THE TESTIMONY OF THE DAGGER.
Ronald and Foster went up to the Crown Hotel, which is at the top of
the principal street in Marlow, from which point two streets branch
off to right and left, one leading to Little Marlow, the other to the
village of Medmenham. A quaint, battered, old obelisk of stone,
surrounded by an iron railing, stands in what is called the Market
Place, and serves as a sign-post. The hotel itself, with its archway
in the middle, which divides it into two parts, was mostly occupied
with boating men, in their picturesque flannels, and as the young
fellows went upstairs to dress, they saw the bar crowded with thirsty
souls.
Ronald was ready first, and putting a light coat over his evening
dress, went down to order a dog-cart to take them to Hurley, and
then amused himself by observing the different people with which the
place was thronged. Getting tired of this, he strolled through the
dining-room to the quaint garden at the back, with the red brick
walls, all softened by time and covered with peach trees.
"It's like the song," said Ronald, looking at all the harmonious
tints, softened under the fading twilight of the sky, and he commenced
to hum Hope Temple's song, "The Old Garden," when he heard Foster
calling him, and found that gentleman waiting for him in the dog-cart.
"Jump up, my boy," said Mr. Foster; "we've no time to lose, it's past
six now."
"All right," replied Ronald, pulling out his pipe; "wait till I light
up." And, having done so, he sprang up to the side of his companion,
and they were soon spinning swiftly down the High Street of Marlow.
"I know the way," said Foster; "so I'll drive."
Ronald nodded, by way of response as they went over the bridge, and
they saw the river, dim and fantastic-looking below, while the lights
were twinkling in the windows of houses, and the air was full of
floating shadows. In front arose the great mass of Quarry Woods, with
here and there a tall tree, standing out sharply against the clear
glow of the sky. An owl hooted in the distance, and then there came
the deep sound of a dog's bark, as the two young men drove swiftly
along.
"Did you speak to Miss Cotoner to-day?" asked Foster, after a pause.
"I did not--exactly," said Ronald, hesitatingly, taking the cigar out
of his mouth; "but she asked me if I knew the reason she was marrying
her cousin. I said yes, and asked was it true?"
"And her answer?"
"Was, 'God help me, it is true!'"
"Humph!" said Foster, thoughtfully, "she might not have been referring
to your thought that she killed Verschoyle, but to her own, that she
marries him to shield her sister."
"Then you think she is innocent?" cried Ronald, eagerly.
"I don't know," replied Foster, "but I would certainly give her the
benefit of the doubt rather than condemn her unheard."
"Condemn her!" echoed Ronald, bitterly, "God knows I'd give my life to
prove her innocent."
"It won't be required of you, dear boy," retorted Foster, coolly, "the
whole affair seems to be a deuced muddle, and it's my opinion that
Vassalla is at the bottom of it; however, we'll see what success you
meet with to-night."
Ronald did not answer, but, gripping his cigar hard with his lips,
puffed away fiercely. They drove through the village of Bisham, up the
long hill and down through the Temple Park, each absorbed in his own
thoughts until they found themselves in front of Bellfield where a
groom was waiting at the gate to take charge of the horse.
The two young men alighted and entered the house, where they were
welcomed by Sir Mark, who, after they had removed their cloaks, led
the way to the smoking-room, where Chester, Bubbles, Pat, and a young
Oxonian, by name, Hammond, were assembled.
The ladies were not yet in the drawing-room, so the hospitable baronet
proposed a glass of sherry and bitters, which was accepted by all the
young men, and then they began to talk about the day's regatta until
the servant announced the arrival of the Bishop of Patagonia, his
wife, and Mrs. Pellypop.
The most stately thing in the world is, undoubtedly, a swan, the next
a Bishop; and when the worthy churchman walked in, tall and dignified,
no one would have thought how he quailed before his mother-in-law. But
such is the superior force of women that they can subdue even the
haughtiest natures to their yoke--if they go the right way about it.
My Lord Bishop was very affable and very condescending, and when they
went to join the ladies in the drawing-room, Pat pronounced him a good
sort, and he, whose experience was extensive, knew a good sort when he
saw one.
Mrs. Pellypop, tall and majestic, in black velvet and lace; Mrs.
Bishop, timid and nervous, hid herself under the matrimonial wing, and
all the ladies looked even more charming in evening dress than during
the day. At the sound of the gong, Sir Mark gave his arm to Mrs.
Pellypop; he ought to have done so to the Bishop's lady, but then,
Mrs. Pellypop always insisted on going first. The Bishop escorted Miss
Trevor as the hostess, and Ronald found himself walking by Carmela.
They spoke very little to one another, Carmela talking principally to
Bubbles, who sat beside her, and Ronald listening to the talk of a
young lady next to him, who was a Girton girl, and thought she knew
everything, whereas she knew nothing,--not even what a bore she was.
Ronald thought the dinner was interminable; but it came to an end, as
all things must, and the ladies followed Bell out of the room. The
gentlemen, left to themselves, waxed merry over their wine; but were
restrained from transgression by the presence of the Bishop, which
that astute prelate quickly perceived, and left the room, followed by
Sir Mark. Truth to tell, both gentlemen were anxious to escape in
order to discuss a high church question then vexing the land.
"Mr. Ryan," said Sir Mark, as he left the room, "you can look after my
guests."
"Faith, I will," cried Pat, taking the host's chair, "now then, boys,
fill up, and no heel taps. Ronald, my boy, you're like a death's head;
pass the claret, and don't be bringing your Egyptian mummies to the
feast."
Under the influence of Pat, everyone woke up, and the wine was
circulated, and also several stories, the morality of which was
doubtful. After they had had enough wine, all the gentlemen adjourned
to the drawing-room, where they found the Girton girl at the piano,
wailing out the last new sentimental ballad, called "Columbine," which
was very milk-and-watery, but useful in keeping the conversation
going.
Then Mrs. Bishop tickled the piano in a mild, clerical way, playing
"The Maiden's Prayer," as taught to her by Mrs. Pellypop, who learned
it in her youth, somewhere about the reign of George III. Carmela was
asked to sing, but refused, whereupon Pat sat down and sang, "I love a
lubly gal," the melody of which brought all sorts of memories to
Ronald's heart, as he remembered the days on board the "Neptune." He
looked at Carmela, but saw she had arisen from her seat, and had gone
out into the moonlight. Ronald sprang to his feet, and, snatching up a
light cloak, ran out to place it on her shoulders.
"You will catch cold, Miss Cotoner," he said politely placing it round
her.
Carmela accepted his attention passively, and they walked in silence
round the house, until they came to the lawn. A ruddy glare of light
blazed across it, which proceeded through the open door of the
smoking-room, and it looked so warm and comfortable that they both
moved simultaneously towards it, and stepped in.
"It will be warmer here," said Ronald, ceremoniously removing the
cloak from his companion's shoulders, while she knelt in front of the
fire, and spread out her hands to the blaze. The Australian leaned
against the mantelpiece, tall and stately, and looked sadly at the
girl at his feet.
"Yes," replied Carmela, slowly; "it will be--why do you speak to me so
coldly?" she asked, suddenly.
"How would you have me speak?" he said, bitterly; "you cannot expect
me to say much to another man's promised wife."
This was brutal--she arose to her feet.
"I did not expect that from you," she said. "You are unjust; I am
forced into this."
"You are not," he began but she stopped him.
"I think we will go to the drawing-room, Mr. Monteith," she
interrupted; "will you give me your arm? this is a pleasant room,"
with an effort at gaiety.
"Yes, very," he replied. They were both acting a part.
"Look at all these guns and daggers," said Carmela, stopping before
them, "and there's a stiletto; get it down, will you, Mr. Monteith?"
Ronald took down the weapon, overcome with vague emotions. A stiletto,
the very weapon she had used to-- But, no--it could not be true.
"It's very pretty," said Carmela, taking it to the lamp to examine it.
"I had one once with an ivory handle--the head of Bacchus surrounded
with bunches of grapes."
Ronald gave a cry. She was describing the very stiletto by which
Verschoyle had been killed. Great heavens! could it be that she was
guilty after all?
"Head of Bacchus--grapes! was--was that yours?" he stammered.
"Yes," she replied, laying down the weapon on the table, and looking
at him in a puzzled manner.
"When did you see it last?
"Oh, not for many years; it has been lost for a long time."
Was she trying to shelter herself under the cloak of a lie? Ronald was
determined to know the worst. He sprang forward and caught her wrist,
she recoiled with a cry of alarm.
"Now, tell me the truth." panted Ronald, his eyes blazing fiercely;
"tell me the truth, I will not betray you."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you kill him?"
"Kill him--whom?"
"Leopold Verschoyle."
"Are you mad?"
She flung away his hand, and drawing herself up to her full height,
looked like an angry goddess at the man who thus insulted her. But
Ronald was too excited to heed her, and his words came pouring out in
one torrent.
"Yes, I am mad--mad, to believe anything against you, who are as pure
as an angel. I'm only a poor devil who loves you, and want you to tell
me all you know about this murder, so that I can save you."
"Save me--murder!"
She reeled a little, and caught hold of the table for support.
"Look! look!" cried Ronald, pulling out his pocket-book with the fatal
paper, which he had brought on purpose; "look here"--spreading it
out--"your writing--your writing."
Carmela glanced at it, and a film came over her eyes.
"Yes, it's my writing--seven--seven years ago."
"Then the stiletto by which he was killed, you have described it. You
were on board; you recognised him."
"I did not." She spoke the words firmly. "No, until you told me the
other day who the murdered man was, I had no more idea than you had at
Malta that Lionel Ventin was Leopold Verschoyle. I did write that note
when I was mad with the treatment I had received. I was only a girl,
and acted foolishly, as girls will. I did have such a stiletto, but I
have not seen it for years. I gave it to my cousin Vassalla about five
years ago."
"Vassalla!" Ronald looked up suddenly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, he took a fancy to it, and I presented it to him. Did you
believe me guilty?" suddenly.
"No, on my soul I did not."
"Can I believe you?"
"Yes,--appearances were against you, but I swore you were--innocent. I
told the detective so."
"Detective! Is a detective employed?"
"Yes."
"By you?--don't deny it. I see it in your face. Oh, God!" wringing
her hands; "What am I to do? You will ruin my sister!"
Ronald suddenly grew calm.
"Carmela, you know I love you?"
"Don't speak of love at such a time."
"I must; I believe I can save your sister."
"You can?"
"Yes, I think so."
She clasped her hands with a gesture of entreaty.
"Oh, if you only could," she cried passionately, "I would not then be
forced to marry Vassalla!"
"That is one of my reasons for trying to save her," he said. "I do not
want you to sacrifice yourself in this way--but we must not talk, we
must act"; and he struck the bell on the table.
"What would you do?" she asked.
"You must tell my friend Foster all you know about your sister's
marriage; he is a lawyer, and will find a way out of this dilemma."
The servant appeared.
"Tell Mr. Foster to come here."
The servant disappeared.
"How can you save my sister," she asked, quickly; "is she innocent?"
"I don't know," he replied evasively; "but even if she is guilty, I'll
save her."
Mr. Foster entered the room.
"Well," said that gentleman, "what's the matter?"
"Miss Cotoner would like to tell you a story," said Ronald quietly.
Carmela sat down, and so did Foster, who was now all attention, while
Ronald leaned against the mantelpiece, and listened eagerly.
"This," thought Foster, as he settled himself, "is the beginning of
the end."