Mazareen loses all joy in life and all belief in me.”
5
I suspect you will be interested to hear something about Appledore
Castle and about Mr. Philip Baddock, who had been so near getting an
immense fortune, yet had it snatched from him before his very eyes.
As Sir Jeremiah Baddock never signed the will of 1904, Captain de
Mazareen’s solicitors, on his behalf, sought to obtain probate of the
former one, dated 1902. In view of the terrible circumstances
connected with the proposed last testamentary dispositions of the
deceased, Mr. Philip Baddock was advised to fight that suit.
It seems that he really was the son of Sir Jeremiah by the latter’s
second marriage with Mlle. Desty, but the old gentleman, with
heartless vengefulness, had practically repudiated the boy from the
first, and absolutely refused to have anything to do with him beyond
paying for his maintenance and education, and afterwards making him a
goodly allowance on the express condition that Philip--soon to become
a young man--never set his foot on English soil.
The condition was strictly complied with. Philip Baddock was born
abroad, and lived abroad until 1903, when he suddenly appeared at
Appledore Castle. Whether Sir Jeremiah, in a fit of tardy repentance,
had sent for him, or whether he risked coming of his own accord, no
one ever knew.
Captain de Mazareen was not, until that same year 1903, aware of the
existence of Philip Baddock any more than was anybody else, and he
spent his last days of freedom in stating positively that he would not
accept the terms of the will of 1902, but would agree to Sir
Jeremiah’s fortune being divided up as it would have been if the old
gentleman had died intestate. Thus Philip Baddock, the son, and Hubert
de Mazareen, the grandson, received an equal share of Sir Jeremiah’s
immense wealth, estimated at close upon £2,000,000 sterling.
Appledore was put up for sale and bought in by Mr. Philip Baddock, who
took up his residence there and gradually gained for himself a
position in the county as one of the most wealthy magnates in the
north of England. Thus he became acquainted with the present Lord
Flintshire, and, later on, met my dear lady. She neither sought nor
avoided his acquaintance, and even went once to a dinner party at
Appledore Castle.
That was lately, on the occasion of our last stay at Kirk. I had gone
up to the Castle in the brougham so that I might accompany Lady Molly
home, and had been shown into the library, whither my dear lady came
in order to put on her cloak.
While she was doing so Mr. Philip Baddock came in. He had a newspaper
in his hand and seemed greatly agitated.
“Such extraordinary news, Lady Molly,” he said, pointing to a
head-line in the paper. “You know, of course, that the other day a
convict succeeded in effecting his escape from Dartmoor?”
“Yes, I knew that,” said my dear lady, quietly.
“Well, I have reason to--to suppose,” continued Mr. Baddock, “that
that convict was none other than my unfortunate nephew, De Mazareen.”
“Yes?” rejoined Lady Molly, whose perfect calm and serene expression
of face contrasted strangely with the obvious agitation of Philip
Baddock.
“Heaven knows that he tried to do me an evil turn,” rejoined the
latter after a while; “but of course I bear him no grudge, now that
the law has given me that which he tried to wrench from me--a just
share of my father’s possessions. Since he has thrown himself on my
mercy----”
“Thrown himself on your mercy!” ejaculated my dear lady, whose face
had become almost grey with a sudden fear. “What do you mean?”
“De Mazareen is in my house at the present moment,” replied Mr.
Baddock, quietly.
“Here?”
“Yes. It seems that he tramped here. I am afraid that his object was
to try and see you. He wants money, of course. I happened to be out in
the woods this afternoon, and saw him.
“No, no!” added Philip Baddock quickly, in response to an instinctive
gasp of pain from Lady Molly; “you need not have the slightest fear.
My nephew is as safe with me as he would be in your own house. I
brought him here, for he was exhausted with fatigue and want of food.
None of my servants know of his presence in the house except Felkin,
whom I can trust. By to-morrow he will have rested. … We’ll make a
start in the very early morning in my car; we’ll get to Liverpool
before midday. De Mazareen shall wear Felkin’s clothes--no one will
know him. One of the Baddock steamers is leaving for Buenos Ayres the
same afternoon, and I can arrange with the captain. You need not have
the slightest fear,” he repeated, with simple yet earnest emphasis; “I
pledge you my word that De Mazareen will be safe.”
“I should like to thank you,” she murmured.
“Please don’t,” he rejoined with a sad smile. “It is a great happiness
to me to be able to do this. … I know that you--you cared for him at
one time. … I wish you had known and trusted me in those days--but I
am glad of this opportunity which enables me to tell you that, even
had my father signed his last will and testament, I should have shared
his fortune with De Mazareen. The man whom you honoured with your love
need never have resorted to crime in order to gain a fortune.”
Philip Baddock paused. His eyes were fixed on Lady Molly with
unmistakable love and an appeal for sympathy. I had no idea that he
cared for her--nor had she, I am quite sure. Her heart belonged solely
to the poor, fugitive convict, but she could not fail, I thought, to
be touched by the other man’s obvious sincerity and earnestness.
There was silence in the room for a few moments. Only the old clock in
its Sheraton case ticked on in solemn imperturbability.
Lady Molly turned her luminous eyes on the man who had just made so
simple, so touching a profession of love. Was she about to tell him
that she was no longer free, that she bore the name of the man whom
the law had ostracised and pronounced a criminal--who had even now, by
this daring attempt at escape, added a few years to his already long
term of punishment and another load to his burden of shame?
“Do you think,” she asked quietly, “that I might speak to Captain de
Mazareen for a few moments without endangering his safety?”
Mr. Baddock did not reply immediately. He seemed to be pondering over
the request. Then he said:
“I will see that everything is safe. I don’t think there need be any
danger.”
He went out of the room, and my dear lady and I were left alone for a
minute or two. She was so calm and serene that I marvelled at her
self-control, and wondered what was going on in her mind.
“Mary,” she said to me, speaking very quickly, for already we could
hear two men’s footsteps approaching the library door, “you must
station yourself just outside the front door; you understand? If you
see or hear anything suspicious come and warn me at once.”
I made ready to obey, and the next moment the door opened and Mr.
Philip Baddock entered, accompanied by Captain Hubert.
I smothered the involuntary sob which rose to my throat at sight of
the man who had once been the most gallant, the handsomest soldier I
had ever seen. I had only just time to notice that Mr. Baddock
prepared to leave the room again immediately. At the door he turned
back and said to Lady Molly:
“Felkin has gone down to the lodge. If he hears or sees anything that
seems suspicious he will ring up on the telephone;” and he pointed to
the apparatus which stood on the library table in the centre of the
room.
After that he closed the door, and I was left to imagine the moments
of joy, mingled with acute anguish, which my dear lady would be living
through.
I walked up and down restlessly on the terrace which fronts the
Castle. The house itself appeared silent and dark: I presume all the
servants had gone to bed. Far away on my right I caught the glimmer of
a light. It came from the lodge where Felkin was watching. From the
church in Appledore village came the sound of the clock striking the
hour of midnight.
How long I had been on the watch I cannot say, when suddenly I was
aware of a man’s figure running rapidly along the drive towards the
house. The next moment the figure had skirted the Castle, apparently
making for one of the back doors.
I did not hesitate a moment. Having left the big front door on the
latch, I ran straight in and made for the library door.
Already Mr. Philip Baddock had forestalled me. His hand was on the
latch. Without more ado he pushed open the door and I followed him in.
Lady Molly was sitting on the sofa, with Captain Hubert beside her.
They both rose at our entrance.
“The police!” said Mr. Baddock, speaking very rapidly. “Felkin has
just run up from the lodge. He is getting the car ready. Pray God we
may yet be able to get away.”
Even as he spoke the front door bell sounded with a loud clang, which
to me had the sound of a death knell.
“It is too late, you see,” said my dear lady, quietly.
“No, not too late,” ejaculated Philip Baddock, in a rapid whisper.
“Quick! De Mazareen, follow me through the hall. Felkin is at the
stables getting the car ready. It will be some time before the
servants are roused.”
“Mary, I am sure, has failed to fasten the front door,” interrupted
Lady Molly, with the same strange calm. “I think the police are
already in the hall.”
There was no mistaking the muffled sound of feet treading the thick
Turkey carpet in the hall. The library had but one exit. Captain
Hubert was literally in a trap. But Mr. Baddock had not lost his
presence of mind.
“The police would never dream of searching my house,” he said; “they
will take my word that De Mazareen is not here. Here!” he added,
pointing to a tall Jacobean wardrobe which stood in an angle of the
room. “In there, man, and leave the rest to me!”
“I am afraid that such a proceeding would bring useless trouble upon
you, Mr. Baddock,” once more interposed Lady Molly; “the police, if
they do not at once find Captain de Mazareen, will surely search the
house.”
“Impossible! They would not dare!”
“Indeed they would. The police know that Captain de Mazareen is here.”
“I swear they do not,” rejoined Mr. Baddock. “Felkin is no traitor,
and no one else----”
“It was I who gave information to the police,” said Lady Molly,
speaking loudly and clearly. “I called up the superintendent on the
telephone just now, and told him that his men would find the escaped
convict hiding at Appledore Castle.”
“You!” ejaculated Mr. Baddock, in a tone of surprise and horror, not
unmixed with a certain note of triumph. “You?”
“Yes!” she replied calmly. “I am of the police, you know. I had to do
my duty. Open the door, Mary,” she added, turning to me.
Captain Hubert had not spoken a word so far. Now, when the men, led by
Detective-Inspector Etty, entered the room, he walked with a firm step
towards them, held out his hands for the irons, and with a final look
at Lady Molly, in which love, trust, and hope were clearly expressed,
he passed out of the room and was soon lost to sight.
My dear lady waited until the heavy footfalls had died away; then she
turned with a pleasant smile to Mr. Philip Baddock:
“I thank you for your kind thoughts of me,” she said, “and for your
noble efforts on behalf of your nephew. My position was a difficult
one. I hope you will forgive the pain I have been obliged to bring
upon you.”
“I will do more than forgive, Lady Molly,” he said earnestly, “I will
venture to hope.”
He took her hand and kissed it. Then she beckoned to me and I followed
her into the hall.
Our brougham--a hired one--had been waiting in the stable-yard. We
drove home in silence; but half an hour later, when my dear lady
kissed me good night she whispered in my ear:
“And now, Mary, we’ll prove him innocent.”
XII.
THE END
One or two people knew that at one time Lady Molly Robertson-Kirk
had been engaged to Captain Hubert de Mazareen, who was now convict
No. 97, undergoing a life sentence for the murder of Mr. Steadman, a
solicitor of Carlisle, in the Elkhorn woods in April, 1904. Few, on
the other hand, knew of the secret marriage solemnised on that
never-to-be-forgotten afternoon, when all of us present in the church,
with the exception of the bridegroom himself, were fully aware that
proofs of guilt--deadly and irrefutable--were even then being heaped
up against the man to whom Lady Molly was plighting her troth, for
better or for worse, with her mental eyes wide open, her unerring
intuition keen to the fact that nothing but a miracle could save the
man she loved from an ignoble condemnation, perhaps from the gallows.
The husband of my dear lady, the man whom she loved with all the
strength of her romantic and passionate nature, was duly tried and
convicted of murder. Condemned to be hanged, he was reprieved, and his
sentence commuted to penal servitude for life.
The question of Sir Jeremiah’s estate became a complicated one, for
his last will and testament was never signed, and the former one,
dated 1902, bequeathed everything he possessed unconditionally to his
beloved grandson Hubert.
After much legal argument, which it is useless to recapitulate here,
it was agreed between the parties, and ratified in court, that the
deceased gentleman’s vast wealth should be disposed of as if he had
died intestate. One half of it, therefore, went to Captain Hubert de
Mazareen, grandson, and the other half to Philip Baddock, the son. The
latter bought Appledore Castle and resided there, whilst his nephew
became No. 97 in Dartmoor Prison.
Captain Hubert had served two years of his sentence when he made that
daring and successful escape which caused so much sensation at the
time. He managed to reach Appledore, where he was discovered by Mr.
Philip Baddock, who gave him food and shelter and got everything ready
for the safe conveyance of his unfortunate nephew to Liverpool and
thence to a port of safety in South America.
You remember how he was thwarted in this laudable attempt by Lady
Molly herself, who communicated with the police and gave up convict
No. 97 into the hands of the authorities once more.
Of course, public outcry was loud against my dear lady’s action. Sense
of duty was all very well, so people argued, but no one could forget
that at one time Captain Hubert de Mazareen and Lady Molly
Robertson-Kirk had actually been engaged to be married, and it seemed
positively monstrous for a woman to be so pitiless towards the man
whom she must at one time have loved.
You see how little people understood my dear lady’s motives. Some went
so far as to say that she had only contemplated marriage with Captain
Hubert de Mazareen because he was then, presumably, the heir to Sir
Jeremiah’s fortune; now--continued the gossips--she was equally ready
to marry Mr. Philip Baddock, who at any rate was the happy possessor
of one half of the deceased gentleman’s wealth.
Certainly Lady Molly’s conduct at this time helped to foster this
idea. Finding that even the chief was inclined to give her the cold
shoulder, she shut up our flat in Maida Vale and took up her residence
at the little house which she owned in Kirk, and from the windows of
which she had a splendid view of stately Appledore Castle nestling
among the trees on the hillside.
I was with her, of course, and Mr. Philip Baddock was a frequent
visitor at the house. There could be no doubt that he admired her
greatly, and that she accepted his attentions with a fair amount of
graciousness. The county fought shy of her. Her former engagement to
Captain de Mazareen was well known, and her treachery to him--so it
was called--was severely censured.
Living almost in isolation in the village, her whole soul seemed
wrapped in thoughts of how to unravel the mystery of the death of Mr.
Steadman. Captain de Mazareen had sworn in his defence that
[IMAGE: images/img336.jpg
CAPTION: “‘Ask Philip Baddock if my threats are paltry’”]
the solicitor, after starting to walk through the Elkhorn woods with
him, had feared that the tramp over rough ground would be too much for
him, and had almost immediately turned back in order to regain the
road. But the chauffeur, George Taylor, who was busy with the
broken-down car some two hundred yards up the road, never saw Mr.
Steadman again, whilst Captain de Mazareen arrived at the gates of
Appledore Castle alone. Here he was met by Mr. Philip Baddock, who
informed him that Sir Jeremiah had breathed his last an hour before.
No one at the Castle recollected seeing a stick in Captain Hubert’s
hand when he arrived, whilst there were several witnesses who swore
that he carried one at Appledore Station when he started to walk with
her ladyship. The stick was found close to the body of the solicitor;
and the solicitor, when he met with his terrible death, had in his
pocket the draft of a will which meant disinheritance to Captain de
Mazareen.
Here was the awful problem which Lady Molly had to face and to solve
if she persisted in believing that the man whom she loved, and whom
she had married at the moment when she knew that proofs of guilt were
dead against him, was indeed innocent.
2
We had spent all the morning shopping in Carlisle, and in the
afternoon we called on Mr. Fuelling, of the firm of Fuelling, Steadman
and Co., solicitors.
Lady Molly had some business to arrange in connection with the
purchase of an additional bit of land to round off her little garden
at Kirk.
Mr. Fuelling was courteous, but distinctly stiff, in his manner
towards the lady who was “connected with the police,” more especially
when--her business being transacted--she seemed inclined to tarry for
a little while in the busy solicitor’s office, and to lead
conversation round to the subject of the murder of Mr. Steadman.
“Five years have gone by since then,” said Mr. Fuelling, curtly, in
response to a remark from Lady Molly, “I prefer not to revive
unpleasant memories.”
“You, of course, believed Captain de Mazareen guilty?” retorted my
dear lady, imperturbably.
“There were circumstances----” rejoined the solicitor, “and--and, of
course, I hardly knew the unfortunate young man. Messrs. Truscott and
Truscott used to be the family solicitors.”
“Yes. It seemed curious that when Sir Jeremiah wished to make his will
he should have sent for you, rather than for his accustomed lawyer,”
mused Lady Molly.
“Sir Jeremiah did not send for me,” replied Mr. Fuelling, with some
acerbity, “he sent for my junior, Mr. Steadman.”
“Perhaps Mr. Steadman was a personal friend of his.”
“Not at all. Not at all. Mr. Steadman was a new arrival in Carlisle,
and had never seen Sir Jeremiah before the day when he was sent for
and, in a brief interview, drafted the will which, alas! proved to be
the primary cause of my unfortunate young partner’s death.”
“You cannot draft a will in a brief interview, Mr. Fuelling,” remarked
Lady Molly, lightly.
“Mr. Steadman did so,” retorted Mr. Fuelling, curtly. “Though Sir
Jeremiah’s mind was as clear as crystal, he was very feeble, and the
interview had to take place in a darkened room. That was the only time
my young partner saw Sir Jeremiah. Twenty-four hours later they were
both dead.”
“Oh!” commented my dear lady with sudden indifference. “Well! I won’t
detain you, Mr. Fuelling. Good afternoon.”
A few moments later, having parted from the worthy old solicitor, we
were out in the street once more.
“The darkened room is my first ray of light,” quoth Lady Molly to me,
with a smile at her own paradoxical remark.
When we reached home later that afternoon we were met at the garden
gate by Mr. Felkin, Mr. Philip Baddock’s friend and agent, who lived
with him at Appledore Castle.
Mr. Felkin was a curious personality; very taciturn in manner but a
man of considerable education. He was the son of a country parson, and
at the time of his father’s death he had been studying for the medical
profession. Finding himself unable to pursue his studies for lack of
means, and being left entirely destitute, he had been forced to earn
his living by taking up the less exalted calling of male nurse. It
seems that he had met Mr. Philip Baddock on the Continent some years
ago, and the two young men had somehow drifted into close
acquaintanceship. When the late Sir Jeremiah required a personal
nurse-attendant Mr. Philip Baddock sent for his friend and installed
him at Appledore Castle.
Here Mr. Felkin remained, even after the old gentleman’s death. He was
nominally called Mr. Baddock’s agent, but really did very little work.
He was very fond of shooting and of riding, and spent his life in the
pursuit of these sports, and he always had plenty of money to spend.
But everyone voted him a disagreeable bear, and the only one who ever
succeeded in making him smile was Lady Molly, who always showed an
unaccountable liking for the uncouth creature. Even now, when he
extended a somewhat grimy hand and murmured a clumsy apology at his
intrusion, she greeted him with warm effusiveness and insisted on his
coming into the house.
We all turned to walk along the little drive, when Mr. Baddock’s car
came whizzing round the corner of the road from the village. He pulled
up at our gate, and the next moment had joined us in the drive.
There was a very black look in his eyes, as they wandered restlessly
from my dear lady’s face to that of his friend. Lady Molly’s little
hand was even then resting on Mr. Felkin’s coat-sleeve; she had been
in the act of leading him herself towards the house, and did not
withdraw her hand when Mr. Baddock appeared upon the scene.
“Burton has just called about those estimates, Felkin,” said the
latter, somewhat roughly; “he is waiting at the Castle. You had better
take the car--I can walk home later on.”
“Oh! how disappointing!” exclaimed Lady Molly, with what looked
uncommonly like a pout. “I was going to have such a cosy chat with Mr.
Felkin--all about horses and dogs. Couldn’t you see that tiresome
Burton, Mr. Baddock?” she added ingenuously.
I don’t think that Mr. Baddock actually swore, but I am sure he was
very near doing so.
“Burton can wait,” said Mr. Felkin, curtly.
“No, he cannot,” retorted Philip Baddock, whose face was a frowning
mirror of uncontrolled jealousy; “take the car, Felkin, and go at
once.”
For a moment it seemed as if Felkin would refuse to obey. The two men
stood looking at each other, measuring one another’s power of will and
strength of passion. Hate and jealousy were clearly written in each
pair of glowering eyes. Philip Baddock looked defiant, and Felkin
taciturn and sulky.
Close to them stood my dear lady. Her beautiful eyes literally glowed
with triumph. That these two men loved her, each in his own curious,
uncontrolled way, I, her friend and confidant, knew very well. I had
seen, and often puzzled over, the feminine attacks which she had made
on the susceptibilities of that morose lout Felkin. It had taken her
nearly two years to bring him to her feet. During that time she had
alternately rendered him happy with her smiles and half mad with her
coquetries, whilst Philip Baddock’s love for her was perpetually
fanned by his ever-growing jealousy.
I remember that I often thought her game a cruel one. She was one of
those women whom few men could resist; if she really desired to
conquer she invariably succeeded, and her victory over Felkin seemed
to me as purposeless as it was unkind. After all, she was the lawful
wife of Captain de Mazareen, and to rouse hatred between two friends
for the sake of her love, when that love was not hers to give, seemed
unworthy of her. At this moment, when I could read deadly hatred in
the faces of these two men, her cooing laugh grated unpleasantly on my
ear.
“Never mind, Mr. Felkin,” she said, turning her luminous eyes on him.
“Since you have so hard a taskmaster, you must do your duty now. But,”
she added, throwing a strange, defiant look at Mr. Baddock, “I shall
be at home this evening; come and have our cosy chat after dinner.”
She gave him her hand, and he took it with a certain clumsy gallantry
and raised it to his lips. I thought that Philip Baddock would strike
his friend with his open hand. The veins on his temples were swollen
like dark cords, and I don’t think that I ever saw such an evil look
in anyone’s eyes before.
Strangely enough, the moment Mr. Felkin’s back was turned my dear lady
seemed to set herself the task of soothing the violent passions which
she had wilfully aroused in the other man. She invited him to come
into the house, and, some ten minutes later, I heard her singing to
him. When, later on, I went into the boudoir to join them at tea, she
was sitting on the music stool whilst he half bent over her, half
knelt at her feet; her hands were clasped in her lap, and his fingers
were closed over hers.
He did not attempt to leave her side when he saw me entering the room.
In fact, he wore a triumphant air of possession, and paid her those
little attentions which only an accepted lover would dare to offer.
He left soon after tea, and she accompanied him to the door. She gave
him her hand to kiss, and I, who stood at some little distance in the
shadow, thought that he would take her in his arms, so yielding and
gracious did she seem. But some look or gesture on her part must have
checked him, for he turned and walked quickly down the drive.
Lady Molly stood in the doorway gazing out towards the sunset. I, in
my humble mind, wondered once again what was the purport of this cruel
game.
3
Half an hour later she called to me, asked for her hat, told me to
put on mine and to come out for a stroll.
As so often happened, she led the way towards the Elkhorn woods, which
in spite, or perhaps because, of the painful memories they evoked, was
a very favourite walk of hers.
As a rule the wood, especially that portion of it where the
unfortunate solicitor had been murdered, was deserted after sunset.
The villagers declared that Mr. Steadman’s ghost haunted the clearing,
and that the cry of the murdered man, as he was being foully struck
from behind, could be distinctly heard echoing through the trees.
Needless to say, these superstitious fancies never disturbed Lady
Molly. She liked to wander over the ground where was committed that
mysterious crime which had sent to ignominy worse than death the man
she loved so passionately. It seemed as if she meant to wrench its
secret from the silent ground, from the leafy undergrowth, from the
furtive inhabitants of the glades.
The sun had gone down behind the hills; the wood was dark and still.
We strolled up as far as the first clearing, where a plain, granite
stone, put up by Mr. Philip Baddock, marked the spot where Mr.
Steadman had been murdered.
We sat down on it to rest. My dear lady’s mood was a silent one; I did
not dare to disturb it, and, for a while, only the gentle
“hush--sh--sh” of the leaves, stirred by the evening breeze, broke the
peaceful stillness of the glade.
Then we heard a murmur of voices, deep-toned and low. We could not
hear the words spoken, though we both strained our ears, and presently
Lady Molly arose and cautiously made her way among the trees in the
direction whence the voices came, I following as closely as I could.
We had not gone far when we recognised the voices, and heard the words
that were said. I paused, distinctly frightened, whilst my dear lady
whispered a warning “Hush!”
Never in all my life had I heard so much hatred, such vengeful
malignity expressed in the intonation of the human voice as I did in
the half-dozen words which now struck my ear.
“You will give her up, or----”
It was Mr. Felkin who spoke. I recognised his raucous delivery, but I
could not distinguish either of the two men in the gloom.
“Or what?” queried the other, in a voice which trembled with either
rage or fear--perhaps with both.
“You will give her up,” repeated Felkin, sullenly. “I tell you that it
is an impossibility--do you understand?--an impossibility for me to
stand by and see her wedded to you, or to any other man for the matter
of that. But that is neither here nor there,” he added after a slight
pause. “It is with you I have to deal now. You shan’t have her--you
shan’t--I won’t allow it, even if I have to----”
He paused again. I cannot describe the extraordinary effect this rough
voice coming out of the darkness had upon my nerves. I had edged up to
Lady Molly, and had succeeded in getting hold of her hand. It was like
ice, and she herself was as rigid as that piece of granite on which we
had been sitting.
“You seem bubbling over with covert threats,” interposed Philip
Baddock, with what was obviously a sneer; “what are the extreme
measures to which you will resort if I do not give up the lady whom I
love with my whole heart, and who has honoured me to-day by accepting
my hand in marriage?”
“That is a lie!” ejaculated Felkin.
“What is a lie?” queried the other, quietly.
“She has not accepted you--and you know it. You are trying to keep me
away from her--arrogating rights which you do not possess. Give her
up, man, give her up. It will be best for you. She will listen to
me--I can win her all right--but you must stand aside for me this
time. Take the word of a desperate man for it, Baddock. It will be
best for you to give her up.”
Silence reigned in the wood for a few moments, and then we heard
Philip Baddock’s voice again, but he seemed to speak more calmly,
almost indifferently, as I thought.
“Are you going now?” he asked. “Won’t you come in to dinner?”
“No,” replied Felkin, “I don’t want any dinner, and I have an
appointment for afterwards.”
“Don’t let us part ill friends, Felkin,” continued Philip Baddock in
conciliatory tones. “Do you know that, personally, my feeling is that
no woman on earth is worth a serious quarrel between two old friends,
such as we have been.”
“I’m glad you think so,” rejoined the other drily. “S’long.”
The cracking of twigs on the moss-covered ground indicated that the
two men had parted and were going their several ways.
With infinite caution, and holding my hand tightly in hers, my dear
lady made her way along the narrow path which led us out of the wood.
Once in the road we walked rapidly, and soon reached our garden gate.
Lady Molly had not spoken a word during all that time, and no one knew
better than I did how to respect her silence.
During dinner she tried to talk of indifferent subjects, and never
once alluded to the two men whom she had thus wilfully pitted one
against the other. That her calm was only on the surface, however, I
realised from the fact that every sound on the gravel path outside
caused her to start. She was, of course, expecting the visit of Mr.
Felkin.
At eight o’clock he came. It was obvious that he had spent the past
hour in wandering about in the woods. He looked untidy and unkempt. My
dear lady greeted him very coldly, and when he tried to kiss her hand
she withdrew it abruptly.
Our drawing-room was a double one, divided by _portière_ curtains.
Lady Molly led the way into the front room, followed by Mr. Felkin.
Then she drew the curtains together, leaving me standing behind them.
I concluded that she wished me to stay there and to listen, conscious
of the fact that Felkin, in the agitated mood in which he was, would
be quite oblivious of my presence.
I almost pitied the poor man, for to me--the listener--it was at once
apparent that my dear lady had only bidden him come to-night in order
to torture him. For about a year she had been playing with him as a
cat does with a mouse; encouraging him at times with sweet words and
smiles, repelling him at others with coldness not unmixed with
coquetry. But to-night her coldness was unalloyed; her voice was
trenchant, her attitude almost one of contempt.
I missed the beginning of their conversation, for the curtains were
thick and I did not like to go too near, but soon Mr. Felkin’s voice
was raised. It was harsh and uncompromising.
“I suppose that I am only good enough for a summer’s flirtation?” he
said sullenly, “but not to marry, eh? The owner of Appledore Castle,
the millionaire, Mr. Baddock, is more in your line----”
“It certainly would be a more suitable match for me,” rejoined Lady
Molly, coolly.
“He told me you had formally accepted him,” said the man, with
enforced calm; “is that true?”
“Partly,” she replied.
“But you won’t marry him!”
The exclamation seemed to come straight from a heart brimful of
passion, of love, of hate, and of revenge. The voice had the same
intonation in it which had rung an hour ago in the dark Elkhorn woods.
“I may do,” came in quiet accents from my dear lady.
“You won’t marry him,” repeated Felkin, roughly.
“Who shall prevent me?” retorted Lady Molly, with a low, sarcastic
laugh.
“I will.”
“You?” she said contemptuously.
“I told him an hour ago that he must give you up. I tell you now that
you shall not be Philip Baddock’s wife.”
“Oh!” she interposed. And I could almost see the disdainful shrug of
her shoulders, the flash of contempt in her expressive eyes.
No doubt it maddened him to see her so cool, so indifferent, when he
had thought that he could win her. I do believe that the poor wretch
loved her. She was always beautiful, but never more so than to-night
when she had obviously determined finally to dismiss him.
“If you marry Philip Baddock,” he now said, in a voice which quivered
with uncontrolled passion, “then within six months of your wedding-day
you will be a widow, for your husband will have ended his life on the
gallows.”
“You are mad!” she retorted calmly.
“That is as it may be,” he replied. “I warned him to-night, and he
seems inclined to heed my warning; but he won’t stand aside if you
beckon to him. Therefore, if you love him, take my warning. I may not
be able to get you, but I swear to you that Philip Baddock shan’t
either. I’ll see him hanged first,” he added, with gruesome
significance.
“And you think that you can force me to do your bidding by such paltry
threats?” she retorted.
“Paltry threats? Ask Philip Baddock if my threats are paltry. He knows
full well that in my room at Appledore Castle, safe from thievish
fingers, lie the proofs that he killed Alexander Steadman in the
Elkhorn woods. Oh! I wouldn’t help him in his nefarious deeds until he
placed himself in my hands. He had to take my terms or leave the thing
alone altogether, for he could not work without me. My wants are few,
and he has treated and paid me well. Now we are rivals, and I’ll
destroy him before I’ll let him gloat over me.
“Do you know how we worked it? Sir Jeremiah would not disinherit his
grandson--he steadily refused to make a will in Philip Baddock’s
favour. But when he was practically dying we sent for Alexander
Steadman--a newcomer, who had never seen Sir Jeremiah before--and I
impersonated the old gentleman for the occasion. Yes, I!” he repeated
with a coarse laugh, “I was Sir Jeremiah for the space of half an
hour, and I think that I played the part splendidly. I dictated the
terms of a new will. Young Steadman never suspected the fraud for a
single instant. We had darkened the room for the comedy, you see, and
Mr. Steadman was destined by Baddock and myself never to set eyes on
the real Sir Jeremiah.
“After the interview Baddock sent for Captain de Mazareen; this was
all part of his plan and mine. We engineered it all, and we knew that
Sir Jeremiah could only last a few hours. We sent for Steadman again,
and I myself scattered a few dozen sharp nails among the loose stones
in the road where the motor-car was intended to break down, thus
forcing the solicitor to walk through the woods. Captain de Mazareen’s
appearance on the scene at that particular moment was an unrehearsed
effect which nearly upset all our plans, for had Mr. Steadman stuck to
him that night, instead of turning back, he would probably be alive
now, and Baddock and I would be doing time somewhere for attempted
fraud. We should have been done, at any rate.
“Well! you know what happened. Mr. Steadman was killed. Baddock killed
him, and then ran straight back to the house, just in time to greet
Captain de Mazareen, who evidently had loitered on his way. But it was
I who thought of the stick, as an additional precaution to avert
suspicion from ourselves. Captain de Mazareen was carrying one, and
left it in the hall at the Castle. I cut my own hand and stained the
stick with it, then polished and cleaned it up, and later, during the
night, deposited it in the near neighbourhood of the murdered body.
Ingenious, wasn’t it? I am a clever beggar, you see. Because I was
cleverer than Baddock he could not do without me, and because he could
not do without me I made him write and sign a request to me to help
him to manufacture a bogus will and then to murder the solicitor who
had drawn it up. And I have hidden that precious document in the wing
of Appledore Castle which I inhabit; the exact spot is known only to
myself. Baddock has often tried to find out, but all he knows is that
these things are in that particular wing of the house. I have the
document, and the draft of the will taken out of Mr. Steadman’s
pocket, and the short bludgeon with which he was killed--it is still
stained with blood--and the rags with which I cleaned the stick. I
swear that I will never make use of these things against Philip
Baddock unless he drives me to it, and if you make use of what I have
just told you I’ll swear that I have lied. No one can find the proofs
which I hold. But on the day that you marry Baddock I’ll place them in
the hands of the police.”
There was silence in the room. I could almost hear the beating of my
own heart, so horrified, so appalled was I at the horrible tale which
the man had just told to my dear lady.
The villainy of the whole scheme was so terrible, and at the same time
so cunning, that it seemed inconceivable that human brain could have
engendered it. Vaguely in my dull mind I wondered if Lady Molly would
have to commit bigamy before she could wrench from this evil-doer’s
hands the proofs that would set her own husband free from his
martyrdom.
What she said I did not hear, what he meant to retort I never knew,
for at that moment my attention was attracted by the sound of running
footsteps on the gravel, followed by a loud knock at our front door.
Instinctively I ran to open it. Our old gardener was standing there
hatless and breathless.
“Appledore Castle, miss,” he stammered, “it’s on fire. I thought you
would like to know.”
Before I had time to reply I heard a loud oath uttered close behind
me, and the next moment Felkin dashed out of the drawing-room into the
hall.
“Is there a bicycle here that I can take?” he shouted to the gardener.
“Yes, sir,” replied the old man; “my son has one. Just in that shed,
sir, on your left.”
In fewer seconds than it takes to relate, Felkin had rushed to the
shed, dragged out the bicycle, mounted it, and I think that within two
minutes of hearing the awful news, he was bowling along the road, and
was soon out of sight.
4
One wing of the stately mansion was ablaze when, a quarter of an
hour later, my dear lady and I arrived upon the scene. We had come on
our bicycles not long after Mr. Felkin.
At the very moment that the weird spectacle burst fully upon our gaze,
a loud cry of horror had just risen from the hundred or so people who
stood watching the terrible conflagration, whilst the local fire
brigade, assisted by Mr. Baddock’s men, were working with the
hydrants. That cry found echo in our own throats as we saw a man
clambering, with the rapidity of a monkey, up a long ladder which had
been propped up against a second floor window of the flaming portion
of the building. The red glow illumined the large, shaggy head of
Felkin, throwing for a moment into bold relief his hooked nose and
straggly beard. For the space of three seconds perhaps he stood thus,
outlined against what looked like a glowing furnace behind him, and
the next instant he had disappeared beyond the window embrasure.
“This is madness!” came in loud accents from out the crowd in the
foreground, and before one fully realised whence that voice had come,
Mr. Philip Baddock was in his turn seen clambering up that awful
ladder. A dozen pairs of hands reached him just in time to drag him
back from the perilous ascent. He fought to free himself, but the
firemen were determined and soon succeeded in bringing him back to
level ground, whilst two of them, helmeted and well-equipped, took his
place upon the ladder.
The foremost had hardly reached the level of the first story when
Felkin’s figure once more appeared in the window embrasure above. He
was staggering like a man drunk or fainting, his shaggy hair and beard
were blown about his head by the terrible draught caused by the
flames, and he waved his arms over his head, giving the impression to
those below, who gazed horrified, that he was either possessed or
dying. In one hand he held what looked like a great, long bundle.
We could see him now put one leg forward, obviously gathering strength
to climb the somewhat high window ledge. With a shout of encouragement
the two firemen scrambled up with squirrel-like agility, and the cry
of “They’re coming! they’re coming! Hold on, Felkin!” rose from a
hundred excited throats.
The unfortunate man made another effort. We could see his face clearly
now in the almost blinding glow which surrounded him. It was distorted
with fear and also with agony.
He gave one raucous cry, which I do believe will echo in my ears as
long as I live, and with a superhuman effort he hurled the bundle
which he held out of the window.
At that same moment there was a terrific hissing, followed by a loud
crash. The floor beneath the feet of the unfortunate man must have
given way, for he disappeared suddenly in a sea of flames.
The bundle which he had hurled down had struck the foremost fireman on
the head. He lost his hold, and as he fell he dragged his unfortunate
comrade down with him. The others ran to the rescue of their comrades.
I don’t think they were seriously hurt, but what happened directly
after among the crowd, the firemen, or the burning building, I cannot
tell you. I only know that at the moment when Felkin’s figure was, for
the second time, seen in the frame of the glowing window, Lady Molly
seized my hand and dragged me forward through the crowd.
Her husband’s life was hanging in the balance, just as much as that of
the miserable wretch who was courting a horrible death for the sake of
those proofs which--as it was proved afterwards--Philip Baddock tried
to destroy by such drastic means.
The excitement round the ladder, the fall of the two firemen, the
crashing in of the floor and the gruesome disappearance of Felkin
caused so much excitement in the crowd that the bundle which the
unfortunate man had thrown remained unheeded for the moment. But
Philip Baddock reached the spot where it fell thirty seconds after
Lady Molly did. She had already picked it up, when he said harshly:
“Give me that. It is mine. Felkin risked his life to save it for me.”
Inspector Etty, however, stood close by, and before Philip Baddock
realised what Lady Molly meant to do, she had turned quickly and
placed the bundle in the inspector’s hands.
“You know me, Etty, don’t you?” she said rapidly.
“Oh, yes, my lady!” he replied.
“Then take the utmost care of this bundle. It contains proofs of one
of the most dastardly crimes ever committed in this country.”
No other words could have aroused the enthusiasm and caution of Etty
in the same manner.
After that Philip Baddock might protest, might rage, storm, or try to
bribe, but the proofs of his guilt and Captain de Mazareen’s innocence
were safe in the hands of the police, and bound to come to light at
last.
But, as a matter of fact, Baddock neither stormed nor pleaded. When
Lady Molly turned to him once more he had disappeared.
* * * * *
You know the rest, of course. It occurred too recently to be
recounted. Philip Baddock was found the next morning with a bullet
through his head, lying on the granite stone which, with cruel
hypocrisy, he himself had erected in memory of Mr. Steadman whom he
had so foully murdered.
The unfortunate Felkin had not lied when he said that the proofs which
he held of Baddock’s guilt were conclusive and deadly.
Captain de Mazareen obtained His Majesty’s gracious pardon after five
years of martyrdom which he had borne with heroic fortitude.
I was not present when Lady Molly was once more united to the man who
so ardently worshipped and trusted her, and to whose love, innocence,
and cause she had remained so sublimely loyal throughout the past few
years.
She has given up her connection with the police. The reason for it has
gone with the return of her happiness, over which I--her ever faithful
Mary Granard--will, with your permission, draw a veil.