PAUL MEXTON, JOURNALIST.
Barnstead was provided with a new sensation, and that of the
most extreme kind. The beauty of the village--for so Milly was
accounted--had been murdered by some unknown person, and everyone was
excited by the tragedy. Far and wide the rumour spread, gaining
details more or less truthful as it slipped from tongue to tongue,
until by noon of the next day it reached Marborough. From the streets
it penetrated into the office of the "Tory Times," which, as its name
denotes, is an old and long-established newspaper of the south of
England; and so became known to Paul Mexton, who was the chief
reporter of the journal. The news appealed to him more than it did to
the majority of the public.
In the first place, it roused his journalistic instincts, as eminently
satisfactory "copy" for the columns of the paper; in the second, he
was personally acquainted with the Lester family, and particularly
with Iris. The late Mr. Link had been a solicitor in Marborough, and
in that town Iris had been born, and had lived for seventeen years,
when, her father dying, her mother had married Dr. Lester and had
removed to Barnstead. The second Mrs. Lester did not live long after
her foolish second marriage, and when she died Iris was left to look
after Milly and the miserable domestic affairs of Poverty Villa. But
all this has been set forth before, and the main point now is the
acquaintance of Mexton with Iris Link.
They had been boy and girl together, and Paul had been like a brother
to Iris for many years. Twice or thrice a month he was accustomed to
ride over to Barnstead, when permitted by his journalistic duties; and
at one time Iris thought that their youthful friendship might develop
into the warmer feeling of love. But, as has before been stated, she
lost her heart to Herne, and later on Paul confessed to her that he
was in love with a Polish lady who for some months previously had
given violin recitals in the Marborough Town Hall. Therefore, up to
the present Paul and Iris were simply good friends and nothing more.
Paul valued his friendship with Miss Link, as he was ambitious and she
sympathised with his aims and aspirations. He wished to make a name in
London as a novelist, to live in the metropolis, and to mix with the
literary society of the day. To Iris he told all his dreams and
schemes and successes and failures; and in her turn Iris consulted him
about her domestic worries, the eccentricities of Dr. Lester, and the
trials she experienced with Milly and her lovers. Paul, therefore, was
well acquainted with the events which had preceded the tragedy; and
now that the tragedy itself had taken place he was hardly surprised by
its occurrence.
"I knew Milly would get herself into trouble, poor girl!" he thought
on hearing the news; "but I hardly expected her follies would result
in her murder. I wonder who killed her, and what was the motive for
the crime? By Jove! I'll ride over and see Iris; she needs a friend
just now, and she can give me all details for the paper."
No sooner had Paul made up his mind to this course than he saw the
editor, and requested permission to go over to Barnstead. It was
accorded at once, and, knowing Mexton's ready pen, the editor
anticipated an unusually interesting account of the crime, to be in
the next day's issue of the "Tory Times." Prompt and rapid in his
actions as a war correspondent, Paul was on the road to Barnstead
within an hour of receiving the intelligence of the murder. But the
police, advised by telegram, were beforehand with him, and he found
the inspector--Drek was his name--investigating the matter when he
arrived at Poverty Villa.
Drek was in the untidy garden talking to a policeman when Paul rode
up, and he eyed the young man in anything but a pleasant manner when
he dismounted. The inspector was an alert but somewhat sour man, who
had no great love for press or pressman; and he distinctly resented
the prompt arrival of Mexton on the scene. With a frown he looked at
the keen and handsome face of the young man, and nodded curtly in
response to his greeting.
"Where the corpse is there gather the vultures," said Drek, who dealt
at times in proverbs.
"Are you talking of the police, Mr. Inspector?" asked Paul, smiling.
"No, sir; I talk of the Fourth Estate, of you confounded gabblers of
the press. It is my business to investigate crimes like these; but it
is not yours to spread any discoveries all over the country, and put
the criminal on his guard."
"Oh! then you have some inkling of who killed Miss Lester?"
"No, sir; up till now I have not gained the slightest clue."
"Then why do you say that the criminal is a man?" said Paul shrewdly.
"The assassin may be a woman, for all you know."
"Women don't fire pistols as a rule."
"The New Woman does," retorted Mexton. "So the poor girl was shot?"
"Right through the brain--must have been killed instantly."
"Where did the murder take place?"
"In the lower part of the Winding Lane."
"About what time?"
"I don't know yet. How should I know?" replied Drek with a vexed air.
"Now, look here, Mr. Mexton; I'm not going to answer any more
questions. You'll put all I say in your paper."
"I'll keep out anything you wish, Mr. Inspector," said Paul, who saw
the necessity of conciliating the man; "and, as a matter of fact, I am
here not so much to get copy as to see Miss Link."
"Why do you wish to see Miss Link?" asked the inspector suspiciously.
"For the very natural reason that she is in trouble, and that I am her
oldest friend. You don't object to my seeing her?"
"She'll object herself," replied Drek grimly. "At present she shut
herself up in her room and refuses to see anyone."
"What about Dr. Lester?"
"Oh!"--Drek shrugged his shoulders--"the doctor is in his
consulting-room--drinking!"
"What does he say about the murder?"
"Nothing. I can get no sense out of him; the man's brain is upset."
"I don't wonder at it," rejoined Paul drily; "the tragic death of his
daughter is quite enough to upset it. Is the--the--body in the house?"
"No; it has been taken to the Herne Arms for the inquest."
Mexton nodded, and brushed past the inspector on his way to the house.
"I'll try and see Miss Link." he said quickly. "Poor girl, she will
need some comfort. You have absolutely no clue?" he asked looking
back.
"Absolutely none," returned Drek disconsolately. "The girl was found
dead by Mr. Chaskin about midnight. I say, Mexton----"
"Well," said Paul impatiently, his hand on the doorknob.
"Tell me what Miss Link tells you."
"She may tell me nothing, Drek. However, I'll get all I can out of
her, and do my best to aid you to catch the murderer of poor Milly
Lester. And you?"
"I intend to question the servant," said Drek. "It seems she knows
something; at least, she hinted as much to Warner here," and he
indicated the policeman with a nod.
"H'm!" said Paul slowly. "So Eliza knows something. Drek, you tell me
all that you get out of the servant, and I'll reveal the result of my
examination of the mistress. Let us work together."
"I'm quite agreeable," said Drek, who knew the keen intelligence of
Mexton, "but you must not put too much in your paper."
"You shall see everything in proof," cried Paul, and with a nod he
vanished into the house.
There was nobody in the drawing-room or dining-room when Mexton
entered; therefore he looked into the doctor's consulting-room, where
he found the wretched Lester half-intoxicated, with the brandy bottle
before him. Indignant at the man's condition at such a time, Paul
walked over to the table, seized the bottle, and threw it out of the
window. In sheer amazement Lester stared blankly at him, holding a
glass of brandy in his shaking hand.
"What--what did you do that for?" he asked thickly.
"To prevent you making a beast of yourself," replied the young man
sharply. "Have you no sense of shame, man? Your daughter is lying
dead--murdered--and yet you sit drinking here as though nothing had
occurred. Shame, Dr. Lester! Shame!"
The drunkard listened vacantly to this speech, and mechanically raised
the glass he held to his lips. In a moment Paul had dashed it out of
his hand, and put himself on the defensive for the attack which he
expected the creature to make on him. In place of doing so, and
asserting some little manhood, the doctor bowed his shameful face on
his hands, and began to weep in a maudlin manner.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! that I should be treated like this in my own
house! Poor Milly dead, and I denied any comfort."
"You won't get much comfort out of the brandy bottle," said Paul
contemptuously. "Pull yourself together, Dr. Lester, and aid me."
"Aid you--in what?" asked Lester confusedly.
"In discovering who killed your daughter."
The doctor wrung his hands in a helpless sort of manner. "No chance of
that," said he; "no chance of that."
"Why? Do you think the murderer has got clean away?"
To the journalist's surprise, Lester put the same question to him as
he had put to Drek. "How do you know the criminal is a man?" asked the
doctor.
"I did not say so."
"You said murderer; if you had ascribed the crime to a woman you would
have used the more correct word, murderess."
"I think not, doctor; I am no purist. But what do you mean by such a
speech, sir? Do you know who killed your daughter?"
"No!" Lester looked confused. "Good Lord, Mexton! how should I know?"
he burst out. "If I did--if I did----"
"Well?" cried Mexton, impatiently, "if you did----?"
"I want some more brandy," said Lester, with a vacant look.
Paul was about to reply with some sharpness when he felt a light touch
on his arm. It was Iris who had attracted his attention; and she had
just entered quietly by the door. Her face was pallid as that of a
corpse, her eyes were red and swollen with weeping, and she looked not
at Mexton, but at the miserable creature who was her step-father. The
expression in her eyes was one of mingled terror and repugnance.
"Don't speak to him any more, Paul," she said, hurriedly; "he is not
in a condition to answer questions."
Mexton glanced at Lester, expecting him to make some defence; but the
man was rapidly lapsing into a comatose condition. Without another
word, he submitted to the pressure on his arm, and was drawn out of
the room by Iris. In the passage she stopped and withdrew her hand.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I came to see you, Iris; to assure you of my sympathy."
"Is that true?"--she looked searchingly at him--"or did you come to
learn all the particulars of our shame, to publish them to the world?"
"Whatever I publish will be in your favour," retorted Paul. "I am your
friend--not your enemy."
"My friend? God knows I need one! I suppose everyone in Marborough
knows that Milly is dead?"
"Yes; many people know."
"And that she was--murdered?"
"They know that also."
Iris looked at him strangely. "Who do they say killed her?" she
demanded.
"Nobody knows; nobody ventures an opinion."
"Has any name been mentioned?"
"No. I have come over here to offer my services----"
"To the police?" she burst out, clutching his arm.
"To you," replied Mexton. "Let me help you to find the criminal."
"He will never be found."
"It is a man, then?" said Mexton, for the third time.
"He will never be found," repeated Iris coldly--"never."
"But if I search I may----"
"Paul," she said in a low tone--"as you value my friendship, never
look for the assassin of Milly--never, never, never!"