A WELCOME WITNESS
Assuredly, the congregation had no reason to complain that the
anticipated sensation was not forthcoming. There was an agitated
rustle through the chapel. Every one looked eagerly at Johnson,
wondering what reply he would make to the accusation of Brand. For a
moment or so the minister stood silent with upraised face. His lips
moved in silent prayer, for he was seeking from God that aid which was
denied to him by man. Miss Arnott, white and trembling violently,
leaned forward in expectation of the denial she felt certain would
come. For quite a minute there was dead silence. It was broken by the
accused man. "'O Lord, Thou knowest,'" said he, in the words of
Jeremiah, "'remember me, and visit me, and revenge me on my
persecutors.'" He paused, and looked quietly at the rugged face of
Brand. "Brother Korah," continued the minister, "you have borne false
witness against me. I am innocent of this crime you would place on my
shoulders. What evidence can you bring forward to prove that you speak
truly? Let me hear your grounds of accusation, that I may reply to
them as best I can."
Brand was considerably surprised at the calmness of this speech. It
was very different from what he had expected. He glanced with some
embarrassment at Farmer Carwell.
"Shall I question him?" he demanded.
"Surely, brother," answered Carwell, gravely; "the meanest criminal
has a right to a hearing. Question our pastor, that we may learn if he
is still to teach us, or if he should be cast out of Emmanuel's fold."
"I ask for nothing better than such an examination," cried Johnson. "I
stand here as I would at the Judgment Seat, to defend my name and
life. Begin, Brother Korah. On what grounds do you accuse me?"
"You loved Bithiah," said Brand, harshly.
"Is that a crime? Is love forbidden by the Gospel? Yes, I loved her."
Miss Arnott winced at the tenderness of his tone. "I would have made
her my honoured wife, but that she refused me."
"Why did she leave your house?"
"Because she loved Finland, the nephew of our Brother Carwell. I
judged him too godless for Bithiah, and I forbade her to see him. Also
I informed her that I would place her in the care of you, Brother
Korah, to be taken back to Koiau. For love of Finland she left my
house. Whither she went, I know not."
"Yet you were near the scene of the crime on the night on which
Bithiah may be supposed to have been murdered."
"Certainly. I went there because it was her favourite walk. But I
never saw a sign of her. On this Holy Book," Johnson touched the great
Bible before him, "I never saw the girl."
"What of her treasure, brother?"
"The pearls? She took those with her, as she had every right to."
"Did you not take them from her dead body that you might pay your
debts?"
"No!" cried Johnson furiously. "How dare you assume that I am guilty
of such an act! I never saw the girl dead. I took no pearls from her
body. Where they are, I know no more than you do."
"Yet your debts are paid!"
"They are--paid in full."
"By yourself?"
"No. By some one whose name I decline to give."
Brand looked down with a sardonic smile. If honest enough himself, the
man's methods of conducting an examination were certainly open to
criticism. "Such a statement is incredible," he declared; "as a rule,
men's debts are not paid by unknown benefactors."
"Nevertheless, mine are paid," said Johnson, firmly; "besides, my
benefactor is not unknown. You are ignorant of her name, doubtless,
but I am not."
"Her name!" repeated Korah in surprise; "then it is a woman! Do you
dare to stand there and state that you permitted your debts to be paid
by a woman?"
"I state nothing. I admit nothing. My debts are paid."
"And by the proceeds of the pearls," cried Brand, "I do not believe
your fiction about a woman. If you killed Bithiah, we will have no
murderer for our pastor. If a woman--as you say--paid your debts, you
are not fit to occupy our pulpit. It would appear that you add
profligacy to----"
"Stop!" cried Miss Arnott, rising and coming forward with the sweep
and style of a Lady Macbeth. "I forbid you, Brother Korah, to blame
your pastor unjustly. His debts have been paid by a woman;" she looked
round to emphasize her next words, and bespeak the attention of the
congregation. "I am that woman!" she said, drawing herself up.
There was a pause, during which Miss Arnott's dramatic instincts were
strong enough to appreciate the situation. There she stood, defiant
and calm, with the eyes of the amazed congregation fastened on her.
Johnson remained in his seat, waiting developments; and Brand, taken
by surprise, stared at her dumbfounded. In the old days there would
have been a quick curtain on this situation, and probably much
applause afterwards; and Miss Arnott, in spite of her conversion and
religion, could not but thrill at this intrusion of melodrama into
real life. Certainly she made the most of her part.
"Yes," she repeated, touching her breast, "I am the woman, and who
will dare to accuse me of acting otherwise than in a Christian spirit?
It was told to me that our pastor was in difficulties about money, and
as I am rich I determined to discharge his debts. 'Bear ye one
another's burdens,' saith the Gospel, and in obedience to that command
I took our pastor's burden on my shoulders. Having obtained a list of
his creditors--it matters not how--I went to London and there paid
their demands in full. That I might do good in secret, I made those I
paid promise to say no word of my deed. Our pastor sought to learn my
name, but could not until I myself revealed it to him. I did so," said
Miss Arnott in her grandest voice, "because he was accused of stealing
those pearls to discharge his liabilities. Of the crime you would fix
upon him, Brother Brand, he is innocent. I paid the money."
Still no one spoke, least of all Brand, for he realized that his
accusation had fallen to pieces hopelessly. Miss Arnott looked around
her and saw her opportunity for making an effective exit. Seizing it,
she swept with measured steps towards the door. There she paused and
stretched out her arm towards Brand. "'He that diggeth a pit shall
fall into it,'" she declaimed, and, still facing the congregation, she
withdrew slowly. In a transpontine theatre the intensity of the scene
would have brought down the house. As it was, these good people simply
sat silent and stared.
Johnson was the first to recover himself. He rose solemnly. "My honour
has been vindicated," he said. "Brother Korah, I demand that you
withdraw your accusation."
"Yes, yes; withdraw the accusation," cried the congregation, awaking
from their apathy. "Our pastor is innocent."
Brand made as if to speak. He wished to question Johnson concerning
the missing curtain cord. But at this moment one of the more
enthusiastic members struck up a well-known hymn. The others joined in
lustily, and drowned the words of the missionary. Seeing that the
sympathy of the greatest number was with him, Johnson was wise enough
to withdraw. As the singing grew louder and the people became more
excited, he descended the rostrum and left the chapel. Outside, the
night was moonless and starless, and hardly had the minister taken
half a dozen steps when his arm was seized by Brand. The man was
shaking with nervous excitement.
"Brother Johnson," he said in an agitated voice, "believe me, I bear
you no ill-will. I accused you in all good faith, but the Lord hath
spoken. I now know you did not steal the pearls to pay your debts. I
have no doubt you can also explain how the cord, with which Bithiah
was strangled, came to be missing from your study."
"That, I fear at this present moment, I cannot," replied the minister,
simply; "but you must believe in my innocence now?"
"I do, I do. But do not look on me as your enemy. I acted for the
glory of the Lord. I would have cut you off as a withered branch. I
see my mistake now--think of me, I pray, only as your friend."
"I believe you accused me in good faith, Brother Korah. Let us say no
more about the matter."
Brand did not speak, but wrung the minister's hand hard, and darted
back to the chapel. Johnson took his way homeward, wondering at the
rigid nature of the man who would have ruined him in all honesty. "If
thy right hand offend thee cut it off"--that was the precept upon
which Brand had acted; and but for Miss Arnott's evidence he would
have turned Johnson adrift on the world with a dishonoured name and an
endangered life. The pastor shuddered at the missionary's rigour, but
he silently admitted his honesty of purpose. Then, standing under the
stars, he took off his hat, and thanked God for having aided him in
his trouble. There would be no question now of his leaving Bethgamul.
As he drew near his house, he saw a dark form at the gate. A few steps
brought him beside it, and he then recognized Miss Arnott. She started
as he came up, and looked at him in the glare of the gaslight. Her
eyes were full of tears.
"Miss Arnott," said Johnson, clasping her passive hand, "I thank you
from my soul for the noble way in which you defended me to-night."
"It was only right," whispered the woman, trembling at his touch; "I
know you are innocent."
Recollecting Slade's discovery, and recalling his own suspicions,
Johnson laid his hand on her arm. "Do you know who murdered her?"
"I? No. How should I know?" Then she caught sight of the expression on
his face. She shrank back. "Surely--you don't suspect me?" she said in
tones of horror.
"Miss Arnott," replied the minister, anxiously, "I will be plain with
you. On the spot where Bithiah's body was found, Slade, the policeman,
discovered your ear-ring!"
"Did he know it was mine?"
"No; I did not tell him. But his theory is that the woman to whom the
ear-ring belongs killed the girl. Were you there on that night?"
"No; I went back to my house after my quarrel with Bithiah, and I was
indoors all the evening."
"How came that ear-ring to be there, then?"
"Bithiah tore the ear-ring from my ear," explained Miss Arnott,
hurriedly; "I can show you the scar. No doubt she took it with her to
the field, and dropped it when she was assaulted by the person who
killed her. I had no hand in her death. You believe me, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," replied Johnson, promptly. "I cannot think a woman who
could act as you have done to-night would murder a defenceless girl."
"After our quarrel I never saw her. I hated her--why? Because she was
the one you loved. I was jealous and unjust. But I would not have
killed her."
"I am sure of that," said Johnson, kindly. "But tell me--where did you
get that ear-ring?"
"From a gipsy girl named Zara Lovell. She had a pair I admired very
much--they were of gipsy workmanship--and I paid her well to get me a
similar pair."
"Then she still kept her own?"
"Yes--at least, I suppose so. She had them on when I saw her last,
about a year ago. But why do you ask?"
"Slade suspects that Zara killed Bithiah out of jealousy on Finland's
account. Your story of the ear-ring would seem to confirm his belief.
After all, the ear-ring found by Slade may not be yours!"
"I can't say," replied Miss Arnott, drawing her shawl round her. "She
might have killed Bithiah, as you say, and lost her own ear-ring in
the struggle. If it is mine, Bithiah herself must have taken it with
her." She touched the minister timidly. "You believe in my innocence?"
"Yes; I am sure of it."
"Thank God for that. I could stand any one doubting me but you;" and
before Johnson could stop her, the excited woman had bent down and
kissed his hand. The next moment she was gone.
With a thoughtful face, Johnson walked inside, pondering on the great
love she bore him. His feelings were touched. He thought more about
her than he had done since the death of Bithiah. Was it possible that
the void in his heart, great as it was, could ever be filled up? The
very thought of such a thing seemed treason against the dead.
The next day he received a letter from Slade, which caused him
considerable surprise. It contained certain instructions, which for
his own safety it was necessary for him to carry out. Amongst other
things, Slade stated that by threatening to denounce the Jew as a
receiver of stolen goods, he had induced him to return with him to
Grimleigh. He hoped to bring him to the minister's house at about four
o'clock that day. Johnson was delighted with the intelligence. It
promised more completely to vindicate him. Meanwhile, having implicit
faith in Slade, he duly carried out his instructions.
All that day he was much agitated. He kept within doors and refused to
see any one, for he was determined not to go amongst his people until
his character was clear. He admitted Chard only. For him he had sent,
in accordance with Slade's instructions. The inspector was every bit
as curious as Johnson himself, and it was with great impatience they
awaited the arrival of the Jew and the policeman. In the interim, he
told Chard of Shackel's accusation.
"Now you will see if these accusations are true," said Johnson,
emphatically. "If I sold the pearls, this man will recognize me at
once."
"And if he does not recognize you, what then?"
"Well, he may be able to describe the man who did sell the pearls."
"The murderer?"
"Without doubt," said Johnson, gravely, "seeing that they were taken
from the body."
"Well, I hope we'll get at the truth, anyway," said Chard. "I had no
idea Slade was so smart!"
At four o'clock to the minute the policeman arrived, and with him a
fat dark little man of a pronounced Hebraic character, whom he
introduced as Mr. Abraham Moss.
"Of Hatton Garden," explained the Jew, with a lisp, "I bought some
pearlth from a gentleman for two thouthand poundth."
"Is this the gentleman?" asked Slade, indicating Johnson.
"Bleth me, no. The gentleman wath tall--with a fair
mouthtathe--good-looking gent. He wath no minithter. Oh no."
"Under what name did he pawn or sell the pearls?" asked Chard.
"Brown--Luke Brown. 'Courth I knew it wath a faith name, and----" The
Jew stopped, for the door had opened, and in it stood a man--the very
man for whom Johnson had sent in accordance with Slade's instructions.
"Why," cried Moss, "that'th the gent ath thold me the pearlth!"
They all three turned simultaneously towards the door, and saw
Finland!