NEMESIS
In the midst of the confusion caused by Maraquito's wickedness Cuthbert
arrived. Juliet flew to him at once and flung herself sobbing into his
arms.
"Oh, Cuthbert--Cuthbert!" she cried, her head on his shoulder, "that
woman has been here. She tried to throw vitriol at me, and the bottle
broke on Lord Caranby's face. He has burnt his head also; he is dying."
"Good heavens!" cried Mallow, pressing her to his heart, "thank God you
are safe! How did Maraquito come here?"
"I don't know--I don't know," sobbed Juliet, completely unstrung; "he
asked me to see him, and she arrived disguised as an old woman. Oh,
where is the doctor!"
"He has just arrived, miss. Here he comes," said an excited waiter.
While the doctor examined Caranby's injuries, Cuthbert, very pale, led
Juliet out of the room, and taking her into an adjoining apartment,
made her drink a glass of port wine. "An old woman," he repeated, "it
must have been the disguised Maraquito then who was killed."
"Killed! She is not killed. She came here and--"
Juliet began to tell the story over again, for she was badly
frightened. Mallow interrupted her gently.
"Maraquito is dead," he said, "she was run over by a motor-car a
quarter of an hour ago."
"Was that her cry we heard?"
"I don't know," replied Cuthbert gloomily. "I was coming round the
corner of the street and saw a woman flying along the pavement. A car
was tearing towards me. I had just time to see the woman as she passed
and note that she was old. She caught a glimpse of my face, and with a
cry ran into the centre of the street. I never thought she was
Maraquito, and could not understand why she acted as she did. I cried
out in alarm, and ran forward to drag her back from before the
approaching motor. But it was too late, the car went over her and she
shrieked when crushed under the wheels. The impediment made the car
swerve and it ran into a lamp-post. The occupants were thrown out. I
fancy someone else is hurt also. Maraquito is dead. I heard a
policeman say so. I then saw a waiter gesticulating at the door of the
hotel, and fancied something was wrong; I ran along and up the stairs.
But I never expected to find you here, Juliet, much less to witness the
death of that wretched woman."
"I am sorry," faltered Juliet, as she sat with his arms round her, "I
don't know why she wanted to throw vitriol at me. She failed to hurt
me, and I think she has killed Lord Caranby, and--"
"I must see to my uncle," said Mallow, rising, "stay here, Juliet."
"No! no," she said, clinging to him, "let me go home. Get a cab. I
dare not stop. That terrible woman--"
"She will never hurt you again. She is dead."
"I wish to go home--I wish to go home."
Mallow saw that the poor girl was quite ill with fright; and small
wonder, considering the catastrophe of the last half hour. To have
vitriol thrown is bad enough, but when the act leads to two deaths--for
Maraquito was already dead, and it seemed probable that Lord Caranby
would follow--it is enough to shake the nerves of the strongest.
Mallow took Juliet down and placed her in a cab. Then he promised to
see her that same evening, and to tell her of Lord Caranby's progress.
When the cab drove away he went again upstairs. As he went he could
not help shuddering at the thought of the danger from which Juliet had
escaped. He remembered how Maraquito had threatened to spoil the
beauty of the girl, but he never thought she would have held to her
devilish purpose. Moreover, he could not understand how Maraquito in
disguise came to see Caranby. The disguise itself was an obvious
necessity to escape the police. But why should she have been with his
uncle and why should Juliet have come also? It was to gain an answer
to these questions that Cuthbert hurried to the sitting-room.
Lord Caranby was no longer there. The doctor had ordered him to be
taken to his bedroom, and when Mallow went thither he met him at the
door, "He is still unconscious," said the doctor, "I must send for his
regular medical attendant, as I was only called in as an emergency
physician."
"Is he very ill?"
"I think the shock will kill him. He is extremely weak, and besides
the shock of the vitriol being thrown, he has sustained severe injuries
about the head from fire. I don't think he will live. To whom am I
speaking?" asked the young man.
"My name is Mallow. I am Lord Caranby's nephew."
"And the next heir to the title. I fancy you will be called `my lord'
before midnight."
Mallow did not display any pleasure on hearing this. He valued a title
very little and, so far as money was concerned, had ample for his
needs. Besides, he was really fond of his uncle who, although
consistently eccentric, had always been a kind, good friend. "Will he
recover consciousness?"
"I think so," said the doctor doubtfully, "I am not quite sure. His
own medical attendant, knowing his constitution and its resisting
power, will be able to speak more assuredly. How did this happen?"
Cuthbert, for obvious reasons, explained as little as he could. "Some
old woman came to see my uncle and threw vitriol at Miss Saxon, the
young lady who was with him. He intercepted the stuff and fell into
the fire."
"What a demon! I hope she will be caught."
"She is dead," and Cuthbert related the accident in the street. The
doctor had strong nerves, but he shuddered when he heard the dreadful
story. Nemesis had been less leaden-footed than usual.
In due time Dr. Yeo, who usually attended Caranby, made his appearance
and stated that his patient would not live many hours. "He was always
weak," said Yeo, "and of late his weakness increased. The two severe
shocks he has sustained would almost kill a stronger man, let alone an
old man of so delicate an organization. He will die."
"I hope not," said Cuthbert, impulsively.
The physician looked at him benignly. "I differ from you," he
declared, "death will come as a happy release to Lord Caranby. For
years he has been suffering from an incurable complaint which gave him
great pain. But that he had so much courage, he would have killed
himself."
"He never complained."
"A brave man like that never does complain. Besides, he took great
care of himself. When he came back to London he was fairly well. I
think he must have done something rash to bring on a recurrence of his
illness. Within a few days of his arrival he grew sick again. In some
way he over-exerted himself."
"I don't think he ever did," said Mallow, doubtfully.
"But I am certain of it. Within a week of his arrival here he had a
relapse. I taxed him with going out too much and with over-exertion,
but he declined to answer me."
"Will he become conscious again?"
"I think so, in a few hours, but I cannot be sure. However, you need
not be alarmed, Mr. Mallow. His affairs are all right. In view of his
illness I advised him to make his will. He said that he had done so,
and that everything was in apple-pie order."
"It is not that, doctor. I wish to ask him some questions. Will you
remain here?"
"Till the end," replied Yeo, significantly; "but it will not take place
for a few hours, so far as I can see."
"I wish to go out for an hour. Can I, with safety?"
"Certainly. Lord Caranby will live for some time yet."
Mallow nodded and left the bedroom, while Yeo returned to the bed upon
which lay the unconscious form of the old man. Cuthbert took a walk to
the end of the street where the wreckage of the motor car had now been
removed, and asked the policeman what had become of the victims. He
was informed that the chauffeur, in a dying condition, had been removed
to the Charing Cross Hospital, and that the body of the old woman--so
the constable spoke--had been taken to the police station near at hand.
"She's quite dead and very much smashed up," was the man's report.
Mallow thanked him with half-a-crown and, having learned the
whereabouts of the police station, he went there. He introduced
himself to the inspector and, as the nephew of Lord Caranby, received
every attention, particularly when he described how the vitriol had
been thrown. Cuthbert thought it as well to say this, as the waiters
at the Avon Hotel would certainly inform the police if he did not. He
looked at the body of the miserable woman in its strange mask of age.
"She went to see Lord Caranby in disguise," said the inspector, "you
can see her face is made up. Does his lordship know who she is?"
"Yes. And Mr. Jennings, the detective, knows also."
"Perhaps you do yourself, Mr. Mallow?"
Cuthbert nodded. "She is Maraquito, the--"
"What! the gambling-house coiner we have been looking for?"
"The same. Jennings can tell you more about the matter than I can."
"I'll get Mr. Jennings to come here as soon as he is on his feet, and
that will be to-morrow most probably. But why did Maraquito throw
vitriol at Lord Caranby?"
"Jennings can tell you that," said Mallow, suppressing the fact that
the vitriol had been meant for Juliet. "Perhaps it had something to do
with the raid made on the unfinished house which, you know, belonged to
my uncle."
"Bless me, so it did. I expect, enraged by the factory being
discovered, Maraquito wished to revenge herself on your uncle. She may
have thought that he gave information to Jennings about the place."
"She might have thought so," said Mallow. "I am returning to the Avon
Hotel. If you want to see me you can send for me there. But Jennings
knows everything."
"What about his lordship?"
"He will die," said Cuthbert abruptly, and departed, leaving the
inspector full of regrets that Maraquito had not lived to figure in the
police court. He looked at the matter purely from a professional
standpoint, and would have liked the sensation such an affair would
have caused.
When Mallow came back to the hotel he found that his uncle had
recovered consciousness and was asking for him. Yeo would not allow
his patient to talk much, so Cuthbert sat by the bedside holding the
hand of the dying man. Caranby had been badly burnt about the temples,
and the sight of one eye was completely gone. Occasionally Yeo gave
him a reviving cordial which made him feel better. Towards evening
Caranby expressed a wish to talk. The doctor would have prevented him,
but the dying man disregarded these orders.
"I must talk," he whispered faintly. "Cuthbert, get a sheet of paper."
"But you have made your will," said Yeo, rebukingly.
"This is not a will. It is a confession. Cuthbert will write it out
and you will witness my signature along with him, Yeo."
"A confession!" murmured Cuthbert, going out of the room to get pen,
ink and paper. "What about?"
He soon knew, for when he was established by the side of the bed with
his writing materials on a small table, Caranby laughed to himself
quietly. "Do you know what I am about to say?" he gasped.
"No. If it is nothing important you had better not exhaust yourself."
"It is most important, as you will hear. I know who murdered the
supposed Miss Loach."
Cuthbert nearly dropped the pen. "Who was it?" he asked, expecting to
hear the name of Mrs. Octagon.
"I did!" said Caranby, quietly.
"You!--that's impossible."
"Unfortunately it is true. It was an accident, though. Yeo, give me
more drink; I must tell everything."
Yeo was quite calm. He had known Caranby for many years, and was not
at all disposed to shrink from him because he confessed to having
committed a murder. He knew that the Earl was a kind-hearted man and
had been shamefully treated by three women. In fact, he was secretly
glad to hear that Emilia Saul had met her death at the hand of a man
she had injured. But he kept these sentiments to himself, and after
giving his patient a strong tonic to revive his energies, he sat by the
bedside with his fingers on the pulse of the dying man. Caranby
rallied considerably, and when he began his recital spoke in stronger
tones.
Cuthbert dipped his pen in the ink, but did not dare even to think. He
was wondering how the death of Emilia had come about, and also how his
uncle had gone to the unfinished house on the same night as he had
done. Remembering how Basil stated he had been chased by someone
unknown, Cuthbert began to fancy he saw light. However, at this moment
Caranby began to speak, and as every moment was precious, both men
forbore to interrupt him unless desirous to have a clearer
understanding on certain points.
"When I came back to England," said Caranby, "I never thought that
Emilia was alive. Owing to the clever way in which the substitution
was effected by Isabella, I always thought Selina lived at Rose
Cottage. Several times I tried to see her, hoping she would marry me.
But she always refused. I was puzzled at the time, but now I know the
reason. I never thought of looking at the unfinished house. It was a
piece of sentimental folly my shutting it up, but afterwards, as time
slipped by, I never troubled about looking into the matter. As Cuthbert
will tell you, Yeo, laziness is a vice with me."
"Go on with the story and save your strength," said Yeo softly.
"Yes." Caranby heaved a sigh. "I haven't much left. Well, Cuthbert,
you told me about the ghosts supposed to be haunting the house. I
asked you to go down and see. You came here one night and left at
eight o'clock to go down to Rexton."
"I never expected you to follow. Why did you not come with me?"
"Because I was keeping something back from you. On the previous day I
received a letter. There was no name to it, and the writing was
disguised. It advised me to see Selina Loach, and said I would be
surprised when she spoke to me."
"Because then you would recognize the woman you believed to be dead."
"Exactly," said Caranby faintly, "but at the time I knew nothing, and
was much puzzled with the letter. On that night I intended to tell
you, but I did not. Then I thought I would go down to Rose Cottage and
prove the truth of the letter. I went almost immediately after you,
Cuthbert."
"What, in your state of health?"
"Yes. I was stronger then."
"And have been less strong since," murmured Yeo. "I understand now why
you refused to tell me how you had over-exerted yourself."
"I had my secret to keep," said Caranby coldly, "some more drink,
please." Then, when he felt better, he continued "Yes! I was
wonderfully well and strong on that night. I climbed the wall--"
"Impossible!" said Mallow, "I can't believe that."
"Nevertheless it is the truth. I expect the excitement made me
unnaturally strong. I suffered greatly when it was over."
"You were a wreck," said the physician bluntly.
"When what was over?" asked Mallow, anxiously.
"The event of the night to which I am coming. It took me some time to
get to Rexton, and a long time to walk to the unfinished house. I did
not go down Crooked Lane, but round by the wall."
"Did you come by the railway station path?"
"I did not. I took a wide detour and arrived at the unfinished house
on the side opposite to where Rose Cottage stood."
"Ah!" murmured the young man. "No wonder I missed you. But I thought
you were calling on Miss Loach."
"I intended to, but first I thought I would assure myself about the
ghosts. Certainly I had set you to perform that task, but, as I was on
the spot, I determined to see for myself. I climbed the wall, not
without difficulty, and found myself in the park--"
"About what time was this?"
"After ten. I can't say how long. But I really cannot be precise as
to the time. I wandered aimlessly about the park, threading my way
amongst the trees and shrubs and undergrowth. I was astonished to find
paths, and it struck me that someone used the park."
"I believe Miss Loach did--that is, Emilia," said Cuthbert. "Jennings
learned that in some way. She always was on the watch for anyone
coming into the park and learning the secret of the factory."
"I did not know that at the time," said Caranby, his voice growing
weaker. "Well, I walked about. Sometimes it was moonlight and at
other times the moon would be obscured by clouds. I struggled to get
near the house and succeeded. Then I saw a man standing in the shadow.
At once I went up to him--he fled. I don't know who it was?"
"I can tell you," said Mallow, quietly, "young Saxon."
"Then why did he fly?"
"He was there with no very good purpose and his conscience smote the
miserable creature," said Cuthbert, "go on--or will you wait?"
"No! no! no!" said Caranby, vehemently; "if I stop now you will never
know the truth. I don't want anyone else to be accused of the crime.
I know Maraquito hinted that Isabella Octagon was guilty, but she is
not. I don't want even Isabella to suffer, though she has been a fatal
woman to me and wrecked my life's happiness."
His voice was growing so weak that Yeo gave him more cordial. After a
pause Caranby resumed with a last effort, and very swiftly, as though
he thought his strength would fail him before he reached the end of his
dismal story.
"I followed the man, though I did not know who he was, and wondered why
he should be trespassing. He fled rapidly and I soon lost him. But
when the moonlight was bright I saw that he had dropped a knife from
his pocket. In stooping to pick it up I lost sight of the man."
"Basil crossed the park and ran away. But he came back for the knife
afterwards," explained Mallow. "Juliet saw him. He had on my coat. I
wonder you didn't think Basil was me, as Juliet did."
"I am not acquainted with your clothes," said Caranby, dryly, "as I
have been absent from England for so long. But no wonder Saxon did not
find the knife. I picked it up. It was a bowie--"
"Belonging to me, which Basil had stolen."
"I didn't know that either. Well, I went again towards the wall
surrounding the park. I thought I might meet you."
"I wonder you didn't. I was about at that time."
"The park was so thickly filled with trees and shrubs that we missed
one another I suppose. Don't interrupt--I am going. Write quickly,
Cuthbert." Then with a gasp Caranby resumed: "I halted to get breath
near the large oak which the fire spared. I heard a rustling, and a
woman came out of the shadow of the tree. I wondered who she was and
where she had come from. The moon then came out brightly, and I
recognized her face with a sensation almost of terror. It was Emilia."
"How did you recognize her after all these years?"
"By her Jewish look, and especially by the eyebrows. Moreover, she
revealed herself to me when dying."
"What happened?" asked Yeo, sharply.
"I was standing with the knife in my hand. Emilia, seeing that I was
an intruder, came swiftly towards me. She had a revolver in her hand
but did not fire. She cried out something and rushed at me. In doing
this she came straight against the knife. I was holding it
instinctively in an attitude of defence, with the point outward. She
rushed at me to bear me down by the weight and force of her charge, and
the next moment she dropped to the ground dying."
"She was not dead then?"
"No! not for the moment. I knelt beside her and whispered 'Emilia!'
She opened her eyes and smiled. Then she replied, 'Emilia--yes!' and
died. I did not know what to do. Then it struck me that I might be
arrested for the crime, though it really was no crime. Had she not
rushed at me, had I not been holding the knife, she would not have met
with her death. I wonder she did not fire, seeing she had a pistol."
"Perhaps she recognized you," said Yeo, glancing at Cuthbert, who was
writing rapidly.
"No. Had she done so, she would never have attempted to hurt me. She
thought I was some spy searching for the factory, and without giving
herself time to think dashed forward, believing I would give way and
fly. It was all over in a second. I made up my mind to go at once. I
did not even wait to pick up the knife, but climbed the wall and came
home here. What happened then I don't know."
"I can tell you," said Mallow. "Maraquito and Hale came to look for
Miss Loach and took her body into the villa sitting-room. They placed
the knife at her feet and the cards in her lap, thinking it would be
thought she had been stabbed in the room, and--"
"Sign, sign!" said Caranby, unexpectedly, and Mallow hastily brought
him the written document and the ink. He signed feebly, and the two
men signed as witnesses. Yeo then turned to his patient, but he drew
back. Death was stamped on the face.
Cuthbert called in the servant. "Lord Caranby is dead," he said
quietly.
"Yes, my lord," replied the servant, and Mallow started on hearing the
title. But he was now Lord Caranby and his uncle was dead.