THE BEGINNING OF THE END
"Have you finished locking the drawers, Janet?" asked Hilda,
impatiently.
But Janet did not answer. In a tumult of emotion she was staring at
the red pocket-book. There it lay in the drawer, carelessly thrust in
with loose papers and old letters. No attempt had been made to hide
it. No doubt the drawer was locked, and but for Hilda's freak would
have been opened by no one but its owner. Schwartz had not thought it
necessary to conceal the book more completely. At once it flashed into
Janet's mind that the German had murdered Edgar, since no one but the
murderer could have become possessed of the pocket-book. In the
meantime Hilda, uneasy at Janet's silence, repeated the question.
"I am just locking the last drawer," replied Janet, and, swiftly
making up her mind to risk the consequences, she snatched up the red
book and slipped it into her pocket. For her sister's sake it was
necessary to get this evidence into her possession. Having
accomplished this she locked the drawer, restored the keys to their
place on the desk, and led Hilda out of the room. Towards the blind
girl it was necessary to adopt a cheerful demeanour lest she should
suspect that something was wrong. But Janet found this no easy task.
"Hilda, my dear," she said, as they returned to the blue sitting-room,
"I have locked the drawers and replaced the keys, so Mr. Schwartz will
not guess that his desk has been open. If I were you I would not tell
him; he might be vexed."
The blind girl pouted. She did not like her jest to be passed over in
silence.
"Papa Schwartz is never cross with me, Janet."
"No, but he will be vexed."
"Then I shall say nothing. I would not vex him for the world. He is
very good to me, almost as good as father."
"You are extremely fond of your father, Hilda!"
"I worship him," said the girl, with the exaggerated emotion of youth.
"He is the best man in the world. Oh, there is no one like my father."
Privately Janet thought that this was just as well, as she had no very
great opinion of Captain Garret. But, bad as he was, she doubted
whether he would have committed murder as Schwartz had done. It was,
indeed, amazing that the German should have become a criminal; for,
although Janet knew well that his character was not above reproach,
yet she had always thought him a good man. It was a shock to her to
find that she had been so deceived. Schwartz, who had been her good
friend and benefactor, was a secret assassin. Janet could not blind
herself to that terrible fact.
"Now we must have some tea," said the unsuspicious Hilda.
Under the circumstances it was an ordeal to sit at the table and eat
and drink with pretended carelessness. But Janet bent her strong will
to accomplish the purpose, of keeping Hilda in ignorance. The
expression on her face, the frown on her brow, mattered little as
Hilda was blind, but Janet carefully controlled her voice so that
nothing unusual might be noticed. In this she succeeded admirably, and
deceived Hilda so well that, when taking her leave, the girl had no
thought that anything was wrong.
"Come again soon, dear," she said, embracing Janet warmly. "You are
such a comfort to me."
Self-controlled to the end, Janet touched Hilda's cheek with her lips,
and took her leave after a few words of farewell delivered in a steady
voice. But on finding herself alone, she felt so anxious and
distraught and horrified by her discovery, that but for the fresh air
she would have fainted. As it was she did not take the Dukesfield 'bus
as usual, but worked off her agitation by walking. Since the discovery
of the pocket-book in Schwartz's private desk, she firmly believed
that he was the criminal. In the autumn and winter he almost always
wore a fur-lined coat over his evening dress, and to complete his
costume, in accordance with the demands of fashion, a silk hat. Then
he lived at Parkmere, and it was easy for him to walk to Goethe
Cottage after committing the murder. But Janet was puzzled to find a
reason for the perpetration of the crime. She knew nothing about the
forged bill, as Ellis had not informed her in detail of his interview
with Busham. Still, Janet knew the businesslike habits of Schwartz too
well to think that he did anything without a motive, and she could not
conjecture that for which he had stained his hands and risked his
neck.
Full of these thoughts, Miss Gordon walked all the way to Dukesfield,
no inconsiderable distance, and before seeking Myrtle Villa called on
Ellis to explain her discovery. Mrs. Basket--who still believed that
Janet was Mrs. Moxton--received her with the usual show of false
kindness, but announced that Dr. Ellis was absent. "Though Mr. Cass is
in the sitting-room," finished the fat landlady.
"Mr. Cass will do. Let me see him."
Harry was rather amazed to receive Janet, whom he had not seen--at all
events, to speak to--since the night of the murder.
"Mrs. Basket announced you as Mrs. Moxton," he said, with some
hesitation; "but, Ellis tells me, you are Miss Gordon?"
"Yes, I am Miss Gordon. But there is no need to let that tattling
woman know the truth, she would only make mischief. Dr. Ellis is
away?"
"Just went out ten minutes ago to see a patient. I expect him back in
an hour."
"I cannot wait," said Janet, feverishly. "My sister will want me. You
will do, Mr. Cass. Dr. Ellis informed me that you knew all about this
business."
"I know everything, Miss Gordon. Anything I can do--"
"Did Dr. Ellis tell you about the red pocket-book?"
"Yes. You say it was taken from the dead body. What of it?"
Janet took the book out of her pocket and placed it on the table.
"There it is," she said triumphantly. "All the papers have been taken
out of it. But that is the pocket-book which the murderer stole from
the corpse."
"Great Heavens! How did it come into your possession?"
"I found it by chance in the desk of Herr Schwartz."
Cass started. "Do you mean to say that Schwartz is the murderer?"
"I do. If he is not, how could he become possessed of that book?"
"It is strong circumstantial evidence certainly," said Cass, after a
pause. "But Schwartz--it is incredible! I always considered him such a
good fellow."
"He is, he is," said Janet, with emotion. "He has been a good friend
to me. I can't conceive him guilty. Even if he is, I do not wish him
punished. Let him write out a confession exonerating my sister, that
is all I want."
"If he does that he puts the rope round his own neck, Miss Gordon. If
your sister is to be exonerated and saved from the malignity of
Busham, the confession would have to be made public."
"Then what is to be done?"
"I cannot say at present. If you will leave the pocket-book to me I
will speak to Ellis, and we can come to some decision."
"Certainly I will give you the book," said Janet, rising. "I have
every confidence in you and Dr. Ellis."
"Thank you. Would you mind explaining precisely how you came into
possession of the pocket-book?"
"Not at all," said Janet, and she related, in a concise manner, how
Hilda's prank with the desk had led to the discovery of the book.
Having given Cass all possible information, and answered all possible
questions, Janet, tired out with her emotions, and with the unusual
exercise, took her leave. Cass accompanied her to the door, and
promised to inform her of all that should happen in connection with
this new piece of evidence. Somewhat relieved, Janet went home to
Myrtle Villa.
Immediately on the doctor's return, Cass showed him the pocket-book,
and repeated Janet's story. Ellis, naturally enough, was as surprised
as his friend, and discussed the matter with him at length. Finally,
it was decided that Ellis should see Schwartz that same evening, and
hear what he had to say for himself. Owing to the exigencies of his
profession as critic, Harry could not accompany his friend. The doctor
was not sorry, as he thought that he could get more out of Schwartz
when alone with him than in the presence of a third person. He did not
take the pocket-book with him lest it should be lost, for Schwartz was
a determined man to deal with. As yet Ellis could hardly credit that
he was guilty, and in spite of the damning evidence found by Janet he
postponed, making up his mind until he heard what the German had to
say for himself. In this frame of mind he started for the Merryman
Music-Hail.
Schwartz was in his private room, and as Ellis had purposely arrived
rather late he was at leisure at the time. So effusively did he
welcome Ellis that the doctor felt almost ashamed of his errand, but,
bracing himself up with the idea that Schwartz, if not the actual
criminal, yet knew something about the crime, he managed to appear
sufficiently stern. To the German's eager inquiries about Hilda's
health and Hilda's eyesight he gave brief and monosyllabic replies. At
last Schwartz was forced to take notice of his visitor's unfriendly
attitude.
"What is not right, doctor?" he asked anxiously.
Ellis glanced round to see that the door was closed, and cleared his
throat.
"Mr. Schwartz," he said in low tones, "I have come to see you about a
very unpleasant business."
The German turned paler even than he was, and his hand shook as he
tried to light a cigar. "Ach! Is dat zo?"
"It is about Moxton's murder."
"Veil, veil, what apout ze murder?" queried Schwartz, impatiently.
"I should rather put that question to you, Schwartz. Why was Moxton
murdered--or rather, why was he got out of the way?"
Instead of answering his question, Schwartz, in a tremor of nervous
excitement, rose and locked the door. "Can you speak German?" he
asked, in his own tongue, on returning to his seat.
"A little. I can speak it slowly."
"Then put your questions in that language," said Schwartz, savagely.
"I can see that you have come to accuse me of being mixed up in this
crime. Was it for this purpose that you called at my house?"
"You forget. I called, at your request, to see Miss Garret."
Schwartz sighed. "Ach! the liddle Hilda," he said in English; then
slipping back into his own tongue, he demanded what Ellis wished to
know.
"I wish to know if you can tell me the reason Moxton was murdered?"
said Ellis, slowly, in German.
"No, I cannot. I know nothing about it."
"Then I must tell you--that is, I must refresh your memory. Moxton was
murdered by a man who wished to obtain possession of a forged bill."
The German bit his cigar through, and a portion fell on the floor. "I
know nothing of any forged bill," he said angrily.
"That bill," resumed Ellis, calmly, "was placed by Moxton in a red
pocket-book." Here Schwartz started and groaned. "Zirknitz saw
him put it there. When the clothes of the corpse were examined, that
pocket-book was missing; and, strange to say, Mr. Schwartz, it was
found to-day in your desk at Goethe Cottage."
"In my desk!" gasped the man. "Who--who found it there?"
"Miss Gordon. For a jest, Miss Garret opened all the drawers of your
desk, because you were foolish enough to leave your keys behind. Miss
Gordon closed them again. In the lowest drawer she saw and recognised
the pocket-book of her brother-in-law. That book is now in her
possession--or rather, in mine, as she gave it to me."
There was silence for a few moments, and Schwartz breathed heavily.
"What do you want me to do?" he said sullenly.
"Confess your guilt."
"And if I do--what then?"
"Then you must write out and sign a confession as to how you killed
Edgar Moxton, and why."
"To hang myself, I suppose?" said Schwartz, who was growing alarmingly
red in the face.
"No; Miss Gordon is too much indebted to you to wish for your death.
Write the confession, and then fly from England. Thus Mrs. Moxton will
be exonerated, and you will be safe."
"Ach! it is goot of Chanet," said Schwartz, thickly; "it is--it
is--ah--ah!" He tried to rise from his seat, but suddenly gave a
choking cry, and fell back, purple in the face, with staring eyes and
foam on his lips.
Ellis rapidly unloosened the old man's cravat, tore off his collar,
and threw open the door.
"Come here, someone," he cried. "Herr Schwartz is in a fit!"