A MYSTERIOUS CRIME
"Murder!" The ominous word struck at Bella's heart, in spite of the fact
that her dazed brain could scarcely grasp its significance. With
unseeing eyes she stared at her terrified aunt. Mrs. Coppersley, in her
usual morning dress, simply made, for domestic purposes, fell back from
the motionless girl, and gripped the table in the centre of the room.
Her face was white, her figure limp; and almost crazy with alarm, she
looked twice her age. Nor did the sight of her niece's bewildered gaze
reassure her. With a quick indrawn breath of fear, she lurched forward
and again shook the girl.
"Bella! Bella! what's come to you? Don't you hear me? Don't you
understand, Bella? Jabez is dead! your father has been murdered. He's
lying a corpse in his study. And oh--oh--oh!"--Mrs. Coppersley reeled
against the table again, and showed signs of violent hysteria.
This spectacle brought back Bella with a rush to the necessities of the
moment. She sprang to her feet, with every sense alert and ready to be
used. Seizing the ewer from the wash-stand, she dashed the water over
the sobbing, terrified woman, then braced herself to consider the
situation.
Bella's thoughts reverted to the events of the previous night.
She remembered that Cyril had come to the house and, without a
sign of recognition had entered. She had not seen him depart,
because--because--oh, yes, she had fallen unaccountably asleep. Slumber
had overtaken her at the very moment when she was preparing to descend
from the window, in order to--to--to----. Bella uttered a wild cry, and
the ebbing blood left her face pearly white. The interview between her
father and Cyril had taken place; she had not been there, and now--and
now----. "What do you say?" she asked her aunt, in a hard, unemotional
voice.
Mrs. Coppersley, quite unnerved, and drying her scared face with the
towel, gasped and stared. "Didn't you hear? What's come to you, Bella?
Your father has been murdered. I got up this morning as usual, and went
into the study. He's lying there, covered with blood. Oh, who can have
killed him?"
"How should I know?" cried Bella, harshly. "I was locked up in this room
by you, Aunt Rosamund. I fell asleep after--after----" she stopped,
aware that she might say something dangerous.
"After what?" asked Mrs. Coppersley, curiously.
"After you left--after I drank the tea. Oh, how could I fall asleep,
when--when--ah!" Bella made a bound for the table, and took up the empty
cup. Some dregs of tea remained, which she tasted. They had a bitter
flavour, and a thought flashed into her mind. "You drugged this tea!"
she cried.
Mrs. Coppersley flapped her plump hands feebly, and gasped again. Never
a very strong-minded woman, she was now reduced to a markedly idiotic
condition under the strain of the tragic circumstances. "I drug your
tea? Save us, Bella, what do you mean?"
"I drank this tea and fell asleep," said the girl sharply; "although
before drinking it, I did not feel at all sleepy. Now I have a
disagreeable taste in my mouth, and my head aches. There is a queer
flavour about what is left in the cup. I am sure this tea was drugged.
By you?"
"Good Lord!" cried Mrs. Coppersley indignantly. "Why should I drug your
tea, Bella? Your father poured it out himself in the study, when I was
getting you toast in the kitchen. I told you so last night."
"Yes, yes. I remember." Bella passed her hand across her forehead. "My
father evidently drugged the tea to keep me quiet. And so he has met
with his death by violence."
"Bella," Mrs. Coppersley screamed, and made for the door, "what do you
mean?"
Again the girl felt that she was talking too freely. If Cyril was
implicated in the crime reported by Mrs. Coppersley, she must save
Cyril. Or at least, she must hold her peace until she heard from her
lover what had taken place during that fatal interview. It was just
possible that Cyril had slain the captain in self-defence, and knowing
her father's violent character, the girl could scarcely blame the young
man. She expected that this would happen, and so had been anxious to
intervene as a peacemaker. But the drugged tea--she felt certain that it
had been drugged by her father--had prevented her doing what she wished.
Now Huxham was dead, and Lister, whether in self-defence or not, was his
murderer. The thought was agony. Yet in the midst of the terror
engendered by her surmise, Bella found herself blaming her father. If he
had not drugged the tea in order to keep her in her room, this tragedy
would not have happened. Captain Huxham had paved the way to his own
death.
But, after all, there might be extenuating circumstances, and perhaps
Cyril would be able to explain. Meantime she would hold her tongue as to
having seen him enter the house. But if anyone else had seen him? She
turned to Mrs. Coppersley. "Where were you last night?" she demanded,
suspiciously.
"I was with Henry Vand from seven until after ten," said the woman
meekly, and evidently unaware why the leading question had been put. "I
left your father in his study, and when I returned I let myself in by
the back door and went to bed quietly. You know, Jabez always objected
to my seeing Henry, so I wished to avoid trouble. This morning, when I
went into the--ugh! ugh! come and see for yourself!" and Mrs. Coppersley
gripped Bella's wrist to draw her towards the door--"It's murder and
robbery!"
Bella released her wrist with a sudden jerk, but followed the elder
woman down the stairs. "Robbery! What do you mean?"
"Come and see!" said Mrs. Coppersley hysterically. "We must send for the
police, I suppose. Oh, my poor nerves! Never, never shall I get over
this shock, disagreeable as Jabez always was to me. And he wasn't ready
for heaven, either; though perhaps he did send for Mr. Pence to talk
religion to him."
"Did my father send for Mr. Pence?"
"Yes. He asked me to go to the village with a note for Mr. Pence. I
could not find Mr. Pence at home, so left the note for him. Then I met
Henry, and returned, as I told you, after ten o'clock."
"Did Mr. Pence come to see my father?" asked Bella anxiously. She was
wondering if the preacher had by any chance seen Cyril enter the house.
"I don't know--I can't say--oh, dear me, how dreadful it all is!"
maundered Mrs. Coppersley, opening the door of the study. "Just look for
yourself, Bella. Your father lies dead in his blood. Oh, how I hope that
the villain who killed and robbed him will be hanged and drawn and
quartered! That I do, the wretch, the viper, the beast! I must get some
rum. I can't stay in this room without some rum. I shall faint, I know I
shall. What's the time? Seven o'clock. Oh, dear me, so late! I must send
Tunks for the police. He has to be here to see your father, and oh, dear
me, he can't see your father unless he goes to heaven, where I'm sure I
hope Jabez has gone. But one never knows, and he certainly was most
disagreeable to me. Oh, how ill I am! oh, how very, very bad I feel!"
and thus lamenting Mrs. Coppersley drifted out of the room, towards the
back part of the premises, leaving Bella alone with the dead man.
And Captain Huxham was dead, stone dead. His body lay on the floor
between the desk and the chair he had been sitting on. From the position
of the corpse, Bella judged that her father had suddenly risen to meet
the descending weapon, which had pierced his heart. But not being able
to defend himself, he had fallen dead at his murderer's feet. With a
cautious remembrance that she must not remove anything until the police
came, Bella knelt and examined the body carefully, but without laying a
finger on the same. The clothes over the heart had been pierced by some
extremely sharp instrument, which had penetrated even through the thick
pea-jacket worn by the dead man. There was blood on the cloth and on the
floor, and although ignorant of medical knowledge, Bella judged that
death must have been almost instantaneous. Otherwise there would have
been signs of a struggle, as Captain Huxham would not have submitted
tamely to death. But the casement was fast closed, the furniture was
quite orderly. At least, Bella judged so when she first looked round,
for no chairs were upset; but on a second glance she became aware that
the drawers of the desk were open, that the flexible lid of the desk was
up, and that the pigeon-holes had been emptied of their papers.
Also--and it was this which startled her most--the green-painted safe
was unlocked, and through the door, which stood ajar, she could see that
the papers therein were likewise in disorder. In fact, some of them were
lying on the floor.
Strongly agitated, Bella constructed a theory of the murder, and saw, as
in a vision--perhaps wrongfully--what had taken place. The captain had
come to his desk for some purpose, but hearing a noise, or perhaps
suspecting that there was danger, had unexpectedly turned, only to be
stabbed. When he fell dead, the criminal took the keys of the safe from
the dead man's pocket, and committed the robbery. Then he examined the
pigeon-holes of the desk, and afterwards departed--probably by the front
door, since the casement was closed. Robbery, undoubtedly, was the
motive for the commission of the crime.
The girl rose to her feet, drawing a long breath of relief. Cyril
certainly could not have slain her father, since Cyril would not have
robbed. The young man assuredly had come to the house--she could swear
to that herself--and if he had quarrelled with Huxham, he might have
struck him in a moment of anger. But there was no reason to believe that
Cyril would rob the safe. Hence there must be another person, who had
committed both the murder and the robbery. Who was that person?
Mrs. Coppersley had stated plainly that Huxham had sent a message to
Pence, asking him to call. Perhaps he had obeyed the summons, after
Cyril left, and then had murdered the captain. But there was no motive
for so timid and good-living a man as the preacher to slay and rob. So
far as Bella knew, Pence did not want money, and--since he wished to
make her his wife--it was imperative that Huxham should live in order to
forward his aims. And it was at this point that the girl recalled, with
a shudder, the fact that Cyril had confessed his need for one thousand
pounds. Could Lister be the culprit, after all?
"No," cried Bella aloud, and in an agony of shame; "the man I love could
not be guilty of so vile an act." So she tried to comfort herself, but
the fact of Cyril's visit to the house still lingered in her mind.
Shortly Mrs. Coppersley returned with Tunks at her heels. The handy-man
of Bleacres was a medium-sized individual, with a swarthy skin and beady
black eyes peering from under tangled black hair. Lean and lithe, and
quick in his movements, he betrayed his gypsy blood immediately, to the
most unobservant, for there was something Oriental in his appearance.
Just now he looked considerably scared, and came no further than the
door of the room.
"There's your master," said Mrs. Coppersley, pointing to the dead, "so
just you go to the village and tell the policeman to come here. Bella,
you have not touched anything, have you?"
Bella shook her head. "I have not even touched the body," she confessed
with a shudder. "Tunks, were you about the house last night?"
"No, miss," said the man, looking more scared than ever. "I went home
nigh on seven o'clock, and was with my granny all the evening. I know
nothing about this, miss."
"I don't suppose you do," rejoined the girl tartly, "but I thought you
might have seen my father later than Mrs. Coppersley here."
"I left the house last night at the same time as you, ma'am," said
Tunks, addressing himself to the housekeeper. "You locked the back door
after me."
"Yes," acknowledged Mrs. Coppersley promptly, "so you did. That would be
at seven, as I came up and saw you, Bella, a few minutes before, with
the tea and toast. You didn't come back, Tunks?"
"No, I didn't," retorted the gypsy sullenly. "You went on to Marshely,
and I got back home. I never came near this house again until this
morning. You can ask my granny if I wasn't in bed early last night."
"When did you see your master last?" questioned Bella.
Tunks removed his dingy cap to scratch his untidy locks. "It would be
about six, just before I had my tea. He wanted to reduce my wages, too,
and I said I'd give him notice if he did. But I suppose," growled Tunks,
with his eyes on the remains, "it's notice in any case now."
"Never you mind bothering about yourself," cried Mrs. Coppersley
sharply. "Go to Marshely, and tell the policeman to come here. Bella,"
she moved to the door, "let us leave the room and lock the door. Nothing
must be touched until the truth is known."
"Will the truth ever be known?" asked the girl drearily, as she went
into the hall, and watched her aunt lock the door of the death-room.
"Of course," retorted the elder woman, "one person cannot murder another
person without being seen."
"I don't know so much about that, Aunt Rosamund. You and Tunks were
away, and I was locked in my room, so anyone could enter, and----" she
glanced towards the study door and shuddered.
"Did _you_ see anyone?" asked Mrs. Coppersley quickly.
Bella started. "No," she replied, with unnecessary loudness; "how could
I see anyone when I was drugged?"
"Drugged, miss?" cried Tunks, pricking up his ears.
Mrs. Coppersley turned on the handy-man, and stamped. "How dare you
linger here?" she cried. "You should be half way to the village by this
time. Miss Bella was having wakeful nights, and her father gave her a
sleeping draught. Off with you," and she drove Tunks out of the front
door.
"Why did you tell such a lie?" asked Bella when the man was hurrying
down the path, eager, like all his tribe, to carry bad news.
"A lie! a lie!" Mrs. Coppersley placed her arms akimbo and looked
defiant. "Why do you call it a lie? You _did_ complain of sleepless
nights, and you did say that the tea, poured out by Jabez, was drugged."
"That is true enough," admitted the girl quietly, "but I merely slept
badly because of the hot weather, and never asked my father for a
sleeping----"
"Oh!" interrupted Mrs. Coppersley, tossing her head. "What does it
matter. I can't even say if the tea was drugged."
"I'll learn that soon," replied Bella drily, "for I have locked up the
cup containing the dregs of tea. My father no doubt feared lest I should
run away with Cyril, and so drugged it."
"The least said the soonest mended, Bella. Say nothing of the drugging
at the inquest, as there is no need to blacken your father's character."
"I don't see that anything I could say would blacken my father's
character, Aunt Rosamund. Of course, he had no business to drug me, but
if I am asked at the inquest I shall tell the truth."
"And so your connection with that Lister person will come out."
Bella turned on her aunt in a fury. "What do I care?" she cried,
stamping. "I have a right to marry him if I choose, and I don't care if
all the world knows how I love him. In fact, the whole world soon will
know."
"Well," said Mrs. Coppersley, with an air of washing her hands of the
entire affair, "say what you like; but don't blame me if you find
yourself in an unpleasant position."
Bella, who was ascending the stairs, turned to answer this last remark
promptly. "Why should I find myself in an unpleasant position?" she
demanded. "Do you accuse me of murdering father?"
"God forbid! God forbid!" cried Mrs. Coppersley piously and with a
shudder, "but you cannot deny that you were alone in the house."
"And locked in my bedroom, as you can testify."
"Oh, I'll say that willingly. But you'd better wash out that cup of
dregs, and say nothing more."
"I have already mentioned the matter in Tunks' hearing, so I must
explain further if necessary. But I'll say why I believe my father acted
so. Your story of sleepless nights will not do for me."
"You'll blacken the memory of the dead," groaned Mrs. Coppersley
dismally. "Ah, you never loved your poor father."
"Did you?" asked Bella suddenly.
"In a way I did, and in a way I didn't," said her aunt evasively. "Jabez
never was the brother he should have been to me. But a daughter's nearer
than a sister, and you should have loved him to distraction."
"In spite of the way he behaved to me."
"He had to keep a firm hand over your high spirit."
"Aunt Rosamund," burst out Bella at white heat. "Why do you talk in this
silly way? You know that both to you and to me my father acted like a
cruel tyrant, and that while he was alive we could do nothing to please
him. I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but you know what I say is
true."
"We are none of us perfect," snuffled Mrs. Coppersley, wiping her eyes,
"and I daresay Jabez was worse than many others. But I was a good sister
to him, in spite of his horrid ways. I'm sure my life's been spent in
looking after other people: first my mother, then my husband, and
afterwards Jabez. Now I'll marry Henry Vand, and be happy."
"Don't talk of happiness with that"--Bella pointed downward to the
study--"in the house. Go and make yourself tidy, aunt, and I'll do the
same. We have a very trying day before us."
"So like Jabez, so very like Jabez," wailed Mrs. Coppersley, while Bella
fled up the stairs. "He always brought trouble on everyone. Even as a
little boy, he behaved like the pirate he was. Oh, dear me, how ill I
feel. Bella! Bella! come down and see me faint. Bella! Bella!"
But the girl did not answer, as she knew that Mrs. Coppersley only
wished to gossip. Going to her own room, she again examined the cup with
the dregs, which she had not locked up, in spite of her saying so to
Mrs. Coppersley. Undoubtedly, the tea tasted bitter, and she resolved to
have it analysed so as to prove to herself the fact of the drugging. She
knew perfectly well that her father had attended to the tea himself,
evidently to render her helpless in case she meditated flight with
Cyril. And in dong so, he had indirectly brought about his own death,
for had she been awake she could have descended from the window to be
present at the interview which had ended so fatally. And at this
point--while she was locking up the cup in a convenient cupboard--Bella
became aware that she was thinking as though her lover were actually
guilty of the deed.
Of course he could not be, she decided desperately, even though things
looked black against him. Lister, honest and frank, would not murder an
old man in so treacherous a manner, however he might be goaded into
doing so. And yet she had assuredly seen him enter the house. If she
could only have seen him depart; but the drug had prevented that welcome
sight. Pence might have struck the blow, but Pence had no reason to do
so, and in fact had every inducement to keep Huxham alive. Bella could
not read the riddle of the murder. All she knew was that it would be
necessary for her to hold her tongue about Lister's unexpected visit to
the Solitary Farm.
"But I shall never be able to marry him after this," she wailed.