MR BUSHAM, SOLICITOR
Lounging in his chair, Zirknitz made this astonishing statement as
though it were the most natural thing in the world. Mrs. Moxton looked
at Ellis in surprise, and both looked at Rudolph.
"Is this true?" asked Ellis, doubtfully.
"Eh, _mon cher_, most assuredly. I tell lies only when necessary."
"Rudolph, you must explain how it was you came to be in Dukesfield on
that night."
"My dear sister, did I not say I would come for Janet?"
"Yes, and you never kept your promise."
"No," chimed in Ellis. "Polly Horley said the same thing."
Rudolph smiled in a most engaging manner.
"Ah, that excellent Horley! How much she knows of what she knows not.
My sister, have I your permission to smoke?"
Mrs. Moxton impatiently nodded an assent. "But I am waiting to hear
how you did not come for Janet and yet were in Dukesfield on that
night."
With great deliberation, Zirknitz selected a cigarette from his silver
case and lighted it before making any reply. Selfish in his every act,
he offered none to Ellis--an omission which troubled that gentleman
very little. He had no great love for this egotistical butterfly.
"My Laura," said Rudolph, blowing a whiff of smoke, "on that night I
was playing cards in the _salon_ of the music-hall, and I won twenty
pounds from Edgar. He had not the money, but he gave me an 'I O U.'
Then, most furious at his loss, he drank and drank till he was as a
wild beast. I was going for Janet, and at the station I saw our Edgar;
but to avoid him I went in another carriage. At the station of
Dukesfield, I tried to run from him; but he saw me and followed;
_quelle bêtise_. There was trouble, and he wished to fight. So when he
went home I saw it was foolish to come for Janet, as Edgar would be
raging. I took back another train, and a cab to my rooms in
Bloomsbury. _Voila_, the story!"
"Not all the story!" said Ellis. "You have left out the most important
part--about Busham."
"Ah, that dear Busham. When Edgar was angry with me on the platform of
the Dukesfield station, I see out of my eye's corner that clever
advocate. He was watching our dear Edgar, but did not come near him. I
knew him. Oh, yes, I knew his face very well."
"I did not know you were acquainted with him, Rudolph!"
"Best of sisters, I do not tell you all I know, or do. Our Edgar one
day took me to see the excellent Busham in his office, where they did
fight. Oh, I tell you, monsieur, the good Busham sent us away with a
flea in our ears. Edgar spoke of his father, and said that Busham was
a rogue wanting the money; so we had trouble, and we left very
enraged. So I met Busham, the pig," finished Zirknitz, smiling, "and I
do not forget his face."
"He was watching Edgar on the night of his death?"
"_Oui da!_ He thought I saw him not, but I did see him. _Ma foi_, I
have quick eyes, Laura, as you well know. He ran out of the station
after Edgar, and I am certain followed to kill him."
"About what time was this?"
"On eleven. I did hear the clock of the station strike when I was
enraged with Edgar."
"And Moxton was drunk?" inquired Ellis, anxiously.
"He was straight drunk, for he could walk; and cross-drunk, assuredly,
since he wished to fight with me. But I care not for boxing," said Mr.
Zirknitz, gracefully. "And I go home to bed before twelve of the
clock, like a good little boy. Aha, monsieur, you think I kill Edgar,
do you not? _Eh bien!_ You demand of my landlady if I was not in my
bed before twelve of the clock. I did not kill our poor Edgar. Why
should I when he owes me twenty pounds? _Cher_ Ellis, you are in the
wrong box."
"You had better wait until I accuse you before excusing yourself,"
said Ellis, drily. "But even with this story of Busham having been at
Dukesfield, I do not see how you can be certain of his guilt."
"Eh? To me it appears clear. This clever Busham wanted the money of
his uncle, and murdered Edgar to get it."
"But, Rudolph, at that time Mr. Busham knew that a second will had
been made."
"Most certainly, _chère_ Laura. If no second will had been made, this
excellent Busham would not have killed Edgar."
"We can say nothing for certain until we see Busham," said Ellis,
after a pause, "but there is one thing probable, Mrs. Moxton. If
Busham accuses you in any way we can turn the tables on him."
"You call on Busham, Laura."
"To-morrow. I must see about the will."
"And the money," smiled Rudolph. "Eh, _ma s[oe]ur_, forget not the most
important thing."
"To you, perhaps, not to me," replied Mrs. Moxton, with contempt. "My
object is to get free of all this trouble."
"Of course. I will help you; eh, most certainly. But ask me not to
meet the police. I do not like the police. For if--"
"Monsieur Zirknitz," said Ellis, cutting short this speech, "how came
it that your name was indicated on the dead man's arm?"
The Austrian was in no wise discomposed by this remark. "Ah, Laura
spoke to me of that. I do not know; I cannot say. But I think, ah, _ma
foi_, I think."
"What do you think, Rudolph?"
"My sister, I quarrelled with your good husband at the Dukesfield
Station, and he went away enraged with me. When Busham struck him in
the back--"
"You can't be sure of that," interrupted Ellis, impatiently.
"Eh, but I am sure," insisted Zirknitz, politely; "and Edgar, not
seeing who stabbed him so cruelly, thought that I did so. Then he
wrote on his arm to tell Laura."
"But why in cryptographic signs?"
"That I cannot say. The sign of a lizard was always the good Edgar's
little jest on me. For my name is that of a town in my country where
there are many lizards. Edgar found it in a book and always jested.
Very little jests pleased the good Moxton. But now I must go," said
Zirknitz, rising. "I have told you all you wish. My sister, do you
desire me to speak more? No! My good doctor, have you a policeman
without for my arrest? No! Ah, then I will take my leave. Not _adieu_,
dear friends, but _au revoir_."
When Zirknitz sauntered out of the room, Mrs. Moxton looked after him
with a singular expression. "What do you think of him?" she asked.
"He is clever. It is a great pity he does not put his talents to
better use."
"Oh," Mrs. Moxton shrugged her shoulders, "I don't ask you about his
character. I know about that well enough. But do you think he is
speaking the truth?"
"Yes. He has no reason to tell a lie. I daresay he did see Busham."
"And do you think Mr. Busham is guilty?"
"I can't say. We have not sufficient evidence to go upon."
Mrs. Moxton turned the conversation abruptly. "Did you read the will?"
"Yes. I see that all the money is left to you. I will give you back
the document to-morrow. What time do you wish me to call?"
"About eleven o'clock. I have written to Mr. Busham making an
appointment for mid-day. I am glad you are coming with me," said the
widow, sighing; "it will be a difficult interview."
"That remains to be seen. At any rate, we are not so defenceless as we
were before. If Busham accuses you--although I don't see on what
grounds he can do so--we can denounce him on the evidence of
Zirknitz."
"He will deny that he was at Dukesfield."
"Zirknitz can swear to his presence."
"No doubt, but will Rudolph do so? He is so afraid of the police."
Ellis reflected for a moment. "You are not so candid with me as you
might be, Mrs. Moxton," said he, seriously, "therefore you render my
task the more difficult. But answer me truly now. Has Zirknitz ever
done anything for which he is wanted by the police?"
"Not to my knowledge," replied the widow, frankly, "but he is such a
coward, and his life is so open to danger, that the very name of the
law terrifies him beyond expression. It is for this reason that I am
certain of his innocence, and for the same reason I shielded him by
feigning ignorance of the cryptogram. But we can talk of these things
later. I am tired now."
In this abrupt way she dismissed Ellis, and he left the house sorely
puzzled, his constant state of mind in reference to Mrs. Moxton. If he
did marry her he would marry the sphinx. That was clear enough.
Mr. Richard Busham inhabited a dingy set of offices in Esher Lane,
adjacent to the Temple. His staff of clerks consisted of two
under-fed, overworked creatures, who scribbled in an outer room for
dear life at a miserable wage. The inner room, which had two dusty
windows looking on to Bosworth Gardens, was occupied by their
employer. This apartment was piled all round the walls with black tin
boxes with the names of various clients painted on them in white. A
brass-wired bookcase contained a few calf-bound volumes of legal
lore; there was a large table covered with green baize, two chairs,
and--nothing else. A more dreary or barren room can scarcely be
conceived, but Mr. Busham being a miser, it suited him well enough. He
called himself a lawyer, but he was really a usurer, and gained a
handsome income by squeezing extortionate interest out of the needy.
If the walls of Busham's private apartment could have spoken they
would have protested frequently against the sights they were compelled
to witness. The Holy Inquisition tortured people less than did this
rat of a lawyer. He ground down his victims to the lowest, he lured
them into his spider-web, and rejected them only when he had sucked
them dry. His law was a farce, his money-lending a tragedy.
The man himself resembled in looks Fraisier, the rascally lawyer so
admirably drawn by Balzac in "Le Cousin Pons." Like Fraisier, Busham
was small, sickly-looking and pimpled; his expression was equally as
sinister, and his heart as hard--that is if he had a heart, which his
clients were inclined to doubt. He scraped and screwed, and swindled,
and pinched to collect all the money he could; yet what benefit he
thought he would gain from this hoarding it is impossible to say. He
never spent it, he lived like a hermit, like a beggar, and gratified
his sordid pride with the knowledge that he was becoming a wealthy
man. And when he arrived at wealth? What then! Busham never gave this
consideration a thought, perhaps because he fancied he would never
become as wealthy as he wished to be. Altogether the man was an
unwholesome, evil creature, who should, for the good of humanity, have
been in gaol. But he was clever enough to keep on the right side of
the law he so misinterpreted.
At mid-day Mrs. Moxton and Ellis presented themselves before this
engaging being, and looked round the frowsy office with disgust.
Another chair had to be brought in from the outer room for the
accommodation of the doctor, and when his visitors were seated, Busham
welcomed them with a nervous titter, which showed that he was not
quite easy in his mind regarding the interview. Indirectly he resented
the presence of Ellis.
"Well, Mrs. Moxton," said he in a whistling whisper, his usual voice,
"is there a will?"
The widow produced the blue envelope and laid it on the table. "There
it is," she said, "it leaves all the property to me."
Busham went green and gasped, "All the property to you!" He snatched
up the will and hastily read it over. "I see it does," was his answer;
then after a pause he cast an evil look on Mrs. Moxton, and opened a
drawer of his desk. Evidently he was about to bring forward his
accusation.
"Since you have shown me the will, I have something equally
interesting to show you," said he, quietly. "What do you think of
this, Mrs. Moxton?" And on the table he laid a bone-handled
carving-knife, on the blade of which were dull, dark stains of blood.