THE TRUTH
The accusation of the Indian, which seemed to be emphasized by Jotty’s
silence, brought Miss Grison, still weak and broken, to her feet. “It’s
a lie! a lie! a lie!” she stammered, holding on to the chair for
support.
“It’s the truth,” insisted Bakche deliberately.
“But it’s impossible,” murmured Fuller, who was quite bewildered, “she
loved her brother dearly.”
“I did, I did. Bless you for saying that, Mr. Fuller,” cried Miss
Grison in a tremulous tearful way. “Why should I murder my darling
Baldwin?”
“To get me into trouble,” quavered Sorley, who had got back into his
chair and was nervously plucking at his chin.
“I wouldn’t have sacrificed him to you,” retorted Miss Grison, dropping
back again into her seat and taking out her handkerchief.
“Perhaps if I tell my story,” said Bakche appealing to the inspector,
“you may be convinced of the truth.”
“Go on,” said Moon curtly, and took out his pocket-book.
“She killed him——”
“I never did, I never did,” wept Miss Grison, “you did it yourself.”
“I did it! How dare you say that!”
“Because it is true. You admit having been at Rotherhithe on the night
and about the time poor Baldwin was murdered. You wanted the peacock,
you know you did, and told me so. When I said Baldwin had it——”
“I went to try and get it from him,” finished Bakche, “that is quite
correct, madam. I did, and I tried hard to get him to part with it. But
he refused and you urged him not to give it to me, even for money. When
you visited your brother——”
“I never visited him,” snapped Miss Grison, whose strength was coming
back, and whose eyes were again beginning to flash ominously.
“You did,” retorted the Indian, “you went frequently, I disguised
myself as a lascar and followed you. I overheard your conversations
with him many a time, madam.”
“Ah!” she flashed out, “you were eavesdropping.”
“Yes,” admitted the man candidly. “I had too much at stake not to take
all the means in my power to safeguard my interests. And a few days
before the murder you urged your brother to write to Mr. Sorley and
make an appointment for the thirteenth of November.”
“Ah!” murmured Moon, making a note, “the night of the death.”
“Yes! yes! yes!” cried Sorley, his voice growing stronger; “I got that
letter, and wrote an answer saying that I would come.”
“Jotty found the answer,” put in Alan quickly, “and sold it to me for
two pounds. Mr. Latimer passed it on to you, Mr. Inspector.”
Moon nodded. “I have it at my office. Go on, sir.”
“Miss Grison—as I overheard—urged her brother to make this appointment
with Mr. Sorley, and then tell him that the peacock was to be given to
me.”
“Ah!” cried the woman sarcastically, “and yet you say that I urged my
brother not to give it you. You contradict yourself.”
“I am not responsible for your frequent changes of mind,” said Bakche
in chilly tones, “sometimes you told your brother to make terms with me
so that Mr. Sorley—whom you seemed to hate—might be disappointed, and
then you tried to prevent him even seeing me, let alone handing over
the peacock. But you got him to make the appointment for the night of
the murder with Mr. Sorley, that I’ll swear to. There was another thing
that I overheard. Your brother confessed with tears and terror that he
had murdered that gentleman to rob him outside Chin Chow’s opium den.”
“What if he did?” said Miss Grison boldly.
“You blamed him for the shame he was bringing on your name.”
“I did, but that does not say that I should have denounced him.”
“There was no need for you to do so,” said Moon coldly; “sooner or
later the truth would have become known. Grison was already suspected.”
“So he told his sister,” said Bakche quickly, “and for that reason she
reproached him.”
“Why not say that I murdered him?” sneered the woman quivering.
“You did, but not on the night you advised him to make the appointment
with this gentleman.” He pointed to Sorley huddled up in his chair.
“When then, if you please, liar that you are?”
“I am no liar, and you know it, madam. It was on the night that the
appointment was kept that you killed your brother. I determined to come
on that night, so as to overhear the interview between Mr. Sorley and
your brother, and I did. Mr. Sorley wanted the peacock and Grison
refused to surrender it. Then Mr. Sorley left.”
“And Grison was alive? Grison was alive?” cried the man in question.
“Yes,” said Bakche, answering the question and a look of Moon’s.
“Grison was alive. Mr. Sorley is perfectly innocent.”
“Thank God! oh thank God!” wept Sorley hysterically, and sliding from
his chair he knelt down covering his face with his grimy hands. Alan
nodded to Dick in a somewhat triumphant way, as he had never been sure
of Sorley’s guilt, and Dick nodded penitently in return, admitting
silently his error.
“Was Miss Grison at Rotherhithe on that night?” asked Moon rather
unnecessarily, seeing that Bakche accused her of committing the crime.
“Yes. I was on the watch, and I saw her coming.”
“Did Mother Slaig see her?”
“Not on that night, I fancy. Miss Grison always slipped into the house
and out of it like a shadow,” said Bakche, after a moment’s reflection.
“Sometimes Mrs. Slaig saw her and sometimes she did not. The house was
always filled with people coming and going, and in that shabby
dress”—Bakche referred somewhat superciliously to Miss Grison’s worn
attire—“no one noticed her.”
“Everyone knew that I came to comfort my brother,” said the woman
sharply.
“I am not denying that. But on that night you hovered round the place
and saw Sorley come and go. He came at seven and went away by eight.
Grison afterwards came down and got a drink, after which he retired to
bed at ten o’clock as was stated at the inquest. He did not see you
when he was down stairs, as you did not speak to him. But you followed
him up and were with him in his room. No one but I saw you, as no one
paid any attention to your brother, save I who was on the watch. After
ten—I can’t state the exact time—you came out of the room and slipped
away unnoticed. I followed you to the end of the slum, madam, and then
returned to see if you had been urging Grison not to give me the
peacock. I looked in and he was on his bed quite dead.”
“Why didn’t you give the alarm?” asked Alan impatiently.
“Ask yourself why I did not, Mr. Fuller,” said Bakche pitying this
denseness. “Here was I, who wanted a valuable object possessed by
Grison, disguised as a lascar. Had I given the alarm I should have been
arrested for the crime and would have had a great difficulty in
clearing myself.”
“Yes,” said Moon, “that is perfectly true. Well?”
“Well,” echoed Bakche, “what more do you wish me to say, sir. Grison
was alive when this lady entered his room, and when she came out he was
dead. I knew also that she carried away the peacock.”
“How do you know?” asked Latimer, while Miss Grison sniffed
disdainfully.
“Jotty told me.”
“Yuss,” said the boy, brisking up, for he had nodded in a sleepy way
during the recital, “he guv me a quid fur tellin’ him; he wantin’ thet
there blessed peacock, somehow.”
“But how did you know Miss Grison had it Jotty?” questioned Alan.
“Sawr it afore him es was good t’ me was buried. I wen up t’ ’er house
in Bloomsbury es I’d orfen gone afore, fur him es was good t’ me, and I
ses as ’er brother was a deader. Sh’ sawr me in ’er room an’ I sawr ’er
smuggle awaiy thet peacock and thet thing,” and Jotty pointed to the
stiletto, which was lying on the table where Moon had thrown it.
“You liar! oh, you little liar!” shrieked Miss Grison, shaking her
fist.
“It’s trewth, fur sure,” insisted Jotty, “an’ cos I knowed too much, y’
tuck me int’ yer bloomin’ ouse an’ guv me thet button suit. I didn’t
say nuffin, I didn’t, es y’ wasn’t a bad ole gal, an I oped t’ maike
quids out of y’. An’ when y’ come daown ’ere, t’ the fun’rel of him es
was good t’ me, y’ tuck awaiy thet peacock an’ thet stabbin’ thing. Oh,
I kep’ m’ eye peeled, y’ bet, fur I wanted thet peacock m’self, wuth
plenty of quids it is anyhow. Sawr’s y’ packin’ them in a bag when y’
thought es I wasn’t lookin’. But I ain’t no fool, nohow, tho’ y’ did
git me t’ help t’ git thet Sorley cove int’ trouble.”
“How was that, Jotty,” asked the inspector while Miss Grison ripped her
handkerchief to shreds in silent anger.
“Why sh’ fun’ out es I’d got that letter fro’ him,” he pointed to
Sorley “an’ she ses, as I’d better taike it t’ Mr. Fuller there, who’d
give me quids fur it anyhow. An’ I did, gettin’ two quids fur it. An’
then I was ’opin’ t’ git more quids fro the Sorley cove, and comes
daown ’ere t’ saiy es the gaim was up, an’ show’d him th’ noospaiper.
She,” he indicated Miss Grison with his chin, “made me tell ’er as Mr.
Sorley ’ad the peacock, es I’d seen the doring of it on Mr. Fuller’s
taible and missus she ses as there wasn’t no dorin’ maid, an’ thet Mr.
Fuller mus’ ’ave got it fro’ the Sorley cove. ‘An’ ses she, ‘he’s cort
naow, so I’ll tell the noospaipers es my poor brother was killed for
the bloomin’ peacock’s saik.’ An——”
“Lies! lies! all lies!” cried Miss Grison, who had been gradually
working herself up into a passion “you want to save that beast of a
husband of mine, you know you do, you know you do.”
“He is saved already,” said Moon sharply; “the evidence of Mr. Bakche,
supported as it is by Jotty, proves that Mr. Sorley is innocent, and
that you are guilty.”
“And what is more,” put in Alan severely, “you evidently laid a trap
for your husband. That is proved by your telling Jotty to bring me the
letter and thus implicate him. And not until you knew that the peacock
was in Mr. Sorley’s possession—as you guessed from the drawing having
been made, knowing that none had been made before—did you make public
the fact that your brother had been murdered for the sake of the bird.”
“Yes, yes,” quavered Sorley, who was still kneeling and weeping, wholly
broken down by his providential escape; “it was a trap, I always said
so. I knew that she placed the peacock in that cupboard; I told you so,
Alan. I never knew that she hid the stiletto with my jewels, as I never
came across it. But now that I know, I am sure that she put it there to
get me into still further trouble. And I admitted that the stiletto was
mine, didn’t I, Alan I didn’t I, Mr. Inspector?”
“Yes, yes,” said Moon nodding, “the case is clear enough. Miss Grison I
arrest you on a charge of murdering your brother.”
The woman was silent and glared at him fiercely, but made no effort to
evade him as he advanced, clinking the handcuffs. “Wait a moment,” she
said suddenly, “you needn’t put those on yet. What motive had I to kill
the brother I loved so dearly?”
“That I can’t tell,” said Moon hesitating.
“She is mad,” cried Sorley, “she was always mad.”
“You drove me mad,” shouted Miss Grison turning on him furiously. “I
loved you and you scorned me because you wished to marry a rich woman.
But that you could have put Baldwin in jail for that forgery I should
have told the truth about my marriage; and much as I hated you I should
have taken my true position here as your wife. But you were too strong
for me and too strong for Baldwin. He was never wicked, but only weak,
and you ruined him as you ruined me. I vowed to be revenged.”
“And you have failed,” said Sorley brokenly, yet with a note of
triumph.
“Failed. Yes, I know I have failed, and what is more I have fallen into
the trap I set for you. That makes me question the justice of the
Eternal. He gave me misery all my life, and you happiness. Yet here you
get the better of your evil, and I am condemned to the scaffold.
Baldwin is better off. At least I saved him from being hanged.”
“Oh,” said Moon, while Alan and Latimer started, “so you admit having
murdered your brother.”
“Yes,” said Miss Grison darkly, and throwing back her head. “I did evil
that good might come of it. Listen and before you take me away
policeman, I am willing to tell the truth.”
“What you say will be used in evidence against you, remember.”
“I don’t care. I have fought and lost.” She moved forward to the table
and facing the men adopted quite an oratorical attitude. Beginning her
story calmly enough she gradually worked herself up into a furious
passion, as a sense of the wrongs she had endured came home to her. And
the fact that the man who had inflicted those wrongs was now free, was
not the least bitter drop in her cup of sorrow.
“Four men against one woman,” said Miss Grison scornfully, and drawing
up her small figure stiffly; “five, if that brat can be called a man,
instead of an ungrateful beast. How brave you all are, how very brave.”
Moon glanced at his watch. “Time presses,” he said coldly, “say what
you have to say, for I must take you up to London as soon as possible.”
“Oh, I shall say my say quick enough,” cried Miss Grison savagely, “is
that the way to speak to a lady, you low policeman. For I am a lady.”
She flung back her head haughtily. “I always was a lady, as Baldwin
always was a gentleman, bless him.”
“Yet you murdered him,” hinted Moon coldly.
“And for why?” she demanded clenching her hands, “because I wished to
save him from himself and from the gallows, and from further disgracing
the honored name left by our father. I tell you all that I loved
Baldwin, but I knew his weakness I knew his faults, knew that unless he
had some one stronger than himself to cling to, he was always dropping
into the mud. Oh, the poor soul, who can blame him? Not I, though the
world may, and the world did. If Sorley had treated Baldwin properly,
he might have lived and died here in honor.”
“I did my best,” quavered her husband faintly, “but he drank and——”
“Oh, he had all the vices and you all the virtues,” interrupted Miss
Grison scornfully; “but you might have put up with his weaknesses for
my sake. I was your wife, and deserved some consideration. But you
drove me away and you drove Baldwin.”
“I gave you money to set up that boarding-house.”
“Yes; and I took it as my right, although I could have spat in your
wicked face for insulting me by the offer. I only held my peace when
you were courting that slut who died, because you could have put
Baldwin into jail. He and I went away to try and live out our ruined
lives as best we could. Baldwin was too much afraid to think of
revenge, but I was not, and I swore that you should pay for your
wickedness. He told you that he had the peacock, which I had given him,
after I took it from here, as it was a toy to him. You came and came,
but I prevented Baldwin giving it to you, although he wanted to, for
money that he might go to the colonies.”
“That would have been a wise move,” murmured Alan nodding.
“It would not,” contradicted Miss Grison, “what do you know about it,
Mr. Fuller? although I have no quarrel with you, as you have always
treated me like a gentleman. It would not have been a good move,
because Baldwin was so weak that unless he was constantly looked after,
he was always getting into dangerous trouble. He was a fool; yes, I who
loved him, and who sacrificed my life to him, say that he was a weak
fool. I did my best to keep him in the straight path, I allowed him a
weekly income, and comforted him, I did all that a sister and a woman
could do. But it was all of no use, as you may guess, you men who are
bullying a poor weak woman. When Baldwin confessed to me that he had
murdered that man outside Chin Chow’s opium den I knew that the end had
come.”
“What end?” demanded Moon stolidly.
“The end of my patience, the end of the sinful years which Baldwin was
permitted to live on this miserable earth,” cried Miss Grison. “He told
me that he was suspected, and implored me to save him. I promised to do
so, and I did in the only way that I could. I killed him, I stabbed him
to the heart, and that was an easy death compared to being hanged.”
So fierce and wild did she look as she said these words, that all
present shivered, and Sorley moaned, “A terrible woman, a terrible
woman.”
“A merciful woman! a good woman! a bold woman!” cried his wife,
overhearing. “A weaker woman would not have acted as I did. But it was
the only way, if I wished to save him from being hanged and the honored
name of our father, Dr. Theophilus Grison, from being further smirched.
I determined to kill Baldwin, and also to use his death as a means to
hang you.”
“You wicked woman!” cried Alan indignantly.
“Wicked? Why wicked, since this beast ruined both me and my brother? I
was only dealing out justice to him, as I dealt out mercy to Baldwin.
And I made my plans cleverly. I knew that Mr. Bakche was haunting
Mother Slaig’s, and counted on him recognizing my brute of a husband on
that night, since he had already seen him here when he came to make
inquiries about the peacock. I made Baldwin write to Sorley to appoint
the thirteenth of November night as the time to come up. Baldwin showed
me the reply, and I knew that he would be there. I took the stiletto
which belonged to Sorley as I stole it along with the peacock when I
left this house. Since it was his I thought it would make the evidence
against him more certain. I went to Rotherhithe and watched. I saw
Sorley go, and then I went up to Baldwin’s room and stabbed him. It
doesn’t matter how I cajoled him to lie down and rest, and chose my
time. I stabbed him to the heart and that is enough for you to know.”
Again her listeners shivered, for there seemed to be something terrible
about this small frail woman admitting such a dreadful deed so
callously and boldly. She smiled as she saw their feeling. “What a lot
of cowards you men are,” she jeered, “you wouldn’t have acted so
bravely; no, not you.”
“Go on, go on,” said Moon impatiently, “there’s no time to be lost.”
“I have nearly finished,” said Miss Grison tartly, “don’t hurry me, as
you must admit that my confession is interesting. I killed Baldwin with
this,” she added, taking up the stiletto which lay on the table, “and I
took it away, along with the peacock, intending to hide both in this
house. Jotty—ungrateful little reptile that he is—saw me with these
when he came to Thimble Square to tell me of the murder. Ha! ha! of the
murder which I had committed. I wept and wailed, as I was bound to do,
since my dear brother had been murdered by Sorley. Then came the
inquest, and I said nothing, for I waited my chance. The funeral took
place here, and I stayed at Mrs. Millington’s, she has been a good
friend to me. I came to this house on the day you know of, Mr. Fuller,”
she went on, addressing herself to Alan who nodded in answer, “and
while you and Marie were in the grounds, and this man—if he can be
called a man—was asleep, I placed the peacock in that black-oak
cupboard and the stiletto in the place behind that panel marked with a
cross, where I knew Sorley kept those bits of glass——”
“They are jewels, valuable jewels,” cried her husband irrelevantly.
“Oh, get on with the confession,” said Latimer sharply, for the
prolonged scene was getting on his nerves, “you hid the stiletto and
peacock.”
“Yes,” said Miss Grison snappishly, “and then I waited, guessing that
Sorley would probably seek Mr. Fuller’s help to solve the riddle of the
bird. That was why I introduced the subject of cryptograms on that day
when we were at tea, Mr. Fuller. When I learned that Jotty had Sorley’s
reply to the request of Baldwin I sent him to you so that it might
implicate this beast of a husband of mine. Then when Jotty told me
about the drawing of the peacock, I knew that Sorley had consulted you,
since no drawing had ever been made of the thing. My trap was set, and
by making the matter of the peacock public, I closed it on the man I
hate.”
She shut her mouth with a snap, and idly dug the stiletto into the
table as if she had finished. “What else?” questioned Moon imperiously.
“Nothing else,” said Miss Grison raising her pale eyes; “you know all.
The trap caught the bird, and my revenge would have been complete had
not this fool learned more than he should have. You, I mean, you,” said
Miss Grison walking slowly towards the Indian, “why couldn’t you let me
have my way?”
“I wanted the jewels,” said Bakche stolidly, and not moving even when
she was face to face with him.
“You shall never have them,” cried Miss Grison unexpectedly, and before
anyone could move she raised her arm. In a moment the stiletto was in
the Indian’s heart, and he fell like a log on the floor.
“Great God!” roared the inspector and sprang forward.
Miss Grison put out her frail arms. “Go on, put the handcuffs here,”
she mocked coolly. “I have settled the beast who balked me of my
revenge!”
“He is quite dead,” said Alan lifting a pale face from an examination.
“And that beast Sorley lives,” snarled Miss Grison viciously, and spat
at her husband.