THE PROFESSOR'S TRUMP CARD
Inspector Derrick called to see Fane with rather a downcast expression
of countenance. The meaning of this was explained in his conversation.
"I've done my best, sir, and there's nothing to be discovered."
"You mean as regards the murder of this woman Brand?" asked Walter.
"What else would I mean!" replied Derrick dismally. "I have no call to
see you about anything else, sir!"
"The two men were seated in the morning-room where Mrs. Fane had
conversed with Laura. Walter, seated near the window, did not look
well. There were dark circles under his pale eyes, which hinted at
sleepless nights. Also there was a smell of ether in the room as
though he had been taking drugs. Derrick delicately ascribed his looks
to the fact of the unpleasant occurrence which had taken place in the
house.
"I suppose you've come to think it haunted, sir?" he suggested.
"No, I don't like the idea of living in a house in which a murder has
been committed. But I don't believe in the supernatural. For the sake
of my wife and child I am giving up the villa, and we intend to live
abroad for a time. But I should like the mystery solved, and the
assassin of that poor woman brought to justice before I go."
"Derrick shook his head. It's not to be done, sir."
"Suppose I offer a reward?"
"Not even then, Mr. Fane. I can't find a single clue. When I
discovered that white room in the Hampstead house, I thought something
would come of it. But the assassin was clever enough to go there and
remove all evidence of the past life of Mrs. Brand--books, papers,
photographs, and those sort of things. It is true I found a photograph
of the dead woman, but we knew her looks already. Now had it been a
portrait of the husband----"
"Ah! Do you suspect the husband?"
"Yes and no," replied Derrick thoughtfully. "Certainly I learned that
the man went to Australia some time before the death. I found his name
in a passenger-list of an Orient liner."
"Then he can have nothing to do with the crime."
"Well, I don't know. A man may start for another country to make
things safe for himself, and then can come back secretly. Besides, if
it was not the husband who removed the things, how did he enter the
cottage? and why should he make such a point of destroying his own
photographs had he no aim?"
"I can't guess. But it is equally mysterious how the woman managed to
enter this house."
"Yes. I can't learn anything about the key being duplicated. Yet it
must have been, seeing we have the second key which was dropped by the
man who talked to Mulligan."
"Have you found him?"
"No; nor am I likely to. I tell you, Mr. Fane, the case is hopeless. I
believe Mr. Calvert, who came in for the money, has placed the matter
in the hands of a private inquiry-agent called Jasher. But if I can't
learn the truth, Jasher can't."
"Is he a clever man?"
"Well, he is. I did work with him at one time, and he appears to have
his wits about him. But this case will be beyond his wits as it is
beyond mine. I dare say Mr. Calvert would offer a reward, and I should
like to earn it. But"--Derrick rose and shook his head--"there's
nothing to be done."
Fane thought for a few minutes, his eyes on the ground. Then he went
to his wife's desk and wrote out a cheque. "You deserve something for
your trouble," said he, handing this to Derrick. "All I ask in return
is that you should give me the photograph of the dead woman. I have a
fancy to try and learn the truth myself."
"Oh, I'll do that," replied the Inspector, taking the cheque with
thanks; "and I'm sorry, sir, that nothing can be done. But you'll hear
no more of the case. The woman is dead and buried, and the thing is
forgotten. There is only one chance."
"What is that?" asked Fane curiously.
"The husband may return to the Hampstead house from Australia. If so,
we may learn something of Mrs. Brand's past, and in her past will be
found some clue leading to the detection of the assassin."
"But if the husband is guilty, as you think, he will not return."
"True enough. Should he return, I will take it as a proof of his
innocence. Well, good-day, sir."
"Wait," said Fane, passing through the door along with his visitor, "I
will walk a little way with you. Tell me if you intend to have the
house watched."
"The house at Hampstead, sir?"
"Yes. Brand will come back there if he comes at all."
"If you like I can have it watched, Mr. Fane; but it will cost money."
"You can rely on me for the expense," said Fane eagerly. "I am most
anxious that no stone should be left unturned. Watch the house, and
when the man returns there let me know."
"You can depend upon my doing that, Mr. Fane."
"The two men were by this time at the door. As Fane opened it, he
found a man on the step just raising his hand to ring the bell. The
stranger was tall and dark, and unknown to Fane. Is there anything I
can do for you?" asked the master of the house.
"I wish to see Mrs. Fane on business," said Bocaros, for it was he.
"Ah! something to do with the office, no doubt," replied Fane, and
beckoned to the footman, who now stood ready to close the door. "Take
this gentleman's card to your mistress. She is in the White Room."
The footman did as he was bidden, and Bocaros waited in the hall. Fane
went out with the Inspector, and walked along Achilles Avenue talking
eagerly. Bocaros sat down with rather a bewildered look, and passed
his lean hand across his face. It seemed to him that he knew Fane's
face, yet he was unaware of having met him before.
"But his face seems familiar," muttered Bocaros. "Where can I have
seen him?" And he searched his memory vainly.
Before his brain would respond to the demand on it, the footman
returned with an intimation that Mrs. Fane would see him. Bocaros
followed the man upstairs and into the White Room. Here sat Mrs. Fane,
cold and statuesque as usual, and alone. Minnie was out with her
nurse, and Laura was paying a visit to Gerty. Beside Mrs. Fane stood a
small wicker table on which a book lay open. But she was as usual
engaged in knitting, and apparently preferred her own thoughts to
those of the popular author whose book was beside her. When the
professor entered, she rose gracefully, and looked at him keenly.
"May I ask what you have to see me about?" said Mrs. Fane, putting her
remark purposely in this way, so as to impress Bocaros with an idea
that he was favoured.
The professor bowed, and took the chair she pointed to. He had never
seen Mrs. Fane before, and thought her a singularly lovely woman, as
she decidedly was. Also from her stern lips and piercing eyes he
judged that she was a woman who would ruthlessly carry out any scheme
which she had formed, and would press forward dauntlessly in the face
of all dangers. A clever woman, a dangerous woman, and a foe worthy to
be met and conquered. That he would conquer even this Amazon the
professor did not doubt. He knew too much for her to deny, and since
his interview with Emily Doon he had spent the time in getting certain
proofs together.
Mrs. Fane might be clever, but she would not be able to defend herself
in the face of the facts he proposed to place before her.
Bocaros, feeling his way carefully, did not reply at once to her
question. "You will see my name on the card," he said quietly.
"Professor Bocaros," read Mrs. Fane. "I never heard of you."
"Did not Miss Mason mention me?"
"I don't recall her having done so."
"Strange," said the man. "I am a tenant of Mrs. Baldwin."
"My sister is a friend of Mrs. Baldwin," replied Mrs. Fane, "but it is
not to be thought that she interests herself in Mrs. Baldwin's private
affairs."
"I live in the little house across the fields."
"That is very interesting," said Mrs. Fane sarcastically, and
wondering why the man kept telling her things of no note; "and you are
a foreigner--a Greek. Bocaros----"
"Constantine Bocaros." Then the Professor, feeling nettled by this
behaviour, resolved to startle her. "I am the cousin of the woman who
was murdered in this room," he said abruptly.
But Mrs. Fane merely raised her eyebrows. "And you have no doubt come
to gratify your morbid curiosity by seeing the place where she was
struck down. Yonder it is, near the piano. Pray look, sir, and then
leave me. I do not show my house for this purpose to chance visitors."
"Bocaros, meeting her on her own ground, sauntered to the piano with a
kind of cool insolence that made Mrs. Fane observe him attentively.
"I suppose you know that Mr. Calvert comes in for ten thousand a year
by the death of Mrs. Brand?" said Bocaros, returning to his seat.
"I have heard so."
"And he is engaged to marry your sister?"
"Mrs. Fane could not stand any more of this intrusion into her private
affairs, and rose. Will you please to state your business and go!"
"There is no need to speak to me like that, madame," said Bocaros,
keeping his seat. "My cousin left me the money--afterwards she changed
her mind and made a new will, leaving it to Calvert."
"Well, sir, and what has this to do with me?"
"A great deal, as you will find. I want to learn who killed this
woman, Mrs. Fane."
"And you come to me. I fear I cannot assist you."
"Oh yes, I think you can."
"Sir, you are insolent!" Mrs. Fane, drawing herself up to her full
height, was about to press the button of the bell. Bocaros stopped
her.
"Wait a little," he said; "you can help me by explaining how you came
to be in this room on the night of the murder."
Mrs. Fane's hand fell, and she stared at the man. "I was not."
"You were! Your voice was heard--you sang a favourite song."
"Indeed!" Mrs. Fane thought for a moment, but without losing her
colour or self-possession in the face of this accusation. Then she
returned to her seat, resolved to give this strange man a hearing. "I
was at the seaside when the crime was committed."
"So I believe--your husband also?"
"My husband also," said Mrs. Fane calmly. "Will you be so kind as to
tell me what you mean by these questions?"
"I want to prove the guilt of Calvert."
"I cannot help you to do so," she said impatiently.
"Yes, you can," persisted Bocaros. "Calvert was the young man who left
this house while you were singing. You assisted him to escape. You met
him here. He used the dagger to kill Flora Brand!"
"What dagger?"
"The stage weapon which the cook found in the dustbin, and which you
said belonged to you."
Mrs. Fane leaned her chin on the tips of her fingers, thinking. "You
are a gentleman," said she gravely.
"I am, madame. I am a Greek noble--the Baron Bocaros."
"The curled lip of Mrs. Fane showed that she thought very little of a
foreign title, but she went on quietly, watching the man all the time
like a cat. And, indeed, she did not look unlike a magnificent white
cat, sleek and feline and treacherous. Bocaros, hard as he was, winced
at the regard of her narrow eyes. Well, then, Baron Bocaros," said
Mrs. Fane in her low sweet voice, "I will be plain with you. I said
that the dagger was mine, to shield Mr. Calvert----"
"I know. You are in love with him," burst out the professor.
"What do you mean, sir?" demanded the woman, a tide of crimson
flushing her face. "I detest the man."
"But I thought----"
"Then do not think, if your thoughts lead you into such follies. What?
I love Arnold Calvert--that doll of a man who----"
"Madame," interrupted Bocaros, wondering if this indignation was
feigned. "Calvert is my enemy, yet I say he is a manly and handsome
young gentleman. Be just!"
"Just! I am indignant. Are you not aware I am a married woman--that I
have a child? How dare you. But that I insist upon an explanation, I
would have you turned out of the house!"
"Bocaros arose. There is no need; I will go."
"No. You will speak out," said she imperiously.
"I will go," insisted the professor, "and I will take my information
to the police."
"It is a pity you were not earlier," sneered Mrs. Fane. "Inspector
Derrick, who had charge of the case, was with my husband."
"I met them going out of the door," replied Bocaros serenely. "Had I
known the gentleman with Mr. Fane was a police officer, I might have
been tempted to speak. But I was resolved to give you a chance to
exculpate yourself."
"From what?" demanded Mrs. Fane angrily.
"From participation in the murder of this poor----"
"How dare you come and accuse me," she burst out furiously. "You must
be mad!"
"I have proofs which will prove my sanity," said Bocaros, moving to
the door. "But I can show them to Derrick."
Mrs. Fane intercepted him. "Stop where you are," she said sharply.
"This matter must be sifted to the bottom. Afterwards I shall go with
you myself to the police-station. If you cannot prove what you have
said, I shall have you arrested for threatening language."
"Oh, I can prove everything," said Bocaros, returning to his seat. "And
since we now understand one another, we can proceed."
"You will proceed," retorted Mrs. Fane, sitting down also, to answer
my questions, "or you will get into trouble, my good man. You say that
Mr. Calvert was in this room on the night of the murder?"
Bocaros nodded, sure of his ground. "He left this house at eleven. He
was in his stage dress and spoke to the policeman. He dropped the
latch-key, and murdered----"
"Stop. You can't be sure that he did. The woman was murdered earlier.
During the evening Mr. Calvert was at the theatre."
"No. His part was played by his understudy up till half-past nine. He
then played in the last act and came here. He came here earlier,"
insisted the professor, "and murdered the woman to get the money."
"It might be so," muttered Mrs. Fane. "The dagger was a stage one, and
I knew from Laura that he wore one in the second act of the play."
"He used the dagger and then threw it away into the dustbin."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Fane, with a shrug. "How could he get to the
dustbin when the back of the house was locked up?"
This was a puzzle to Bocaros, but he faced it boldly. "Calvert entered
the house by your connivance, and could easily have unbarred the back
door to conceal his weapon."
"Oh!" Mrs. Fane looked sharply at her visitor. "So you accuse me of
admitting the man?"
"I do. You had your husband's latch-key, or had a copy made. You
expected Calvert, and admitted him. Afterwards you gave him the key to
let himself out while you averted suspicion by singing."
"Indeed! And how did I escape?"
"You had plenty of time. You can drive a motor-car, madame, as I know,
so you took Mr. Tracey's and went to Charing-Cross Station----"
"On the way to Westcliff-on-Sea. Rather a roundabout way."
"Madame, you are very clever, and wished to avert suspicion. You left
the car in the station yard, and then took the underground to
Liverpool Street Station, where you caught the midnight express to
Southend."
Mrs. Fane changed colour at this explicit relation, and rose to her
feet. "You seem to know a great deal about my movements," said she
coolly.
"I have satisfied myself in every respect," said Bocaros, bowing.
"And you say I was in this room on that night--that I sang?"
"Yes, you sang 'Kathleen Mavourneen.'"
"Then let me tell you, Professor Bocaros, or baron, if you call
yourself so, that you are quite wrong. I was at Westcliff-on-Sea in my
drawing-room all the evening, miles away from this house. I never came
to London, I did not admit Mr. Calvert into this house, and I never
sang."
Bocaros shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands
apologetically. "You will compel me to go to the police if you deny
these things."
Mrs. Fane turned on him in a cold fury. "You fool," she snarled, "do
you think I would deny unless I could prove all I say? You declare
that I sang on that night. Well, you shall hear the song."
So speaking, she crossed over the room and went behind a white velvet
curtain that hung over a kind of alcove. Wondering what she intended
to do, Bocaros sat and waited. He was astonished at her courage and
resolution, and began to think she might escape him after all. If she
did, he would not be able to prove the guilt of Arnold, since Mrs.
Fane alone could testify to his presence in the house. As he
considered, notes of music were heard behind the curtain. Mrs. Fane's
voice--a splendid contralto--rose in song. With great power and
expression she sang "Kathleen Mavourneen." Suddenly the curtain was
drawn aside and she appeared. But the song still continued, although
she was not singing. "Is that the song?" she asked, mockingly.
"Madame----" stammered Bocaros, quite astounded and rising.
"And is this the singer?" she asked, pointing to herself. "See." With
a quick movement she tore the curtain completely aside, and Bocaros
beheld a large phonograph pouring out the song. He gasped and
staggered back overwhelmed. Mrs. Fane advanced, smiling scornfully. "I
think you understand now," she said, seating herself, "how it was that
my voice was heard on that night in this room. Several of my songs are
registered in that instrument. I amuse my child with them. It seems
that I managed to deceive the police and you also, you fool. I wonder,
seeing how hurriedly the accompaniment is played between the verses,
that the police did not guess the truth. Well, what now?"
The song had stopped, and the phonograph was silent. Bocaros
recovered his wits. "I still maintain that you were in London and in
this house, Mrs. Fane," he said. "You may not have sung save by that
instrument, but as for the rest I am sure. You left your house at
Westcliff-on-Sea at half-past five; you caught the six train to town;
you came here----"
"Prove these accusations," she interrupted.
"I have the evidence of the booking-clerk and a porter at the Southend
station to prove how you were dressed and----"
"Who can say how I was dressed?"
"Your maid, Emily Doon!"
"Ah!" Mrs. Fane turned grey to the lips. "She--she----"
"You see it at last. Yes, madame, you made her sit in the drawing-room
at Westcliff-on-Sea, acting as yourself. You dressed quietly, and she
described your dress to me. It was the same as that of the lady seen
by the porter and the booking-clerk. You returned by the midnight
train, and you were here meanwhile between six and half-past eleven."
"No! no! no!" said Mrs. Fane fiercely. "You are clever, sir, and you
have found out much that I wished concealed. But not for the reason
you give me. I did not kill this woman. I had no cause to kill the
woman. I never saw her--I did not know her. I was not in this
house----"
"But I tell you----"
"And I tell you," she cried, advancing and seizing the man's arm in a
fierce grasp, "that you are wrong. Listen--to defend myself I must
tell you what I had rather kept quiet. I suspected my husband of being
in love with another woman. He received a letter on the morning of the
twenty-fourth from her. I accused him--he denied. I was furious with
rage. He said he was ill, and retired to bed. I did not see him all
the day. When I went in the evening he was gone. I guessed he had gone
to town to see this woman. It was after five. I guessed he would take
the six train. I persuaded Emily to impersonate me. I went to town. On
the Southend platform I saw my husband. I went in another carriage. At
the Liverpool Street Station I missed him and----"
"And you came on here?"
"No, I did not. I never thought he would dare to bring any woman
here--nor do I believe that he did so. Where he went I cannot say. But
I waited at the Liverpool Street Station throughout that long evening.
He came late and caught the midnight train. I went down also. He never
saw me, and as I had discovered nothing I said nothing. He never
thought that I had followed him: he never knew I was out of the house.
When I saw the death in the papers I never suspected him. I do not
suspect him now. Walter is too great a coward to commit a crime. And
he certainly would not have got rid of his victim in his own house,
thus bringing down the temple on his own head."
"You believe him to be innocent?" asked Bocaros, puzzled.
"I do. Would any man be such a fool as to act this way in his own
house? Had he known this woman, had he desired to get rid of her, he
would have taken her to the other end of London, as far away from our
home as possible."
"I can see that. And, madame, I ask your pardon for my unjust
suspicions. You are innocent." And he bent to kiss her hand.
Mrs. Fane snatched it away fiercely. "Innocent,--of course I am. I can
prove that I was at the Liverpool Street Station all that evening. I
was in the ladies' waiting-room. You can understand how the phonograph
deceived the police. As to this woman, I never heard of her--I don't
know her."
"She is my cousin."
"Then how did she come to enter my house?"
"I thought that you secured the key and----"
"And admitted Arnold. No, I didn't. My sister----" Mrs. Fane suddenly
clutched her hair, moved out of her usual self. "Great heavens!" she
muttered. "Can Laura have got an impression of the key and----"
"No, no said Bocaros. I am sure Miss Mason has nothing to do with the
matter. But Calvert----"
"If he is guilty hang him."
"But I thought----"
"You thought wrongly. I detest the man. I do not want him to marry my
sister. Professor, do what you like about the man. I will tell all to
the police I have told you if----"
"I do not wish to speak to the police," said Bocaros, shivering.
"Then hold your tongue and leave the matter in my hands. I will avenge
you. I will be able to deal with the matter. Leave it to me."
Bocaros looked at her steadily. "Madame," he said, bowing, "I leave it
to you. Calvert is in your hands."
"He shall never marry my sister," said Mrs. Fane feverishly. "Never."