"ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL."
The three men were amazed at this statement, so different from what
they expected, and looked at Paul with incredulity. Herne was the
first to recover his presence of mind, and, carried away by his
feelings, fell on his knees with clasped hands in a frenzy of relief
and gratitude.
"O God!" he cried with a broken voice, "I thank Thee that Thou hast
removed this doubt from my mind, this sin from my soul. I am innocent
of this crime."
"I knew you were," said Chaskin, laying a kind hand on his friend's
shoulder. "Did I not tell you so? Rise, Darcy, and let us hear the
particulars. No doubt Mr. Mexton can tell us how the crime was
committed."
"Certainly," said Paul, who had thrown himself into a chair. "But I
have no breath left to tell you the details. They are all in the
confession which Drek holds in his hand."
"Read the confession, Mr. Drek," said the Vicar.
The inspector, who was rapidly glancing over the paper, nodded in an
absent manner, being taken up with what he was reading. His face
expressed amazement, and when he came to the end of the confession he
looked round at the assembled company with an uneasy smile. Evidently
he had fallen several degrees in his own estimation.
"She did it, sure enough;" he said, in a crestfallen manner; "but who
would have suspected that harmless old woman? I put the blame on to
everyone but her; and she must have chuckled at the mistakes I made.
Well, well; even detectives are mortal, and liable to err; it is only
in novels that they never go wrong. But then," added Drek, with
sarcasm, "the detective of a novel knows as much as the author who
writes about him."
"What was the motive for the crime?" asked Herne, abruptly; he was not
interested in the inspector's feelings.
"Love of her grandson."
"Her grandson!" echoed Chaskin. "I did not know she had one!"
"Yes; Lucas Lovel is her grandson."
"Ah!" said Herne, thoughtfully; "I am not surprised. Lovel told me
that he was half a gipsy; but I did not know he was so near of kin to
Mother Jimboy. Why did he not admit the relationship?"
"He did--to me," said Paul, "but he did not think it necessary to make
the announcement public. I don't blame him. Gran Jimboy was hardly a
relative to be proud of."
"I wonder if Lovel knew that his grandmother was guilty," said
Chaskin, doubtfully.
"No, sir; had he thought so he would not have accused you," cried
Drek, with energy. "Besides," he continued, tapping the paper, "in
this confession she declares that she told no one."
"Let me hear the details," said Herne; and this request being echoed
by Chaskin--for Paul, of course, was already acquainted with the
contents of the document--Drek read out the confession of Mrs. Jimboy.
The statement ran as follows:
"My name is Nance Jimboy, but I was born a Lovel. My son was a
musician, and, tired of gipsy life, he went among the Gentiles, with
whom he became famous. He married a Gorgio woman against my wish, and
cut himself off from the gentle Romany. His rani died in giving birth
to a son--Lucas Lovel--for his father took my maiden name when he
turned to the Gentiles. Then my son perished, and the boy was brought
up by a maiden aunt. I knew all about his life, and watched his
progress, as he was my only grandson. He became a painter, and
wandered abroad for many years. When he returned he came down to
Barnstead, and fell in love with the beautiful girl who was to marry
Squire Herne. I say she was beautiful, but she had a bad heart, and
would have ruined my grandson. For Squire Herne I cared nothing, but I
thought a great deal of Lucas: bone of my bone he is, and flesh of my
flesh. I heard of his return, of his living in Barnstead, and of his
love for that wicked witch. I came to watch over him; and at first I
tried to part him from Miss Lester by writing to Squire Herne of her
stolen meetings with my grandson. I thought that in his rage he might
kill her, and so she would be removed from the path of Lucas."
"The wicked woman!" cried Chaskin, aghast at this cool and cynical
statement.
"It is true, it is true!" groaned Herne, remorsefully. "I would have
killed her on that night, but that the Lord stayed my hand. That gipsy
knew me better than I did myself."
"Did you know that she wrote the letters?" asked Paul.
"I did; they were not signed, but for certain reasons, which I need
not explain, I fancied that Mrs. Jimboy was my correspondent. I taxed
her with the writing of them, and she admitted the fact. But I daresay
she tells all this in her confession."
"No," replied Paul, shaking his head. "However, she tells a good deal.
Go on, Drek."
"My object in getting rid of Miss Lester," said Drek, reading from the
document, "was to let Lucas make a good marriage. I knew that he was
loved by Miss Clyde, of Clyde's Farm, a rich lady who was devoted to
him. Lucas is not clever enough to make money for himself, and as he
had very little I wanted him to place himself beyond the reach of
poverty by wedding with Miss Clyde. I urged him to do so; but, not
knowing that I was his grandmother, he refused to speak with me on the
subject. He continued to meet Miss Lester, until, by pretending to
read her hand, I gave her a friendly warning of what she might expect
if she continued her evil ways with Lucas."
"That was the prophecy on the day before the murder," said Paul
grimly. "I knew all Mother Jimboy's palmistry was humbug."
"Miss Lester laughed at my warning; so when she left Lucas I saw him
again, and revealed our relationship; also I urged him for his own
sake to give up his foolish fancy for the doctor's daughter and marry
Miss Clyde. He was much astonished to learn that he was my grandson,
but refused to leave Miss Lester or to marry the other lady. Also, he
told me that he had fancied, from certain words let fall by his
aunt--a foolish woman--that he was partly a gipsy, and had said as
much to a lady called Catinka, who in her turn told Squire Herne.
Well, I could not induce Lucas to give over his folly, but when he
told me that he intended to meet Miss Lester in the Winding Lane on
the next night, I wrote to Squire Herne in London and warned him of
the meeting."
"How did she know your address, Herne?" asked Chaskin.
"I told it to her, so that she might advise me of Milly's behaviour
with Lovel."
"That was unworthy of you," said the Vicar coldly; "no English
gentleman should condescend to employ a spy."
"I know, I know!" cried Herne with an ashamed look; "but let it pass.
Go on, Drek."
The inspector continued to read: "The next evening, after eight
o'clock, I went to the Winding Lane to see what would occur. I did not
know if Squire Herne would come down in answer to my letter, but I
knew that if he did he would certainly kill the girl. I had heard his
determination to do so."
"I wished to save her soul," groaned the Squire; "now I see that I was
wrong."
"In the Winding Lane, close by the stile," read Drek rapidly, "I saw
Miss Lester and Lucas talking together. I was hidden in the bushes
near them. Shortly afterwards Squire Herne, wrapped in a heavy cloak,
stole through the wood. I saw him pause a short distance away from me.
I could have almost touched him. He had a pistol in his hand. I
thought he was going to shoot the girl, and I was glad----"
"Horrible! horrible!" cried Chaskin, with a pale face.
"I was glad because I wished her out of the way, so that Lucas could
marry Miss Clyde. But Squire Herne did not shoot, although, as I
thought, he had stood up to do so. I crept near him, and found that he
was in a trance, and quite incapable of motion. I suppose rage at the
sight of Lucas and Miss Lester threw him into the trance. The pistol
had fallen from his hand and lay on the grass. I seized it, for I was
angered to think that my plot to rid myself of the girl by the hand of
Squire Herne should fail. I waited for a moment, and then raised the
pistol and fired. Miss Lester fell with a cry, and I saw Lucas bending
over her. Then I put the pistol in my pocket, and crept away as
quickly as I could. When I got to the borders of the wood I ran across
the common and back to my tent. I thought that I was safe, as the
blame would be laid on Squire Herne. Also, that he might think himself
that he had killed the girl while in his trance."
"As I did," said Herne with a sigh.
"Shortly afterwards Lucas came to my tent, and I promised to save him
by swearing to a lie at the inquest. I did so; but I did not tell him
that I had killed the girl. Afterwards, when I heard that he was
likely to be accused, I told Mr. Mexton that the Vicar had killed Miss
Lester. When I saw Mr. Chaskin it was before the murder was committed,
and he was going away from the Winding Lane. I accused him only to
save Lucas, and because his name was on the pistol."
"I have had a fortunate escape," said Chaskin, thankfully. "What a
wicked old woman."
Drek finished the manuscript. "I would not have confessed the truth
now," were Mrs. Jimboy's final words, "but I am dying. It will do me
no good to hurt Mr. Chaskin, and I can save Lucas as well by
confessing myself the criminal. I killed Miss Lester, and everybody
else accused of the crime is innocent. I am dying, and I ask
everybody's pardon. I am a wicked woman, and I did a wicked deed, but
it was to benefit my grandson. Let Lucas marry Miss Clyde, so that I
shall not have sinned for nothing. I ask no more."
This document was signed in a shaky manner by the old gipsy, and was
witnessed by Paul Mexton and another man. It exonerated all persons
from the chance of being accused, and revealed plainly the name of the
assassin--Mother Jimboy--and the reason for the assassination--her
love for Lucas Lovel.
"Well," said Paul, when Drek had finished reading the confession, and
had put it in his pocket to carry it to the proper quarter, "the
mystery is solved at last; Milly's murderer is known, and has escaped
the reward of her evil deed."
"She has gone before the court of God," said Chaskin solemnly.
"May He have mercy on her sin," sighed Herne; after which there was
nothing more to be said, and the four men parted--the Squire and
Chaskin to Barnstead, and Paul, with Drek, to lay the confession of
Mother Jimboy, deceased, before the magistrates.
* * * * * *
And here, with the discovery of Milly's assassin, the main interest of
the tale, such as it is, comes to an end. But those who have been
interested in this drama of a provincial town may desire to know how
the other characters fared when the culminating point of the tragedy
with which they were concerned was reached. The play is played out,
the actors leave the stage; and now remains the question: What became
of them?
Well, Paul Mexton ended in marrying Iris Link, and in becoming the
sub-editor of the "Tory Times." He still lives at Marborough, and has
not yet realised his desire to dwell in London; but that ambition may
be accomplished when he writes his great book. Iris, who is devoted to
her husband, and is happier than ever she was in her life, believes in
the book; also that Paul will become a celebrated author. At present,
however, Paul's ambition is bounded by the hope that he may become the
editor of his paper. And as these two are content and happy in their
own small way, we may leave them.
Miss Clyde, as may be guessed, married Lucas, for she pursued him with
such vigor that she absolutely forced him to become her husband. He is
happier than he deserves to be, for both Mrs. Lovel and Mrs. Drass
adore him, and he leads a fairly contented life; all the same, he
often grows tired of such sober bliss, and wishes to break away. As
yet he has not succeeded, as his wife keeps too close a watch on him.
Lucas has not escaped punishment for his follies, for his life of
tranquility bores him to distraction.
Dr. Lester never touched drink again--that is, strong drink--for the
lesson taught to him by Miss Clyde was severe, but efficacious. He is
getting together a good practice, and on the whole, is quite a
reformed character. Francis Chaskin is still the Vicar of Barnstead,
and is still adored by his parishioners--particularly the female
portion. So much for doctor and clergyman.
As to Herne, he laid flowers on Milly's grave for two months, then
ceased to visit the cemetery at all, and went up to London. There he
met again with Catinka, and, unmindful of her treachery, he suffered
himself to be beguiled. She now uses his money to further her plots
against the Czar and to free Poland. Chaskin cannot persuade Herne to
leave her; so, what with funds, and ambitions, and reckless members,
there may be trouble expected from the Society of the Rainbow Feather.
THE END.