HURD'S INFORMATION
For the next day or two Paul was kept closely to work in the office,
reading a number of tales which were awaiting his judgment. After hours,
he several times tried to see Billy Hurd, but was unable to meet him. He
left a note at the Scotland Yard office, asking if Hurd had received his
communication regarding Mrs. Krill, and if so, what he proposed to do
concerning it. Hurd did not reply to this note, and Paul was growing
puzzled over the silence of the detective. At length the answer came,
not in writing, but in the person of Hurd himself, who called on Beecot.
The young man had just finished his frugal meal and was settling down to
an evening's work when there came a knock to the door. Hurd, dressed in
his usual brown suit, presented himself, looking cool and composed. But
he was more excited than one would imagine, as Paul saw from the
expression of his eyes. The detective accepted a cup of coffee and
lighted his pipe. Then he sat down in the arm-chair on the opposite side
of the fireplace and prepared to talk. Paul heaped on coals with a
lavish hand, little as he could afford this extravagance, as the night
was cold and he guessed that Hurd had much to say. So, on the whole,
they had a very comfortable and interesting conversation.
"I suppose you are pleased to see me?" asked Hurd, puffing meditatively
at his briar.
Paul nodded. "Very glad," he answered, "that is, if you have done
anything about Mrs. Krill?"
"Well," drawled the detective, smiling, "I have been investigating that
murder case."
"Lady Rachel Sandal's?" said Beecot, eagerly. "Is it really murder?"
"I think so, though some folks think it suicide. Curious you should have
stumbled across that young lord," went on Hurd, musingly, "and more
curious still that he should have been in the room with Mrs. Krill
without recollecting the name. There was a great fuss made about it at
the time."
"Oh, I can understand Lord George," said Beecot, promptly. "The murder,
if it is one, took place before he was born, and as there seems to have
been some scandal in the matter, the family hushed it up. This young
fellow probably gathered scraps of information from old servants, but
from what he said to me in the cab, I think he knows very little."
"Quite enough to put me on the track of Lemuel Krill's reason for
leaving Christchurch."
"Is that the reason?"
"Yes. Twenty-three years ago he left Christchurch at the very time Lady
Rachel was murdered in his public-house. Then he disappeared for a time,
and turned up a year later in Gwynne Street with a young wife whom he
had married in the meantime."
"Sylvia's mother?"
"Exactly. And Miss Norman was born a year later. She's nearly
twenty-one, isn't she?"
"Yes. She will be twenty-one in three months."
Hurd nodded gravely. "The time corresponds," said he. "As the crime was
committed twenty-three years back and Lord George is only twenty, I can
understand how he knows so little about it. But didn't he connect Mrs.
Krill with the man who died in Gwynne Street?"
"No. She explained that. The name of Krill appeared only a few times in
the papers, and was principally set forth with the portrait, in the
hand-bills. I shouldn't think Lord George was the kind of young man to
bother about hand-bills."
"All the same, he might have heard talk at his club. Everyone isn't so
stupid."
"No. But, at all events, he did not seem to connect Mrs. Krill with the
dead man. And even with regard to the death of his aunt, he fancied she
might not be the same woman."
"What an ass he must be," said Hurd, contemptuously.
"I don't think he has much brain," confessed Paul, shrugging his
shoulders; "but he asked me if I thought Mrs. Krill was the same as the
landlady of 'The Red Pig,' and I denied that she was. I don't like
telling lies, but in this case I hope the departure from truth will be
pardoned."
"You did very right," said the detective. "The fewer people know about
these matters the better--especially a chatterbox like this young fool."
"Do you know him?"
"Yes, under the name of the Count de la Tour. But I know of him in
another way, which I'll reveal later. Hay is still fleecing him?"
"He is. But Lord George seems to be growing suspicious of Hay," and Paul
related the conversation he had with the young man.
Hurd grunted. "I'm sorry," he said. "I want to catch Hay red-handed, and
if Lord George grows too clever I may not be able to do so."
"Well," said Paul, rather impatiently, "never mind about that fellow
just now, but tell me what you have discovered."
"Oh, a lot of interesting things. When I got your letter, of course I at
once connected the opal serpent with Aaron Norman, and his change of
name with the murder. I knew that Norman came to Gwynne Street over
twenty years ago--that came out in the evidence connected with his
death. Therefore, putting two and two together, I searched in the
newspapers of that period and found what I wanted."
"A report of the case?"
"Precisely. And after that I hunted up the records at Scotland Yard for
further details that were not made public. So I got the whole story
together, and I am pretty certain that Aaron Norman, or as he then was,
Lemuel Krill, murdered Lady Rachel for the sake of that precious
brooch."
"Ah," said Paul, drawing a breath, "now I understand why he fainted when
he saw it again. No wonder, considering it was connected in his mind
with the death of Lady Rachel."
"Quite so. And no wonder the man kept looking over his shoulder in the
expectation of being tapped on the shoulder by a policeman. I don't
wonder also that he locked up the house and kept his one eye on the
ground, and went to church secretly to pray. What a life he must have
led. Upon my soul, bad as the man was, I'm sorry for him."
"So am I," said Paul. "And after all, he is Sylvia's father."
"Poor girl, to have a murderer for a father!"
Beecot turned pale. "I love Sylvia for herself," he said, with an
effort, "and if her father had committed twenty murders I would not let
her go. But she must never know."
"No," said Hurd, stretching his hand across and giving Paul a friendly
grip, "and I knew you'd stick to her. It wouldn't be fair to blame the
girl for what her father did before she was born."
"We must keep everything from her, Hurd. I'll marry her and take her
abroad sooner than she should learn of this previous murder. But how did
it happen?"
"I'll tell you in a few minutes." Hurd rose and began to pace the narrow
limits of the attic. "By the way, do you know that Norman was a secret
drinker of brandy?"
Paul nodded, and told the detective what he had learned from Mrs. Krill.
Hurd was much struck with the intelligence. "I see," said he; "what Mrs.
Krill says is quite true. Drink does change the ordinary nature into the
opposite. Krill sober was a timid rabbit; Krill drunk was a murderer and
a thief. Good lord, and how he drank!"
"How do you know?"
"Well," confessed Hurd, nursing his chin, "Pash and I went to search the
Gwynne Street house to find, if possible, the story alluded to in the
scrap of paper Deborah Junk found. We couldn't drop across anything of
that sort, but in Norman's bedroom, which nobody ever entered, we found
brandy bottles by the score. Under the bed, ranged along the walls,
filling cupboards, stowed away in boxes. I had the curiosity to count
them. Those we found, ran up to five hundred, and Lord knows how many
more he must have got rid of when he found the bottles crowding him
inconveniently."
"I expect he got drunk every night," said Paul, thinking. "When he
locked up Sylvia and Deborah in the upper room--I can understand now why
he did so--he could go to the cellar and take possession of the shop key
left on the nail by Bart. Then, free from all intrusion, he could drink
till reeling. Not that I think he ever did reel," went on Beecot,
mindful of what Mrs. Krill had said; "he could stand a lot, and I expect
the brandy only converted him into a demon."
"And a clever business man," said Hurd. "You know Aaron Norman was not
clever over the books. Bart sold those, but from all accounts he was a
Shylock when dealing, after seven o'clock, in the pawnbroking way. I
understand now. Sober, he was a timid fool; drunk, he was a bold, clever
villain."
"My poor Sylvia, what a father," sighed Paul; "but this crime--"
"I'll tell you about it. Lemuel Krill and his wife kept 'The Red Pig' at
Christchurch, a little public house it is, on the outskirts of the town,
frequented by farm-laborers and such-like. The business was pretty good,
but the couple didn't look to making their fortune. Mrs. Krill was a
farmer's daughter."
"A Buckinghamshire farmer," said Paul.
"How do you know? oh!"--on receiving information--"Mrs. Krill told you
so? Well, considering the murder of Lady Rachel, she would have done
better to hold her tongue and have commenced life with her dead
husband's money under a new name. She's a clever woman, too," mused
Hurd, "I can't understand her being so unnecessarily frank."
"Never mind, go on," said Paul, impatiently.
Hurd returned to his seat and re-filled his pipe. "Well, then," he
continued, "Krill got drunk and gave his wife great trouble. Sometimes
he thrashed her and blacked her eyes, and he treated their daughter
badly too."
"How old was the daughter?"
"I can't say. Why do you ask?"
"I'll tell you later. Go on, please."
"Well, then, Mrs. Krill always revenged herself on her husband when he
was sober and timid, so the couple were evenly matched. Krill was master
when drunk, and his wife mistress when he was sober. A kind of see-saw
sort of life they must have led."
"Where does Lady Rachel come in?"
"What an impatient chap you are," remonstrated Hurd, in a friendly tone.
"I'm coming to that now. Lady Rachel quarrelled with her father over
some young artist she wanted to marry. He would not allow the lover to
come to the Hall, so Lady Rachel said she would kill herself rather than
give him up."
"And she did," said Paul, thinking of the suicide theory.
"There you go again. How am I to tell you all when you interrupt."
"I beg your pardon. I won't do so again."
Hurd nodded smilingly and continued. "One night--it was dark and
stormy--Lady Rachel had a row royal with her father. Then she ran out of
the Hall saying her father would never see her alive again. She may have
intended to commit suicide certainly, or she may have intended to join
her lover in London. But whatever she intended to do, the rain cooled
her. She staggered into Christchurch and fell down insensible at the
door of 'The Red Pig.' Mrs. Krill brought her indoors and laid her on a
bed."
"Did she know who the lady was?"
Hurd shook his head. "She said in her evidence that she did not, but
living in the neighborhood, she certainly must have seen Lady Rachel
sometimes. Krill was drunk as usual. He had been boozing all the day
with a skipper of some craft at Southampton. He was good for nothing, so
Mrs. Krill did everything. She declares that she went to bed at eleven
leaving Lady Rachel sleeping."
"Did Lady Rachel recover her senses?"
"Yes--according to Mrs. Krill--but she refused to say who she was, and
merely stated that she would sleep at 'The Red Pig' that night and would
go on to London next morning. Mrs. Krill swore that Lady Rachel had no
idea of committing suicide. Well, about midnight, Mrs. Krill, who slept
in one room with her daughter, was awakened by loud shouts. She sprang
to her feet and hurried out, her daughter came also, as she had been
awakened and was terrified. Mrs. Krill found that her husband was raving
mad with drink and smashing the furniture in the room below. The
skipper--"
"What was the skipper's name?"
"Jessop--Jarvey Jessop. Well, he also, rather drunk, was retiring to bed
and stumbled by chance into Lady Rachel's room. He found her quite dead
and shouted for assistance. The poor lady had a silk handkerchief she
wore tied tightly round her throat and fastened to the bedpost. When
Jessop saw this, he ran out of the inn in dismay. Mrs. Krill descended
to give the alarm to her neighbors, but Krill struck her down, and
struck his daughter also, making her mouth bleed. An opal brooch that
Lady Rachel wore was missing, but Mrs. Krill only knew of that the next
day. She was insensible from the blow given by Krill, and the daughter
ran out to get assistance. When the neighbors entered, Krill was gone,
and notwithstanding all the search made for him he could not be found."
"And Jessop?"
"He turned up and explained that he had been frightened on finding the
woman dead. But the police found him on his craft at Southampton, and he
gave evidence. He said that Krill when drunk, and like a demon, as Mrs.
Krill told you, had left the room several times. The last time he came
back, he and the skipper had a final drink, and then Jessop retired to
find--the body. It was supposed by the police that Krill had killed Lady
Rachel for the sake of the brooch, which could not be discovered--"
"But the brooch--"
"Hold on. I know what you are about to say. We'll come to that shortly.
Let me finish this yarn first. It was also argued that, from Lady
Rachel's last words to her father, and from the position of the
body--tied by the neck to the bedpost--that she had committed suicide.
Mrs. Krill, as I said, declared the deceased lady never mentioned the
idea of making away with herself. However, Krill's flight and the chance
that, being drunk, he might have strangled the lady for the sake of the
brooch while out of the room, made many think he was the culprit,
especially as Jessop said that Krill had noticed the brooch and
commented on the opals."
"He was a traveller in jewels once, according to his wife."
"Yes, and left that to turn innkeeper. Afterwards he vanished, as I say,
and became a pawnbroker in Gwynne Street. Well, the jury at the inquest
could not agree. Some thought Lady Rachel had committed suicide, and
others that Krill had murdered her. Then the family didn't want a
scandal, so in one way and another the matter was hushed up. The jury
brought in a verdict of suicide by a majority of one, so you can see how
equally they were divided. Lady Rachel's body was laid in the family
vault, and nothing more was heard of Lemuel Krill."
"What did Mrs. Krill do?"
"She stopped on at the inn, as she told you. People were sorry for her
and helped her, so she did very well. Mother and daughter have lived at
'The Red Pig' all these years, highly respected, until they saw the
hand-bills about Krill. Then the money was claimed, but as the
circumstance of Lady Rachel's fate was so old, nobody thought of
mentioning it till this young lord did so to you, and I--as you
see--have hunted out the details."
"What is your opinion, Hurd?" asked Paul, deeply interested.
"Oh, I think Krill murdered the woman and then cut to London. That
accounts for his looking over his shoulder, etc., about which we
talked."
"But how did he get money to start as a bookseller? Premises are not
leased in Gwynne Street for nothing."
"Well, he might have got money on the brooch."
"No. The brooch was pawned by a nautical gentleman." Paul started up.
"Captain Jessop, perhaps. You remember?" he said excitedly.
"Ah," said Hurd, puffing his pipe with satisfaction, "I see you
understand. I mentioned that about the brooch to hear what you would
say. Yes, Jessop must have pawned the brooch at Stowley, and it must
have been Jessop who came with the note for the jewels to Pash."
"Ha," said Paul, walking excitedly about the room. "Then it would seem
that Jessop and Krill were in league?"
"I think so," said Hurd, staring at the fire. "And yet I am not sure.
Jessop may have found that Krill had killed the woman, and then have
made him give up the brooch, which he afterwards pawned at Stowley.
Though why he should go near Mrs. Krill's old home, I can't understand."
"Is Stowley near her old home?"
"Yes--in Buckinghamshire. However, after pawning the brooch I expect
Jessop lost sight of Krill till he must have come across him a few days
before the crime. Then he must have made Krill sign the paper ordering
the jewels to be given up by Pash, so that he might get money."
"A kind of blackmail in fact."
"Well," said Hurd, doubtfully, "after all, Jessop might have killed
Krill himself."
"But how did Jessop get the brooch?"
"Ah, that I can't tell you, unless Norman himself picked it up in the
street. We must find these things out. I'm going to Christchurch to
make inquiries. I'll let you know what I discover," and Hurd rose.
"One minute," said Paul, hastily. "Do you think Miss Krill is the dead
man's child?"
"Of course. She's as like her mother as two peas. Why do you ask?"
Paul detailed what Sylvia and Deborah had said. "So if she is over
thirty," said Beecot, "she can't be Krill's child, or else she must have
been born before Krill married his wife. In either case, she has no
right to the money."
"It's strange," said Hurd, musingly. "I'll have to look into that.
Meanwhile, I've got plenty to do."
"There's another thing I have to say."
"You'll confuse me, Beecot. What is it?"
"The sugar and that hawker," and Paul related what Sylvia had said about
Thuggism. Hurd sat down and stared. "That must be bosh," he said,
looking at the novel, "and yet it's mighty queer. I say," he took the
three volumes, "will you lend me these?"
"Yes. Be careful. They are not mine."
"I'll be careful. But I can't dip into them just yet, nor can I go into
the Hindoo business, let alone this age of Miss Krill. The first thing I
have to do is to go to Christchurch and see--"
"And see if Mrs. Krill was at home on the night of the sixth of July."
Hurd started. "Oh," said he, dryly, "the night the crime was committed,
you mean? Well, I didn't intend to look up that point, as I do not see
how Mrs. Krill can be implicated. However, I'll take a note of that,"
and this he did, and then continued. "But I'm anxious to find Jessop. I
shouldn't be at all surprised to learn that he committed the double
crime."
"The double crime?"
"Yes. He might have strangled Lady Rachel, and twenty years later have
killed Krill. I can't be sure, but I think he is the guilty person."