THE GODS ARE JUST.
There was an absolute silence for a few moments. What with one
accusation and another, Inspector Morgan's brain was reeling. Gerald
could only stare in blank amazement at the negro, who declared so
positively that Mrs. Berch was guilty of a cowardly murder. As for the
accused woman, she put aside her weeping daughter gently and faced the
police boldly. Tod and Rebb and Arnold were silent out of sheer
astonishment. Haskins had thought Geary guilty: Arnold had believed
Rebb to be the doer of the deed: Tod deemed that Mrs. Crosbie had
struck the blow: but not one of the three ever fancied that Mrs. Berch
was the mysterious assassin of the unfortunate Italian.
"Ask this man," said Mrs. Berch harshly, to Morgan, and pointing
towards Geary. "Ask him on what grounds he makes such an accusation.
My daughter and I certainly were at Belldown, and drove on past
Leegarth, intending to call on Major Rebb at the Devon Maid. But our
car broke down and we were obliged to stop in a cottage for the night.
I can prove an alibi."
"If you can," said Morgan, finding his tongue, "why should your
daughter say that she would have saved you if she could?"
"My daughter is mad with terror!" said Mrs. Berch, stonily, "Madge
knows that I am wholly innocent," and she looked at Mrs. Crosbie.
"Yes, yes, yes!" whispered the widow faintly, "we stopped the night in
a cottage--we are innocent. My mother can prove an alibi."
"Dat one big lie!" cried Geary, with scorn, "you would like de Major
to say dat I killed Bellaria. Oh yis, and I wud be hanged. Sah," he
turned reproachfully towards his master, who had been willing to
sacrifice him for another, after his years of faithful service, "you
very wicked massa. I lub you: I do all bad tings for you, but I no
die. Dis woman," he pointed to the perfectly calm Mrs. Berch, who was
much the most composed of the group, "she come here an' kill Bellaria.
She write a letter sayin' dat if Bellaria come to de gate late, she
wud be safe from dos who would kill her. And Bellaria she comes, wid
my big knife to save herself. Den dis woman," he pointed again at Mrs.
Berch, "she stab and stab and stab."
"It is all utterly false," denied the accused woman coldly. "Do you
believe this of your mother's friend, Gerald?"
"No," said the young man generously, "there must be some mistake. I
cannot believe that Mrs. Berch would be so wicked. Her known character
contradicts this man's accusation. I believed that Geary murdered
Bellaria himself, at Major Rebb's instigation."
"That's a lie," said Rebb, in an agitated voice.
"Dat one big lie," repeated Geary in his own vernacular, and fumbled
in his breast pocket, "see, massa," he went towards Morgan, "dis de
letter dat I find in Bellaria's dress, and----"
Mrs. Crosbie made a bound and a grab; but Morgan whisked the letter
out of Geary's hand and held it above her head. One of the policemen
caught the widow to hold her back, and she burst into tears. "Is this
your writing, madam?" Morgan asked Mrs. Berch, holding the letter
before her.
"No," said Mrs. Berch, in an unshaken voice. "Mr. Haskins knows my
writing well. Gerald, look at the letter."
The young man took the epistle. It was evidently disguised
handwriting, clumsy and illiterate. He could not reasonably say that
Mrs. Berch had penned the few lines which asked Bellaria to come to
the gates of the Pixy's House at midnight on a certain date to meet a
well-wisher--so the letter was signed--who could save her from the
Tána Society. The script was quite unlike Mrs. Berch's sloping Italian
hand, which was that of the mid-Victorian epoch. "No," he said, and
very gladly, "I don't think that Mrs. Berch wrote this letter."
"Ah," the woman drew a long breath, but displayed no triumph. "Of
course, Mr. Inspector, the charge is absolutely absurd. This mad girl
whom Mr. Haskins has married murdered the miserable creature."
"Ah," said Gerald, slipping his arm round Mavis, who shivered, and hid
her face, "you return evil for good, Mrs. Berch."
Morgan took the letter and placed it in his pocket. "I don't know what
to think," he muttered. "You may be innocent and Geary----" He glanced
at the savage face of the negro, who shouted wrathfully.
"I no kill dat woman," he cried, stamping like a wild bull in a rage,
"she write de letter, I come to dis house to find de Major, and I find
Bellaria dead--she just dying."
"Did she speak?" Mavis asked the question.
"No, she no speak; she die at once. I look in de dress, and I find dat
letter and dis." Geary opened his huge black palm, and on it lay the
coral hand with the dagger. "Dat on de ground near de dress," he
ended.
"Do you recognize this?" asked Morgan, turning to Gerald, while Mrs.
Crosbie uttered a wail of fear and Mrs. Berch became even paler than
she had been.
Gerald had defended Mrs. Berch before and she had returned his
kindness by accusing Mavis. He determined to leave her to her fate,
since she was so ungrateful, especially as he readily recognized the
coral hand. "So you did not give it back to Venosta after all!" he
said to the terrified Mrs. Crosbie. "Mr. Inspector, this amulet
belongs to----" He was about to say the name when Mrs. Berch, after a
glance of despair around, interrupted.
"It belongs to me," she said harshly, "not to my daughter. Mrs.
Crosbie received it from Signor Venosta, but she gave it to me to
return to him after she made use of it to control the Jew moneylender.
I did not return it to Signor Venosta, I----" She stopped.
"It was found near the corpse of Bellaria by this man," said Morgan
gravely, "so if it belonged to you----"
"It hers; it hers," shouted Geary.
"How do you know?" asked Rebb sharply.
"I see dis woman in dat engine," he meant the motor car, "on de hill
when I leave Bellaria dead. I run out to see where anyone was, dat
kill Bellaria, and I see dat woman wid dis odder in dat engine."
"But you came running from the house," cried Rebb; "you could not----"
"Let be," said Mrs. Berch, evidently recognizing that denial was
useless: "no doubt he did see me. But I am guilty and Mrs. Crosbie is
perfectly innocent."
"Then you killed the woman?" cried Gerald, appalled.
"Yes. But not intentionally. Listen. From you we learned something
about this girl, and then my daughter and I were here on one occasion
and knew something beforehand about the matter. We forced Major Rebb
to explain, as the girl was supposed to be pretty," she cast a
disdainful glance at Mavis, "and my daughter was a trifle jealous.
When you, Gerald, came asking Madge to take charge of this girl I took
alarm, as I thought that something serious was the matter."
"You did," said Rebb bitterly, "and you forced me to tell you the
truth of how my income depended upon Mavis never getting married. But
I did not expect you to kill Bellaria so as to save the income."
"I did not do so for that purpose," said Mrs. Berch steadily. "Madge
and I were in despair, as only her marriage with you could save us
from terrible trouble. When Gerald explained about Bellaria's fear of
the coral hand I learned its purport from Signor Venosta. Then I
thought that I could use it to bend Bellaria to my will."
"What was your will?" asked Tod, who looked awestruck.
"To insist that Bellaria should take Mavis to Italy and keep her
there, so as to prevent her marrying. Then I knew that Major Rebb's
income would be safe, and that Madge could marry and take us both out
of the horrible misery we endured trying to keep up appearances on
nothing."
"On nothing?" cried Haskins suddenly.
"Beyond a hundred a year, Madge and I were penniless," said Mrs. Berch
coolly.
"But you lived in style," said Rebb, who seemed to be thunderstruck by
these sordid revelations.
"Oh, we are only a couple of adventuresses," said Mrs. Berch
ironically, "we deceived everyone, even Gerald's mother, who was as
kind and good a woman as ever breathed."
"Don't," muttered the young man softly.
"I am only praising the dead," said Mrs. Berch stolidly. "I say no
evil of her. Well then, we were in desperate straits, else I never
would have hit on the desperate scheme of getting Bellaria to kidnap
Mavis, which was what it amounted to. I told Madge nothing, save, that
I wanted to see Major Rebb. We informed Gerald that we were going to
Bognor, and we really were going. But, by my plan, we came to
Devonshire, and Madge got one of her friends to lend her a motor. She
drives excellently, and as we were at Belldown before, she knows the
country. I pretended that Major Rebb was at the Pixy's House and had
arranged to see me at midnight. This I told my daughter."
"And you believed so ridiculous a story?" said Morgan, fixing an
official eye on the shrinking woman. But she only moaned.
"Leave her alone. I am to blame," said Mrs. Berch sharply, "and the
murder of Bellaria was pure accident."
"Pure accident!" muttered Arnold ironically.
Mrs. Berch turned on him with a wintry smile. "Yes, sir. The car broke
down--that was really an accident. While Madge was seeing what was the
matter I said that I would walk on and inquire if Major Rebb was at
the house, and could take us in for the night. I came to the gates and
waited for a time. Bellaria came at length. She opened the gates in
fear and trembling, and was armed with a large yellow-handled knife."
"Dat my knife," muttered the negro, and rolled his eyes.
"I explained who I was, and told her about the marriage. I said that I
could put Venosta, as representing the society, on her track, unless
she took Mavis to Italy, and kept her single. I promised her a
pension, but the foolish creature," Mrs. Berch shrugged her shoulders,
"would listen to nothing. She refused to go to Italy, saying that she
would be killed there. I showed her the coral hand, and she tried to
snatch it from me. We struggled, and she lost her head, saying that I
had come to kill her. Once she wounded me in the arm," here Mrs. Berch
rolled up her sleeve and showed a newly healed scar of considerable
dimensions, "so I tried to take the knife from her. Then----"
"Then?" said Morgan, speaking for the others, who were all tongue-tied
and staring at the terrible recital.
Mrs. Berch put a slim hand to her head. "I don't know exactly what
took place," she said wearily and indifferently, "but somehow I got
the knife, and in the struggle, in the darkness, I stabbed her to the
heart. When she fell I was terrified at what I had done, and flung the
knife into the long grass--the coral hand had long since fallen to the
ground. Then I ran away back to the car. I found Madge had repaired
the damage, which was slight. She saw blood on my dress. I told a lie,
and we got into the car to fly. On the hill yonder"--she pointed over
the ruined wall towards Denleigh--"the car went wrong again. Then it
was that we saw a man come running up. It was Geary, but Madge started
the car, and we managed to get away. I was not sure if he recognized
us."
"You--you," said Geary, with a grin, "in de lamp. I saw you when I
come to town wid my massa. But I say noting till my massa want to hang
me. I come back and look for dis gal in de house."
"I had fled by that time with Arnold," said Mavis faintly.
"Is that all?" asked Morgan formally, turning to Mrs. Berch.
"What else would you have?" she asked.
"Did your daughter know of----"
"She knew nothing."
"I only knew that my mother had accidentally killed Bellaria," cried
Mrs. Crosbie foolishly. "I made her tell me because of the blood----"
"You idiot," said the mother between her teeth.
"Then," said Morgan officially, "I must arrest you both."
"But I am innocent," shrieked Mrs. Crosbie.
"You are an accomplice after the fact," said Morgan. "Come!" He laid a
heavy hand on Mrs. Crosbie's shoulder.
She started away with a terrible cry. Rebb flung himself forward to
save her. Morgan grappled with him, and Mrs. Berch tried to snatch her
daughter out of the way. The others were too startled to move. Mrs.
Crosbie, who was mad with fear, tore herself from the grasp of Mrs.
Berch, and ran towards the ruined wall, in the vain hope of escaping.
"Save me--help me! I won't go to prison. I am innocent--innocent."
In deadly terror she scrambled over the fallen wall. Geary ran forward
to stop her from escaping, while Morgan still fought with the Major,
and the two policemen were trying to help their superior. On seeing
the negro run after Mrs. Crosbie, the mother, silent and savage, moved
swiftly across the grass in pursuit. She did not run, but she glided
so rapidly that in a moment--as it seemed--she was over the ruins of
the wall, and on the verge of the cliff along with Madge. The negro
she pushed aside. As the others came running up she cried out: "Madge,
let us die together." And before Mrs. Crosbie knew what was in her
mother's mind she had leaped into the deep pool, holding her dearly
loved daughter, for whom she had sinned so deeply. There was a loud
splash, the agonized scream of Mrs. Crosbie, and then silence.
* * * * * * * * *
Six months later a happy young couple were in the drawing-room of a
handsome house in Kensington. With them was Mrs. Pelham Odin, looking
more stately and graceful than ever. She had established herself on
the sofa in her regulation attitude, and Mavis was seated in a low
chair beside her. Gerald stood with his back to the fire, smoking, and
looked extremely happy. His happiness was reflected in the face of his
young wife, and Mrs. Pelham Odin presided over the joint enjoyment
like a fairy godmother.
"You are both looking splendid," she said, in her deep, clear voice,
"and I am glad to see you both after your sojourn abroad. But do you
think it was kind to leave England without seeing me?"
Mavis caught the two hands of the old actress. "No, it was not kind. I
said that it was not kind. But Gerald----"
"Gerald said that it was necessary," said that young man coolly. "Dear
Mrs. Pelham Odin look at the circumstances. There was the inquest on
the bodies of those two poor women, who drowned themselves in the
Peace Pool--in Mother Carey's Peace Pool."
"I thought that Mrs. Berch dragged her daughter to death."
"So she did," admitted Gerald quickly. "Mrs. Crosbie would have been
arrested as an accomplice after the fact, and in any case would have
sunk into poverty without her mother to help her. Mrs. Berch of course
thought she would be hanged, although, seeing how she swore that the
crime was accidental, extenuating circumstances might have been found.
I suppose Mrs. Berch, who was frantically fond of her daughter,
thought it best they should go together. Madge certainly would have
lived, poor soul, in spite of all her misery, as she loved life.
But Mrs. Berch pulled her down, and they are buried in Leegarth
cemetery----"
"Beside Bellaria!" said Mavis, with a shiver. "How strange."
"The punishment of providence, my dear," said Mrs. Pelham Odin
rebukingly. "The murderess was laid beside her victim. A wicked
woman----"
"No," said Gerald, throwing up his hand. "Don't call her that."
"But she murdered----"
"I believe that the crime really was committed accidentally. And as
she and poor Madge have paid for their sins let us leave them to God,
Mrs. Pelham Odin. Who are we to judge, and, as was revealed at the
inquest, those two women had suffered much misery and trouble."
"I wonder how they managed to deceive the tradesmen for so long," said
the old actress musingly. "I am sure my tradesmen always make me pay
every month. But look at the thousands they owed and----"
"It would all have been paid had Mrs. Crosbie married the Major."
"I daresay--with Mavis' six thousand a year."
"I have only three thousand," said Mrs. Haskins: "Charity has the
rest."
Mrs. Pelham Odin kissed the girl's forehead. "You behaved in a noble
way, my dear. I hear that Lady Euphemia has quite taken to Charity,
now that she knows her father was a Devonshire Durham. And Tod has got
back his ruined castle to play the laird. He says, however, that he is
coming back from Scotland to work again at the law."
"And quite right he is," said Gerald, sitting down. "I don't believe
in any man being lazy. Lady Euphemia wants Tod to play the laird on
his wife's money, but Tod has too much respect to live on his wife."
"I know _you_ have," said Mavis, looking at him fondly. "You don't
know how difficult it is to make him take money," she added, turning
to the actress, "he will live on his own income, and works like a
nigger."
"Not like Geary, if he is the nigger in question. My dear Mavis, this
house is yours, and I----"
"You're going to say that you are a boarder. Stop!" And Mavis laid a
pretty hand over his mouth. Gerald kissed it.
"You are both extremely silly," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, "share and
share alike--money and love and sentiments and everything."
"Right," said Haskins playfully, "Mavis, darling, give me back that
kiss."
"I came here," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, in her most dignified way, "to
welcome you back from the Continent, so I must be attended to, and you
_did_ leave England after the trial without seeing me."
Gerald rose, and became serious. "I did so to save my wife from an
attack of brain fever," he said gravely. "Think of what that trial
meant to a girl who had never faced such a throng of people."
"Oh, Gerald, there was the Belver Theatre."
"I am sure the people in the court were a better audience," said Mrs.
Pelham Odin, using her fan, "and after all, the trial was a mere form.
You were proved to be quite sane by those two nice doctors, and
perfectly innocent, when the evidence was given as to Mrs. Berch's
verbal confession. I read all about it in the papers. You were made
quite a heroine, Mavis, and as I like heroines I expected you to come
and tell me all about it. Instead of which," added the actress,
returning to her grievance, "you went quietly to the Continent."
"To Switzerland," said Haskins, slipping his arm around Mavis' waist.
"There we passed a happy time, and Mavis recovered from the shock of
all these dreadful things. We never talk of them now."
"I am very sorry to," said Mrs. Pelham Odin obstinately, "but I must
know what has become of everyone. Major Rebb, I understand, is in
South America?"
"Yes. He could not face the court, and so he bolted. No one went after
him, as of course he knew nothing about the murder, and Mavis did not
prosecute him for his behavior to her."
"Geary--that terrible Uncle Tom's Cabin person?"
"He ran away also. I expect he is with Rebb now. I must say Rebb did
not treat him well, trying to fix the guilt on him. Perhaps he's given
Rebb the go-by on that account, and is now in Jamaica with another
wife."
"Where is his English one?"
"In Barnstaple, with her coffee-colored children. Mavis allows her a
small income."
"I am so sorry for her," said Mrs. Haskins apologetically. "I am sorry
for anyone who is unhappily married."
"Well, you and Charity have married good men."
"But poor men," said Gerald, smiling.
Mrs. Pelham Odin shook her fan at him. "I could mention the Continent
again," she said, smiling, "but as it was necessary that Mavis should
have peace and quiet after all her trials, poor dear, I forgive the
apparent rudeness. What are you going to do now?"
"We are going to repair the Pixy's House and live there."
Mrs. Pelham Odin gave a little scream. "Then don't ask me to come and
see you. Two murders--for Mrs. Berch murdered her daughter as well as
that poor Italian woman--and three corpses. Ugh! Why, the house will
be haunted."
"Not at all," said Gerald tartly. "We can live there with a clear
conscience, and the evil influence of the place will depart when good
people dwell there."
"Meaning yourself, my dear boy. How modest!"
"I was rather thinking of Mavis, with her pure mind and----"
"There, there!" Mrs. Pelham Odin got rather restive, as she didn't
like to hear any woman but herself complimented. "You are a six
months' old husband----"
"I shall be a lover all my life." And Gerald kissed his wife.
"My Fairy Prince." And Mavis kissed Gerald.
Mrs. Pelham Odin cast her eyes up to the ceiling. "Quite like Romeo
and Juliet, without the limelight," she said, in a fatigued tone.
"Well, you must come to me before going to Devonshire. Charity
Macandrew and her husband are coming. I want to give a dinner-party
and introduce you two girls to all sorts of delightful people at a
reception to follow. Everyone is delighted with the romantic story."
"I daresay they are," said Gerald crossly. "The papers have made far
too much of the matter."
"I daresay they wouldn't have done so had it not happened to be the
dull season," said Mrs. Pelham Odin consolingly. "Of course there have
been romantic accounts, and portraits of the girls, and all that, but
I have not seen what the newspapers call the sealed message."
"Do you mean the phonograph record which Mavis sent me?"
"Yes; only she didn't send it to you. She sent it to anyone who
happened to fish it up."
"Tod did that, but the message was sent to me. Nothing happens by
chance, Mrs. Pelham Odin, so----"
"Oh, dear me, here comes your occult stuff. Tod told me all about it.
I don't like such deep subjects. The message----"
"We have it," said Mavis, rising and going to a side-table on which
stood a Jekle & Co. phonograph. "Gerald and I often turn on the
machine to hear the message which brought us together."
While she fitted the tube on to the machine Mrs. Pelham Odin yawned.
"It was very clever of you to use a phonograph, since you couldn't
read or write. I hope you are less ignorant now."
"I am getting on very quickly. Gerald teaches me every day."
"You conjugate the verb to love, I suppose. What's that?"
Gerald raised his finger. "The message which Mavis sent me."
"Sent anyone," muttered Mrs. Pelham Odin obstinately: but she
listened.
"This to the wide world," babbled the machine in the sweetest and most
melodious of voices. "This to the Fairy Prince, who will come and
waken me from dreams. Come, dear Prince, to the Pixy's House, and
watch that the jealous ogress, who guards me, does not see you. I
cannot read, I cannot write: but I talk my message to you, dear
Prince. To the stream I commit the message on this first day of April
in this year five. May the river bear the message to you, dear Prince.
Come to me! Come to me! Come to me! and waken your Princess to life
with a kiss."
The machine stopped, for Gerald laid a hand on it. "That," he said
solemnly, "is the Sealed Message."
"As I thought," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, in her lively tones, "it might
have been sent to the Man in the Moon."
"Instead," said Mavis, kissing her husband, "to the dearest Fairy
Prince on Earth."
"Which has none outside pantomimes," ended Mrs. Pelham Odin,
determined to have the last word. She managed to do so, for the
husband and wife were kissing one another.
THE END.