THE RESULT OF THE TRIAL.
Naturally the tragic end of the counsel for the defense created a
great sensation. The trial was brought to an abrupt conclusion, the
court was cleared, and the body of the dead man taken to the residence
of Major Jen. In his rooms at Deanminster was found the confession
signed by him, and which was substantially the same as that which he
had made in court. At once--after the formalities of the law had been
observed--Dr. Etwald was set at liberty on the charge of murder.
Whereupon he returned to his house as though nothing had happened.
Mrs. Dallas and Isabella came back to "The Wigwam," but without Dido.
On the day when the trial terminated in so tragic a manner the negress
disappeared, and with her the famous Voodoo stone.
"I wish I could have caught her," said Arkel to Major Jen. "She
committed perjury in order to get Dr. Etwald hanged, and she ought to
have been punished for her wickedness. It has been a terrible affair,
major."
Jen, who was now looking old and broken down, agreed with a sad shake
of his gray head.
"My poor lads," said he, in a voice full of pathos. "First one and then
the other--to lose them both in this awful fashion."
"What!" cried Arkel, in surprise. "Do you pity Mr. Sarby?"
"Why not?" answered the major, quietly. "To my mind, he needs more
pity than poor Maurice. The lad was driven mad by jealousy, and he was
worked on by Dido to commit the crime. The cause of all these
troubles, Mr. Inspector, is not Dr. Etwald, but that black witch. I
wish she could be caught."
"She may be, major. There is a warrant out against her for perjury."
Arkel spoke too hopefully, for Dido was never caught. She was too
clever to give the police a chance of laying hands on her. Like a
stone cast into a wide ocean, she disappeared from Deanminster--from
England, no doubt, and possessed of the Voodoo stone, possibly took
her way back to her native "Ashantee," there to become the high
priestess in the horrible fetish worship of Africa.
For the next two days Major Jen stayed in his house and watched over
the corpse of David. It was laid out in what had been the young man's
bedchamber, surrounded by burning candles, and with pale flowers of
virginal whiteness scattered on the bed. The whole scene was but a
repetition of that which had taken place when Maurice had died. Both
young men had perished from the effects of the infernal African
poison. Both had perished in the bloom of youth; and on the right hand
of each was the fatal wound which had corrupted the blood. But the
corpse of David was here. The corpse of Maurice, where? Only Dr.
Etwald could answer the question, and he, released on the charge of
murder, was now out on bail for the theft of the corpse.
While the major was wondering what would be the outcome of all the
terrible events which had filled the past few weeks, Jaggard--who,
with his recovered health, had resumed his duties--entered the library
and announced that Mrs. Dallas and her daughter wished to see him.
Although he was unwilling to speak to those who had caused these
troubles, Jen had no reasonable grounds for refusing an interview.
Therefore, he gave orders that the ladies should be shown into the
drawing-room. When he repaired thither, however, he found to his
surprise that Mrs. Dallas only was waiting for him.
"I could not get Isabella further than the door of your house,"
exclaimed Mrs. Dallas, who was in deep mourning, whether for Maurice
or David, or for the loss of Dido, it was impossible to say.
"Why did she not come in?" asked Jen, coldly, for he did not feel very
amiably disposed toward the widow.
"I don't know. She is a strange girl, major, and the events of the
last few weeks have shaken her nerves."
"They have shaken mine," retorted Jen, grimly. "But we need not
discuss these things, Mrs. Dallas. May I ask why you have paid me this
visit?"
"To tell you that we are going away."
"Going away, and where, may I ask?"
"Back to Barbadoes," replied Mrs. Dallas, with a sigh. "Yes, major,
after what has taken place here, I can stay no longer in England. I
shall sell my house and leave for the West Indies with my daughter
within the month."
"I think it is the best thing you can do," said Jen, brusquely. "By
the way, what has become of Dido?"
"She has left me in the most ungrateful manner. Since she obtained the
Voodoo stone and gave evidence at the trial she has not been seen. I
believe," added Mrs. Dallas, in a confidential manner, "that Dido has
gone to Barbadoes also."
"To be queen of the black witches of Obi, no doubt. Faugh!"
"I am disgusted with her, too," said Mrs. Dallas, indorsing the
major's exclamation.
"So you ought to be, Mrs. Dallas, for Dido has been your evil genius.
If you had not submitted to her will, she would not have dared to
hypnotize you. If you had not been hypnotized on that night, you would
not have taken the devil-stick, consequently both David and Maurice
would still be alive. Your negress has been a perfect Até, Mrs.
Dallas."
"Major, major! Do not be too hard on me. I suffer--oh, how I suffer!"
"And I also. Both my boys are dead, one by the hand of the other, and
that other by his own hand. It is you and your daughter and Dido who
have brought about these things. Go to Barbadoes, Mrs. Dallas, by all
means. You and yours have done quite sufficient mischief in England."
Just as Jen ended his speech and Mrs. Dallas was about to reply, the
door opened to admit--Dr. Etwald. Both the major and the Creole stared
at him in surprise, as neither for the moment could grasp the idea
that he had been bold enough to present himself before those whom he
had so deeply wronged.
"Ah," said Etwald, as complacently as ever, "I thought I should find
you here, major, but I hardly expected to see Mrs. Dallas."
"You villain!" cried that lady, starting from her seat. "Do you think
I want to see you after all the misery you have caused? Why, I refuse
even to remain in the same room with you." And with a furious gesture
the Creole swept past Etwald and out of the door, which she banged
loudly. Etwald looked at the door, shrugged his shoulders, and turned
politely to the major.
"It is just as well she is gone," said he, quietly. "It is better that
our conversation should be private."
"I wish to hold no conversation with a scoundrel, sir," cried Jen,
purple with rage. "Follow the example of Mrs. Dallas, if you please."
Etwald looked round for a chair, selected the most comfortable, and
sat down with great deliberation.
"I never follow any one's example, major," he said, dryly. "It is
always my custom to act independently."
"I'll have you turned out of the house."
"In that case you'll never hear what I have come to tell you."
"What is that, sir?" demanded Jen, in a calmer tone.
"The truth!"
"Bah! I heard that in court."
"Indeed you did no such thing," retorted Etwald, coolly. "My story is
quite different to that of Dido."
"David's was different also."
"I know it. But my story--the true story, mind you--differs even from
David's. Will you hear it, major, or shall I leave your house before I
suffer the disgrace of being kicked out?"
The major considered for a few moments before replying. There was a
hinted mystery in the manner of Etwald which puzzled him not a little,
and what this demeanor might mean he was anxious to learn. Moreover,
he wished to know the actual facts of the case, and now that Dido had
fled Etwald was the only one who could tell them. Acting upon these
considerations, Jen sat down again in his chair and sulkily gave
Etwald permission to remain and explain. This the doctor proceeded to
do at once.
"As you are aware," said he, calmly, "I escaped the charge of murder,
and very right, too, seeing that I was innocent of the crime. But as
to the stealing of the body, I am guilty, and I do not--"
"Where is the body, you wretch?"
"Pardon me," said Etwald, raising his hand in protest. "If you
interrupt or call me names, I shall tell you nothing. To proceed," he
added, seeing the major held his peace. "I am out on bail, and must
come up for trial soon on the charge I spoke of. However, I am not
afraid, as I can defend myself in a manner you little dream of. But
being out on bail, I came to see you."
"To tell me more lies?"
"To tell you the truth, my dear major, and I assure you that the truth
will surprise you not a little."
"What is it?" demanded Jen, in a fever of excitement.
"Patience! Patience! I shall tell you when the time comes. But, by the
way, major--Dido?"
"She has fled."
"I know it. She was afraid of me."
"Hardly," replied Jen, a trifle spitefully. "You have lost the Voodoo
stone, remember."
"Yes. I was taken advantage of for once in my life. A cunning woman,
that Dido. She got permission to see me in prison, and to talk to me
alone, under the pretense of telling me about her evidence. Knowing
that I could compel her to do what I wished by means of the Voodoo
stone, I saw her with pleasure, as it was my intention to put the
words likely to get me off--to prove my innocence--into her mouth.
However, while I was talking to her, she suddenly produced a phial of
the devil-stick poison and threw it in my face. Of course, I instantly
became unconscious, and it was then that she wrenched the talisman off
my watch-chain."
"Is the poison so quick in its effects then?"
"I should think so," said Etwald, coldly. "You saw how David fell in
court, after wounding his hand. I fell in prison quite as quickly, but
as my skin was not scratched, and the drug took effect only through
the nostrils, I recovered."
"And when you recovered?"
"The jailer told me that Dido had called him in, saying that I had
fainted. While they were getting me round--which took an hour--Dido
went off with the Voodoo stone. Those about the prison had no reason
to detain her, so she left. When I found the Voodoo stone gone," added
Etwald, impressively. "I knew that the black wretch would give
evidence against me, and that the game was at an end."
"You expected to be hanged?" suggested Jen.
"Well, no!" replied the doctor, with wonderful coolness, "I did not
expect that. If the worst came to the worst, I knew that I could
protect myself; but I must admit that the confession of my counsel,
Mr. Sarby, took me somewhat by surprise."
"Poor David!" sighed Jen, thinking of the young man cut off in the
bloom of his youth.
"Poor David!" echoed Etwald, with a sneer. "Foolish David, you might
say, to die for the sake of a woman."
"Yet you risked death for the same woman."
"I risked danger for the woman's fortune," retorted Etwald, with
revolting candor. "It was the money I wanted. But death--no, I did not
risk that."
"I am not so sure of that, Etwald. How did you know that David would
confess in so dramatic a fashion?"
"I did not know it, major. As I said before, his confession took me by
surprise. Still, as I was innocent, I knew that I could not be
hanged."
"Well," said Jen, growing weary of this long-continued conversation,
which seemed to lead to nothing, "at all events you'll not escape a
long term of imprisonment."
"Why?" said Etwald, with an agreeable smile. "There are two opinions
about that. Mine is that I shall go free. Then," he added, coolly, "I
intend to seek Barbadoes and search for that black witch in order to
recover the Voodoo stone."
"I hope you'll get the chance of going, but I doubt it. However, if
you do get as far as the West Indies you'll find friends there."
"Really! Any particular friends?"
"I don't know if you'll consider them so; but Mrs. Dallas and her
daughter go back to their estates in Barbadoes within the month."
"Really!" said Etwald again, "Then I may marry her after all."
"She won't have you."
"Oh, I think so. I have a means of compelling her to marry me."
Jen jumped up with a scowl.
"I'm tired of your enigmas," he cried, angrily. "What is it you wish
to tell me?"
"The name of the person who committed the murder."
"I know it. David Sarby!"
"Not at all. He accused himself to shield the real person."
"To shield the assassin?" gasped Jen, thunderstruck. "And who is the
assassin?"
"Can't you guess from his self-accusation? Why, the woman he loved."
"Isabella?"
"Exactly. Isabella Dallas, and none other, killed your boy Maurice."