AN ASTOUNDING DISCOVERY.
After that momentous interview I presented myself to my astonished
relatives. These were two lovable old maids, sisters of my mother, who
had passed the best part of their existence in the Cathedral Square of
Marshminster. They knew everybody and all about everybody, and
pottered through life with the assistance of a comfortable income
which they shared in common, a trifle of gossip, and a series of
afternoon teas. At the daily services of the cathedral they were
always to be seen, and were intimately acquainted with the dean and
chapter. Even the bishop condescended to take tea with them on
occasions, and they held their heads high in consequence. Moreover,
they loved me greatly, though I was but a graceless nephew to the good
souls.
When I made my appearance, the Misses Durrant received me with open
arms. They had not expected me till much later in the month, but had
already prepared for my reception. My portmanteau, which I had ordered
to be sent down from London, had arrived, the bedding of my room was
thoroughly well aired, and Rachel, their handmaiden, spread for me a
sumptuous meal. When I washed and clothed myself anew, I made an
excellent meal, for the long tramp from the Fen Inn made me hungry, I
then sat down for a chat and a smoke.
"I think he may, Jane," hinted Sophia gently.
"If he sits near the open window, Sophia," was the firm reply,
whereupon, this little comedy having been gone through as usual, I
produced my pipe and took my appointed station. Thus settled I made
inquiries about Bellin Hall and its inmates.
"I see you have the London beauty down here, aunt."
"Olivia Bellin," said they both in a breath, and then sighed.
"Is there anything to mourn about, Aunt Jane?" I asked, pricking-up my
ears for useful information which I knew these gossips could supply.
"Ah," sighed Aunt Jane, folding her withered hands, "who knows the
wickedness of the heart?"
"Olivia's heart?"
"Dear me, no, Lionel," said Aunt Sophia, scandalized; "she is a good
girl,--as good as she is lovely,--and not so silly as her mother,"
concluded the old lady, with feminine spite.
"Then to whose heart do you allude?"
This question started a duet between the two old ladies.
"Francis Briarfield! You remember, Jane."
"Yes, Sophia! That hussy with the feather boa----"
"Was seen speaking to him in the cathedral by Bishop Jevon's tomb."
"And he seemed very intimate with her."
"Still, Jane, he was glad when she left Marshminster."
"Rather relieved, I think, Sophia."
"And poor Olivia Bellin knew nothing about his wickedness," they
concluded together.
My heart beat rapidly. In this idle talk I saw a link which would bind
Felix Briarfield to the girl at the Fen Inn.
"Was she a pretty girl?" I asked with well-simulated carelessness.
"Handsome is that handsome does," snorted Aunt Jane, who was
remarkably plain herself.
"Sure, sister, she was not ill-looking," said the gentler Sophia, who
had been a toast in her youth; "she had a good figure and dark hair
and eyes. I admired her complexion, Jane! it was like cream, and a
dimple here," finished Sophia, touching her chin, "a pretty-pretty
dimple."
"Sophia!"
"Well, it was a pretty dimple, jane. No one can deny that."
In this description I espied Rose Strent, especially as regards the
dimple. I had noticed it myself. Evidently there was an understanding
between this woman and Felix which had led to her taking up her
quarters in the Fen Inn with her father--if indeed the landlord was
her father, a fact I was beginning to doubt. I set the garrulous
ladies off on another tack.
"Do you know anything about the Fen Inn, Aunt Jane?"
"The Lone Inn, child! Never name it! In my youth it was the scene of a
terrible murder, and since that time no one has lived in it, save one
man."
"It is now in ruins," said Sophia, with bated breath, "and is said to
be haunted."
"Does anyone go near it?"
"No one: I don't think there is a man in the country who would venture
near the Lone Inn after dark. Two years ago a stranger refurnished and
repaired it. But he did not stay longer than a week."
"What became of him?"
"He disappeared," said Aunt Sophia, nodding her head solemnly,
"vanished altogether. It was supposed that he was drowned in the
marshes. The house is still furnished, I believe, but no one goes near
it."
"What about the landlord?"
"It's in Chancery," said Aunt Jane wisely; "it has no landlord."
After this discussion I went to bed with plenty to think about. I saw
well enough that Strent and his daughter had taken up their abode in
the ruined house for a certain purpose. That purpose was, I verily
believe, to encompass the death of Francis Briarfield, and now that it
was accomplished they disappeared. As Aunt Sophia said, the furniture
of the former proprietor was still there, so a touch or two had
rendered the house habitable. This accounted for their unwillingness
to receive me as a guest, and for the mildewed aspect of the rooms
which had struck me so forcibly. A second tragedy had accentuated the
evil reputation of the house. But while the first tragedy was known to
all, the second was known only to myself and to--Felix Briarfield.
I felt certain that he was connected in some way with the unexpected
death of his brother. Francis had been lured to that lonely inn for
the purpose of being murdered, and the crime had been accomplished by
Strent and his daughter. So far as I knew, Felix had not been near the
house on the night in question, yet he was without doubt morally
guilty of the crime. Olivia, believing him to be her lover Francis,
did not place much faith in my story, but surely, when she was
convinced by the sight of the dead body, and I had torn the mask from
the face of Felix, she would let me deal with him as he deserved.
Next morning I was up betimes, and, telling my aunts I would not be
back till late, went round to the sole livery stables possessed by
Marshminster. These were kept by Bob Fundy, a bow-legged little man,
who had been a jockey in his youthful days, and who was a great friend
of mine. He expressed great joy at my reappearance in Marshminster,
and mounted me on the best of his steeds. I was in too great a hurry
to exchange more than a few words with the genial old fellow, and set
out at once for Bellin Hall. Later on I regretted my haste, as a few
words of explanation from Fundy would have saved me much money and a
long journey.
At ten o'clock I was at the park gates, but Felix and Olivia had not
yet put in an appearance. I intended to denounce Felix as a murderer
in the presence of his brother's dead body, and to tell Miss Bellin of
his friendship with Rose Strent. Jealousy, if nothing else, might make
her guess the truth, and prevent Felix carrying on the shameless
imposture in which he now indulged so insolently. Once I proved the
identity of the dead man by means of the pearl ring, which Olivia
would recognize, I hoped to make short work of the pretensions of
Felix. It was a difficult task, but I was now seized with what is
known as detective fever, and determined to run the assassin to earth.
His name, I firmly believed, was Edward Strent; and that Felix was an
accomplice. It was questionable whether Rose Strent had taken any
active part in the commission of the crime.
In a few minutes I saw them riding down the avenue. They looked a
handsome couple, and I sighed to think how the outward appearance of
Felix belied his foul spirit. Olivia looked remarkably beautiful and
managed her horse to perfection. As they drew near I noted their
haggard looks, as though they had passed the night without sleep, and
again the thought flashed through my mind that there might be an
understanding between them.
But however much Olivia knew, I felt sure she was ignorant that
Francis had been done to death by his brother, else even she would
have recoiled from so base a scoundrel.
"Here we are, you see," said Felix defiantly, as I raised my hat to
Miss Bellin, "quite ready to set out on this wildgoose chase."
"I am afraid you will find it more serious than you think,
Briarfield."
"At all events we won't find that body you speak of."
"I am certain you will, Mr. Felix Briarfield."
"You still insist that Francis is Felix," said Olivia, as we rode on
together.
"I am absolutely certain of it."
"What about this?" interposed Felix, reining up his horse and handing
me a telegram; "Olivia received it this morning."
I glanced at the telegram. It was from Felix in Paris to Olivia at
Marshminster, and stated that he was going to Italy in a few days, but
hoped to return for the wedding. I handed it back without remark, but
it struck me as strange that such matter should have been sent by wire
instead of by post. The telegram to my mind was only another move in
the game Felix was playing so boldly.
"Well, Denham," he said, restoring it to his pocket, "you see by that
telegram that Felix is in Paris, and if so I must be Francis."
"In that case," said I, looking at him keenly, "who is the dead man at
the Fen Inn."
"There is none there!" he answered jestingly, yet with a lurking
anxiety which I was quick to note; "I have no third brother. We are
twins, not triplets."
I vouchsafed no reply to this witticism, which I judged to be in bad
taste, but rode on rapidly. By this time we had left the town far
behind, and were some way on the winding road which crossed the
marshes. Miss Bellin evidently did not desire to talk, for she pushed
forward well in front, and as Felix also relapsed into silence, we
rode on smartly without uttering a word. A more dismal riding party I
never saw. The keen wind brought a touch of color into the pale cheeks
of Olivia, but she had dark circles under her eyes and looked
considerably worried. Felix rode by her side and addressed her every
now and then, but I was too far in the rear to know what they said. I
felt anything but comfortable while in their company, as they regarded
me with great disfavor.
"Never mind," I thought, touching my horse with the whip, "once I
bring Felix face to face with his dead brother he will be forced to
abandon these airs. At whatever cost I must tear the mask off him, if
only for the sake of that poor girl who believes so firmly in such a
villain."
There was no change in the appearance of the Fen Inn as we rode up to
it, save that it looked more ruinous than ever. The solitary building
had a sinister aspect, and even in the bright sunshine hinted at
secret murder. I noticed how thick grew the grass round the house,
thereby marking more strongly its desertion and desolation. Sure
enough, it had not been inhabited for a considerable period, and this
fact alone roused my suspicions as to the motives of Strent and his
daughter. They could have no good design in staying in so haggard a
dwelling.
"You see the inn is a ruin," said Olivia, pointing toward it with her
riding whip; "no one could find shelter there even for one night."
"I did, Miss Bellin."
"It was a dream," she answered, "an idle dream. You may have slept
there, but you never met Francis within its walls."
"We are on a fool's errand," said Felix derisively; "I thought so all
along."
"Come and see," I said, dismounting at the door of the inn; "he laughs
best who laughs last."
It seemed to me that Olivia made as though to turn her horse's head
away from the house, but by this time the hand of Felix was already on
the bridle rein, and she suppressed the momentary inclination to flee.
The action revived my suspicions. With a half sigh she dismounted with
the aid of Felix and we entered the house.
All was as I had left it. The blinds were down, the rooms mildewed and
desolate, the fireplaces filled with heaps of gray ashes. Olivia drew
her riding skirts closely round her and shuddered. I led upstairs to
the room of Francis. Here the door had fallen down and we walked on it
into the room. To my surprise the bed was empty.
"Well, Denham," said Felix, after a pause, "where is the dead body to
whom you have given my name?"
"Someone has been here and taken it away!"
"I don't think so. The absence of the body only proves the truth of
what I said from the first. You dreamed your adventure!"
Before I could reply Olivia burst into hysterical tears. The strain on
her nerves was very great, and now that the climax was reached she
broke down utterly. Felix took her in his arms and soothed her as he
best could, while I, utterly bewildered by the turn events had taken,
carefully searched the room. All was in vain. I could find neither
body, nor clothes, nor aught pertaining to Francis Briarfield. I began
to think to myself that I must be dreaming. But that was out of the
question. The only conclusion I could come to was that Strent had
watched me leave the house and then returned to make away with the
body. Without doubt it was Strent who had slain my unfortunate friend,
and now had hidden the corpse in some quaking bog.
When Olivia broke down Felix led her from the room, and I went to the
front door--there to find them mounted on their horses.
"We are going back to Marshminster," said Felix, gathering up his
reins; "thanks to this wildgoose chase Miss Bellin is quite ill. I
trust now, sir, that you are convinced."
"I am not convinced that you are Francis!" I answered doggedly.
"You still think I am Felix," he asked, with a sneer.
"I do! notwithstanding the disappearance of the body, which has been
made away with by Strent. I firmly believe that Francis is dead, and
that you are Felix Briarfield."
"As we have seen nothing, Mr. Denham," said Miss Bellin coldly, "I
must decline to believe your statement. This gentleman is Francis, and
Felix is in Paris."
"Very good," said I quietly; "then I leave for Paris to-morrow."
"For what reason?"
"I go to seek Felix. You say he is in Paris, I say he is now before me
on that horse. You came to the Fen Inn and found no body, Miss Bellin;
I go to Paris--to the Hôtel des Étrangers, and I'll wager that I shall
find no Felix."
They looked at one another in silence for a few moments. My remark
evidently scared them.
"Are you going to put this matter in the hands of the police?" asked
Felix.
"It is useless to do so now, as the body of your brother has
disappeared. I shall go to Paris, and if I do not find Felix
there----"
"Well?" she said, seeing I hesitated.
"I will tell the police all and have this neighborhood searched," I
said, concluding my sentence.
Olivia laughed scornfully and rode away, while Felix, preparing to
follow, uttered a last word.
"Consult a doctor, Denham, at once. You are mad, or subject to
hallucinations."
And with that he set off at a smart trot, and I was left alone at the
door of the inn.
After the extraordinary experiences I had undergone I began to think
there might be something in what he said. Nevertheless, I determined
for my own satisfaction to go to Paris and see if Felix Briarfield was
at the Hôtel des Étrangers. If he were not, then my suspicions might
prove to be correct; but if he were, then I might believe that my
adventure at the inn was a dream.