PROOF POSITIVE
In that little room, with its vivid colouring and heavy scented
atmosphere, the two women faced each other, bent upon battle. At the
outset, the advantage lay with Zara, seeing how she had penetrated the
disguise of the devoted sister. For one moment the dancer eyed the
pale and startled face of her visitor, and then crossed to a bronze
tripod of classic shape and beauty, wherein smouldered a pastille.
While lighting another one, she threw a careless glance over her
shoulder.
"Well," she said, quietly, "have you nothing to say?"
Clarice, now on her feet, looked at the gaudy comfort of the tiny
room, at the Oriental draperies and ornaments, at the Persian praying
mats, at herself in the glass, tall, slim, and boyish, in her
masculine attire, and then her gaze came back to the graceful woman in
the maize-hued tea-gown. Zara met her gaze with insolence, and a smile
curved the red beauty of her full lips. "Have you nothing to say?" she
repeated, and the question sounded like a challenge.
"A great deal," retorted Clarice, nerving herself for the battle; "in
spite of this dress I am a woman, and therefore can use my tongue."
"You will have to use your brains also," said Zara, with a shrug, "if
you wish to conquer me."
"How do you know that I wish to conquer you?"
"You would not be here else. I can guess why you have come; to save
Ferdy from becoming what you no doubt call--my prey, Bah! As if Ferdy
was worth it."
"He must be worth something," said Clarice, dryly, "or you would not
wish to marry him."
"Oh, I explained that," retorted Zara, lightly, and dusting one hand
with the other. "I explained, if you remember, when I still took you
to be Ferdy himself. I am always frank with the boy, and he knows, as
you do now, Miss Baird, that I only wish to marry him for--shall we
say professional purposes? I like him--oh, yes. He is handsome and
very charming, when he chooses. Also he is sure of a certain income,
even though it is a small one, and not available for two years. I can
manage Ferdy, and that is necessary when a woman wants her own way on
all occasions, as I do. I might do worse than marry your brother,
don't you think so?"
"Certainly I do," answered Clarice, now quite composed, and resuming
her seat; "only you shall not marry Ferdy, and use him as a cat's-paw
for your respectability."
"Be polite, if you please," said the dancer, frowning; "I am polite to
you, and desire the return compliment. My respectability is like that
of Cæsar's wife--above suspicion. You see," with a gay laugh, "that in
spite of my trifling education, I have some classical knowledge. Come,
let us talk. You have much to say, and so have I. Will you have a
cigarette? No. And in spite of smoking when you came into this room?
Oh, I see. There is no need to keep up your manly pose. You look very
well. Even handsomer than Ferdy, though I really was taken in, as my
mother was. Dear me." Zara lighted a cigarette, and lay back in a deep
armchair, puffing smoke, with her hands clasped behind her head. "What
will she say when she hears that Miss Clarice Baird has been
masquerading here, as her brother."
"She will say nothing," answered Clarice, coolly, "for the very simple
reason that she will never know."
"Oh, yes. She will know from me, and all the inhabitants of Crumel
will know from her. My mother is an excellent town crier."
"You carry it off very well," said Clarice, dryly; "but I am not quite
so weak as Ferdy, remember."
"I grant that. I respect you more than I do him. He would never have
ventured upon such a bold step as you have taken. I should like to
know exactly why you ventured."
"You explained yourself a few minutes ago. I want to save Ferdy."
"My dear, he isn't worth it--he isn't worth more than that"--and Zara
flicked the grey ash off her cigarette. "Will you have some fizz? No!
A cigarette, then? No! Really," with a shrug, "you are not much of a
man, my dear. I beg pardon for the familiarity; in that dress you look
so like Ferdy that I make mistakes."
"On purpose. You are a clever woman, Miss Dumps."
"I am, but not that name, please. Twine is my name, and Ferdy will
marry me as Sarah Twine. I prefer to be called Zara, or Butterfly,
myself. The other name is so plebeian; but then, I am a very common
person."
"And a very clever one," said Clarice again, glancing at the gimcrack
French clock on the draped mantelpiece; "but we are losing time, and I
have to get back to my hotel. How did you recognise me?"
"Ah!" Zara clapped her hands. "Was not that smart of me? You will say
yes. But you are wrong. It was chance--the chance upon which you did
not reckon. It was ingenious of you to send Ferdy to Gattlinsands to
get him out of the way, but it did not occur to you that Ferdy might
write." She picked up an envelope from the table and threw it across
to Clarice. "Here. It has just arrived."
Clarice threw the letter back. "There is no need. I recognise Ferdy's
writing on the envelope. I don't wish to know how he writes to you."
"In a perfectly proper way, I assure you," said Zara, coolly; "I don't
allow that child to be too familiar--it breeds contempt, you know. I
have had too much of that sort of thing before I became famous, so I
don't want another dose."
"So you knew that I was not Ferdy," said Clarice, slowly.
"Not at first; not until, by chance, I opened that envelope. I
started, as you saw, and then came across to look at your arm. As the
name--my name, Zara--was not tattooed there, I guessed at once that
you were not Ferdy, and that you could be none other than Miss Baird,
the double of my dear sweet boy."
"Spare me the adjectives," said Clarice, coldly.
"I'm sparing you a great deal, I think," said Zara, viciously; "by
what right do you thrust yourself into my affairs?"
"By the right of a sister's love."
"Bah! I don't believe that there is such a thing. Certainly, so far as
Ferdy is concerned, there isn't brotherly love on his part. He would
sell you for a five-pound note."
Clarice felt a pang, for she knew how truly the dancer spoke. "I agree
with you there," she replied, sadly.
"My dear, he isn't worth it," said Zara, in a softer tone. "Well?"
"Well?" Clarice looked up.
"Speak away," said Zara, impatiently; "I'm all attention. What do you
want to ask me?"
"Ah, now we are coming to business."
"About time," interpolated the other woman.
"Oh, I shall dispose of my business very shortly," said Clarice,
sharply; "You want to marry Ferdy. To gain your ends, you told
Prudence Clarke a lie about her father."
Zara was quite unmoved, and blew smoke through her delicate nostrils.
"Prudence has told you, then?"
"Yes. You forced her to send away Ferdy, to save her father."
"I did. I want Ferdy to myself, and I have no particular reason to
desire the hanging of Mr. Clarke."
"You couldn't hang him if you tried," retorted Clarice, angrily.
"Oh, yes, I could. Suppose--for the sake of argument--that I went to
Inspector Tick, of Crumel, with my story of what I saw."
"You saw nothing."
Zara cast a surprised look at Clarice. "Well, I suppose it is to your
interest to decline to believe. Nevertheless, what I told Prudence is
true for all that."
"Did you really see Mr. Clarke leave The Laurels at two in the
morning?"
Zara threw away her cigarette, and rose quietly.
"I really did," she said, in her most decisive tone. "My mother was
ill, and I went out for sal volatile. It was a mere chance, of course,
that I should be out on that night of all nights. On any other
night--at any other time, even--I should have seen nothing. But the
Cosmic Powers, for their own ends, and for my benefit, I presume,
brought me abreast of The Laurels, when Mr. Clarke was skipping out of
the window."
Clarice was greatly startled. "Do you really believe that Mr. Clarke
killed my guardian?"
Zara looked at her swiftly. "Oh, I am not prepared to say that; and I
beg to remind you that I am not in the witness-box."
"Which means that you cannot swear to the truth of your story."
"Yes, I can; but I can't swear that Mr. Clarke is the murderer. It
certainly looks as though he were guilty, but----" Zara paused.
"But you credit Osip with the crime?"
"The jury did--the police do--the papers do--public opinion does. I
can't lay claim to be more clever than others."
Clarice looked at her keenly. "Yes, you can, and you do. I believe
your story of Mr. Clarke coming out of the room. But as to his
guilt----"
"Pardon me. I say nothing about that," interrupted Zara; "but if
Prudence sent Ferdy away at my bidding, it shows that she believes her
father to be guilty."
Clarice was too clever to relate the other evidence upon which
Prudence believed her father to be guilty. "You certainly coerced that
poor girl into thinking that there was danger to her father, should
the story of his midnight visit become known."
"It never will," replied Zara, carelessly. "Prudence has given up
Ferdy, and I am going to marry Ferdy. There's no more to be said."
"There is this--that Ferdy shall not marry you." Zara rose and put her
hands behind her back. "He shall."
Clarice rose and faced her. "He shall not"; and for at least one
minute the two women faced one another defiantly. "What can you do?"
inquired Zara, at length, and annoyed because she could not sustain
the gaze of her visitor.
"I can go to the police, and say that you employed Osip."
"Not knowing that he was Osip," retorted the dancer, her breath coming
quick and sharp. "If I had known, I should have handed him over to the
authorities."
"Indeed, and what would become of your accusation of Mr. Clarke?"
"I don't accuse Mr. Clarke. He's a bore--at least, he was when I
attended his rotten old Sunday School--but I don't say that he is a
murderer. However, you can tell the police about Osip, and I'll tell
them about Clarke. Then we shall see."
"Very good." Clarice moved towards the door. "There's no more to be
said. Good-night."
Zara stood for one moment with clenched hands and a frown on her
pretty, babyish face, which could look so strong at times, and which
deceived men into thinking her a mere toy-woman. She had not expected
Clarice to take her at her word, and thus had lost a move in the game.
In spite of her bravado, she had no desire that the Crumel police, or
the London detectives, should know about Osip. It would be a good
advertisement in one way, and yet, in another, it might do her harm
with the managers. She had really been ignorant that the survivor of
the famous Purple Fern Triumvirate was acting with her. But who would
believe in her innocence, did the fact become public property? With a
swift movement she placed herself between Clarice and the door.
"No. I take back what I said. You must not tell the police about
Osip--it would do me harm."
"Very good. I'll hold my tongue, if you will be silent about my
masquerade in this dress."
"Ah, you are afraid," sneered Zara.
"In a way, yes--for my promised husband, since he would not like any
one to know of my adventure. For myself, I am not afraid, as I have
done nothing wrong."
"You are stronger than Ferdy," said the dancer, suddenly.
"I should hope so," replied Clarice, contemptuously; "Ferdy is a
reed--a piece of putty. I wonder that a clever woman, such as you are,
wants to marry so weak a man."
"It is because he is weak that I wish him to become my husband," said
Zara, quickly. "I wish to marry, so as to have a protector in my
public life, as I am sick of all these fops who come round me. But I
do not wish to wed a fireside tyrant, and so--" she stretched out her
arms in a French fashion and with a careless shrug. "I will hold my
tongue," she went on, "not even my mother will ever know that you are
really Clarice Baird. As to Osip--what will you do?"
"I shall say nothing at present," replied Clarice, after a moment's
thought, "but you must be aware that it will not do to allow such a
man to live. He will only commit more murders."
"I suppose so. What a devil the man is. Yet, you know, as Brown he
really was rather nice. Ugh!" Zara shivered again. "I am not a silly
fainting woman, but it turns me cold to think how often I have been in
his company. He might have killed me."
Clarice took a cigarette out of the silver box and lighted up. "I must
be going now," she said, quietly, "and so I have to keep up my
pretence of being a man. But one last word. We understand one
another."
"Yes," said Zara, promptly. "I keep silent about Clarke, and you about
Osip. Of course, also, I marry Ferdy."
"No," said Clarice, determinedly. "I won't leave this house until I
have your promise to give up Ferdy."
"To Prudence Clarke?" sneered the dancer. "She won't have him."
"Yes, she will. She loves Ferdy and Ferdy loves her."
"If the weak affection of Ferdy can be called love," said Zara,
derisively. "But Prudence won't marry him, so long as she believes
that her father is guilty."
"But he is not."
"I don't say that."
"Then he is," said Clarice, daring her. "I don't say that, either."
"Then what do you say?"
"I say that we had better leave things as they are, and that you will
please me by coming to my wedding with Ferdy."
"You must give my brother up."
"You've said that so often, Miss Baird. But saying it won't make me
change my mind. Besides, as I said before, Ferdy isn't worth it. He's
an ass--and worse."
"Worse? What do you mean?"
Zara looked into the other woman's eyes. "Come to the door," she
said, taking Clarice by the arm. When in the hall, she helped the
girl on with her fur coat, gave her the silk hat, and placed the
silver-knobbed cane in her hand. Then she led her to the door of the
flat. All this Clarice suffered in silence, wondering what was coming.
"Good-night," said Zara, when Clarice was on the mat.
"But what do you say about Ferdy?" asked Clarice, quickly.
"I see I must tell you all," sighed the dancer. "No, I'll let you find
out for yourself." She bent her head and whispered. "Search Ferdy's
bedroom at The Laurels."
"But," began Clarice, impatiently, only to find herself talking to the
panels of the door. Zara had shut it abruptly, and left the disguised
girl standing irresolutely on the mat. Clarice hesitated, and wondered
if it would not be better to insist upon the door being opened again.
But on second thoughts she went down the stairs, and drove back to her
hotel. The long evening and the battle with Zara had worn out her
strong nerves. Clarice passed a wakeful night. She wondered what Zara
meant when she had told her to search Ferdy's bedroom. It could not be
possible that Ferdy had anything to do with the crime, as he had been
locked in on that night. Also, if Zara knew that Ferdy was guilty, she
certainly would not marry him. There seemed to be no answer to the
questions suggested by Zara's last remark. Clarice, therefore, tried
to sleep, resolving to return to Crumel the next day and search the
bedroom, as Zara had told her. She trembled to think what she might
discover.
Next morning the false Mr. Ferdinand Baird ate his breakfast, paid his
bill, and drove to Liverpool Street Station to catch the ten o'clock
train. In the tweed suit Clarice looked wonderfully handsome and
distinguished, and as she adopted a manly air, no one had any
suspicion that the good-looking young man was really a beautiful
woman. She managed to get a first-class to herself, and thus escaped
any chance of recognition. But on the Crumel platform she was greeted
as Mr. Baird, and acknowledged the greetings calmly. On reaching the
house, she found the French window open, and no servants about. In a
few minutes she was safe in her own bedroom, and was dressing herself
again in her woman's garb. Mrs. Rebson appeared.
"It's all right, deary. No one thinks but what you're ill. How did you
get along?"
"Very well, Nanny. I'll tell you all later. Don't let any of the
servants come upstairs for at least an hour."
"What do you wish to do?"
"I'll tell you later. Leave me alone for the present."
"Just one word, Miss Clarice," implored the nurse; "Master Ferdy. Is
he quite safe now?"
"Yes," said Clarice, lying to save pain to that faithful old heart; "I
think Ferdy is safe, Nanny. Now go."
Mrs. Rebson, quite satisfied, departed, and kept the servants
downstairs, according to her instructions. Clarice went at once to
Ferdy's room, and began to search. For twenty minutes she was
unsuccessful, as she came across nothing suspicious. It was a
difficult search, as she did not know what to look for. But she judged
that it might be a letter or a blood-stained shirt, or something
likely to implicate her brother in the crime. Several times she
stopped turning out drawers and examining the wardrobe to laugh at the
folly which possessed her to believe in Zara's lies. But some feeling
that there might be truth in the dancer's hint made her search on. And
yet Clarice could not believe that Ferdy, whom she had locked in this
very room, had anything to do with so awful a crime. Let alone the
fact that Ferdy, although foolish, was not wicked.
But the end came at last, and she found what she sought--and what she
sought was evidence implicating Ferdy. In a small drawer, wrapped up
carefully in an old silk tie, the girl found a small india-rubber
stamp. With a wildly beating heart, she dipped this in water to
moisten it, and pressed hard on a scrap of shaving paper. She removed
the stamp, and found on the paper a faint impression of the Purple
Fern.