A STORY OF THE PAST
Fane and Derrick parted at the top of Achilles Avenue, the latter
heartily thanking the former for the very handsome cheque. "And if
that husband returns, sir," said Derrick, shaking hands, "you may be
sure that I'll let you know straight off. By the way"--he drew near
confidentially--"do you know that the motor-car in which the assassin
is supposed to have escaped is in Madame Tussaud's?"
"No"--Fane laughed--"what possible interest can it have?"
"Well, sir, you see the mystery of the case makes it interesting. A
lot of people will go there and look at it, and talk about the case."
"I hope they may stumble upon some evidence likely to give a clue to
the assassin."
"Bless you, no one will do that, sir. The case has baffled me, so I do
not think there's much chance of any one else getting at the truth. I
think that American gentleman's a smart man of business, though. He
sold the car to Tussaud's at a long price."
"H'm!" said Fane, pondering, "do you think he had anything to do with
the crime?"
"No, sir. He missed his motor-car sure enough. Had he killed the
woman, he would have escaped in it and proved an _alibi_."
"I think it was better what he did do. He met Mulligan and you, and
with you surveyed the corpse. That daring would avert any suspicion."
"Have you an idea yourself, sir, that he might----"
"No, no!" interrupted Fane hurriedly; "it's simply an idea. But I have
learned from Mr. Calvert that Tracey--that's his name, isn't it?--has
taken the Hampstead house."
"I wonder what's that for?" asked Derrick, startled. "I want to find
out. And I'll ask Mr. Calvert this very day."
"Are you seeing him to-day, sir?"
"Yes; I am going there now. He wrote asking me to call this afternoon.
When I leave you I'll take a cab to his lodgings."
Derrick mused. "I'd like to come along with you," he said.
"No," replied Fane decisively, "better not just now. I am sure of
nothing. I only fancy Tracey may have had something to do with the
matter. Should I learn anything I shall let you know."
"Thank you, sir. I fancy the case is finished myself; but of course
something unexpected may turn up. Good-day."
"Good-day," replied Fane, and hailed a cab.
Owing to his long conversation with Derrick, there was not much time
to be lost if he wished to be punctual. Wondering if Arnold desired to
see him about Laura, Fane told the cabman to drive as fast as possible
to Bloomsbury. "I expect now that he has the money, Calvert will want
to marry Laura at once," thought Fane, leaning back in the cab. "I'm
sure Julia ought to be satisfied with such a match. But she is an
impossible woman to deal with. I wish I hadn't married her. I shall
never be my own master now."
It was lucky that things were as they were, for Fane was the last man
in the world to take the initiative. He always required to be governed
and guided, scolded and petted. The slack character of the man could
be seen from his mouth, which was constantly half-open. A pleasant,
handsome, kindhearted man was Fane, but his very good qualities added
to his weakness. His languid good-nature was always getting him into
trouble, and he was kindly not so much from a genuine feeling of the
sort as from a desire not to be troubled. It is much easier to be
yielding in this world than to hold one's own. But those who thus give
way, always have constant troubles. The only way in this best of
possible worlds to keep peace, is to be prepared for war. Human beings
invariably take advantage of one another, and a kind heart is looked
upon as a sign of weakness.
On arriving at the Bloomsbury lodgings, Fane saw Arnold looking out of
the window, evidently on the watch for his arrival. After dismissing
the cab Fane went up stairs, and on entering Calvert's sitting-room
was greeted by its occupant with signs of restraint. Behind Arnold
stood Tracey, whom Fane recognised from having seen him at the
inquest. The American was also grave, and Fane wondered what was to be
the subject of conversation. It could not be Arnold's engagement to
Laura, or both the men would not look so serious as they did.
"I am glad to see you, Fane," said Calvert, pushing forward a chair.
"Sit down. I hope you don't mind Mr. Tracey being present? You met him
at the inquest, I believe?"
"We saw one another," said Fane. "I hope you are well, Mr. Tracey?"
"I thank you, sir," said Luther gravely, "I am well. And you?"
"Pretty well," said Fane fretfully; "but this murder has given me a
lot of anxiety. Not a pleasant thing to happen in one's house."
"By no means, sir," replied Tracey, with a puzzled glance at Calvert.
"Is it true that you are moving, as I have been informed by Miss Gerty
B., the lady I'm engaged to?"
"Yes; I suppose Miss Mason told her. My wife doesn't like the place
now that it has such a bad reputation. We intend to go abroad for a
time to Switzerland."
"You'll miss your yachting," said Arnold, who was taking some papers
out of his desk.
"I don't think I'll yacht any more," said Fane gloomily; "my sea days
are over."
"Did you yacht much?" asked Tracey.
"A lot. I sometimes stopped away for a couple of months."
"What did Mrs. Fane say?"
Fane laughed. "Oh, she didn't mind. She never cared for the sea
herself. Between you and me, Mr. Tracey, my wife is fonder of business
than pleasure. I am the reverse."
"All the same, Fane, you must attend to business now."
"What, Calvert, do you call your engagement to Laura business?"
Arnold looked surprised. "I did not ask you here to talk about that,"
he replied still seriously.
"Oh," answered Fane carelessly, and taking out a cigarette, "I thought
you wanted me to make things square with Julia."
"Laura and I understand one another," said Arnold, returning to his
seat with a green-covered book in his hand. "I am now well off, and
there is no bar to our marriage."
"I am glad of that. A lucky thing for you, the death of that woman."
"I would rather she had lived, poor soul," said Calvert with emotion.
Fane shrugged his shoulders. "We all have to die some time."
"But not by the knife," put in Tracey sharply. "The poor soul, as
Calvert calls her, met with a terrible death."
"I know, I know," said Fane irritably. "I wish you wouldn't dwell on
the matter, Mr. Tracey. It is excessively unpleasant for me, seeing I
live in the house where she was killed. Why don't you offer a reward
to clear up the mystery, Calvert?"
"I don't think there will be any need now," said Arnold with emphasis.
"What do you mean?" Fane sat up suddenly. "Because Tracey and I have
reason to believe we have found the assassin."
"What!" Fane sprang to his feet much excited. "Who is it? Tell me his
name."
"What would you do if you knew it?" asked Tracey, who was looking at
Fane with great wonderment.
"Do," said the other, clenching his fist, "I would hang the man."
"How do you know it was a man? It may have been a woman."
"Why do you say that, Mr. Tracey?"
"Well, there was the singing, you know."
"Nonsense! I never thought of it at the time, but now I know that the
singing proceeded from a phonograph."
"Phonograph!" cried both men, much astonished.
"Yes. Julia had an idea of getting records of her songs. She sings
very well, you know, Calvert. She has had a phonograph for a long
time, and amuses the child with it. That song, 'Kathleen Mavourneen,'
is a favourite with my wife, and I wondered afterwards how it came to
be sung, seeing she was at Westcliff-on-Sea. Then, when a description
was given of the kind of voice, I knew it was the phonograph."
"Why didn't you say so at the inquest?" asked the American sharply.
"Because it never struck me till later. But that's enough about the
matter. I'm weary of the murder. Let us talk of other things."
"I am afraid we cannot," said Arnold, holding up the book! "Do you
know what this is, Fane?"
"No," said the other, staring; "what is it?"
"The diary of Mrs. Brand."
"How strange," said Fane, but his voice sounded nervously uncertain;
"where did you find it?"
"It was concealed," said Tracey, with emphasis; "the man who removed
all evidence of Mrs. Brand's past life could not find it. And by means
of that diary, Mr. Fane, we are enabled to prove a lot."
"If you can prove who murdered the woman I shall be glad to hear."
"You really mean that?" asked Tracey, staring in his turn.
"Of course." Fane stared at Tracey in return, and then looked at
Arnold. "I'm glad you sent for me, Calvert. Let us hear everything."
"It is the story of Mrs. Brand's life----"
"Oh! And has it to do with the murder?"
"I think so."
"Does it point to the assassin?"
"It may even do that. But we can't be sure."
Fane threw back his head and closed his eyes. "Read on," he said; "I
will give you my opinion."
Tracey and Calvert glanced at one another again, and then the latter
opened the book. Fane, hearing the rustle of the leaves, sat up.
"I say, you needn't read all that," he said; "I can't stand reading at
any time, not even from an actor. Tell me the gist of the matter."
"From the beginning?" asked Arnold, closing the book.
"Certainly--from the very beginning."
"As you please," replied Calvert, and handed the book to Tracey. Fane,
still smoking, again leaned back his head and closed his eyes. After a
pause, Arnold commenced the story. But after a few words, he broke
down irritably--
"I can't tell you the thing if you don't look at me."
"Thanks," said Fane lazily, "I can hear better with my eyes closed."
"Oh, don't bother!" cried Tracey roughly to Calvert. "Get along. The
thing's getting on my nerves."
"I hope it won't get on mine," said Fane, with a sigh; "go on."
"Mrs. Brand," commenced Arnold, without further preamble, "was the
daughter of my uncle----"
"Yes," murmured Fane, "I heard she was your cousin."
"I suppose you heard that from Laura," replied Arnold calmly. "Yes,
she was my cousin, and left her fortune to me, although I saw very
little of her. She is also--or rather, seeing she is dead, was
also--the cousin of Professor Bocaros, whose aunt married my uncle."
"Never heard of him," said Fane.
"You will hear of him now," said Calvert tartly; "do not interrupt,
please. Well, Flora----"
"Who is Flora?" asked Fane again.
"My cousin, Mrs. Brand. She was Flora Calvert. She kept a diary all
these years, as she led a rather lonely life. The man she married was
a commercial traveller, and was frequently away. His name was Brand,
and with his wife he lived at Hampstead."
"In Coleridge Lane. I know."
"Tracey muttered something uncomplimentary, and went to the window.
Fane's constant interruptions got on his nerves. During the rest of
the story he occupied a chair, and amused himself with looking out.
All the same he lost nothing of what passed. For such observation had
he been asked by Arnold to be present at the interview.
"From the diary, which begins with her married life, it appears that
Mrs. Brand was very happy with her husband," went on Calvert. "She met
him at some open-air entertainment, where she was in danger of being
crushed by the crowd. Brand rescued her, and afterwards called on
Flora, who was then living with her mother. He called himself Adolphus
Brand."
"Was that not his name?"
"It is hard to say. When he first came to see Flora he told her his
name was Wentworth. She related her life, and how she expected to
inherit a fortune from an uncle called Arthur Brand who lived in
Australia. Wentworth thereupon said that he also had a cousin called
Brand, from whom he expected money. It was probable, he said, that if
he did get this money he would have to change his name. A few months
later he proposed to marry Flora, but could not do so until he got the
money."
"Was it a large fortune?" asked Fane.
"Not very large--a few thousand pounds. One day Brand stated that his
cousin was dead, and that he had the money on condition that he
changed his name. Now you see, Fane, how Wentworth came to be called
Brand. It was curious that he should have the same name as the uncle
from whom Flora hoped to get money."
"A coincidence," said Fane coolly; "these things happen in real life.
It is only in fiction that coincidences appear to be absurd."
"Well, to continue the story," said Arnold, stealing a glance at the
American, "Brand married my cousin after the death of her mother. He
took her to live at Gunnersbury."
"I thought you said they lived at Hampstead."
"Later on they did, but not when they first married. Brand--as he
said--was a commercial traveller."
"As he said; you doubt his statement then?"
"I have reason to," responded Calvert gravely. "Please let me tell the
story in my own way. You can comment on it when it is done. Brand
being, as he said, a commercial traveller, was often away for months
at a time. Flora, suspecting nothing wrong----"
"Why should she?" asked Fane.
"Wait," said Arnold. "Flora, suspecting nothing wrong, was quite happy.
Her husband was fond of her, and they lived in complete harmony. He
had banked the money he received from his cousin, and proposed later,
when his business affairs were more prosperous, to furnish a house for
her. Especially did he promise to furnish a White Room."
Fane sat up, with a lively expression on his face. "Ah, now, this is
becoming interesting. I have a White Room in my house."
"Yes. And poor Flora was murdered there."
"By whom?" asked Fane innocently.
"You'll hear that later. To resume the story. Things were arranged in
this way, and husband and wife lived very comfortably, although
neither had money. But Flora expected to get a large fortune from her
Australian relative. He had promised to leave it to her, and
corresponded constantly with her. Afterwards finding Gunnersbury
inconvenient for his business, Brand removed to Hampstead. Flora took
Fairy Lodge, and furnished it and attended to all that. The husband
should have done that work," said Arnold with emphasis, "but for some
reason he rarely showed himself. Flora's landlord, for instance, never
set eyes on Mr. Brand."
"He seems to have been a mysterious person," said Fane coolly. "Go on,
please. The story is becoming exciting."
"It will be so before it is finished. Well, Flora settled down in
Fairy Lodge. Her husband stayed away a great deal."
"On business?" interrupted Fane.
"So he said," replied Calvert calmly; "but he was away months at a
time. Flora never suspected anything to be wrong. But after a time she
noticed that Brand was not so loving as he had been. He tried to make
it up to her by promising to furnish the grand house they had often
talked about. But Flora would not let him do this until the money came
from the Australian relative. Then news came that the old man was ill.
He wrote and told Flora that a will had been made in her favour,
leaving her all his money, which amounted to some thousands a year."
"The money you have now?"
"Yes," assented the young man; "the money I have now. On hearing the
news Brand would not be restrained any longer. He told Flora that he
would furnish the house, but that he must be allowed to do it in his
own way. He did not tell her where the new house was, nor did he
consult her about the furnishing."
"What about the White Room then?"
"He knew how to furnish that," said Arnold quickly; "the White Room
was a freak on the part of my cousin. She always had a fancy to have a
room entirely white, and she had one at Hampstead.
"I had one at Troy," said Fane coolly; "what of that?"
"Nothing. Only it is strange that you should have had the same idea of
furnishing an odd room as Flora. Well, then, things were thus a year
or two ago when news came that the Australian Brand had married his
housekeeper, and that the money would likely be left to her."
"What a blow to your cousin," said Fane ironically.
"Yes; a great blow. From the moment the news arrived Brand grew colder
than ever, and stayed away for longer periods. Husband and wife began
to quarrel, as Flora fancied herself neglected. Life grew more and
more unhappy, as I find from the unfortunate woman's diary, until she
was thoroughly miserable about the beginning of the present year. It
was shortly before July that she received a visit from her Greek
cousin Bocaros."
"What did he come to see her for?"
"To find a friend," said Arnold gravely. "The man was lonely and
unhappy. So was Flora. The two got on well, but Bocaros never saw
Brand. He had gone to Australia."
"Why did he go there?"
"He thought he might be related to Brand, seeing that his cousin who
had left him the money bore that name. He fancied that if this were so
he might induce old Brand in Australia to give Flora some of the
money, and so went to Australia. While he was away Flora received a
letter stating that Brand was dead, and that the money was hers."
"What about the marriage?"
"That was a strange thing, Fane. Of course Brand's marriage
invalidated the will leaving Flora the money. He did many his
housekeeper, but he refused to make a new will, as it seems she had
trapped the old man into the marriage. When Brand died, it was found
that the woman had been married before. Therefore----"
"The marriage was no marriage, and the will in Mrs. Brand's favour
stood firm," said Fane. "Is that what you mean?"
"It is. The marriage being no marriage gave the property to Flora. She
saw Laing and Merry, and learned that she inherited about ten thousand
a year."
Fane gave a kind of groan. "Ten thousand a year," he repeated, "and
you have this money--lucky fellow!"
"I would rather it had not come to me, Fane, than in such a way."
"What do you mean?"
"By the tragic death of my cousin."
"Yes, yes," said Fane irritably; "how you harp on that murder. Go on."
"Well, then, Mrs. Brand had the money. It was then that Bocaros told
her that Brand was false."
"How do you mean false?"
"Brand," said Arnold, keeping his eyes on the other man's face, "was
married to another woman and under another name--probably his real
name. Bocaros found this out."
"How do you prove that?"
"By the diary, which is kept up to the very day my miserable cousin
went to the house where her husband posed as a married man."
"Go on," said Fane very calm.
"It was at this time Brand came back."
"I thought you said he had gone to Australia."
"So he had," explained Arnold; "but he told Flora that he had heard of
Brand's death, and had not thought it worth while to go on. Flora told
him she had the money, and then accused him of being married. He
denied this. There was a great row, and Brand left the house. Bocaros
came back. He insisted that what he said about the second marriage was
true, but he refused to tell Flora the real name of her husband. He
said, however, that he would take her to the house. He advised her to
obtain an impression of the key in Brand's pocket, so that she might
prove to herself by the key fitting that the house was her husband's.
The plan commended itself to Flora. When Brand returned she pretended
to believe his lies, and took an impression of the key when he was
asleep. This she gave to Bocaros, who got a duplicate key made. He
gave her this. Brand then thinking all was right with Flora, departed.
Flora arranged to meet Bocaros at the house of Brand on the night of
the 24th of July."
Fane rose with a white face, and began to walk to and fro. "Go on," he
said harshly; "what more?"
"Is there anything more to tell?" said Arnold, also rising. "Flora
went to your house. Whether she met Bocaros there or not I cannot say.
Her diary is written up to the time she set out on that last journey.
Before leaving, and thinking she might be in danger, she hid the
diary, and left a note for me in the deed-box at Laing and Merry's,
the lawyers. But she went to the house before nine, she admitted
herself with the duplicate latch-key, and in the White Room, which
really and truly had been furnished for her, she met with----"
"Stop cried Fane, his lips grey and his face drawn and white; am I to
understand that you accuse me of being the husband of Mrs. Brand?"
"Yes, Mr. Brand, I do. Your name is Fane, but you called yourself
Brand to marry Flora. Your first marriage is a real one, your second
false. You are a bigamist and----"
"And a murderer. Why not say the word?"
"I do say it. You are the man who stabbed that poor woman when she was
at the piano. You set the phonograph going so that the police might be
deceived. The dagger you used was one left by me at Flora's by
accident. She took it with her, poor soul, perhaps to kill you for
having treated her so. Heaven only knows to what lengths her misery
might not have carried her and----"
"Lies! Lies! All lies!" said Fane furiously. "I am not the man. I
don't believe this cock-and-bull story. Julia Mason is my true wife."
"Julia Mason is Julia Mason still," said Arnold.
"No. I know nothing of your cousin. I dare you to prove that I am the
husband of Flora Brand."
"I guess I can do that," said Tracey, stepping forward and producing a
photograph from his pocket. "I remained in that Hampstead house, Mr.
Brand-Fane, to search and see what I could find in order to set things
square. I found an old photograph of Mrs. Brand. I went to the
photographer's and learned that she had been taken at one time some
years ago along with her husband. Here's the photograph, and you will
see that you are the man."
Fane nervously snatched the photograph, and looked at it. There he
was in the company of Flora Brand. With a groan he dropped the
photograph, staggered to a chair, and covered his face. "It has come
out at last," he groaned.