CONCLUSION
If the reader cares to take the trouble to cross the wide green at
Hampton Court, close to the fine old red-brick turreted palace, with
its wonderful old-world flower-gardens, he may see the spick-and-span
Guest House of the great Cardinal standing back amid the ancient
trees, as it has done ever since the days when Anne Boleyn visited it
with Henry VIII.
Of the amazing career of “The Chameleon” nobody is aware save Dr. and
Mrs. Otway--who now live so happily there--the police, of course,
Routh, the old gambler, Lady Etta, and the adventurous Ashe. From all
others the secret of the evil which pervaded the place has been
strictly withheld.
The young couple are highly popular. Brinsley, having disposed of his
practice and his corner house at Golder’s Green, is looking out for
one in the West End, determined not to live upon his wife’s money.
The reconciliation between the pair was effected by no less a person
than Gussie Gretton himself. He admired, perhaps even he loved,
Sibell, for he would, indeed, have readily paid the fat commission
which the adventuress demanded. But, realizing his mistake, as well as
Sibell’s devotion to Otway, he one day went North, and, forcing
himself upon Otway, described to him frankly and honestly all that had
occurred.
At first Brinsley indignantly refused to see Sibell, whereupon Gretton
turned to him reproachfully, saying:
“In that case, Otway, you’re not fair to the woman who loves you. Do
give her one chance to explain with her own lips. I’ve known her
longer than you have, and I’ve a right to appeal to you for her sake.
Surely you can realize the hell she’s gone through since that
unfortunate night? Come to London with me. Do.”
Otway remained obdurate, while Gretton, on his part, again declared
that the meeting had not been planned, and nothing had occurred
between them which he had not described. He admitted kissing her
against her will, and for that he deeply and most humbly apologized.
That night, after obtaining his whilom rival’s promise to reconsider
his decision, Gretton returned to town, while the early train next
morning carried Brinsley to the side of the girl to whom he was so
wholeheartedly devoted.
Explanations in that long, white-enamelled drawing-room did not take
very long, for in an instant they were clasped in each other’s ready
arms, he raining hot kisses upon her lips, while she sobbed for joy.
That night Sibell wrote to her aunt telling her the glad news, which,
of course, created the greatest disappointment among those who had so
cunningly plotted to part the pair, and so obtain a considerable sum
of money if their clever scheme had been successful. Though Sibell was
unaware of it, Lady Wyndcliffe had secretly been introduced by Ashe to
John Dare, who represented himself as a Mr. Pearson, manager of the
electric lighting firm which was fitting up the Guest House, and in
that capacity he invited her to bring her American friend, Mr.
Kimball, to see over the interesting old place.
This she did on the following day, when, without doubt, the homicidal
old maniac, in one of his chameleon-like disguises, played some
devilry with that deadly liquid in his possession, whereby Etta’s
unsuspicious companion had become infected with that most deadly of
all poisons, which he had so concocted as to produce a fatal effect
within a week--as it had done, in mid-Atlantic. Sibell did not know
till long afterwards that Scotland Yard was already on the track of
Ashe and Etta, and that on the morning in Berne, Inspector
Charlesworth had been in the adjoining room and had overheard the
plot. It was he who, disguised as a cavalier, had gone to the masked
ball at Gurnigel and warned her.
John Dare had revealed to nobody either his real name, or the secret
manner in which he removed those who invaded what he had determined
was his domain by right. Etta and Ashe only knew that he held some
strange and astounding secret.
Etta Wyndcliffe, as soon as she learned the truth, feared to be
implicated in the affair, and therefore left at once for Kenya Colony,
where Wyndcliffe, ignorant of everything, of course, joined her, while
Albert Ashe, equally fearing exposure--for at his suggestion Etta had
taken Kimball to the Guest House, “to see if the evil would fall upon
him,” as he put it--escaped to the Continent, where he still remains.
Only by the analysis of the dangerous secret held by “The Chameleon”
of the _ipoh gadong_,[1] which is mixed with the inspissated juices
of two jungle vines and the poisonous spines of certain fishes, have
modern toxicologists been forced to admit the existence of an actual
time-poison that can be absorbed through the skin, which has been
strenuously denied, ever since mediæval days, by all chemists and
pathologists.
Sibell, indeed, had a most narrow escape, for had she innocently
handled her fountain-pen, she would undoubtedly have been stricken
dead by the ink coming into contact with her fingers.
Hence men working in wonder in rubber gloves, after mysterious
warnings, spent weeks in cleaning down the big house a second time,
and in removing and planing down smoothly the sharp splinters of
infected mahogany upon the big carved post at the head of the stairs,
which had no doubt been responsible for those imperceptible pricks and
scratches which had infected the unfortunate ones with the deadliest
poison known to-day. When studying the problem, Otway, himself deeply
interested in toxicology, suddenly realised the reason why women
visitors to the house had escaped. The explanation was simple. They
had touched nothing which the midnight intruder, with his green lamp,
had with his satanic cunning arranged; for they wore gloves!
The public have not hitherto learnt the truth as here recorded, nor
have they known of the strange history and astounding exploits of the
criminal lunatic who swept away his imaginary enemies in that subtle
and ingenious manner, yet for several years the French police had kept
the weird old fellow under surveillance, because upon him rested the
suspicion of at least two cases of secret poisoning--one at Bordeaux
and the other in Paris--yet so elusive was he, and so chameleon-like
in his constant changes, that the Sûreté could never obtain direct
evidence.
His presence at Cookham was certainly with some evil intent against
Sibell, but his young fellow-guest at the Ferry Hotel was really an
astute young detective-sergeant of the T Division of Metropolitan
Police, whose watchfulness was later taken up by the well-known
officer, Inspector Charlesworth of Scotland Yard, and
Detective-Sergeant Budd.
Sibell was deeply sorry when her two faithful menservants were
compelled to so suddenly resign. By their constant vigilance her life
had been spared, while Brinsley’s return brought her all the happiness
for which she had craved.
At the time of penning this record of one of the strangest dramas of
London’s hectic life that had ever been recorded in the annals of
Scotland Yard, Sibell’s old hunchback guardian, the optimistic Gordon
Routh, lives in three comfortable rooms on the upper floor of the
Guest House, and is usually immersed in the intricate problems of the
chances at roulette and the proving of the infallible “system” which
he has invented to his own satisfaction.
The big file now reposing in the criminal archives of Scotland Yard,
and the equally large records at the bureau of the Sûreté in Paris,
record the career of John Dare, rubber planter in Malaya, who became a
criminal lunatic. They show no parallel in the history of crime.
Against him the infamous Neil Cream, with his tiny poison pills, which
he administered to the unfortunates of Lambeth, fades into
insignificance, for John Dare, of the house of D’Aire, had brought to
London the secret of the one terrible Eastern time-poison of which
toxicologists had now learnt by the analysis of that little phial of
ink and poison found upon him after death. The formula of it is to-day
kept the most profound secret by those who know, lest it might be used
any day by enemies who desire to take human life with perfect immunity
from arrest.
The many typewritten pages which constitute the police record of John
Dare, criminal lunatic, _alias_ Bettinson, Pearson, and many other
names, lying in the archives at Scotland Yard--a carbon copy of which
reposes in the great department of criminal records in
Paris--concludes as follows:
“John Dare, _alias_ Bettinson.--One of the cleverest, most
elusive, and plausible assassins ever reported to the international
police. Was in possession of a secret poison hitherto unknown to
medical science, and his known crimes in England and France numbered
eight. So alert and adroit was he in changing his facial expression,
together with his attire and his calling, in order to wipe out those
whom he believed to be intruders into his rightful possessions, that,
by his associates and also by the police, he became known all over the
Continent as ‘The Chameleon.’”
THE END
ENDNOTE
[1] Author’s Note.--The actual mode of preparation and formula I have
purposely omitted, for most obvious reasons.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. armchair/arm-chair, card
sharpers/card-sharpers, etc.) have been preserved.
Alterations to the text:
Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings and some
missing/invisible periods.
Convert the footnote to an endnote.
[Chapter VI]
Change “and an epergne of great chrysanthemums as a centre-_plece_” to
_piece_.
“Ashe, the discreet, _obsequlous_ butler, a clean-shaven man” to
_obsequious_.
[Chapter IX]
“and hence are _sacrified_ for firewood early in their growth” to
_sacrificed_.
[Chapter XXVI]
(“It is most _unforunate_, isn’t it?” Then, turning) to _unfortunate_.
[Chapter XXVII]
“fair-haired débutante, to be sold in the _marrige_ market” to
_marriage_.
[Chapter XXXI]
“uneventful life, with Edith Pearman as her _companian_” to
_companion_.
[End of text]