THE CONFESSION OF HERSHAM.
When Fanks saw Mrs. Boazoph lying at his feet his first intention was
to wait until she recovered. Later on he changed his mind, and when he
had placed her in the hands of the servant he went home full of
thought and dark surmises. It seemed to him that the case was centring
in Ted Hersham; that the whole situation depended on the right reading
of the tattooed cross riddle. Mrs. Boazoph knew something about the
cross, she knew something about Hersham; but what it was Fanks could
by no means make up his mind. It seemed to him that in exploring the
depths of Mrs. Boazoph's mind he had found a still lower deep; and he
was puzzled what to think.
"Confound the woman," he thought, meditating over a pipe; "I said that
we should find her at the end of the path which leads to the discovery
of the mystery, and it seems that I was right. She screened Binjoy for
some reason which I cannot discover; she will now attempt to save
Hersham, lest he should fall into my clutches. Why should she take all
this trouble for those two men? And what does she know about the
tattooed cross? Does Binjoy know about it also? And was it he who made
the obliterating mark? I can't think Hersham guilty, and yet things
look black against him. But no," said Fanks, rising, "the disguised
man who slew in Tooley's Alley and Hersham are two different people; I
proved that conclusively to Garth. What's to be done now?"
It was difficult to decide. At first he almost resolved to return to
Mrs. Boazoph and urge her confession; again, he thought it best to
wait until he heard what Hersham had to say. It might be, he thought,
that Hersham's confession would throw some light on his relation to
Mrs. Boazoph. The hints of Anne Colmer, the terror of Hersham, the
fainting of Mrs. Boazoph were all of a piece, and Fanks felt confident
that beneath these perplexities lay the key to the riddle. It was not
that he had no clue; he was in reality quite bewildered by the
multiplicity of clues, so bewildered that he did not know which clue
to seize first. At length he came to the conclusion that it would be
best to wait till he saw Hersham and heard what he had to say, and
afterwards to follow up the clue placed in his hands by the fainting
of Mrs. Boazoph.
"I'll write to Hersham, and remind him that he promised to see me in a
few days and tell the truth," said Fanks, going to his desk; "and if
he reveals all I am certain that his confession will contain the
information that Mrs. Boazoph wrote and warned him against me."
He was confident, as he said, that she would do this. If she tried to
save Binjoy, she would certainly try to help Hersham; but her reason
for doing the one was as inscrutable as her reason had been for acting
in the way she did towards Binjoy. The further he went into the case
the darker it grew; and in sheer despair Fanks wrote his reminder to
Hersham, and did nothing more for the next few days but meditate over
the tangle in which he found himself involved. His meditations led to
no result, and when Hersham called on him at the Duke Street chambers
in three days, the detective was at his wit's end how to proceed.
However, he was delighted to see Hersham, as he had doubted whether
the young man would fulfil his promise. Now that he had come to do so
there might be some chance of seeing a gleam of light. Fanks did not
tell the journalist what he had discovered concerning his movements on
the night of the twenty-first, as he wanted to see if Hersham would
confess as much. If he did so, such frankness would confirm his belief
that the young fellow had nothing to do with the commission of the
crime. If, on the other hand, Hersham concealed the proven facts Fanks
intended to force him into confession by revealing what he had heard
from Berry Jawkins. By the result he would be guided in his future
movements. The ensuing conversation was likely to prove as interesting
and important as that which he had held with Mrs. Boazoph.
"I am glad to see you, Hersham," he said, in a gentle tone, "as I hope
what you have to tell me may throw some light on the darkness of this
Tooley Alley crime."
"I can throw no light on the cursed thing," said Hersham, gloomily. "I
am only here to exonerate myself."
"From what? What do you mean?"
"Why should you ask me that?" said Hersham, angrily. "Is it not you
who suspect me of killing this man?"
"Decidedly not. I do not think you killed Fellenger. As I told you
before I do not believe you had anything to do with it."
"Then why did you have me watched?" demanded the young man.
"Ask that of yourself," said Fanks, coolly. "You roused my suspicions;
you hinted that you knew something; you thwarted me with regard to
Anne Colmer. Cast your mind back to our first conversation, man; you
will say that I had every reason for acting as I did. If you had told
me the truth at first; had you become my ally instead of my enemy, you
would not have had all this trouble. But, for all that, I do not
suspect you of being a murderer. Had I done so," finished Fanks, "you
would have been in a cell long e'er this."
"I held my tongue because I was afraid of you," said Hersham,
sullenly.
"If you are innocent, there is no reason to be afraid of me."
"I am innocent; and yet I am afraid of you. Yes, I am dreading to tell
you what I am about to reveal."
"Why so?"
"Circumstances may so close round an innocent man," continued Hersham,
not heeding the interruption, "that it would seem as though he were
guilty. Think yourself, Fanks. Innocent men have been hanged e'er now,
because circumstantial evidence was strong against them."
"True enough," replied Fanks. "I suppose it is natural that you should
be afraid. No man would run the risk of putting his head into the
noose if he could help it. You say that circumstances are strong
against you. What are these circumstances?"
Hersham bit his lip, and turned a wan face on his friend. "I place my
life in your hands, mind you," he said, hoarsely.
"It will be safe there," replied Fanks, getting up and fetching a
decanter of brandy from the sideboard. "Nothing will induce me to
believe that you had anything to do with the commission of this
crime."
"Will you swear to that?" cried Hersham, stretching out a shaking
hand.
"Certainly if it will comfort you. Here, my friend, drink this, and
tell me what you know. It may help me to nab the person I have my eye
on."
Hersham drank the brandy. "Have you found out who killed Fellenger?"
Fanks shrugged his shoulders. "I think so," he said, "but who can
tell; I may be wrong."
"Is it a man or woman?" asked Hersham, quickly.
"I shan't tell you."
"Is it--"
"I shan't tell you, my friend. But I shall tell you this for the
quieting of your fears, that it is not you whom I suspect. Now sit
down again, and let me hear what you have to say."
Hersham resumed his seat obediently, and began his recital. He
confessed exactly what Fanks expected he would confess; what Fanks
already knew, but the detective listened to this twice-told tale with
the keenest attention. Thereby he hoped to learn some new detail which
had been overlooked by the zealous Berry Jawkins.
"About the beginning of June," said Hersham, in a hesitating voice, "I
was engaged on a series of papers for the 'Morning Planet' on Street
Music. To gain the information I required, I thought it would be an
excellent plan to go about the streets of London in guise, and to get
at the root of the matter. I told my editor that I would burnt-cork my
face and go with some street minstrels. He approved of the idea, and I
did so."
"And how were you dressed?"
"In a great coat with brass buttons. I also wore brown boots. Now, you
can see why I was afraid to tell you. That is the dress the negro you
are looking for wore."
"Yes!" said Flanks, perplexedly, "I know that; but I do not see why
you should have been afraid to tell me. You can explain your movements
on that night."
"That is exactly what I can't do," said Hersham, his face growing
dark.
"I don't understand."
"I shall explain. On the night of the twenty-first I intended to go
out in the streets in disguise. Before doing so, I told the office boy
that if a telegram came for me he was to bring it at once to me; I
expected a wire about six o'clock; and I told the boy that I would be
in the Strand near St. Clements Church."
"From whom did you expect the telegram?"
"From Anne Colmer. That day I had received a letter from her, saying
that she was greatly worried about something; what it was she did not
tell me; but she said that if she wanted me she would wire, and that I
was then to come down at once to Taxton-on-Thames."
"Go on," said Fanks, greatly interested in the introduction of Anne's
name.
"Well, I blacked my face, and went out with the genuine niggers to
sing and play. About six, or a little after, I was near St. Clement's
Church, and there the office boy came to me with a telegram."
"Why did you expect the telegram at six?"
"Because I was in the office about five, and it had not come then. I
thought it might come after I left, so I appointed St. Clement's
Church as the meeting-place where the boy might find me."
"And you obeyed?"
"What was in the telegram?"
"A request that I should come down to Taxton-on-Thames at once."
"Yes, there was no reason why I should not. I thought that Anne was in
trouble; I went down at once on my bicycle."
"Why did not you go by train? It would have been easier."
"Not for me. I was in the habit of running down to Taxton-on-Thames on
my machine; it is only two hours' run."
"Had you your machine in town?"
"Yes; I had left it at a shop in the Strand where I usually leave it;
though sometimes I ride it on to the office in Fleet Street. On this
occasion it was in the Strand. As soon as I got the telegram I left my
troupe and went off on my bicycle.
"Didn't you wash your face?"
"Not at that time; I was in such a hurry and so anxious to learn what
was the matter with Anne, that I did not think of doing so. I rode
along until I was recalled to the spectacle I must have presented, by
the laughing, and the guying of the boys. Then I thought that I might
startle Anne, and I determined to wash myself."
"And did you?"
"Not immediately. On the way to Richmond I had an accident, and the
tyre of my back wheel was punctured. The air escaped, and I was over
an hour mending it. Then I had to go slowly, and did not get to
Richmond till after eight o'clock. I went into the hotel called
the Eight Bells, and had a drink and a wash. Then I came out a
white man to the astonishment of the barman, and went on down to
Taxton-on-Thames. I got there shortly after nine o'clock."
"Didn't you nearly run over a man as you neared the village?"
"Yes, I did," said Hersham, in some astonishment. "But how do you know
that?"
"I'll tell you later on," replied Fanks, smiling. "But about the
result of your trip to Taxton-on-Thames?"
Hersham's face fell. "There was no result," he said, in a low voice.
"When I arrived I went at once to Briar Cottage and asked for Anne. I
was told that she had gone up to town by the five o'clock train."
"Gone up to town!" repeated Fanks. "That is curious. Why did she go up
to town after sending you a wire to bring you down?"
"I can't say. She returned by the night train, and I was at the
station to meet her. I asked her why she had gone to town, and she
refused to tell me. She merely said that she had sent the wire shortly
before five o'clock, and that she had found occasion to go up by the
five train."
"Can you conjecture what took her to town?"
"No; and she will not tell me."
Fanks said nothing. He was meditating on the strange story told to him
by Hersham, and on the stranger conduct of Anne Colmer. The mystery
concerning this young lady, which had begun in the chambers of Sir
Gregory, seemed to be thickening. Fanks was puzzled and gloomy.