How it was Done
Three days after that terrible night, five men were seated in the
study of Dr. Japix talking over the series of strange events which
began with the death of Sebastian Melstane by poison, and ended with
the death of Florry Marson by fire. These five men were:
Dr. Jacob Japix, M.D.; Mr. Octavius Fanks, detective; Roger Axton,
Esq., gentleman; Jackson Spolger, Esq., manufacturer; Monsieur Jules
Guinaud, chemist's assistant.
It was about midday; the world outside was white with snow, the sky
was heavy with sombre clouds, and these five men, actors in the drama
known as the Jarlchester Mystery, had met together in order to explain
their several shares in the same.
Octavius Fanks had described the manner in which he had first become
involved in the affair, the methods by which he had traced the crime,
and the reasons he had had for his several suspicions.
At the conclusion of the detective's speech Roger Axton took up the
thread of the story, supplying by oral testimony all the points of
which Fanks was ignorant. Having finished his story, Monsieur Judas
arose to his feet and revealed all he knew about the case.
"But first, my friends," he said, with venomous malignity, "I give to
Monsieur Fanks the congratulations on his talent for foolish fancies.
Eh! yes, he is a grand detective, this young man, who thinks all have
committed the murder but the real one. Conceive to yourselves,
messieurs, the blindness of this monsieur--"
"I admit all your abuse," interrupted Fanks, curtly; "go on with what
you have to tell."
"Eh! I enrage this monsieur, me," said Judas, with an insolent laugh.
"Bah! I mock myself of his anger. Behold, messieurs, I tell you the
little tale of all things. Me, I loved this angel that now is dead;
but she her heart gave to the dear Melstane. She returned from the Île
de Vight and tells Melstane that her father is poor, and she is to
marry this amiable Spolgers. My friend Melstane is enraged, and says:
'I go to your father to tell him I wish you for mine.' But the dear
angel is afraid of the hard poverty. She weeps, she entreats, she
implores the cruel Melstane to release her, but he refuses with scorn.
Myself I heard it all. She speaks to me as her friend. I paint her the
pictures of starving, I make her to shrink with fear. Conceive, I
implore you, messieurs, how this beautiful one, reared in money,
dreads the coldness of the poor. She says: 'He must not drag me to
poorness! I am afraid of myself if he does. I am like my mother.'
Then, messieurs, I hear from her sweet lips that madame, her dead
mother, was mad. The poor angel is afraid she will be mad some day
also. Nevertheless, I love her, I wish her for mine. I am the friend
of Melstane; but him I love not, because of this dear one. I say: 'My
friend Melstane will pull you to the cold, to the street, to the want
of bread. Defend yourself, my beautiful. Kill him!'"
"Oh!" cried Roger, in a tone of horror, "you put the idea into her
head?"
"Eh! I say she was mad like madame, her mother. I told her of the
starvation; oh, but yes, certainly, I did say to her: 'Mademoiselle,
if he lives, you will be taken to poorness. Kill him!' What would you,
messieurs? I but say to her what myself I would do if in the same way.
My suggestion with fear she received, and went weeping away. But again
she sees the dear Melstane, and he tells her he will speak to her
father. She implores, she kneels, but he is hard stone. I wish to have
all the place to myself, so as to love this angel, and to Melstane I
say: 'Go thou, my friend, to some town and tell the angel to follow
thee. Then you can demand of monsieur the father what you will. He is
enchanted, this dear Melstane, and to me speaks with pleasure: 'Eh,
but the idea is too beautiful! This I will do, and if the father has
any of the money, thou, my friend, will be to me as a brother.' When
next he meets the dear child, he tells her of the plan. It is that he
is to depart to Jarlcesterre, and there when writes he, she is to
come. She says this she will do, but I, messieurs, eh! I smile to
myself. In her heart she hates where once she loved. She has fear of
the poorness. She says: 'I will myself kill this cruel one, and no one
will know of him dying.' Behold, then, on the night before goes the
dear Melstane, she comes to the pension. Myself I see her; I wait at
the window and behold. She demands from my Sebastian what he has not,
and to obtain it he goes from the apartment. Then in the box of pills
on the table she places something. What I know not then, but now I am
aware, it is the pills of morphia!"
"Which you gave her, I suppose?" said Fanks, disgusted with the
callous manner in which the scoundrel spoke.
"Monsieur is wrong. The truth of the great God I now tell, and I know
not where she obtained the death-pills."
"I can explain that," interrupted Spolger, quickly.
"Eh, truly, you were then more of the evil to the dear angel than
myself. Well, messieurs, I repeat my story. The dear Melstane departs
for Jarlcesterre, and I am free to love the angel; but I speak to her
not. I see her not, I wait for the time to speak. One says she is to
be the bride of the rich Spolgers. Eh, I laugh, but nothing I say to
any one. Then by the mistake of the office of post I do receive the
letters sent by this Monsieur Axton to Mees Varlins. I at first
refuse, but when I behold I see the mark of Jarlcesterre and open the
letters. In them this I discover."
He threw a folded paper which he was holding in his hand on the table,
and Fanks, opening it quickly, gave a cry of surprise.
"A marriage certificate!"
It certainly was, stating that a marriage had taken place in October
between Sebastian Melstane, bachelor, and Florence Marson, spinster,
at a registry office in London.
"Yes!" said Judas, complacently, "it is that the dear angel was
married to my friend Melstane. Conceive then, messieurs, why she
killed him with the poison. He had the right to take her to the
poorness. She was afraid because of my speech, and as no hope of help
beheld she, this foolish one goes to the extremes and kills the man
who holds her. Eh, messieurs, when this I see, I know I do hold the
angel in my power. Then clever Monsieur Fanks arrives and tells me of
the death. He speaks of the pills, and as in a moment behold I that
Mees Mar-rson has poisoned the husband she feared. I admire; eh,
truly, it was a great thing for a woman thus to behave. Then to myself
I spoke. 'Jules Guinaud, with this you hold, it is for you to be the
husband of the widow Melstane.'"
"For Heaven's sake don't call her that name," said Roger, with a
shudder.
"Wherefore not, monsieur? She was of a certainty the widow Melstane,
and her husband she killed. I go then to Monsieur Mar-rson; I show the
certificate of marriage; I tell of the death. To him I speak: 'If I
marry not your daughter I betray all to the law.' He shudders with the
fear and says: 'You will be my son-in-law.' Then comes Mees Judith,
who knows of my love; but her I quickly crush. Eh, it was very well;
but she played the traitor to me, so to her I also was cruel. I tell
this dear Monsieur Fanks that she is the criminal, and show him the
handkerchief of her which was let to fall by the dear angel. We go to
the house of Monsieur Mar-rson, and then the angel is distraught; she
is mad and tells all. Behold, messieurs, my story is at an end, and
nothing can I say more. I played for a large thing. I have lost. It is
cruel, but who can fight the angry gods? Everything I have failed in.
All are innocent but the angel, and she is dead. But I have held her
in my arms. Yes, though the flames did burn, she was to me for a
moment, so I am satisfied. Behold, then, all is at an end, and Jules
Guinaud to you, messieurs, says 'Adieu.'"
Monsieur Judas resumed his seat in a conscious manner, as if he
expected a round of applause for his very dramatic delivery of his
villainous narrative. If he did expect praise he was disappointed, for
a chorus of execration burst from the four men who had listened so
patiently to this infamous history.
"You scoundrel!"
"Fiend!"
"Wretch!"
"Blackguard!"
Judas was not at all dismayed, but shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"Eh, messieurs les Tartuffes, I make you the compliments. If you had
been as me, acted the same you would have, I think. But all I have
told, and now will the dear Spolger tell us of the pills which he gave
to the angel?"
"I did not give her pills, you wicked wretch," said Spolger,
vehemently. "I was as much in the dark as you about the cause of
Melstane's death. The whole affair has been a great blow to me. I do
not know when my nerves will recover."
"Will you tell us your story, Mr. Spolger?" said Fanks, politely.
"Certainly; if only to disabuse your mind of the suspicions put into
it by that infernal scoundrel there."
The Frenchman, at whom this compliment was pointed, threw an ugly look
at the millionaire which foreboded anything but good to that
gentleman's well-being, but with his accustomed presence of mind soon
recovered himself with an enigmatic smile.
"My faith, this 'dear Spolgers' is a tragedy of one act. Is it not
so?"
"No, it isn't," retorted Mr. Spolger, tartly; "and now, as you've
given your version of the story, perhaps you'll permit me to tell mine
to these gentlemen, and clear myself from your vile insinuations."
Judas nodded his red head with a mocking smile, and Mr. Spolger, after
glancing at him viciously, immediately explained himself.
"The whole affair is this," he said, in his peevish voice. "Miss
Marson was up at my house before Melstane went to Jarlchester, and
displayed considerable curiosity about the manufacture of the 'Spolger
Soother,' which you no doubt know is a pill meant to soothe the nerves
and give a good night's rest. I was willing to show Miss Varlins all
the attention possible, and therefore made up some pills for her with
my own hands, to show her how it was done. As there is morphia in the
pills, I weighed out the requisite quantity with great care, upon
which she asked me if I made a mistake and put in too much, what would
be the result. I told her that in such a case the person would
probably die. Upon which she made a remark which struck me as curious
then, but which does not strike me as curious now. She said: 'If,
then, you made one pill with too much morphia in it, the person taking
it would die, and even if the rest of the pills were examined, no
reason could be given for his death.' I assured her that this would
probably be the case, but said that all our 'Soothers' were
manufactured in a most careful manner. After this she manifested no
further interest in the pills being made, so I sealed up the jar of
morphia and placed it on the shelf. Shortly afterwards, I was called
out of the room, and was absent for about a quarter of an hour; so
I've no doubt that in my absence the unhappy girl took some morphia
out of the bottle--if you remember, Mr. Fanks, the seal was
broken--and carrying it home with her, made the two fatal pills
according to the method I had shown her. These pills she
afterwards--according to the story of Monsieur Judas--placed in the
box of tonic pills left by Melstane on the table. Down at Jarlchester
he took one and died; the other, I understand from Mr. Fanks, was
analysed by Dr. Japix, and found to contain a great deal of morphia. I
am afraid, therefore, that in all innocence I contributed to the
catastrophe of Melstane's death. I beg to state, however, that there
is this difference between myself and Monsieur Guinaud. He put the
idea willingly into her head to kill Melstane. I showed her how, but
inadvertently; so I am confident, gentlemen, that you will admit that
no blame attaches to me in the affair."
"Of course not," said Japix, emphatically, when Spolger had finished;
"what you did, you did in all innocence. For my part, I look upon
Monsieur Judas as culpable."
"Eh, truly," said Judas, with a sneer, "and for why, monsieur? I did
not kill the dear Melstane."
"No; but you put the idea of killing him into Miss Marson's head!"
"That is not guilt, monsieur."
"Not legally, certainly, but morally!"
"Name of names! I care not for your morals, me. The law cannot touch
me, so I laugh at your reproach."
"Nevertheless, Monsieur Judas," said Fanks, meaningly, "I would
recommend you to leave Ironfields as soon as possible!"
"And for why? No one knows of this affair. Is it not so?"
"Of course! But though your character is not known to the world, it is
to me. I am the law, and the law shall force you to leave this place.
A man like you is dangerous, so you had better go back to your Paris,
where you will find a few congenial scoundrels like yourself!"
"Eh, monsieur! I have no wish to stay in this rain climate," said
Judas, scoffingly; "but if I chose to stay I would, certainly!"
"Try," said Fanks, significantly,
But Monsieur Judas had no wish to try. He simply shrugged his
shoulders, and intimated that if they had learned all they desired
from him, he was anxious to depart. Roger, however, asked him to
resume his seat.
"I think it is only just to state the part taken by Miss Varlins in
this lamentable affair," he said, quietly. "She had no idea that Miss
Marson had anything to do with the death of Melstane for a long time.
She asked me to obtain the letters from Melstane, thinking that he
might use them to create a scandal, but she did not know that the
certificate of marriage was among them. When, however, Miss Marson was
ill, she betrayed the fact of the marriage and the existence of a
certificate in her delirium. Miss Varlins was anxious to keep the fact
of the marriage quiet, as, seeing Melstane was now dead, the whole
affair might blow over. This was the reason she refused to let Mr.
Fanks see the letters without her first looking through them, as she
thought he might discover the marriage certificate and connect Miss
Marson indirectly with the death of her miserable husband. Of the
horrible truth, however, she had no idea till later on, when Miss
Marson, in her sick-bed ravings, betrayed the whole affair. She then
acted in a manner befitting her noble nature. The dead girl,
gentlemen, was left to Miss Varlins as a sacred charge by the late
Mrs. Marson, and Miss Varlins proved herself worthy of the trust. She
resolved to stand between the guilty woman and the law, even at the
cost of ignominy and disgrace to herself. I implored her to tell me
the truth, never for a moment deeming her guilty. She refused to
answer my questions, she refused to either deny or affirm the
accusation, and it was then I guessed she was shielding some one; but
I never thought it was Florry Marson; I thought it was her father.
Now, gentlemen, the mystery is cleared up--the riddle is guessed.
Florry Marson murdered the unhappy man who died at Jarlchester; but
had it not been for the accident of her escaping from her sick-room
and revealing her guilt in her delirium, Miss Varlins would have had
to bear the stigma of this crime. A noble woman, gentlemen, you must
all of you confess."
"Noble indeed," assented all present, except Judas, who laughed
quietly to himself.
"In a few months," resumed Roger, his voice trembling, "I hope to lead
her to the altar as my wife, and I pray to God that the brightness of
the future will make amends for the sorrows of the past, and that I
may prove worthy of this pearl of womanhood which I hope soon to have
in my keeping."
"Amen!" said Japix, in his deep voice. "And now one word more. Florry
Marson is dead, so of her let us speak kindly. It is true she killed
Melstane; but, gentlemen, she was guiltless of the crime in one sense.
Her mother, a shallow, frivolous woman, was insane with a suicidal
mania, and several times tried to destroy herself. She died,
mad--raving mad, and the insanity in her blood descended to her
unhappy daughter. Hence the reason of Miss Varlins' great care and
watchfulness. She was aware that the seeds of a homicidal mania were
in the blood of the happy, laughing girl, and might develop when least
expected. They developed, gentlemen, when she received a shock from
the conduct of Melstane. He had thought her rich; then he found she
was poor, and instead of making the best of it, as any honourable man
would have done, he threatened her until her delicately poised brain
went off the balance. Even then, however, she might have been saved
from the crime, had she been left alone. But the idea of murder was
placed in her mind by the respectable Guinaud, and once there, it soon
took shape. With the usual cunning of mad people, she resolved to
commit the crime with as little danger to herself as possible. No idea
of how to do it, however, occurred to her mind until her unfortunate
conversation with Mr. Spolger, in which he showed her the way."
"In all innocence," interrupted Spolger, hastily.
"Of course, in all innocence," replied Japix, gravely. "Once having
the idea of how to do it in her head, she put it into execution. She
made the pills and watched her opportunity to place them in the box
unknown to Melstane. How she managed it you know from the story of
Monsieur Judas; but I am certain that if Melstane had shown her a
little kindness, a little forbearance, she would have relented at the
last moment. She was not altogether mad; she hardly knew what she was
doing, and it was only when she heard suddenly of Melstane's death
that the full enormity of her crime struck her. What was the result,
gentlemen? It sent her mad--raving mad. She died, as we know,
terribly, but even such a death was a blessing in disguise, for she
would never have recovered her reason, and would have died in a
madhouse."
Every one present having thus given his evidence, Fanks summarized
the whole affair in a few shorthand notes in his secretive little
pocket-book.
"When Florry Marson married Sebastian Melstane, she was sane. The
seeds of insanity were in her blood, but had not developed.
"Owing to the brutal treatment of her husband and the suggestions of
Judas, the hereditary disease became manifested in her in the form of
a homicidal mania.
"The conversation with Jackson Spolger showed her a method by which
she could kill her now hated husband at small risk to herself.
"She took advantage of it, made the pills with morphia stolen from
Spolger's bottle, and placed the pills in the box during a visit to
Binter's boarding-house.
"Melstane went down to Jarlchester to await her arrival, and took the
pill in all innocence. The sudden news of his death upset the balance
of her brain and sent her mad.
"From such madness she could never have recovered, so it was most
merciful that she died."
The Jarlchester Mystery thus having been solved, Fanks replaced his
note-book in his pocket, and the company prepared to break up. The
first to go was Monsieur Judas, who stood at the door, hat in hand,
smiling blandly on the four Englishmen.
"Messieurs," said Judas, in his most suave voice, "I make you my best
compliments on your brains. You have been all in the dark. I, Jules
Guinaud, showed you the light, and with brutal behaviour you have
spoken to me. The dear angel is dead, my friend Melstane is dead, so
now I leave this foggy climate of yours for my dear France. You have
not the politeness, you English! You are all coarse of the style of
your bifsteak. Bah! I mock myself of you! But I say no more. Adieu,
messieurs, adieu! The politeness of the accomplished French survives
the brutality of the bulldog English! Adieu! and for a good-bye
English: Damn you all, messieurs!"
And the accomplished Judas, beaten on every point, but polite to the
end, vanished from the room, and later on from Ironfields itself.