TO THE UNKNOWN
Behind her I passed into the dark hall. The door of the dining-room
was closed, but from within I heard voices--voices raised in high
altercation.
The man who had apparently been watching for the arrival of my
companion, and who had opened the door, was tall and bearded--a perfect
stranger to me.
He threw back the door of the dining-room, where a curious scene
presented itself.
My companion, uttering a cry, drew back in alarm, while I stood upon
the threshold, scarcely knowing where I was. All was so sudden, so
entirely inexplicable. The room, with its old-fashioned furniture, was
well lit, and within stood two men. I could hardly believe my own eyes,
for before me stood Stonor--the mysterious M'sieur Smith of the Rue
Pierre Charron--and standing near him was my friend Whitlock.
My friend, the police officer, was quite as surprised as myself. He
looked from me to my companion, and then exclaimed--
"This is certainly a surprise, Mr Keene. I had no idea that you would
come here, especially with Miss Marvin."
"Nor I. But," I asked, "why are you here?"
"To perform a duty," he answered. "I have just placed this man,
Frederick Stonor, _alias_ Elkington, under arrest for the murder of
Louise Lorimer at Barnes."
"Arrest!" I gasped, staring at Stonor, and yet not without surprise,
while Daisy was too confounded to speak.
"Yes. Didn't you recognise the sergeant who admitted you?"
"It's a lie!" declared Stonor, defiantly. "I never killed the girl. You
have arrested me wrongfully."
"Then let us say 'on suspicion,'" remarked Whitlock, a sarcastic smile
overspreading his ruddy features. "And recollect that all you've told
me already may be given in evidence against you on your trial."
"I do not fear any evidence," he said. "I am innocent, perfectly
innocent. I know quite well that you came to Scarborough, that you
watched me. My movements may have been suspicious, but I shall be
interested to see what proofs you have against me."
"You knew the poor girl well," I said, looking him straight in the
face. "You took her to have her photograph taken."
"I quite admit that, but I had no knowledge of her assassination until
afterwards."
"Until after your wife, Hetty Stonor, had committed suicide,"
interposed Daisy.
"What!" exclaimed Whitlock, turning to my well-beloved. "Was the woman
who took her own life the wife of this man?"
"Yes. But--but I know that he is innocent," she declared. "Are you a
police officer?"
"This is Inspector Whitlock, of Scotland Yard," I said.
"Then he has no right to arrest Mr Stonor," she said. "The man who
killed poor Louise is your friend, Julian Little."
"He did not, any more than myself," cried Stonor, whom we, however,
knew to be his friend in secret.
"We shall inquire into that all in due course, Miss Marvin," Whitlock
said. "But it seems that you know something of this case. Perhaps you
will kindly give us some information, and we will see if it tallies
with the results of our investigations."
"I have told you the truth," she said in a harsh, strained voice. "Mr
Little is the guilty person."
"I do not differ from you," said Whitlock; "but I go farther, and say
that this man here is equally guilty."
"We shall see," laughed Stonor, in defiance. "Do your worst; but
remember that if you arrest me I shall hold you responsible for illegal
detention."
"On suspicion, remember," Whitlock said, with a smile. It was evident
that some further information had reached him during the past day
or so, and he had resolved to take the bull by the horns and make
the arrest. It had been quite obvious from the first that Stonor was
implicated in the tragic affair, but we had never dreamed that the
woman hitherto unidentified was actually his wife. Besides, Little, who
had been suspected from the first by Whitlock, had acted in a manner
which betrayed fear of arrest.
Yet why, after that scene in Paris, where Drayton had openly denounced
Stonor, should Daisy seek to secure his liberty? Why was she so sure of
Julian's guilt?
I shall ever remember the startling scene that night--the man under
arrest, standing defiant, the inspector cool and somewhat sarcastic,
and my well-beloved, with countenance pale as death and trembling
hands, seeking to shield that man whose wife had taken her own life
under such extraordinary circumstances, and of whose guilt there could,
after all, be no doubt!
"Mr Little returned to his chambers this evening," Whitlock said. "He
is under observation and we will go to him later."
"You need not trouble. He will be here at midnight. I have an
appointment with him," Stonor said.
"Then you admit an intimate friendship--eh?" remarked the detective.
"Certainly. We are friends."
"And he is the assassin!" declared Daisy. "He killed poor Louise!"
"You will have to prove your allegation, Miss Marvin," Stonor said in a
quiet voice. "I have not forgotten your words in Paris the other night."
"Nor have I forgotten the exposure which Mr Drayton made concerning
yourself," she cried. "It was you who endeavoured to part me from the
man who is to be my husband--the man who is here beside me."
Whitlock started and stared at me.
"Is this true, Keene?" he asked in surprise.
I admitted that it was, and that a secret engagement had long existed
between the popular artiste and myself.
At this he seemed puzzled, for he reflected for a full five minutes.
Then, turning to her, he asked--
"What causes you to suspect Mr Little?"
"I need not say," was her answer. "I know that he killed Louise--that
is all."
"I believe you know Mr Francis Douglas Drayton?"
"Intimately," was her prompt reply. "He is my half-brother. My mother
married again."
"Your half-brother!" I gasped. "Why, Daisy, you never told me that, and
I have all along been jealous of him."
"I had no idea of that until to-night, when I saw how foolishly I had
acted. But, now that you know the truth, dismiss him from your mind. In
this affair he has acted openly and honestly, and he has saved me from
becoming the victim of that man who now stands before us."
A look of anger crossed Stonor's face. Had she been a man he would, I
am certain, have knocked her down. But as it was he only said, with a
bitter smile playing about his mouth--
"You will regret one day, Daisy, the scandalous allegations you are
making against me."
"Allegations! Have I not told them that you are innocent of the blood
of Louise Lorimer, although you cannot deny that you loved her."
"I do not deny it. I did love her, and I have been searching to
discover the poor girl's secret assassin."
"You have long ago found him in Julian Little," she said. "He played
you false."
"As you have played this gentleman here--whose name I don't know," he
responded, indicating myself.
Was he referring to the mysterious guilt which she had asserted
prevented her from accepting my affection to the full. I watched her
face, and saw that she had gone white to the very lips.
"Yes," Stonor went on. "You and your half-brother Drayton may denounce
Little and myself, but one day the truth will be out and our innocence
established."
"One moment," interposed Whitlock. "Am I correct in believing that this
Mr Drayton has been abroad for some years--in Peru and other places?"
"Certainly he has been in Peru. He made, I believe, quite a comfortable
sum there by fortunate speculations."
I exchanged glances with Whitlock. There were some closed chapters of
the life of her half-brother of which she was, no doubt, in complete
ignorance. And certainly she would not know that he was at that moment
wanted by the police.
A detective-sergeant, whom I recognised as one of Whitlock's men,
entered the room and whispered something, but what he said I could not
hear. It was evident that my friend had called there unexpectedly,
while several of his men had surrounded the house where, before his
wife's tragic death, Stonor had lived under the name of Elkington.
The information that the Elkingtons had been young people--obtained
originally, I believe, from a milkman--had rather misled us, for,
later, we discovered that Elkington--or Stonor, as he was known to
us--had let the house furnished after the strange death of his wife,
and that the tenants were the young people who had gone away suddenly
and to whom the milkman had referred.
A cab, sent for by Whitlock, was at the door, it appeared, ready to
take Stonor to the police-station.
"I regret," said the man whose suspicious movements I had watched both
in Scarborough and Cromer, addressing Whitlock, "that you should think
fit to act like this. You apparently do not wish me to give you any
information."
"On the contrary. I merely said that any denial or any statement you
may make will be used in evidence against you. It is the law, you
know," replied my friend, politely, while the sergeant stood awaiting
the orders of his superior.
"At least allow me to remain until Little's arrival," urged the
prisoner. "He must be here in a moment, and he will perhaps convince
you that I am not the culprit."
"But he is," declared my well-beloved.
"How do you know?" inquired Whitlock. "What evidence have you?"
"I can bring forward a person who knows the truth," she said. "Arrest
Julian Little, the murderer of poor Louise, my schoolfellow and friend,
and I will furnish ample evidence of his guilt."
"Then, in your opinion, Miss Marvin, this gentleman here is not the
actual assassin?" Whitlock remarked.
"I express no opinion except that, knowing what I do, I think you are
defeating the ends of justice by arresting him. I do not say he is an
upright or an honest man--far from it. Indeed, if I cared, I could
reveal certain things concerning him which would probably bring about
his arrest upon an entirely different charge, but, mark me, he is not
the secret assassin of Louise Lorimer. It was to his interest that the
girl should live."
"But who was the girl?" I asked the woman I loved so dearly. "What was
the secret of that house at Barnes?"
"Ask the man before you," she replied, indicating Whitlock's prisoner,
whose face fell at her direct accusation. "Or, if he will not tell, ask
Julian Little."
"I am well aware that Mr Little was at the house at Barnes on the
evening preceding the tragic affair," Whitlock said. "He was identified
as having entered the house supposed to be tenantless, and therefore,
from the first moment when the inquiry was placed in my hands, I have
entertained a good deal of suspicion concerning him."
"Exactly. And you will discover that what I have told you is correct,"
Daisy said. Then, turning to me, she added, "Forgive me for saying
this, Victor, of a man who is your friend."
"I cannot yet discover why you are so bitter against him," I remarked.
"What harm has he ever done to you?"
"He killed Louise, my friend."
"Tell us the reason of the girl's presence in that tenantless house,"
urged Whitlock, addressing Stonor, "and why she was engaged at that
secret telegraph instrument!"
"I am now under arrest," was his reply. "Ask Little. If he chooses to
tell you he can do so."
"And if he does not?"
"Then I shall say nothing," he replied briefly.
"You still assert your innocence?" Whitlock asked, rather surprised at
the man's demeanour.
"I do. Take me to the station if you wish, but not before you have
questioned Julian Little."
"You imply that he is implicated in the affair with you," said the
inspector, drily. When dealing with a prisoner he always spoke abruptly
and to the point.
"I imply nothing, and I refuse to make any further statement," Stonor
said, with an attempt at carelessness. "Miss Marvin has told you that I
am not guilty."
"That has yet to be established," remarked the inspector, quietly.
"And I will establish it," Daisy said, standing bolt upright and facing
Whitlock boldly. Her attitude was most extraordinary, having regard to
what had taken place in Paris.
I did not know what to think.