Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=muIhAAAAMAAJ
[the New York Public Library]
THE BEST NOVELS BY
FERGUS HUME
The Mystery of a Hansom Cab
The Sealed Message
The Sacred Herb
Claude Duval of Ninety-five
The Rainbow Feather
The Pagan's Cup
A Coin of Edward VII
The Yellow Holly
The Red Window
The Mandarin's Fan
The Secret Passage
The Opal Serpent
Lady Jim of Curzon Street
===================================================
The Sacred Herb
===================================================
BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF
"Lady Jim of Curzon Street," "The Rainbow Feather,"
"The Opal Serpent," "A Coin of Edward VII,"
"The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," etc.
===================================================
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1908
By G. W. DILLINGHAM CO.
------------------------------------
The Sacred Herb Issued Jan., 1908
CONTENTS
I. The Latest Sensation
II. The Trial
III. The Paper-Cutter
IV. Evidence for the Prosecution
V. Mrs. Rover's Masked Ball
VI. A Startling Discovery
VII. Shepworth Explains
VIII. A Private Explanation
IX. Dr. Horace
X. The Verdict
XI. Dr. Horace's Warning
XII. Mrs. Dolly Rover
XIII. Lanwin Grange
XIV. Mrs. Blexey's Opinion
XV. Jadby plays a Card
XVI. Dr. Horace Intervenes
XVII. The Old, Old Story
XVIII. The Power of the Herb
XIX. Circumstantial Evidence
XX. Mr. Rover Explains
XXI. A Possible Scandal
XXII. The Unexpected
XXIII. Helpless
XXIV. The Beginning of the End
XXV. Explanations
XXVI. A Confession
XXVII. All's well that ends well
The Sacred Herb
CHAPTER I.
THE LATEST SENSATION
Lord Prelice felt desperately bored. Like Xeres, he longed for some
new pleasure, yet knew not where to look for one. This was the result
of being surfeited with the sweets of extraordinary good fortune. Born
to a title, endowed with passable good looks, gifted with abilities
above the average, and possessed of admirable health, he should have
been the happiest of men; the more especially as his income ran well
into five figures, and he had the whole wide world to play with.
Certainly he had played with it and with life, up to his present age
of thirty-five years. Perhaps this was the reason of his acute
boredom. If all work and no play makes Jack dull; all play and no work
must necessarily make him _blase_.
Therefore, in spite of the excellent breakfast spread before him on
this bright summer morning, when London was looking at its best, the
young man was ungratefully wondering what he could do to render life
endurable. He ate from habit and not because he enjoyed his food; he
read the morning papers, since it was necessary to be abreast of the
times, for conversational purposes, although very little was new
therein and still less was true. By the time he arrived at the
marmalade stage of the meal he was again considering the possibilities
of the next four and twenty hours. In this discontented frame of mind
he was discovered by his aunt.
Lady Sophia Haken bustled into the pleasant room exasperatingly
cheerful, and very pleased with life in general and with herself in
particular. She was an elderly woman of a somewhat masculine type who
lived a simple out-of-door existence, and who proclaimed loudly that
it was necessary for humanity to return to the Stone Age for true
enjoyment. Having been riding in the Row for the last two hours, she
entered in her habit, filled with the egotism of the early riser. As a
near relative, she could not do less than scold Prelice for lingering
over a late breakfast, and told him,--also as a near relative--that
she scolded him for his good. She had done so very often before
without result, and, but that she loved to lay down the law, would
have long since given over the attempt to improve her nephew.
Nevertheless, anxious to achieve the impossible, she attacked him with
pristine vigor, as though aware for the first time of his bad habits.
"Nine o'clock and still at breakfast," said Lady Sophia significantly,
and slapped her skirts with a whip which she would have dearly liked
to lay across her lazy nephew's broad shoulders.
Prelice looked indolently at the clock, then at the table, and finally
at his fuming aunt. "I cannot deny it," he said, with a yawn.
"Is that all you have to say?" she asked, much disgusted.
Prelice heaved a sigh. It was necessary to say something, if only to
stem the coming tide of verbose speech. "How well you are looking."
"Because I have been up since six o'clock."
"How unwise; you will probably sleep all the afternoon."
Lady Sophia snapped, tartly: "I shall do nothing of the sort."
"Oh, very well," he assented, "you will do nothing of the sort.
Anything for a quiet life, even agreement with the improbable."
His aunt grasped her whip dangerously. "How exasperating you are!"
"I was just thinking the same about you," confessed Prelice,
good-humouredly; "it is so disagreeable for a late riser to be
reminded of the time." And having folded his napkin, he lighted a
cigarette.
"How long is this going on?" demanded Lady Sophia fiercely. His
imperturbability made her long to shake him thoroughly.
"How long is what going on?" asked Prelice provokingly.
"This idle, idiotic, insane, sensual, foolish, wicked, dilatory
existence!"
"Seven adjectives," murmured the young man, opening his eyes. "Waste,
waste--oh, what waste!"
"How long is this going on?" inquired his relative again, and whipped
her skirts--instead of Prelice's back--with renewed vigour.
He was forced to answer. "As long as I do, no doubt. What else is to
be done, I should like to know?"
"You shall know. Serve your country."
"What! And be abused in the penny press? No, thank you."
"You can surely help your brother-man."
"Surely--only to learn how much ingratitude exists in the world."
Lady Sophia stamped, bit her lip, and looked like a ruffled cockatoo
in a bad temper. She wanted to quarrel, and it annoyed her that
Prelice would not meet her half way, by supplying a reason. She had to
invent the quarrel, and bring about the quarrel, and carry on the
quarrel, and finish the quarrel without assistance. "Marry!" was the
one word which suggested itself, and she hoped that it would be like a
red rag to a bull.
"Oh, Jerusalem!" Prelice shook his closely cropped fair head. "I would
much rather serve brother-man than marry sister-woman. You offer me a
choice of unoriginal evils."
"You never will face the truth," declared Lady Sophia irrelevantly;
and forthwith--according to an old-established custom--she proceeded
to recount the family history--that is, she picked out the worst
traits of Prelice's ancestors and debited them to his account. He
smoked through two cigarettes, and nodded at intervals, not very much
interested, since he had heard the same oration at least a dozen
times. Lady Sophia having worked her way from the reign of Elizabeth
down to that of Edward VII., ended with a lurid, penny-sensational
picture of what would befall her listener in the near future, unless
he worked like a nigger.
"Such a bad illustration," interposed Prelice placidly; "niggers don't
work. As I have just returned from the West Indies, I ought to know."
Lady Sophia snorted down the interruption, and seeing that he was
still unimpressed, tried to goad him into industry by mentioning
several of his school-fellows who had attained to comparative fame and
fortune, while Prelice--as she scathingly put it--had been grovelling
in the mud. "Even young Shepworth," ended Lady Sophia, somewhat out of
breath, "and _he_ was never clever--even _he_ is Counsel for the
Defence this very day in an important murder case."
"I'm deuced sorry for his client," murmured Prelice indolently.
"Why should you be?" demanded his aunt aggressively.
"You said that he wasn't clever."
"He must be." Lady Sophia contradicted herself with feminine calmness.
"If he wasn't he certainly would not be talking this very day at the
New Bailey. Go and hear him, Prelice, and be ashamed that a fool--yes,
a superlative fool--should succeed where you fail."
"What _do_ you mean?" inquired her nephew, with great curiosity.
"First you say that Ned isn't clever----"
"Ned! Ned. I never mentioned Ned. Who is Ned?"
"Shepworth. Edward Shepworth--Ned for short. We were great chums at
Eton, you know. But you say that he isn't clever, then you insist that
he is, and wind up by calling him a fool."
"You know quite well what I mean," said Lady Sophia with dignity.
"I really don't," confessed her nephew artlessly, "you describe such a
complex character. However, as I have nothing to do to-day----"
"And never have anything to do--idler."
"I shall go to the New Bailey, and listen to Ned hanging his client!"
"So brilliant a barrister as Mr. Shepworth will certainly get her
off," said Lady Sophia decisively.
Prelice passed over this new contradiction. "It's a woman?"
"Yes. Mona Chent. You know her."
"I'm sure I don't. The criminal classes don't attract me."
"She is not a criminal, but a lady," said his aunt, as though the two
things were incompatible; "and you _do_ know her. Mona Chent, the
niece of old Sir Oliver Lanwin."
Prelice reflected with bent brows. "I never heard the name before, I
assure you, Aunt Sophia," he said at length. "Remember that I have
been travelling round the world for the last seven years and know very
little of the latest London sensation."
"You ought to stay at home, and make yourself acquainted with people,
Prelice."
"Including this murderess?"
"She is not a murderess," cried Lady Sophia energetically. "I always
did think that she was a sweet girl, and if she did kill her uncle, it
was no more than he deserved. I never liked him."
"Therefore he ought to be murdered," said Prelice, rising and
stretching himself before the empty grate. "So Sir Oliver was the
victim. I have heard of him. He used to send Ned shells and barbaric
things from the South Seas. And now Ned is repaying him by defending
his murderess."
"I tell you Mona did not murder the man. I know her. I have received
her. Would I receive a murderess?"
"It might be a draw to some of your parties," said Prelice politely,
and with a recollection of several dull entertainments. "But I cannot
quite gather from your clear explanation if she is guilty or not."
"Half London thinks that she is, and half asserts her innocence."
"What does Shepworth think?"
"He naturally believes her to be innocent."
"Because he defends her?"
"Because she is his future wife."
Prelice looked startled. "Oh, Jerusalem! And if he proves her
innocence he'll marry her, I suppose."
"As she is her uncle's heiress, and Mr. Shepworth is poor, I presume
he will. Ten thousand a year is not to be despised."
"But a wife with such a past," protested the young man. "Ugh! Did Miss
Chent murder her uncle to get the money?"
"She didn't murder him at all. Look at the facts of the case----"
"I shall be delighted to, if you will place them before me."
"You ought to know all about them," said Lady Sophia, rising
impatiently; "everyone has been talking about the case for the last
month;--ever since Mona Chent was arrested, in fact."
"Ah, but you see I have only just arrived in London. I shall go to my
club and get posted up in the latest scandal."
"The latest sensation," corrected his aunt. "Go to the New Bailey
instead, and hear Mr. Shepworth place the case before the judge and
jury. His eloquence will make you sorry for your lazy, useless life;
he will be a K.C.," cried Lady Sophia, becoming prophetic, "and
Attorney-General and Lord Chancellor, and----"
"King of Timbuctoo, no doubt. Loud cheers."
Lady Sophia looked indignantly at the scoffer, who beamed on her
benignly with laughing blue eyes. "You _have_ deteriorated since you
left the Army."
"No doubt, the standard of morality in the Army being so high."
"Oh!" His aunt stamped, and flung open the door with a tragic air. "I
have done with you. Your flippancy is disgusting. I repeat, Prelice, I
have done with you." And she departed hastily, lest a reply from the
scoffer should spoil her impressive exit.
Prelice laughed, knowing that Lady Sophia would never be done with him
while she had a tongue to wag. Also he believed that she was truly
fond of him, and knew that she had only too much reason to accuse him
of wasting his life. He resolved to mend his ways, more as an
experiment in self-denial than because he wanted to, and cast about
for a model person to imitate. After Lady Sophia's conversation the
name of Edward Shepworth naturally suggested itself, so Prelice
arrayed himself in purple and fine linen, and ordered round his motor
car. Within two hours he was driving out of Half-Moon Street, and was
soon dodging the traffic of Piccadilly.
It was so delightful, manipulating the machine in the sunshine, and
acting as a chauffeur so appealed to him that he was minded to turn
the Mercedes in the direction of Richmond. But the hints about the
murder being an unusual one kept him to his earlier determination;
also a copy of _The Daily Mirror_ assured him that the accused girl
was exceedingly pretty; finally, he had always been friendly with the
Counsel for the Defence, and thought that he would renew the tie of
old school-days. These things brought his smart Mercedes to the
bran-new portals of the Criminal Court, and when he had handed over
the steering-wheel to his chauffeur he sought out the arena, wherein
Shepworth was fighting for the life of his promised wife.
Naturally the first person at whom the young man looked was the
prisoner in the dock, and he mentally confessed that _The Daily
Mirror_ photograph had not done her justice. It could scarcely do so
in mere black and white, as Miss Chent needed vivid tints to convey
her peculiar charm. She was one of those rare blondes who embody
sunshine in hair and eyes: a dragon-fly of humanity, all radiance and
glow. Since she was on trial for her life, Prelice quite expected to
see a white-faced, terrified creature, worn out with shame and
suffering. But Miss Chent might have been in an opera-box, for
all the emotion she displayed. Prelice had more experience of
women than was good for him, but he never beheld so perfectly dressed,
or so perfectly serene a girl. It would be absurd to say that so
level-headed a young man fell in love with this attractive criminal at
first sight; but he certainly felt drawn to her. She looked like a
captive angel, and without knowing the rights or wrongs of the case,
Prelice mentally pronounced her to be entirely innocent. Her calmness,
if not her beauty, acquitted her, as his susceptible heart decided,
for no woman with an unclean conscience could have faced judge and
jury with such manifest confidence. Prelice thought of Joan of Arc on
trial for sorcery; of Mary Stuart before a prejudiced tribunal; of
Marie Antoinette; and of the Vestal, who proved her innocence by
drawing Tiber water in a sieve. He might also have recalled the
Marquise de Brinvilliers, likewise calm, beautiful, and--guilty. But
he did not.
The Court was filled with more or less fashionable people, who came to
make a Roman holiday of Sir Oliver Lanwin's violent death, and Miss
Chent's position. Doubtless she had been well known in Society, and
those who had been her friends were here to watch her in the new role
of an accused criminal. Prelice was disgusted at the heartless conduct
of some ladies, who whispered and tittered, and used opera-glasses to
stare at the unfortunate girl. He internally commended his aunt for
having had the good taste to remain absent, and then turned his eyes
on the array of barristers to search for Ned Shepworth.
If the prisoner was serene in the consciousness of innocence, her
counsel certainly was less composed. A strong will and the second
nature of custom kept Shepworth sufficiently self-controlled to
deceive those who had but a passing acquaintance with his personality.
But Prelice, who had known the young barrister for years, noted that
his usually ruddy complexion was whiter than usual, and that his eyes
seemed to be sunken in his head by reason of the dark shadows beneath
them. Shepworth was a slim, handsome man, brown-haired and brown-eyed,
with a clean-shaven face and a resolute mouth. In his wig and gown he
looked a very presentable son of Themis, if somewhat less composed
than the traditionally unemotional lawyer should be. He was seated at
the long table with two older men, who apparently were his coadjutors;
and near the defence trio the Counsel for the Prosecution--appointed
by the Public Prosecutor on behalf of the Crown--was chatting amiably
with his colleague, a keen-faced young barrister. Behind sat many
other lawyers wigged and gowned, who were taking the deepest interest
in the proceedings. For the moment the Court was so still that the
rustling of the briefs, as the barristers turned their pages, could be
plainly heard.
"Are those two fellows assisting Mr. Shepworth in the defence?"
Prelice whispered to a legal-looking bystander at his elbow.
"No," replied the man in a low voice; "the big fellow is Cudworth,
K.C., and the other is young Arkers, who acts as Junior Counsel,
Shepworth is not defending, as he was in the house when the crime was
committed, and will be called as a witness."
So Lady Sophia was inaccurate as usual, and Prelice felt somewhat
disappointed that he would not have an opportunity of hearing his old
school-chum orating. However, he had little time to think, for at this
moment the Prosecuting Counsel got on his legs to open the case.
Prelice felt that the curtain had risen on a tragedy. He wondered what
would be the scene when the curtain fell.