Springing to his feet and tearing open his coat, Markwick, the man
designated by one of Bethune's fair correspondents as "that vile,
despicable coward," drew from his breast-pocket a folded newspaper,
saying:
"This newspaper, the Daily News of this morning, will perhaps refresh
your memory. Listen while I read. I promise not to bore you," and
opening the paper quickly a cynical smile played about his thin lips as
he read as follows:--
"`Yesterday, at Bow Street Police Court, Mr J. Arthur Price,
barrister, made an extraordinary application to the magistrate. He
stated that three years ago Sir Henry Sternroyd, Knight, the well-known
Wigan ironfounder, died at Cannes, leaving his entire fortune, amounting
to about three millions, to his son Gilbert. Two years ago Gilbert
Sternroyd, who had been educated at Bonn, received the property, and
took up his residence in London. He was a member of several good clubs,
and soon became well-known and popular with a rather smart set. On
March 12 last he went to the Empire Theatre alone, had supper with a
friend at the New Lyric Club, and from there went to the Army and Navy.
He left there about half-past twelve alone, and walked in the direction
of his chambers. Since that hour nothing whatever has been seen or
heard of him. On the following morning a check for a rather large
amount was presented for payment, but, as this check was drawn three
days before, it is not thought by the police to have any connection with
his mysterious disappearance. One fact, counsel pointed out, was
strange, namely, that although the check was dated three days before,
the check-book containing the counterfoil had not been discovered in his
chambers, and it is therefore presumed that he had it upon him at the
time of his disappearance. The case, counsel continued, presented many
extraordinary and even sensational features, one of which was the fact
that a will had been discovered, properly executed by the missing man's
solicitors, by which the whole of his extensive fortune is bequeathed to
a lady well-known in society, the much-admired wife of a peer. It is
feared that the young man has met with foul play, and it was counsel's
object in making the application on behalf of the relatives to direct
public attention to the case, and express a hope that any person
possessed of information as to his whereabouts would not fail to
communicate with the police. The magistrate observed that the Press
would no doubt take notice of counsel's application.'"
Markwick paused, his small eyes glistening with a revengeful fire as he
gazed at Jack Bethune.
"Does not this statement bring back to your memory the incidents of that
night?" he asked slowly, without taking his eyes off him.
With sinking heart I saw that my friend visibly trembled, and noticed
that he started as each mention of the name of the murdered man stabbed
his conscience. His face was bloodless; the dark rings around his eyes
gave his ashen countenance an almost hideous appearance. The statement
about the will was a new and amazing phase of the mystery, for it
pointed conclusively to the fact that the dead man had left his wealth
to Mabel, a fact that accounted for the seemingly unreasonable interest
which the Countess had taken in his disappearance.
"I--I really don't know why the report of the sudden disappearance of a
man whom I knew but very slightly should be of paramount interest to
me," Jack answered, but the haggard expression on his face told only too
plainly the effect caused by the mine his enemy had suddenly sprung upon
him.
"It may one day be of vital interest to you," Markwick said menacingly,
as he carefully refolded the paper and placed it again in his pocket.
Jack gave vent to a dry, hollow laugh, saying: "It is certainly a
strange affair altogether, but surely this is not news to you. I heard
of Sternroyd's disappearance weeks ago."
"You were perhaps the first person aware of it--eh?" observed Markwick
caustically.
"By that remark you insinuate that I possess knowledge which I have not
disclosed," Jack answered brusquely. "Both the Countess and yourself
have perfect liberty to form your own conclusions, and they would be
amusing were it not for the gravity of the question involved, namely,
whether or not Gilbert Sternroyd has met with foul play."
"He has met with foul play," cried Markwick sternly. "And you alone
know the truth."
This direct accusation startled me. I glanced at my friend. He was
standing upright, rigid, silent, his terrified eyes gazing fixedly into
space.
But for a moment only. Suddenly, he again sprang towards his accuser,
and facing him boldly, cried:
"You're endeavouring to fasten upon me the responsibility of young
Sternroyd's disappearance! Well, do what you will. I do not fear you,"
and a strange laugh escaped his lips. "Arrest me, put me in a
criminal's dock, bring forward your array of counsel, your evidence, and
the results of your accursed espionage, then, when you have finished I
will speak. But before you do this, before you advance one step further
upon the dangerous course you are now pursuing, remember that slander is
an offence against the law; remember that in such evidence as must be
given in an assize court certain persons must be seriously compromised,
and do not forget that the very weapon by which I shall defend my own
honour will be one that must prove disastrous to yourself. I have said
enough. Go!"
Markwick was amazed at this unexpected outburst. He, like myself, had
apparently expected Jack to confess to the crime of which we both
suspected him, but by this firm declaration of innocence it almost
seemed as though we were both mistaken. Yet in that brief moment I
remembered his refusal to allow me to enter the room in which he had
undoubtedly concealed the body. I reflected upon the many suspicions
that had been aroused within me. No! I was still convinced of his
guilt, notwithstanding his denial. The fact seemed apparent that he
possessed a secret of Markwick's, and felt secure because he knew that
this man dare not risk the dire consequences of its revelation.
"Then am I to understand that you absolutely defy us?" asked the
mysterious friend of Sybil.
"Us?" echoed Bethune indignantly. "By that word you mean Lady Fyneshade
and yourself. Yes, I defy you both! Act if you dare; but I warn you
the peril will be yours."
"Very well," the man answered, bowing haughtily with a coolness that was
astounding. "Defiance is of little avail in a criminal's cell."
Jack placed his hand upon the bell and rang it violently.
"I have endeavoured to save the honour of more than one person in this
affair, but if you wish for exposure you can, of course, make known many
ugly facts," he said.
"But you declare emphatically you are innocent," Markwick said hastily.
"Neither you nor Ridgeway have alleged any specific charge against me,"
he answered. "If any crime is alleged to have been committed by me,
then after my arrest it will be time for me to prepare my defence.
Until then I shall remain silent."
"And the day is not far distant when you will be compelled to speak,"
the other said in a tone of impatience and annoyance, while at that
moment my father's man appeared in answer to Jack's summons.
"No further discussion is necessary," my friend said in a tone more
quiet than before. "I decline to enter into details." Then, turning to
the servant, he said:
"Show this gentleman out."
Markwick uttered not a word. Biting his lip viciously, he glanced
threateningly from my guest to myself, drew a deep breath, and turning
on his heel followed the man out, and a few moments later passed below
the window and disappeared down the drive.
The interview had been an extraordinary one. Markwick, who had with
such well-feigned ignorance declared himself unacquainted with me,
possessed a most remarkable personality. The mystery that surrounded
him was as impenetrable as that which had enveloped Sybil, but I was
compelled to admit within myself that I shared his suspicion as to
Bethune's guilt. Yet my friend's open defiance was absolutely
bewildering. He had engaged his enemy with his own weapons, and for the
present, at any rate, had vanquished him.