A FINAL SURPRISE.
"Isabella killed Maurice!" said Jen, pushing back his chair.
"Impossible, doctor. You must be mistaken."
"I don't think so," replied Etwald, dryly. "I saw her do it. So did
David."
"You must be mistaken," insisted the major once more. "David was in
London on the night when the crime was committed."
"By his own confession in court, David was in the grounds of Mrs.
Dallas on that night."
"Yes, yes. You are right!" said Jen, in a bewildered tone. "Still, I
cannot believe that Isabella killed Maurice. She loved him dearly, and
had no reason to murder him."
"None in the world. Yet she certainly took his life."
"Why not?" said Etwald, coolly. "Mrs. Dallas had no reason to steal
the devil-stick, yet--"
"Without a reason! I don't believe it."
"Ah, but she was hypnotized. She did not act of her own free will."
"Precisely the case with Isabella," said the doctor, nodding. "Come,
major, I won't worry you any longer with inquiries. Dido hypnotized
the daughter to commit the crime, as she had willed the mother to
steal the devil-stick. Isabella is absolutely ignorant of what she
did, and firmly believed that I was the guilty person. Now, of course,
she thinks David--by his own confession--is the assassin."
"But David confessed himself guilty, to save her?"
"Of course; but Isabella does not know that. She thinks--and on the
face of it, with reason--that David killed Maurice out of jealousy."
"How was it David saw the crime committed?"
"I shall explain," said Etwald. "David found out that Maurice was
going to meet Isabella that night secretly in the grounds of Mrs.
Dallas near the gates. Determined to see the meeting, and to learn if
there was any hope for him, he feigned a journey to London in order to
lull any suspicions which Maurice might have that he was being
watched. Instead of going, however, he concealed himself at a spot
where he could see the gates which opened onto the highway. Now,"
added Etwald, with a side glance at the major, "it so happened that I
also wished to see that meeting."
"How did you know it was about to take place?"
"I learned the fact from Dido, who advised me of all which went on in
the Dallas household, as you may guess. Well, I saw David in his place
of concealment and guessed his reason for coming. Maurice appeared at
the rendezvous, and shortly afterward Isabella, under the hypnotic
influence, came down the avenue. In her hand she held the devil-stick,
and came swiftly toward Maurice. He, not understanding the deadly
weapon with which she was armed, came to meet her with outstretched
arms. She thrust the devil-stick before her, and wounded him in the
palm of the hand. With a cry he fell--dead!"
"Within the gates?" asked the major, much agitated.
"Yes, within the gates," responded Etwald. "When Isabella had struck
the blow she dropped the devil-stick in the grass, where, if you
remember, it was afterward found by Battersea. Then she returned to
the house by the little path which leads thereto through the
surrounding trees. The body lay in the bright moonlight, full in the
center of the path, not a stonethrow from the high road. David and I
rushed simultaneously from our hiding-places, and I explained
hurriedly that the body must not be found in the grounds. He
understood, and we carried the body onto the road. Before we had time
to deliberate what was to be done we heard the noise of approaching
footsteps, and afraid--both of us--of being accused of the crime, we
fled. Then you came down the road and discovered the corpse."
"Yes. I heard the poor lad's cry," said Jen, simply, "and I ran down
at once. You must have been very quick in your movements."
"There was ample necessity for prompt action," replied Etwald, with
some dryness, "as neither David nor I wished to be arrested. But now
you can understand how it was that David refused to reply to your
questions and agreed to defend me."
"I understand. He said, poor lad, that I would approve of his reasons
when I knew them, and now that you have explained his motives I quite
agree with his saying. To protect that poor girl, to save you from
suffering for a crime which you did not commit, he could have acted in
no other fashion. Still, I wish both of you had been more open with
me."
"I am afraid that would have been impossible, major," said Etwald,
rising. "You were so distracted over the death of Maurice, and so
unjust in your hatred of me, that it would have been dangerous to
trust you."
"Am I unjust in my hatred of you?" demanded Jen, getting on his feet.
"I think not. Dr. Etwald. Your desire to marry Isabella, or rather her
fortune, has been the cause of all these ills. Dido was only your
instrument, whom you compelled to work by means of the Voodoo stone.
That she betrayed you in the end was your punishment. I do not blame
her so much as I do you. You alone are responsible for the death of
those two poor lads of mine."
"Well, have it your own way," said Etwald, carelessly. "I am a
scoundrel in your eyes, I dare say; but if you will permit me to see
you to-morrow at eleven o'clock I shall be able to prove that this
particular devil--meaning myself, major--is not quite so black as you
have painted him."
"I never want to set eyes on you again," said Jen, bluntly.
"Nor will you--after midday to-morrow. But you will regret if you do
not grant me this interview."
"What do you wish to say?"
"I'll tell you to-morrow."
"Can't you say it now?"
"No, Major Jen, I can't, and I shan't," retorted Etwald, tartly. "If
you are wise you will arrange to let me come here to-morrow at eleven,
and meet Mrs. Dallas and her daughter."
"Both of them will refuse to meet you. You saw Mrs. Dallas to-day, how
she behaved."
"Like the fool she is," said the doctor, putting on his hat. "Well, I
am going. Will you see me to-morrow morning?"
"Yes. I don't know what possible things you can find to say to me
after this interview; but, as you make such a point of it, I'll see
you."
"And ask Mrs. Dallas and her daughter to be present?"
"Yes. I'll try and get them to come."
"Very good." Etwald walked toward the door, but there, struck by a
sudden thought, he looked back. "Of course you will not tell Isabella
that she killed Mr. Alymer?" he said, hurriedly.
"Not at present," said Jen, after a moment's thought. "But, later on,
I shall, in order to clear the memory of David."
"And condemn the poor girl to eternal misery," said Etwald. "Well, I
do not agree with you. But, at least, keep silent until after our
interview to-morrow."
"Yes. I promise you I'll say nothing."
"Thank you, major. Good-by for the present."
"Good-by," said Jen, and as the door closed behind the doctor he
muttered, "and may the devil go with you, for a greater scoundrel does
not exist."
Later on in the day Jen sent a letter to "The Wigwam," asking Mrs.
Dallas to come with her daughter the next morning at eleven o'clock.
He did not explain that Dr. Etwald would be present, as he knew the
temper of Mrs. Dallas. Whatever might be at stake, even if it was to
her own interest, she would refuse to meet the man toward whom she
bore so strong a hatred. Therefore, Jen decided to be diplomatic, and
keep silent as to the visit of Etwald. During the afternoon a note was
brought to Jen, in which Mrs. Dallas promised to come and to bring
Isabella.
"Very good," said Jen to himself. "That matter is settled, and
Etwald--confound him!--will obtain his desire. I wonder what he wants
to see us all about."
In spite of all his conjecturing, the major found himself unable to
answer this question. Therefore, like a wise man, he possessed himself
in patience until the next morning. Most of the night he passed in the
room where poor David was laid out, for he was determined that this
time the body should not be stolen. As he pondered during the long and
silent hours, he reflected that he had lost the opportunity of forcing
Dr. Etwald to say what he had done with the body of Maurice. It had
not been found in his house, and, notwithstanding all questioning,
Etwald--with his changeless smile--had refused to state where it was.
"I should have wrung the truth from the villain to-day," thought Jen,
as he paced the room. "But to-morrow! To-morrow! He shan't leave this
house until he confesses what he has done with the remains of my poor
boy. Ghoul that he is, wretch and scoundrel."
Toward the morning Jen slept for an hour or so, and when he rose and
had taken his bath he felt much refreshed, and ready to face Etwald at
this final interview. At eleven o'clock Mrs. Dallas arrived with
Isabella, the latter looking wan and ill. Even had the major not
promised to be silent, he could not have brought himself to tell the
poor girl the truth at that moment. After all, she was perfectly
innocent, and had committed the crime unwittingly. Dido was the
culprit, not Isabella; and the major felt a profound pity for the
miserable girl, who had been made a tool of by the unscrupulous
negress and the evil-minded Etwald.
"Well, major," said Mrs. Dallas, after the first greetings were over,
"what did that wicked man say to you yesterday?"
"He explained how my poor Maurice was killed."
"Ah," said Isabella, clasping her hands, "I am sure that it was that
terrible man who made David kill Maurice. Oh, if I had only met
Maurice on that night, I might have prevented the quarrel."
"Did you not meet Maurice, my dear?"
"Of course not," replied Isabella, in the most truthful manner. "I did
not leave the house, and Dido was with me all the time. I expect
Maurice was waiting for me, and that David saw him. No doubt they
quarreled, and then the death took place."
From this speech it was quite evident that the girl was absolutely
ignorant of the part which she had played in the affair. Still, to
make certain, Jen asked why she had not kept the appointment.
"I had a nervous headache," she said, quickly, "and Dido hypnotized
me. When I woke up it was too late to see Maurice."
This remark put the matter beyond all doubt. The girl, by her own
admission, had been hypnotized by the negress, and, while in the
trance state, with her will at the mercy of the other woman, she had
killed her lover. Morally speaking, it was Dido, in the person of
Isabella, who was the assassin. However, the major had learned all
that he wished to know, and not wishing to pursue the subject, turned
the conversation by explaining that Etwald was coming in a few
minutes. Mrs. Dallas rose up in a cold fury.
"Did you ask me here to insult me, major?"
"I asked you here at the particular request of Dr. Etwald."
"Why? What can he have to say to my mother?" cried Isabella, in
surprise.
"Miss Dallas, I know no more than you do; but he evidently desires to
make a clean breast of this whole miserable business."
"I have heard quite enough about it," said Mrs. Dallas, marching
toward the door, "and I refuse to meet that monster of iniquity!"
But she was too late, for, before she could escape from the room, Dr.
Etwald--as smiling and composed as ever--entered the door. He placed
himself quietly before the enraged Mrs. Dallas.
"Do not go, madam," said he, quietly. "I have something to show you."
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Dallas, her curiosity--like that of the
major--getting the better of her rage.
"You will see in a few minutes. Miss Dallas, you look pale. I hope
soon to bring back the roses to your cheeks. Major--"
"Don't speak to me, you scoundrel, until you tell me what you have
done with the body of my boy."
"You shall know in a few minutes, major. Indeed, I think it is about
time that this comedy should end!"
"Comedy!" echoed Mrs. Dallas, in scorn. "You mean tragedy!"
"I mean no such thing," retorted Etwald, opening the door. "All true
comedies end in the meeting of lovers."
"Good heavens!" cried Jen, recoiling. "What do you mean?"
Etwald pointed to the open door.
"There is my explanation," said he, coolly.
The three people gave a simultaneous cry of amazement and delight, for
there, on the threshold of the room, alive and well, stood--Maurice
Alymer.