THE DOG
Clarice quite intended to ask Ferdy what was the meaning of Zara's
strange remark, but other things took up her attention, and for the
time being she forgot the saying. As regards the murder, of course,
neither Clarice nor any one else thought that there was any mystery
about the death of Mr. Horran. Undoubtedly Osip had killed him, in due
accordance with the traditions of the Purple Fern. Only in this
instance it was difficult to guess why the crime had been committed on
an inoffensive man. The other seven victims, men and women, had been
selected for their wealth, and in every case either the body had been
robbed of jewellery, or the house of the dead--when the especial
murder took place in a house--had been looted. In the case of
Horran, nothing had been stolen, therefore robbery--as in the other
cases--could not be the motive for the crime.
However, Clarice did not trouble her head much about the matter,
although the facts of Mr. Horran (according to Ackworth) having been
in the company of Osip at the Shah's Rooms, and the curious
observation of Zara to Ferdy, might have urged her to make enquiries.
Still, there was no mystery about the death, save the want of a
motive, and, therefore, there was nothing to unravel. Horran was dead,
the hue and cry was out against his assassin, and two days after the
inquest the funeral took place. Owing to the publicity of the death,
and the respect in which Horran was held by his fellow-townsmen, there
was a great crowd at the cemetery. Ferdy acted as chief mourner along
with Dr. Jerce, the life-long friend of the deceased, and Mr. Clarke
read the burial service. Clarice, according to custom, stopped at home
while her unfortunate guardian was being laid in his untimely grave.
It was then that she remembered Zara's observation, and wondered anew
what it meant.
Did the girl mean that now Osip was accused there could be no danger
to Ferdy? Clarice asked herself this question, but without receiving
any answer from her consciousness. The facts of the murder were
sufficiently plain, save as to the motive, so in any case it had
nothing to do with Ferdy. Moreover, if Zara meant that Ferdy was
implicated in the matter--and on the face of it that seemed
absurd--such an accusation, if made, could be rebutted by Clarice
herself, since she had locked Ferdy in his room on the night when the
purposeless crime was committed. Miss Baird used the word purposeless
because she could not conjecture why Horran should have been killed in
so tragic a manner. Unless, of course, the motive for the committal of
the crime was connected with Horran's acquaintanceship with Osip. Why
the dead man had been at the Shah's Rooms, and in Osip's company, was
yet to be explained, but only the assassin could give the reason for
that secret visit to London, and he was not likely to come forward,
considering that there was a price on his head. Clarice, at the
suggestion of Dr. Jerce, had offered a reward of two hundred pounds
for the apprehension of the man in grey, and the London detective,
Sims, had gone back to Town with the firm determination to win that
sum of money. But he admitted to Miss Baird herself, with a rueful
smile, that it was like looking for a needle in a haystack to capture
the remaining member of the Purple Fern Triumvirate.
As yet Barras had not put in an appearance, although he had been
expected to be present at the funeral. A telegram from him stated that
he would be down immediately afterwards, and would come to The Laurels
to read the will of the deceased. There had been some difficulty in
finding Mr. Barras in Paris, and only at the eleventh hour had he
returned to England.
Meanwhile Clarice, in deep mourning, sat in the drawing-room waiting
for the arrival of the solicitor, and for the return of the funeral
party. Ackworth had not come over to attend, as stern duty compelled
him to go to Southampton with a draft of men for India. But he
promised to return as soon as he was able. Clarice anxiously expected
him, as she had much to say about the property and about their
marriage. Especially about the latter, as, since the death of Horran,
Dr. Jerce had too openly displayed his interest in the girl. It was,
therefore, necessary to put an end to the doctor's hopes by announcing
her engagement to Captain Ackworth.
While Clarice thought of these things, Mrs. Rebson, at her elbow, kept
up a cheerful conversation about the truths enshrined in the pages of
The Domestic Prophet. "One thing's come true, Miss," she said,
briskly; "I only hope the other won't."
"What other?" asked Miss Baird, listlessly.
"Why, the disgrace, Miss. We had the death to an elderly man, who
should have been beware of the midnight hour--death by a knife, too."
"Only it was an assegai," retorted Clarice, scornfully; "your prophet
made a mistake in the weapon."
"The Domestic Prophet doesn't condescend to tell everything," said
Mrs. Rebson, much offended, "but you can't say but what the murder
hasn't taken place."
"No," sighed the girl, "poor Uncle Henry."
"We've had death and sorrow," went on the housekeeper, relentlessly,
"and disgrace has still to come."
"Disgrace! What nonsense."
"So you said before, Miss. Don't scoff, when you know what's happened.
Disgrace must come, as The Domestic Prophet plainly says." She turned
over a few pages, and cleared her throat to read:--"If a crime of any
nature has been committed by any person during the months of December,
January, or February, that person, if hanged, will assuredly bring
disgrace on those nearest and dearest to them. Let degenerates beware,
says the seer."
"Oh, what rubbish."
Mrs. Rebson put the book in her pocket, took her spectacles off her
nose, and rose in a stately manner. "Death has come," she said, in her
most scathing voice. "Sorrow has come. You scoffed at both, being hard
of heart. Now disgrace will befall this house, and----"
"How can it?" asked Clarice, impatiently. "Osip doesn't belong to this
house or to us. The disgrace falls on him since he is guilty."
Mrs. Rebson had no answer for this, so retreated with dignity, her
faith in the Domestic Prophet still unshaken "Mark my words, Miss
Clarice, disgrace is coming," and with that she left the room, much to
the relief of Miss Baird, who was very weary of the gimcrack sayings
and pinchbeck philosophy which Mrs. Rebson set such store by.
Scarcely had Mrs. Rebson departed, when Ferdy entered by the window.
He looked tall and slim in his deep mourning, and very well content
with himself. His grief for the guardian, who had been so kind to him,
was apparently swallowed up by the reflection that he could soon be
enjoying two thousand a year. His first glance round the drawing-room
was in search of Barras.
"Where's that lawyer chap?" asked Ferdy, producing a cigarette.
"He has not arrived yet," replied Clarice, rather disgusted at this
want of feeling. "How can you talk so, Ferdy, when poor Uncle Henry is
just buried? Tell me about the funeral."
"There's nothing to tell," said Ferdy, flinging himself into the most
comfortable armchair; "it was much the same as other funerals."
"You have no heart, Ferdy."
"And no money," retorted the youth, coolly; "but that will soon be
remedied, thank heaven."
Clarice could not help smiling to herself, in spite of her grief, when
she thought of how Ferdy would be disappointed. It then occurred to
her that he had some especial desire in wanting the money so badly,
and, pending the arrival of the lawyer, she asked questions. "I
suppose you want your two thousand a year in order to marry Prudence."
"Perhaps," said Ferdy, cautiously.
"Perhaps," echoed his sister, raising herself angrily. "Why, you have
proposed to Prudence."
"I know that, and I love Prudence. All the same, a proposal doesn't
invariably mean marriage."
"Oh," said Clarice, in disgust. "Then you still hanker after Zara?"
Ferdy lighted his cigarette calmly. "I don't know what you're talking
about," he observed, obstinately.
"Mrs. Rebson says that you are always at the Savoy Hotel."
"She had better mind her own business, the interfering old cat," was
Ferdy's retort; "besides, Zara doesn't always live there."
"She lives in town, and so do you, I know, Ferdy; I dare say you see a
lot of her there."
"Oh! Has Jerce told you so?"
"No. But I am certain that you are familiar with her."
"Are you, indeed?" said Ferdy, in an aggravating tone, "and on what
grounds, since you are so clever?"
Clarice leaned forward. "I heard Zara say to you immediately after the
inquest that, as Osip was accused, there could be no danger."
This time Ferdy was startled. He dropped his cigarette and bent down
to pick it up, and to hide the sudden rush of colour which came to his
cheeks. "Did you hear anything else?" he asked, hesitating.
"No. But I want to know the meaning of the sentence I did hear."
Ferdy rose and paced the drawing-room, shrugging his shoulders. "What
an inquisitive girl you are," he said, carelessly. "Zara only meant
that as Osip was accused, there would be no danger of any other murder
being committed."
This sounded a plausible enough explanation, yet Clarice doubted its
truth. "That is not the meaning," she said, impetuously.
"What is the meaning, then?" asked Ferdy, sharply.
"I don't know, unless she meant that you were free from danger."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Ferdy, angrily, and dropped his
cigarette again. "Do you think that I have anything to do with the
death of Uncle Henry?"
"Certainly not, seeing that I locked you up in your room on that
night. All the same, I shouldn't be at all surprised if you knew this
man Osip, and that he had influenced you in some way."
"I don't know Osip from Moses," said Ferdy, doggedly. "All I saw of
him was a glimpse on the night he searched Jerce, and then it was only
a casual glance when passing him in the High Street. How could I
possibly know such a blighter?"
"Uncle Henry might have introduced you."
Ferdy wheeled round in genuine amazement. "Uncle Henry! Are you out of
your senses, Clarry? You know Uncle Henry never went out of his room
for years and years, and certainly this man in grey never came to The
Laurels until the time he searched Jerce."
"Do you know the Shah's Rooms, Ferdy?"
"Yes; I sometimes go there," snapped Ferdy, unhesitatingly.
"You go there very often, I expect," said his sister, bitterly, "well
then Anthony went there, and--"
"What!" scoffed Ferdy, "the immaculate Anthony!"
"He's no more immaculate than any other man. Besides, when he was
there a couple or three months ago, he was not then engaged to me. But
Anthony saw Uncle Henry with this man Osip."
Ferdy went quite white. "You--Anthony must be mistaken."
"No! Anthony didn't know Osip at the time--"
"And he doesn't know him now."
"He knows the looks of the man. The person with Uncle Henry at the
Shah's Rooms was a tall, slim man with a criss-cross scar on his left
cheek."
"That's Osip, true enough," muttered Ferdy, "judging from the glimpse
I caught of him in the High Street and in a bad light. But it is quite
absurd to say that Uncle Henry was at the Shah's Rooms. You know that
his disease prevented him from leaving his room."
"We did not know what the disease was at the time," said Clarice,
coolly. "There may be some mistake, as you say, but Anthony is too
keen-eyed to make one. Did you ever see Uncle Henry in Town?"
"No, I never did."
"Did you ever see this Osip?"
"Not in Town," said Ferdy, truthfully, "but I saw him in the High
Street on that night when Jerce was searched. Look here, Clarry, let
us have an understanding, if you please. Do you accuse me of--"
"I accuse you of nothing," interrupted Clarice, rising, a trifle
wearily. "Only the observation of Zara--"
"I have explained that."
"In a lame way. I am certain that you know nothing about the murder,
Ferdy, as you were locked in and--"
"How dare you? how dare you?" burst out the young man, furiously red
and angry. "Even to hint at such things is an insult to me. I am not a
saint; all the same, I am not a devil."
"Don't excite yourself, Ferdy. We know that Osip is guilty, and that
no blame attaches to you. But I fail to see why Zara should have made
that observation to you."
"Go and ask her," snapped Ferdy, rudely.
"I don't speak to persons of that sort," said Clarice, icily.
"She's a good, decent, pretty, hard-working girl."
"What an array of adjectives. I never said that she was not. All I
wish to know--and my desire to know is suggested by the chance
observation I overheard--is, are you acquainted with Osip, or are you
in any way influenced by Osip?"
"I am not. How dare you suggest such a silly thing? As to Uncle Henry
having been at the Shah's Rooms; that's sheer rubbish."
Clarice walked thoughtfully to the window. "I dare say I am worrying
myself unnecessarily," she observed. "There is no mystery about Uncle
Henry's death, and Anthony may have made a mistake. But you do make me
anxious, Ferdy, dear, with your wild ways. You are so unsophisticated,
that I fear lest you should be led astray."
"I'm quite able to look after myself," fumed the young man, again
producing his cigarette case, that unfailing resource in
embarrassment.
His sister sighed. Somehow, in everything that Ferdy said, or did,
there lurked a doubtful note. But on reflection, she could not but
confess that it seemed ridiculous to think that Ferdy knew an
assassin. Only for the overheard whisper, Clarice would never have
started so futile a conversation, and now wished to end it by
confessing her fault. "I beg your pardon, Ferdy," she said, quietly,
"but my anxiety for you must be my excuse."
Before Ferdy could accept her apology, and kiss her, as he seemed
inclined to do, there was a furious barking outside, and the angry
voice of a man. Clarice stepped out on to the terrace. "There's Jane
at Dr. Jerce again," she said, hastily, and went to the rescue.
Jerce, with a very white and angry face, was repelling with his
umbrella the assault of a tawny dog of the mongrel collie species,
with savage white teeth and blazing topaz eyes. Jane--as the animal
was called--cherished a deep hatred for Jerce, notwithstanding that he
had been her former master, and had presented her to Miss Baird. On
all occasions she attacked him, and was usually shut up when the
doctor was expected. That Jane was lame in the left hind-leg did not
prevent her from making furious darts at Jerce, until Clarice caught
her deftly by the collar.
"That damned dog will be the death of me," said Jerce, when Jane,
handed over to Ferdy, was dragged away, growling and snapping. "I beg
your pardon for swearing, Miss Baird, but--"
"I am very sorry, doctor," said Clarice, leading the way back to the
drawing-room. "Jane was shut up as usual, but must have got loose
while the groom was at the funeral. I wonder why she hates you so?"
"I don't know," said Jerce, seating himself, and recovering his
calmness. "I get on first-rate with dogs, but Jane never did like me.
I gave her to you, Miss Baird, because she never would be friends with
me. The she-devil--I beg your pardon again--but I am quite sure that
Jane will kill me some day."
"Nonsense. Her bark is worse than her bite."
"Then I hope she won't bark again, that's all. Ungrateful beast, I
picked her up in Whitechapel on a wet day, streaming with water and
starving with hunger. She had a good home with me, until her temper
made me get rid of her."
"Perhaps her lameness makes her fractious," said Clarice. "Jane is
really a good-tempered dog as a rule."
"Her lameness," echoed Jerce, after a pause, and then smiled in an odd
way. "Why, yes, Miss Baird. That might have something to do with her
temper. However, now that she's tied up--"
"Shut up, you mean," said Ferdy, who had now returned.
"Let us say disposed of," observed the doctor, genially, "and end the
subject. Well, my dear Miss Baird," he added, gently, "now that our
dear friend has been buried, we must learn how things are to be
arranged."
"Mr. Barras will tell us that," said Clarice, glancing at the French
clock on the mantelpiece. "He has not yet come!"
"He'll be here in a few moments," said Jerce, cheerily. "I saw him
walking up the High Street. Ah!"--as there came a sharp ring at the
front door--"there he is. Do you want me to remain?"
"Yes, do," urged Clarice; "both Ferdy and I would like you to be
present at the reading of the will. You are our best friend."
"I should like to be something nearer and dearer," breathed Jerce, as
the door opened, and Clarice rose to welcome the lawyer.
She pretended that she had not heard him, but he guessed that she had,
from the flush which coloured her fair face. But by this time Barras
was shaking hands with the two young people, and bowed politely to the
famous doctor. "I am glad you're here, sir," he observed, sitting down
and laying aside a black bag. "I want to ask you a question."
"What is it?" demanded Jerce, looking surprised. "You knew my late
client, Mr. Horran, intimately?"
"Yes, for years and years. We were at school and college together."
"Then you would know."
"Know what?" asked Jerce, still more astonished.
"If my late client, Mr. Horran, was an honest man or a scoundrel."