The Guessing of the Riddle
Francis Marson was considerably perplexed at receiving a note from
Fanks, asking for an interview. He guessed at once that Judas had
broken faith and unbosomed himself to the detective, but what puzzled
him was the reason the Frenchman had for such betrayal. In order to
secure the success of his schemes, it was necessary that he should
keep silent, yet he had evidently voluntarily revealed his secret
knowledge, and thus rendered it useless to himself and his designs.
The only way in which Marson could account for the detective's request
was that he must have learned the secret of Judas, otherwise there
would be no reason why he should seek an interview.
Filled with this idea, Marson summoned up all his courage, and
prepared to meet the coming storm with as brave a front as possible.
He wrote to Fanks, and told him he would be prepared to see him at
eight o'clock that night; then he shut himself up in his study for the
rest of the day. Plunged in gloomy reflections, he saw no one, not
even Judith; but as the hour approached when he expected his visitor
to arrive he was unable to bear his trial in solitude any longer, so,
sending for Judith, he told her about the interview. To his surprise,
she received the communication with great equanimity, and being in
ignorance of her forewarning by Roger, he could not but admire the
undaunted spirit with which she was prepared to face the terrible
trouble coming to them both.
On her side, Judith saw plainly that Marson was almost distracted by
nervous terror and dread of the impending evil, so she did not think
it wise to reveal to him the dangerous position in which she was
placed. He would learn it in due time; but, meanwhile, she preserved a
gloomy silence, and told her adopted father that she would be by his
side during the ordeal, in order to support him to the best of her
ability. Poor soul, she knew how futile that support would be, but
with stern self-repression kept her forebodings locked in her own
heart, and Francis Marson felt to a great extent comforted in knowing
that he had at least one friend to stand by him in the hour of peril.
It was nearly eight o'clock when Judith entered the study, and found
Marson seated at his writing-table, with his gray head buried in his
arms. A spasm of agony distorted the calm of her face as she saw the
abject terror of the old man; however, repressing all signs of
emotion, she moved slowly across the room, and touched him tenderly on
the shoulder. He looked up with a startled cry, but was somewhat
reassured by the peacefulness of her expression. No marble statue in
its eternal calm looked so void of passion and human fear as this
tall, pale woman who masked the anguish of her aching heart under an
impassive demeanour. Every emotion, every pang, every terror was
expressed on the withered countenance of the old man; but she was
cold, expressionless, still, as if all human feeling had been frozen
in her soul.
Their eyes met for a moment, and from the dim eyes of the man, from
the splendid eyes of the woman, there leapt forth a sudden look of
mutual dread, of mutual anguish, and horrible suspense. That look
spoke all, and they had no need of words to explain their feelings, so
Judith sat down near the fire, and Marson resumed his chair at the
desk in ominous silence.
At last Marson spoke, low and timidly, as if he feared his words would
be trumpeted forth to the four quarters of the world.
"Is Florry better?"
"No, I think she is worse to-night. Very excitable and restless."
"Oh, Judith! Was it wise of you to leave her?"
"She is in good hands. Dr. Japix is with her."
"Japix!" repeated the old man, starting. "I'm sorry about that. On
this night of all nights I wish no one in the house!"
"It doesn't matter," replied Judith, feigning an indifference she was
far from feeling; "what we know to-night all the world will know
to-morrow."
"Good heavens, I hope not!"
"We can expect nothing else from such a man as Judas."
"You mean Guinaud."
"I mean Judas! The name suits such a traitor."
"But why should he act as he is doing?"
"I don't know."
"It is against his own interests."
"Heaven only knows what he considers to be his interests," said
Judith, bitterly, "but anything is better than that he should marry
Florry!"
"Do you think he would consent to take money instead?"
"I think it's too late to offer any terms. Remember, to-night we deal
with the law."
"But Fanks is a friend of Roger Axton."
Judith shuddered, and covered her face with her hands.
"Yes, I know he is," she said, in a low voice; "but Roger can do
nothing to help us."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure. He told me so this afternoon."
"You saw him?"
"I did!"
Marson was about to speak, but the sombre expression of her face
forbade him to ask further questions, and he remained silent.
The minutes seemed to fly by on wings of lightning to this unhappy man
and woman, who waited with shuddering dread for the approach of that
horror from which they could not escape.
A knock at the door, and then Marks flung it wide open, announcing
three visitors.
"Mr. Fanks, Mr. Axton, Monsieur Guinaud."
"Roger," said Judith to herself, with a sudden pang at her heart, as
the servant retired. "Oh, the humiliation!"
Marson greeted his three visitors with a grave bow, and they all sat
down in silence. There was a sullen look on the face of Judas, for he
felt that he had been undiplomatic in his dealings with the detective,
and that all his well-laid schemes would come to naught now that his
secret was made known.
On the other hand, Fanks appeared serenely confident that things were
going as he wished them, but an uneasy expression on his face as he
glanced furtively at Judith, showed that he was by no means pleased
with the unexpected discovery he had made. Roger said nothing, but sat
looking at the carpet with downcast eyes, the very picture of misery
and despair.
"You wish to see me, I understand from your letter, sir," said Marson
to the detective, in a dull, hopeless voice.
"Yes; with regard to the death of Sebastian Melstane."
"I know nothing about his death."
"Nothing?" repeated Fanks, with great emphasis.
Mr. Marson flushed all over his worn face, and he glanced rapidly at
Judith, then repeated his former denial with great deliberation.
"I know nothing about his death."
"Do you know anything, Miss Varlins?"
"I? how should I know?"
"I'm sorry to speak rudely to a lady," said Fanks, suavely, "but this
is equivocation."
She looked despairingly at him with the expression of a trapped animal
in her eyes, a mute appeal for mercy, but the detective steeled his
heart against her, and spoke plainly:
"Do you remember a visit you paid the late Mr. Melstane at Binter's
boarding-house during the early part of the month of November?"
"No, I do not."
"Do you recognise this handkerchief?" said Octavius, holding it out to
her.
"No. It is a lady's white handkerchief. How should I recognise it?"
"By the name in the corner."
She glanced rapidly at the embroidery, and seeing the fatal name
"Judith," let her head fall on her breast with a gesture of despair.
"Do you recognise the handkerchief now?" asked Fanks, with merciless
deliberation.
"Yes! It is mine!"
"Do you know where it was found?"
"No!"
"It was found in the sitting-room of Mr. Melstane by this gentleman,"
said Octavius, pointing to Judas.
She raised her eyes, and her glance followed the direction of his
outstretched finger. Hate, contempt, dread, and defiance were all
expressed in that rapid look, and Judas shrank back with a feeble
smile from the scathing scorn in her eyes.
"This being the case, Miss Varlins," resumed Fanks, coolly, "it is
useless for you to deny that you were at Binter's boarding-house on
the night in question."
"I do deny it!" she said, resolutely. "I was not at Binter's any night
during November; I never saw Mr. Melstane during November. I know
nothing about his death!"
Octavius laid the handkerchief on the table with a resolute
expression.
"I see I must refresh your memory, Miss Varlins," he said, coolly.
"Sebastian Melstane died at Jarlchester on the 13th of November by
taking, in all innocence, a morphia pill, which was placed among
certain tonic pills he was in the habit of taking. When I find the
person who placed the two morphia pills in the box I find the murderer
of Sebastian Melstane. Monsieur Guinaud will now resume the story."
Monsieur Judas bowed his head gracefully, and spoke slowly in his vile
English.
"At the nights before my frien' Melstane go to Jarlcesterre une dame
find him chez lui. I at de vinda stay and overt mes yeux. Mon ami, ce
cher Sebastian does go from ze appartement an' zen behold moi ze dame
plaze dans un boite à pilules quelque chose, je ne sais quoi."
"Speak English, if you please," said Fanks, sharply.
"Eh, c'est difficile, mais oui. She puts in ze boxes somezing, I knows
no wat; zen mon cher ami come again an' ze leave par la fenêtre. I do
look after zem, an' see ze mouchoir now wis Monsieur Fanks. Dat is all
I speak. La voila."
Roger, who had hitherto kept silent during the whole of this scene, so
terrible in its intensity, now sprang to his feet with a cry of rage.
"It's a lie--a lie!" he said, savagely. "Fanks! Marson! you surely
don't believe this man--this vile wretch who would sell his soul for
money? He killed Melstane himself--I am sure of it!--and tells this
lie to ruin an innocent woman and to save his own worthless life. Look
at him, all of you? The spy--the traitor--the defamer--the poisoner."
Judas was standing by his chair, breathing heavily, with his face a
ghastly white, and his eyes narrowed to their most dangerous
expression. So vile, so craven, so treacherous he looked, that all
present involuntarily shrank from him with loathing.
"Monsieur!" he said, in his sibilant voice, speaking rapidly in his
own tongue, to which he always reverted when excited, "you are a liar
and a fool! I did not kill my friend. Bah! I mock myself of that
accusation. Think you that I would be here, if I was what you say?
What I speak is the truth of the great God! What I declare, I saw! My
friend died by the devil-thought of a woman. And that woman is there!"
He pointed straight at Judith, with a long, lean, cruel hand, and the
eyes of all, leaving his tall, slim figure, rested on Judith Varlins.
She stood still and mute as if she were turned to a statue of stone,
and for the space of a minute not a movement was made by any of the
actors in this strange drama.
"What do you say to this accusation, Miss Varlins?" asked Fanks, in a
tone of deep pity.
"I say nothing."
The words dropped slowly from her white lips, and then the
overstrained nerves of the woman gave way, and with a low moan of
acute anguish, she sank down in a faint on the floor. Roger sprang
forward and raised her in his arms, but Judas, with a mocking,
sardonic laugh, tossed his long arms in the air, and burst out into a
jeering speech.
"Yes, yes! Take her in your arms! Lift her from the ground, but you
cannot lift her again to her purity of a woman. She is lost, the woman
you loved. In her place you find the murderess. Ah! it is a good
play!"
This cowardly triumphing was too much even for the phlegmatic Fanks,
and with a suppressed oath he strode up to the gibing villain.
"If you say another word, you despicable blackguard, I will kill you!"
The Frenchman turned on him with the snarling ferocity of a tiger.
"Eh, you will kill me, my brave! Is it that I am a child you can rage
at with your big words? Miserable English that you are, I spit upon
you! I, Jules Guinaud, laugh at your largeness. Eh! I believe well.
You are afraid of what I say; but I keep not the silence, holy blue!
Bah! your sweet English lady, she is a criminal!"
"You lie!" shouted Roger, madly, starting to his feet. "You lie, you
wretch! Marson! Fanks! Get me some water! She has fainted. And as for
you, scoundrel--"
He advanced towards Judas with clenched fists, whereupon the
Frenchman, with a look of fear on his gray face, recoiled against the
wall. But not even the threatening attitude of the young man could
restrain the gibing devil that possessed this villain, and with a
shrill scream of laughter he went on with his insults.
"For me the box, monsieur. But certainly, you are wise--you are very
wise. Come, now, if you are bold--I hide not the truth, I declare--if
your angel is not the one who killed the dear Melstane, say, who is
it? Declare the name."
Roger, with glittering eyes, and a fierce look on his face, would have
sprung on Judas and caught him by the throat, when the answer to the
question came from a most unexpected quarter.
Outside the room there was a shrill scream, the heavy tramping of
feet, and a woman in her nightgown dashed madly into their midst.
It was Florry Marson!
In her eyes shone the fever of insanity, on her dry lips a fearful
laugh of horrible laughter, and she whirled round and round in the
middle of the room like a Maenad, while Japix, who had followed her,
tried vainly to approach.
"God! How like her mother!"
The cry of horror came from the lips of Marson, who was holding a
glass of water to the lips of Judith; but his daughter did not hear
him. With a shriek she stopped her insensate whirling, and dashed
forward with distorted features to Monsieur Judas.
"Hold her! hold her!" cried Japix, "she is mad--raving."
Judas was too terrified to do anything, and stood nerveless and
paralysed, facing this ghastly spectre with the loose hair, the
frantic gestures, and blazing eyes.
"What have you done with him?" shrieked Florry, making futile clutches
at Judas, "you fiend! you reptile! Why did I not kill you instead of
Sebastian?"
A cry of horror burst from the lips of the listeners.
"Give him to me! give him to me!" howled the mad woman, "you know I
killed him! I did not mean it! I did not mean it! The devil told me
about the morphia. Hist! I will tell you! His name is Spolger. He
lives in the big house on the hill. He has poison. Oh, yes, yes! I
know. I stole it to give Sebastian--poor Sebastian."
"Gentlemen," cried Marson, piteously, "do not believe her. This is
raving."
"I believe it's the truth," said Fanks, solemnly.
Japix advanced towards Florry, but she saw him coming, and with a
shriek of anger, darted towards the study table, upon which she sprang
with the activity of an antelope. Her foot touched the lamp, it fell
over, and in a moment the fierce flame had caught her light draperies,
and she stood before the horrified spectators a pillar of flame.
"I burn! I burn!" she screamed. "Sebastian, help! help! it is my
punishment! It is--God! God! save me--save me."
Roger tore down one of the curtains and ran to her assistance, but she
bounded off the table, and running to Judas flung her arms round his
neck. With a yell of terror he tried to fling her off, but she only
clung the closer, and the flames caught his clothes.
"Save me, Sebastian, I did not mean to kill you. Ah, ah!"
"Mon Dieu, help me!"
Both Fanks and Roger flung themselves on the writhing pair, who were
now rolling on the floor, and they managed to extinguish the flames.
Florry was terribly burnt, and the Frenchman had fainted. Old Marson
on his knees was praying feebly, and Judith, recovering from her
stupor, rose slowly up.
"What is the matter?"
The answer came in a wailing voice from the brokenhearted father:
"The judgment of God! The judgment of God!"
Extracts From a Detective's Note-Book
"I am utterly dumbfounded . . . Judith is innocent . . . She is a
noble woman, and Florry, the martyr, who loved Melstane so, is his
murderess . . . The little serpent . . . But let me speak as kindly of
her as I can . . . She is dead . . . A terrible death . . . Well might
her old father say it was the judgment of God . . . The sight was
terrible . . . I shall never be able to get it out of my thoughts
. . . Strange how the discovery was made . . . And that noble Judith
Varlins was going to bear the burden of her adopted sister's sin
. . . What a woman . . . If I envy Roger anything I envy him the
splendid heroine he is going to make his wife . . . I take back with
shame and regret all that I have said against her in this book
. . . She is a noble woman, and Florry--well, she is dead, so I will
say nothing! 'De mortuis,' etc.
"_Mem_.--To ask Japix, Roger, Spolger, and Judas to meet me at some
place in order to learn precisely how the crime was committed . . . I
should have been spared all this wrongful suspicion of innocent people
if Judas had told me the truth . . . He knew all along who committed
the crime, and was trading on the knowledge for his own ends . . . I
should have thought that even he would have hesitated before marrying
a murderess . . . but it was her money he wanted . . . No doubt he
laughs at the way I have blundered--well, I deserve it . . . I have
acted very wrongly in a great number of ways; but I would defy any one
but a detective in a 'novel' to have unravelled this strange case
. . . The mystery was revealed by no mortal, but by God. . .
"Under these circumstances I can afford to bear the gibes of Monsieur
Judas in silence. . ."