WHO BAWDSEY WAS
George read the remainder of Mrs. Jersey's confession and then put it
away. Even when he got to the end he could not connect the San Remo
crime with that of Amelia Square. It was in his mind to see his
grandfather and tell the story to him, backed by the production of the
confession. But on second thought he decided to see Bawdsey first. He
wired for an appointment, and received a reply stating that Bawdsey
was going out of town at three o'clock that day, but would be in his
rooms till then. George lost no time. He called a cab, and within an
hour of receiving the answer to his request he was on his way to
Bloomsbury.
On arriving he found that the detective expected him, and went to his
room. Bawdsey was still in a disturbed state, as he was most anxious
to get down the country and to help Lola out of her difficulty. He
received Brendon irritably and in silence. George saw that the man was
all nerves, and did not resent his sharp greeting. He sat down and
opened the conversation.
"You are going down to see Lola?" he asked.
"Of course. I am much worried over her. She may get into serious
trouble over this freak."
"Well, why not tell the judge she is insane at times? Then she will
get off lightly."
"Would that be true?" asked the detective, struck by the idea.
"As true as most things. She really is not accountable for her
actions when she gets into these frenzies, and in such a one she must
have been to attempt the burglary."
"Poor soul, I wonder how she is now?"
"Oh, she is not troubled much. Her spirits are as good as usual. She
hardly seems to realize the enormity of her offense."
"How do you know?" asked Bawdsey with a stare.
"Because I saw her last night."
"You saw her?"
"I did. After I left you I took the train to Wargrove and had an
interview with her."
"You might have told me, Mr. Brendon," said Bawdsey, in a wounded
tone.
"Where would have been the use of that? I can manage my own business,
I hope."
"Considering how I love her, it is my business also."
George shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you see, Bawdsey, it was your
intention to see Lola first. I guessed as much, so I stole a march on
you."
Bawdsey fenced. "I don't see how you can say that."
"I can. You know that Lola was in this house on the night the woman
died."
"I presume so, since she got the confession, and she must have secured
it to know where your parents were married."
"Well, then, knowing that, you wished to get that confession."
"Yes, I did," said the detective, "and why not? I desired to know if
Mrs. Jersey said anything about the San Remo crime in it."
"I can tell you that. She did. I have the confession."
Bawdsey bounded from his chair. "Where is it?" he asked.
"In my rooms, locked away."
"I do call that a shame," grumbled Bawdsey. "You might have trusted
me, Mr. Brendon?"
"Might I? Would you have trusted me?"
"I do; you know I do."
"To such an extent as suits yourself. But would you have shown me that
confession had it come into your possession?"
"You are not showing it to me," said Bawdsey, evasively.
"That is not an answer. But I'll show you the confession whenever you
like. Come, now, would you have shown it to me?"
"Since you have read it, why ask me that question?" snapped the
detective. "You know----"
"Yes, I know that you would have burnt the confession. I know that to
have a paper in existence which sets forth that Mr. Bawdsey's true
name is George Rates is not to your liking."
"I never did anything to disgrace that name, Mr. Brendon."
"That is between yourself and your conscience," replied George,
coolly, "and has nothing to do with me. You are George Rates?"
Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders. "There is no use denying it," he said;
"you have my wife's handwriting."
"Was Mrs. Jersey really your wife?"
"She was. We married soon after we left San Remo. She was hard up or
she would not have married me."
"And you went to the States?"
"We did. There I took the name of Jersey, and tried a variety of
things, none of which came to any good. Then I left Eliza."
"Why did you do that?"
"Because she was a devil," said Bawdsey, his face lighting up. "I
tried all the means in my power to make her happy, but she was always
quarreling and nagging, and lamenting that she had not married that
Vane--your father, Mr. Brendon."
"Did she tell you about the murder?"
"It wasn't a murder," protested Bawdsey. "No, she did not tell me, but
from a hint or two she dropped about getting money from Mr. Ireland I
guessed that he had something to do with it. I came across to England
and I saw him. He told me the whole story."
"Did you get money from him?"
"I did not. I am an honest man, although you do not seem to think so.
I left all that blackmailing to my wife. She came over to get money
out of Ireland. He simply said that he would tell the whole truth and
would call the woman Velez as a witness about the dagger."
"But that woman is dead?"
"Oh, no, she isn't," said Bawdsey, coolly. "Lola told me that she was
alive and still in San Remo. She could have made things very hot for
my wife. But failing Ireland, my wife--Mrs. Jersey we will call
her--had another string to her bow. She heard how Lord Derrington
denied the marriage, and how you were living with your grandfather
Lockwood. She went to Derrington and----"
"I know the rest. And you came to live in this house."
"Not at the time. I went back to the States, but as I could do nothing
there I returned to England. Then I took up the private-inquiry
business and called myself Bawdsey. I came to see my wife. She would
not let me call myself her husband, and, as I had no great liking for
her, I agreed. I was in this house for a few weeks and then I got my
own diggings. I saw as little of Mrs. Jersey as was possible."
"Why was that?"
"Well, sir," replied Bawdsey, frankly, "I didn't hold with the annuity
she was getting."
"In a word, you disapproved of the blackmail?"
"That's a good, useful word, sir," said Bawdsey, easily. "Yes, I did.
I never would take a penny from her, and when I lived here during the
few weeks I paid my board. Yes, sir, I'm an honest man."
George stretched out his hand and shook that of Bawdsey heartily. "I
am convinced you are, Bawdsey, and I apologize for my suspicions. But
in some ways--eh?"
"I didn't act very straight, you mean. Well, sir, when one deals with
a criminal case one can't be too careful. I have had to tell lies,
sir. And I say, Mr. Brendon," cried the detective, with a burst of
confidence, "I would not have shown you that agreement. I guessed that
Eliza would state who I was, and I didn't wish you to think that I was
connected with her."
"Why not?"
"Well, sir, I fancied, seeing what you know, that you might suspect me
of killing her."
"No, Bawdsey. As you have acted so fairly all through, I am convinced
that you are innocent on that score. But why did you say that the San
Remo crime was connected with the death of Mrs. Jersey?"
Bawdsey opened his eyes. "Can't you see, sir? The stiletto."
"Oh, you mean that the weapon used by Lola was the same one as my
father was killed with?"
"Certainly, Mr. Brendon. It belonged to Señora Velez, the mother. She
gave it to Lola, for I saw it in her rooms, before the death of Mrs.
Jersey, and I recognized it from the description given by my wife."
"But there are dozens of stilettoes like that one. Lord Derrington
showed it to me."
"Yes, that's true enough. But you see, from what my wife told me, I
knew that she had got the dagger from the woman Velez. It wasn't hard
to see, when I dropped across a similar weapon in the room of a woman
also called Velez, that it was the same. Now you see how it is that
Lola knew so much about the death of your father, and how she and I
came to talk of the matter."
"How did you drop on the subject in the first place?"
"The name was enough for me. I saw Lola, and I fell in love with her,
as you know. Then I remembered the name Velez and got an introduction
to her. One thing led to another until I knew the whole story, and she
admitted that the stiletto was the one with which Mr. Vane had been
killed."
George thought for a few minutes. "Tell me, Bawdsey," he said at
length, "did you suspect Lola of committing the crime?"
"Yes, I did," admitted Bawdsey, frankly; "you see she has a devil of a
temper. I never knew that she had gone to see Mrs. Jersey on that
night, although I might have guessed it because of the way she tried
to learn the whereabouts of the house."
"You mean the crimson light? Her excuse was foolish I thought the
other day when you stated it," said George. "But when did you first
suspect her?"
"When I picked up the stiletto. I recognized it at once. It was my
intention to take it round to her, so that she should not be
incriminated, but I was so upset--as I said the other day--that I
forgot all about the matter. When I did think, it was too late, for
Derrington woke up and put on his coat. I wondered whether he would
mention the stiletto to me. But he never did."
"Because he knew nothing about it," said George. "Mrs. Ward stole it,
as I told you."
"Oh, I see how it is now. But I really did suspect Lola. I asked her
if she was in the house. She said that she had been, although she
denied it at first."
"That's Lola's way," said George; "she always begins by denial. How
did you bring her to confess?"
"I threatened to identify the stiletto. Then she told the truth--if it
was the truth," said Bawdsey, doubtfully.
"Oh, I think so. I don't believe she killed the woman."
"But you know her temper?"
"Yes, I do, but since she has got what she wanted--the
confession--there was no sense in her committing a murder. No, I quite
believe that she threw the dagger at Mrs. Jersey's feet, as she said.
It is just like one of Lola's impulsive actions."
Bawdsey scratched his head. "I wonder who did kill Eliza," he
muttered, "if Lola is innocent and I am innocent?" He looked at
Brendon.
"I can't help you," replied George, rising; "the thing is quite beyond
me. It must have been some one in the house."
"No," replied Bawdsey, positively; "remember, Mr. Train heard a door
close--the front door--some time about half-past eleven."
"That was you, was it not?"
"No sir. I did not arrive till close on twelve, and Mrs. Jersey was
already dead. The door must have been opened and closed by the
murderer, and he left just before I arrived."
"But how could he have entered? You alone had the latch-key. As to
Lola, she slipped in while Mrs. Jersey was dismissing her guests."
Bawdsey shook his head. "I can't understand it, sir. Of course there
was another gentleman who had the house for a short time." He looked
meaningly at Brendon.
George looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, sir," began Bawdsey, with his invariable formula, "I don't like
to mention names, and I am sure what I say will go no further, but
there is Mr. Ireland----"
Brendon started to his feet with an agitated face. "Ireland! Oh, no,
that is impossible," he declared, "quite impossible! Why should he
have a latch-key?"
"After your grandfather's death he was in possession of the house for
a time, and the keys would be with him. In handing them to Lord
Derrington's agent he might have forgotten one."
"It's improbable!"
"I don't think so. It was a chance, I think, at first, but when he
knew that Mrs. Jersey occupied the house he might have found the
latch-key useful to see her when he felt inclined. I dare say she
tried to get money out of him again."
"But he refused her."
"He did--once," said Bawdsey, meaningly, "but Mr. Ireland was not so
young as he had been, and dreaded lest his--accident should be known."
"It was an accident," said George. "Much as I deplore the death of my
father, yet I acquit Ireland of all blame. But he didn't know she
lived here until Miss Bull told him."
"Oh, yes, he did. I'm sure Mrs. Jersey would let him know that she was
just round the corner. She always kept in touch with useful friends."
"But why should he kill her so suddenly?"
"Well, he might have heard that she had written out a confession, or
even about Lord Derrington's visit. And then he would come round to
ask her if she had incriminated him in her confession. He would ask
her for a sight of it. Not having it, for she found the blue envelope
empty after Lola left, she would deny that she had it. The stiletto
left by Lola would be on the table. What was more natural than for
Ireland to pick it up and kill her in a sudden access of dread?
Remember, Mrs. Jersey could accuse him of the crime, as it was known
that Ireland was jealous of your mother's marriage to Vane. Oh, there
was plenty of motive. As to his having refused her before, he was
getting old, and thinking he might be brought to justice by her
confession, for he never knew when she would die or into whose hands
it would fall, he might have lost his nerve."
"It strikes me that if he struck the blow he had a great deal of
nerve," said George, dryly; "but you go on a lot of suppositions. You
suppose that Ireland retained a latch-key of this house, that he knew
Mrs. Jersey had written out a confession, that he knew my grandfather
was coming on that night--in fact, that's all theory, Bawdsey. I do
not believe Mr. Ireland had anything to do with the matter."
"Then who had?" asked the detective.
"What would you say to Margery?"
"What, the niece--that half-witted girl?"
"Exactly. Half-witted. She is more like an animal than anything human.
She gets these sudden fits of rage. When Miss Bull fainted Margery
rushed in and threatened me with her fists. Seeing what an
uncontrollable temper she had, it occurred to me that she might have
killed her aunt."
"But Miss Bull says that the aunt locked the girl in her room."
"Of course, but Miss Bull may know the truth, and may be shielding
Margery--she seems to have a strange affection for the girl. What if
Mrs. Jersey--to vary the story--found Margery down the stairs after
Lola was gone, and instead of rebuking her as Miss Bull said in the
passage----"
"At eleven o'clock, mind."
"Later, I think," said George, quickly. "You did not arrive till
nearly twelve, and the woman was just dead."
"I don't think a few minutes would make much difference," said
Bawdsey, quietly, "but go on, sir. Let me hear your theory."
"Well, I fancy that Mrs. Jersey caught Margery down the stairs, and
took her into her own room to rebuke her quietly, so that the rest of
the house might not hear. Also she would be anxious to learn if the
girl had overheard her conversation with Lola. If Margery had, she
would assuredly have told Miss Bull. Mrs. Jersey would be afraid of
that, and I dare say she stormed at Margery to make her speak."
"But there could have been no row, sir. No one heard a disturbance."
"Oh, the boarders are old and sleep lightly. But I am bound to say I
did not hear a disturbance myself," said George, reflectively. "Mrs.
Jersey may have argued quietly. Then, as you say, the stiletto was on
the table. Margery, goaded into action, might, with the sudden rage of
a dumb animal, might have----"
"Well, it's not impossible. But about the door closing?"
"When Margery saw what she had done," pursued George, still trying to
guess what had taken place, "her first impulse would be to run away.
She would steal out and open the door. I am pretty sure Miss Bull was
on the watch and saw her. She would draw the girl back and close the
door--at half-past eleven, as Train heard. Then she would pacify
Margery and lock her in her bedroom, after previously instructing her
what to say next morning. That is what I believe, Bawdsey."
"It's a very pretty case," murmured the detective, "and things might
have happened as you say. But if it is the case, there is not much
chance of learning the truth. Both Margery and Miss Bull will be
silent. And after all, my theory regarding Ireland is just as good,
Mr. Brendon."
George rose to go. "Stick to your theory and I'll stick to mine," he
said, smiling. "But what about Lola?"
"Well, sir, I'll go down with Kowlaski and see her. We will do
whatever we can to get her out of her trouble. And you, sir----"
"Oh, I shall have nothing more to do with Lola. Take her away to the
States as your wife, Bawdsey, and I will get my grandfather to give
you the thousand pounds to start life on."
"It's very good of you, sir," said Bawdsey, gratefully. "And you will
try and persuade her to marry me?"
"Yes. She knows--as I told her--that, register or no register, my
grandfather intends to recognize me as his heir. Therefore she is
certain--as she may well be--that I shall marry Miss Ward. She will
gradually get over her fancy for me and will be quite content to take
you."
Bawdsey sighed. "I hope so. I love that woman, sir."
"Yet she is a violent woman--almost as violent as your first wife."
"Yes," assented Bawdsey, rather dolefully, "it seems as though I was
always to fall into the hands of violent women. What do you intend to
do now, sir?"
"Leave matters alone, Bawdsey. I don't want to learn who killed Mrs.
Jersey. Now I know about my father's marriage I shall change my name,
take my rightful one, and have done with all this crime and mystery.
The Yellow Holly can go hang, for me."