MRS. KRILL AT BAY
Next day Hurd did not go to see Mrs. Krill as he had intended, but spent
his time in hunting for the missing boy. Tray, however, was not to be
found. Being a guttersnipe and accustomed to dealing with the police he
was thoroughly well able to look after himself, and doubtless had
concealed himself in some low den where the officers of the law would
not think of searching for him. However, the fact remained that, in
spite of the detective's search, he could not be caught, and the
authorities were much vexed. To unravel the case completely Tray was a
necessary witness, especially as, even when examined at Jubileetown,
Hurd shrewdly suspected he had not confessed all the truth. However,
what could be done was done, and several plain-clothes detectives were
set to search for the missing boy.
Pash remained quiet for, at all events, the next four-and-twenty hours.
Whether he saw Mrs. Krill or not during that time Hurd did not know and,
truth to say, he cared very little. The lawyer had undoubtedly acted
dishonestly, and if the matter were made public, there would be every
chance that he would be struck off the rolls. To prevent this Pash was
quite ready to sell Mrs. Krill and anyone else connected with the
mystery. Also, he wished to keep the business of Miss Norman, supposing
the money--as he hinted might be the case through his assistance--came
back to her; and this might be used as a means to make him speak out.
Hurd was now pretty sure that Mrs. Krill was the guilty person.
"She knew Pash through Hay," argued the detective, while thinking over
the case, "and undoubtedly came to see him before Norman's death, so
that Pash might suggest ways and means of getting the better of the old
man by means of the bigamy business. Mrs. Krill was in the Chancery Lane
office when the brooch left by Tray was on the table, and Mrs. Krill,
anxious to get it, no doubt slipped it into her pocket when Pash was
talking to his clerk in the outer room. Then I expect she decided to
punish her husband by fastening his lips together as he had done those
of her daughter twenty and more years ago. I can't exactly see why she
strangled him," mused Hurd, "as she could have got the money without
proceeding to such an extreme measure. But the man's dead, and she
killed him sure enough. Now, I'll get a warrant out and arrest her
straight away. There's quite enough evidence to justify her being taken
in charge. Hum! I wonder if she made use of that young devil of a Tray
in any way? Well," he rose and stretched himself, "I may force her to
speak now that she is in a corner."
Having made up his mind Hurd went to work at once, and the next day,
late in the afternoon, he was driving in a cab to No. 32A Hunter Street,
Kensington, with the warrant in his pocket. He also had with him a
letter which he had received from Miss Qian, and written from Beechill
in Buckinghamshire. Aurora had made good use of her time and had learned
a number of facts connected with Mrs. Krill's early life which Hurd
thought would prove of interest to the woman. In one way and another the
case was becoming plain and clear, and the detective made sure that he
would gain the reward. The irony of the thing was, that Mrs. Krill,
with a view to throwing dust in the eyes of the law, had offered a bribe
of one thousand pounds for the discovery of the assassin. She little
thought when doing so that she was weaving a rope for her own neck.
Hurd had brought a plain-clothes policeman with him, and this man
remained outside in a hansom while Hurd rang the bell. In a few minutes
the door was opened and the detective sent up his card. Mrs. Krill
proved to be at home and consented to receive him, so, shortly, the man
found himself in an elegantly-furnished drawing-room bowing before the
silent and sedate daughter.
"You wish to see my mother," said Maud, with her eternal smile. "She
will be down in a few minutes."
"I await her convenience," said Hurd, admiring the handsome looks of the
young woman, although he plainly saw that she was--as he phrased it--"no
chicken."
After a few words Miss Krill rang the bell. "I want these things taken
away," she said, pointing to a workbasket and some millinery with which
she had been engaged when Hurd was announced, "then I shall leave you to
speak to my mother."
The detective wondered if she was too fine a lady to remove these things
herself, but his surprise ceased when the door opened and no less a
person than Matilda Junk appeared. He guessed at once that the landlady
of "The Red Pig" had come up to see her sister and had related details
about her visitor. Probably Mrs. Krill guessed that Hurd had been asking
questions, and Matilda had been introduced to see if he was the man. He
became certain of this when Miss Junk threw up her hands. "The
commercial gent," she exclaimed.
"Oh, no," said Maud, smiling smoothly. "This is Mr. Hurd, the detective,
who is searching for the assassin of my dear father."
"Lor,'" said Matilda, growing red. "And he's the man as came to ask
questions at the 'otel. I do call it bold of you, Mister Policeman."
"Well," said Hurd, swinging his hat lazily, and looking from one to the
other, quite taking in the situation, "you answered very few of my
questions, so that is all right."
"Why did you go down to Christchurch?" asked Miss Krill.
"If I have to find out who killed your father," said Hurd, with an
accent on the word "father," "it was necessary that I should learn about
his past life as Lemuel Krill."
"My mother could have informed you, sir."
"I guessed as much, and, as Miss Junk would not speak, I have come to
question Mrs. Krill. Ah, here she is." Hurd rose and bowed. "I am glad
to see you, madam."
Mrs. Krill, who was as plump and smiling and smooth-faced and severe as
ever, bowed and rubbed her white hands together. At a sign from Maud,
Matilda gathered up the fancy work and went out of the room with many
backward glances. These were mostly indignant, for she was angry at
Hurd's deception. "Do you wish my daughter to stay?" asked Mrs. Krill,
smoothly.
"That is as she pleases," said the detective.
"No, thank you, mother," said Maud, shuddering, "I have heard quite
enough of my poor father's terrible death," and she swept out of the
drawing-room with a gracious smile.
"The poor child is so sensitive," sighed Mrs. Krill, taking a seat with
her back to the window. Whether this was done to conceal her age, or the
expression of her face during a conversation which could not fail to
prove trying, Hurd was unable to determine. "I trust, Mr. Hurd, you have
come with good news," said the widow.
"What would you call good news?" asked the detective, dryly.
"That you had traced the assassin," she replied coolly.
Hurd was amazed at this brazen assurance, and thought that Mrs. Krill
must be quite convinced that she had covered up every trail likely to
lead to the discovery of her connection with the murder.
"I'll leave you to judge whether I have been successful," he said
calmly.
"I shall be pleased to hear," was the equally calm reply. But as Mrs.
Krill spoke she glanced towards a gorgeous tapestry curtain at the end
of the room, and Hurd fancied he saw it shake. It suddenly occurred to
him that Maud was behind. Why she should choose this secret way of
listening when she could have remained it was difficult to say, and he
half thought he was mistaken. However, listening openly or secretly, did
not matter so far as the daughter was concerned, so Hurd addressed
himself to Mrs. Krill in a loud and cheerful voice. She composed herself
to listen with a bland smile, and apparently was quite ignorant that
there was anything wrong.
"I was lately down at Christchurch, madam--"
"So my servant, Matilda Junk, said."
"It was necessary that I should go there to search out your husband's
past life. In that past I fancied, might be found the motive for the
commission of the crime."
"I could have saved you the journey," said Mrs. Krill, shrugging her
plump shoulders. "I can tell you what you wish to know."
"In that case I will relate all that I have learned, and perhaps you
will correct me if I am wrong."
Mrs. Krill bowed but did not commit herself to speech. For the sake of
effect the detective took out a sheaf of notes, but in reality he had
the various points of the case at his finger tips. "You will excuse me
if I talk on very private matters," he said, apologetically, "but as we
are alone," again Mrs. Krill glanced at the curtain and thereby
confirmed Hurd's suspicions of an unseen listener, "you will not mind my
being, perhaps, personal."
"Personal," echoed Mrs. Krill, a keen look coming into her hard eyes,
and she stopped rubbing her hands together.
"Well, yes," admitted Hurd, with affected reluctance. "I had to look
into your past as well as into that of your husband's."
Mrs. Krill's eyes grew harder than ever. She scented danger. "My past is
a most uninteresting one," she said, coldly. "I was born at Stowley, in
Buckinghamshire, and married Mr. Krill at Beechill, which is a few miles
from that town. He was a traveller in jewellery, but as I did not like
his being away from me, I induced him to rent 'The Red Pig' at
Christchurch, to which we removed. Then he left me--"
"On account of Lady Rachel Sandal's murder?"
Mrs. Krill controlled herself excellently, although she was startled by
this speech, as was evident from the expression of her eyes. "That poor
lady committed suicide," she said deliberately. "The jury at the inquest
brought in a verdict of suicide--"
"By a majority of one," added Hurd, quickly. "There seemed to be a
considerable amount of doubt as to the cause of the death."
"The death was caused by strangulation," said Mrs. Krill, in hard tones.
"Since you know all about the matter, you must be aware that I and my
daughter had retired after seeing Lady Rachel safe and sound for the
night. The death was discovered by a boon companion of my husband's,
with whom he was drinking at the time."
"I know that. Also that you came down with your daughter when the alarm
was given. I also know that Krill fastened your daughter's lips together
with the opal brooch which was found in the parlor."
"Who told you that?" asked Mrs. Krill, agitated.
"Jessop--the boon companion you speak of."
"Yes," she said, suppressing her agitation with a powerful effort.
"Matilda said you had him to dine with you. What else did he say?" she
asked with some hesitation.
"Much less than I should have liked to know," retorted Hurd, prepared to
throw off the mask; "but he told me a great deal which interested me
very much. Amongst other things that Grexon Hay had been engaged to your
daughter for two years."
"Well?" asked Mrs. Krill, coolly, "what of that?"
"Nothing particular," rejoined Hurd, just as coolly, "only I wonder you
took the trouble to pretend that you met Hay at Pash's office for the
first time."
"That was some romantic rubbish of my daughter's. There was no reason
why we should not have acknowledged Mr. Hay as an old acquaintance."
"None in the world that I can see," said Hurd, smoothly. "He told you
that Aaron Norman was your husband."
"No," said Mrs. Krill, decidedly, "I first heard of my husband by seeing
a chance hand-bill--"
"Not at all," answered Hurd, just as decidedly, "Hay has confessed."
"There was nothing to confess," cried Mrs. Krill, loudly and with
emphasis.
"Oh, I think so," said the detective, noting that she was losing her
temper. "You didn't want it known that you were aware of Norman's
identity before his death. Do you deny that?"
"I deny everything," gasped Mrs. Krill, her hands trembling.
"That's a pity, as I want you to corroborate certain facts connected
with Anne Tyler. Do you know the name?"
"My maiden name," said the widow, and a look of fear crept into her
hard, staring eyes. "How did you come to know of it?"
"From the marriage certificate supplied by Pash."
"He had no right to give it to you."
"He didn't. I possess only a copy. But that copy I sent down in charge
of a certain person to Beechill. This person found that you were married
as Anne Tyler to Lemuel Krill in the parish church, twenty miles from
your birthplace."
Mrs. Krill drew a long breath of relief. "Well?" she demanded defiantly,
"is there anything wrong about that?"
"No. But this person also made inquiries at Stowley about you. You are
the daughter of a farmer."
"I mentioned that fact myself."
"Yes. But you didn't mention that your mother had been hanged for
poisoning your father."
Mrs. Krill turned ghastly pale. "No," she said in a suffocating voice,
"such is the case; but can you wonder that I forebore to mention that
fact? My daughter knows nothing of that--nor did my husband--"
"Which husband do you mean, Krill or Jessop?" asked Hurd.
Mrs. Krill gasped and rose, swaying. "What do you mean, man?"
"This," said the detective, on his feet at once; "this person hunted out
the early life of Anne Tyler at Stowley. It was discovered that Anne was
the daughter of a woman who had been hanged, and of a man who had been
murdered. Also this person found that Anne Tyler married a sailor called
Jarvey Jessop some years before she committed bigamy with Lemuel Krill
in Beechill Church--"
"It's a lie!" screamed Mrs. Krill, losing her self-control. "How dare
you come here with these falsehoods?"
"They are not falsehoods, Anne Tyler, _alias_ Anne Jessop, _alias_ Anne
Krill, etc.," retorted Hurd, speaking rapidly and emphasizing his
remarks with his finger in his usual fashion when in deadly earnest.
"You were married to Jessop in Stowley Church; you bore him a daughter
who was christened Maud Jessop in Stowley Church. The person I mentioned
sent me copies of the marriage and birth certificates. So your marriage
with Lemuel Krill was false, and his second marriage with Lillian Garner
is a good one in law. Which means, Mrs. Jessop," Hurd hurled the word at
her and she shrank, "that Sylvia Norman or Sylvia Krill, as she
rightfully is, owns that money which you wrongfully withhold from her.
The will gave the five thousand a year to 'my daughter,' and Sylvia is
the only daughter and only child--the legitimate child, mark you--of
Lemuel Krill."
"Lies--lies--lies!" raged Mrs. Krill, as she may still be called, though
rightfully Jessop, "I'll defend the case on my daughter's behalf."
"_Your_ daughter, certainly," said Hurd, "but not Krill's."
"I say yes."
"And I say no. She was fifteen when Lady Rachel was murdered, as Jessop,
her father, admitted. I knew the man was keeping something back, but I
was far from suspecting that it was this early marriage. No wonder the
man came to you and had free quarters at 'The Red Pig.' He could have
prosecuted you for bigamy, just as you would have prosecuted Krill, had
you not murdered him."
Mrs. Krill gave a yell and her eyes blazed. "You hound!" she shouted,
"do you accuse me of that?"
"I do more than accuse you, I arrest you." Hurd produced the warrant. "A
man is waiting in the cab. We'll get a four-wheeler, and you'll come
along with me to gaol, Mrs. Jessop."
"You can't prove it--you can't prove it," she panted, "and I sha'n't
go--I sha'n't--I sha'n't!" and her eyes sought the tapestry.
"Miss Jessop can come out," said Hurd, coolly, "and, as to your not
coming, a few policemen will soon put that right."
"How dare you insult me and my daughter?"
"Come, come," said the detective, sternly, "I've had quite enough of
this. You offered me one thousand pounds to learn who killed your
so-called husband, Krill. I have earned the reward--"
"Not one shilling shall you have."
"Oh, I think so. Miss Sylvia will pay it to me, and you--"
"I am innocent. I never touched the man."
"A jury will decide that, Mrs. Jessop."
"Krill--my name is Krill."
Hurd laughed and turned towards the tapestry.
"What do you say, Miss Jessop?" he asked.
Seeing that further concealment was at an end, Maud lifted the tapestry,
which concealed a small door, through which she had silently stolen to
listen. She advanced calmly. "I have heard all your conversation with my
mother," she declared with flashing eyes, "and not one word of it is
true. I am the daughter of Lemuel Krill."
"You'll find that hard to prove in the face of your birth certificate
and your mother's marriage to Captain Jessop, your father."
"It will all be put right."
"Quite so, and Miss Norman will get the money."
"That girl--never!" cried Maud, fiercely. She looked very like her
mother at the moment, but the more angry she grew the calmer became Mrs.
Krill, who kept darting anxious glances at her daughter. "And you
sha'n't take my mother away," she cried threateningly.
"I don't want to make a scandal in the neighborhood," said Hurd, taking
a small whistle from his pocket, "but if I blow this my man out there
will call the nearest policeman, and then--"
"There is no need," interrupted Mrs. Krill, who had recovered her
self-control. "Maud, come over beside me. On what grounds, Mr. Hurd, do
you accuse me of the crime? I was not in town on--"
"Oh, yes, you were, Mrs. Jessop. Pash can prove that you were in his
office and took the brooch left by Tray from the table. I don't know
where you stopped on that night--"
"At Judson's Hotel, Strand," cried Maud, placing herself beside her
mother, "and anyone there can prove that my mother and myself were
within doors after we came from Terry's Theatre, where we spent the
evening. As my father--for Krill _was_ my father--was killed after
twelve, and we were both in bed in one room before then, your accusation
falls to the ground. My mother was with me, and she did not leave the
whole evening. Next day we went to Christchurch."
Hurd was rather staggered by the positive way in which the young woman
spoke. But the facts were too plain for him to hesitate. "I must trouble
you to come along with me," he said. "No, don't go!"
"To put on my cloak and hat?" urged Mrs. Krill. "I'll come quietly
enough. I don't want a scandal. I am sure when the magistrate hears what
I have to say he will let me go free."
"I trust so. But you must not leave the room. Matilda will, no doubt,
bring your things."
Mrs. Krill touched the electric button of the bell, while Maud walked up
and down, deathly white and fuming. "Mr. Hay shall see to this," she
said in a cold rage.
"Mr. Hay will have quite enough to do to look after himself," said the
detective, coolly; "you had better let your mother go quietly, and I
won't say anything to Matilda Junk."
"Yes, do, Maud," urged the mother, placing an imploring hand on her tall
daughter's shoulder; "it's better so. Everything will be put right when
the magistrate hears my story."
"What will you tell him, mother?" asked Maud.
"That I am innocent, and that I am, as you are, ignorant of who killed
your unfortunate father."
Matilda entered the room and heard that Mrs. Krill had to go out on
business with Mr. Hurd. On receiving her orders she departed, and
presently returned with the cloak and hat. Mrs. Krill, who was now quite
cool, put these on. Hurd could not but admire the brave way in which she
faced the terrible situation. Maud seemed to be far more upset, and Hurd
wondered if the young woman knew the truth. Mrs. Krill kept soothing
her. "It will be all right, my love. Don't excite yourself. It will be
all right," she said several times.
Miss Junk departed, and Mrs. Krill said that she was ready to depart.
Hurd offered her his arm, which she rejected, and walked to the door
with a firm step, although her face was rather white. At the door she
caught her daughter round the neck and kissed her several times, after
which she whispered earnestly in her ear, and then went down the stairs
with the detective in attendance. Maud, with white lips and cheeks, but
with dry eyes, followed. When her mother was safely in the cab, the
plain-clothes policeman alighted, so that Hurd might take his place.
Maud came quietly down the steps and seized the detective by the arm.
"You have ruined my mother," she said in a cold, hard tone; "you have
robbed me of my money and of the chance of marrying the man I love. I
can't hurt you; but that girl, Sylvia--she shall never get one
penny--so, remember!"
Hurd shook her off, and, stepping into the cab, drove away. Mrs. Krill
looked apprehensively at him. "What did Maud say?" she asked. Hurd told
her, and Mrs. Krill closed her lips firmly. "Maud is quite right," she
said with a strange smile. "Sylvia will never get the money."