A LETTER FROM MALTA.
_Julian Roper to Ronald Monteith_.
Dear Sir,--I have now been here a week, and in accordance with your
instructions, have lost no time in investigating the case entrusted to
me; but the results, I regret to say, are far from satisfactory. On my
arrival at Valletta, I took up my quarters at the Hotel D'Angleterre,
in the Strada Sta. Lucia, made inquiries as to the whereabouts of Mrs.
Verschoyle, and after some considerable difficulty, found that she was
staying at a boarding-house in the Strada Cristoforo.
On learning this, I thought my best plan would be to take up my abode
in the same house, as I could then learn with more precision the
movements of Mrs. Verschoyle. To this end I went to the Strada
Cristoforo, and found the boarding-house to be a very comfortable one,
kept by a fat widow whose name is Signora Briffa. I secured very
pleasant apartments, and took possession of them next day, much to my
own satisfaction and that of the Signora.
At the _table d'hôte_ I met the rest of the lodgers, who are a
queer-looking lot, mostly Italians, with a sprinkling of English
people. Among the latter is a Mrs. Dexter, the widow of a colonel in
the Indian army, who has been staying in Valletta for the last fifteen
years for her health, and being a garrulous old person, much given to
gossip, knows everything and everyone. She is tall, rather thin, with
sharp features--scanty, grey hair, and cold, grey eyes. In fact, she
gave me the impression of being a decidedly unpleasant person, a
presentiment which turned out to be true on my further acquaintance
with her. She confesses to the age of thirty-five, though I shrewdly
suspect forty-five, or even more, would be near the mark. She has one
quality, however, which is of great service to me--she hates Mrs.
Verschoyle with all the intense hatred of a narrow-minded woman. Her
reasons are twofold. First, Mrs. Verschoyle is very handsome; Mrs.
Dexter is not. Secondly, Mrs. Verschoyle is rich, whereas Mrs. Dexter
is poor. Given these reasons, can you wonder at the malignity of her
feelings towards Mrs. Verschoyle? As to the latter, she is very
beautiful--I speak as an unenthusiastic man--tall, dark skinned, with
clearly cut features, and magnificent, black eyes, she impressed me at
once with an overwhelming sense of a strong personality. Looking at
her in repose, she is a fine picture, but once hear her talk, and the
charm is gone. Yes, her voice is very coarse, and sounds discordantly;
in addition to which, she is insufferably proud--another cause of Mrs.
Dexter's dislike--and has a very violent temper. She, of course, did
not deign to speak to me--a mere English tourist--such, of course, is
my character--but gave all her attention to Lord Francis Hurlington, a
young nobleman who hovers round her like a moth round a candle. I hope
he will not singe his lordly wings.
Seeing me, seated in the drawing-room all alone, Mrs. Dexter came and
sat beside me, apparently out of good nature for one so forsaken, but
in reality to learn all my history, and gratify her love of curiosity.
I told her my history--that is, I invented a fictitious story, which
proved that I ought to have been a novelist. In return for my
confidence, she told me all about the inmates of the house, more
especially of Mrs. Verschoyle, thinking, I've no doubt, that a
skilfully coloured story might injure the lady in my estimation. I
heard all about the divorce case, but as you are already acquainted
with the facts, there is no need, on my part, for repetition, so I may
as well tell you the story of Mrs. Verschoyle's life from the time she
settled in Valletta after the divorce.
In the first place, she has an income from the late Mr. Verschoyle,
and not caring to take a house, lived at first in lodgings; but such
was the violence of her temper that she was turned out of one place
after another till she found a haven of rest at Signora Briffa's, as
that lady does not regard temper so long as the money is paid
regularly. Mrs. Verschoyle has a sister called Carmela, who is at
present in England, whither she went, on board the "Neptune." It
appears she was in England before, but came out to Malta to live with
her sister. They quarrelled, however, and Carmela, in a rage, left
Mrs. Verschoyle and went to London, as you know, in the same boat as
you did.
The Marchese Vassalla, who is her cousin, also went with her, though
he has always been, and is still, good friends with Mrs. Verschoyle,
and I shrewdly suspect, from hints conveyed by Mrs. Dexter, that the
lady in question is in love with him. Having thus got a general
outline of the life of Mrs. Verschoyle, I questioned Mrs. Dexter in
detail, and here I was even more fortunate than before, as I found
this excellent person kept a diary, which she agreed to show to me.
You will wonder at my being honoured with such a confidence after so
short an acquaintance, but the fact is Mrs. Dexter discovered--with a
woman's instinct--that my mission was inimical to the interests of
Mrs. Verschoyle, and she agreed to let me see her diary, in order that
I might secure anything that could be detrimental to her enemy's
character.
I might as well mention that Mrs. Colonel Dexter, being quite alone in
the world, and having very little money, agreed to accept a sum of
money as a bribe, or, as she put it, a loan--loan or bribe, the fact
remains the same--she took it. She likewise promised to observe
profound secrecy, so, having thus secured her allegiance, I went to my
own room and perused the pages of her diary, taking notes as I went
along. The notes are as follows, but I am afraid they are of small
value, as they seem--to my mind--to lead to nothing:--
EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF MRS. DEXTER.
April 29th.--Another quarrel! I knew it would lead to this. I wonder
Carmela puts up with the insolence of her sister. No wonder Mr.
Verschoyle divorced her; no one could live with such a bad-tempered
woman. She says she divorced him, but, of course, I know the truth,
though she doesn't think so. She puts me in mind of that horrid Major
Penton's wife at Simla--the same bold way about her. I asked Carmela
where Mr. Verschoyle was, and she said she did not know. Of course she
did not, but I do; he's in Australia. Signora Briffa told me that
Carmela was in love with Mr. Verschoyle herself, but he preferred her
sister. No wonder they quarrel.
May 1st.--Mrs. Verschoyle is setting her cap at Lord Francis, and I
can see very well is trying to marry him. He's a fool, I know, but not
quite so foolish as to make her his wife, in fact, I think he rather
inclines to her sister. I believe Mrs. Verschoyle sees this, and it
makes her none the more friendly towards Carmela. I wonder how it will
end?
May 10th.--Such a lot has happened lately. Lord Francis is gone, and
Mrs. Verschoyle is furious. I am very glad, as she has missed her
chance of a coronet. I believe he proposed to Carmela, and went away
in a rage because she refused him. He has left for Constantinople in
his yacht, and Mrs. Verschoyle would have given her ears to have gone
also--the bold thing! The enmity between the sisters still continues,
and I verily believe Mrs. Verschoyle would kill Carmela with pleasure
if she could do so with safety. I overheard a curious conversation
between them, and I wonder what it means. I was sitting in the
drawing-room, half hidden by the curtains, when the sisters entered
the room and began to quarrel as usual--a most delightful pair. I
despise listeners, but I could not help myself, so had to overhear
their conversation--unwillingly, of course; it will be best for me to
put it in a dramatic form.
Mrs. Verschoyle: You know you loved him! (I wonder whom she means).
Carmela: Yes, I did, but it was only the fancy of a girl; when he
married you I did not care a bit about him; (I see now, they are
talking of Mrs. Verschoyle's husband;) but he was a good husband to
you, and you might have made his life happy.
Mrs. Verschoyle: He betrayed me for another woman.
Carmela: Only after you made his life so unendurable that he had to
leave you.
Mrs. Verschoyle: You take his part? I believe you are in love with him
still.
Carmela: I am not, and you know it.
Here, Mrs. Verschoyle burst into a torrent of such abusive language,
that, as a gentlewoman and a Christian, I had to interfere. Carmela
left the room, and after Mrs. Verschoyle's anger had expended itself,
she relapsed into sulky silence.
June 5th. Such a delightful man is staying here--Marchese Matteo
Vassalla--he is a cousin of the sisters, and is waiting the arrival of
the P. and O. "Neptune" to go on to England. I have made a discovery;
he is in love with Carmela, and Mrs. Verschoyle is in love with him.
How strange! Carmela always seems to stand in the way of her sister,
and that does not mend the breach between them. They went out together
and came back quarrelling--I suppose, about the Marchese--and Carmela
said she was going to England in the "Neptune."
June 13th. The "Neptune" has arrived, and Carmela has secured her
passage. She is going to Sir Mark Trevor in England, and will be
escorted by her cousin, Vassalla. I should not wonder if they were
engaged by the time they reach London. Carmela and her sister made up
their quarrel, and went out together, then Carmela came back alone,
almost crying and shut herself in her room. Mrs. Verschoyle's a minx;
later on that lady came back in a fearful rage, I fancy she must have
spoken to some one who differed from her; she tried to see Carmela,
but that young lady very properly refused to be further insulted, so
Mrs. Verschoyle shut herself up in her room. Carmela went away without
saying good-bye to her, and Mrs. Verschoyle refused to come to dinner.
After dinner, I went up to her room, and knocked at the door; it was
still locked, and I could obtain no answer from her, so I went to bed
early, having a headache.
June 14th.--Next morning Mrs. Verschoyle was not at breakfast, and
sent down word she had a headache; no wonder, with the way she lets
her violent temper run away with her. I saw her later in the day, and
asked her why she did not answer when I knocked on the previous night.
She said she was asleep and did not hear me. I did not speak to her
again. She has lost both her lovers and her sister, and I'm not sorry.
Here all extracts from the diary likely to be of any use to us end,
and if you will read them carefully, you will see that according to
the report of Mrs. Dexter, faithfully given, Mrs. Verschoyle did not
leave the house on the night of the sailing of the "Neptune," so she
could not have been on board, and consequently must be innocent of the
crime.
Now, of course, it is a debatable question whether or not Mrs.
Verschoyle really did leave the house. You will perceive that she
refused to come down to dinner, and stayed in her own room. After
dinner, Mrs. Dexter went up to her door, found it locked, and could
get no answer. Now, what was easier than for Mrs. Verschoyle to slip
out of her room while all were at dinner, and the servants away in the
kitchen, lock her door, to lead to the belief that she was still
there, and go off to the ship, commit the crime, and come home again?
Unluckily, Mrs. Dexter went to bed early, or Mrs. Verschoyle's return
would not have escaped her lynx-eyes; so if she did go out as I
surmise--and, mind you it is only a surmise--the servants might have
seen her return. I therefore questioned the servants, but could get
no satisfactory answers out of them, as they could remember nothing;
not even money could sharpen their wits. In this extremity, I
bethought myself of boldly asking Mrs. Verschoyle herself, and in the
drawing-room, after dinner, I led the conversation round to the
excellence of the P. and O. steamers, and asked her if she had seen
the "Neptune"? She winced and changed colour a little, and then
answered, "No." Mrs. Dexter then became my ally, and the conversation
was as follows:--
Mrs. Dexter: Your sister went to England in the "Neptune?"
Mrs. Verschoyle: Yes, and so did my cousin, the Marchese Vassalla, but
for all that, I did not see the boat.
Myself: Why--did you not go on board to say good-bye?
Mrs. Verschoyle: No; I had a headache, and did not leave my room.
Mrs. Dexter: Yes, I remember. I knocked at your door, and could get no
answer.
Mrs. Verschoyle (quickly): I was asleep.
Myself: It was a pity you did not see the "Neptune"; she is such a
magnificent vessel.
This closed the conversation, and left things as they were. You see,
Mrs. Verschoyle denies that she left the house on that evening; so if
this is the case, she can prove an _alibi_, and thus cannot be accused
of committing the crime. I, however, am not satisfied with her denial;
she winced when I mentioned the "Neptune"; moreover, I knew that her
husband was on board, as she met him during the day; which, by the
way, explains the passage in Mrs. Dexter's diary, that she returned in
a rage.
To my mind, therefore, the only people who can definitely say if she
were on board, are Miss Carmela Cotoner and the Marchese Vassalla; for
even if she went on board secretly to see her husband, she could not
have escaped notice by her sister and cousin. My advice, therefore, is
for you to see either Miss Cotoner or the Marchese Vassalla, and find
out if Mrs. Verschoyle were on board before the "Neptune" sailed; if
so, we can pursue our inquiries; if not, we must turn in another
direction.
As I have now got all the information I can obtain here, I am leaving
to-morrow for England, and if possible, will get the stiletto used in
the committal of the crime from the authorities at Gibraltar. I may
add that I have obtained a specimen of Mrs. Verschoyle's writing to
compare with the paper you gave me; and though there is a similarity,
there is also a distinct difference; but then handwriting does alter
in five or six years, and the best thing will be to submit the papers
to an expert, who can easily tell if they were written by the same
person.
I will call at Mr. Foster's rooms directly on my arrival in England,
and report more fully.
Yours obediently,
JULIAN ROPER.