A HALF CONFESSION
Mrs. Moxton made the statement regarding Busham's innocence with so
much decision that Ellis looked at her in surprise. It was strange
that she should defend a man she disliked. "How is it that you think
him guiltless?" he asked anxiously.
"Because he is a coward, and too timid to kill a man."
"Your husband was stabbed in the back in the darkness. That looks like
a coward's deed."
"All the same, I feel sure he is innocent," persisted the widow. "I
can see no reason for his killing Edgar. He knew that old Moxton made
another will shortly before dying, and that he would not inherit. No!
look at it which way you will, Mr. Busham is not the murderer. I
detest the man, but I must be just to him. What else did Rudolph tell
you, or, rather, on what ground does he accuse Mr. Busham?"
"He refused to tell me the grounds without your permission."
"My permission! Why, I know nothing about the matter."
"From what Zirknitz hinted it would appear that you do," said Ellis, a
trifle drily.
"Then he shall tell his story in your presence," rejoined Mrs. Moxton,
quickly, "and you will see that I know nothing."
"I shall be glad to be convinced. Tell me, why did you keep silent
about this young man?"
"Because of the blood marks on the arm of Edgar."
"Oh, so you knew the secret of the cryptographic signs, in spite of
your denial?"
"I did! I do! As a matter of fact, I taught that cryptogram to
my--" here Mrs. Moxton closed her mouth with the nervous gesture of
one who thinks she is saying too much.
"To your sister," finished Ellis, quietly.
Mrs. Moxton fenced. "How do you know that I have a sister?"
"From the books in your house, some of which contain your name and
that of your sister Janet. Also from a cabman on the rank here, who
described to me a woman so like you that I am convinced she is your
sister--possibly, from the exact likeness, your twin sister."
The widow became the colour of chalk at these words. "Where did the
cabman see her?"
"He drove her to Pimlico on the night, and about the time, your
husband was murdered."
For a moment or so Mrs. Moxton looked doubtfully at Ellis, and passed
her tongue over her dry lips. The doctor could see that she trembled.
His unexpected knowledge evidently inflicted a shock on her nerves.
Yet, for all her emotion, she still strove to baffle his curiosity.
"You seem to know a good deal about my husband," she said irritably.
"I do. Because I am anxious to clear your name and extricate you from
a difficult position. Mrs. Moxton"--Ellis rose and bent over her with
great earnestness--"why will you not be frank with me? You tell me
much, but you will not tell me all."
She moaned and moved away from him. "Heaven help me, I dare not tell
you all."
"Yet I am your best friend."
"I know it, but you would shrink from me did you know the truth."
Ellis took her hand gently. "Tell me who murdered your husband?" he
whispered urgently.
"I don't know! I swear I don't know!" cried the widow, with much
vehemence; "if I did I would tell."
"The blood marks hint at Zirknitz."
"Yes, yes, but I am sure he is innocent. Rudolph is foolish, vain,
shallow, but he never killed Edgar, I swear."
"Yet the name on the dead man's arm?"
"I don't know the reason of that; I can't say why Edgar wrote it. I
read it myself, although I denied all knowledge to you. It was for
Rudolph's sake that I lied. I was afraid lest he should get into
trouble. I asked him if he was in Dukesfield on that night, but he
denies that he was."
"And your sister Janet?"
A tremor passed through the frame of Mrs. Moxton. "She came to see me
on that night, and we quarrelled; she left before Edgar came back,
and, I suppose, went crying down the road to take a cab home."
"Did she see the murder committed?" asked Ellis, tentatively.
"I don't know," said Mrs. Moxton, under her breath. "I am--oh," she
burst out, "I can't tell you more. I have had to do with villains and
rogues all my life, and I am paying the penalty of their sins, not of
my own. I have tried to be a good woman, so do not shrink from me. I
swear that I do not know who killed Edgar. Some day I may tell you
more, but at present I cannot--I cannot."
She hastily let down her veil and stood up to go. "You trust me still?
you believe in me yet?" she said entreatingly, and with tears.
"I do," replied Ellis, touched by her emotion. "You puzzle me more
than I can say, yet I am sure you are innocent of all evil. But if you
would only tell me--"
"Some day! some day!" she interrupted hastily; "but not now. Yet what
you should know, you shall know. Come to me between four and five
to-day, and you will meet Rudolph. He shall confess what he means by
hinting at my knowledge of Mr. Busham's guilt."
"I will come with pleasure, but do you think Zirknitz will come?"
"Yes. I will telegraph for him now. He loves me and trusts me, and I
have great power over his weak nature. In my hands he is like wax, and
if the truth is in him you shall hear it this afternoon. But I know
that Rudolph is innocent. I am certain that Mr. Busham did not strike
the blow. Heaven alone knows the secret of Edgar's death. Good-bye,
good-bye, Dr. Ellis, and do not think badly of me. Indeed, indeed,
when the moment comes I can put myself right in your eyes. What other
people say or think, I do not care, but you must be shown that I am
more sinned against than sinning. Good-bye!" She stretched out her
hand, and withdrew it abruptly ere he could touch the tips of her
fingers. "Not yet, not yet," she muttered, and swiftly glided from the
room before Ellis could recover from his surprise.
This woman was more inexplicable than ever. Apparently she knew a
great deal, as could be seen by the information which Ellis had
dragged out of her. Yet she refused to be candid, although at the same
time she admitted that she wished to preserve her friend's good
opinion. The hints dropped in her last hasty speech showed Ellis that
he was right in trusting to his instinct concerning her nature.
Whatever Mrs. Moxton might be,--mysterious, shady, dangerous,--she had
a straightforward, honest mind. It was warped by the circumstances in
which she found herself placed through no fault of her own, and she
was forced to fence and lie, and act a tricky part for some strong
reason which she refused to impart to Ellis. Privately he thought that
all her energies were bent upon shielding her sister, as formerly she
had striven to shield Zirknitz by denying all knowledge of the
cryptogram. Could Janet Gordon be the guilty person? Ellis twice or
thrice asked himself this question, but could find no answer to it.
Her hasty flight on the night of the murder, her tears, her silence,
her absence from the music-hall hinted--if not at personal guilt--at
least at guilty knowledge. If she did not kill Moxton herself,--and on
the face of it she could have had no reason to do so,--she must have
seen the crime committed. Perhaps she had met with the assassin face
to face, and had fled horror-struck and weeping to the cab-stand. The
way to learn the truth would be to see her. No doubt she had confessed
the cause of her terror to Mrs. Moxton, and it was this secret which
Mrs. Moxton, loyally doing violence to her nature, wished to conceal.
But if the widow would not speak, Ellis made up his mind that Janet
Gordon should; therefore he resolved to find out the number of her
lodging in Geneva Square, and call upon her. Failing Mrs. Moxton,
Zirknitz might supply the information. In her own despite Mrs. Moxton
must be rescued from the dangers which appeared to surround her. She
had confessed with less than her usual caution that she was paying for
the sins of others, and Ellis was bent upon bringing the truth to
light and making the actual sinners suffer for their own wickedness.
The fact that he was more deeply in love than ever, greatly assisted
him in arriving at this conclusion. Yet a wise man, a worldly man,
would have called him a fool to still love and trust Mrs. Moxton in
the face of all he knew about her. But in this instance instinct was
stronger than argument, and Ellis was satisfied that the woman he
loved would yet emerge vindicated and spotless from the dark cloud of
troubles which obscured her true nature.
Precisely at half-past four he presented himself at Myrtle Villa. The
door was opened by Mrs. Moxton herself. Apparently she had been
watching for his arrival, and Ellis, guessing as much, felt his heart
swell with joy. Strange that his love at this moment should move him
to emotion.
"Rudolph is here," whispered the widow. "Let me question him. I know
how to make him speak out."
Ellis nodded, and when ushered into the sitting-room was sufficiently
composed to meet Zirknitz with a smile. The Austrian looked an Adonis
in the daytime, and was admirably dressed in a smart frock-coat,
fawn-coloured trousers, and patent leather boots of high polish. He
was a modern D'Orsay in looks and dress--just the handsome kind of
scamp to attract silly women. Ellis had no doubt that one day or
another Monsieur Rudolph would pick up an heiress, and become
respectable. The young man was shallow and selfish, yet--if one could
judge by his smiling face--harmless enough in other ways.
"I am delighted to see you, doctor," said the Austrian, blandly. "You
must forgive me for leaving you so abruptly the other night. But you
were beginning to ask me indiscreet questions, so I--vanished."
"Rudolph always considers himself first," observed Mrs. Moxton, who
was making tea. "He is the most selfish creature in existence."
"The most selfish!" assented Zirknitz. "I think of no one by myself.
Why should I? _Quelle bêtise_."
"Every man should think of others!" said Ellis, hardly knowing what to
say in the face of this cool confession.
"Oh, _mon cher_ monsieur, that doctrine is out of date. Thank you,
Laura. I will have some tea. Three sugar bits, my dear. I love sweets,
and sunshine, and pretty girls--as a butterfly should."
Mrs. Moxton looked at the pretty youth with something of contempt.
"You need not blazon forth your follies, Rudolph. I know what you are;
and Dr. Ellis will soon find you out. What is this story you have been
telling him about me?"
"Story? None! What is it, monsieur? _Point de moquerie!_"
"You accuse Busham of this murder!"
"Ah, yes, now I remember; and I refused to tell you my reasons until
permitted by my sister. Have I your consent, _ma chère_ Laura?"
"Tell everything you know," cried Mrs. Moxton, with a frown. "Why you
should bring my name into the matter I don't know. There is no need
for you to explain, Rudolph; you will only romance. Why do you
suspect Busham?"
Zirknitz looked at Ellis. "Can I speak freely?" he asked doubtfully.
"Certainly. The doctor is my best friend."
"Ah! so charming to have a best friend. Hear, then, monsieur, and
you, my dear Laura. When I was at Dukesfield on the night Edgar was
killed--"
"Why," said Ellis, with something of anger in his tones, "you told me
you were not at Dukesfield on that night."
Zirknitz shrugged his handsome shoulders. "I told a lie! Oh, yes, I
always tell a lie when necessary. I did not know Laura wished me to
speak, so I told what was not true. What would you, monsieur? Your
questions were indiscreet. My answers were false. _Voila!_"
"Never mind excusing yourself, Rudolph. What about Mr. Busham?"
"Eh, my dear sister, I believe he killed our poor Moxton! Why not? I
saw the excellent Busham in Dukesfield on the night of the death."