WHAT THE CABMAN KNEW
When Cass returned from his day's work he found Ellis impatiently
expecting him. The doctor looked ill and worried. On hearing
his friend's footstep he rushed into the passage and half-led,
half-dragged him into the room. Harry was much surprised at this
unusual excitement on the part of Ellis.
"What the deuce is the matter, Bob? You are as pale as a muffin, and
your hair is all over the--"
"Harry! Harry! Never mind my looks. I am nearly worried out of my life
by this--this murder."
"Or by Mrs. Moxton--have you made any discoveries?"
"Yes. I have discovered the meaning of the letters R. U. Z., and of
the lizard sign."
"By Jove!" Cass in his turn became excited. "Well, well, go on--go
on."
"The letters are the initials of a man's name."
"The murderer's name?"
"I don't say that, and yet he might be the criminal. I said so to--"
"But the name, Bob, the name?"
"Rudolph Zirknitz."
"H'm! A foreigner?"
"An Austrian. He takes his name from a town called Zirknitz, in
Austria, which has in its environs a peculiar sort of lizard found
nowhere else."
"Ho! ho! Now comes in the 'totem' of our assassin. How did you find
this out?"
The doctor sat down and rapidly detailed his discoveries, and how they
were brought about by the search for the will. "I revived Mrs. Moxton
from her faint," he concluded, "but she refused to answer a single
question. In the end I was forced to leave her, and for the last few
hours I have been in a state of distraction. I am so glad you are
back. Put your sharp wits to work, Harry, and tell me what it all
means."
"I told you before," replied Cass, coolly, "and you flew in a rage
with me, saying that I had no grounds for the statement. Now you have
learned the grounds, and I repeat my belief. This Zirknitz is the
lover of Mrs. Moxton, and she is shielding him from the consequences
of having killed her husband--no doubt at her request."
"I can't--I won't believe it of that poor woman, Harry."
"Facts are stubborn things, Bob. The case is as clear as noonday to
me."
Ellis, still believing in the innocence of the woman he loved, would
have replied somewhat violently to this declaration, but that Mrs.
Basket entered with the supper. It was now seven o'clock, for since
Cass had been appointed critic to the _Early Bird_ they had altered
the meal from nine to seven. In a few minutes Mrs. Basket, not being
encouraged to chatter on this particular night, left the room
wondering what could be the matter with her gentlemen. Ellis trifled
with his food, feeling too worried to enjoy it, but the less nervous
Cass did full justice to Mrs. Basket's idea of an Irish stew. Between
mouthfuls he talked and answered the doctor's objections.
"It is all nonsense Mrs. Basket saying that Mrs. Moxton had no
visitors. Both she and her husband, from what you tell me, must be
shady people. Poor devil! He is dead, so let us say no ill of him. But
Mrs. Moxton. I daresay she received visitors at night when Mrs. Basket
and her tradesmen spies were not about."
"You have no grounds for making such an accusation," fumed Ellis.
"Keep calm, Bob. I am speaking without prejudice. No grounds! Well, if
I have not, why did Mrs. Moxton faint at the mention of that name? Why
did she lie about the signs? Why did she feign ignorance of the place
where her husband went every night? She must have known. I tell you,
Bob, that Mrs. Moxton is fighting every inch, and I daresay she is
angry at your persistence in following up the case. Come, now, own up!
Did she not ask you to leave the matter alone?"
"Well, she did," admitted the doctor, with reluctance. "I confess that
I do not understand Mrs. Moxton. Her acts are doubtful, her words are
strange, and I agree with you that she knows more about this matter
than she chooses to confess. All the same, Harry, I am not an absolute
fool, even where women are concerned; and there is something in Mrs.
Moxton's looks and manner which satisfies me that she is a true, good,
pure, brave woman."
"H'm! her conduct does not justify the use of a single adjective of
that sort."
"I know! I know! All the same, I believe in her."
"Because you are in love, and love is blind."
"Rubbish! I don't believe in that worn-out saying. I can see Mrs.
Moxton's imperfections as plainly as you can. She is not a saint by
any manner of means,--but a sinner? No, Harry, I cannot believe she is
what you make her out. If she inspired the murder, why does she not
run away?"
"Because she is fighting for her fortune, old boy."
"But she is not even certain that a will is in existence."
"So she says," replied Cass, pouring himself out some beer; "but I beg
leave to doubt that artless pose. It is my firm conviction that she
knew of old Moxton's repentance and eleventh-hour testament, that she
got her husband to make his will in her favour, and that she induced
her lover, Zirknitz, to put him out of the way so that they might
enjoy the money together. It is to reap the fruits of the crime that
she stays on here, Bob."
"That is all theory."
"So was my earlier statement, yet it has been proved true by yourself.
I daresay M. Zirknitz came to see Mrs. Moxton in the evening when her
husband was at the Merryman Music-Hall."
"I never heard of that place, Harry."
"Perhaps not. It has been in existence only for two years. The usual
variety entertainment, you know. A man called Otto Schwartz keeps it."
"A German?"
"A typical lager-beer German. Not at all a bad fellow, either."
Dr. Ellis slowly lighted his pipe. "I wonder why Moxton went so
regularly to that place?" he said reflectively.
"Well, he might have gone there to make love to one of the ladies who
do the turns, but I rather think," said Cass, significantly, "that his
object was to gamble. From all his wife says about Monte Carlo and
other places the man was a confirmed card-sharper."
"But gambling is not allowed in London."
"No doubt. A good many vices are not allowed in this most immaculate
of cities, in this Tartuffe of capitals, but they exist all the same.
I don't know for certain, nobody does, but it is rumoured that there
is a secret gambling-hell connected with the apparently innocent
music-hall of Herr Schwartz's."
Ellis glanced at his watch. "It is getting on for eight o'clock," he
remarked. "Let us go to Soho to-night."
"If you like. I have no particular engagement. But your reason?"
"I want to learn all I can about Moxton. If he went there to gamble,
Herr Schwartz will know of him. Also we might learn something of
Zirknitz. As the book proves, the autograph also, he was a friend of
Moxton's, so it is not unlikely he went with him to this secret hell
you talk of."
"Very good; let us go at once," said Cass, rising. "But as you and I
seem to have become amateur detectives, let us conduct our case with
due discretion. There is one piece of evidence we have overlooked."
"What is that?"
"The cab-stand."
"The cab-stand! And what has that to do with the murder?"
"Bob! Bob! You can write about eyes and their diseases, but you cannot
make use of your own optics. It is probable that the murderer of
Moxton, this Zirknitz, wished to get away as speedily as possible from
the scene of his crime, so it is equally probable that he made for the
cab-stand."
"Or the railway station."
"That is much further away. The cab-stand is comparatively near the
Jubilee Road."
"But no cabman came forward at the inquest."
"I daresay. No cabman had any right to suspect his fare of murder. But
we will question those on the rank before we go to Soho. Let us find
out if Mr. Zirknitz took a cab between a quarter-past and half-past
eleven."
Ellis shrugged his shoulders. "As you please. But it seems to me
futile to waste time in asking questions which cannot be answered."
"We have yet to learn if our time is being wasted," retorted Cass, and
ending the conversation for the time being, the young men left the
house.
By this time Cass had become quite eager to solve the mystery, and
willingly placed his quick wit and indomitable perseverance at the
service of his friend. He admired Ellis greatly, and there was quite a
David and Jonathan feeling between the two. It annoyed Cass to think
that the doctor might throw away his life on such a woman as he
believed Mrs. Moxton to be; and he undertook the case in the hope of
proving her unworthiness. At the present moment appearances were
decidedly against her, yet in the face of such black evidence Ellis
still clung to his belief in her. This instinctive feeling, based on
no reasonable foundation, was so insisted upon by Ellis that his
friend became quite angry.
"It is the most sensible men who become the greatest fools on
occasions," he said, with the rough speech of intimate friendship.
"You have known this woman only three weeks, and you are absolutely
ignorant of her past life save what she has chosen to tell you. The
circumstantial and actual evidence points to her not only as a shady
person, but as a positive criminal, yet in the face of it all you look
upon her as a saint."
"No, I don't. I told you so before; but I feel sure she is a good
woman. I can give you no reason, but I myself am satisfied without
one. As to your evidence, Harry, you know the most innocent person can
be wrongly accused, can be even hanged on evidence which, false as it
is, appears sufficient. There is the Lesurques case, for--"
"Oh! the Courier of Lyons. I know. And I can quote you at least a
dozen others. All the same, I don't believe in Mrs. Moxton."
"Well, I do. For all you know she may be protecting her sister."
Cass stopped short. "Has she a sister?" he asked.
"I believe so. At least, in the books I told you about, Thomas Gordon
had written the names of his daughters Laura and Janet Gordon. The
first is, of course, Mrs. Moxton, the second name must be that of her
sister."
"Perhaps. But the sister may be dead, may be absent from England. In
any event, I do not see how you can connect her at all with the
murder."
The doctor had no reply to this pertinent observation, as, after all,
his remark about the sister had been made vaguely and without any
ulterior meaning. A turn of the street brought them to the cab-stand
at which Cass, as a journalist, was well known. He immediately began
to question the men in a chaffing, popular way. They were ready enough
to answer his questions, the more so as these were concerning the
murder; but one and all declared that no particular man had hired a
cab between eleven and twelve on the night of August 16th.
"Old Ike is the one to know, though," said a red-faced cabman. "He
'ave a memory like 'is own 'orse."
There was a murmur of assent at this, and old Ike, shaky, lean,
ancient, more like a grey wolf than a man, was routed out of the
shelter in which he was refreshing himself with tea.
"A fare on that murder night, sir? Lor', I don't quite know wot t' say
'bout that. 'Leven an' twelve was it? Well, now, sir, the chapsies at
that time were at the station waiting the thayater trains. Weren't
you, chapsies?"
"Ah! that we were, but you worn't, Ike," said the red-faced cabman,
replying for the others. "You never does go fur them late fares."
"I wos alone on the rank, Mr. Cass, now I thinks of it, and I 'ad a
fare to Pimlico, to Geneva Square, where that Silent 'Ouse murder took
place."
"What was the man like?" asked Ellis, eagerly.
"It weren't no man, sir, but a gal, a short gal with a grey dress and
a black cloak, straw 'at, fair 'air, plump figger, and small 'ands."
"Why, Cass, he is describing Mrs. Moxton," said Ellis, wonderingly.
"At what time did she take your cab, Ike?"
"Just afore arf-past 'leven, sir. Came tearing down the road wild-like
and crying fit to break 'er 'eart. Jus' tumbled into m'keb, she did,
an' tole me to drive t' Pimlico."
"Mrs. Moxton was in our room at half-past eleven," said Cass, when
finding that this was all the information obtainable they walked away.
"The woman can't be Mrs. Moxton. Yet the description, fair hair, trim
figure, might pass for her. I wonder who she is?"
"I know, Harry. I was right, after all. The woman who cried and fled
like a guilty person was Janet Gordon, the sister of Mrs. Moxton."