"LA GIOIA."
On the following afternoon, in response to a telegram I had sent to
Beryl, she accompanied me to Highgate to face La Gioia. Now that I had
such complete evidence of her attempts to poison, I did not fear her,
but was determined to elucidate the mystery. Beryl accompanied me
rather reluctantly, declaring that, with such power as the woman held,
our lives were not safe; but I resolved to take her by surprise, and to
risk all. After leaving Hoefer I had sought an interview with the
detective Bullen, and he, by appointment, was in the vicinity of the
house in question, accompanied by a couple of plain-clothes
subordinates.
We stopped our cab in Hampstead Lane, and descending, found that the
Bishop's-wood Road was a semicircular thoroughfare of substantial
detached houses, the garden of each abutting upon a cricket-ground in
the centre, and each with its usual greenhouse where geraniums were
potted and stored in winter. On entering the quiet, highly-respectable
crescent, we were not long in discovering a house with the name
"Fairmead" inscribed in gilt letters upon the gate, while a little
further along my eyes caught sight of two scavengers diligently sweeping
the road, and, not far away, Bullen himself was walking with his back
turned towards me.
On our summons being responded to I inquired for Mrs Turton, and we
were shown into the drawing-room--a rather severely furnished apartment
which ran through into the greenhouse wherein stood the rare plant.
Hoefer had described it minutely, and while we waited, we both peered
into the greenhouse and examined it. The plant standing in the full
sunlight was about two feet high, with broad, spreading leaves of a
rich, dark green, and grew in an ordinary flower-pot. Half-hidden by
the leaves, just as Hoefer had said, we saw some small green pods, long
and narrow--the pods of the fatal vayana.
Ere we had time to exchange words the door of the room opened, and there
stood before us the tall, dark-robed figure of "La Gioia." Her hard
face, pale and expectant, showed in the full light to be that of a woman
of perhaps forty, with dark hair, keen, swift eyes, thin cheeks, and
bony features--a countenance not exactly ugly, but rather that of a
woman whose beauty had prematurely faded owing to the heavy cares upon
her.
I was the first to address her, saying, "I think, madam, you are
sufficiently well acquainted with both of us not to need any formal
introduction."
Her brow contracted and her lips stood apart. Then, without hesitation,
I told her my name and that of my companion, while the light died from
her careworn face and she stood motionless as one petrified.
"We have come here, to you, to seek the truth of the conspiracy against
us--the plot in which you yourself have taken part. We demand to know
the reason of the secret attempts you have made upon the lives of both
of us."
"I don't understand you," she answered with hauteur.
"To deny it is useless," I said determinedly. "The insidious poison you
have used is the vayana, and the only specimen in England bearing fruit
is standing there in your greenhouse." And as I uttered those words I
closed the door leading beyond, and, locking it, placed the key in my
pocket.
Her teeth were firmly set. She glanced at me and tried to deny the
allegation, but so utterly was she taken aback by my sudden denunciation
that words failed her. A moment later, however, taking several paces
forward to where we stood, she cried with a sudden outburst of
uncontrollable anger--
"You--Beryl Wynd--I hate you! I swore that you should die, and you
shall--you shall!"
But I stepped between them, firm and determined. I saw that this woman
was a veritable virago, and that now we had cornered her so neatly she
was capable of any crime.
"I demand to know the truth!" I said in a hard, distinct voice.
"You will know nothing from me," she snarled. "That woman has betrayed
me!" she added, indicating Beryl.
"Your evil deeds alone have betrayed you," I responded, "and if you
decline to tell me anything of your own free will, then perhaps you will
make a statement to the police when put upon your trial for attempted
murder."
"My trial!" she gasped, turning pale again. "You think to frighten me
into telling you something, eh?" she laughed. "Ah! you do not know me."
"I know you sufficiently well to be aware that you are a clever and
ingenious woman," I replied. "And in this affair I entertain a belief
that our interests may, after all, be mutual."
"How?"
"Tattersett is your enemy, as he is ours." It was a wild shot, but I
recollected his words that I had overheard in the park at Whitton.
"There has been a conspiracy against myself and this lady here, who is
my wife."
"Your wife!" she gasped.
"I have spoken the truth," I said. "I am here to learn the details from
you. If, on the other hand, you prefer to preserve the secret of your
accomplices, I shall demand your arrest without delay."
She was silent. Then, after further declarations of ignorance, she was
driven to desperation by my threats of arrest, and at last said in a
hard, husky voice--
"I must first tell you who and what I am. My father was an English
merchant, named Turton, who lived in Palermo, and my mother was Italian.
Fifteen years ago I was a popular dancer, known throughout Italy as `La
Gioia.' While engaged at La Scala Theatre, in Milan, I met an
Englishman named Ashwicke--"
"Ashwicke?" I exclaimed.
"Not the man whom you know as Ashwicke, but another," she responded.
"He was interested in the occult sciences, apparently wealthy, and much
enamoured of me. In the six months of our courtship I learned to love
him madly, and the result was that we were married at the Municipio, in
Milan, which stands exactly opposite the entrance to the theatre. A
month afterwards, however, he decamped with my jewels and the whole of
the money I had saved, leaving behind him, as his only personal
possessions, a box containing some rare old vellum books which he had
purchased somewhere down in the old Tuscan towns, and of which he had
been extremely careful. At first I could not believe that he could have
treated me thus, after all his professions of love; but as the weeks
passed and he did not return, I slowly realised the truth that I had
been duped and deserted. It was then that I made a vow of revenge.
"Ten endless years passed, and, my personal beauty having faded, I was
compelled to remain on the stage, accepting menial parts and struggling
for bread until, by the death of a cousin, I found myself with
sufficient to live upon. Though I had no clue to who my husband was,
beyond a name which had most probably been assumed, I nevertheless
treasured his books, feeling vaguely that some day they might give me a
clue. In those years that went by I spent days and days deciphering the
old black letters, and translating from the Latin and Italian. They
were nearly all works dealing with the ancient practice of medicine, but
one there was dealt with secret poisons. I have it here;" and unlocking
a drawer in a rosewood cabinet, she took therefrom a big leather-covered
tome, written in Latin upon vellum.
There was an old rusted lock of Florentine workmanship upon it, and the
leather was worm-eaten and tattered.
"This contains the secret of the vayana," she went on, opening the
ponderous volume before me upon the table. "I discovered that the
poison was the only one impossible of detection, and then it occurred to
me to prepare it, and with it strike revenge. Well, although I had been
in London a dozen times in search of the man I had once loved, I came
again and settled down here, determined to spare no effort to discover
him. Through four whole years I sought him diligently, when at last I
was successful. I discovered who and what he was."
"Who was he?" I inquired.
"The man you know as Major Tattersett. His real name is Ashwicke."
"Tattersett?" gasped Beryl. "And he is your husband?"
"Most certainly," she responded. "I watched him diligently for more
than twelve months, and discovered that his career had been a most
extraordinary one, and that he was in association with a man named
Graham--who sometimes also called himself Ashwicke--and who was one of
the most expert and ingenious forgers ever known. Graham was a
continental swindler whom the police had for years been endeavouring to
arrest, while the man who was my husband was known in criminal circles
as `The Major.' Their operations in England, Belgium, and America were
on a most extensive-scale, and in the past eight years or so they have
amassed a large fortune, and have succeeded in entering a very
respectable circle of society. While keeping watch upon my husband's
movements, I found that he, one evening a few months ago, went down to
Hounslow, and, unobserved by him, I travelled by the same train. I
followed him to Whitton, and watched him meet clandestinely a lady who
was one of the guests."
"It was myself?" Beryl exclaimed, standing utterly dumbfounded by these
revelations.
"Yes," the woman went on. "I was present at your meeting, although not
sufficiently near to overhear your conversation. By your manner,
however, I felt confident that you were lovers, and then a fiendish
suggestion--one that I now deeply regret--occurred to me, namely to kill
you both by secret means. With that object I went to the small rustic
bridge by the lake--over which I knew you must pass on your return to
the house, both of you having crossed it on your way there--and upon the
hand-rail I placed the poison I had prepared. I knew that if you placed
your hand upon the rail the poison would at once be absorbed through the
skin, and must prove fatal. My calculations were, however, incorrect,
for an innocent man fell victim. Colonel Chetwode came down that path,
and, unconsciously grasping the rail, received the sting of death, while
you and your companion returned by a circuitous route, and did not
therefore discover him."
"And is that really the true story of the Colonel's death?" I asked
blankly.
"Yes," she answered, her chin upon her breast. "You may denounce me. I
am a murderess--a murderess?"
There was a long and awkward pause.
"And can you tell us nothing of our mysterious union and its motive?" I
asked her.
"Nothing," she responded, shaking her head. "I would tell you all, if I
knew, for you, like myself, have fallen victims in the hands of
Tattersett and Graham--only they themselves know the truth. After the
tragedy at Whitton I traced Beryl Wynd to Gloucester Square, and, still
believing her to have supplanted me in my husband's affections, called
there in the guise of a dressmaker, and while your wife was absent from
the room managed to write a reply to a fictitious message I had brought
her from Graham. I placed the liquid upon the porcelain handle of the
door on the inside, so that a person on entering would experience no
ill-effect, but on pulling open the door to leave would receive the full
strength of the deadly vayana. This again proved ineffectual; therefore
ascertaining that Graham intended to visit Atworth, I entered there and
placed the terrible alkaloid on certain objects in your wife's room--
upon her waist-belt, and in the room that had been occupied by him on
his previous visit, but which proved to be then occupied by yourself."
"And that accounts for the mysterious attacks which we both
experienced!" I observed, amazed at her confession.
"Yes," she replied; "I intended to commit murder. I was unaware that
Beryl was your wife, and I have committed an error which I shall regret
through all my life, I can only ask your forgiveness--if you really can
forgive."
"I have not yet learnt the whole facts--the motive of our marriage," I
answered. "Can you direct us to either of the men?"
She paused. Then at last answered, "Graham, or the man you know as
Ashwicke, is here in this house; he called upon me by appointment this
afternoon. If you so desire, I will tell my servant to ask him in."
"But before doing so," cried Beryl, excitedly, "let me first explain my
own position! I, too, am not altogether blameless. The story of my
parentage, as I have given it to you, Richard, is a fictitious one. I
never knew my parents. My earliest recollections were of the Convent of
the Sacre Coeur at Brunoy, near Paris, where I spent fourteen years,
having as companion, during the latter seven years, Nora Findlay, the
daughter of a Scotch ironmaster. Of my own parents the Sisters declared
they knew nothing, and as I grew up they constantly tried to persuade me
to take the veil. Nora, my best friend, left the convent, returned to
England, and two years afterwards married Sir Henry, whereupon she
generously offered me a place in her house as companion. She is no
relation, but, knowing my susceptibilities, and in order that I should
not be looked upon as a paid companion, she gave out that we were
cousins--hence I was accepted as such everywhere.
"With Nora I had a pleasant, careless life, until about two years ago I
met the Major, unknown to Nora, and afterwards became on friendly terms
with a young man, an officer in the guards, who was his friend.
Tattersett won a large sum from him at cards; and then I saw, to my
dismay, that he had been attracted only by the mild flirtation I had
carried on with him, and that he had played in order to please me. The
Major increased my dismay by telling me that this young man was the son
of a certain woman who was his bitterest enemy--the Italian woman called
La Gioia--and that she would seek a terrible revenge upon us both. This
was to frighten me. My life having been spent in the convent, I knew
very little of the ways of the world, yet I soon saw sufficient of both
to know that Tattersett was an expert forger, and that his accomplice
Graham was a clever continental thief whom the police had long been
wanting. How I called at the house in Queen's-gate Gardens, and
afterwards lost control over my own actions, I have already explained.
The motive of our marriage is an absolute enigma."
She stood before me white-faced and rigid.
"It is fortunate that Graham is here. Shall we seek the truth from
him?" I asked.
"Yes," she responded. "Demand from him the reason of our mysterious
union."
La Gioia touched the bell, gave an order to the servant, and, after a
few moments of dead silence, Graham stood in the doorway.