WHO IS GUILTY?
The urchin presented a more dilapidated appearance than he had ever
done before even when in his native slums as a street-arab. The neat
serge suit with which Miss Grison’s kindness had supplied him was
smeared with green slime and covered with cobwebs, besides being torn
in many places. But Alan did not look so much at the lad’s clothes as
at his face and figure, for he was terribly emaciated, and so weak,
apparently with hunger, that he could scarcely keep his legs. When he
saw Fuller he burst into tears, and Sorley allowed him to drop on to
the carpet.
“How does the lad come here?” demanded Fuller indignantly, “and what
have you been doing to him that he should be in this terrible state?”
“He knows the truth,” snarled Sorley, who looked quite wolfish at the
moment, and cast a vindictive look at his victim, “and I have been
trying to starve it out of him.”
“But y’ haven’t,” murmured Jotty feebly, game to the last, “gimme
sumthin’ t’ eat an’ drink, mister, or I’m a goner,” and his head
dropped as though he would die then and there. But Sorley only laughed
at his sufferings.
“I was certain that the boy knew the truth,” he declared savagely; “and
when he came to warn me I lured him to the cellars and locked him up.”
“Without food?” questioned Alan with horror, and knelt by the boy to
put one of the biscuits Sorley had left on the table between his lips.
“No, I fed him occasionally,” said the man sullenly, “but kept him
short so that starvation might make him speak.”
“But it didn’t,” murmured Jotty again, trying to eat the biscuit.
“Little devil!” cried Sorley in a transport of rage. “I’ll make you
admit that you are in league with that woman to ruin me before I’ve
done. It was because you were locked in the cellar and no one but I
knew where you were, that I bolted from Moon in London. If I had been
locked up you would have died of starvation, and, bad as you are, I
didn’t want that. And now you know,” he said defiantly to Alan, “why I
changed my mind after giving myself up. It only occurred to me that
Jotty might starve when I was in the cab driving to Bow Street with
Moon. I therefore determined to get away in the fog, and I did.”
“You should have told Moon where the boy was to be found,” said Fuller
in sharp tones. “Hand me that flask of whisky; the boy is nearly dead.”
“Oh I hope not, I hope not,” said Sorley in alarm, and anxiously
watching the young man moistening Jotty’s lips with the powerful
spirit. “I didn’t mean that he should die, for then he would take his
secret with him, and I might be hanged through Louisa’s lies. As to
telling Moon about the cellars, I wasn’t such a fool,” he went on in an
injured tone. “I wasn’t going to reveal my hiding-place, which I knew
would come in useful, if I were driven to extremities. But I’m poor old
man, and everyone is against me,” he ended sobbing bitterly.
Fuller was too disgusted with the man’s behavior to say a word, but
busied himself in feeding Jotty cautiously with biscuits soaked in
whisky. The boy soon began to pick up, and eagerly demanded more food,
which Alan refused to give him lest he should suffer from overeating,
after being so long without nourishment. Besides he thought that the
whisky might make him drunk, which was not to be thought of, since the
boy had to give his evidence and tell his secret, whatever that might
be. So while Sorley wept and maundered on about himself in an agony of
self-pity, Alan lifted Jotty and placed him in a deep armchair. By this
time the color had returned to the lad’s face, and he was much stronger
for the moment, at all events, so Fuller thought that it would be just
as well to question him.
“Why did you warn Mr. Sorley after betraying him to me?” he asked.
“‘Wanted quids,” admitted Jotty frankly, and with a malevolent glance
at Sorley; “‘knew he’d pay t’ git awaiy fro’ th’ coppers. ‘Said es he
would, an’ tole me, es his cash was in his bloomin’ cellars. I was fool
enuff t’ g’ daown, I was, an’ he shoved me int’ one of ’em an’ keeps me
wiffout grub till I fair screeched wiff ’unger. But I’ll ’ave th’lawr
of him, I will,” said Jotty vindictively and very humanly.
“Why didn’t you escape?”
“‘Couldn’t, nohow. Thet cove lock’d th’ beastly door, he did.”
“Couldn’t you cry out?”
“I cried and hollered till I was fair sick, but it warn’t no’ good,
nohow, es I soon sawr, mister. He guv me grub et toimes t’ keep me fro’
becomin’ a deader,” acknowledged the lad grudgingly, “but he ses as
he’d not feed me up till I tole. But I didn’t, you bet I didn’t.”
“Tell what?”
“The truth about the murder,” sobbed Sorley; “he knows it, the
reptile.”
“I dunno no nuffin;” murmured Jotty sulkily; “give me another bisket,
mister, ’cept y’ want t’ play the saime game.”
Fuller gave him what he wanted, and a little more whisky and water to
bring back his strength. Then he turned his attention to Sorley, and
wondered what was best to be done. “You will have to surrender yourself
and stand your trial, you know,” said Alan firmly, “things can’t go on
in this silly way, Mr. Sorley.”
The old man pitched forward, sobbing at Alan’s feet, while Jotty, who
was now top-dog, grinned delightedly at his enemy’s downfall. Fuller
stooped to pick up the wretched creature, and to repeat his
determination when he heard Dick rushing down the stairs shouting his
name.
“Alan! Alan Where are you?”
“In the library. Come in. What’s up?”
Latimer burst into the room with dishevelled hair and untidy clothes,
just as he had leaped out of bed, and evidently was greatly excited. He
was on the eve of imparting the cause of his hurried coming, when he
stopped short on beholding Sorley and the missing lad. “Well I’m
hanged!” said Dick, and gasped with amazement.
“I shall be, I shall be,” groaned Sorley still grovelling on the floor,
“if Louisa has her way. And you hate me, Latimer, you know you do. You
will give me up after all my trouble in coming back to hide here.”
“Oh so you did hide here,” said Latimer slowly, “and Jotty?”
“He lock’ me up, cuss him!” whimpered the boy, “’cos I wouldn’t tell
him things es I ain’t agoin’ to tell, nohow.”
“What re——” began Dick wonderingly, when Alan cut him short.
“You’ll hear later, old man. Meanwhile what’s up, that you rush in like
a whirlwind?”
“I missed you when I woke up, and wondered where you were. I looked out
of the window of my bedroom and saw a woman coming up the avenue with a
man. As they came nearer I saw that it was Miss Grison and Moon.”
“I’m lost, I’m lost,” shouted Sorley scrambling to his feet; “let me
hide, oh let me hide,” and he rushed to the door.
“Ain’t no go, mister,” yelled the malignant Jotty, nibbling at his
biscuit, “fur I knows yer hole an’ I’ll sell y’ fur a sneak.”
But in spite of this assertion, Sorley, in a fever of terror would have
fled, but that Alan caught him by the arm. “Stay here and face things
like a man,” he said sternly. “Dick run out and ask Moon and Miss
Grison to come here. Then dash down to The Red Fox and bring Bakche to
prove the poor devil’s innocence.”
“What—what—what,” gurgled Sorley, as Dick lost no time in obeying, and
sprang out of the French window which Alan had opened. “Can he——”
“I think so; I am not sure,” said Fuller sharply. “However you shall
stay here and face the best or the worst.”
“Louisa will hang me,” murmured Sorley, sinking into a chair and
covering his face with two grimy hands. Jotty grinned, and did not seem
disturbed at the announcement that Bakche would prove his captor’s
innocence, which made Alan think that the brat could not be so guilty
as the Indian had hinted.
Feeling weary with his long watching and the late exciting events, the
young man went to the window to inhale deep breaths of the keen morning
air. The sun was now rising, and the eastern sky was radiant with
golden floods of light, while the chill atmosphere felt perceptibly
warmer. Trees and lawns and beds of early flowers presented themselves
with photographic distinctness in the crystalline clearness of the
dawning, and there was a feeling of freshness, as if all old things
were being made new by the magical workings of nature. But Fuller had
small time to gratify his jaded senses with this cool beauty, for
crossing the lawn were Inspector Moon and Miss Grison. Dick had just
delivered his message and had left them to dash down the avenue to
Belstone, while the woman and the officer advanced towards the open
window, as they had been directed. Alan stepped down to meet them,
quite satisfied that the vindictive Jotty would keep a close watch on
the miserable old man. The tables were now turned with a vengeance.
“How are you, Miss Grison? and you, Mr. Inspector?” said Alan quietly.
“I heard that the lady was here, but you sir?——”
“I brought him,” said Miss Grison triumphantly, and looking wooden and
washed out and as hard as ever. “I wired for him last night, for I was
certain that Sorley would come back to The Monastery.”
Moon nodded, and looked curiously at Alan’s drawn face, and disordered
clothes, and especially at his feet which were without slippers. “I
came down late last night to Lewes,” he explained, “and drove over
early this morning. That is why I am here at so unexpected an hour. And
even if Miss Grison had not wired me, I should have come, although
perhaps later. Miss Inderwick’s remark about noises in her house——”
“Yes! yes!” interrupted Fuller with a shiver, for the dewy grass
chilled his feet. “I guessed that you would come after that unconscious
hint.”
“Well of course Miss Inderwick naturally; wants to save her uncle——”
Miss Grison interrupted the inspector in her turn. “She won’t though,
try as she will. I know all the hiding-places in The Monastery, and
wherever Sorley may conceal himself I can hunt him out.”
“He doesn’t wish to conceal himself,” said Fuller coldly, for the look
of malicious triumph on her sallow face was terrible. “He is in the
library and wishes to give himself up.”
“He did so before,” remarked Moon dryly, “and then ran away.”
“Because he had Jotty locked up in a cellar here, and feared lest the
boy should starve to death. Come in, Mr. Inspector. This is surely the
beginning of the end.”
“The end, the end,” cried Miss Grison joyfully, and absolutely chanted
the words as if they were the funeral hymn of a victim, “the end of the
beast and all his wickedness. I hope they’ll let me see him hanged. And
he’ll have no coffin, but be buried in lime and——”
“Hold your tongue,” said Moon roughly, for even his tried nerves gave
way with a quiver when the vindictive woman expressed her unholy joy.
“Come on, Mr. Fuller. I’m glad you didn’t help this man to escape.”
“I never intended to,” Alan assured the officer as they stepped into
the room through the open window, followed by Miss Grison, who slunk
behind like halting Nemesis, silent and sinister. “I forced him to stay
and surrender.”
“He sha’n’t escape this time,” growled Moon, looking at Sorley who
stared rigidly from the chair he was seated in, not at the officer of
the law, but at the cruel face of the wife who had hunted him down. He
seemed like a rabbit fascinated by a serpent, and could utter no sound.
Even when Moon again recited the formula of arrest he did not speak.
But Miss Grison did. “Ha!” she jeered, pointing a finger of scorn at
the motionless man, “now do you receive the wages of iniquity, you
beast!”
“Be silent,” said Alan tartly, while the inspector turned to address a
few words to Jotty, who looked at him impudently.
“I shall not be silent,” raged the woman; “you know what I am, and who
I am in every way, Louisa Sorley—that is my name.” Moon overhearing,
turned with a blank look of astonishment. “Yes, you may look and look
and look!” she taunted, snapping her fingers. “Louisa Sorley, and that
fiend’s lawful wife. Ah!”—she turned furiously on her husband—“you cast
me off, you made me hold my tongue by threatening to imprison Baldwin
so that you could marry the wealthy slut you set your mind on. I could
do nothing, because I had to save my brother; all I could do I did, and
that was to steal the peacock. And now the secret has been guessed and
the jewels belong to your minx of a niece——”
“Stop that,” cried Fuller in a fierce way; “not a word against my
promised wife, Miss Grison.”
“Mrs. Sorley, if you please,” retorted the woman making an ironical
curtsey, “and the girl is my niece by marriage as well as your promised
wife. But she has the jewels, and much as I hate her I am glad, since
this sneaking reptile will not get them into his clutches. I have
waited for this hour; for years have I waited; lying in bed, walking
during the day, working or playing I have plotted and planned and
thought and striven to bring you down to the dust. You scorned me, who
loved you, you tortured Baldwin who was your friend, and you drove us
both in disgrace from this house. Now it is your turn—yours! yours!
yours!” She pointed her finger again and laughed with savage delight.
“You shall be driven from the house; you shall go to jail; you shall be
hanged by the neck until you are dead, and may God _not_ have mercy on
your soul.”
Moon caught her by the arm, and shook her sternly. “You mustn’t talk
like that, you know,” he said in a peremptory manner.
Miss Grison—as it is more convenient to call her—wrenched herself free,
and her little lean figure quivered with unrestrained rage. She wore
the long black velvet cloak, the early Victorian bonnet, and the drab
thread gloves in which Alan had seen her when she had been surprised by
himself and Marie in the library. But she was no longer demure, no
longer did she compress her thin lips and stare in an unwinking
unmeaning way. Her terrible triumph had stirred up the depths of her
nature, and she acted like a woman bereft of reason, as indeed she was
for the moment.
“Damn you, let me be!” she screeched, getting free at the expense of a
torn cloak. “I can speak to my husband, I suppose. Ha! ha! A nice thing
it is for me to have a murderer for a husband.”
“I am not a murderer,” wailed Sorley tremulously. “I left Baldwin alive
and well. She—she—she——”
“She—she—she,” mocked his wife, “you, with your she—she—she. You are a
murderer; you had the peacock; you have the knife which killed My
darling brother. Deny it if you dare.”
“I do deny it,” stammered Sorley with an attempt to assert his dignity.
“I had the peacock, because you brought it here secretly.”
“You lie, as you have always done. I did not. Perhaps you will say that
I brought the knife—the dagger—the thing with which Baldwin was stabbed
also, you animal!”
“No—no—no. I have never seen the knife. But I believe you would have
brought it if you could, so as to make me out to be guilty.”
“You liar!” raged the woman, while both Moon and Alan stood aside
silent, wondering what would be brought forth next. “I came here on
that day when I warned you, and walked all over the place while you
were snoring, like the hog you are. Here!” she brushed Moon aside with
a force surprising in so small a woman, and marched to the open panel.
“I looked in here, where I always knew you kept your bits of glass, and
I intended to take some, so as to make you suffer, just as I did with
the peacock; just as I did with the peacock, you wretch! But I found
hidden there the dagger which was used to murder my dearest brother, so
I left things alone knowing you were the beast who murdered him, and
knowing that I at last had you in my power to hunt down.” She thrust
her arm into the recess and tore out tray after tray of jewels which
scattered themselves about the floor, and finally pulled out the
stiletto which Marie had found and Alan had seen. “There! oh there you
are! Do you see this, policeman? blood on the handle? Yes, take it, and
bring it up in the evidence against him.”
Moon handled the stiletto with a frown. “This looks bad,” he said to
the terrified Sorley; “is it yours?”
“It was—it was,” stammered the old man, shaking with nervous fear, “but
if I were truly guilty I would not dare to say so. I bought it in
Venice—in Italy—where I—I——” he broke off with a cry rising to face his
wife with what courage he was able to summon to his heart. “And you
stole it over twenty years ago, along with the peacock; you stole many
things—you know you did, Louisa. I believe—yes—I believe——”
“That I put it there,” interrupted Miss Grison with a shrill laugh. “Oh
I daresay. To save your own bacon you can say no more and no less. Liar
and murderer and wife beater that you are! You struck me once, you did,
you did, and now I have come back to repay the blow with interest.
Man!” she faced round fiercely to Moon, “why don’t you put the
handcuffs on him? Make him a shame and disgrace in the village where he
has lorded it for so many guilty years. I could——” she dashed forward
with a raised arm, her face working with furious passion.
Fuller caught her back. “Steady! steady!”
“Beast!” she turned and struck him full in the face, whereupon Moon
came to the young man’s assistance, and the two forced her back into a
chair. For a few minutes she struggled, screaming, spitting, kicking
and fighting with all the abnormal strength which her fury against her
husband gave her. All at once she collapsed, and became as weak as an
infant, to burst into tears, and huddle up, a nerveless heap, in the
deep chair.
“She’s finished now,” said Moon, wiping his red face; “all the fight’s
gone out of her. Whew! I’ve seen women in the cells like her before.
She’s a crazy bit of goods.”
“She’s mad, quite mad,” quavered Sorley, wringing his hands in a senile
manner, “I always said that she was.”
“Then you sent her mad,” muttered Alan, who did not think Marie’s uncle
was wholly the injured person he presented himself to be.
All the time Jotty surreptitiously devoured all the biscuits within
reach, and enjoyed what was to him quite a performance—and a well-known
one at that, as often he had seen Mother Slaig and others of her kind
raging in just such an animal manner. “She’s a oner, ain’t she?” he
said grinning, “but not a bad ole gal, oh no, not at all.”
Miss Grison, who was lying back apparently exhausted, unclosed one eye
and then two, shooting such a malevolent glance at the boy that he held
his tongue and looked away uneasily. Moon was about to take up again
the stiletto which he had cast carelessly on the table in order to ask
questions, when Latimer, hot with rapid walking, made his appearance
through the window followed by Morad-Bakche, who looked uncomfortable.
The inspector nodded to both, but did not speak for the moment, as his
attention was taken up with Alan’s attempt to pacify granny and the two
servants who had been attracted to the library by Miss Grison’s
screams. The three wished to stay, and argued the point, but Fuller
managed to finally turn them out and then came back to witness what
would doubtless prove to be the final act of the drama. Meanwhile
neither Bakche nor Latimer said a word, and Miss Grison still lay back
in her chair broken up much in the same way as was her husband. They
were both wrecks, the sole feelings predominating being terror in the
man’s heart and hatred in the woman’s.
“Well, sir,” said Inspector Moon, turning sharply on the dignified
Indian, “and what do you know about this matter?”
“I have some idea of the truth,” answered Bakche quietly, and now more
at ease, “and I am willing to state what I know on the condition which
I arranged with Mr. Fuller yesterday. Indeed, Mr. Fuller, so to speak,
suggested the condition some time ago, and I came down here to see Miss
Inderwick as to whether she would be willing to fulfil it.”
“If you know the truth, you must tell the truth without any condition.
That is the law of this country. If you impede the course of justice by
keeping back necessary information you are liable to a penalty.”
“I am willing to take the risk,” responded the Indian dryly, “since I
have so much at stake. I appeal to Mr. Fuller as to whether he is
willing to agree to my condition?”
“On behalf of Miss Inderwick I am,” said Alan quietly, “since she
leaves me free to use her jewels in any way likely to free her uncle
from this charge of murder brought against him by Miss Grison.”
“Mrs. Sorley, if you please,” murmured the woman without unclosing her
eyes.
Bakche took no notice. “I want half the jewels,” he stated coolly.
“You shall have a third,” answered Alan.
“Then I don’t speak.”
“What’s that?” cried Moon. “Let me tell you, that if you don’t, I shall
arrest you as being concerned in this crime.”
“You have no warrant!” said the man uneasily.
“I shall arrest you without a warrant, and make good my reason
afterwards.”
The Indian looked uncomfortably from one to the other, and finally
seeing that the Inspector was in earnest, he yielded to circumstances
too strong for him. “You agree to give me a third of my family jewels?”
he asked turning to Alan nervously.
“Yes; I shall put it in writing if you like.”
“No; I am willing to take the word of an English gentleman. That lad,”
the man looked at Jotty, “also knows something of the truth; at least I
think that he does.”
“Don’t know nuffin,” muttered the boy truculently, for the drink was
telling on his weak condition. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell when that
cove,” he pointed to Sorley, “lock’d me up.”
“Tell,” said the inspector sharply, “or I’ll box your ears.”
“Sha’n’t, sha’n’t, sha’n’t,” babbled Jotty, “wot I knows is wuth quids,
an’ quids I’ll ’ave or say nuffin.”
Sorley scrambled on the floor and swept together some of the gems.
“Take these; take these and save my life,” he implored, thrusting them
into the boy’s hands. “You wouldn’t tell by force but these are worth
money, so——”
Jotty played with the gems and put them into his pocket. “If they’re
wuth quids,” he said thickly, “I’ll split.”
“Do you know the truth?” asked Latimer quickly, “I always thought you
did.”
“Perhaps you saw the murder committed,” Alan remarked, and they all
stared hard at the boy.
“No I didn’t,” snapped Jotty, “but I sees sumthin’, and I think es I
kin spot who did it.”
“Who did it then?” demanded Moon impatiently.
“Sha’n’t speak till thet cove does,” muttered Jotty, pointing his chin
at Bakche with an obstinate look; “don’t b’leve he knows tho’.”
“Don’t I?” cried Bakche drawing himself up to his stately height, “I
was at Rotherhithe when the man was murdered by his sister.”
“Miss Grison!” cried Alan confounded. “Good Lord! Miss Grison killed
him?”
“Yes,” said Bakche, “Miss Grison killed him.”