‘she was in the same room with Mrs Villiers and was found dead in the
morning.’
‘Miss Marchurst was also in the room,’ put in Barty, eagerly.
‘Oh, indeed!’ said Vandeloup, smoothly, turning to him; ‘do you think
she had anything to do with it?’
‘Of course not,’ said Rolleston, who had just entered, ‘she had no
reason to kill the woman.’
Vandeloup smiled.
‘So logical you are,’ he murmured, ‘you want a reason for everything.’
‘Naturally,’ retorted Felix, fixing in his eyeglass, ‘there is no effect
without a cause.’
‘It couldn’t have been Miss Marchurst,’ said Bellthorp, ‘they say that
the poison was poured out of a bottle held by a hand which came through
the window--it’s quite true,’ defiantly looking at the disbelieving
faces round him; ‘one of Mrs Villiers’ servants heard it in the house
and told Mrs Riller’s maid.’
‘From whence,’ said Vandeloup, politely, ‘it was transmitted to
you--precisely.’
Bellthorp reddened slightly, and turned away as he saw the other
smiling, for his relations with Mrs Riller were well known.
‘That hand business is all bosh,’ observed Felix Rolleston,
authoritatively; ‘it’s in a play called “The Hidden Hand”.’
‘Perhaps the person who poisoned Miss Sprotts, got the idea from it?’
suggested Jarper.
‘Pshaw, my dear fellow,’ said Vandeloup, languidly; ‘people don’t go to
melodrama for ideas. Everyone has got their own version of this story;
the best thing to do is to await the result of the inquest.’
‘Is there to be an inquest?’ cried all.
‘So I’ve heard,’ replied the Frenchman, coolly; ‘sounds as if there was
something wrong, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s a curious poisoning case,’ observed Bellthorp.
‘Ah, but it isn’t proved that there is any poisoning about it,’ said
Vandeloup, looking keenly at him; ‘you jump to conclusions.’
‘There is no smoke without fire,’ replied Rolleston, sagely. ‘I expect
we’ll all be rather astonished when the inquest is held,’ and so the
discussion closed.
The inquest was appointed to take place next day, and Calton had been
asked by Madame Midas to be present on her behalf. Kilsip, a detective
officer, was also present, and, curled up like a cat in the corner, was
listening to every word of the evidence.
The first witness called was Madame Midas, who deposed that the
deceased, Selina Jane Sprotts, was her servant. She had gone to bed in
excellent health, and next morning she had found her dead.
The Coroner asked a few questions relative to the case.
Q. Miss Marchurst awoke you, I believe?
A. Yes.
Q. And her room is off yours?
A. Yes.
Q. Had she to go through your room to reach her own?
A. She had. There was no other way of getting there.
Q. One of the windows of your room was open?
A. It was--all night.
Miss Kitty Marchurst was then called, and being sworn, gave her story
of the hand coming through the window. This caused a great sensation
in Court, and Calton looked puzzled, while Kilsip, scenting a mystery,
rubbed his lean hands together softly.
Q. You live with Mrs Villiers, I believe, Miss Marchurst?
A. I do.
Q. And you knew the deceased intimately?
A. I had known her all my life.
Q. Had she anyone who would wish to injure her?
A. Not that I knew of. She was a favourite with everyone.
Q. What time did you come home from the ball you were at?
A. About half-past two, I think. I went straight to Mrs Villiers’ room.
Q. With the intention of going through it to reach your own?
A. Yes.
Q. You say you fell asleep looking at a portrait. How long did you
sleep?
A. I don’t know. I was awakened by a noise at the window, and saw the
hand appear.
Q. Was it a man’s hand or a woman’s?
A. I don’t know. It was too indistinct for me to see clearly; and I was
so afraid, I fainted.
Q. You saw it pour something from a bottle into the glass on the table?
A. Yes; but I did not see it withdraw. I fainted right off.
Q. When you recovered your senses, the deceased had drank the contents
of the glass?
A. Yes. She must have felt thirsty and drank it, not knowing it was
poisoned. Q. How do you know it was poisoned?
A. I only suppose so. I don’t think anyone would come to a window and
pour anything into a glass without some evil purpose.
The Coroner then asked why the glass with what remained of the contents
had not been put in evidence, but was informed that the glass was
broken.
When Kitty had ended her evidence and was stepping down, she caught
the eye of Vandeloup, who was looking at her keenly. She met his gaze
defiantly, and he smiled meaningly at her. At this moment, however,
Kilsip bent forward and whispered something to the Coroner, whereupon
Kitty was recalled.
Q. You were an actress, Miss Marchurst?
A. Yes. I was on tour with Mr Theodore Wopples for some time.
Q. Do you know a drama called ‘The Hidden Hand’?
A. Yes--I have played in it once or twice.
Q. Is there not a strong resemblance between your story of this crime
and the drama?
A. Yes, it is very much the same.
Kilsip then gave his evidence, and deposed that he had examined the
ground between the window, where the hand was alleged to have appeared,
and the garden wall. There were no footmarks on the flower-bed under the
window, which was the only place where footmarks would show, as the lawn
itself was hard and dry. He also examined the wall, but could find no
evidence that anyone had climbed over it, as it was defended by broken
bottles, and the bushes at its foot were not crushed or disturbed in any
way.
Dr Chinston was then called, and deposed that he had made a post-mortem
examination of the body of the deceased. The body was that of a woman of
apparently fifty or fifty-five years of age, and of medium height; the
body was well nourished. There were no ulcers or other signs of disease,
and no marks of violence on the body. The brain was congested and soft,
and there was an abnormal amount of fluid in the spaces known as the
ventricles of the brain; the lungs were gorged with dark fluid blood;
the heart appeared healthy, its left side was contracted and empty, but
the right was dilated and filled with dark fluid blood; the stomach was
somewhat congested, and contained a little partially digested food; the
intestines here and there were congested, and throughout the body the
blood was dark and fluid.
Q. What then, in your opinion, was the cause of death?
A. In my opinion death resulted from serous effusion on the brain,
commonly known as serous apoplexy.
Q. Then you found no appearances in the stomach, or elsewhere, which
would lead you to believe poison had been taken?
A. No, none.
Q. From the post-mortem examination could you say the death of the
deceased was not due to some narcotic poison?
A. No: the post-mortem appearances of the body are quite consistent with
those of poisoning by certain poisons, but there is no reason to suppose
that any poison has been administered in this case, as I, of course,
go by what I see; and the presence of poisons, especially vegetable
poisons, can only be detected by chemical analysis.
Q. Did you analyse the contents of the stomach chemically?
A. No; it was not my duty to do so; I handed over the stomach to the
police, seeing that there is suspicion of poison, and thence it will go
to the Government analyst.
Q. It is stated that the deceased had convulsions before she died--is
this not a symptom of narcotic poisoning?
A. In some cases, yes, but not commonly; aconite, for instance, always
produces convulsions in animals, seldom in man.
Q. How do you account for the congested condition of the lungs?
A. I believe the serous effusion caused death by suspended respiration.
Q. Was there any odour perceptible?
A. No, none whatsoever.
The inquest was then adjourned till next day, and there was great
excitement over the affair. If Kitty Marchurst’s statement was true, the
deceased must have died from the administration of poison; but, on the
other hand, Dr Chinston asserted positively that there was no trace of
poison, and that the deceased had clearly died from apoplexy. Public
opinion was very much divided, some asserting that Kitty’s story was
true, while others said she had got the idea from ‘The Hidden Hand’, and
only told it in order to make herself notorious. There were plenty
of letters written to the papers on the subject, each offering a new
solution of the difficulty, but the fact remained the same, that Kitty
said the deceased had been poisoned; the doctor that she had died of
apoplexy. Calton was considerably puzzled over the matter. Of course,
there was no doubt that the man who committed the murder had intended to
poison Madame Midas, but the fact that Selina stayed all night with her,
had resulted in the wrong person being killed. Madame Midas told Calton
the whole story of her life, and asserted positively that if the poison
was meant for her, Villiers must have administered it. This was all very
well, but the question then arose, was Villiers alive? The police were
once more set to work, and once more their search resulted in nothing.
Altogether the whole affair was wrapped in mystery, as it could not even
be told if a murder had been committed, or if the deceased had died from
natural causes. The only chance of finding out the truth would be to
have the stomach analysed, and the cause of death ascertained; once that
was done, and the matter could be gone on with, or dropped, according
to the report of the analyst. If he said it was apoplexy, Kitty’s story
would necessarily have to be discredited as an invention; but if, on
the other hand, the traces of poison were found, search would have to be
made for the murderer. Matters were at a deadlock, and everyone waited
impatiently for the report of the analyst. Suddenly, however, a new
interest was given to the case by the assertion that a Ballarat doctor,
called Gollipeck, who was a noted toxicologist, had come down to
Melbourne to assist at the analysis of the stomach, and knew something
which would throw light on the mysterious death.
Vandeloup saw the paragraph which gave this information, and it
disturbed him very much.
‘Curse that book of Prevol’s,’ he said to himself, as he threw down the
paper: ‘it will put them on the right track, and then--well,’ observed
M. Vandeloup, sententiously, ‘they say danger sharpens a man’s wits;
it’s lucky for me if it does.’
CHAPTER XIII
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND
M. Vandeloup’s rooms in Clarendon Street, East Melbourne, were very
luxuriously and artistically furnished, in perfect accordance with the
taste of their owner, but as the satiated despot is depicted by the
moralists as miserable amid all his splendour, so M. Gaston Vandeloup,
though not exactly miserable, was very ill at ease. The inquest had been
adjourned until the Government analyst, assisted by Dr Gollipeck, had
examined the stomach, and according to a paragraph in the evening paper,
some strange statements, implicating various people, would be made next
day. It was this that made Vandeloup so uneasy, for he knew that Dr
Gollipeck would trace a resemblance between the death of Selina Sprotts
in Melbourne and Adele Blondet in Paris, and then the question would
arise how the poison used in the one case came to be used in the other.
If that question arose it would be all over with him, for he would not
dare to face any examination, and as discretion is the better part
of valour, M. Vandeloup decided to leave the country. With his usual
foresight he had guessed that Dr Gollipeck would be mixed up in the
affair, so had drawn his money out of all securities in which it was
invested, sent most of it to America to a New York bank, reserving only
a certain sum for travelling purposes. He was going to leave Melbourne
next morning by the express train for Sydney, and there would catch the
steamer to San Francisco via New Zealand and Honolulu. Once in America
and he would be quite safe, and as he now had plenty of money he could
enjoy himself there. He had given up the idea of marrying Madame Midas,
as he dare not run the risk of remaining in Australia, but then there
were plenty of heiresses in the States he could marry if he chose, so to
give her up was a small matter. Another thing, he would be rid of Pierre
Lemaire, for once let him put the ocean between him and the dumb man he
would take care they never met again. Altogether, M. Vandeloup had taken
all precautions to secure his own safety with his usual promptitude and
coolness, but notwithstanding that another twelve hours would see him on
his way to Sydney en route for the States, he felt slightly uneasy, for
as he often said, ‘There are always possibilities.’
It was about eight o’clock at night, and Gaston was busy in his rooms
packing up to go away next morning. He had disposed of his apartments to
Bellthorp, as that young gentleman had lately come in for some money and
was dissatisfied with the paternal roof, where he was kept too strictly
tied up.
Vandeloup, seated in his shirt sleeves in the midst of a chaos of
articles of clothing, portmanteaux, and boxes, was, with the experience
of an accomplished traveller, rapidly putting these all away in the most
expeditious and neatest manner. He wanted to get finished before ten
o’clock, so that he could go down to his club and show himself, in order
to obviate any suspicion as to his going away. He did not intend to send
out any P.P.C. cards, as he was a modest young man and wanted to slip
unostentatiously out of the country; besides, there was nothing like
precaution, as the least intimation of his approaching departure would
certainly put Dr Gollipeck on the alert and cause trouble. The gas was
lighted, there was a bright glare through all the room, and everything
was in confusion, with M. Vandeloup seated in the centre, like Marius
amid the ruins of Carthage. While thus engaged there came a ring at the
outer door, and shortly afterwards Gaston’s landlady entered his room
with a card.
‘A gentleman wants to see you, sir,’ she said, holding out the card.
‘I’m not at home,’ replied Vandeloup, coolly, removing the cigarette he
was smoking from his mouth; ‘I can’t see anyone tonight.’
‘He says you’d like to see him, sir,’ answered the woman, standing at
the door.
‘The deuce he does,’ muttered Vandeloup, uneasily; ‘I wonder what this
pertinacious gentleman’s name is? and he glanced at the card, whereon
was written ‘Dr Gollipeck’.
Vandeloup felt a chill running through him as he rose to his feet. The
battle was about to begin, and he knew he would need all his wit and
skill to get himself out safely. Dr Gollipeck had thrown down the
gauntlet, and he would have to pick it up. Well, it was best to know
the worst at once, so he told the landlady he would see Gollipeck
downstairs. He did not want him to come up there, as he would see all
the evidences of his intention to leave the country.
‘I’ll see him downstairs,’ he said, sharply, to the landlady; ‘ask the
gentleman to wait.’
The landlady, however, was pushed roughly to one side, and Dr Gollipeck,
rusty and dingy-looking as ever, entered the room.
‘No need, my dear friend,’ he said in his grating voice, blinking at the
young man through his spectacles, ‘we can talk here.’
Vandeloup signed to the landlady to leave the room, which she did,
closing the door after her, and then, pulling himself together with a
great effort, he advanced smilingly on the doctor.
‘Ah, my dear Monsieur,’ he said, in his musical voice, holding out both
hands, ‘how pleased I am to see you.’
Dr Gollipeck gurgled pleasantly in his throat at this and laughed, that
is, something apparently went wrong in his inside and a rasping noise
came out of his mouth.
‘You clever young man,’ he said, affectionately, to Gaston, as he
unwound a long crimson woollen scarf from his throat, and thereby caused
a button to fly off his waistcoat with the exertion. Dr Gollipeck,
however, being used to these little eccentricities of his toilet, pinned
the waistcoat together, and then, sitting down, spread his red bandanna
handkerchief over his knees, and stared steadily at Vandeloup, who had
put on a loose velvet smoking coat, and, with a cigarette in his mouth,
was leaning against the mantelpiece. It was raining outside, and the
pleasant patter of the raindrops was quite audible in the stillness of
the room, while every now and then a gust of wind would make the windows
rattle, and shake the heavy green curtains. The two men eyed one another
keenly, for they both knew they had an unpleasant quarter of an hour
before them, and were like two clever fencers--both watching their
opportunity to begin the combat. Gollipeck, with his greasy coat, all
rucked up behind his neck, and his frayed shirt cuffs coming down on his
ungainly hands, sat sternly silent, so Vandeloup, after contemplating
him for a few moments, had to begin the battle.
‘My room is untidy, is it not?’ he said, nodding his head carelessly at
the chaos of furniture. ‘I’m going away for a few days.’
‘A few days; ha, ha!’ observed Gollipeck, something again going wrong
with his inside. ‘Your destination is--’
‘Sydney,’ replied Gaston, promptly.
‘And then?’ queried the doctor.
Gaston shrugged his shoulders.
‘Depends upon circumstances,’ he answered, lazily.
‘That’s a mistake,’ retorted Gollipeck, leaning forward; ‘it depends
upon me.’
Vandeloup smiled.
‘In that case, circumstances, as represented by you, will permit me to
choose my own destinations.’
‘Depends entirely upon your being guided by circumstances, as
represented by me,’ retorted the Doctor, grimly.
‘Pshaw!’ said the Frenchman, coolly, ‘let us have done with allegory,
and come to common sense. What do you want?’
‘I want Octave Braulard,’ said Gollipeck, rising to his feet.
Vandeloup quite expected this, and was too clever to waste time in
denying his identity.
‘He stands before you,’ he answered, curtly, ‘what then?’
‘You acknowledge, then, that you are Octave Braulard, transported to New
Caledonia for the murder of Adele Blondet?’ said the Doctor tapping the
table with one hand.
‘To you--yes,’ answered Vandeloup, crossing to the door and locking it;
‘to others--no.’
‘Why do you lock the door?’ asked Gollipeck, gruffly.
‘I don’t want my private affairs all over Melbourne,’ retorted Gaston,
smoothly, returning to his position in front of the fireplace; ‘are you
afraid?’
Something again went wrong with Dr Gollipeck’s inside, and he grated out
a hard ironical laugh.
‘Do I look afraid?’ he asked, spreading out his hands.
Vandeloup stooped down to the portmanteau lying open at his feet, and
picked up a revolver, which he pointed straight at Gollipeck.
‘You make an excellent target,’ he observed, quickly, putting his finger
on the trigger.
Dr Gollipeck sat down, and arranged his handkerchief once more over his
knees.
‘Very likely,’ he answered, coolly, ‘but a target you won’t practise
on.’
‘Why not?’ asked Vandeloup, still keeping his finger on the trigger.
‘Because the pistol-shot would alarm the house,’ said Gollipeck,
serenely, ‘and if I was found dead, you would be arrested for my murder.
If I was only wounded I could tell a few facts about M. Octave Braulard
that would have an unpleasant influence on the life of M. Gaston
Vandeloup.’
Vandeloup laid the pistol down on the mantelpiece with a laugh, lit a
cigarette, and, sitting down in a chair opposite Gollipeck, began to
talk.
‘You are a brave man,’ he said, coolly blowing a wreath of smoke, ‘I
admire brave men.’
‘You are a clever man,’ retorted the doctor; ‘I admire clever men.’
‘Very good,’ said Vandeloup, crossing one leg over the other. ‘As we now
understand one another, I await your explanation of this visit.’
Dr Gollipeck, with admirable composure, placed his hands on his knees,
and acceded to the request of M. Vandeloup.
‘I saw in the Ballarat and Melbourne newspapers,’ he said, quietly,
‘that Selina Sprotts, the servant of Mrs Villiers, was dead. The papers
said foul play was suspected, and according to the evidence of Kitty
Marchurst, whom, by the way, I remember very well, the deceased had been
poisoned. An examination was made of the body, but no traces of
poison were found. Knowing you were acquainted with Madame Midas, and
recognising this case as a peculiar one--seeing that poison was asserted
to have been given, and yet no appearances could be found--I came down
to Melbourne, saw the doctor who had analysed the body, and heard what
he had to say on the subject. The symptoms were described as apoplexy,
similar to those of a woman who died in Paris called Adele Blondet, and
whose case was reported in a book by Messrs Prevol and Lebrun. Becoming
suspicious, I assisted at a chemical analysis of the body, and found
that the woman Sprotts had been poisoned by an extract of hemlock, the
same poison used in the case of Adele Blondet. The man who poisoned
Adele Blondet was sent to New Caledonia, escaped from there, and came to
Australia, and prepared this poison at Ballarat; and why I called here
tonight was to know the reason M. Octave Braulard, better known as
Gaston Vandeloup, poisoned Selina Sprotts in mistake for Madame Midas.’
If Doctor Gollipeck had thought to upset Vandeloup by this recital, he
was never more mistaken in his life, for that young gentleman heard him
coolly to the end, and taking the cigarette out of his mouth, smiled
quietly.
‘In the first place,’ he said, smoothly, ‘I acknowledge the truth of
all your story except the latter part, and I must compliment you on the
admirable way you have guessed the identity of Braulard with Vandeloup,
as you have no proof to show that they are the same. But with regard
to the death of Mademoiselle Sprotts, she died as you have said; but I,
though the maker of the poison, did not administer it.’
‘Who did, then?’ asked Gollipeck, who was quite prepared for this
denial.
Vandeloup smoothed his moustache, and looked at the doctor with a keen
glance.
‘Kitty Marchurst,’ he said, coolly.
The rain was beating wildly against the windows and someone in the room
below was playing the eternal waltz, ‘One summer’s night in Munich’,
while Vandeloup, leaning back in his chair, stared at Dr Gollipeck, who
looked at him disbelievingly.
‘It’s not true,’ he said, harshly; ‘what reason had she to poison the
woman Sprotts?’
‘None at all,’ replied Vandeloup, blandly; ‘but she had to poison Mrs
Villiers.’
‘Go on,’ said Gollipeck, gruffly; ‘I’ve no doubt you will make up an
admirable story.’
‘So kind of you to compliment me,’ observed Vandeloup, lightly; ‘but
in this instance I happen to tell the truth--Kitty Marchurst was my
mistress.’
‘It was you that ruined her, then?’ cried Gollipeck, pushing back his
chair.
Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.
‘If you put it that way--yes,’ he answered, simply; ‘but she fell into
my mouth like ripe fruit. Surely,’ with a sneer, ‘at your age you don’t
believe in virtue?’
‘Yes, I do,’ retorted Gollipeck, fiercely.
‘More fool you!’ replied Gaston, with a libertine look on his handsome
face. ‘Balzac never said a truer word than that “a woman’s virtue is
man’s greatest invention.” Well, we won’t discuss morality now. She came
with me to Melbourne and lived as my mistress; then she wanted to marry
me, and I refused. She had a bottle of the poison which I had made, and
threatened to take it and kill herself. I prevented her, and then she
left me, went on the stage, and afterwards meeting Madame Midas, went
to live with her, and we renewed our acquaintance. On the night of
this--well, murder, if you like to call it so--we were at a ball
together. Mademoiselle Marchurst heard that I was going to marry Madame
Midas. She asked me if it was true. I did not deny it; and she said she
would sooner poison Mrs Villiers than see her married to me. She went
home, and not knowing the dead woman was in bed with Madame Midas,
poisoned the drink, and the consequences you know. As to this story of
the hand, bah! it is a stage play, that is all!’
Dr Gollipeck rose and walked to and fro in the little clear space left
among the disorder.
‘What a devil you are!’ he said, looking at Vandeloup admiringly.
‘What, because I did not poison this woman?’ he said, in a mocking tone.
‘Bah! you are less moral than I thought you were.’
The doctor did not take any notice of this sneer, but, putting his hands
in his pockets, faced round to the young man.
‘I give my evidence to-morrow,’ he said quietly, looking keenly at the
young man, ‘and I prove conclusively the woman was poisoned. To do this,
I must refer to the case of Adele Blondet, and then that implicates
you.’
‘Pardon me,’ observed Vandeloup, coolly, removing some ash from his
velvet coat, ‘it implicates Octave Braulard, who is at present,’ with a
sharp look at Gollipeck, ‘in New Caledonia.’
‘If that is the case,’ asked the doctor, gruffly, ‘who are you?’
‘I am the friend of Braulard,’ said Vandeloup, in a measured tone.
‘Myself, Braulard, and Prevol--one of the writers of the book you refer
to--were medical students together, and we all three emphatically knew
about this poison extracted from hemlock.’
He spoke so quietly that Gollipeck looked at him in a puzzled manner,
not understanding his meaning.
‘You mean Braulard and Prevol were medical students?’ he said,
doubtfully.
‘Exactly,’ assented M. Vandeloup, with an airy wave of his hand. ‘Gaston
Vandeloup is a fictitious third person I have called into existence
for my own safety--you understand. As Gaston Vandeloup, a friend of
Braulard, I knew all about this poison, and manufactured it in Ballarat
for a mere experiment, and as Gaston Vandeloup I give evidence against
the woman who was my mistress on the ground of poisoning Selina Sprotts
with hemlock.’
‘You are not shielding yourself behind this girl?’ asked the doctor,
coming close to him.
‘How could I?’ replied Vandeloup, slipping his hand into his pocket.
‘I could not have gone down to St Kilda, climbed over a wall with glass
bottles on top, and committed the crime, as Kitty Marchurst says it was
done. If I had done this there would be some trace--no, I assure you
Mademoiselle Marchurst, and none other, is the guilty woman.
She was in the room--Madame Midas asleep in bed. What was
easier for her than to pour the poison into the glass, which
stood ready to receive it? Mind you, I don’t say she did it
deliberately--impulse--hallucination--madness--what you like--but she
did it.’
‘By God!’ cried Gollipeck, warmly, ‘you’d argue a rope round the girl’s
neck even before she has had a trial. I believe you did it yourself.’
‘If I did,’ retorted Vandeloup, coolly, ‘when I am in the witness-box I
run the risk of being found out. Be it so. I take my chance of that; but
I ask you to keep silent as to Gaston Vandeloup being Octave Braulard.’
‘Why should I?’ said the doctor, harshly.
‘For many admirable reasons,’ replied Vandeloup, smoothly. ‘In the first
place, as Braulard’s friend, I can prove the case against Mademoiselle
Marchurst quite as well as if I appeared as Braulard himself. In the
next place, you have no evidence to prove I am identical with the
murderer of Adele Blondet; and, lastly, suppose you did prove it, what
satisfaction would it be to you to send me back to a French prison? I
have suffered enough for my crime, and now I am rich and respectable,
why should you drag me back to the depths again? Read “Les Miserables”
of our great Hugo before you answer, my friend.’
‘Read the book long ago,’ retorted Gollipeck, gruffly, more moved by the
argument than he cared to show; ‘I will keep silent about this if you
leave the colony at once.’
‘I agree,’ said Vandeloup, pointing to the floor; ‘you see I had already
decided to travel before you entered. Any other stipulation?’
‘None,’ retorted the doctor, putting on his scarf again; ‘with Octave
Braulard I have nothing to do: I want to find out who killed Selina
Sprotts, and if you did, I won’t spare you.’
‘First, catch your hare,’ replied Vandeloup, smoothly, going to the door
and unlocking it; ‘I am ready to stand the test of a trial, and surely
that ought to content you. As it is, I’ll stay in Melbourne long enough
to give you the satisfaction of hanging this woman for the murder, and
then I will go to America.’
Dr Gollipeck was disgusted at the smooth brutality of this man, and
moved hastily to the door.
‘Will you not have a glass of wine?’ asked Vandeloup, stopping him.
‘Wine with you?’ said the doctor, harshly, looking him up and down; ‘no,
it would choke me,’ and he hurried away.
‘I wish it would,’ observed M. Vandeloup, pleasantly, as he reentered
the room, ‘whew! this devil of a doctor--what a dangerous fool, but
I have got the better of him, and at all events,’ he said, lighting
another cigarette, ‘I have saved Vandeloup from suffering for the crime
of Braulard.’
CHAPTER XIV
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
There was no doubt the Sprotts’ poisoning case was the sensation of the
day in Melbourne. The papers were full of it, and some even went so far
as to give a plan of the house, with dotted lines thereon, to show
how the crime was committed. All this was extremely amusing, for, as a
matter of fact, the evidence as yet had not shown any reasonable ground
for supposing foul play had taken place. One paper, indeed, said
that far too much was assumed in the case, and that the report of the
Government analyst should be waited for before such emphatic opinions
were given by the press regarding the mode of death. But it was no use
trying to reason with the public, they had got it into their sage heads
that a crime had been committed, and demanded evidence; so as the
press had no real evidence to give, they made it up, and the public, in
private conversations, amplified the evidence until they constructed a
complete criminal case.
‘Pshaw!’ said Rolleston, when he read these sensational reports, ‘in
spite of the quidnuncs the mountain will only produce a mouse after
all.’
But he was wrong, for now rumours were started that the Government
analyst and Dr Gollipeck had found poison in the stomach, and that,
moreover, the real criminal would be soon discovered. Public opinion was
much divided as to who the criminal was--some, having heard the story
of Madame’s marriage, said it was her husband; others insisted Kitty
Marchurst was the culprit, and was trying to shield herself behind this
wild story of the hand coming from behind the curtains; while others
were in favour of suicide. At all events, on the morning when the
inquest was resumed, and the evidence was to be given of the analysis
of the stomach, the Court was crowded, and a dead silence pervaded the
place when the Government analyst stood up to give his evidence. Madame
Midas was present, with Kitty seated beside her, the latter looking pale
and ill; and Kilsip, with a gratified smile on his face which seemed
as though he had got a clue to the whole mystery, was seated next
to Calton. Vandeloup, faultlessly dressed, and as cool and calm as
possible, was also in Court; and Dr Gollipeck, as he awaited his turn to
give evidence, could not help admiring the marvellous nerve and courage
of the young man.
The Government analyst being called, was sworn in the usual way, and
deposed that the stomach of the deceased had been sent to him to be
analysed. He had used the usual tests, and found the presence of the
alkaloid of hemlock, known under the name of conia. In his opinion the
death of the deceased was caused by the administration of an extract of
hemlock. (Sensation in the Court.)
Q. Then in your opinion the deceased has been poisoned?
A. Yes, I have not the least doubt on the subject, I detected the conia
very soon after the tests were applied.
There was great excitement when this evidence was concluded, as it gave
quite a new interest to the case. The question as to the cause of death
was now set at rest--the deceased had been murdered, so the burning
anxiety of every one was to know who had committed the crime. All
sorts of opinions were given, but the murmur of voices ceased when Dr
Gollipeck stood up to give his evidence.
He deposed that he was a medical practitioner, practising at Ballarat;
he had seen the report of the case in the papers, and had come down
to Melbourne as he thought he could throw a certain light on the
affair--for instance, where the poison was procured. (Sensation.) About
three years ago a crime had been committed in Paris, which caused a
great sensation at the time. The case being a peculiar one, was reported
in a medical work, by Messieurs Prevol and Lebrun, which he had obtained
from France some two years back. The facts of the case were shortly
these: An actress called Adele Blondet died from the effects of poison,
administered to her by Octave Braulard, who was her lover; the deceased
had also another lover, called Kestrike, who was supposed to be
implicated in the crime, but he had escaped; the woman in this case had
been poisoned by an extract of hemlock, the same poison used as in the
case of Selina Sprotts, and it was the similarity of the symptoms that
made him suspicious of the sudden death. Braulard was sent out to New
Caledonia for the murder. While in Paris he had been a medical student
with two other gentlemen, one of whom was Monsieur Prevol, who had
reported the case, and the other was at present in Court, and was called
M. Gaston Vandeloup. (Sensation in Court, everyone’s eye being fixed on
Vandeloup, who was calm and unmoved.) M. Vandeloup had manufactured the
poison used in this case, but with regard to how it was administered to
the deceased, he would leave that evidence to M. Vandeloup himself.
When Gollipeck left the witness-box there was a dead silence, as
everyone was too much excited at his strange story to make any comment
thereon. Madame Midas looked with some astonishment on Vandeloup as his
name was called out, and he moved gracefully to the witness-box, while
Kitty’s face grew paler even than it was before. She did not know what
Vandeloup was going to say, but a great dread seized her, and with dry
lips and clenched hands she sat staring at him as if paralysed. Kilsip
stole a look at her and then rubbed his hands together, while Calton sat
absolutely still, scribbling figures on his notepaper.
M. Gaston Vandeloup, being sworn, deposed: He was a native of France, of
Flemish descent, as could be seen from his name; he had known Braulard
intimately; he also knew Prevol; he had been eighteen months in
Australia, and for some time had been clerk to Mrs Villiers at Ballarat;
he was fond of chemistry--yes; and had made several experiments
with poisons while up at Ballarat with Dr Gollipeck, who was a great
toxicologist; he had seen the hemlock in the garden of an hotel-keeper
at Ballarat, called Twexby, and had made an extract therefrom; he only
did it by way of experiment, and had put the bottle containing the
poison in his desk, forgetting all about it; the next time he saw that
bottle was in the possession of Miss Kitty Marchurst (sensation in
Court); she had threatened to poison herself; he again saw the bottle in
her possession on the night of the murder; this was at the house of M.
Meddlechip. A report had been circulated that he (the witness) was going
to marry Mrs Villiers, and Miss Marchurst asked him if it was true;
he had denied it, and Miss Marchurst had said that sooner than he
(the witness) should marry Mrs Villiers she would poison her; the next
morning he heard that Selina Sprotts was dead.
Kitty Marchurst heard all this evidence in dumb horror. She now knew
that after ruining her life this man wanted her to die a felon’s death.
She arose to her feet and stretched out her hands in protest against
him, but before she could speak a word the place seemed to whirl
round her, and she fell down in a dead faint. This event caused great
excitement in court, and many began to assert positively that she must
be guilty, else why did she faint. Kitty was taken out of Court, and
the examination was proceeded with, while Madame Midas sat pale and
horror-struck at the revelations which were now being made.
The Coroner now proceeded to cross-examine Vandeloup.
Q. You say you put the bottle containing this poison into your desk; how
did Miss Marchurst obtain it?
A. Because she lived with me for some time, and had access to my private
papers.
Q. Was she your wife?
A. No, my mistress (sensation in Court).
Q. Why did she leave you?
A. We had a difference of opinion about the question of marriage, so she
left me.
Q. She wanted you to make reparation; in other words, to marry her?
A. Yes.
Q. And you refused?
A. Yes.
Q. It was on this occasion she produced the poison first?
A. Yes. She told me she had taken it from my desk, and would poison
herself if I did not marry her; she changed her mind, however, and went
away.
Q. Did you know what became of her?
A. Yes; I heard she went on the stage with M. Wopples.
Q. Did she take the poison with her?
A. Yes.
Q. How do you know she took the poison with her?
A. Because next time I saw her it was still in her possession.
Q. That was at Mr Meddlechip’s ball?
A. Yes.
Q. On the night of the commission of the crime?
A. Yes.
Q. What made her take it to the ball?
A. Rather a difficult question to answer. She heard rumours that I was
to marry Mrs Villiers, and even though I denied it declined to believe
me; she then produced the poison, and said she would take it.
Q. Where did this conversation take place?
A. In the conservatory.
Q. What did you do when she threatened to take the poison?
A. I tried to take it from her.
Q. Did you succeed?
A. No; she threw it out of the door.
Q. Then when she left Mr Meddlechip’s house to come home she had no
poison with her?
A. I don’t think so.
Q. Did she pick the bottle up again after she threw it out?
A. No, because I went back to the ball-room with her; then I came out
myself to look for the bottle, but it was gone.
Q. You have never seen it since.
A. No, it must have been picked up by someone who was ignorant of its
contents.
Q. By your own showing, M. Vandeloup, Miss Marchurst had no poison with
her when she left Mr Meddlechip’s house. How, then, could she commit
this crime?
A. She told me she still had some poison left; that she divided the
contents of the bottle she had taken from my desk, and that she still
had enough left at home to poison Mrs Villiers.
Q. Did she say she would poison Mrs Villiers?
A. Yes, sooner than see her married to me. (Sensation.)
Q. Do you believe she went away from you with the deliberate intention
of committing the crime.
A. I do.
M. Vandeloup then left the box amid great excitement, and Kilsip was
again examined. He deposed that he had searched Miss Marchurst’s room,
and found half a bottle of extract of hemlock. The contents of the
bottle had been analysed, and were found identical with the conia
discovered in the stomach of the deceased.
Q. You say the bottle was half empty?
A. Rather more than that: three-quarters empty.
Q. Miss Marchurst told M. Vandeloup she had poured half the contents of
one bottle into the other. Would not this account for the bottle being
three-quarters empty?
A. Possibly; but if the first bottle was full, it is probable she would
halve the poison exactly; so if it had been untouched, it ought to be
half full.
Q. Then you think some of the contents of this bottle were used?
A. That is my opinion.
Vandeloup was recalled, and deposed that the bottle Kitty took from his
desk was quite full; and moreover, when the other bottle which had been
found in her room, was shown to him, he declared that it was as nearly
as possible the same size as the missing bottle. So the inference drawn
from this was that the bottle produced being three-quarters empty, some
of the poison had been used.
The question now arose that as the guilt of Miss Marchurst seemed so
certain, how was it that Selina Sprotts was poisoned instead of her
mistress; but this was settled by Madame Midas, who being recalled,
deposed that Kitty did not know Selina slept with her on that night, and
the curtains being drawn, could not possibly tell two people were in the
bed.
This was all the evidence obtainable, and the coroner now proceeded to
sum up.
The case, he said, was a most remarkable one, and it would be necessary
for the jury to consider very gravely all the evidence laid before them
in order to arrive at a proper conclusion before giving their verdict.
In the first place, it had been clearly proved by the Government analyst
that the deceased had died from effects of conia, which was, as they had
been told, the alkaloid of hemlock, a well-known hedge plant which grows
abundantly in most parts of Great Britain. According to the evidence of
Dr Chinston, the deceased had died from serous apoplexy, and from all
the post-mortem appearances this was the case. But they must remember
that it was almost impossible to detect certain vegetable poisons, such
as aconite and atropia, without minute chemical analysis. They would
remember a case which startled London some years ago, in which the
poisoner had poisoned his brother-in-law by means of aconite, and it
taxed all the ingenuity and cleverness of experts to find the traces of
poison in the stomach of the deceased. In this case, however, thanks to
Dr Gollipeck, who had seen the similarity of the symptoms between the
post-mortem appearance of the stomach of Adele Blondet and the present
case, the usual tests for conia were applied, and as they had been told
by the Government analyst, the result was conia was found. So they could
be quite certain that the deceased had died of poison--that poison
being conia. The next thing for them to consider was how the poison was
administered. According to the evidence of Miss Marchurst, some unknown
person had been standing outside the window and poured the poison into
the glass on the table. Mrs Villiers had stated that the window was open
all night, and from the position of the table near it--nothing would
be easier than for anyone to introduce the poison into the glass as
asserted by Miss Marchurst. On the other hand, the evidence of the
detective Kilsip went to show that no marks were visible as to anyone
having been at the window; and another thing which rendered Miss
Marchurst’s story doubtful was the resemblance it had to a drama in
which she had frequently acted, called ‘The Hidden Hand’. In the last
act of that drama poison was administered to one of the characters
in precisely the same manner, and though of course such a thing might
happen in real life, still in this case it was a highly suspicious
circumstance that a woman like Miss Marchurst, who had frequently acted
in the drama, should see the same thing actually occur off the stage.
Rejecting, then, as improbable the story of the hidden hand, seeing that
the evidence was strongly against it, the next thing was to look into
Miss Marchurst’s past life and see if she had any motive for committing
the crime. Before doing so, however, he would point out to them that
Miss Marchurst was the only person in the room when the crime was
committed. The window in her own room and one of the windows in Mrs
Villiers’ room were both locked, and the open window had a table in
front of it, so that anyone entering would very probably knock it over,
and thus awaken the sleepers. On the other hand, no one could have
entered in at the door, because they would not have had time to escape
before the crime was discovered. So it was clearly shown that Miss
Marchurst must have been alone in the room when the crime was committed.
Now to look into her past life--it was certainly not a very creditable
one. M. Vandeloup had sworn that she had been his mistress for over
a year, and had taken the poison manufactured by himself out of his
private desk. Regarding M. Vandeloup’s motives in preparing such a
poison he could say nothing. Of course, he probably did it by way of
experiment to find out if this colonial grown hemlock possessed the same
poisonous qualities as it did in the old world. It was a careless thing
of him, however, to leave it in his desk, where it could be obtained,
for all such dangerous matters should be kept under lock and key. To
go back, however, to Miss Marchurst. It had been proved by M. Vandeloup
that she was his mistress, and that they quarrelled. She produced this
poison, and said she would kill herself. M. Vandeloup persuaded her to
abandon the idea, and she subsequently left him, taking the poison with
her. She then went on the stage, and subsequently left it in order to
live with Mrs Villiers as her companion. All this time she still had the
poison, and in order to prevent her losing it she put half of it into
another bottle. Now this looked very suspicious, as, if she had not
intended to use it she certainly would never have taken such trouble
over preserving it. She meets M. Vandeloup at a ball, and, hearing that
he is going to marry Mrs Villiers, she loses her head completely, and
threatens to poison herself. M. Vandeloup tries to wrench the poison
from her, whereupon she flings it into the garden. This bottle has
disappeared, and the presumption is that it was picked up. But if the
jury had any idea that the poison was administered from the lost bottle,
they might as well dismiss it from their minds, as it was absurd to
suppose such an improbable thing could happen. In the first place no one
but M. Vandeloup and Miss Marchurst knew what the contents were, and
in the second place what motive could anyone who picked it up have in
poisoning Mrs Villiers, and why should they adopt such an extraordinary
way of doing it, as Miss Marchurst asserted they did? On the other hand,
Miss Marchurst tells M. Vandeloup that she still has some poison left,
and that she will kill Mrs Villiers sooner than see her married to him.
She declares to M. Vandeloup that she will kill her, and leaves the
house to go home with, apparently, all the intention of doing so. She
comes home filled with all the furious rage of a jealous woman, and
enters Mrs Villiers’ room, and here the jury will recall the evidence of
Mrs Villiers, who said Miss Marchurst did not know that the deceased
was sleeping with her. So when Miss Marchurst entered the room, she
naturally thought that Mrs Villiers was by herself, and would, as a
matter of course, refrain from drawing the curtains and looking into the
bed, in case she should awaken her proposed victim. There was a glass
with drink on the table; she was alone with Mrs Villiers, her heart
filled with jealous rage against a woman she thinks is her rival. Her
own room is a few steps away--what, then, was easier for her than to go
to her own room, obtain the poison, and put it into the glass? The
jury will remember in the evidence of Mr Kilsip, the bottle was
three-quarters empty, which argued some of it had been used. All the
evidence against Miss Marchurst was purely circumstantial, for if
she committed the crime, no human eye beheld her doing so. But the
presumption of her having done so, in order to get rid of a successful
rival, was very strong, and the weight of evidence was dead against her.
The jury would, therefore, deliver their verdict in accordance with the
facts laid before them.
The jury retired, and the court was very much excited. Everyone was
quite certain that Kitty was guilty, but there was a strong feeling
against M. Vandeloup as having been in some measure the cause, though
indirectly, of the crime. But that young gentleman, in accordance with
his usual foresight, had left the court and gone straight home, as he
had no wish to face a crowd of sullen faces, and perhaps worse. Madame
Midas sat still in the court awaiting the return of the jury, with the
calm face of a marble sphinx. But, though she suffered, no appearances
of suffering were seen on her serene face. She never had believed in
human nature, and now the girl whom she had rescued from comparative
poverty and placed in opulence had wanted to kill her. M. Vandeloup,
whom she admired and trusted, what black infamy he was guilty of--he had
sworn most solemnly he never harmed Kitty, and yet he was the man who
had ruined her. Madame Midas felt that the worst had come--Vandeloup
false, Kitty a murderess, her husband vanished, and Selina dead. All the
world was falling into ruins around her, and she remained alone amid
the ruins with her enormous fortune, like a golden statue in a deserted
temple. With clasped hands, aching heart, but impassive face, she sat
waiting for the end.
The jury returned in about half an hour, and there was a dead silence as
the foreman stood up to deliver the verdict.
The jury found as follows:--
That the deceased, Selina Jane Sprotts, died on the 21st day of
November, from the effects of poison, namely, conia, feloniously
administered by one Katherine Marchurst, and the jury, on their oaths,
say that the said Katherine Marchurst feloniously, wilfully, and
maliciously did murder the said deceased.
That evening Kitty was arrested and lodged in the Melbourne Gaol, to
await her trial on a charge of wilful murder.
CHAPTER XV
KISMET
Of two evils it is always best to choose the least, and as M. Vandeloup
had to choose between the loss of his popularity or his liberty, he
chose to lose the former instead of the latter. After all, as he argued
to himself, Australia at large is a small portion of the world, and
in America no one would know anything about his little escapade in
connection with Kitty. He knew that he was in Gollipeck’s power, and
that unless he acceded to that gentleman’s demand as to giving evidence
he would be denounced to the authorities as an escaped convict from New
Caledonia, and would be sent back there. Of course, his evidence could
not but prove detrimental to himself, seeing how badly he had behaved to
Kitty, but still as going through the ordeal meant liberty, he did so,
and the result was as he had foreseen. Men, as a rule, are not very
squeamish, and view each other’s failings, especially towards women,
with a lenient eye, but Vandeloup had gone too far, and the Bachelors’
Club unanimously characterised his conduct as ‘damned shady’, so a
letter was sent requesting M. Vandeloup to take his name off the books
of the club. He immediately resigned, and wrote a polite letter to the
secretary, which brought uneasy blushes to the cheek of that gentleman
by its stinging remarks about his and his fellow clubmen’s morality. He
showed it to several of the members, but as they all had their little
redeeming vices, they determined to take no notice, and so M. Vandeloup
was left alone. Another thing which happened was that he was socially
ostracised from society, and his table, which used to be piled up with
invitations, soon became quite bare. Of course, he knew he could force
Meddlechip to recognise him, but he did not choose to do so, as all his
thoughts were fixed on America. He had plenty of money, and with a
new name and a brand new character, Vandeloup thought he would prosper
exceedingly well in the States. So he stayed at home, not caring to
face the stony faces of friends who cut him, and waited for the trial
of Kitty Marchurst, after which he intended to leave for Sydney at once,
and take the next steamer to San Francisco. He did not mind waiting, but
amused himself reading, smoking, and playing, and was quite independent
of Melbourne society. Only two things worried him, and the first of
these was the annoyance of Pierre Lemaire, who seemed to have divined
his intention of going away, and haunted him day and night like an
unquiet spirit. Whenever Vandeloup looked out, he saw the dumb man
watching the house, and if he went for a walk, Pierre would slouch
sullenly along behind him, as he had done in the early days. Vandeloup
could have called in the aid of a policeman to rid himself of this
annoyance, but the fact was he was afraid of offending Pierre, as he
might be tempted to reveal what he knew, and the result would not be
pleasant. So Gaston bore patiently with the disagreeable system of
espionage the dumb man kept over him, and consoled himself with the idea
that once he was on his way to America, it would not matter two straws
whether Pierre told all he knew, or kept silent. The other thing which
troubled the young man were the words Kitty had made use of in Mrs
Villiers’ drawing-room regarding the secret she said she knew. It made
him uneasy, for he half guessed what it was, and thought she might tell
it to someone out of revenge, and then there would be more troubles for
him to get out of. Then, again, he argued that she was too fond of him
ever to tell anything likely to injure him, even though he had put
a rope round her neck. If he could have settled the whole affair
by running away, he would have done so, but Gollipeck was still in
Melbourne, and Gaston knew he could not leave the town without the
terrible old man finding it out, and bringing him back. At last the
torture of wondering how much Kitty knew was too much for him, and he
determined to go to the Melbourne gaol and interview her. So he obtained
an order from the authorities to see her, and prepared to start next
morning. He sent the servant out for a hansom, and by the time it was at
the door, M. Vandeloup, cool, calm, and well dressed, came down stairs
pulling on his gloves. The first thing he saw when he got outside was
Pierre waiting for him with his old hat pulled down over his eyes, and
his look of sullen resignation. Gaston nodded coolly to him, and told
the cabby he wanted to go to the Melbourne gaol, whereupon Pierre
slouched forward as the young man was preparing to enter the cab, and
laid his hand on his arm.
‘Well,’ said Vandeloup, in a quiet voice, in French, shaking off the
dumb man’s arm, ‘what do you want?’
Pierre pointed to the cab, whereupon M. Vandeloup shrugged his
shoulders. ‘Surely you don’t want to come to the gaol with me,’ he said,
mockingly, ‘you’ll get there soon enough.’
The other nodded, and made a step towards the cab, but Vandeloup pushed
him back.
‘Curse the fool,’ he muttered to himself, ‘I’ll have to humour him or
he’ll be making a scene--you can’t come,’ he added aloud, but Pierre
still refused to go away.
This conversation or rather monologue, seeing M. Vandeloup was the only
speaker, was carried on in French, so the cabman and the servant at the
door were quite ignorant of its purport, but looked rather astonished
at the conduct of the dirty tramp towards such an elegant-looking
gentleman. Vandeloup saw this and therefore determined to end the scene.
‘Well, well,’ he said to Pierre in French, ‘get in at once,’ and
then when the dumb man entered the cab, he explained to the cabman in
English:--‘This poor devil is a pensioner of mine, and as he wants to
see a friend of his in gaol I’ll take him with me.’
He stepped into the cab which drove off, the cabman rather astonished
at the whole affair, but none the less contented himself with merely
winking at the pretty servant girl who stood on the steps, whereupon she
tossed her head and went inside.
As they drove along Vandeloup said nothing to Pierre, not that he did
not want to, but he mistrusted the trap-door in the roof of the cab,
which would permit the cabman to overhear everything. So they went along
in silence, and when they arrived at the gaol Vandeloup told the cabman
to wait for him, and walked towards the gaol.
‘You are coming inside, I suppose,’ he said, sharply, to Pierre, who
still slouched alongside.
The dumb man nodded sullenly.
Vandeloup cursed Pierre in his innermost heart, but smiled blandly and
agreed to let him enter with him. There was some difficulty with the
warder at the door, as the permission to see the prisoner was only made
out in the name of M. Vandeloup, but after some considerable trouble
they succeeded in getting in.
‘My faith!’ observed Gaston, lightly, as they went along to the cell,
conducted by a warder, ‘it’s almost as hard to get into gaol as to get
out of it.’
The warder admitted them both to Kitty’s cell, and left them alone with
her. She was seated on the bed in the corner of the cell, in an attitude
of deepest dejection. When they entered she looked up in a mechanical
sort of manner, and Vandeloup could see how worn and pinched-looking her
face was. Pierre went to one end of the cell and leaned against the wall
in an indifferent manner, while Vandeloup stood right in front of
the unhappy woman. Kitty arose when she saw him, and an expression of
loathing passed over her haggard-looking face.
‘Ah!’ she said, bitterly, rejecting Vandeloup’s preferred hand, ‘so you
have come to see your work; well, look around at these bare walls;
see how thin and ugly I have grown; think of the crime with which I am
charged, and surely even Gaston Vandeloup will be satisfied.’
The young man sneered.
‘Still as good at acting as ever, I see,’ he said, mockingly; ‘cannot
you even see a friend without going into these heroics?’
‘Why have you come here?’ she asked, drawing herself up to her full
height.
‘Because I am your friend,’ he answered, coolly.
‘My friend!’ she echoed, scornfully, looking at him with contempt; ‘you
ruined my life a year ago, now you have endeavoured to fasten the guilt
of murder on me, and yet you call yourself my friend; a good story,
truly,’ with a bitter laugh.
‘I could not help giving the evidence I did,’ replied Gaston, coolly,
shrugging his shoulders; ‘if you are innocent, what I say will not
matter.’
‘If I am innocent!’ she said, looking at him steadily; ‘you villain, you
know I am innocent!’
‘I know nothing of the sort.’
Then you believe I committed the crime?’
‘I do.’
Kitty sat helplessly down on the bed, and passed her hand across her
eyes.
‘My God!’ she muttered, ‘I am going mad.’
‘Not at all unlikely,’ he replied, carelessly.
She looked vacantly round the cell, and caught sight of Pierre shrinking
back into the shadow.
‘Why did you bring your accomplice with you?’ she said, looking at
Gaston.
M. Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.
‘Really, my dear Bebe,’ he said, lazily, ‘I don’t know why you should
call him my accomplice, as I have committed no crime.’
‘Have you not?’ she said, rising to her feet, and bending towards him,
‘think again.’
Vandeloup shook his head, with a smile.
‘No, I do not think I have,’ he answered, glancing keenly at her; ‘I
suppose you want me to be as black as yourself?’
‘You coward!’ she said, in a rage, turning on him, ‘how dare you
taunt me in this manner? it is not enough that you have ruined me, and
imperilled my life, without jeering at me thus, you coward?’
‘Bah!’ retorted Vandeloup, cynically, brushing some dust off his coat,
‘this is not the point; you insinuate that I committed a crime, perhaps
you will tell me what kind of a crime?’
‘Murder,’ she replied, in a whisper.
‘Oh, indeed,’ sneered Gaston, coolly, though his lips twitched a little,
‘the same style of crime as your own? and whose murder am I guilty of,
pray?’
‘Randolph Villiers.’
Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.
‘Who can prove it?’ he asked, contemptuously.
‘I can!’
‘You,’ with a sneer, ‘a murderess?’
‘Who can prove I am a murderess?’ she cried, wildly.
‘I can,’ he answered, with an ugly look; ‘and I will if you don’t keep a
quiet tongue.’
‘I will keep quiet no longer,’ boldly rising and facing Vandeloup, with
her hands clenched at her sides; ‘I have tried to shield you faithfully
through all your wickedness, but now that you accuse me of committing
a crime, which accusation you know is false, I accuse you, Gaston
Vandeloup, and your accomplice, yonder,’ wheeling round and pointing to
Pierre, who shrank away, ‘of murdering Randolph Villiers, at the Black
Hill, Ballarat, for the sake of a nugget of gold he carried.’
Vandeloup looked at her disdainfully.
‘You are mad,’ he said, in a cold voice; ‘this is the raving of a
lunatic; there is no proof of what you say; it was proved conclusively
that myself and Pierre were asleep at our hotel while M. Villiers was
with Jarper at two o’clock in the morning.’
‘I know that was proved,’ she retorted, ‘and by some jugglery on your
part; but, nevertheless, I saw you and him,’ pointing again to Pierre,
‘murder Villiers.’
‘You saw it,’ echoed Vandeloup, with a disbelieving smile; ‘tell me
how?’
‘Ah!’ she cried, making a step forward, ‘you do not believe me, but
I tell you it is true--yes, I know now who the two men were following
Madame Midas as she drove away: one was her husband, who wished to rob
her, and the other was Pierre, who, acting upon your instructions,
was to get the gold from Villiers should he succeed in getting it from
Madame. You left me a few minutes afterwards, but I, with my heart full
of love--wretched woman that I was--followed you at a short distance,
unwilling to lose sight of you even for a little time. I climbed down
among the rocks and saw you seat yourself in a narrow part of the path.
Curiosity then took the place of love, and I watched to see what you
were going to do. Pierre--that wretch who cowers in the corner--came
down the path and you spoke to him in French. What was said I did
not know, but I guessed enough to know you meditated some crime. Then
Villiers came down the path with the nugget in its box under his arm.
I recognised the box as the one which Madame Midas had brought to our
house. When Villiers came opposite you you spoke to him; he tried to
pass on, and then Pierre sprang out from behind the rock and the two men
struggled together, while you seized the box containing the gold, which
Villiers had let fall, and watched the struggle. You saw that Villiers,
animated by despair, was gradually gaining the victory over Pierre, and
then you stepped in--yes; I saw you snatch Pierre’s knife from the back
of his waist and stab Villiers in the back. Then you put the knife into
Pierre’s hand, all bloody, as Villiers fell dead, and I fled away.’
She stopped, breathless with her recital, and Vandeloup, pale but
composed, would have answered her, when a cry from Pierre startled them.
He had come close to them, and was looking straight at Kitty.
‘My God!’ he cried; ‘then I am innocent?’
‘You!’ shrieked Kitty, falling back on her bed; ‘who are you?’
The man pulled his hat off and came a step nearer.
‘I am Randolph Villiers!’
Kitty shrieked again and covered her face with her hands, while
Vandeloup laughed in a mocking manner, though his pale face and
quivering lip told that his mirth was assumed.
‘Yes,’ said Villiers, throwing his hat on the floor of the cell, ‘it was
Pierre Lemaire, and not I, who died. The struggle took place as you have
described, but he,’ pointing to Vandeloup, ‘wishing to get rid of Pierre
for reasons of his own stabbed him, and not me, in the back. He thrust
the knife into my hand, and I, in my blind fury, thought that I had
murdered the dumb man. I was afraid of being arrested for the murder,
so, as suggested by Vandeloup, I changed clothes with the dead man and
wrapped my own up in a bundle. We hid the body and the nugget in one of
the old mining shafts and then came down to Ballarat. I was similar to
Pierre in appearance, except that my chin was shaven. I went down to the
Wattle Tree Hotel as Pierre after leaving my clothes outside the window
of the bedroom which Vandeloup pointed out to me. Then he went to
the theatre and told me to rejoin him there as Villiers. I got my own
clothes into the room, dressed again as myself; then, locking the door,
so that the people of the hotel might suppose that Pierre slept, I
jumped out of the window of the bedroom and went to the theatre. There
I played my part as you know, and while we were behind the scenes Mr
Wopples asked me to put out the gas in his room. I did so, and took from
his dressing-table a black beard, in order to disguise myself as Pierre
till my beard had grown. We went to supper, and then I parted with
Jarper at two o’clock in the morning, and went back to the hotel, where
I climbed into the bedroom through the window and reassumed Pierre’s
dress for ever. It was by Vandeloup’s advice I pretended to be drunk, as
I could not go to the Pactolus, where my wife would have recognised me.
Then I, as the supposed Pierre, was discharged, as you know. Vandeloup,
aping friendship, drew the dead man’s salary and bought clothes and
a box for me. In the middle of one night I still disguised as Pierre,
slipped out of the window, and went up to Black Hill, where I found the
nugget and brought it down to my room at the Wattle Tree Hotel. Then
Vandeloup brought in the box with my clothes, and we packed the nugget
in it, together with the suit I had worn at the time of the murder.
Following his instructions, I came down to Melbourne, and there disposed
of the nugget--no need to ask how, as there are always people ready to
do things of that sort for payment. When I was paid for the nugget, and
I only got eight hundred pounds, the man who melted it down taking the
rest, I had to give six hundred to Vandeloup, as I was in his power as
I thought, and dare not refuse in case he should denounce me for the
murder of Pierre Lemaire. And now I find that I have been innocent all
the time, and he has been frightening me with a shadow. He, not I, was
the murderer of Pierre Lemaire, and you can prove it.’
During all this recital, which Kitty listened to with staring eyes,
Vandeloup had stood quite still, revolving in his own mind how he
could escape from the position in which he found himself. When Villiers
finished his recital he raised his head and looked defiantly at both his
victims.
‘Fate has placed the game in your hands,’ he said coolly, while they
stood and looked at him; ‘but I’m not beaten yet, my friend. May I ask
what you intend to do?’
‘Prove my innocence,’ said Villiers, boldly.
‘Indeed!’ sneered Gaston, ‘at my expense, I presume.’
‘Yes! I will denounce you as the murderer of Pierre Lemaire.’
‘And I,’ said Kitty, quickly, ‘will prove Villiers’ innocence.’
Vandeloup turned on her with all the lithe, cruel grace of a tiger.
‘First you must prove your own innocence,’ he said, in a low, fierce
voice. ‘Yes; if you can hang me for the murder of Pierre Lemaire, I can
hang you for the murder of Selina Sprotts; yes, though I know you did
not do it.’
‘Ah!’ said Kitty, quickly, springing forward, ‘you know who committed
the crime.’
‘Yes,’ replied Vandeloup, slowly, ‘the man who committed the crime
intended to murder Madame Midas, and he was the man who hated her and
wished her dead--her husband.’
‘I?’ cried Villiers, starting forward, ‘you lie.’
Vandeloup wheeled round quickly on him, and, getting close to him, spoke
rapidly.
‘No, I do not lie,’ he said, in a concentrated voice of anger; ‘you
followed me up to the house of M. Meddlechip, and hid among the trees
on the lawn to watch the house; you saw Bebe throw the bottle out, and
picked it up; then you went to St Kilda and, climbing over the wall,
committed the crime, as she,’ pointing to Kitty, ‘saw you do; I met
you in the street near the house after you had committed it, and see,’
plunging his hand into Villiers’ pocket, ‘here is the bottle which
contained the poison,’ and he held up to Kitty the bottle with the two
red bands round it, which she had thrown away.
‘It is false!’ cried Villiers, in despair, seeing that all the evidence
was against him.
‘Prove it, then,’ retorted Vandeloup, knocking at the door to summon the
warder. ‘Save your own neck before you put mine in danger.’
The door opened, and the warder appeared. Kitty and Villiers gazed
horror-struck at one another, while Vandeloup, without another word,
rapidly left the cell. The warder beckoned to Villiers to come, and,
with a deep sigh, he obeyed.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Kitty, as he moved towards the door.
‘Going?’ he repeated, mechanically. ‘I am going to see my wife.’
He left the cell, and when he got outside the gaol he saw the hansom
with Vandeloup in it driving rapidly away. Villiers looked at the
retreating vehicle in despair. ‘My God,’ he murmured, raising his face
to the blue sky with a frightful expression of despair; ‘how am I to
escape the clutches of this devil?’
CHAPTER XVI
BE SURE THY SIN WILL FIND THEE OUT
Madame Midas was a remarkably plucky woman, but it needed all her pluck
and philosophy to bear up against the terrible calamities which were
befalling her. Her faith in human nature was completely destroyed, and
she knew that all the pleasure of doing good had gone out of her life.
The discovery of Kitty’s baseness had wounded her deeply, and she found
it difficult to persuade herself that the girl had not been the victim
of circumstances. If Kitty had only trusted her when she came to live
with her all this misery and crime would have been avoided, for she
would have known Madame Midas would never have married Vandeloup,
and thus would have had no motive for committing the crime. Regarding
Vandeloup’s pretensions to her hand, Mrs Villiers laughed bitterly to
herself. After the misery of her early marriage it was not likely she
was going to trust herself and her second fortune again to a man’s
honour. She sighed as she thought what her future life must be. She was
wealthy, it was true, but amid all her riches she would never be able to
know the meaning of friendship, for all who came near her now would have
some motive in doing so, and though Madame Midas was anxious to do
good with her wealth, yet she knew she could never expect gratitude in
return. The comedy of human life is admirable when one is a spectator;
but ah! the actors know they are acting, and have to mask their faces
with smiles, restrain the tears which they would fain let flow, and
mouth witty sayings with breaking hearts. Surely the most bitter of
all feelings is that cynical disbelief in human nature which is so
characteristic of our latest civilization.
Madame Midas, however, now that Melbourne was so hateful to her,
determined to leave it, and sent up to Mr Calton in order to confer with
him on the subject. Calton came down to St Kilda, and was shown into the
drawing-room where Mrs Villiers, calm and impenetrable looking as ever,
sat writing letters. She arose as the barrister entered, and gave him
her hand.
‘It was kind of you to come so quickly,’ she said, in her usual quiet,
self-contained manner; ‘I wish to consult you on some matters of
importance.’
‘I am at your service, Madame,’ replied Calton, taking a seat, and
looking keenly at the marble face before him; ‘I am glad to see you
looking so well, considering what you have gone through.’
Mrs Villiers let a shadowy smile flit across her face.
‘They say the Red Indian becomes utterly indifferent to the torture of
his enemies after a certain time,’ she answered, coldly; ‘I think it is
the same with me. I have been deceived and disillusionized so completely
that I have grown utterly callous, and nothing now can move me either to
sorrow or joy.’
‘A curious answer from a curious woman,’ thought Calton, glancing at
her as she sat at the writing-table in her black dress with the knots of
violet ribbons upon it; ‘what queer creatures experience makes us.’
Madame Midas folded her hands loosely on the table, and looked dreamily
out of the open French window, and at the trellis covered with creeping
plants beyond, through which the sun was entering in pencils of golden
light. Life would have been so sweet to her if she had only been content
to be deceived like other people; but then she was not of that kind.
Faith with her was a religion, and when religion is taken away, what
remains?--nothing.
‘I am going to England,’ she said, abruptly, to Calton, rousing herself
out of these painful reflections.
‘After the trial, I presume?’ observed Calton, slowly.
‘Yes,’ she answered, hesitatingly; ‘do you think they will--they
will--hang the girl?’
Calton shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he answered, with
a half smile; ‘if she is found guilty--well--I think she will be
imprisoned for life.’
‘Poor Kitty,’ said Madame, sadly, ‘it was an evil hour when you met
Vandeloup. What do you think of him?’ she asked, suddenly.
‘He’s a scoundrel,’ returned Calton, decisively; ‘still, a clever one,
with a genius for intrigue; he should have lived in the times of Borgian
Rome, where his talents would have been appreciated; now we have lost
the art of polite murder.’
‘Do you know,’ said Mrs Villiers, musingly, leaning back in her chair,
‘I cannot help thinking Kitty is innocent of this crime.’
‘She may be,’ returned Calton, ambiguously, ‘but the evidence seems very
strong against her.’
‘Purely circumstantial,’ interrupted Madame Midas, quickly.
‘Purely circumstantial, as you say,’ assented Calton; ‘still, some
new facts may be discovered before the trial which may prove her to be
innocent. After the mystery which enveloped the death of Oliver Whyte
in the hansom cab murder I hesitate giving a decided answer, in any case
till everything has been thoroughly sifted; but, if not Kitty Marchurst,
whom do you suspect--Vandeloup?’
‘No; he wanted to marry me, not to kill me.’
‘Have you any enemy, then, who would do such a thing?’
‘Yes; my husband.’
‘But he is dead.’
‘He disappeared,’ corrected Madame, ‘but it was never proved that he was
dead. He was a revengeful, wicked man, and if he could have killed me,
without hurting himself, he would,’ and rising from her seat she paced
up and down the room slowly.
‘I know your sad story,’ said the barrister, ‘and also how your husband
disappeared; but, to my mind, looking at all the circumstances, you will
not be troubled with him again.’
A sudden exclamation made him turn his head, and he saw Madame Midas,
white as death, staring at the open French window, on the threshold of
which was standing a man--medium height, black beard, and a haggard,
hunted look in his eyes.
‘Who is this?’ cried Calton, rising to his feet.
Madame Midas tottered, and caught at the mantelpiece for support.
‘My husband,’ she said, in a whisper.
‘Alive?’ said Calton, turning to the man at the window.
‘I should rather think so,’ said Villiers, insolently, advancing into
the room; ‘I don’t look like a dead man, do I?’
Madame Midas sprang forward and caught his wrist.
‘So you have come back, murderer!’ she hissed in his ear.
‘What do you mean?’ said her husband, wrenching his hand away.
‘Mean?’ she cried, vehemently; ‘you know what I mean. You cut yourself
off entirely from me by your attempt on my life, and the theft of the
gold; you dare not have showed yourself in case you received the reward
of your crime; and so you worked in the dark against me. I knew you were
near, though I did not see you; and you for a second time attempted my
life.’
‘I did not,’ muttered Villiers, shrinking back from the indignant blaze
of her eyes. ‘I can prove--’
‘You can prove,’ she burst out, contemptuously, drawing herself up to
her full height, ‘Yes! you can prove anything with your cowardly nature
and lying tongue; but prove that you were not the man who came in the
dead of night and poisoned the drink waiting for me, which was taken by
my nurse. You can prove--yes, as God is my judge, you shall prove it, in
the prisoner’s dock, e’er you go to the gallows.’
During all this terrible speech, Villiers had crouched on the ground,
half terrified, while his wife towered over him, magnificent in her
anger. At the end, however, he recovered himself a little, and began to
bluster.
‘Every man has a right to a hearing,’ he said, defiantly, looking from
his wife to Calton; ‘I can explain everything.’
Madame Midas pointed to a chair.
‘I have no doubt you will prove black is white by your lying,’ she said,
coldly, returning to her seat; ‘I await this explanation.’
Thereupon Villiers sat down and told them the whole story of his
mysterious disappearance, and how he had been made a fool of by
Vandeloup. When he had ended, Calton, who had resumed his seat, and
listened to the recital with deep interest, stole a glance at Madame
Midas, but she looked as cold and impenetrable as ever.
‘I understand, now, the reason of your disappearance,’ she said, coldly;
‘but that is not the point. I want to know the reason you tried to
murder me a second time.’
‘I did not,’ returned Villiers, quietly, with a gesture of dissent.
‘Then Selina Sprotts, since you are so particular,’ retorted his wife,
with a sneer; ‘but it was you who committed the crime.’
‘Who says I did?’ cried Villiers, standing up.
‘No one,’ put in Calton, looking at him sharply, ‘but as you had a
grudge against your wife, it is natural for her to suspect you, at the
same time it is not necessary for you to criminate yourself.’
‘I am not going to do so,’ retorted Villiers; ‘if you think I’d be such
a fool as to commit a crime and then trust myself to my wife’s tender
mercies, you are very much mistaken. I am as innocent of the murder as
the poor girl who is in prison.’
‘Then she is not guilty?’ cried Mrs Villiers, rising.
‘No,’ returned Villiers, coldly, ‘she is innocent.’
‘Oh, indeed,’ said Calton, quietly; ‘then if you both are innocent, who
is the guilty person?’
Villiers was about to speak when another man entered the open window.
This was none other than Kilsip, who advanced eagerly to Villiers.
‘He has come in at the gate,’ he said, quickly.
‘Have you the warrant,’ asked Villiers, as a sharp ring was heard at the
front door.
Kilsip nodded, and Villiers turned on his wife and Calton, who were too
much astonished to speak.
‘You asked me who committed the crime,’ he said, in a state of
suppressed excitement; ‘look at that door,’ pointing to the door which
led into the hall, ‘and you will see the real murderer of Selina Sprotts
appear.’
Calton and Madame Midas turned simultaneously, and the seconds seemed
like hours as they waited with bated breath for the opening of the
fatal door. The same name was on their lips as they gazed with intense
expectation, and that name was--Gaston Vandeloup.
The noise of approaching footsteps, a rattle at the handle of the door,
and it was flung wide open as the servant announced--
‘Mr Jarper.’
Yes, there he stood, meek, apologetic, and smiling--the fast-living
bank-clerk, the darling of society, and the secret assassin--Mr
Bartholomew Jarper.
He advanced smilingly into the room, when suddenly the smile died away,
and his face blanched as his eyes rested on Villiers. He made a step
backward as if to fly, but in a moment Kilsip was on him.
‘I arrest you in the Queen’s name for the murder of Selina Sprotts,’ and
he slipped the handcuffs on his wrists.
The wretched young man fell down on the floor with an agonised shriek.
‘It’s a lie--it’s a lie,’ he howled, beating his manacled hands on the
carpet, ‘none can prove I did it.’
‘What about Vandeloup?’ said Villiers, looking at the writhing figure at
his feet, ‘and this proof?’ holding out the bottle with the red bands.
Jarper looked up with an expression of abject fear on his white face,
then with a shriek fell back again in a swoon.
Kilsip went to the window and a policeman appeared in answer to his
call, then between them they lifted up the miserable wretch and took him
to a cab which was waiting, and were soon driving off up to the station,
from whence Jarper was taken to the Melbourne gaol.
Calton turned to Madame Midas and saw that she also had fainted and was
lying on the floor. He summoned the servants to attend to her, then,
making Villiers come with him, he went up to his office in town in order
to get the whole story of the discovery of the murderer.
The papers were full of it next day, and Villiers’ statement, together
with Jarper’s confession, were published side by side. It appeared that
Jarper had been living very much above his income, and in order to get
money he had forged Mrs Villiers’ name for several large amounts. Afraid
of being discovered, he was going to throw himself on her mercy and
confess all, which he would have done had Madame Midas come to the
Meddlechip’s ball. But overhearing the conversation between Kitty and
Vandeloup in the conservatory, and seeing the bottle flung out, he
thought if he secured it he could poison Madame Midas without suspicion
and throw the guilt upon Kitty. He secured the bottle immediately after
Vandeloup took Kitty back to the ball-room, and then went down to St
Kilda to commit the crime. He knew the house thoroughly as he had often
been in it, and saw that the window of Madame’s room was open. He then
put his overcoat on the glass bottles on top of the wall and leapt
inside, clearing the bushes. He stole across the lawn and stepped over
the flower-bed, carefully avoiding making any marks. He had the bottle
of poison with him, but was apparently quite ignorant how he was to
introduce it into the house, but on looking through the parting of the
curtains he saw the glass with the drink on the table. Guessing that
Madame Midas was in bed and would probably drink during the night, he
put his hand through the curtains and poured all the poison into the
glass, then noiselessly withdrew. He jumped over the wall again, put on
his overcoat, and thought he was safe, when he found M. Vandeloup was
watching him and had seen him in all his actions. Vandeloup, whose
subtle brain immediately saw that if Madame Midas was dead he could
throw the blame on Kitty and thus get rid of her without endangering
himself, agreed to keep silent, but made Jarper give up the bottle
to him. When Jarper had gone Vandeloup, a few yards further down, met
Villiers, but supposed that he had just come on the scene. Villiers,
however, had been watching the house all night, and had also been
watching Meddlechip’s. The reason for this was he thought his wife was
at the ball, and wanted to speak to her. He had followed Kitty and
Mrs Riller down to St Kilda by hanging on to the back of the brougham,
thinking the latter was his wife. Finding his mistake, he hung round the
house for about an hour without any object, and was turning round the
corner to go home when he saw Jarper jump over the wall, and, being
unseen in the shadow, overheard the conversation and knew that Jarper
had committed the crime. He did not, however, dare to accuse Jarper of
murder, as he thought it was in Vandeloup’s power to denounce him as the
assassin of Pierre Lemaire, so for his own safety kept quiet. When he
heard the truth from Kitty in the prison he would have denounced the
Frenchman at once as the real criminal, but was so bewildered by
the rapid manner in which Vandeloup made up a case against him, and
especially by the bottle being produced out of his pocket--which bottle
Vandeloup, of course, had in his hand all the time--that he permitted
him to escape. When he left the gaol, however, he went straight to the
police-office and told his story, when a warrant was immediately granted
for the arrest of Jarper. Kilsip took the warrant and went down to St
Kilda to Mrs Villiers’ house to see her before arresting Jarper; but,
as before described, Jarper came down to the house on business from the
bank and was arrested at once.
Of course, there was great excitement over the discovery of the real
murderer, especially as Jarper was so well known in Melbourne society,
but no one pitied him. In the days of his prosperity he had been
obsequious to his superiors and insolent to those beneath him, so
that all he gained was the contempt of one and the hate of the other.
Luckily, he had no relatives whom his crime would have disgraced, and as
he had not succeeded in getting rid of Madame Midas, he intended to have
run away to South America, and had forged a cheque in her name for a
large amount in order to supply himself with funds. Unhappily, however,
he had paid that fatal visit and had been arrested, and since then had
been in a state of abject fear, begging and praying that his life might
be spared. His crime, however, had awakened such indignation that the
law was allowed to take its course, so early one wet cold morning
Barty Jarper was delivered into the hands of the hangman, and his mean,
pitiful little soul was launched into eternity.
Kitty was of course released, but overwhelmed with shame and agony at
all her past life having been laid bare, she did not go to see Madame
Midas, but disappeared amid the crowd, and tried to hide her infamy from
all, although, poor girl, she was more sinned against than sinning.
Vandeloup, for whom a warrant was out for the murder of Lemaire, had
also disappeared, and was supposed to have gone to America.
Madame Midas suffered severely from the shocks she had undergone with
the discovery of everyone’s baseness. She settled a certain income on
her husband, on condition she never was to see him again, which offer he
readily accepted, and having arranged all her affairs in Australia,
she left for England, hoping to find in travel some alleviation, if not
forgetfulness, of the sorrow of the past. A good woman--a noble woman,
yet one who went forth into the world broken-hearted and friendless,
with no belief in anyone and no pleasure in life. She, however, was of
too fine a nature ever to sink into the base, cynical indifference of a
misanthropic life, and the wealth which she possessed was nobly used
by her to alleviate the horrors of poverty and to help those who needed
help. Like Midas, the Greek King, from whence her quaint name was
derived, she had turned everything she touched into gold, and though it
brought her no happiness, yet it was the cause of happiness to others;
but she would give all her wealth could she but once more regain that
trust in human nature which had been so cruelly betrayed.
EPILOGUE
THE WAGES OF SIN
Such a hot night as it was--not a breath of wind, and the moon, full
orbed, dull and yellow, hangs like a lamp in the dark blue sky. Low
down on the horizon are great masses of rain clouds, ragged and
angry-looking, and the whole firmament seems to weigh down on the still
earth, where everything is burnt and parched, the foliage of the trees
hanging limp and heavily, and the grass, yellow and sere, mingling with
the hot, white dust of the roads. Absolute stillness everywhere down
here by the Yarra Yarra, not even the river making a noise as it sweeps
swiftly down on its winding course between its low mud banks. No bark of
a dog or human voice breaks the stillness; not even the sighing of the
wind through the trees. And throughout all this unearthly silence a
nervous vitality predominates, for the air is full of electricity, and
the subtle force is permeating the whole scene. A long trail of silver
light lies on the dark surface of the river rolling along, and here and
there the current swirls into sombre, cruel-looking pools--or froths,
and foams in lines of dirty white around the trunks of spectral-looking
gum trees, which stretch out their white, scarred branches over the
waters.
Just a little way below the bridge which leads to the Botanical Gardens,
on the near side of the river, stands an old, dilapidated bathing-house,
with its long row of dressing-rooms, doorless and damp-looking. A broad,
irregular wooden platform is in front of these, and slopes gradually
down to the bank, from whence narrow, crazy-looking steps, stretching
the whole length of the platform, go down beneath the sullen waters. And
all this covered with black mould and green slime, with whole armies of
spiders weaving grey, dusky webs in odd corners, and a broken-down fence
on the left half buried in bush rank grass--an evil-looking place even
in the daytime, and ten times more evil-looking and uncanny under the
light of the moon, which fills it with vague shadows. The rough,
slimy platform is deserted, and nothing is heard but the squeaking and
scampering of the water-rats, and every now and then the gurgling of
the river as it races past, as if it was laughing quietly in a ghastly
manner over the victims it had drowned.
Suddenly a black shadow comes gliding along the narrow path by the
river bank, and pauses a moment at the entrance to the platform. Then it
listens for a few minutes, and again hurries down to the crazy-looking
steps. The black shadow standing there, like the genius of solitude, is
a woman, and she has apparently come to add herself to the list of the
cruel-looking river’s victims. Standing there, with one hand on the
rough rail, and staring with fascinated eyes on the dull muddy water,
she does not hear a step behind her. The shadow of a man, who has
apparently followed her, glides from behind the bathing-shed, and
stealing down to the woman on the verge of the stream, lays a delicate
white hand on her shoulder. She turns with a startled cry, and Kitty
Marchurst and Gaston Vandeloup are looking into one another’s eyes.
Kitty’s charming face is worn and pallid, and the hand which clutches
her shawl is trembling nervously as she gazes at her old lover. There
he stands, dressed in old black clothes, worn and tattered looking, with
his fair auburn hair all tangled and matted; his chin covered with
a short stubbly beard of some weeks’ growth, and his face gaunt and
haggard-looking--the very same appearance as he had when he landed in
Australia. Then he sought to preserve his liberty; now he is seeking to
preserve his life. They gaze at one another in a fascinated manner for
a few moments, and then Gaston removes his hand from the girl’s shoulder
with a sardonic laugh, and she buries her face in her hands with a
stifled sob.
‘So this is the end,’ he said, pointing to the river, and fixing his
scintillating eyes on the girl; ‘this is the end of our lives; for you
the river--for me the hangman.’
‘God help me,’ she moaned, piteously; ‘what else is left to me but the
river?’
‘Hope,’ he said, in a low voice; ‘you are young; you are beautiful; you
can yet enjoy life; but,’ in a deliberate cruel manner, ‘you will not,
for the river claims you as its victim.’
Something in his voice fills her with fear, and looking up she reads
death in his face, and sinking on her knees she holds out her helpless
hands with a pitying cry for life.
‘Strange,’ observed M. Vandeloup, with a touch of his old airy manner;
‘you come to commit suicide and are not afraid; I wish to save you the
trouble, and you are, my dear--you are illogical.’
‘No! no!’ she mutters, twisting her hands together, ‘I do not want to
die; why do you wish to kill me?’ lifting her wan face to his.
He bent down, and caught her wrist fiercely.
‘You ask me that?’ he said, in a voice of concentrated passion, ‘you
who, with your long tongue, have put the hangman’s rope round my throat;
but for you, I would, by this time, have been on my way to America,
where freedom and wealth awaits me. I have worked hard, and committed
crimes for money, and now, when I should enjoy it, you, with your
feminine devilry, have dragged me back to the depths.’
‘I did not make you commit the crimes,’ she said, piteously.
‘Bah!’ with a scoffing laugh, ‘who said you did? I take my own sins on
my own shoulders; but you did worse; you betrayed me. Yes; there is a
warrant out for my arrest, for the murder of that accursed Pierre. I
have eluded the clever Melbourne police so far, but I have lived the
life of a dog. I dare not even ask for food, lest I betray myself. I am
starving! I tell you, starving! you harlot! and it is your work.’
He flung her violently to the ground, and she lay there, a huddled heap
of clothing, while, with wild gesticulations, he went on.
‘But I will not hang,’ he said, fiercely; ‘Octave Braulard, who escaped
the guillotine, will not perish by a rope. No; I have found a boat
going to South America, and to-morrow I go on board of her, to sail to
Valparaiso; but before I go I settle with you.’
She sprang suddenly to her feet with a look of hate in her eyes.
‘You villain!’ she said, through her clenched teeth, ‘you ruined my
life, but you shall not murder me!’
He caught her wrist again, but he was weak for want of food, and she
easily wrenched it away.
‘Stand back!’ she cried, retreating a little.
‘You think to escape me,’ he almost shrieked, all his smooth cynical
mask falling off; ‘no, you will not; I will throw you into the river. I
will see you sink to your death. You will cry for help. No one will hear
you but God and myself. Both of us are merciless. You will die like a
rat in a hole, and that face you are so proud of will be buried in the
mud of the river. You devil! your time has come to die.’
He hissed out the last word in a low, sibilant manner, then sprang
towards her to execute his purpose. They were both standing on the verge
of the steps, and instinctively Kitty put out her hands to keep him
off. She struck him on the chest, and then his foot slipped on the green
slime which covered the steps, and with a cry of baffled rage he fell
backward into the dull waters, with a heavy splash. The swift current
gripped him, and before Kitty could utter a sound, she could see him
rising out in midstream, and being carried rapidly away. He threw up his
hands with a hoarse cry for help, but, weakened by famine, he could do
nothing for himself, and sank for the second time. Again he rose, and
the current swept him near shore, almost within reach of a fallen tree.
He made a desperate effort to grasp it, but the current, mocking his
puny efforts, bore him away once again in its giant embrace, and with a
wild shriek on God he sank to rise no more.
The woman on the bank, with white face and staring eyes, saw the fate
which he had meant for her meted out to him, and when she saw him sink
for the last time, she covered her face with her hand and fled rapidly
away into the shadowy night.
The sun is setting in a sea of blood, and all the west is lurid with
crimson and barred by long black clouds. A heavy cloud of smoke shot
with fiery red hangs over the city, and the din of many workings
sound through the air. Down on the river the ships are floating on the
blood-stained waters, and all their masts stand up like a forest of
bare trees against the clear sky. And the river sweeps on red and
angry-looking under the sunset, with the rank grass and vegetation on
its shelving banks. Rats are scampering along among the wet stones, and
then a vagrant dog poking about amid some garbage howls dismally. What
is that black speck on the crimson waters? The trunk of a tree perhaps;
no, it is a body, with white face and tangled auburn hair; it is
floating down with the current. People are passing to and fro on the
bridge, the clock strikes in the town hall, and the dead body
drifts slowly down the red stream far into the shadows of the coming
night--under the bridge, across which the crowd is hurrying, bent on
pleasure and business, past the tall warehouses where rich merchants are
counting their gains, under the shadow of the big steamers with their
tall masts and smoky funnels. Now it is caught in the reeds at the side
of the stream; no, the current carries it out again, and so down the
foul river, with the hum of the city on each side and the red sky above,
drifts the dead body on its way to the sea. The red dies out of the sky,
the veil of night descends, and under the cold starlight--cold and cruel
as his own nature--that which was once Gaston Vandeloup floats away into
the still shadows.
FINIS