Monsieur Judas at Bay
Monsieur Jules Guinaud was not quite satisfied in his own mind with
regard to the result of his interview of the previous night. It was
true that by using the documents he had stolen from Melstane's packet
he had succeeded in obtaining Marson's consent to his marriage with
Florry, but it was also true that he had found an unexpected obstacle
to his plans in the person of Judith Varlins. He was cynical in his
estimate of the female sex, regarding them as beings quite inferior to
the male, but at the same time he was too clever a man to
underestimate the result of a quick-witted woman opposing herself to
his will. Florry was a mere cypher, whom he loved in a sensual fashion
for her beauty, and in a worldly fashion for her money, but Judith was
quite a different stamp of woman to this negative type of inane
loveliness. She had a masculine brain, she had a strong will, she had
a fearless nature, and Guinaud dreaded the upshot of any interference
on her part.
A genius, this man--a genius in a wicked way, with wonderful
capabilities of arranging his plans, and brushing aside any obstacle
that might interfere with their fulfilment, In this case Judith
interfered, so Judas, taking a rapid survey of the situation, saw a
means by which he could silence her effectively, and determined to
do so without delay. He wished to marry Florry Marson; he wished to
enjoy the income, the position, and the benefits derived from being a
son-in-law of Marson, and was consequently determined to let nothing
stand in the way of the realisation of his hopes. Judas was not a
brave man, but he was wonderfully crafty, and the fox, as a rule,
gains his ends where the lion fails; so the Frenchman determined to go
up to the Hall on the night following his first interview, see Judith,
and let her know at once what to expect if she meddled with his
arrangements.
This was all very nicely arranged, and if Monsieur Guinaud had been
undisturbed, he would no doubt have succeeded in his wicked little
plans; but Fate, not approving of this usurpation of her role as
arbitrator of human lives, interfered, and Octavius Fanks was the
instrument she used to defeat all the Frenchman's schemes.
In playing with Fate, that goddess has a nasty habit of forcing her
opponent's hand before he desires to show it, and this is what she did
now, to the great discomfiture of Monsieur Judas.
It was about eight o'clock on the night following that momentous
interview at the Hall, and all Mrs. Binter's boarders had left the
jail on the ticket of-leave system except Judas, who sat in the
drawing-room cell arranging everything in his crafty brain before
setting out on his errand to Miss Varlins. The head-jailer had several
times entered the room and intimated that he had better run out for a
breath of fresh air; but Judas, saying he would go later on, kept his
seat by the diminutive fire, and declined to obey Mrs. Binter, much to
that good lady's disgust.
"Why, drat the man," she said, in her stony fashion, to one of the
under-warders, "what does he mean by wastin' coals an' ile? Why don't
he walk his dinner off by usin' his legs instead of robbin' me of my
profits by takin' it out of his thirty shillin's weekly?"
The under-warder suggested respectfully that Monsieur Judas might be
expecting a friend that night, as on a previous occasion, to which the
jailer made prompt reply:
"Oh, I dare say! That friend he had here was a furriner. I heard 'em
talking their French gabble. It's more like a turkey gobblin' than a
man talkin'. Why don't these furriners learn English? There's the
front-door bell! P'r'aps it's that friend again. I'll go myself."
And go herself she did, to find Mr. Fanks waiting on the doorstep; and
thinking he was expected by Judas, seeing that gentleman had waited
in, took him in charge, and formally conducted him to the drawing-room
cell.
"A gentleman for you, munseer," she said, glaring at her lodger, who
had arisen to his feet in some surprise, "an' please don't use too
many coals, sir. For coals is coals, however much you may think 'em
waste-paper."
Having thus relieved her feelings, Mrs. Binter retired to the
basement, where she amused herself with badgering Mr. Binter, and
Fanks was left alone with the chemist's assistant.
"You wish to see me, monsieur?" asked Judas, in French, narrowing his
eyes to their most catlike expression.
"Yes," replied Fanks, sitting down. "I wish to ask you a few
questions."
"I cannot give you long, Monsieur Fanks," said the Frenchman,
unwillingly, "I have an engagement for this night!"
"Oh, indeed. With Mr. Marson, or Miss Varlins?" This was carrying the
war into the enemy's camp with a vengeance, and for a moment Judas was
so nonplussed, that he did not know what to say.
"Monsieur is pleased to be amusing," he said, at length, with an ugly
smile. "Monsieur does me the honour to make my business his own."
"I'm glad you see my intentions so clearly, Monsieur Guinaud."
They were painfully polite to one another, these two men, but this
mutual politeness was of a dangerous kind foreboding a storm. Like two
skilful fencers, they watched one another warily, each ready to take
advantage of the first opportunity to break down the guard of the
other. It was difficult to say who would win, for they were equally
clever, equally watchful, equally merciless, and neither of them
underestimated the acuteness of his adversary. A duel of brains, both
men on guard, and Fanks made the first attack!
"Are you aware, Monsieur Guinaud, that you stand in a very dangerous
position?"
"My faith, no! Not at all."
"Then it is as well you should know at once. I am a detective, as you
know, and am investigating this affair of your late friend. I suspect
some one of the murder."
"Very well. Monsieur Axton?"
"No."
"The dear Spolgers?"
"No."
Judas shrugged his shoulders!
"My faith! I know not, then, the man you suspect."
"Yes, you do. I suspect Monsieur Jules Guinaud."
The Frenchman was by no means startled, but laughed jeeringly.
"Eh, monsieur! Que diable faites-vous dans cette galère?"
"You need not jest. I am in earnest!"
"Truly! Will monsieur speak plainly?"
"Certainly! You say you were a friend of Melstane's. That is a lie.
You hated him because he was your successful rival with Miss Marson.
You wished him dead, so that you would be free to make your suit to
the young lady. The box of tonic pills left your hands for those of
Melstane."
"Pardon! It went first into the hands of Monsieur Vosk."
"Don't trouble to tell lies, Guinaud. I have asked Wosk, and he says
he counted the pills, and then gave you the box again--open."
"It's a lie!"
"Reserve your defence, if you please. When you got that box, you put
in those two morphia pills, and Melstane left Ironfields carrying his
death in his pocket."
"You have the invention, monsieur, I see."
"In this scheme for Melstane's death you were prompted by your
accomplice, Francis Marson."
"Eh! It's an excellent play, without doubt."
"You stole some compromising letters of Marson's from that packet of
Melstane's, and took them up to him last night."
"You are wisdom itself, monsieur."
"Those letters form your hold over Marson, and you offered to destroy
them on condition that he let you marry Miss Marson."
"A miracle of logic! Eh, I believe well."
"It is my firm conviction," said Fanks, losing his temper at the
gibing tones of the Frenchman, "that what I have stated is the truth,
and that you and Marson are responsible for the death of Melstane in
the way I have described."
"Monsieur is not afraid of the law of libel, evidently."
"No; there are no witnesses present."
"Ah, you scheme well?"
"Pshaw! What answer can you make to my statement?"
Monsieur Judas smiled blandly, shrugged his shoulders, and spread out
his lean hands with a deprecating gesture.
"Me! Alas! I can say nothing but that you have as strong a case
against me as you had against your dear friend, Monsieur Roger."
Fanks reddened angrily. He was aware that he had blundered two or
three times during the case, but still it was not pleasant to be
taunted thus by a smiling adversary who indulged in fine irony.
"You led me to believe Axton was guilty," he said, meekly.
"I? Eh, it is a mistake. I but told what I knew. It is not my fault if
the affair reflects upon Monsieur Roger."
"Do you know I can arrest you on suspicion of murder?"
"Truly! Then do so. I am ready."
Fanks bit his nails in impotent wrath, feeling himself quite helpless
to deal with this man. He could not arrest him because he had not
sufficient evidence to warrant him doing so. He could not force him to
speak, as he had no means of commanding him. Altogether he was
completely at the mercy of Judas in every way. Judas saw this and
chuckled.
"Can I tell monsieur anything else?"
"Confound you, sir, you've told me nothing."
"Eh, it is because I do know nothing."
"That is a lie, Guinaud. I believe you know all about this case."
"Monsieur does me too much honour."
It was very provoking, certainly, and Fanks, seeing the uselessness of
prolonging the discussion, was about to retire when a sudden thought
entered his head.
"At all events Monsieur Guinaud," he said, deliberately, "cool as you
are now, you may not be quite so composed before a judge."
"Ah! you will arrest me for the murder. Well, I wait, monsieur, for
your pleasure. Bah! I am no child to be frightened by big drums."
"I won't arrest you for the murder, but I will for stealing those
letters."
Judas winced at this. He was not very well acquainted with English
law, and although he knew Fanks would not dare to arrest him on a
charge of murder on the present evidence, yet he was by no means
certain regarding the business of the letters. He thought a moment.
"You will arrest me for stealing what you do not know that I did
steal?"
"What I know or what I don't know doesn't matter. I'll arrest you as
soon as I can obtain a warrant. Once you are in the clutches of the
English law, and you won't get out of them till you tell all you know
about this case."
Octavius was simply playing a game of bluff with Judas trusting to the
Frenchman's ignorance of English law to win him the game. He was right
in this case, as Guinaud did not know how far the arm of Justice could
stretch in England, and thought he might be arrested for the theft of
the letters. If so, it would be fatal to his schemes, as he desired to
avoid publicity in every way, and arrest at present meant the tumbling
down of his carefully built house of cards. Having thus taken a rapid
survey of the position, he made up his mind to save himself by the
sacrifice of some one else, and he fixed upon Judith, who had tried to
thwart him, as the victim. With this idea he politely desired Fanks to
be seated again--a request which that gentleman obeyed with a feeling
of great relief, as he had played his last card in a desperate game,
and was grateful to find that it had turned up trumps.
The detective therefore seated himself once more, but Judas,
foreseeing a fine opportunity of exercising his oratorical talents,
remained standing, and waved his hand in a loftily theatrical manner.
"Monsieur," he said, with apparent grief, "you see before you a man of
honour. It is all that I have, this honour of my forefathers, and I
would not sell it, no! not for the wealth of the Monte Cristo of our
dear Dumas. But in this case it is one of justice. If I am silent I am
suspected of a terrible crime; my name is in the dust. Can I let it
lie there? But no, it is impossible; so to myself I say, 'You must
forget your honour for once, and speak the name of that woman.'"
"Woman!"
"Eh! monsieur, you are astonished. It is not strange! Listen to me! I
will tell you what I know of my dear friend's death."
"But you're not going to tell me a woman killed him?" Guinaud placed
his left hand inside his waistcoat, and waved the right, solemnly.
"Monsieur! There are terrible things in this world. The heart of man
is not good, but the heart of woman--ah! who can explore its depths?
Not even our Balzac, of all the most profound--"
"Hang your preaching, get on with your story."
Monsieur Judas smiled, dropped his pompous manner, and told his little
tale in a highly dramatic fashion.
"I speak then, monsieur, straight. It's a drama of the Porte St.
Martin. In this way. On the night before my dear friend goes to
Jarlcesterre he is in this room; with him, myself. We talk, we laugh,
we weep adieu! At once there is a tap at the window there--the window
that opens like a door on to the beautiful grass. We turn; I see the
dress, the hood, the figure of a woman, but not the face. My friend
Sebastian to me speaks: 'Go, my good friend, I have to speak with a
charming angel. You are a man of honour. Disturb not our rendezvous.'
What would you? I go, and my friend Sebastian locks the door. At this
I am angry. He trusts me not, so I say: 'Very well, you think I am a
spy. So be it, I will listen.' Conceive to yourself, monsieur, how I
was judged. In anger, I went outside to that window. It is open but a
little, and I hear all--all! Sebastian to the woman speaks. They talk,
and talk, and fight, and rage! Oh! it was terrible. She asks of him
something, and he says, 'Yes, it is for you.' Then he goes out of this
room by that door. She is left alone, this charming woman. She goes to
the table, here; on it there is a box of pills--my friend's box of
pills. She opens the box. My eye beholds her drop into it something, I
know not what. Again she closes the box, and waits. I see my dear
Melstane return. They talk, they kiss, they part. From the window I
fly, and when I come into this room by the door, the woman is gone,
Sebastian is gone, and the window is closed but not locked. I go to
it, I open it, and on the grass there I see a handkerchief; it is now
mine, and on it is the name of the woman that came--the woman that put
the pills in the box--the woman that killed my friend."
"And the name--the name!" cried Fanks, in a state of great excitement,
springing to his feet; "tell me her name."
Rapid as thought Guinaud produced a white handkerchief from his
breast-pocket and flung it to Fanks.
The detective seized it, and looked at the name in the corner.
"Judith!"
Extracts From a Detective's Note-Book
". . . I have seen Judas, and he made a strange confession . . . He
actually saw the person who committed the crime put the pills into the
box . . . The name was hardly a surprise to me . . . I thought Miss
Varlins was guilty, but hardly thought my suspicions would be
confirmed so soon . . . Poor Roger, it will be a terrible blow to him
to learn that the woman he loves is guilty of such a terrible crime
. . . I don't believe she ever loved Roger . . . all her passions
were centred on Melstane . . . He must have been a wonderfully
fascinating scamp . . . I don't know why I should pity Judith Varlins
. . . She has treated Roger shamefully . . . She has treated Florry
Marson shamefully . . . for she pretended to love the one and killed
the lover of the other . . . Her handkerchief has betrayed her
. . . She will be a very clever woman if she can get out of that
. . . The evidence of the handkerchief . . . the evidence of Judas
are both dead against her . . .
"_Mem._--To write to Marson asking for an interview.
". . . I will take up Judas and Roger with me, so as to convict her of
the crime . . . It will be a terrible ordeal for the poor boy, but
anything is better than that he should marry a murderess . . . This
was the reason she refused to let me see the letters . . . some of her
own were there, betraying her guilty passion . . . She has been
playing a double game all through, but now she is brought to book at
last . . . She must be a woman of iron nerve . . . Her adopted sister
is lying dangerously ill from the consequences of Judith's crime
. . . from the sudden intelligence that the man she loved is dead, and
yet Judith can still wear her mask and play the part of a sick-nurse
. . . She must be a perfect fiend . . . Lucrezia Borgia _fin de
siècle_ . . . I expect to have a terrible scene to-morrow night
. . . Poor Roger! . . .
"Judas is an incarnate devil . . . I wish he was the guilty one
instead of Judith Varlins . . . Nothing would give me greater pleasure
than to put the irons on him."