SIGNOR VENOSTA.
Gerald did nothing until the conclusion of the presumed Charity Bird's
engagement at the Belver Theatre. There was no need to do so for the
moment, as the scheme to hide her had proved entirely successful, and
no one guessed where to look for the much-wanted Mavis. Mrs. Pelham
Odin took her to the theatre, waited for her there, and escorted her
back again, so that Mavis spoke very little to the people behind the
scenes. Gerald often came to supper, and spent much of his time at the
Bloomsbury flat. He was supposed to be writing a new book, but in
reality he indulged himself with a holiday, to make love to the girl
he had so strangely rescued.
But when the Belver Theatre closed for a time, Mrs. Pelham Odin,
feeling the want of a change, took Mavis to Southend, and there
occupied pleasant apartments looking out on to the sea. Mavis did not
like to be parted from her lover, as he could not see her so
frequently; but Mrs. Pelham Odin pointed out that Haskins would have
to begin his search for the true murderer of Bellaria, so that things
could be put right. Also, as Mavis was being taught to read and write
by the old actress, it was just as well that Gerald should not come
too often, to distract the scholar's attention from her lessons. So
Mrs. Pelham Odin stopped with Mavis at the lively seaside town, happy
in the company of the girl, and happy also to receive glowing letters
from Mrs. Tod Macandrew, in which she expatiated on her heavenly
honeymoon.
Haskins found his time hang rather heavily on his hands when Mavis and
her new guardian left London. He wished to wait for Tod before
beginning operations, but it would be quite a fortnight until
Macandrew returned, and until then there was nothing to do. Gerald
tried to write a few chapters of his new book, in vain. The thought of
Mavis and of her perilous position filled his head, so he was obliged
to throw aside his literary work, until matters were made straight for
the girl. Having come to this conclusion, he resolved not to wait for
Tod's arrival, but to work at the case himself. The difficulty was how
to begin.
Arnold had stated plainly that he believed Rebb to be the guilty
person, but of this Gerald could not be sure. He was convinced that if
Bellaria's life had stood between Rebb and the six thousand a year she
would have been murdered long ago. Moreover, the story of how Geary's
knife came to be used sounded very plausible, and, if Rebb were
guilty, Haskins believed that he would not have told the police about
the weapon, as he had done, when the inquest was held. Then, again,
Arnold did not know the true reason of Bellaria's fear and why she had
buried herself in that secluded Devonshire village. It struck Gerald
that the Tána Society had traced Bellaria Dondi to Leegarth, and there
she had been slain, as she expected. Mrs. Berch knew of Bellaria's
dread of the coral hand, as Gerald had told her about it when she
called to claim it again. She might have informed Venosta, who had
bestowed the amulet on Mrs. Crosbie. He was undoubtedly an emissary of
the Tána Society, and probably was the real criminal.
Arguing in this way, Haskins resolved to call on Mrs. Crosbie, and
question her mother as to whether she had betrayed Bellaria to the
burly Italian. Also, he was anxious to learn why Signor Venosta had
given the coral hand to the widow, as it was incredible to think that
she belonged to such a cut-throat organization. But there must be some
reason why Mrs. Crosbie should hold the trinket which had so sinister
a significance, and this Gerald made up his mind to see into. Finally,
and as a third reason for his visit, he desired to know when Rebb and
Mrs. Crosbie would marry. If Tod were right about the widow's
impecuniosity--and Gerald believed that he was--she would not become
the Major's wife unless he was certain of his income. And while Mavis
remained undiscovered Rebb could by no means be certain.
Gerald would have asked Arnold to come to London, but he thought it
best that he should not be seen in the company of Schaibar, as the
Major might suspect that something was wrong. It was of course,
impossible that Rebb could ever trace Mavis, but it was just as well
to be on the safe side. So Arnold remained in Exeter, touring the
surrounding country as far as Silbury, Denleigh, and Leegarth, keeping
a keen eye on Geary, and communicating to Gerald by registered letters
all the gossip dealing with the case which he could gather. It seemed
from the little man's epistles that the excitement had died down after
Bellaria was buried, and a belief existed that Mavis, while flying
from justice, had fallen into some river and had been drowned. Whether
the negro or Rebb shared this comfortable belief Haskins could not
discover. He thought not, else the Major might have been still more
afraid of losing his illegal income. In spite of his denial that Mavis
had any relatives either on the father's or mother's side, it was
possible that the gallant officer lied. And if relatives existed they
would certainly claim the money if Mavis was supposed to be dead.
A few days, therefore, after Mavis had departed with Mrs. Pelham Odin
to Southend, Gerald paid a visit to Ladysmith Mansions. Mrs. Crosbie
was within, looking much the same as usual, and she received him in
quite a friendly manner. He fancied that the disagreeable topic of
their last conversation had vanished from her memory. But her first
words, after greetings, proved that this was not the case.
"I am glad to see you, my dear Gerald," she said, languidly pointing
to a seat, "but I hope you are not going to tell me any more horrors."
"I was not aware that I had ever told you any," he answered, rather
annoyed by her tone.
"Oh yes. All that story of the lunatic, whom you wanted me to look
after. It was just as well that I did not, seeing how mad she is."
"She is not mad," insisted the young man. "I told you that before, and
I tell you again, Madge."
"How often have I said that you are not to call me by my Christian
name, you silly boy," said Mrs. Crosbie irritably.
"There is no one here." Gerald looked at the curtains dividing one
room from the other. "I suppose Mrs. Berch is not again lying down with
a headache."
"No. She is out shopping, and will be in soon. And you needn't look so
cross. Neither mother nor I told Major Rebb about your weird love
affair. Mother overheard, as she said, but held her tongue."
"Madge----"
"Don't, I tell you. Major Rebb may come in at any moment, and I am
also expecting Signor Venosta to afternoon tea. What would either of
them say, if they heard you address me so familiarly."
Gerald shrugged his shoulders, and did not argue the point. "As you
please, Mrs. Crosbie. I was merely taking the privilege of our
age-long acquaintanceship."
"Why not friendship?" she inquired, closing her eyes.
"Friendship, then. When are you to be married?"
"I can't say! Michael--that is Major Rebb, you know--has not settled
anything yet. He's very much upset, poor man, over this crazy girl."
"I don't believe that the girl is crazy!" said Gerald decisively.
"So you said before! Major Rebb told me of his interview with you at
that Denleigh inn, and how absurd you were. Now I suppose you will
admit that you have had a lucky escape?"
"I admit nothing of the sort!" said Haskins bluntly: then added, in a
diplomatic manner: "Did I know where that poor girl was I would look
her up and marry her to-morrow."
"I don't think that lunatic marriages are legal," yawned Mrs. Crosbie.
"In spite of what you say, the girl must be guilty. The jury brought
in a verdict of wilful murder, and she should be hanged. As it is,
owing to her insanity, I presume she will be shut up in an asylum."
"Then the Major will be pleased, I expect," said Gerald grimly.
"No; he will not. He is very sorry about the affair. It has brought
his name before the public in a most unpleasant manner. Luckily,
everyone knows how well he behaved in looking after the girl. He got
nothing for doing it."
Haskins started, and wondered if it would be wise to reveal the real
terms which existed between Mavis and her guardian. If Mrs. Crosbie
did not know how Rebb earned his income--if it could be called
earning--he was certainly marrying her under false pretenses. For the
moment Gerald was inclined to blurt out the truth: but, remembering
how Mrs. Crosbie had taken his last confidence, he resolved to hold
his tongue about the money question, and to let the widow and her
admirer adjust their own private affairs.
Meanwhile the widow had gone to the tea-table, which had just been
set, and was talking, while she poured out the tea. "I hope that you
have got over your infatuation for that girl, Gerald. You will never
see her again. I expect she is dead; fell into a pit, or a river, or
something, when she ran away after committing murder. Poor thing! it
is a lucky business for her that she _is_ dead."
"Mrs. Crosbie," said Gerald, ceremoniously taking a cup of tea, "you
will insist that Miss Durham killed her nurse. I believe from the
bottom of my heart that she is innocent."
"Oh, of course you would, being in love," said Mrs. Crosbie, with a
shrug, "but, if she is innocent, who is guilty? Major Rebb?"
"No, I do not accuse him."
"How good of you, my dear Gerald."
"But," added the young man, with emphasis, "_you_ may have an idea as
to who killed Bellaria Dondi."
A piece of bread and butter fell from Mrs. Crosbie's hand, and she
turned round with an amazed look. "I? In heaven's name, how should I
know?"
"Didn't your mother tell you what I said about Bellaria and that coral
hand which I found in your cigarette-case?"
"Yes. The woman was afraid when she saw it."
"Do you know why she was afraid?"
"No; I certainly do not."
"Could Signor Venosta tell you?"
Mrs. Crosbie rose, and came forward with a glittering light in her
eyes not pleasant to look at. "What do you mean? Signor Venosta----"
"Gave you the amulet? Mrs. Berch told me as much."
"If he did, what then? Signor Venosta is an old friend of mine. So
long as Major Rebb does not object, I fail to see why you----"
"Oh, I have no objections to offer," interrupted Gerald hurriedly.
"But Bellaria was afraid of that coral hand, which symbolized--now
then, Mrs. Crosbie, what did it symbolize?"
"I don't know," she faltered, and her eyes dropped; after a pause she
looked up. "I'll tell you all I know," she added, passing her lace
handkerchief across her lips. "But keep what I say to yourself."
"Go on. I shall say nothing to the world without your permission."
Mrs. Crosbie reflected. "I was in difficulties over money when we last
met," she said rapidly. "There was an Italian moneylender--a Jew in
the city--who held a bill of mine, and treated me badly. I did not
know what to do. When I told Signor Venosta, in despair, since he was
always a good friend of mine, he asked me the name of the Jew, and all
particulars."
"What is the name of the Jew?" asked Gerald quickly.
"That has nothing to do with the story. There is no need for you to
know. This moneylender was an Italian Jew, and came from Naples. When
Signor Venosta heard my tale he detached that coral hand from his
watch chain, on the very day you found us together, and gave it to me,
saying, that if I showed it to the Jew everything would go well. I put
it for safety in my cigarette-case, which you carried off. So small an
object could easily be lost, as you may guess. When I found that my
case was missing I sent mother at once to you, thinking--and
rightly--that you had taken it. She brought it back."
"Well, go on. Did you show it to the Jew?"
"Yes. He was desperately afraid, and agreed to whatever terms I chose
to make; so you may guess, I insisted on having favorable ones. That
is all, Gerald."
"Why was the Jew afraid?"
"I know no more than I know why Bellaria was afraid."
"Did this Italian Jew from Naples say anything?"
"No. He turned a dirty yellow, and nearly went on his knees. I told
him that if he did not give me my way that he would get into trouble,
and that I had brought the sign to show him. He yielded, and after our
making terms he seemed glad to get rid of me."
"But you know----"
"I know nothing," she interrupted tartly, and returned to the
tea-table, Haskins wondering if she was playing a part. Since she knew
so much it seemed to him that she must know more. He tried the effect
of a surprise. "Ah, the Jew was probably afraid of the Tána."
This time Mrs. Crosbie dropped the teapot, which clattered on the tray
with a great noise. "The Tána Society?" she stammered, very pale.
"The Tána Society?" said a new and foreign-sounding voice at the same
time, and Signor Venosta was shown into the room as the teapot fell.
'Mrs. Crosbie recovered herself with an effort. "Oh, signor, how are
you to-day? Last time, Mr. Haskins--you know Mr. Haskins--found you
with me, now you find him with me. How strange!"
She was talking for the sake of talking, as Gerald noted, for her face
was livid and her bosom rose and fell stormily. The burly Italian, who
looked perfectly self-controlled and composed, eyed Haskins, who bore
his gaze without flinching. Neither man took notice of Mrs. Crosbie's
chatter, and she sank again into her seat before the tea-table. "Won't
you sit down also, you two?" she tittered nervously.
"You mentioned the Tána Society," said Venosta, turning on the little
woman, "and to this young man."
"Pardon me. I mentioned it first to Mrs. Crosbie," said Haskins
coolly.
"What do you know of the Tána Society?"
"Very little beyond the fact that it consists of a body of men who
emerge on occasions from the Den to dispense that justice which cannot
be obtained by law. The headquarters of the society is in Naples, and
the symbol is a coral hand grasping a dagger."
Signor Venosta might have been hewn out of marble for all the surprise
he showed at this speech. But he was staggered, since Gerald caught
the expression of his eyes. "May I ask how you know all this, sir?"
Gerald shrugged. "I see no reason to conceal the fact that by chance I
carried away Mrs. Crosbie's cigarette-case during my last visit. The
amulet fell out when I opened the case in my rooms for a cigarette."
"Quite so,"' assented Venosta blandly, "but you thought, no doubt,
that it was merely a trinket."
"Yes; such as an old friend--you, for instance, Signor Venosta--might
give to Mrs. Crosbie."
"Ah!" the Italian turned swiftly on the widow, "you _have_ told him."
"No, no!" she said vehemently, "only that you gave me the trinket, and
that I made that Jew moneylender do what I wanted by showing it to
him. I did not tell anything else, because I know nothing else, save
that the coral hand has to do with some society called the Tána."
"How do you know that much even?"
"My mother told me. Mr. Haskins told her."
"And how do you know?" demanded Venosta, turning toward Gerald.
"Because Bellaria Dondi," the Italian started, "came to my rooms just
before Mrs. Berch appeared to reclaim the cigarette-case. Bellaria was
afraid when she saw the amulet, and staggered out of the room crying
out: 'Tána! Tána!' I asked a friend what the word meant, and he told
me it meant a den. Told me also, that he had heard of the society by
that name in Naples. I guessed then from what Bellaria said, and from
her terror, that the Tána Society wished to kill her."
Venosta nodded and smiled amiably. "You are a clever young gentleman
to piece things together so cleverly. Well, I have heard the name of
Bellaria Dondi."
"In connection with this murder?" asked Gerald, "or long ago, when she
was a singer, and in love with Enrico Salviati?"
Signor Venosta's brow grew dark, and he frowned fiercely. "Bellaria
told you much," he said, striving to appear calm.
"Much," assented Gerald easily, and not at all daunted by black looks,
"but she did not tell me who had struck the blow, or who had given the
information which led to the striking of the blow. She could not; she
is dead, poor soul."
Venosta eyed him coldly. "Then, and in spite of the verdict which
accuses an English young lady of murder, you believe the Tána Society
murdered Bellaria Dondi."
"Did justice on her, let us say," remarked Gerald quietly; "that is
the euphonious way in which you Italians put such things."
"And you believe that I obtained the news of Bellaria's whereabouts
from----" His eye wandered to Mrs. Crosbie.
She sprang to her feet indignantly. "It is not true. I told you
nothing of what my mother said; nothing of what she heard from Gerald.
Say that I did not tell you? How could I, when I knew nothing? Had I
known of this society, and your connection with it, I should not have
made use of that coral hand to terrify the Jew."
"I do not say that I am connected with the Tána Society, madam."
"You gave me the trinket."
"Which was given to me by a member of the society for use in
emergencies, madam. I gave it to you to aid you out of friendship.
That is all. He waved his large white hand. There is no more to be
said."
"Pardon me," said Gerald quickly, "there is this much to be said. How
did you come to know of Bellaria's hiding-place, if Mrs. Crosbie----"
"Madam here told me nothing," interrupted the Italian, silencing the
little widow with a gesture. "Bellaria Dondi was a traitress, who
deserved to be killed. Nevertheless, she hid herself so successfully
that the Tána Society never knew where she was until the papers said
that she had been found dead in Devonshire."
"Did not an emissary of the Tána Society kill her?" asked Gerald,
confounded.
"No," said Venosta gravely. "Heaven punished Bellaria, not the Tána.
She is dead--stabbed--but I do not know who struck the blow."
He looked at Mrs. Crosbie, and at Gerald coldly, bowed slightly, and
left the room.