"You!" gasped the man, halting quickly in alarm.
"Yes," I said. "Enter, Mr Graham; we wish to speak with you."
"You've betrayed me--curse you!" he cried, turning upon La Gioia.
"You've told them the truth?"
The colour had died from his face, and he looked as grey and aged as on
the first occasion when we had met and he had tempted me.
"We desire the truth from your own lips," I said determinedly. "I am
not here without precautions. The house is surrounded by police, and
they will enter at a sign from me if you refuse an explanation--the
truth, mind. If you lie you will both be arrested."
"I know nothing," he declared, his countenance dark and sullen.
He made a slight instinctive movement towards his pocket, and I knew
that a revolver was there.
"You know the reason of our marriage," I said quickly. "What was it?"
"Speak!" urged La Gioia. "You can only save yourself by telling the
truth."
"Save myself!" he cried in a tone of defiance. "You wish to force me to
confession--you and this woman! You've acted cleverly. When she
invited me here, this afternoon, I did not dream that she had outwitted
me."
The woman had, however, made the appointment in ignorance of our
intentions, therefore she must have had some other motive. But he was
entrapped, and saw no way of escape.
"I have worked diligently all these months, and have solved the mystery
of what you really are," I said.
"Then that's sufficient for you, I suppose;" and his thin lips snapped
together.
"No, it is not sufficient. To attempt to conceal anything further is
useless. I desire from you a statement of the whole truth."
"And condemn myself?"
"You will not condemn yourself if you are perfectly frank with us," I
assured him.
There was a long silence. His small eyes darted an evil look at La
Gioia, who stood near him, erect and triumphant. Suddenly he answered,
in a tone hard and unnatural--
"If you know all, as you declare, there is little need to say much about
my own association with Tattersett. Of the latter the police are well
aware that he is one of the most expert forgers in Europe. It was he
and I who obtained thirty thousand pounds from the Credit Lyonnais in
Bordeaux, and who, among other little matters of business, tricked
Parr's for twenty thousand. At Scotland Yard they have all along
suspected us, but have never obtained sufficient evidence to justify
arrest. We took very good care of that, for after ten years'
partnership we were not likely to blunder." He spoke braggingly, for
all thieves seem proud of the extent of their frauds.
"But you want to know about your marriage, eh?" he went on. "Well, to
tell the truth, it happened like this. The Major, who had dabbled in
the byways of chemistry as a toxicologist, held the secret of a certain
most deadly poison--one that was used by the ancients a thousand years
ago--and conceived by its means a gigantic plan of defrauding life
insurance companies. About that time he accidentally met Miss Wynd, and
cultivated her acquaintance because, being extremely handsome, she would
be useful as a decoy. The secret marriage was accomplished, but just as
the elaborate plan was to be put into operation he made an astounding
discovery."
"What was the reason of the marriage?" I inquired breathlessly.
He paused in hesitation.
"Because it was essential that, in close association with us, we should
have a doctor of reputation, able to assist when necessary, and give
death-certificates for production to the various life insurance
companies. You were known to us by repute as a clever but impecunious
man, therefore it was decided that you should become our accomplice.
With that object Tattersett, accompanied by a young woman, whom he paid
to represent herself as Beryl Wynd, went to Doctors' Commons, and
petitioned for a special licence. Possession was obtained of the house
in Queen's-gate Gardens which I had occupied two years previously under
the name of Ashwicke--for we used each other's names just as
circumstances required--paying the caretaker a ten-pound note; and, when
all was in readiness, you were called and bribed to marry Beryl, who was
already there, rendered helpless with unbalanced brain by the deadly
vayana. I posed, as you will remember, as Wyndham Wynd, father of the
young lady, and, after the marriage, in order to entrap you into
becoming our accomplice, tempted you to take her life. You refused,
therefore you also fell a victim to a cigarette steeped in a decoction
of curare, handed you by the Major, and were sent out of the country, it
being our intention, on your return, to threaten you with being a party
to a fraudulent marriage, and thus compel you to become our accomplice."
"But this paper which I found beneath her pillow?" And I took from my
pocket the sheet of paper with the name of La Gioia upon it.
"It is a note I sent her, on the day before her visit to Queen's-gate
Gardens, in order to induce her to come and consult with me. She had
evidently carried it in her pocket."
"And this photograph?" I asked, showing him the picture I had found
concealed in the Colonel's study.
"We took that picture of her as she lay, apparently dead, for production
afterwards to the life insurance company. The Colonel, who was a friend
of Tattersett's, must have found it in the latter's room and secured it.
It was only because two days after the marriage Sir Henry's wife
overheard a conversation between myself and Tattersett, in which you
were mentioned, that we were prevented from making our gigantic coup
against the life offices. While Beryl was asleep her ladyship found the
wedding-ring. Then, knowing your address--for she had seen you with
Doctor Raymond--she sought your acquaintance on your return, and, by
ingenious questioning, became half convinced that you were actually
Beryl's husband. Your friend Raymond was slightly acquainted with her,
and had been introduced to Beryl some months before."
"But I cannot see why I should have been specially chosen as victim of
this extraordinary plot," my wife exclaimed, her arm linked in mine.
"You say that Tattersett made a discovery which caused him to alter his
plans. What was it?"
"He discovered a few hours after your marriage that you were his
daughter!"
"His daughter--the daughter of that man?" she cried.
"Yes," he answered seriously. "He did not know it, however, until when
you were lying insensible after the marriage, he discovered upon your
chest the tattoo-mark of the three hearts, which he himself had placed
there years before. Then, overcome by remorse, he administered an
antidote, placed you upon a seat in Hyde Park, and witched until you
recovered consciousness and returned to Gloucester Square. It had
before been arranged that an insurance already effected upon you should
be claimed. The truth is," he went on, "that Wyndham Ashwicke, alias
Major Tattersett, first married in York the daughter of a cavalry
officer, and by her you were born. A year afterwards, however, they
separated, your mother died, and you were placed in the convent at
Brunoy under the name of Wynd, while your father plunged into a life of
dissipation on the Continent which ended in the marriage with this lady,
then known as La Gioia."
"It seems incredible?" my love declared. "I cannot believe it?"
"But Nora introduced you as Feo Ashwicke on the first occasion we met
after our marriage," I remarked.
"I well remember it. Nora must have discovered the secret of my birth,
although, when I questioned her after your departure, she declared that
she had only bestowed a fictitious name upon me as a joke."
"Yet Ashwicke was your actual name," I observed.
"You will find the register of your birth in York," interposed Graham.
"I have told you the truth."
"I will hear it from my father's own lips," she said.
"Alas!" the grey-haired man answered very gravely, "that is impossible.
Your father is dead."
"Dead?" I echoed. "Tattersett dead?"
"Yes; he was found lifeless in his rooms in Piccadilly East yesterday
afternoon. His man called me, and discovered upon the table a tiny tube
containing some crystals of the secret vayana. He had evidently touched
them accidentally with his fingers, and the result was fatal. The
police and doctor believe it to be due to natural causes, as I secured
the tube and destroyed it before their arrival. The news of the
discovery is in the evening papers;" and, taking a copy of the _Globe_
from his pocket, he handed it to me, indicating the paragraph.
I read the four bare lines aloud, both my well-beloved and the dead
man's widow standing in rigid silence.
The elucidation of the bewildering mystery and its tragic _denouement_
held us speechless. It staggered belief.
My explanation to Bullen, or our subsequent conversation, need not be
here recounted. Suffice it to say that from that moment, when the truth
became apparent, the Major's widow, who had once sought to take both our
lives, became our firmest and most intimate friend, while Graham, having
expressed regret at his association in the conspiracy, and declared his
intention of leading an honest life in future, was allowed to escape
abroad, where he still remains.
And Beryl? She is my wife. Ah! that small word, which is synonymous
with peace and happiness. Several years have passed, and I have risen
rapidly in my profession--far beyond my deserts, I fear--yet we are
still lovers. We are often visitors at Atworth and at Gloucester
Square, while there is no more welcome guest at our own table in Harley
Street than the ever-erratic Bob Raymond.
The original copy of the ponderous ancient Florentine treatise with its
rusty lock, which the Major left in possession of La Gioia, had been
presented by the latter to the Bodleian Library at Oxford, where it can
now be seen, while Hoefer's re-discovery of the vayana having opened up
an entirely new field to toxicologists, the deadly vegetable, like
strychnine and atropia, is to-day used as one of the most powerful and
valuable medicines, many lives being saved yearly by its administration
in infinitesimal doses.
All the bitterness of the past has faded. What more need I say?
To-night as I sit here in my consulting-room, writing down this strange
history for you, my friendly reader, my wife lingers beside me, sweet
and smiling in white raiment--a dead-white dress that reminds me vividly
of that June day long ago when we first met within the church of St
Ann's, Wilton Place, while at her throat is that quaint little charm,
the note of interrogation set with diamonds, a relic of her ill-fated
mother.
She has bent, and, kissing me tenderly upon the brow, has whispered into
my ear that no man and wife in all the world are half as happy as
ourselves.