AT BAY.
On the following morning, Geoffrey arrived precisely at the time
appointed by Mr. Cass, and was shewn at once into the library. His host
was there alone; for Marshall, with his usual want of punctuality, had
not yet appeared. Geoffrey was informed of the sudden change in Ruth.
"Your visit did her good last night," said her father with a smile.
"I told her not to worry herself--that all was quite right; and she
seemed comforted. But she told me something which seems to hint
that Mrs. Marshall knows of her husband's guilt." And he, repeated
Ruth's tale about the gypsy and Mrs. Marshall's kindness to him--her
extraordinary kindness, he termed it. Mr. Cass listened attentively,
but shook his head. "I don't agree with you," he said. "You do not know
Inez as I do."
While they were still speaking--in whispers like two guilty
people--Marshall bustled into the room in what he would have called his
breezy fashion. In reality his manner was simply aggressive and noisy,
but it gave him the air of being--what he wanted to be thought--a
creature too guileless and unconventional to conceal his feelings.
"Good-day, Cass," he cried loudly to his former partner, and nodding to
Heron. "Well, here I am! What's the matter? Got into any trouble?"
"No, I have not got into any trouble," was Mr. Cass's emphatic reply.
"This boy, then?" and Marshall turned smilingly to Geoffrey, upon whom
he looked as a possible member of the family. "You're in trouble--eh,
eh? Ah, well, young men will be young men!"
"I am sure you speak from experience, Marshall, said Mr. Cass, while
Heron contented himself with a shake of the head. But there is nothing
wrong with Heron."
"Very glad, I'm sure," Marshall said insolently; it seemed as though he
scented some trouble in the air and thought to meet it with bluff. As
yet he had not the faintest idea that the coming conversation was to be
serious for him personally. "Well," he went on, "as you are all right
and Heron is a good boy, why have you asked me to come over?"
"Can't you guess?" asked Geoffrey, angered by the man's manner.
He lifted his eyebrows. "No," he said, tranquilly. "I really am at a
loss to understand why----"
"Cast your thoughts back twelve years," interrupted Mr. Cass, sharply,
"and then perhaps you will understand why----"
"What do you mean?" asked his brother-in-law, a thrill running through
him. He saw now that this was going to be serious for him. "Do you
remember the night when you came in at yonder window, muddy and
ragged?" Mr. Cass said, slowly. "When you told me a lie--that you had
been attacked by footpads and----"
"It was no lie!" cried the man, moistening his dry lips. "I told you
what had actually happened."
"Oh, no, you didn't. For instance, you never told me that you had seen
Jenner."
He uttered a faint cry, and flung himself back in his chair with a
startled look. "I did not see Jenner!" he said.
"Nor did you tell me that you had been at the Turnpike House,"
continued Mr. Cass, not noticing the interruption.
"That I deny. I was not near the Turnpike House."
With a look of scorn Mr. Cass picked up an object which was lying on
the table, and held it out. "Do you know what this is?"
"A piece of gold, so far as I can see. What is that to me?"
"Evidence that you were at the Turnpike House on that night."
"I tell you I was not there!" he cried, desperately. "Oh, don't trouble
yourself to tell lies," Mr. Cass said, wearily. "They will avail you
nothing in the end. Since you do not choose to recognise this object,
let me tell you that it is a part of the set of links I gave you
shortly before that murder."
"Links--I--I--only wore them--once."
"I know you did, and on that night. You lost one pair and left the
other in your bedroom, where they were found by the housemaid and
returned to me. You would have been better advised had you destroyed
them, Marshall."
"Why should I have destroyed them? I lost one pair, it is true. The
catch between the ovals was worn, and the links broke."
"Not of their own accord," Mr. Cass said, quickly. "Your cuff caught on
a nail when you put your arm through the window to kill Jenner."
Marshall uttered a loud cry and started to his feet his face crimson
with rage, and shaking with what looked very much like terror. "I
deny that," he cried. "I deny that I was at the Turnpike House--that I
killed----"
"This link was found under the window," interrupted Mr. Cass. "The man
who wore it was the man who killed Jenner; you are the man!"
"I kill Jenner? It is a lie!" Marshall continued to stare at the piece
of gold which his brother-in-law continued to hold up as though he were
fascinated. He drew his hand across his brow as he uttered his denial
in a weak voice, and seemed to be trying to recall something. "Why
should I have killed him?" he asked.
It was now Heron's turn. He drew from his pocket the bill of exchange.
"Perhaps this will supply the motive," he said, coldly; "this forgery,
discounted by Julian Roper."
With a face now positively purple and eyes almost staring out of his
head, Marshall craned forward his head to look at the fatal evidence
of his past. He recognised it only too well. For years he had been
dreading this moment, and now that it had arrived the sight of the
document proved too much for him. With a strangled cry he tugged at
his collar, then fell like a log on the floor. The strong man, the
guilty man, had fainted. And, neither Mr. Cass nor Heron were moved by
the catastrophe. It was to them decisive evidence of his guilt; and
when they recalled the lifelong imprisonment of Mrs. Jenner they could
find no pity in their hearts for the detected rogue. Rather were they
full of pity for those unhappy people with whom he was connected by
marriage. Nothing in their eyes could expiate his guilt.
"It would be better if he died now," said Mr. Cass, as he watched Heron
loosen his collar and dash cold water on his face.
"Pardon me, not at all," replied the younger man, looking up for a
moment. "If he died now there would be no confession."
In the end they brought him round and placed him again in his chair,
a pitiable object, with his damp hair, his loosened collar and the
imploring look in his eyes. The most meritorious of men could not have
looked dignified under such circumstances, much less Frank Marshall,
who was so to speak, in the dock before two prejudiced judges.
"I suppose you are going to give me up?" he said.
"On the contrary, we want to get you out of this trouble--for the sake
of the family," said Mr. Cass, coldly. "Though by rights you should
hang."
"They don't hang for forgery, stammered the wretched creature,
arranging his collar.
"Pshaw! I am not speaking of the minor crime but of the greater. It was
you who murdered Jenner."
"I did not. I swear I did not."
"You did. I am convinced of it. He came down here with that bill in
order to blackmail you and you killed him."
He made no attempt to assert his dignity. "You can kick a man when he
is down if you like," he said, in a quavering voice, "even though he is
your sister's husband, but you have no right to accuse him of a crime
he did not commit. I tell you I forged that bill, but I did not kill
the man."
"You knew that he was in the neighbourhood?"
"No, I was as much astonished as you could have been when I heard of
his death."
"If you are innocent"--It was Heron who spoke--"how did it happen that a
part of the links you were wearing were found under the window of the
house? You must have dropped it there."
"I did not." He seemed to be reflecting. "If you want to know the truth,
that pair of links was torn from me by the footpads who attacked me. I
daresay they killed him."
"Rubbish!" cried Mr. Cass, looking at him with disgust. "Why do you tell
such lies? You met Jenner on that night, although you denied it when I
questioned you."
"I was afraid of being implicated in the murder. I knew if you had the
slightest suspicion of me you would have stopped my marriage with Inez,
and I loved her."
"You loved her money, you mean."
"Well, then, I loved her money!" Marshall cried, violently. "I was on
the brink of ruin, and it was only her that stood between me and the
streets. I had to pay Roper the five hundred pounds. He could not have
prosecuted as the bill was missing, but he could have talked, and he
would have talked, had I not paid him the full sum. It was only when I
had possession of the money--my wife's money--that I was able to shut
his mouth. I knew before then that the bill was lost."
"Because Jenner had shewn it to you on that night?"
Marshall turned away sullenly, but still under compulsion answered:
"Yes, he did. I had received a letter from him saying that he was
coming here with the bill and would sell it to me. He asked me to
meet him at the Waggoner's Pond, half a mile from the Turnpike House,
where his wife was staying. As I had no money, and was in his power
absolutely--for by shewing the bill to you, Cass, he could have had my
marriage with your sister broken off--I was forced to meet him, and I
did meet him at seven o'clock."
"Oh! so you did go out that night to meet him!"
"I did," he said, defiantly. "I dare not tell you for you have always
had so many absurd prejudices. So I told you I was going for a walk,
and stole out to meet Jenner at the Waggoner's Pond. I said that if he
would wait till I was married and could handle money I would buy the
bill. So, finding that unless I made your sister my wife I should never
have a penny, he consented."
"Oh," said Mr. Cass, "he consented to go without his pound of flesh--a
man like Jenner, bloodsucker and thief!"
"He had to choose between exposing me and getting nothing or waiting
and being paid," said Marshall, vehemently. "Besides, he knew that Roper
was after him because he had stolen the bill, and that if he made a
fuss, whatever row I might get into, he would be in trouble himself.
So he agreed to wait until I had married Inez and then to accept a
thousand pounds. Meanwhile, he kept the bill and promised to hold
his tongue about it. He said he was going on to see his wife at the
Turnpike House, and that he would get money from her which would enable
him to lie low for a time while Roper was searching for him. It was
arranged that when I was married and had paid him the thousand pounds
he should go to America. I agreed to all this--I could do nothing
else--and then we parted."
"Is that the truth?" Heron asked, sceptically.
"Yes, it is. You can believe or disbelieve it as you like. I left
him by the Waggoner's Pond, and that was the last I saw of him alive
or dead. On my way back to the house I was attacked by some tramps
who took my watch. They wrenched my links off--that is one pair, the
missing pair--and were about to take the other when they heard someone
coming and made off. I returned here and told Cass as little as I
could, in case he might see fit to stop my marriage with his sister."
"I wish to Heaven I had stopped it!" Mr. Cass said, fiercely. "I don't
believe a word you say!"