JULIAN ROPER REPORTS.
Julian Roper, alias Signor Clement, had come to London in the same
boat as Mrs. Verschoyle, and had made profitable use of his time by
inflaming that lady's anger. On the morning after his arrival he went
to Foster's chambers, in order to make his report, and there found his
employer, Ronald Monteith, in anything but a joyful frame of mind.
Poor Ronald was very much cast down by the news of Carmela's
engagement to the Marchese, though Foster tried to console him to the
best of his ability.
"She is acting under compulsion, my dear boy," said Gerald. "Vassalla
has been telling her that Mrs. Verschoyle is the assassin of her
husband, and has demanded her hand as the price of his silence."
"How does he know that Mrs. Verschoyle is guilty?" asked Ronald,
fiercely. "We have proved nothing! She may be as innocent as you or I,
for all we know!"
"My dear lad," said Foster, shrugging his shoulders, "we can only go
by circumstantial evidence in this case, and you must acknowledge,
things do look very black against Mrs. Verschoyle!"
"Oh, why did I ever start trying to find out the murderess of Leopold
Verschoyle?" groaned Ronald, laying his head on the table.
"Rather, why did you fall in love with Carmela Cotoner?" said Foster,
not unkindly.
"We'll talk no more of this," said Ronald, hastily rising to his feet,
"till we see Roper, and hear what he has to say."
So Gerald, pitying the young man's sorrow in his kindly heart, went
back to his musty law papers, and Signor Jilted-in-Love looked out of
the window in sulky silence. Yet not sulky, poor lad, for his heart
was aching with the thought of his future life being passed without
Carmela, having, with the fine chivalrous feelings of youth, vowed
he'd marry no other lady.
Soon Julian Roper arrived, and was welcomed with heartfelt joy by both
gentlemen, who sprang with alacrity to their feet to greet him. He
entered quiet and impassive as ever, but his sharp, blue eyes took in
at a glance the haggard looks of the Australian.
"You've been fretting, Mr. Monteith," he said, looking keenly at him.
"Bah! don't mind me," said Ronald, peevishly; "I'm a little jaded with
London gaiety. Tell us all you have learned."
"I have not much to tell," said Roper, smoothly. "You read my letter?"
"Yes, we read your letter," echoed Foster, quickly; "that Mrs. Dexter,
said Mrs. Verschoyle had not been out of the house. Monteith saw
Vassalla, who corroborated the fact, and showed me a letter from Mrs.
Verschoyle, which proved Mrs. Dexter's statement to be true, but----"
"Go on," said Roger, calmly, "I like but's--there is always a chance
of another step being made when 'but' comes into the question. What
did you do after seeing Vassalla?" addressing himself to the
Australian.
"I saw Miss Cotoner," burst out Monteith.
"Humph!"--there was a world of meaning in Roper's voice, "and she
said----"
"That Mrs. Verschoyle had been on board."
"I thought so."
"And afterwards denied it."
"Indeed!" Roper's eyebrows went up. "At whose instigation?"
"Vassalla's," broke in Foster, hastily, before Ronald could speak.
"I thought so," said the detective, calmly.
"Why did you think so?" asked Monteith, impatiently.
"In the first place," remarked Roper, complacently, "I had the honour
of coming home in the same boat with Mrs. Verschoyle; secondly, I made
her acquaintance as Signer Clement, and she liked me very much. I had
frequent conversations with her, and told her I was a friend of
Vassalla's."
"But you don't know him," said Ronald.
"All's fair in love, war, and--detective work," observed Roper,
quietly; "I told Mrs. Verschoyle,--who I knew, from Mrs. Dexter's
diary, was in love with Vassalla,--that the Marchese wanted to marry
Carmela Cotoner, her sister."
"That's true enough," said Foster; "he's engaged to her now," whereat
Ronald winced.
"The result was I aroused her jealousy, and she swore that she would
prevent the marriage."
"But how?" from Ronald, eagerly, fain to cling like a drowning man to
a straw.
"That's what I could not find out," said Roper, thoughtfully; "she
said she could stop the marriage, and Vassalla would have to obey her.
Now, what logical inference do you draw from this?"
"That Vassalla committed the murder!" said Ronald, hastily.
"Not necessarily," replied Roper, dryly; "but this, that if Vassalla
knew she was on board that night, he also knew she committed the
murder, and would therefore have a power over her; but her
determination to stop the marriage shows that she must have some power
over him; so that either she is innocent, or he committed the murder
himself, and she can force him by fear of exposure to do what she
wants."
"And which of these theories do you think is right?" asked Foster.
"I am doubtful," said the detective, becoming a little agitated; "but
I--I have a third theory."
"Yes?" said Ronald, in a quiet tone, looking strangely at the
detective.
Roper arose to his feet, and took a walk up and down the room for a
minute, then turned to the young men, who were puzzled by his curious
manner.
"Of course, it's only a theory," said Roper, nervously; "but--but--I
can only tell you what I think."
"Tell us, in heaven's name!" cried Foster, rising.
"Then I think Miss Carmela Cotoner committed the crime."
"What?" Ronald sprang to his feet, and made a spring at the detective,
but Foster caught him and held him back.
"Be quiet Ronald, be quiet," he said, firmly.
"A lie, a cursed, black lie," panted Ronald, glaring at the detective,
who stood quietly looking at him. "What proof, what pro-- D--n you,
sir, where is your proof?"
Roper took out of his pocket-book the yellow scrap of paper given by
Mrs. Taunton, and the fragment of a letter written by Carmela to her
sister.
"I obtained these through Mrs. Dexter," he said, quietly placing them
on the table; "look!"
Ronald looked for a moment, then reeled back into Foster's arms.
"My God! my God!" he sobbed. "My God!"
The handwritings were identical in every particular.
Foster went to a cupboard and got Ronald a glass of brandy, which he
forced him to swallow; then, leaving the young man in the chair, with
his face buried in his hands, he sat down at his own table, and began
to speak to Foster.
"How did you make this discovery?" he asked, quietly.
"I remembered in Mr. Monteith's story," said Roper, "that both sisters
loved the husband, and I wondered if it were not possible that the
younger might commit the crime quite as well as the elder, though, I
confess to you, I had no grounds for my suspicion. As I told you in my
letter, I obtained a specimen of Mrs. Verschoyle's handwriting, and
found, by comparison with this paper"--laying his hand on the yellow
sheet--"that, though there was a similarity, there was also a slight
difference. This began to confirm my theory, and by the kind aid of
Mrs. Dexter, I obtained this letter of Miss Cotoner's, by which you
will see they correspond in every particular."
At this moment Ronald arose from his seat, and staggering to the
table, produced from his pocket-book the note written to him by
Carmela before the "Neptune" reached Gibraltar.
Laying this down by the other papers, with a shaking hand, at the
first glance it could be seen the handwritings were identical.
"It's true," groaned Ronald; "my God, it's true!" and he fell heavily
into his chair again.
"And what is your opinion?" asked Foster.
"My theory," corrected Roper, "is this: I think Miss Cotoner saw her
old lover on the boat, and committed the murder, trusting to the
presence of her sister on board to shield her from the consequences of
her crime.. I also believe that Vassalla knows she is guilty, and has
threatened to tell unless she marry him."
"Yes, but what about Mrs. Verschoyle?"
"Oh! I think she knows that Carmela's guilty, and threatens to expose
her, if she will not refuse to marry Vassalla."
"It all seems clear enough," said Foster, thoughtfully.
"Yes, but it's a d----d lie, for all that," said Ronald, springing to
his feet, and oh, how haggard and worn his young face looked! "Look
here, you fellows. I love Miss Cotoner, and I don't believe she's
guilty. I think that cursed Vassalla is at the bottom of it all. I'm
going to Marlow, where Carmela is, and there I'll act a part. I'll see
her, speak to her, and find out everything, but I must have your
promise not to move in the matter, till I tell you."
"We cannot promise," said Roper.
"Whose servant are you?" asked Ronald, fiercely; "will you do what I
tell you?"
"The law----" began Roper.
"Hang the law, and you too," burst out Ronald; "if Carmela is
guilty, you can't arrest her on the evidence you have, but she's
innocent--innocent! d'ye hear? I'll stake my head on it. Give me a
month to clear her, and if I don't do it by then, the law can take
it's course."
"Agreed," said Roper.
"For my part," said Foster; "I don't care if the case stops now."
"I only want a month," cried Ronald, "and I'll prove her innocence, if
I have to tear the truth out of Vassalla's black heart. Because of a
little superficial evidence, you believe her guilty. I don't. I love
her, and I'll clear her; so help me God!"
Theatrical, no doubt, but both the men felt that the lad spoke from
his heart.
"I'll have another glass of brandy, Foster," said Ronald, quietly.
He got it, and drank it.
'Tis but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous.