THE NEXT MORNING
"Fogs and smokes and chokes," said the fat cook, her elbows on the
table, and a saucer of tea at her lips. "I wish I were back in Essex,
that I do."
"The fogs come from there," cried Jarvey, who was page-boy in the
Jersey mansion, and knew more than was good for him. "If they drained
them marshes, fogs wouldn't come here. Old Rasper says so, and knows a
lot, he does."
"He don't know Essex," grunted the cook. "A lovely county----"
"For frogs," sniggered Jarvey, devouring his slice of bread.
The housemaid joined in and declared for Devon, whence she came. The
Swiss manservant talked of his native mountains, and was sneered at by
the company generally as a foreigner. Jarvey was particularly
insolent, and poor Fritz was reduced to swearing in his own language,
whereupon they laughed the more. It was a most inspiriting beginning
to the day's work.
The kitchen in the basement was a large stone apartment, and even on
the brightest of days not very well lighted. On this particular
morning the gas was burning, and was likely to continue alight during
the day, as the fog was as thick as ever. The servants collected round
the table were having an early cup of tea. To assist the progress of
digestion they conversed as above, and gradually drifted into talking
of their mistress and of the boarders. Miss Bull in particular seemed
to be disliked.
"She's a sly cat, with that white face of hers," said the cook. "Twice
she said the soup was burnt. I never liked her."
"Madame don't, either," said Jarvey, ruffling his short hair. "They've
been quarreling awful. I shouldn't wonder if Madame gave her notice."
"Ah! Miss Margery will have something to say to that," chimed in the
housemaid; "she likes Miss Bull."
"'Cause Miss Bull makes much of her, and no one else does."
"Well, for my part," said the cook, "I'm always civil to Miss Bull,
though she is a cat. If the mistress died, Miss Margery would govern
the house, and Miss Bull governs her. I don't want to lose no good
situation through bad manners."
"Madame ain't likely to die," said Jarvey; "she's as healthy as a
stray dog, and as sharp. I don't care for old Miss Bull, or for
stopping here, as I'm a-going to get a place as waiter at a club."
"Ach, leetle boy, you will be no vaiter," said Fritz.
"Shut your mouth, froggy," snapped Jarvey, and produced a cigarette.
"Don't you smoke here, you brat," shrieked the cook, and, snatching it
from his mouth, flung it into the fire. "Here's Madame's tea. Take it
to her sitting-room. She's sure to be up and waiting."
Jarvey showed fight at first, but as the cook had a strong arm he
thought discretion the better part of valor, and went grumbling up the
stairs. Mrs. Jersey was an early riser, and usually had a cup of tea
in her sitting-room at seven o'clock. After this refresher she gave
audience to the cook, looked over her tradesmen's books, and
complained generally that the servants were not doing their duty.
Madame was not at her best in the morning, and Jarvey went up most
unwillingly. The housemaid should have gone, but when she could she
sent Jarvey, and when he refused to go Fritz was dispatched to bear
the brunt of Madame's anger. She usually scolded Fritz in French.
When the boy went the servants continued chatting and eating. It was
just on seven, and they were reluctantly rising to begin their duties,
when a crash was heard and then a clatter of boots, "There," cried the
cook, "that brat's been and smashed the tray. Won't Madame give it to
him? Mercy! mercy!"--her voice leaped an octave--"he's mad!"
This was because Jarvey, with his hair on end and his face perfectly
white, tore into the kitchen. He raced round and round the table, his
eyes starting from his head. The servants huddled together in fear,
and the cook seized the toasting-fork. They all agreed with her that
the page was mad. Suddenly Jarvey tumbled in a heap, and began to
moan, with his face on the floor. "Oh! the blood--the blood!"
"What's he saying about blood?" asked the scared cook.
Jarvey leaped to his feet. "She's dead--she's murdered!" he shrieked.
"I see her all covered with blood. Oh--mother--oh, I want my mother!"
and down he dropped on the floor again, kicking and screaming.
The boy was scared out of his life, and Fritz laid hold of him, while
the other servants, headed by the valiant cook, ran up the stairs and
burst into Madame's sitting-room, which was on the ground floor, and
no great distance from the front door. The next moment they were out
again, all shrieking murder and calling loudly for the police. The
sleeping boarders took the alarm, and in the lightest of attire
appeared on the stairs with white faces. The terrible word shrieked by
a dozen voices through the silent house curdled the blood in their
aged veins. What with the early hour, the fog, the gas, and the crying
of the servants, it was like a nightmare.
An hour later the police were in the house, summoned by Miss Bull, who
alone of the boarders retained her head. As Margery, who was next in
command after her aunt, could not be brought to do anything, Miss Bull
took charge. It was Miss Bull who first ventured into the sitting-room
where Madame, huddled up in a chair drawn to the table, lay face
downward in such a position as to reveal a gaping wound in her neck.
And it was Miss Bull who sent the servants back to the kitchen, who
closed the door of the death-chamber, and who told Jarvey to fetch the
nearest policeman. Consequently it was Miss Bull whom the inspector
addressed, as she seemed to be the sole person in authority. Mrs.
Taine retreated to her bedroom with a prayer-book, Mr. Granger went
for a walk in the fog, Margery sat in a stupor, her eyes dull and her
slack mouth awry. The little old maid, from being a nonentity, became
a person of first-class importance. She displayed perfect tact and
self-control in dealing with the terrified old men and women, and no
one would have given her credit for such generalship. But the hour had
come for Miss Bull to assert herself, and she proved to be equal to
the occasion.
"Now, then," said the inspector, when he had posted his men and was
alone with Miss Bull in the drawing-room, "what do you know of this?"
Miss Bull, her face white and drawn, her eyes sharper than ever, and
her manner perfectly composed, shook her head. "I know absolutely
nothing," she said in her monotonous voice. "Last night we had our
usual reception, but it broke up at ten o'clock. Madame dismissed the
guests at that hour, and stood in the doorway to do so. I retired to
my bedroom with Madame's niece, and after a game of 'Patience' I went
to bed."
"Does Mrs. Jersey's niece sleep with you?"
"Margery? No! She sleeps in a room above. It was a few minutes to
eleven when she left me. I was in bed shortly after the clock struck
the hour. I am sure Margery had nothing to do with it. She was quite
devoted to her aunt, and as the poor girl has no money, I don't know
how she will live now that Madame is dead."
The inspector thought for a moment. He was a tall, thin man, rather
military in appearance, and with a wooden, expressionless face, which
he found of great service in hiding his thoughts when examining those
he suspected. He certainly did not suspect Miss Bull, and seemed
inclined to make her his coadjutor. In proof of this he made her
accompany him to the room wherein Mrs. Jersey lay dead.
"It's not far from the front door," mused Inspector Quex. "Could any
one have entered?"
"No, I am sure of that," put in Miss Bull, emphatically. "Madame
always locked the front door every night herself and kept the key. It
could not be opened in the morning until she chose."
"Who opened it this morning?"
"I did. I knew that the key would be in Madame's pocket."
"And it was?"
"Yes. She must have locked the door as usual, and then have gone to
put the light out in her sitting-room before going upstairs."
"Was that before eleven?"
"I can't say. I did not leave my room after ten. But Margery may have
seen some one as she went up to her bedroom when she left me."
"I'll question the girl," said Quex, and entered the sitting-room.
It was of no great size, with one window, which looked out onto the
square. This was locked, and, even if it had not been, no one could
have climbed in, as Quex saw that the area was below. "And Madame
chained the area gate every night with her own hands," explained Miss
Bull, who was watching him.
The inspector turned suddenly toward her. "It seems to me that the
deceased was over-cautious. Was she afraid?"
"I think she was," admitted Miss Bull. "She had a habit of looking
over her shoulder, and, as I have stated, was particular as to bolts
and bars. But she was a secretive woman, and never said anything to me
about her fears, if she had any."
"Were you great friends?"
"No," replied the old maid, bluntly, "we were not. Madame behaved in
an extremely rude manner, and had she lived I should have given her
notice. I never liked her," added Miss Bull, with feminine spite.
"You'll be all the more likely to speak the truth then," said Quex,
cynically, and turned to examine the body.
Madame was still in the black-silk dress which she wore on the
previous night. Seated at the round center-table, she had evidently
been struck from behind, and killed before she had time to cry out.
Her arms were on the table, and her head had fallen forward. The
furniture of the room was not in disorder, the red table-cloth was not
even ruffled. The murder had been committed without haste or noise, as
Quex pointed out to Miss Bull.
"Whosoever murdered her must have been a friend," said he.
"It doesn't seem a friendly act to kill a defenseless woman," said
Miss Bull, looking coldly on the limp figure.
"You don't quite understand. What I mean is that Mrs. Jersey knew the
person who killed her."
Miss Bull shook her head. "I don't agree with you," she observed, and
Quex was astonished that she should dare to contradict. "She was
struck from behind, before she had time to turn her head."
"Quite so. But the assassin must have entered the room, and unless the
deceased was deaf----"
"Madame had particularly sharp ears."
"Then that makes it all the more certain. Had any one unexpected
entered she would have been on the alert; there would have been a
struggle. Now we see that the furniture is not disturbed, therefore we
can argue from this that Mrs. Jersey was in friendly conversation with
the assassin. She was seated at the table, and the assassin was at her
back, which shows a certain amount of trust. In fact, Miss Bull, the
person who committed this murder was the last person Mrs. Jersey
expected to hurt her in any way."
"She had no enemies that I knew of."
"I talk rather of friends," said Quex, coolly. "You have not been
listening to my argument."
"Oh, I quite understand. But I don't fancy that Madame had any friends
either. She was a woman who kept very much to herself."
"Do you know anything of her past?"
"Absolutely nothing. She took this house some fourteen or fifteen
years ago, I believe. I have been here ten, and was very comfortable,
save that Madame and I disagreed on many points. She was always rude
to me, and I don't think she was a lady." Miss Bull drew herself up.
"My father was a general," she declared proudly.
But Quex was too busy examining the room to attend to Miss Bull's
family history. He searched for the weapon with which the crime had
been committed, but could find none. There was no blood on the
furniture, although some had trickled down from the wound onto the
table-cloth. The blow must have been struck strongly and surely, and
with the power of a deadly hatred. It was at this moment that the
doctor arrived, and, turning the body over to him, Quex conducted Miss
Bull back to the drawing-room, where he examined all who were in the
house. "Has any one left this morning?" he asked. Jarvey had seen Mr.
Granger go out, and said so. Even while he was speaking Mr. Granger
returned, and, filled with suspicion, Quex examined him first.
Granger, when he saw what the inspector was bent upon, expressed the
greatest indignation. "How dare you accuse a gentleman of such a
thing?" he cried. "I went out to compose my nerves."
"Into the fog?" asked Quex, doubtfully.
"Yes, sir, and I should have gone out into snow and hail if I had
desired. There was no intimation that none were to leave the house.
Had a notice been given to that effect I should have remained."
"I beg your pardon," said Quex, seeing that the old gentleman was
fuming, and seeing also that such a senile creature, with so sheeplike
a face, was innocent enough, "but it is my duty to be suspicious."
"But not to accuse innocent people of a crime, sir."
"No. But, for the sake of an example, will you tell me what you did
with yourself since leaving the drawing-room last night at ten?"
"Certainly. I have no reason to conceal my doings, officer," said Mr.
Granger, angrily. "I retired to my bedroom at ten and to bed. The last
I saw of Madame she was standing on the door-step bidding farewell to
her guests. In the morning I was awakened by the news of the murder,
and went out to walk off the horror produced by the sight of that poor
woman."
"Did you see the body?"
"We all saw the body, till Miss Bull----"
"I turned them out and locked the door," put in Miss Bull, sharply.
"It was as well that nothing should be disturbed in the room till the
police arrived. That was my argument."
"And a very good one," said Quex, approvingly. "You have a head on
your shoulders, Miss."
"My father was a general," replied the old maid, nodding, "and I
inherit his talent for organization."
The next witness examined was Margery, and she refused to open her
mouth unless she sat by Miss Bull. The old maid held Margery's hand
and coaxed her into answering when she proved recalcitrant. Quex could
not but admire the way in which Miss Bull managed the lumpish
creature.
"You left the drawing-room with this lady?" he asked, indicating Miss
Bull, and speaking in a persuasive tone.
"Yes. We played 'Patience' in Miss Bull's bedroom. I did it twice."
"At what time did you leave?"
"About eleven--just before it."
"Did the clock strike the hour when you were in your own bedroom?"
"No," said Margery, trying to collect her wits, "when I was in the
passage."
"What were you doing in the passage? It would only take you a few
minutes to get to your room, would it not?"
"Yes," put in Miss Bull. "My bedroom is on the second floor, and
Margery's is on the fourth, right above my head. You could easily have
got to your room before the clock struck, Margery.
"I did try to," admitted the girl, "but my aunt kept me talking."
Quex sat up. "Did you speak to your aunt at that hour?"
"Yes. She met me walking up to my room, and scolded me for being out
of bed at that hour. I said I had been with Miss Bull, and----"
"And Madame made polite remarks about me," said the old maid, grimly.
"Oh, I can well understand what she said. But it would seem, Mr.
Inspector, that Margery was the last person to see Madame alive."
"We'll see," said Quex, who was not going to be taught his business
even by so clever a person as Miss Bull. "Was there any one else
about?" he asked Margery.
"No. My aunt said that every one was in bed but me, and that she would
not have it. The clock struck eleven, and she called me names. She
then took me by the arm and pushed me into my room and locked the
door. Yes, she did," nodded Margery, vindictively; "she locked the
door."
"Why did she do that?" asked Quex staring.
"I don't know. I wasn't doing anything," grumbled Margery, "but she
said she wouldn't have me wandering about the house at all hours of
the night and locked me in. I couldn't get out this morning till Miss
Bull let me out."
"Margery usually brings me my cup of tea," explained Miss Bull, "and
as she did not come this morning as usual I was anxious. When the
alarm came I went to look for Margery in her room. The key was in the
door, but the door was locked. I released Margery."
"Oh, the key was in the door," mused Quex. "It would seem, then, that
the deceased simply turned the key and left it. Humph! I wonder why
she locked the girl in?"
Miss Bull shrugged her thin shoulders. "It was spite on her part," she
said. "Madame never cared to see Margery with me."
"Because I love you so," said the girl with an adoring look, and Miss
Bull patted her hand fondly. It was strange, thought the inspector,
that so clever and refined a woman should love so stupid and
coarse-looking a girl. But like does not always draw to like.
While Quex was thus examining the witnesses, Train and Brendon were
seated in the sitting-room of the former, discussing the crime.
Brendon was gloomy, for in the unexpected death of Mrs. Jersey he saw
the downfall of his hopes of proving his legitimacy. "There's no
chance of my marrying Dorothy now," he said with a sigh. "I'll remain
plain George Brendon to the end of my days, and a bachelor at that."
"It's awful!" gasped Leonard, who was white and haggard. "I never
expected that my search for types would lead me into the neighborhood
of a tragedy. Who could have killed her?"
"I can't say."
"I wonder if her death has anything to do with your affairs?"
Brendon looked up suddenly and with a stern, flushed face. "Train," he
said sharply, "whatever you do, say nothing about what I told you last
night."
"Yes. But what you told me might lead to the discovery of the
assassin."
"I don't care if it does," said Brendon, angrily, and rising to his
feet to emphasize his determination, "you are to keep my confidence."
"Oh, I shan't say anything. But do you think----"
"I think nothing. But I am sure that my affairs have nothing to do
with this death. I came to see Mrs. Jersey, and this morning I should
have had the truth out of her. But she is dead, and so all my projects
go to the four winds. But I don't want them spoken of."
"You can depend upon me," said Leonard, dominated by the strong will
of his friend. "But who could have----"
"I tell you I don't know," cried George, restlessly. "How you do harp
on that subject."
"It is the subject of the hour," retorted Train. "And a most
unpleasant one. Here I shall have to remain until that police-officer
questions me."
"What story will you tell?"
"Any story but the one I told to you," retorted Brendon.
"Well," said Leonard, after a pause, "you can rely upon me. I shall
not say anything to get you into trouble."
Brendon laughed, but not pleasantly. "My good fellow, I have done
nothing wrong. Even if my tale were told I could not be accused of
having to do anything with this murder."
"Oh, I didn't mean that for one moment," protested Train, uneasily.
"I know you didn't. Nevertheless, if this police inspector knew that I
told you he might get it into his stupid head that--well." Brendon
broke off abruptly. "I don't know what he mightn't think. However, I
shall answer his questions as to my visit here and then go away."
"I'll go also," said Train with a shudder. "I can't stop here after
what has occurred. It's terrible. To think of that poor woman
murdered. How lucky I locked my door last night!"
Brendon stopped in his walk and looked sharply at the young man. "Why
did you lock your door?" he asked surprised.
"Well, you see, after Mrs. Jersey came into the sitting-room I didn't
like to think of her prowling about. One is so helpless when one is
asleep," and Train shuddered.
"Did you expect her to murder you?" asked Brendon, derisively.
"I didn't expect anything," retorted Leonard, rather nettled, "but I
didn't want her to come into my rooms, so I got out of bed and locked
the sitting-room door."
"Not your bedroom door?"
"No, the sitting-room door; so both you and I were quite safe from her
prying."
Brendon looked steadily at Train and gave a short laugh. "Yes. As you
locked the sitting-room door she could as little enter as you or I
could go out. Leonard--" he paused and pinched his lip--"I do not
think it will be wise for you to tell the inspector this."
"Why not? You and I are innocent."
"That goes without the saying," answered George, sharply; "but the
less we have to do with this unpleasant matter the better. I suppose
we in common with every one else here, will be called to give evidence
at the inquest. Once that is done and Mrs. Jersey is safely buried I
wash my hands of the whole affair."
Train shuddered. "So do I," said he; "I am the last man in the world
to wish to pursue the subject. But who can be guilty? It must be some
one in the house!"
"I suppose so," replied Brendon, "unless Mrs. Jersey had a visitor
last night."
"till have had," said Leonard. "When I locked the sitting-room
door, and that was about half-past eleven I think, I heard the closing
of the front door."
"The deuce you did."
"Yes, I put my head out and listened to see if all was quiet. I
distinctly heard the front door close."
"She must have had a visitor," said Brendon, thoughtfully; "yet as she
alone could have let that visitor out, and as she must have been alive
to do so, the visitor cannot be the assassin."
"The visitor might have killed her and then have closed the door
himself."
"Himself? How do you know the visitor was a man? It might have been a
woman. Besides, Miss Bull told me that the door was locked as usual,
and that she took the key this morning to open it from Mrs. Jersey's
pocket. No, Train, the person who killed Mrs. Jersey is in the house.
But were I you I should say as little as possible to the inspector
about this."
Leonard took this advice, and, when questioned, simply stated that he
had retired to bed at eleven and had heard nothing. Brendon made a
similar statement, and Quex saw no reason to doubt their evidence.
He questioned all the boarders and all the servants, but could learn
nothing likely to throw any light on the darkness which concealed the
crime. No one had heard a noise in the night, no one had heard a
scream, and it was conclusively proved that every one in the house was
in bed by eleven o'clock; the majority, indeed, before that hour.
Jarvey had been the last to retire, at half-past ten o'clock, and then
he had left Madame in her sitting-room with a book and a glass of
negus. She sent him off in a hurry and with, as he expressed it, "a
flea in his ear"--being somewhat out of temper. It was thus apparent
that Margery, who saw Madame at the striking of the hour, was the last
person to see her alive. Mrs. Jersey went to her own sitting-room and
there had been struck down.
"It was about twelve o'clock that she was stabbed," said the doctor,
after he had made his examination; "but I can go only by the condition
of the body. I should say a little before or after twelve. She was
stabbed in the neck with a sharp instrument."
"With a knife?" said the inspector.
"No," rejoined the doctor, decisively, "it was with a dagger--by a
kind of stiletto. It was not by an ordinary knife that the wound was
inflicted," and then the doctor who loved to hear himself talk, went
into technical details about the death. He proved beyond doubt that
Mrs. Jersey must have died almost immediately with hardly a groan. For
some reason Quex took one and all into the chamber of death and showed
them the corpse. Perhaps he expected that the sight would shake the
nerves of the murderer, supposing the murderer was among those who saw
the body. But no one flinched in the way he expected. Mrs. Jersey was
as dead as a door-nail, but no one knew and no one could prove who had
struck the blow.