AT THE VICARAGE.
From Poverty Villa, with its guilty occupant, Paul wandered through
the village, into the neighbourhood of The Herne Arms. A crowd of
people, more or less excited, filled the tap-room of the inn, and the
space before it. Many were drinking ale at the bar, others idled
outside in the street, and all were vigorously discussing the tragedy
and surmising as to who was the criminal. Some hinted at Lovel, a
known admirer of the dead girl; others boldly accused a nameless tramp
of the crime, and declared that robbery was the motive for its
committal; but no one had the courage or the fancy to hint at the
possible guilt of the drunken father. Such an idea, owing to the
relationship, was too monstrous to be entertained even by the most
imaginative.
Paul, with unusual caution--for ordinarily he was an impulsive
man--said nothing, but wandered from group to group, gathering
opinions but offering none in exchange. There was no need for him to
conjecture the name of the assassin. He knew that Dr. Lester had
committed the crime, and that before twelve hours elapsed he would be
arraigned on circumstantial evidence; perhaps, if his conscience
proved trustworthy, on his own confession. Great as had been the
horror inspired by the murder, the arrest of the wretched father of
the victim would enhance that horror four-fold. Mexton knew this, but
out of sheer humanity for the miserable criminal he held his peace.
The crowd babbled on, discussed the affair over their tankards, and
looked up with awe at the windows, the drawn curtains of which
notified that the dead body of Milly Lester was lying within.
Policemen guarded the door of the room and the approach to the stairs,
so that no one could enter. Paul Mexton had little desire to do so; he
did not wish to see the still white face, which he had last beheld
full of life and beauty and girlish vanity. Sick at heart, he turned
away from inn and crowd and all the chatter of the market-place, to
take his way to the Vicarage. On arriving there he inquired for Mr.
Chaskin.
So far as his journal was concerned, Paul had collected sufficient
"copy" for a long and interesting article; therefore it was with no
zeal for his profession that he sought the clergyman. But the theory
of the idlers before the inn, that a tramp might have killed Milly in
order to rob her, inspired him with a faint hope that Lester might be
innocent. All the evidence, that of Eliza, that of the mud-stained
clothes, that of the pistol, pointed to the guilt of the unhappy
father. Nevertheless, a man has been hanged before on circumstantial
evidence and afterwards has proved guiltless of the crime for which he
suffered; so it might be, thought Paul, that Dr. Lester was not guilty
of this monstrous act of criminality. If the body had been robbed of
jewellery and purse, these facts might hint at a vulgar murder by a
tramp. Chaskin had found the corpse of the girl; therefore Chaskin was
the necessary witness to prove the theory of a robbery. In the
character of Dr. Lester's friend and well-wisher, Paul presented
himself at the Vicarage to question Mr. Chaskin. Upon the result of
the interview hung the question of Lester's guilt or innocence. The
chances were greatly in favour of the former.
At first the servant who opened the door refused to admit Mexton. She
declared that Mr. Chaskin was within, but stated that he was
particularly engaged, and had given orders not to be disturbed. Paul
scribbled a line on his card to the effect that his business was
important with regard to the discovery of the assassin, and told the
girl to ask Mr. Chaskin to afford him an interview on these grounds.
After some hesitation the servant conveyed the message and shortly
afterwards showed Mexton into the presence of the clergyman.
Mr. Chaskin was in his study, a comfortable room, which had somewhat
of a sacerdotal atmosphere in its appointments and furnishing. There
were many books lining the walls in bare and unpretentious
bookshelves; a small altar in one corner with a bronze crucifix
thereon; and several pictures of Catholic saints here and there. On
the desk before the window another crucifix was standing amid a litter
of papers, and beside the desk itself a chair was placed, hinting to
the ready mind of Paul that Mr. Chaskin had been engaged with a
visitor when he accorded him the interview.
Evidently the visitor had vanished through a small door on the right,
wishing to escape unseen. Paul wondered who this unknown person might
be, and why he or she had departed with such unnecessary haste and
mystery. At the very door Paul felt that an uncomfortable and uneasy
atmosphere pervaded the apartment.
The Vicar rose to his feet with an agitated air as Paul entered, and
looked at the young man with the card in his hand. He seemed much
moved, for his lean, ascetic face was white and drawn, his breathing
quick and hurried. Not till the servant had closed the door did he
speak, and then he addressed his visitor with a tremour in his strong
voice.
"You come at an inconvenient time, Mr. Mexton," he said, hurriedly. "I
was engaged with a friend; but your writing here"--he touched the
card--"hinted at a matter of such importance that I decided to see
you."
"I am sorry to interrupt you," replied Paul, taking the chair near the
desk, "and you may be sure I should not have done so without a good
reason."
"I am sure of that," said Chaskin, still standing, "but I hope your
reason is not connected with your duties to your journal."
"No; it is connected with my friendship for the dead girl and for her
father."
"Dr. Lester. Ah, I am sorry for him, in spite of his vice of drinking.
The loss of his daughter will be a great blow to him. Where is he now,
Mr. Mexton?"
"In his own house," said Paul, slowly, "under arrest."
"Under arrest!" repeated the Vicar, staring at the young man. "For
what?"
"For the murder of his daughter."
"Mr. Mexton!" The clergyman fell back into his chair as though he had
been shot, and turned even paler. "Impossible!" he groaned;
"impossible!"
"Unfortunately, it is true," said Paul, sadly--"and on these grounds;"
whereupon he rapidly detailed the evidence upon which Drek intended to
obtain a warrant for arrest. Chaskin listened with clasped hands, the
beads of perspiration bedewing his high forehead, and did not make any
comment upon the intelligence until Paul had finished. Then he spoke
slowly and with an effort.
"It points to the guilt of the poor creature," said he, raising his
head; "but for all that I cannot believe that Dr. Lester committed a
crime so abhorrent to human nature."
"I don't think he did it knowingly, Mr. Chaskin," replied Paul; "he
declares that he remembers nothing of the events of the night. Might
he not have killed his daughter while under the influence of drink?
Not knowingly, as I say, but guided mechanically by his confused
intelligence?"
"No," cried Chaskin, with a negative gesture. "No--no. Impossible!"
"Quite impossible," said a calm voice behind them. Paul turned his
head to see who had interrupted their conversation, and at the side
door beheld Darcy Herne. Evidently he was the visitor with whom
Chaskin had been talking prior to the visit of the journalist.
"Quite impossible," reiterated Herne, advancing into the room. "I
agree with my friend, Mr. Mexton. Whosoever killed my poor Milly, it
was not her miserable father."
Paul said nothing for a moment, being taken up with an examination of
the intruder. The squire was a man of middle height, lean even to
emaciation; and, clothed in black as he was, from head to foot, he
looked of greater stature than he actually was. His face was
clean-shaven and handsome, though not strikingly so; but his eyes were
hard and glittering, and perpetually changing their expression. They
were the eyes of a leader of men, but of a fanatic; of a man rendered
pitiless by religious mania. There was no softness, no tenderness in
them; but they flashed like stars, brilliant as diamonds; the eyes of
a Loyola, of a Torquemada. Darcy Herne was a reformer, a fanatic; in
earlier times he would have been a prophet; but in whatever age he
lived he would always have preserved the characteristics of a nature
frozen and narrowed by a devouring devotion to religion. There was
nothing loveable about the man; and it was little to be wondered at
that the dead girl had feared him. The curious thing was that she
could have brought herself to accept the attentions of this religious
machine.
"I did not know you were here, Mr. Herne," said Paul, without replying
to the remark made by the squire.
"I came down to-day," replied Darcy, taking a chair. "It was not my
intention to return until this evening, but my friend Chaskin
telegraphed me about the death of Milly, so here I am."
He spoke with great deliberation and calmness; so much so that Paul
stared at him in surprise, and wondered how he could be so social in
the face of such a tragedy as the murder of his future wife. Paul had
known Herne for many years, having met him frequently at the Lesters,
and he had always had an unpleasant feeling towards him. Now that the
man proved himself to be so devoid of any tender feeling towards the
dead girl, Mexton felt that his latent distaste was developing into
positive dislike. Perhaps he showed his feelings too plainly, for
Chaskin bent forward and touched him on the knee.
"You must not think that my friend is heartless because he does not
exhibit much sorrow," said he; "he feels this terrible event deeply."
"I feel it more than you or Mexton can imagine," said Herne, with an
impressive look on his face. "I selected Millicent Lester to be
my wife in order to save her from the snares which her beauty and
vanity were laying for her. I designed that she should help me in my
life-work of succoring the poor and lowly and oppressed. With her
beauty and my wealth, I imagined in my vain pride that we would be
powerful instruments in the hand of an all-guiding Providence; but
alas! God has brought her down to the grave and myself He has left
without a helpmate."
During this speech Herne had risen to his feet, and he delivered it
with outstretched hand, in oratorical style. Paul was quite used to
the vagaries of the man, but he resented the cold way in which he
spoke of the poor girl as a lost instrument, and not as a human being,
a beautiful woman done to death in a violent fashion. Chaskin seemed
to resent it also, for he looked reprovingly at Herne--a look which
was entirely lost on the fanatic. Not only did he disregard the
warning, but he proceeded to talk of his private matters as though
they were of greater moment than the murder.
"Do you know what I have been doing in London, Mr. Mexton?" he said in
measured tones. "I have been seeing a young woman who has the cause of
the oppressed at heart, and will aid me to lighten their burden. It is
true that at present she is exercising the light and frivolous
profession of a musician; but I hope to ween her from these vanities.
A Polish girl must aid her downtrodden countrymen."
"A Polish girl!" cried Paul, with a start. "A musician--a violinist."
"Yes; Catinka. Do you know her?"
"A little. I saw her some months ago in Marborough, where she gave a
concert. I rather admired her," concluded Paul, blushing.
"She is beautiful," replied Herne quietly, "but I do not look to the
outward form, but into the mind. She is concerned to raise up her
fallen race and she desires me to aid her. I hope to do so. Who
knows?" cried Darcy, with a flash of his brilliant eyes, "she may be
designed by God to replace my lost Milly?"
"I rather think it is of Milly we should speak, Herne," said Chaskin,
reprovingly. "Leave off thinking of this Catinka, and let us see what
we can do to prove the innocence of Dr. Lester."
"I am at your service," said Herne, the fire dying out of his eyes. "I
am convinced that Dr. Lester did not kill the girl."
"Then who did?" demanded Paul, frankly.
Herne turned and looked at him steadily. "Lucas Lovel," said he, in
composed tones.
"Impossible!" said Chaskin and Mexton together.
"I don't think so," persisted Herne. "Lucas Lovel wanted to marry
Milly--to ween her from me; and frequently met her on the common and
in the Winding Lane. I was told about these meetings by a certain
person who shall be nameless; but I said nothing, trusting to Milly's
true heart. I believed that she was true to me; and that for such a
reason Lovel killed her."
"But Lovel was not with her on Sunday night."
"I believe he was," said Darcy, "although I have no means of proving
it. I intend to see Mr. Lovel and force him into confession; but
before doing so I wish to examine the spot where the murder took
place."
"For what reason?" asked Chaskin, hurriedly.
"To search for evidence. Let us go now, while the daylight lasts. Mr.
Mexton, you will come also?"
"Willingly," said Paul, rising. "I wish to see the spot, too; indeed,
I came here to ask Mr. Chaskin for all particulars regarding the
finding of the body."
"Why?" asked the clergyman, quickly.
"Because I wish to prove the innocence of Dr. Lester. Black as is the
evidence against him, I cannot think that he killed his own daughter.
The murder may have been committed by a tramp for robbery."
"No," said Herne, doggedly. "Lovel killed her."
"Mr. Chaskin," said Paul, taking no notice of his interruption, "were
the earrings and rings and bracelets of Milly on the body when you
found it?"
"Yes," replied Chaskin, promptly, "they were; and her purse was in her
pocket also. I thought the murder might be due to robbery, and I
examined the body carefully; but nothing had been touched. It was
lying with outspread hands face downwards. Apparently the poor girl
had been shot from behind and fell prone on her face stone dead."
"Nothing was touched," murmured Paul to himself. "Then that disposes
of my tramp theory. Whatever the motive of the crime, it was not
robbery."
"Of course not," said Darcy, quickly; "it was jealousy."
"Of the dead girl?"
"Of me--on the part of Lovel. I believe he killed her."
"He would not commit a crime for so slight a cause," protested
Chaskin.
"Why not? Lovel has gipsy blood in his veins; he told me so himself,
and his passions once roused he does not care what he says or does.
Face to face with him, I'll force him into a confession."
"Then you believe that Dr. Lester is innocent?"
"As innocent as I believe Lovel is guilty!" replied Herne, with
emphasis.
After this direct statement, Chaskin and Mexton felt there was no more
to be said.