THE END OF IT ALL.
Spencer Ellersby, well-dressed, nonchalant and languid, entered the
room with a smile on his face, which faded quickly when he found there
was no one present to receive him.
"I thought you said Miss Penfold was here," he observed sharply,
turning to the footman who was showing him in.
"So she was, sir," stammered the servant in some confusion, "and two
gentlemen."
"Gentlemen!" muttered Ellersby to himself, taking a chair, "some of
those empty-headed men about town, I suppose."
"I think Miss Penfold must have gone up to the drawing-room, sir,"
said the servant, turning towards the door. "Will I take your name up,
sir?"
"No," replied Ellersby, with a yawn. "I want to see Sir Rupert just
now, so I'll wait here till he comes in, and go upstairs afterwards."
"Very good, sir," said the footman, and was just retiring when Sir
Rupert, looking jaded and worried, entered the room, upon which
Ellersby rose to his feet, and the footman going out, closed the door
behind him.
"Ah, Sir Rupert," he said carelessly, "I am so glad to see you, as I
thought I'd have to wait for some time. I must apologise for coming
into this room, but your servant said Miss Penfold was here."
"Have you seen her?" said Sir Rupert, moodily, taking his seat in
front of the desk and swinging round the seat so as to face his
visitor.
"No, he made a mistake. She is up in the drawing-room, so I am going
to see her later on."
"Meanwhile?" demanded the baronet.
"I am going to see you," finished Ellersby, smoothly, resuming his
seat.
Balscombe raised his eyebrows.
"What about?"
"A very important subject--marriage."
"Whose marriage?"
"My own."
"What have I to do with your marriage?"
"A great deal," replied Ellersby calmly, "because I want to marry Miss
Penfold."
"Impossible," said Balscombe pointedly, "quite impossible."
"How so?" asked the other coolly. "I have a good position, plenty of
money, and my character is good."
"Your moral character?" sneering.
"Oh, that," with a laugh, "is no better nor worse than other young
men, so I would like your answer. Will you favour my suit?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because, in the first place, my ward is going to marry Myles
Desmond."
"Marry Myles Desmond!" replied Ellersby, with a sneer. "A man lying in
prison under a charge of murder."
"He will be proved innocent of that charge."
"By whom?"
"'That's my business," retorted Balscombe, with a scowl Ellersby
laughed in a most irritating manner.
"So that is your first objection," he said lightly. "Pray what is your
second?"
For answer Balscombe turned to his desk, and unlocking a drawer, took
therefrom a bundle of old letters tied with a blue ribbon.
"This is my second objection," he said, holding them up. "Perhaps you
recognise these letters?"
Spencer Ellersby turned pale and half rose from his seat.
"Where did you find them?"
"In the secret drawer of this desk," replied the baronet. "My wife,
thinking I did not know the hiding-place, put them there for safety;
but her father told me about the secret drawer when he gave me the
desk, and one day I opened it idly, not expecting to find anything,
when I found these."
Ellersby laughed discordantly.
"And what are those wonderful letters?"
"You need not pretend ignorance," said the baronet coldly. "These are
letters written by you to my wife at Folkestone under her maiden name
of Amelia Dicksfall, and which prove that you were her lover long
before she met me."
"I acknowledge it," said Ellersby insolently. "And what have you to
say about it?"
"Simply this," replied Balscombe, rising, "that you may thank God that
I do not kill you where you sit. But my wife proved to be such a
worthless woman she is not fit to be defended, and knowing this, you
have the daring to ask me for my ward's hand. Do you think I would
give her to you, a scoundrel, a profligate?--never!"
"I think you will," said Ellersby coldly, "for the very good and
sufficient reason that I can force you to."
"How so?"
"You know well enough," sneered the other. "If the police ask me who
committed the Jermyn Street murder, I can tell them who did it--Rupert
Balscombe."
"You scoundrel!--do you mean to say I killed my wife?"
"I can swear it--and I will, too, if you don't give me your ward!"
"It's a cursed lie!" cried the baronet, white with fury; "where are
your proofs?"
"Open that hiding place, and you'll find them."
Sir Rupert gave a stifled cry, and staggered back against the desk,
while Ellersby looked at him with a smile of triumph. The three
listeners in the other room were standing close to the door, with
greedy ears drinking in every word of this strange conversation.
The baronet with an effort recovered himself and, turning to the desk,
touched the secret spring and took down the carving. There lay the
locket, the chain, and the fatal arrow.
"There is the locket you wrenched off your wife's neck on that night,"
said Ellersby, pitilessly, "and there is the poisoned arrow-head with
which you committed the crime!"
Balscombe took out the objects and looked at them vacantly.
"What devilry is this?" he said, fiercely. "This is the locket I
know--the locket that contains your hair and your picture, curse you!
But the arrow-head--I know nothing of that."
"Bah!--who would believe you?" replied the other, mockingly; "it is in
your secret drawer!"
"How did you know this hiding-place?" demanded Balscombe.
"I never said I knew it."
"No--but you said your evidence was in there, so you must have seen
these things before. I believe you put the arrow-head there yourself."
"Did I, indeed?" said Ellersby with a sneer. "Where would I get the
arrow-head?--don't blame me for a crime you committed yourself."
"I did not commit it!" shouted Balscombe in a frenzy. "I acknowledge I
knew of my wife's intended elopement, and came up from Berkshire to
prevent it. I was too late, and went to Calliston's rooms to see him.
I missed the door in the fog, and when I found it, the first thing I
saw was my guilty wife leaving the house. I followed her, and caught
up to her--she shrieked, and I gave way to my just anger. I knew she
had this locket, and thought it contained Calliston's portrait, not
yours, so wrenched it off her neck to make sure. She ran away across
the street and I lost her in the fog. I swear I saw no more of her on
that night till I read of her death."
"You knew it was your wife that was dead?"
"I was not certain. I heard the _Seamew_ had sailed with Lady
Balscombe on board, and thought that the dead woman was some wretched
street-walker with whom my wife had changed clothes--but I was not
certain she was dead till I saw Lena Sarschine on board the
_Seamew_--then I knew my wife was the victim of the Jermyn Street
tragedy, but I swear I did not kill her."
Ellersby laughed scoffingly.
"Of course it is to your interest to say that--but who will believe
you with such strong evidence against you?"
"Then I suppose you mean to denounce me?" said the baronet coldly.
"Not if you agree to give me the hand of May Penfold."
"I cannot force her inclinations."
"No--but you are her guardian and can influence her."
"If I refuse?"
"You do so at your own risk."
"And that risk?"
"Means hanging to you!" said Ellersby, brutally.
The two men stood looking fixedly at one another, and for a few
moments there was a dead silence, while the three listeners waited
with beating hearts for the end of the conversation which seemed to
promise the solution of this extraordinary mystery.
Balscombe remained for a time in deep thought, and then looked up with
a look of determination in his eyes.
"I decline to accede to your demand," he said, firmly.
"Then you must take the consequence."
"I am prepared to do so."
Ellersby paused for a minute.
"Will you tell me the reason for your decision?"
"First, because I am innocent of the crime you accuse me of and
second, I believe you placed this poisoned arrow-head here in order to
implicate me in the murder."
"I can speak openly to you," said Ellersby, coolly, "because you are in
my power. I did place the poisoned arrow-head there, in order to
secure evidence against you!"
"Then it was you killed my wife!" cried Balscombe, stepping towards
him with the arrow-head in his hand.
"I never said I did!" retorted Ellersby, audaciously, "but I can tell
you this--I met your wife on that night after you left her, and I
asked her for those letters as they compromised both her and myself.
She told me where they were and described the hiding-place to me. Last
time I was here I searched and discovered the secret, but the letters
were not there."
"No. They were removed by me."
"So I see--but if I did not find the letters, I found something
better--the locket with my portrait which you took from your wife's
neck on that night, so as I wanted to marry Miss Penfold and wanted
you to help me, I placed there the arrow-head so as to force you for
your own safety to help me. I have succeeded, and you must do what I
order, or swing for it."
"You devil!" cried Balscombe, madly. "It was you who murdered my
unhappy wife--do not deny it!--I can see it in your cowardly face--I
will accuse you before the world, and hang you for your crime!"
"Bah!--who will believe your word against mine? There is no evidence
against me!"
"Your own confession!"
"Does not include a confession of murder--what I have said to you in
private I will deny in public--you have no witnesses."
"You lie--here are three!"
The two men turned round with a cry, and there, on the threshold of
the room stood May Penfold with a look of triumph in her eyes--and
behind, Dowker and Norwood. Ellersby saw he was lost, and with a harsh
shriek made a bound for the door of the library; but before he could
reach it Balscombe threw himself on him and bore him to the ground.
The two men rolled on the floor fighting desperately, and then Dowker
joined in to assist in securing Ellersby, when suddenly his struggles
ceased and he became quite passive.
"It's all over," he said quietly, with a livid face, as Balscombe
arose to his feet. "I will escape you yet."
"You will not escape the gallows," cried Balscombe, panting.
"Yes, I will," sneered Ellersby, with a ghastly smile; "and by your
own act. You forgot you had the poisoned arrow-head in your hand, and
you have wounded me--see."
He held up his right hand and there they saw a long red ragged wound
where the weapon had torn him.
"In ten minutes I will be a dead man," he said quietly. "Not all the
science in the world can save me now."
"Curse it!" cried Dowker in a rage, while the other three remained
silent with horror.
"Ah! you are angry at my escaping from you," said Ellersby, with his
usual cynicism. "Console yourself, my astute thief-catcher, my capture
would not have redounded to your credit as you were quite on the
wrong scent. You suspected Desmand, Calliston, Lena Sarschine and
Balscombe; everyone but the right one. I have fooled you to the end,
and, now I am caught, will yet escape your clutches."
May Penfold stepped towards him.
"As you have sinned so deeply," she said, in a low tone, "you had
better make reparation while you may and confess all, so as to release
Myles from prison. Meanwhile, I will go for a doctor."
He signed her feebly to remain.
"No doctor can do me any good," he said faintly, "but I will tell all.
Mr. Dowker will, perhaps, write it down, and if I'm not too far gone
I'll--sign it."
"I will write your confession," said Norwood, and, sitting down at the
desk, he took up a pen and waited.
It was a strange scene. Ellersby lying on the floor with his eyes half
closed, Balscombe leaning against the desk, with his clothes all torn
and a white haggard face, and May Penfold standing beside Dowker,
looking with pitying eyes on the dying man at her feet.
As he knew he had not long to live, Ellersby commenced at once:
"I am, as you know, the son of a West Indian, and came to England to
be educated. I was brought up, in early childhood, by a negro nurse,
and before I left Barbadoes she gave me an arrow-head, which, she told
me, was steeped in deadly poison, and that one scratch would kill.
Something to do with their Obi business, I suppose. She told me to use
it on my enemies, but I was not so savage as she was, though I have
got negro blood in my veins, and I did not bother much about it. I
finished my education and went into society. One time, while down at
Folkestone, I met Amelia Dicksfall, and loved her--you do not know how
I loved her--with all the mad passion of a Creole. She led me on
till I was her slave and then refused to marry me, for at least two
years--for what reason I was then ignorant, but now I know it was
because she wanted to marry a title, and kept me in hand so as to
become my wife if she failed to realise her ambition. I went abroad
and when I returned a short time ago, I found she had married
Balscombe. I saw her and reproached her with her treachery, but she
only laughed at me. Then I heard how she carried on with Calliston and
swore I would kill her if she preferred him to me. She denied that she
cared for him, and then I heard about her projected elopement and
determined to make one more appeal to her. If that failed I took an
oath I would kill her with the poisoned arrow-head. I thought I would
see her on that night, so, dressing myself in evening dress, I put the
arrow head in my pocket and went along to Park Lane. I was told she
had gone to the Countess of Kerstoke's ball and, thinking this was a
mere subterfuge on her part, I thought I would go to Calliston's
chambers and see him. I went along to his rooms in Piccadilly, but as
I did not know where they were it was some time before I found them. I
was going in when I saw Balscombe waiting about, and wondered what he
was doing there. While thus waiting a woman came out, and I recognised
Lady Balscombe at once. I saw Sir Rupert go after her and witnessed
their dispute under the lamp. I saw him wrench off the locket and then
Lady Balscombe fled. I followed, and found her wandering vaguely about
in the fog. She recognised me and we had a stormy interview. I
insisted on her coming to my hotel and going away with me in the
morning, pointing out that now her husband had seen her coming out of
Calliston's chambers he would apply for a divorce. I then asked her
about the letters and she told me where they were. I said I would get
them, and then Sir Rupert would never know with whom she had gone
away. She agreed to go with me, and went as far as Jermyn Street; then
she refused to go further, saying she loved Calliston and hated me.
She insisted on going down to Shoreham in the morning, and taunted me
so that I got mad with anger and determined to kill her. So I
apparently agreed to what she said and asked her to kiss me for the
last time. She did so, and when I was embracing her I wounded her in
the neck with the poisoned arrow-head. She thought it was only a pin
pricking her, but when she was dying I told her what I had done and
said that now she could never be any other man's mistress or wife. She
died shortly afterwards, and then I thought about saving myself, so
went along to the Countess of Kerstoke's ball, in order to prove an
_alibi_ should it be necessary. In coming back I went up the steps
where I had left her to see if she was still there, thinking the body
might have been discovered. It was still lying there, however, so I
called the policeman. The rest you know. As to the arrow-head, I
placed it in there in looking for the letters, in order to throw the
blame on Balscombe, because I knew all his movements on that night
were in favour of the presumption of his having committed the crime."
He paused at this point, for his eyes were becoming glazed and his
voice was faint and weak. Norwood had written out the words that had
fallen from his lips, and now brought the paper and a pen, in order
for him to sign it. The dying man raised himself on his elbow with an
effort and signed his name with difficulty in the place indicated by
the lawyer. When this was done, Balscombe and Norwood affixed their
signatures as witnesses; then the latter placed the confession in an
envelope.
The action of the poison being very rapid, Ellersby was now in a
half-comatose condition; his eyes being closed and his breathing
stertorous. He began to speak again in a drowsy voice, which sounded
as if he was far away:
"It's the irony of Fate . . . brought me here . . . to my death. I came
to conquer and remain to die . . . . . . . . . The old Greeks were
right . . . . . . . Man . . . sport of Fate . . . . . . Nemesis
. . . . wins hands down . . . . . . . if there is . . . . . . world
. . . . . . . . beyond . . . . I . . . I . . . . find . . . . ."
His slow monotonous voice stopped here and his head fell back; to all
appearances he was asleep, but the onlookers knew it was his last
earthly sleep, and when he awoke it would be in another world.
The calm placid light of the evening stole softly through the windows
and shone on the still face of the dead man, and on the awe-struck
spectators.
EPILOGUE.
The Piccadilly puzzle being now solved, nothing remained but to settle
all matters in connection therewith, which was speedily done. The
publication of the whole story caused a great deal of excitement, and
of course all the newspapers quoted the well-known proverb that "Truth
is stranger than fiction."
Myles Desmond was released from prison, and became a kind of hero
owing to the fortitude with which he had sustained his unpleasant
position. Sir Rupert gave his consent to May Penfold's marriage with
him, and it took place at St. George's, Hanover Square, with great
splendour, and the happy pair departed to the Continent for their
honeymoon. On their return Myles published a novel he had written,
which was a great success, and being in an independent position owing
to his wife's fortune he had the peculiar satisfaction of writing to
please himself and not the public.
Lord Calliston did not remain in London long, as the part he had
played in the terrible drama was not by any means an enviable one; so
as soon as Lena Sarschine, now Lady Calliston, recovered from her
illness they went away to the South Seas in the _Seamew_, where among
the gorgeous scenery of the islands, they soon forgot the one tragic
episode of their lives.
Sir Rupert did not marry again but left London for his place in the
country, where he shut himself up like a hermit and steadily refused
to see anyone. His faith in womankind was gone, and not having any
heirs, a distant cousin is now eagerly waiting for his demise, as he
is anxious to enjoy the Balscombe estates and the large income
appertaining thereto.
Flip was taken off the streets by Dowker and put to school, where his
natural sharpness was wonderfully developed, and he is now looking
forward to the time when Dowker intends to instruct him in the
mysteries of the detective craft and make him his successor.
As to Dowker, he was a good deal disappointed at the unlooked-for
termination to the case, for had it not been for the accident of
overhearing the conversation in the library, he would most certainly
have done his best to hang Sir Rupert Balscombe. As it turned out that
the baronet was innocent, he felt only too glad that he had been saved
from the committal of such a terrible crime as condemning a guiltless
man to an ignominious death, but to this day, he always refers to the
Piccadilly Puzzle as the most extraordinary case that ever came under
his experience.
THE END.