THE INQUIRY AGENT
As George stepped out of the front door he came face to face with
Bawdsey, who was mounting the steps. The man seemed excited, and
carried a carelessly folded newspaper which he had apparently been
reading. He did not seemed pleased to meet Brendon, and looked at him
in a suspicious manner.
"I didn't expect to see you here!" he said, with a certain degree of
roughness.
"I did not know that this house was interdicted to me," replied
Brendon, sharply. He liked neither the tone nor the peremptory manner
of Bawdsey, and, moreover, was not prepossessed in his favor by the
report which Lord Derrington had made of the man's duplicity. "I am
glad to meet you, however," continued George, "as I wish to have a few
words."
"I am too busy to give you any time," retorted Bawdsey, and tried to
enter the house.
"Nevertheless, you will give me a quarter of an hour," said George,
blocking the doorway with his stalwart form. "What I have to say
cannot be left until a more convenient period."
"I tell you I am busy, Mr. Brendon."
"And I tell you that I intend to have this interview," rejoined
Brewton, imperiously. "You talk a great deal about gratitude, Bawdsey,
yet you are unwilling to put yourself out for me in the least degree."
Bawdsey became penitent at once. "It is true, Mr. Brendon. But I am
very worried." He cast a glance at the newspaper in his hand.
"However, you have first call upon my time, so we will go to my room."
"That's as it should be."
No more words passed. Bawdsey mounted the stairs and led George into
the well-remembered room. Brendon took a chair, and Bawdsey, with an
anxious look, threw himself into another. The man's face was flushed,
his red hair was in disorder, and his eyes were bright. As a rule he
was calm and self-controlled, so George conjectured that something
particularly important must have occurred to upset him. However,
Bawdsey's troubles were none of his business, and he began talking at
once of his reason for seeking the interview. "I had a conversation
with Lord Derrington the other evening," he said deliberately, "and we
talked of you."
"Then you heard no good of me," replied Bawdsey, with a sneer. "Lord
Derrington does not like me."
"That matters little. No liking can exist between a man in Lord
Derrington's position and his paid servant."
"Oh, you call me that, do you, sir?"
"What else are you? Lord Derrington engaged you as his agent to watch
me, and that you have done."
"Not lately. I have given you a free hand."
"In any case I have a free hand," said George, loftily. "You were
grateful enough for my service in saving your life to release me from
your espionage, but had you not done so I should have taken means to
put a stop to your dogging my footsteps."
"You would not have known had I not told you, Mr. Brendon."
"Oh, yes, I should. In any case, I should have seen my grandfather,
and he would have told me."
"No, sir. He is your enemy."
"That is where you are wrong, Bawdsey. He is my friend."
The detective looked astonished. "Do you mean to say that Lord
Derrington has climbed down?" he demanded incredulously.
"It is strange, is it not," said George, in a bantering tone, "but, as
a matter of fact, after a long conversation, Lord Derrington and
myself came to understand one another. He intends to recognize me as
his heir."
"Has he then learnt where the marriage took place?" asked Bawdsey,
starting from his seat, and again glancing anxiously at the newspaper
which lay on a small table at his elbow.
"No. We have yet to find that out. But he is quite satisfied from the
hints of the late Mrs. Jersey that a marriage did take place, and he
wishes to make amends to me for his unjust conduct as regards my
mother's memory and myself."
"Whew! What means did you take to force him to recognize you?"
"I used no force at all," responded Brendon, very dryly.
"Lord Derrington would not climb down unless he were made to."
"As a matter of fact he did. The olive branch was held out by him. All
this is none of your business, Mr. Bawdsey, and I only tell it to you
to clear the ground for what I am about to say."
"It's something disagreeable, I bet," said Bawdsey, scanning the set
face of his visitor.
"Your penetration does you credit, sir. It is disagreeable."
Bawdsey settled himself comfortably in his chair. "Then the sooner we
grasp the nettle the sooner will the pain be over," he said, with
quite an Eastern wealth of parable. "But first, Mr. Brendon, I should
like to know your exact position."
"Oh, that is easily explained, and there is no reason why you should
not know what all London will know soon. Lord Derrington will join
with me in searching for the register of marriage, and meanwhile will
recognize me as his grandson and the heir to his estates."
"Not a very large income for a future peer," murmured Bawdsey.
George took no notice of this. "In a fortnight I leave my Kensington
rooms and take up my residence with Lord Derrington in St. Giles
Square. Then I shall assume my real name of George Vane."
"And you will marry Miss Ward, I suppose."
"That is entirely my business," said George, placidly. "You will gain
nothing by insolence, Bawdsey."
The man rose with a wounded air. "Upon my word, Mr. Vane," he said,
giving George his correct name to show that he recognized his new
position, "I have not the slightest intention of being insolent. I am
glad for your sake that things are as they are, and pleased for my
own, since Lola may now give up thoughts of you and turn to me."
"That's all very well, Bawdsey," said Brendon quietly. "You profess a
great friendship for me, but how can I trust you?"
"I have never deceived you yet."
"I have not given you the chance of doing so; but if the opportunity
offered, and it was convenient to you, I am quite sure you would sell
me--as the saying goes--to the highest bidder."
"Why should you doubt me?" asked Bawdsey, still wounded.
"I can only judge the future by the past, and since you are quite
ready to play Lord Derrington false----"
"Who says that?" cried the man, sitting down, but looking defiant.
"I say so. Lord Derrington has told me all."
"All what?" demanded Bawdsey, willfully ignorant.
"All that took place on the night when you came to this house to
impersonate him."
Bawdsey laughed, and his face cleared. "If that is your disagreeable
business, sir, I can easily put that to rights."
"Can you explain why you drugged him, why you threatened him?"
"I did not threaten him."
"Lord Derrington informed me that you threatened to get him into
trouble. That was why he consulted me, and that is why I have come to
tell you that if you fight Lord Derrington you will fight me also.
Lord Derrington is old, but I am young, and I am quite equal to
dealing with you."
"I never denied that," said Bawdsey, calmly. "I quite recognize that
you are a strong man, Mr. Vane, although it is not to my interest to
admit as much."
"That's your business," rejoined George, coolly. "I play with all my
cards on the table. What those are which you have concealed I do not
know, but I am quite prepared to play the game. And at the present
moment you need not call me by my father's name. I have not yet
assumed my position. When I do, George Vane will have nothing to do
with you."
"But George Brendon has," said Bawdsey, with a flash of his eyes.
"Don't press too hard, Mr. Brendon. I am willing to do you a service,
and you are misjudging me."
"I am sorry you should think so. Let us cease this bickering. I am
willing to hear what you have to say."
"If you are satisfied with my explanation, will you endeavor to get
Lola to marry me?"
"That has nothing to do with me."
"But you have influence with her."
"It shall not be used to make her miserable. I know nothing about you
save what my grandfather told me, and his report does not bias me in
your favor. For all I know you might make poor Lola the worst husband
in the world."
Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders. "Lola is well able to look after
herself," he said. "I think I mentioned that before. But if you are
satisfied with what I am about to tell you, will you help me?"
"I'll do my best," said George, impatiently. "Lola is sure to lose
this engagement sooner or later through her vile temper. I do not want
to see her on the streets again, and she may as well be supported by
you in a respectable manner as by any one else. Besides, as you truly
say, she can take care of her own skin. But I shall not advise her to
marry you unless you prove to me that you did not intend to blackmail
Lord Derrington."
"Nothing was further from my thoughts," said Bawdsey, earnestly; "it
was to my interest that your grandfather should hold his tongue about
my having been to this house----"
"He would not have known had you not told him voluntarily."
"Oh, yes, he would have discovered in some way. I thought it best to
be on the right side by confessing voluntarily what I had done. I said
I could get him into trouble--and I admit that I did threaten him so
far--simply to make him hold his tongue."
"You were afraid lest you should be accused of the crime?"
Bawdsey looked at George in surprise. "That possibility never crossed
my mind," he replied calmly. "I certainly did not kill the woman. Do
you think I did, Mr. Brendon?"
George shrugged his shoulders. "Going by circumstantial evidence----"
"Oh!" Bawdsey flipped away that objection with a snap of his fingers,
"that's all right; I will explain. No, Mr. Brendon; why I wished Lord
Derrington to be silent was that I might carry out my plans so as to
learn who killed Mrs. Jersey."
"Then you are looking after the case?"
"On behalf of Lord Derrington. He has an idea that the assassin became
possessed of a confession which Mrs. Jersey left behind her----"
"How do you know she left it?"
"Because I knew Mrs. Jersey very well, and, as I told you long since,
I was once a boarder here. One day she let slip that she had some one
in her power, and would leave the evidence of that power behind her so
that her niece might benefit. I told this to Lord Derrington. He
insisted that I should try and discover the assassin so as to get that
confession, which compromises him, back again. To spur me on he has
promised me a reward of a thousand pounds should I obtain the
confession and the conviction of the assassin. As I want money to
marry Lola, I am doing my best. I came to live here for that purpose.
Lord Derrington talking of my visit to the house on the night of the
crime would have jeopardized my plans therefore I was obliged--as you
say--to threaten him so as to make him keep silent. So far, do you
blame me, Mr. Brendon?"
"No," replied George, after some thought, "the end justifies the
means. But you might have adopted less rascally means."
"I have not adopted any. I have not asked Lord Derrington for money,
so I am not a blackmailer; nor do I intend to claim from him anything
but what is justly mine."
"And what is justly yours, if you please?"
"The reward of one thousand pounds for the discovery of the assassin."
"Oh! Have you learned who killed her?"
"Not yet, but I may learn. At present I confess I am in fault."
George pondered a little. So far Bawdsey spoke frankly enough; but he
could not help mistrusting him. However, since the man was in the
telling vein, he thought it best to betray no doubts lest Bawdsey
should turn rusty. "Well, the discovery is in your own hands," he
said, "and I sincerely trust you will gain that thousand pounds. I am
as unwilling as my grandfather that Mrs. Jersey's connection with this
unfortunate business should become public. I am perfectly convinced
that the person who took that confession stabbed the unfortunate
woman."
"Do you think so?" asked Bawdsey, stealing a glance at the newspaper.
George nodded. "The confession was written. I learned that much from
Margery. Mrs. Jersey told her it was a story. Well, as the confession
was not found among Mrs. Jersey's papers when she died, it must have
been taken by someone. But I can't think what interest such a thing
can have had for any one unless----"
"Unless what, Mr. Brendon?"
"Unless it contained the name of the person who assassinated my
father."
"How could Mrs. Jersey know that?"
"She was at San Remo when my father was killed; she loved him and she
used to follow him. How I learned these things, Bawdsey, does not
matter. But it is just possible that Mrs. Jersey--or Eliza Stokes as
she was then--might have some knowledge of who committed the crime. If
that was set down in her confession (as is highly probable), I can
quite understand that the original assassin killed her to gain a
dangerous document such as it undoubtedly was."
"Then you think that the assassin of your father was also the assassin
of Mrs. Jersey?"
"I fancy so, as I can explain the disappearance of the confession in
no other way. And if I remember rightly, Bawdsey, it was you who said
that the San Remo crime was connected with the one committed in this
house."
"I did say so," replied Bawdsey, thoughtfully. He pondered for a few
minutes and then looked up briskly. "Well, Mr. Brendon, that point
cannot be settled without proof, and there is no use our wasting time
in indulging in vain speculations. Let me tell you about the night I
went to see Mrs. Jersey."
"Go on," said Brendon, crossing his legs. "I am all attention."
"I knew before your grandfather came to see me that you were about to
pass the night here. Lola told me."
"Yes, I was foolish enough to tell her; though, to be sure, I had no
great reason to conceal my visit to Train. I never knew that a murder
would take place. So Lola told you?"
Bawdsey nodded. "She did. But I never intended to bother about the
matter, as I did not think there was anything in your visit. But Lord
Derrington came and put a different complexion on the affair. It was
his belief that you intended to force Mrs. Jersey into confessing
about the marriage."
"I came to appeal to her," said Brendon, dryly. "There was no thought
of forcing in my mind."
"Lord Derrington judged you by himself and thought there might be. I
rather agreed with him. Then, knowing his temper, I fancied if he went
to see Mrs. Jersey there would be a row and a scandal, and I did not
want that to happen. I was making a very good thing out of Lord
Derrington," admitted Bawdsey, frankly, "and if a scandal had taken
place my occupation would have been gone. I therefore determined to
drug him and to go myself."
"But why in his coat?"
"I thought that Mrs. Jersey might not admit me."
George pounced upon him at once. "There was no need that she should do
so. You took the latch-key my grandfather carried."
"Oh, you know that, do you?" said Bawdsey, composedly. "Then I may as
well be absolutely frank."
"It is your best course."
"Oh, I'm not on my trial, Mr. Brendon. It is only my friendship for
you that is making me speak out."
"I accept that excuse. Go on."
Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders to show his annoyance at the
uncompromising attitude of his visitor. "I feared lest Mrs. Jersey
should order me out of the house unless I could gain time by being
mistaken for Lord Derrington. I drugged the old gentleman, and then,
taking his coat and the latch-key, I went to see Mrs. Jersey."
"At what time were you there?"
"Some time before twelve. I cannot say for certain. Well, Mr. Brendon,
I let myself in with the latch-key, and I found the house by the red
light over the door. In former years it had been my custom to guide
myself in that way. I told Lola so."
"Why did you tell her that?"
"Oh, she knew that you were going late to the house and made a fuss
about the chance of your being lost in the fog. I said that probably
Train would tell you of the red light, and that you could guide
yourself by that."
"Humph. Lola was always unnecessarily kind," said George. "Well?"
"Well, I closed the door softly and went into the sitting-room."
"You knew where that was?"
"Of course. Don't I tell you I once lived in this house? I entered the
sitting-room. The lamp was burning, and Mrs. Jersey was seated at the
table." Bawdsey shuddered. "There is no need to tell you more. I left
the room at once, for the sight horrified me."
"Why did you pause in the hall?"
"I thought I heard a footstep on the stairs, and the shock gave me one
of my fits--the fear of open spaces, you know. How did you come to
learn that I paused in the hall?"
"Because I had come down the stairs to see who was with Mrs. Jersey."
"Ah! Then it must have been your footstep I heard," said the
detective. "Well, I soon recovered, and left the house."
"What about the stiletto?"
"It was lying on the floor near the table. I saw it glittering in the
lamplight. As there was blood on it and I saw the wound, I knew that
Mrs. Jersey had been killed by it. I slipped it into my pocket with a
vague idea that thereby I might trace the assassin."
"Did you leave it purposely in the coat?"
"No," said Bawdsey, frankly. "I did not. I was so moved and--as a
woman would say--flustered by the death, that I forgot all about it.
Lord Derrington woke up and went home. I said nothing about the murder
to him at the time. I had not the nerve. It was only after he departed
that I remembered the stiletto. I thought he might make a row and
accuse me of the crime. But he said nothing, and I judged it wise to
let sleeping dogs lie. So that is all I can tell you, Mr. Brendon, and
you will see that I am not such a bad man as you try to make out."
"Oh, you have spoken clearly enough," said George. Then after a pause,
"Yes, I think you are honest, so far as I can judge. I trust you."
Bawdsey looked delighted. "Will you have a glass of wine with me to
show that?" he asked rising.
"On the Arab principle of bread and salt?" said Brendon. "Certainly."
Bawdsey nodded in a pleased manner, and went to his sideboard at the
end of the room. George mechanically took up the newspaper. His eyes
were caught by a cross-heading--"Strange Affair in an Essex Church,"
and by the words "destruction of the registers." Just as he was about
to glance over the article, never thinking what it meant to him,
Bawdsey returned with the wine and two glasses. He uttered an
exclamation of dismay when he saw the paper in George's hand.
"Hang it, I never meant you to see that!" he said.
"Why not?" replied George. "Is it this news about a lady trying to
tear the registers?" He started and looked at Bawdsey, who was uneasy
and pale. "It's Lola!" said George.
"No, and yet--why should you not know? I believe it is Lola, though no
name is mentioned."
George picked up the paper again and read rapidly. No name was
mentioned, as it was said that the strange lady who had been arrested
refused to give any name. It seemed that she went to Wargrove Church
and asked to see the registers for a certain year--the registers of
marriage. The sexton took the fee and showed the books. Then it
appeared that the strange lady searched for an hour. The sexton left
the vestry for a few minutes. When he returned he saw that she had
torn a page out of the book. Being taken by surprise she had tried to
conceal her theft, but the sexton seized her, rescued the torn page,
and called for assistance. The end of it was that the strange
lady--who was described as having a foreign air--was arrested and
placed in prison. "It is Lola," said George, breathlessly.
"Yes," assented Bawdsey, also pale. "She evidently tried to destroy
the evidence of your mother's marriage."
George gave a cry. "Wargrove," he said, "Wargrove in Essex. It
was in the parish church that the marriage took place. And Lola
knew--Lola----" he paused. The eyes of the two men met.