IRIS CONFESSES.
Paul received this confession in silence, then said: "May I ask why
you placed a rainbow feather on the body?"
"For reason particular, Mr. Critic," replied Catinka, calmly. "I
wished this good Herne to join my society, and give of his money. If
not joining freely, I willed that he should be forced to, for his
safety. See you, I gave him a rainbow feather, and such a one was
found by the dead. Then, you conceive, I could swear I never put it on
the body, and Mr. Herne alone could have done it, since no one but he
could have a feather like that in Barnstead. So you see"--Catinka
shrugged her shoulders--"he would be called the murderer if I spoke.
When he came to me I tell him all this, and vow to speak if he gives
me not the money."
"A kind of blackmailing," said Paul, wondering at the shameless way in
which she spoke. "And what did Mr. Herne say to this?"
"Oh, he will give me a reply when the trial of the caught man is
done."
"Dr. Lester?"
"Yes; the father of the dead lady."
"But you know Lester is innocent?"
"Eh! that may be so," replied Catinka, with another shrug; "but how is
it that I should know?"
"Because you must be aware who fired the shot."
"But no, Mr. Mexton; I tell you no! I hear the shot; I run forward; I
see no one; not Mr. Lovel, not the good Herne. No one person do I see.
I put the feather on the body, and run away, in case they say I kill
the lady. I get into my carriage at the inn, and go back to
Marborough; then to London in the railway."
"Did you see Mr. Herne at Barnstead at all?"
"No. I saw him at Marborough at the railway; then never again."
"Do you think he killed the girl?"
"I know not. He says not."
"He'd say anything to save his own neck," rejoined Paul, scornfully.
"Was he in disguise when he went to Barnstead?"
"Not that I know; but he had a long coat for the rain, and there was
no rain. Also a white scarf on his neck; not like the dress of a
gentleman."
"I see. A disguise. He did not want to be known in Barnstead."
Catinka made a gesture of indifference. "I know nothing of that," she
said. "I have told you all."
"You have," said Paul slowly, "and very fully. What is to prevent my
telling your pretty plot about the rainbow feather?"
"I care not. If this good Herne is free, he will give me the money,
since the lady is dead; if you speak, and he is killed by the
law--well, he makes a will, and I get his money. It is all so; if I
had been afraid, Mr. Mexton, I should have said not one word. But you
see it is all right. I will get money to help my country."
Paul rose and took up his hat and cane. He was so disgusted with the
way in which she spoke that he wished to leave her as speedily as
possible. "I bid you good-day, mademoiselle," he said, marching
towards the door. "And allow me to tell you that I consider you a
wicked woman."
"Ah," Catinka shrugged her shoulders--"now you know all, you call me
bad names. You are ungrateful--you. But what care I?--not that!" and
she snapped her fingers.
"You are shameless."
"Bah! bah! bah! Go away, you pig of an Englishman!" and Paul felt that
there was nothing for him but to accept this advice. Without further
words he walked out of the room, pursued by the scornful laughter of
Catinka. Whatever love he might have felt for her beauty was killed by
her confession and cruel mirth. When Mexton left Bloomsbury Square he
was quite cured of his passion.
On his way back to Marborough Paul had a carriage all to himself, and
he had both time and solitude to consider what use he should make of
Catinka's statement. It would seem from what she had told him that
Herne was implicated in the murder--perhaps had committed the deed
himself. Paul was well aware of Herne's temperament; it was that of a
fanatic who regarded bodies less than souls; who would slay the one to
save the other, He was of the same nature as Torquemada of Spain. If
Herne fancied that Milly was likely to go astray with the too
fascinating Lovel, the journalist was quite sure that he would have
had no hesitation in killing the girl and would glorify himself for
the deed. Catinka had said that the anonymous letters had made Herne
jealous; but with this view Paul did not agree. If Herne had shot
Milly Lester he had done the deed with the pitiless zeal of a fanatic.
"I only wonder that he did not proclaim his doings to all Barnstead,"
mused Paul. "If he fancied in his fanaticism that he was justified in
killing the girl he would certainly not hesitate to acknowledge his
guilt; he would not let an innocent man suffer for his crime--though,
to be sure, if he killed Milly, he did not regard the deed as a crime.
His silence is the sole argument in favour of his innocence."
And, indeed, if Herne were not guilty how could he explain his
stealthy visit to Barnstead, his going thither in disguise, and his
silence regarding his presence in the village on the night of the
murder? No doubt he had come by stealth, lest Milly, hearing that he
was back, should have refused to meet Lovel, and so have hidden her
flirtation from the eyes of her future husband. There was no doubt,
again, that Herne had been in the village on the night of the murder,
since after receipt of the anonymous letters, he would hardly have
remained ignorant at Marborough; but, on the other hand, there was no
proof that he had been in the Winding Lane. Brent had seen Miss Clyde,
but not Herne. Iris, on going to the spot after the crime, had beheld
Lovel, but not Herne; and in no way had the fact of Herne's presence
at Barnstead come out in the evidence collected by Drek. But for the
evidence of Catinka--which seemed genuine enough--it would be
impossible in any way to implicate Darcy Herne in the crime.
After considerable thought Paul determined to seek out and question
Lovel. That young man, on the evidence of Miss Clyde and Brent, had
been with Milly almost at the hour of the murder. This was the more
probable as, terrified lest he should be accused, Lovel had induced
Gran Jimboy to tell a lie on his behalf. Mexton considered himself
absolved from the promise he had made to Herne, since Catinka's
statement had implicated the squire in the crime. He therefore
arranged in his own mind to force a confession from Lovel, and
threaten him with arrest should he prove obdurate. Paul knew very well
that if he told all he knew to Drek there would not be much difficulty
in having Lovel arrested on suspicion. The very fact of the lying
alibi--which could be exposed by Brent and Miss Clyde--would be
sufficient to get him into trouble since, if he were innocent, there
would have been no need for him to resort to such extreme measures for
his safety.
On considering all that he had been told by various people, Paul
concluded that either Lovel or Herne was the guilty person, but which
one of the two had shot the hapless girl it was hard to say. Only the
discovery of new evidence could confirm the guilt of the one and the
innocence of the other. And it was with the discovery of such evidence
that Paul charged himself.
From thoughts of the crime Mexton drifted into considering his
disillusion with regard to the Polish violinist. At one time he had
loved her for her brilliant beauty, and had thought her kind-hearted
and sympathetic. But the conversation he had taken part in; the
shameless way in which she confessed to blackmailing Herne; and her
absolute disregard of all honour, and even common honesty, showed him
what sort of woman she was. If Herne were a religious fanatic, Catinka
was frenzied on the point of patriotism; and for her mission she was
willing to sacrifice all who stood in the way of its fulfilment. Paul
quite believed that she had not killed Milly; but, short of murder, he
fancied that she was capable of all other crimes in order to
accomplish her dreams of a free Poland.
"How could I have loved such a woman?" groaned Paul. "But then it was
an ideal I loved, not the kind of viperish clay Catinka has proved
herself to be. I dreamt of a goddess, and find a hard woman of the
world. Whatever love I may have felt for her has vanished; and I am
now much more attracted by the plain good sense and kindly heart of
Iris than by the beauty of that impossible Pole. And, after all,"
added Mexton, trying to comfort himself, "even if Catinka had proved
the reality of my dream, she would never have surrendered her great
schemes to marry me. But Iris!--ah, if I could only induce her to love
me, then, indeed, in a union with her might I hope for happiness?"
It was six o'clock when Mexton arrived at Marborough, and after dining
at home he returned to his work in the office. But all the time he was
compiling political articles, and chronicling the small beer of the
provincial town, his thoughts were with Iris Link; and with the
enthusiasm of youth he was rapidly raising an altar to his goddess.
Catinka had been his Rosalind, he told himself, but Iris was his
Juliet; and this modern Romeo was falling in love as quickly as his
prototype of Verona. He longed for the company of Iris as a thirsty
traveller for a cooling spring; and after a restless night, haunted by
dreams of Iris and memories of poor dead Milly, he rode the next
morning to Barnstead. Here he put up his horse at The Herne Arms, and
promised himself a long day with the new goddess of his affections.
On her side, Iris had been thinking a great deal about Paul. The
glance he had given her at parting had turned her thoughts in his
direction, and she began to look on him in a more amiable light than
she had hitherto done. Her love for Herne had completely died away
since the death of Milly, and she now began to compare Mexton to the
disadvantage of the squire. The conduct of the latter in regard to the
discovery of the assassin of Milly had not prepossessed her in his
favour; and she contrasted his lukewarm pursuit with the fiery zeal of
Paul. The friend of her youth seemed noble in comparison to Herne, and
Iris reproached herself for having overlooked for so long his many
good qualities. In fact, she thought of Paul as much as he dreamt of
her, and when she saw him at the front door of Poverty Villa she went
out to meet him with a becoming blush. Paul, on his part, blushed
also; and they met like lovers after a long separation. Thus out of
evil had come good; and a happy marriage between two young people
eminently suited to one another was likely to be the outcome of poor
Milly Lester's untimely decease. So strange and unexpected are the
decrees of Fate.
"I am glad to see you again, Iris," said Paul, taking her hand and
looking into her eyes. "How is your step-father?"
"Very well; he is cheerful and hopeful," replied Iris. "Miss Clyde has
told her story to everyone, and now all Barnstead knows that he is
innocent. There is quite a revulsion in his favour; and all yesterday
he was being congratulated. I should not be surprised if this false
accusation brought him more patients."
"Out of evil comes good," quoth Mexton, following her into the house.
"Where is Dr. Lester now?"
"He has gone out to see his patients.
"Sober, I hope?"
"Paul!" Iris turned round indignantly. "You may be sure he is sober!
He has not touched alcohol since he came back. Miss Clyde's lesson was
cruel, but efficacious; I don't think he will ever indulge in strong
drink again. But we can talk of his reform later," added Iris, as they
sat down in the drawing-room. "I am anxious to know how you got on
with Catinka."
"Well, I found out a great deal."
"You did?" said Iris; and then added, with a blush: "And did you find
her as charming as you expected?"
"Indeed I did not! I found that my idol had feet of clay, and she has
tumbled off her pedestal forever. A hard, cruel woman, Iris; not at
all the woman of my dreams."
"I am glad you found out your mistake before it was too late," said
Iris in a contented tone. "I am sure she would never have made you
happy."
"I am sure also," rejoined Mexton, laughing. "I must look for my
happiness nearer home." He said this with such a significant look that
the colour again flushed the face of Iris; but, not deeming the moment
a propitious one for love-making--since she was not yet sure of her
own heart--she hurriedly turned the conversation.
"What did Catinka tell you, Paul?"
"Many things," replied Mexton; then, after a pause, he added: "Iris, I
remember you asked me not to search for the assassin. Was that because
you wished to save your father?"
"No; that was not my reason," said Iris in a hesitating tone. "I told
you so before."
"Then you did not want Lovel to be arrested?"
"I did not care if he was arrested or not. I am not sure if he is
guilty, although I did see him in the Winding Lane when I went out
after poor Milly's body was brought home."
"Did you see anyone else near the spot?"
"No," said Iris frankly; "I did not. Why do you ask?"
"Because I am sure you suspect someone of having been there."
"I do; but--but I cannot tell you whom I suspect."
"You need not; I know. Catinka told me that Darcy Herne was in
Barnstead on the night of the murder."
"He was there, then?" cried Iris, rising with an expression of horror.
"Where?"
"In the Winding Lane."
"I don't know. Why do you say so?"
"Wait." Iris left the room, and while Paul was still wondering at her
emotion she returned with a handkerchief spotted with blood. This she
handed to Paul. "Mr. Herne's handkerchief," she said. "I found it on
the spot where Milly's body was discovered."