ANOTHER MYSTERY
When Jennings arrived that evening according to appointment, he found
Mallow in a state of desperation. Juliet's conduct perplexed the young
man to such an extent that he felt as though on the point of losing his
reason. He was quite delighted when he saw Jennings and thus had
someone with a clear head in whom to confide.
"What's the matter?" asked Jennings, who at once saw that something was
wrong from Cuthbert's anxious face.
"Nothing, save that I am being driven out of my senses. I am glad you
have come, Jennings. Things are getting more mysterious every day. I
am determined to get to the bottom of this murder case if only for my
own peace of mind. I am with you heart and soul. I have the detective
fever with a vengeance. You can count on my assistance in every way."
"All right, my dear chap," said the other soothingly, "sit down and let
us have a quiet talk before this girl arrives."
"Susan Grant. I saw her to-day."
"Did you speak to her?"
"No. I only guessed that she was the girl you talked about from your
description and from the fact that she entered Rose Cottage."
"Ah," said Jennings, taking a seat, "so you have been down there?"
"Yes. I'll tell you all about it. I don't know if I'm sane or insane,
Jennings. When does this girl arrive?"
The detective glanced at his watch. "At half-past eight. She'll be
here in half an hour. Go on. What's up?"
"Read this," said Cuthbert, and passed along the note from Juliet. "I
received that immediately after you went the other night."
Jennings read the note with a thoughtful look, then laid it aside and
stared at his friend. "It is strange that she should write in that
way," said he. "I should have thought she would wish to learn who
killed her aunt. What does she mean?"
"I can't tell you. I met her to-day," and Cuthbert gave details of his
visit to Rexton and the interview with Juliet. "Now what does she
mean," he added in his turn, "talking as though I had something to do
with the matter?"
"Someone's been poisoning her mind. That brother of hers, perhaps."
"What do you know of him?" asked Cuthbert quickly.
"Nothing good. He's an hysterical idiot. Gambles a lot and falls into
rages when he loses. At times I don't think he's responsible for his
actions."
Mallow threw himself back in his chair biting his moustache. Every word
Jennings spoke made him more confident that Basil had something to do
with the crime. But why Juliet should hint at his own guilt Cuthbert
could not imagine. Had he been calmer he might have hesitated to tell
Jennings about Basil. But, exasperated by Juliet's half confidence, and
anxious to learn the truth, he gave the detective a full account of his
meeting with the young man. "What do you make of that?" he asked.
"Well," said Jennings doubtfully, "there's nothing much to go upon in
what he said. He's in difficulties with Hale certainly--"
"And he seemed anxious about my having been in Caranby's grounds at
night." "Were you there?"
"Yes. I did not intend to say anything about it, but I must tell you
everything so that you can put things straight between me and Juliet.
I can't understand her. But I am sure her mother and Basil are trying
to influence her against me. I should not be surprised to learn that
they accused me of this murder."
"But on what grounds?" asked Jennings quickly.
"We'll come to that presently. But I now see why neither Basil nor his
mother want the marriage to take place. By the will of Miss Loach
Juliet comes in for six thousand a year, which is completely at her own
disposal. Mrs. Octagon and her pet boy want to have the handling of
that. They know if Juliet becomes my wife I won't let them prey on
her, so immediately Miss Loach died the mother withdrew her consent to
the marriage, and now she is being backed up by Basil."
"But I thought Mrs. Octagon was well off?"
"No. Saxon, her late husband, left her very little, and Octagon, for
all his meekness, knows how to keep his money. Both mother and son are
extravagant, so they hope to make poor Juliet their banker. In some
way they have implicated me in the crime, and Juliet thinks that I am
in danger of the gallows. That is why she wrote that mysterious note,
Jennings. To-day she asked me to stop proceedings for my own sake,
which shows that she thinks me guilty. I could not get a further
explanation from her, as she ran away. Hang it!" Cuthbert jumped up
angrily, "if she'd only tell me the truth and speak straight out. I
can't understand this silence on her part."
"I can," said Jennings promptly, "in some way Basil is mixed up in the
matter, and his accusing you means his acknowledging that he was near
Rose Cottage on the night of the crime. He funks making so damaging an
admission."
"Ah, I daresay," said Cuthbert, "particularly as he quarrelled with his
aunt a week before the death."
"Did he quarrel with her?"
"Of course. Didn't I tell you what he said to-day. He's in a fine
rage with the dead woman. And you know what an uncontrollable temper
he has. I've seen him rage at Maraquito's when he lost at baccarat.
Silly ass! He can't play decently and lose his money like a gentleman.
How Juliet ever came to have such a bounder for a brother I can't
imagine. She's the soul of honor, and Basil--bah!"
"He quarrelled with his aunt," murmured Jennings, "and he has a violent
temper, as we both knew. Humph! He may have something to do with the
matter. Do you know where he was on that night?"
"Yes. Juliet and he went to the Marlow Theatre to see a melodrama by a
new playwright."
"Ha!" said Jennings half to himself, "and the Marlow Theatre is not far
from Rexton. I'll make a note of that. Had they a box?"
"I believe so. It was sent by the man who wrote the play."
"Who is he?"
"I can't say. One of that lot who play at being poets in Octagon
House. A set of idiots. But what do you make of all this, Jennings?"
"I think with you that Mrs. Octagon and her cub of a son are trying to
stop the marriage by bringing you into the matter of the crime. Were
you down there on that night?"
"Yes," said Cuthbert with hesitation, and to Jennings' surprise, "I did
not intend to say anything about it, as my uncle asked me to hold my
tongue. But since things have come to this pass, you may as well know
that I was there--and about the time of the murder too."
Jennings sat up and stared. "Great heavens! Mallow, why didn't you
tell me this the other night?"
"You might have arrested me then and there," retorted Cuthbert. "I
promised my uncle to hold my tongue. But now--"
"You will tell me all. My dear fellow, make a clean breast of it."
"Rest easy, you shall learn everything. You know that the house at the
back of Rose Cottage has been deserted for something like twenty years
more or less."
"Yes. You told me about it the other night."
"Caranby ran a fifteen-feet wall round it and the inside is a regular
jungle. Well, the house is supposed to be haunted. Lights have been
seen moving about and strange noises have been heard."
"What kind of noises?"
"Oh, moans and clanking chains and all that sort of thing. I heard
indirectly about this, through Juliet."
"Where did she hear the report?"
"From Miss Loach's cook. A woman called Pill. The cook asserted that
the house was haunted, and described the noises and the lights. I
don't believe in spooks myself, and thought some tricks were being
played, so one day I went down and had a look."
"That day I was there?" asked Jennings, recalling Cuthbert's presence.
"Before that--a week or two. I saw nothing. The house is rotting and
nothing appeared to be disturbed. I examined the park and found no
footmarks. In fact, there wasn't a sign of anyone about."
"You should have gone at night when the ghost was larking."
"That's what Caranby said. I told him when he came back to London. He
was very annoyed. You know his romance about that house--an absurd
thing it is. All the same, Caranby is tender on the point. I advised
him to pull the house down and let the land out for building leases.
He thought he would, but asked me to go at night and stir up the ghost.
I went on the night of the murder, and got into the grounds by climbing
the wall. There's no gate, you know."
"At what time?"
"Some time between ten and eleven. I'm not quite sure."
"Good heavens! man, that is the very hour the woman was killed!"
"Yes. And for that reason I held my tongue; particularly as I got over
the wall near the cottage."
"Where do you mean?"
"Well, there's a field of corn nearly ready to be cut near the cottage.
It's divided from the garden by a fence. I came along the foot-path
that leads from the station and jumped the fence."
"Did you enter Miss Loach's grounds?"
"No. I had no right to. I saw a light in the basement, but I did not
take much notice. I was too anxious to find the ghost. Well, I ran
along the fence--on the field-of-corn side, remember, and got over the
wall. Then I dodged through the park, scratching myself a lot. I
could find nothing. The house seemed quiet enough, so after a quarter
of an hour I had enough of it. I got out over the wall on the other
side and came home. I caught a cold which necessitated my wearing a
great-coat the next day. So there you have my ghost-hunting, and a
fine fool I was to go."
"I wish you had told me this before, Mallow."
"If I had, you would have thought I'd killed the old woman. But I tell
you now, as I want this matter sifted to the bottom. I refused to
speak before, as I didn't wish to be dragged into the case."
"Did you see anything in the cottage?"
"Not a thing. I saw no one--I heard no sound."
"Not even a scream?"
"Not even a scream," said Mallow; "had I heard anything I should have
gone to see what was the matter."
"Strange!" murmured Jennings, "can't you tell the exact time?"
"Not to a minute. It was shortly after ten. I can't say how many
minutes. Perhaps a quarter of an hour. But not suspecting anything
was going to happen, I didn't look at my watch."
Jennings looked thoughtfully at the carpet. "I wonder if the assassin
escaped that way," he murmured.
"Which way?"
"Over the wall and through the park. You see, he could not have gone
up the lane or through the railway path without stumbling against that
policeman. But he might have slipped out of the front door at
half-past ten and climbed as you did over the wall to cross the park
and drop over the other. In this way he would elude the police."
"Perhaps," said Cuthbert disbelievingly; "but it was nearly eleven when
I left the park. If anyone had been at my heels I would have noticed."
"I am not so sure of that. The park, as you say, is a kind of jungle.
The man might have seen you and have taken his precautions. Moreover,"
added the detective, sitting up alertly, "he might have written to Miss
Saxon saying he saw you on that night. And she--"
"Bosh!" interrupted Mallow roughly, "he would give himself away."
"Not if the letter was anonymous."
"Perhaps," said the other again; "but Basil may have been about the
place and have accused me."
"In that case he must explain his reason for being in the neighborhood
at that hour. But he won't, and you may be sure Miss Saxon, for his
sake, will hold her tongue. No, Mallow. Someone accuses you to Miss
Saxon--Basil or another. If we could only make her speak--"
Cuthbert shook his head. "I fear it's impossible."
"Why not let me arrest you," suggested Jennings, "and then, if at
anytime, she would speak."
"Hang it, no!" cried Mallow in dismay, "that would be too realistic,
Jennings. I don't want it known that I was hanging about the place on
that night. My explanation might not be believed. In any case, people
would throw mud at me, considering I am engaged to the niece of the
dead woman."
"Yes! I can see that. Well," Jennings rose and stretched himself. "I
must see what Susan has to say"; he glanced at his watch; "she should
be here in a few minutes."
A silence ensued which was broken by Jennings. "Oh, by the way," he
said, taking some papers out of his pocket, "I looked up the Saul case."
"Well, what about it?" asked Cuthbert indolently
Jennings referred to his notes. "The Saul family" he said, "seem to
have been a bad lot. There was a mother, a brother and a daughter--"
"Emilia!"
"Just so. They were all coiners. Somewhere in Hampstead they had a
regular factory. Others were mixed up in the matter also, but Mrs.
Saul was the head of the gang. Then Emilia grew tired of the life--I
expect it told on her nerves. She went on the concert platform and met
Caranby. Then she died, as you know. Afterwards the mother and
brother were caught. They bolted. The mother, I believe, died--it was
believed she was poisoned for having betrayed secrets. The brother
went to jail, got out years afterwards on ticket-of-leave, and then
died also. The rest of the gang were put in jail, but I can't say what
became of them."
Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. "This does not help us much."
"No. But it shows you what an escape your uncle had from marrying the
woman. I can't understand--"
"No more can Caranby," said Mallow, smiling; "he loved Miss Loach, but
Emilia exercised a kind of hypnotic influence over him. However, she
is dead, and I can see no connection between her and this crime."
"Well," said Jennings soberly, "it appears that some other person
besides the mother gave a clue to the breaking up of the gang and the
whereabouts of the factory. Supposing that person was Selina Loach,
who hated Emilia for having taken Caranby from her. One of the gang
released lately from prison may have killed the old lady out of
revenge."
"What! after all these years?"
"Revenge is a passion that grows with years," said Jennings grimly; "at
all events, I intend to go on ferreting out evidence about this old
coining case, particularly as there are many false coins circulating
now. I should not be surprised to learn that the factory had been set
up again; Miss Loach may have known and--"
"This is all supposition," cried Mallow. "I can't see the slightest
connection between the coiners and this murder. Besides, it does not
explain why Juliet hints at my being implicated."
Jennings did not reply. "There's the bell, too," he murmured, his eyes
on the ground, "that might be explained." He looked up briskly. "I
tell you what, Mallow, this case may turn out to be a bigger thing than
either of us suspect."
"It's quite big enough for me as it is," retorted Cuthbert, "although I
don't know what you mean. All I desire is to get to the root of the
matter and marry Juliet. Find Miss Loach's assassin, Jennings, and
don't bother about this dead-and-gone coining case."
"There's a connection between the two," said Jennings, obstinately;
"it's impossible to say how the connection comes about, but I feel that
a discovery in one case entails a discovery in the other. If I can
prove that Miss Loach was killed by one of the old coiners--"
"What will happen then?"
"I may stumble on the factory that is in existence now."
He would have gone on to explain himself more fully, but that Mallow's
man entered with the information that a young person was waiting and
asked for Mr. Jennings. Mallow ordered the servant to admit her, and
shortly Susan Grant, nervous and blushing, entered the room.
"I am glad to see you," said Jennings, placing a chair for her. "This
is Mr. Mallow. We wish to ask you a few questions."
"I have seen Mr. Mallow before," said Susan, gasping and flushing.
"At Rose Cottage?" said Mallow inquiringly.
"No. When I was with Senora Gredos as parlor-maid."
"Senora Gredos?" said Jennings, before Cuthbert could speak. "Do you
mean Maraquito?"
"I have heard that her name was Maraquito, sir," said Susan calmly. "A
lame lady and fond of cards. She lives in--"
"I know where she lives," said Cuthbert, flushing in his turn. "I went
there occasionally to play cards. I never saw you."
"But I saw you, sir," said the girl fervently. "Often I have watched
you when you thought I wasn't, and--"
"One moment," said Jennings, interrupting. "Let's us get to the pith
of the matter at once. Where did you get Mr. Mallow's portrait?"
"I don't want to say," murmured the girl.
"But you must say," said Mallow angrily. "I order you to confess."
"I kept silent for your sake, sir," she said, her eyes filled with
tears, "but if you must know, I took the portrait from Senora Gredos'
dressing-room when I left her house. And I left it on your account,
sir," she finished defiantly.