MISS WEDDERBURN
Having failed with Ferris, owing to the artist's obstinate refusal to
speak, Gebb thought that he would hear what Basson had to say. He knew
from Prain that the barrister had defended Marmaduke Dean, and
although he had not succeeded in obtaining an acquittal, believed that
his client was innocent. Dean, of course, must have known that his
counsel held this opinion; so, on escaping from prison, with a desire
to prove his innocence, it was not unlikely that he might have called
secretly on Basson, and implored his assistance. If so, Basson might
know a good deal about the man, if he could only be induced to speak
out, and it was to gain his confidence in this matter that Gebb paid
him a visit.
"Of course he may know nothing," thought Gebb, as he walked the next
day towards Blackstone Lane, in which Mr. Basson--according to
Alder--had his abode. "On the other hand, if Dean called on him, which
is not unlikely, he may know a good deal. I wish to learn where Dean
is hiding; how he manages to live; and what his movements were towards
the end of July last. Basson may be able to inform me of these matters
If he can, so much the better; if he can't, I'll go down to Kirkstone
Hall to search for that confession, and see Miss Wedderburn before she
leaves the place. If she can't force Ferris to speak, no one else can;
the man is as obstinate as a pig."
With this elegant simile Gebb turned out of Fleet Street into
Blackstone Lane, and shortly found himself climbing the narrow
staircase of No. 40. Mr. Basson being poor and briefless, and
evidently careless of his ease, lived at the very top of the high
building. After ascending four flights of steep stairs, the detective
came upon a door with the name "Clement Basson" painted on it in black
letters. Also there was a dingy scrap of paper, on which was written,
"Back in five minutes"; so it seemed, much to Gebb's disappointment,
as though Basson were not in his office. However, two or three sharp
knocks brought forth a grinning boy in a suit several sizes too small
for him, and this lad, having put Gebb through a short examination,
with the intention of discovering if he had a bill or a writ, or a
judgment summons in his pocket, at length relented, and announced that
Mr. Basson was within. Evidently the "Back in five minutes" label was
used to beguile creditors into thinking that Mr. Basson was absent.
That announcement, and the conversation with the juvenile Cerberus,
gave Gebb an immediate insight into the state of Mr. Basson's
finances, and his Bohemian mode of hand-to-mouth living.
Shortly he was ushered into a dingy chamber, very barely furnished,
and very dirty. There was a yellow blind pulled up askew on an
unclean window; below this a deal table covered with green baize,
ink-stained and worn-out, which was piled up with dirty papers. An
ancient bookcase, with a brass screen, was filled with an array of
untidy-looking volumes in calf-skin, with red labels; there were two
chairs--one for the lawyer and one for any possible client, a rusty
grate, filled with torn-up papers, and an empty Japan coal-scuttle. In
the midst of these ruins of prosperity, like Marius amid the remains
of Carthage, sat Clement Basson, a tall, jovial-looking man, with a
fine head of grey hair, a quick eye, and a neatly trimmed beard and
moustache. He was carelessly dressed in a kind of sporting fashion,
and wore an old cricketing-cap on the back of his head. The man was
clever, kindly, and quick-witted; he was also thriftless, weak-willed,
and untidy. His worser qualities weighed down his better; and with
many qualifications for climbing to the top of the tree, Mr. Basson
preferred, out of sheer idleness and lack of concentration, to dance
gaily round the trunk in ragged attire. He looked like a survival of
Grub Street; one of the feather-headed crew who wrote pamphlets and
starved in garrets, and naturally belong to the reigns of the early
Georges. He was quite out of place in the late Victorian epoch--an
ironical survival of the unfittest.
"Good day!" he said, in a rich baritone voice, advancing to meet his
visitor. "What can I do for you, Mr. Gabb?"
"Gebb, sir; not Gabb," answered the detective, seating himself in the
one other chair.
"The boy said Gabb," retorted Basson, returning to his chair. "He was
thinking of his own gift, maybe;" and he laughed heartily at his
rather feeble joke. "Well, Mr. Gebb, have you brought me a brief?"
"No," said Gebb, smiling, for the man's good humour was infectious.
"I'm in a different branch of the law to a solicitor. I don't deal in
briefs so much as in handcuffs."
"Ah! You are a detective. A Bow Street Runner."
"Yes. In charge of the Grangebury murder case."
"Just so!" said Basson, with a nod, and looking grave. "I read about
it in the papers; and now I remember, your name was mentioned. Well,
and have you caught the blackguard who murdered the poor woman?"
"Not yet I've come to see if you can help me."
"I?" said Basson, much amused. "You've come to the wrong shop, then.
How should I know the assassin?"
"If I can believe Mr. Alder, you knew him once," was Gebb's reply.
"Ah! So Alder has been speaking to you about me. He thinks that Dean
is guilty, and I was Dean's counsel in that Kirkstone case. Is it that
you are driving at, Mr. Gebb?"
"It just is. Do you believe that Dean is guilty?"
Basson did not reply immediately. He lighted a German pipe of
porcelain, and, blowing out the match, placed it in a little pile
which lay near the inkstand. Then he puffed out a cloud of smoke, and
through it looked at his visitor.
"Why do you ask me?" he demanded abruptly.
"I want your opinion. I know from Mr. Alder that you did not believe
Dean guilty of Kirkstone's murder."
"No. That I did not," rejoined Basson, hastily. "No more than I
believe Mr. Ferris--poor boy--guilty of this one. I was coming to tell
you that he was at my lecture on the night of the murder, but Alder
said he would speak to you about it. Did he?"
Gebb nodded. "I know that Ferris is innocent, but he had the necklace
in his possession, and that is a suspicious circumstance."
"I saw about that in the papers," said Basson, nodding. "Well, and how
does he say the necklace came into his hands?"
"He declines to tell me."
"Does he? With his neck in the noose, so to speak."
"Precisely, Mr. Basson; he did not even confess his presence at your
lecture. He said he was innocent, and for the rest held his tongue."
Basson stared, and pressed the tobacco in the pipe bowl with his
little finger. "Now, that's queer," he said. "Why does he act in this
way?"
"I think he wishes to shield his father."
"I didn't know he had a father. Thought his father was dead."
"As good as dead, I am afraid. Dean is his father."
"What!" Basson's pipe fell out of his hands, and he looked at Gebb in
amazement. "Dean, the man I defended, Ferris's father?"
"Yes, Ferris lived with some relations, who changed his name when his
father was condemned. Now, Mr. Basson, I don't believe Dean is guilty
of this second murder; but on no other ground than that he did kill
the woman, and gave Ferris the necklace to pawn, can I account for the
young man's silence."
"Does he say that Dean is guilty?" asked Basson, picking up his pipe.
"No; he denies it, but refuses to confess how he became possessed of
the necklace. Mr. Basson, tell me on what grounds you believed that
Dean did not kill Kirkstone."
"No motive," rejoined Basson. "People don't commit murders without
motives. But a year or two ago I got an anonymous letter, which
strengthened my belief in his innocence. Wait a bit, and I'll get it
for you."
He opened a small safe standing at the end of the room near the
bookcase, and after five minutes' groping in its depths, at length
fished out a dingy bit of paper, which he brought back to Gebb. This
he spread out on the table, and raised his finger to enforce the
attention of the detective.
"Dean declared his innocence to me," said the barrister, with forensic
force, "and I believed him. But he thought that Laura Kirkstone was
guilty--that in a mad fit she killed her brother. I did not agree with
this, for I held then, and I hold still, that Ellen Gilmar stole that
knife from Laura, and murdered Kirkstone before she went upstairs to
call Dean and inculpate him in the murder. Now, when Dean escaped from
prison I received this letter; read it."
Gebb glanced his eye rapidly over the scrap of paper, which contained
two lines of writing running thus: "If you see Dean, tell him not to
hunt down a wretched woman. When she dies justice shall be done." To
this there was no name and no date and no envelope. Gebb inquired
after this latter.
"I'm sorry to say I destroyed it by mistake," said Basson, with
regret; "but I remember that it had the Norminster postmark on it,
therefore I am sure the note came from Miss Gilmar."
"But why should she write to you?" inquired the detective.
"She fancied Dean on escaping might visit me to get my aid to prove
his innocence."
"I thought such might be the case myself," said Gebb, thoughtfully,
"Did he come near you at any time after his escape?"
"No," said Basson, emphatically, "I never saw him from the time he
went into prison. I don't know where he is; I wish I did, as this note
shows that Miss Gilmar knows herself to be guilty, and has left some
sort of confession behind, to be read after her death and clear Dean."
"Where do you think this confession is to be found?"
"I don't know. She may have hidden it in Kirkstone Hall, or may have
had it with her. When I got this note I went at once to the Hall to
tax Miss Gilmar with writing it. However, she had fled out of fear of
Dean, and I could not learn her whereabouts. The next I heard was her
murder at Grangebury under the name of Ligram."
"Do you think Dean' killed her?" asked Gebb, anxiously.
"I don't know. He might have found her and tried to force her into
confession, and failing getting her to do so have killed her; but I
don't know."
"Well," said Gebb, getting on his legs, "I had an idea myself that
there might be a confession concealed in Kirkstone Hall. Now, on the
evidence of this note, I am sure of it. I'll go down and search. But
tell me frankly, Mr. Basson, do you know where Dean is to be found?"
"No," said Basson, solemnly, "I swear I don't."
"I must rely on myself, then," said Gebb, with a sigh. "I'll see you
again, Mr. Basson."
"I shall be glad to help you, sir," replied the barrister, and bowed
the detective out of his dingy room.
Gebb retired in an exultant frame of mind, as he had discovered beyond
all doubt that a confession by Miss Gilmar was in existence which
would probably exonerate Dean from all complicity in Kirkstone's
murder. The question was, where to search for it. On his way back to
the office Gebb tried vainly to find an answer to this query, but it
was banished from his mind when he discovered that no less a person
than Miss Wedderburn was waiting to see him. She approached him at
once when he entered, and there was a sparkle of rage in her eyes,
which intimated that the object of her visit was not a peaceful one.
"Here you are at last, Mr. Gebb!" she said, in a wrathful voice. "And
pray, sir, what do you mean by arresting Mr. Ferris?"
"Oh, that's your trouble, is it, miss?" answered Gebb, coolly. "Well,
my dear young lady, I arrested Mr. Ferris because he pawned a diamond
necklace!"
"And what had that to do with you, may I ask?"
"This much, miss. The necklace was the property of Miss Gilmar, and
was removed from her dead body."
"Nothing of the sort!" cried Edith, vehemently. "Ellen was alive when
she gave away that necklace."
"Gave away that necklace!" repeated Gebb, starting up. "What do you
mean?"
"What I say!" rejoined Miss Wedderburn, tartly, "I gave the necklace
to Arthur, and it was Miss Gilmar who presented it to me in Paradise
Row, on the night she was murdered."