A NINE-DAYS' WONDER
On account of its mystery the murder of Mrs. Jersey made a great
sensation. The season was dull, and there was nothing of interest in
the newspapers, therefore the mysterious crime was a godsend to the
reporters. They flocked in shoals to Amelia Square and haunted the
Jersey mansion like unquiet ghosts. Whenever any boarder went out for
a walk he or she would be questioned by eager gentlemen of the press.
Idle sightseers of a morbid turn of mind came to look at the place
where the crime had been committed, and pictures of the house appeared
in several papers. From being a peaceful neighborhood, Amelia Square
became quite lively.
The boarders found all this most unpleasant. This rude awakening from
their sleepy life was too much for them, and the majority made
preparations to leave as soon as the inquest was over. Until then they
were under police surveillance and could not leave the neighborhood, a
restriction which in itself was sufficiently unpleasant. Brendon found
it particularly so, as he was anxious to get back to his own rooms at
Kensington and to his work. But even when he told Inspector Quex that
he was merely a visitor and knew nothing about the matter, that
zealous officer objected to his going. Perhaps, had Brendon insisted,
he might have gained his point, but he did not think it was worth
while to make the fact of his stay in the Jersey mansion too public,
and therefore held his peace. He stopped with Leonard as usual, but
the two men were not such friends as they had been.
Why Train had changed toward him Brendon could not understand. But
ever since Leonard had been submitted to the ordeal of seeing the
corpse he had been an altered man. From being gay he was now dull;
instead of talking volubly, as he usually did, he was silent for hours
at a stretch, and he appeared to shun Brendon's company. George knew
that Train was impressionable and sensitive, and thought that the
sight of the dead and the ordeal of the examination had been too much
for his weak nerves. This might have been the case, but Leonard never
gave him the satisfaction of knowing if his diagnosis was correct.
After a time George ceased to ply him with questions, and contented
himself with the usual courtesies of life. But in his heart he felt
the change deeply. Fool as Train was, Brendon liked him sufficiently
to resent his altered demeanor.
At the inquest nothing was discovered likely to elucidate the mystery.
The boarders all gave the same evidence they had already given to
Quex. Certainly it came out that Miss Bull had prophesied that Madame
would die a violent death, but when questioned on this point she
merely said that she had done so because the death card had been
turned up. Taken in conjunction with another card, according to the
reading employed by fortune-tellers, a violent death was assuredly
prophesied. But, as Miss Bull said, no one was more astonished than
herself at the speedy fulfillment of the prediction. "I told the
fortunes on that night for amusement only," she said, "as I do not
believe there is any sense in such things. It was mere chance, nothing
more. I am not a believer in cards as prophets."
But the coincidence was so extraordinary that several of the
newspapers hinted that the old maid knew more than she chose to tell.
Miss Bull was up in arms at once, and, after consulting her solicitor,
threatened actions for libel until such statements were withdrawn. And
certainly, on the face of it, the accusation was absurd. The majority
of people who did believe in fortune-telling by the cards insisted
that Miss Bull was quite an adept. Several urged her to set up in
business, promising her their patronage, but the little old maid drew
herself up, and, mentioning that her father had been a general,
refused to entertain the idea.
Beyond this episode there was little interest to be found in the
details of the inquest. It appeared that every one was in bed by
eleven, that every one had slept soundly more or less, and that all
were astonished and shocked when the tragedy came to light next
morning. Train could have created a sensation by stating that he had
heard the front door open after eleven; but, true to his promise to
George, he said nothing about this. Miss Bull, on the other hand,
declared that the front door was locked as usual, and that she had
taken the key from the dead woman's pocket to open it when the police
entered. It would appear that Mrs. Jersey had been murdered by some
one in the house. Yet not one scrap of evidence could be found to show
that any one in the house could possibly be guilty. The boarders were
all old, the servants all ordinary human beings, and no motive could
be assigned to any one person for the committal of so cruel a crime.
Moreover, the fact that the instrument used was a stiletto (and the
doctor held to that) showed that the crime must have been committed by
a foreigner. The only foreign person in the house on the night in
question was Fritz, the Swiss waiter. But he would not have killed a
fly, and, moreover, exculpated himself entirely with the aid of
Jarvey, in whose room he slept. The jury brought in a verdict of
murder against some person or persons unknown, and that was all that
could be done toward the elucidation of the Amelia Square crime.
"There's only one thing that wasn't spoken of," said Quex, when he saw
the boarders in the drawing-room for the last time; "it seems that
Mrs. Jersey always put out the light above the door at eleven, or when
the guests departed. On this occasion it burned all night, and, as it
shines behind crimson glass, such a red window might be a guide to any
one who did not know the house, but who had been given that sign
whereby to distinguish it."
"I can explain that," said Granger, who was present. "When Madame was
bidding farewell to her guests she thought that some of them might be
lost in the fog. Therefore she called out after them that she would
let the light burn later so that any might be able to retrace their
steps."
"Well," said Quex, scratching his head, "that explanation is clear."
"And there is no use for it," put in Miss Bull, "since the front door
was locked and no one entered the house on that night."
"That's just it," said the inspector, sagaciously. "As all you ladies
and gentlemen are clearly innocent the crime must have been committed
by some one from outside. Now, is there any one to whom Madame gave a
latch-key?"
"None of us had latch-keys," said Harmer. "Madame would not allow such
a thing."
"Oh, I don't mean you, or those like you, Mr. Harmer. At your age a
latch-key is not necessary. But Mrs. Jersey may have given one to a
friend of hers who came to see her on that night. Had she any friend
in whom she would place such confidence?"
"No," said Miss Bull, decisively. "She trusted no one that far. And I
don't think she had a single friend outside this house."
"And very few in it," muttered Mrs. Taine, who on various occasions
had suffered from Madame's tongue.
"In that case," said Quex, rising to take his leave, "there is nothing
more to be discussed. Who killed Mrs. Jersey, or why she was killed,
will probably never be known. Ladies and gentlemen, good-day," and the
inspector bowed himself stiffly out of the room, with the air of a man
who washed his hands of the whole concern.
And, after all, what could he do? There was no proof likely to
indicate any one as the assassin, and since Leonard kept silent on the
point of the front door having been opened after eleven, it was
impossible to say that the criminal had entered the house. Had Mr.
Inspector known of this he might have made further inquiries; but he
knew nothing and departed extremely perplexed. The Amelia Square crime
was one of those mysterious murders which would have to be relegated
to obscurity for sheer want of evidence.
"When are you going back to Duke Street?" asked Brendon as he took his
leave of Train.
"This very day," replied the young man, gloomily. "I don't want to
stop a moment longer than I can help in this awful house."
"I expect many of the others are of your way of thinking, Train. But,
so far as I can see, there is no hope of learning who killed the
woman."
"If you had only allowed me to tell Quex about the door being opened
he might have traced the assassin."
"I don't think so." Brendon shook his head. "It was a foggy night, and
whosoever entered would be able to slink away without being seen."
"I am not so sure of that. There is only one outlet to the square, and
there stands a policeman on guard."
"The policeman would not be there all the time," argued Brendon, "to
say nothing of the fog, which would hide any one desirous of evading
recognition, as the assassin assuredly must have wished."
"All the same, I wish I had told Quex."
"Well, then, tell him if you like," said George, vexed with this
pertinacity.
"But you asked me not to."
"Only because I fear, with your weak nature, that one question will
lead to another, until the whole of my private affairs will come to
light. I don't want those to be known at Scotland Yard, let alone the
chance that I might be accused of the crime."
"Oh, that's ridiculous! You could not have left the sitting-room
unless I had let you out, and there is no door from your bedroom."
"That is true enough," answered Brendon, with an ironical smile, the
significance of which was lost on Train. "But if the whole of my story
came to light you might be accused of helping me to get rid of the
woman."
"I?" Leonard's hair almost rose on end. "How could I be mixed up in
it?"
"Well, see here," argued Brendon, who thought it just as well to make
Train's own safety depend upon the discretion of too free a tongue. "I
tell you about this house, and on my recommendation you come here. I
come to stop with you and reveal my reasons for coming. These have to
do with the possession of a secret by the murdered woman. All that, to
a policeman, would be suspicious. What would be easier than for me to
go down the stairs and, when the woman refused to confess as to my
legitimacy, to stab her? Then I could return to my bed, and you could
prove an alibi on my behalf by your tale of having locked the
sitting-room door."
Train shuddered. "I see how easily we can get into trouble. I shall
say nothing. I wish I had not come here. I shall go abroad until all
blows over."
"Why," said Brendon, in scorn, "what is there to blow over? No more
will be heard of this matter if you hold your tongue. The inquest is
at an end, the woman will be buried shortly, and you will be back
leading your own life. So far as I am concerned you know that I am not
guilty, and that I could not have left my room since you locked that
special door. Then, as to hearing the front door open, that may have
been a hallucination on your part."
"No. I am sure it wasn't. I heard distinctly."
"Well--" Brendon shrugged his shoulders, but seemed uncomfortable--"I
dare say the assassin came and went in that way. But if he, or she,
did, the door was found fast locked in the morning, unless Miss Bull
is telling a lie."
"She might be."
"I don't see what she has to gain. But there's no use talking any
further. The matter is ended so far as I am concerned."
"What will you do now?"
"I am going to see Dorothy," said Brendon, "and tell her that there is
no chance of our marriage. Nor is there, for I cannot see my way to
prove my legitimacy. We must part, and I shall probably go down the
country for six months or so, to finish my novel and to get rid of my
heartache."
Train remained silent, looking at the ground. Then he glanced at his
friend in a doubtful way. "What has become of your yellow holly?"
Brendon produced it from his pocket. "It withered, so I took it out of
my coat and put it into this envelope."
"Do you know if Miss Ward gave any one else a piece of yellow holly?"
Brendon stared at this strange question. "Not to my knowledge. Why do
you ask?"
Train shuffled his feet and looked down again. "It is an exceptionally
rare sort of thing," he said uneasily, "and its effect on Mrs. Jersey
was so strange that I wondered if she connected it with any trouble or
disaster."
"You made the same remark before," said Brendon, dryly, "and we could
arrive at no conclusion. But in any case I don't see that Miss Ward
giving me the holly has anything to do with Mrs. Jersey's alarm--if
indeed she was alarmed."
"I think she was," said Train, decisively, "and if I were you I would
ask Miss Ward why she gave you the yellow holly."
"What would be the sense in that?"
"You might learn why Mrs. Jersey was startled."
Brendon laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Your active brain is
building up a perfect romance," he declared. "There can be no
connection between Dorothy and Mrs. Jersey."
"Did she know you were coming to stop here on that night?"
"Yes. I told her so when I met her in the Park in the morning. It was
then that she asked me to afternoon tea."
"And at the afternoon tea she gave you the holly?"
"Yes. You seem to think she did it on purpose that Mrs. Jersey----"
Train interrupted him quickly. "It is you who are building up a
romance now," he said. "I never thought anything of the sort. But I do
say that the coincidence is strange."
"What coincidence?"
"That you should have in your coat a flower--I suppose one can call
berried holly a flower--which awakens unpleasant recollections in Mrs.
Jersey's breast."
"In a word, Train, you fancy that an inquiry into the circumstances of
the yellow holly may lead to a detection of the assassin."
"I don't go so far as that. But I should not be surprised if something
of that sort did eventuate."
"Then you do go so far as that," said Brendon with a shrug. "However,
there is nothing more to be said. My advice to you is to hold your
tongue lest we should both get into trouble."
"I am absolutely innocent."
"So am I if it comes to that. All the same, the less said the better."
Train shook hands with more cordiality than he had hitherto displayed.
"I'll be silent for my own sake as well as for yours," he said, and
the two parted, Leonard to pack up, and Brendon to journey with his
bag for Kensington. Both men were conscious of a relief when they took
leave of each other.
"I wish he hadn't come here," said Train when Brendon departed.
"I wish I had held my tongue," muttered George when he was in his cab.
"That fool seems to think I know something about this matter."
Of course the economy of the mansion was disordered when the crime was
committed. But, thanks to the firm handling of Miss Bull, who now took
the reins which had fallen from the hands of Madame, a few days put a
different complexion on affairs. Margery knew where her aunt kept the
money, and Miss Bull made several of the boarders behindhand pay up.
Thus there was enough money to go on with, and Miss Bull decided to
wait until after the funeral, before deciding what she intended to do
herself. When Mrs. Jersey was buried her lawyer made his appearance
with the will. It was read to Margery, and Miss Bull stopped beside
the poor girl as the only friend she had in the world. The will was
short and concise, as it seemed that there was very little to leave.
The lawyer read it and then looked at Margery to hear what she had to
say. The girl simply stared at him blankly, as though not
comprehending his meaning, and Miss Bull touched her elbow.
"Do you hear what he says?" she asked rebukingly.
"Yes," replied Margery, "but I don't understand. Haven't I any money?"
The lawyer would have read the will again, but Miss Bull held up her
hand.
"She is stunned with grief," said Miss Bull, "and is not capable of
attending to business. Go and lie down, Margery, and I will speak to
this gentleman."
"You do exactly what you like, dear Miss Bull," said Margery, rising,
and then turned to the lawyer. "Let Miss Bull do exactly as she likes.
I leave all in her hands."
"The most sensible thing you can do," said the legal adviser under his
breath, and when Margery had left the room he turned to the old maid.
"Is she an idiot?"
"By no means. But she is not very clever. I have taken a great
interest in her, as, to tell you the truth, Mr. James, she was badly
treated by her aunt. If you will explain the will to me I will see
what can be done to put things straight. I am sorry for the girl and
she is devoted to me."
"It is lucky she has such a friend," said Mr. James, heartily. He did
not care much for Miss Bull, whose very presence seemed to inspire
mistrust, but she was acting very well on this occasion. Moreover, as
Margery was not likely to prove a lucrative client, Mr. James was
anxious to shuffle the business onto Miss Bull's shoulders and get out
of it as fast as he could. "What is it you wish to know?" he asked.
"About this will," said Miss Bull, laying one thin finger on the
document. "Madame leaves to Margery Watson, her niece, the money in
the green box in her sitting-room, and also the jewels, which I
presume mean the diamonds."
"Yes. Also, if you will recollect, the clothes of the deceased lady.
"Is there nothing else?" asked Miss Bull, raising her black eyes
inquiringly. "What of the lease of this house?"
"That is the property of Lord Derrington, and he only let the house to
Mrs. Jersey by the year."
"Is not that rather strange?"
"Very strange. But the whole connection of Lord Derrington with my
late client is strange. I know that she received from him an annuity
of five hundred a year and the lease of this house--by the year,
remember--from December to December. Now she is dead the annuity
lapses, and the lease naturally will not be renewed after next month."
"It is now the end of November," said Miss Bull, quite composed. "I
understand you to say that the lease expires when December----"
"It ends on the 31st of December," explained James, "and as Mrs.
Jersey is dead it will not be renewed. Lord Derrington, so far as I
know, has no interest in Miss Margery Watson."
"What interest had he in Mrs. Jersey?" asked Miss Bull, scenting a
scandal, and her eyes brightening.
"I can't tell you that, and if I could I would not."
"Quite right. I beg your pardon for asking, but you see in the
interests of that poor girl I wish to know exactly how matters stand."
"They stand as I tell you," said James, and rose to go. "I have
nothing more to do in the matter and my connection with the late Mrs.
Jersey ceases here."
"One moment," said Miss Bull, quietly. "What of the furniture?"
"That is also the property of Lord Derrington. He bought the house as
it stood from the executor of the last owner, Mr. Anthony Lockwood,
fifteen years ago. Mrs. Jersey wished to set up a boarding-house, so
Lord Derrington placed her in here. Every stick in the place belongs
to him. Should Miss Watson leave she goes with the jewels, the money
in the green box, and with her deceased aunt's clothes."
"A very poor outfit to start life on at her age," said Miss Bull,
rising in her prim manner. "By the way, Mr. James, what is the name of
the late Mr. Lockwood's executor?"
"Roger Ireland," replied the lawyer, looking rather surprised. "Why do
you ask?"
"For my own satisfaction, Mr. James. If no one else will assist this
poor girl I shall do so. Good-day."
James departed with a better opinion of Miss Bull, although at any
time he had no reason to have a bad one. But her manner inspired
mistrust, and, kindly as she appeared to be acting towards Margery, he
could not help thinking that there was more in her action than mere
philanthropy. "You're a deep one," thought James. "I shouldn't wonder
if we heard more of you."
But so far as James was personally concerned he heard no more of the
little woman. Miss Bull collected the boarders in the drawing-room
after dinner and made a speech. She said that it was Margery Watson's
intention to keep on the house, and that the terms would be as before.
If any chose to stop they would be welcome, but those who decided to
go could have their bills made out at once. Having thus acted as
the mouthpiece of Margery, Miss Bull took the girl away to the
sitting-room of the late Mrs. Jersey, the very one in which the
tragedy had taken place. Margery was unwilling to enter, much less
hold a conversation there, but Miss Bull, who had no nerves to speak
of and a very strong will, laughed her out of this folly.
"Now my dear Margery," she said, when the girl was seated, "I want you
to pay the greatest attention to what I am about to say, and to repeat
nothing of my conversation."
"You are my best friend," said Margery, looking at the peaked white
face with adoring eyes. "I shall do whatever you say."
"Good child," said Miss Bull, patting the hand that was laid
confidingly on her lap. "Listen, child. Lord Derrington is the owner
of this house, and he leased it to your aunt by the year--a very
strange arrangement, for which there ought to be some explanation. I
am going to seek it from Lord Derrington."
"But he won't tell you anything, Miss Bull."
The old maid tightened her thin lips. "I think he will," she said in a
rather ominous manner; "at all events, there is no harm in my trying.
With regard to the annuity----"
"What annuity?"
"I forgot--you don't know about that. Well, there is no need that you
should. But it seems that Lord Derrington allowed your late aunt an
annuity of five hundred a year. I don't know the reason why he did so,
and as such reason is not pertinent to matters in hand I do not wish
to know, but the annuity must lapse. It is not likely that Lord
Derrington will continue it to you." She paused and looked at the
girl. "Your parents are dead, I believe, Margery?"
"Yes. For many years I have been with my aunt. She was my only
relative, dear Miss Bull."
"All the better. I don't want other people interfering," said Miss
Bull in her icy way. "Well, Margery, I shall see if I can get Lord
Derrington to renew the lease to you, and I shall be your security.
With the money in hand--I have counted it, and with that in the bank
it amounts to two hundred pounds--we can continue the boarding-house.
A few of the boarders will go, but many will remain, as they will not
get anywhere so cheap a place. You will be the nominal head of the
house, but in reality I shall manage. Do you agree?"
"I am your slave," cried Margery with melodramatic intensity.
"You are my friend," said Miss Bull, her thin lips relaxing. "I am a
lonely woman, Margery, though I still have a surviving sister--" her
lips tightened again as she said this--"and I love you, my dear, for
your goodness. Well, we shall keep on the boarding-house, and you,
poor child, will be preserved from the terrible life which would
otherwise be your portion."
"How good you are--how good you are!"
"A little selfish also," said Miss Bull, kissing the girl. "I do not
wish to leave this place or lose you. I am growing old, and a change
would break my heart."
She said this as though she really believed that she possessed such an
organ. Mrs. Jersey always said that a heart was lacking in Miss Bull's
maiden breast: but certainly the way in which the old woman was
treating the helpless girl showed that she was better than she looked.
And perhaps--as Mr. James considered--Miss Bull had an ax to grind on
her own account.
However this might be, from that moment Miss Bull was in charge of the
Amelia Square establishment. Whatever means she used to induce Lord
Derrington to consent, she certainly managed to get the lease renewed
in Margery's name. Some of the boarders went; but others came in their
place, and these being younger added to the gayety of the house. So
all was settled, and Miss Bull became a person of importance. She was
the power behind the throne, and ruled judiciously. In this way did
she do away with the reputation of the house as a place where a crime
had been committed. In a year all was forgotten.