CHAPTER XXI
THE TRUTH
Mrs. Baldwin had been much disturbed since the appearance of her husband. In her secret soul she dreaded the return of the man who had treated her so badly. All these years she had kept her fears to herself, but sometimes she suffered agonies. For some time these had grown less keen, as Rufus not appearing she fancied he must be dead. But the head of Rufus had been seen at the window: she had distinctly seen his face, and she knew she was no longer safe. He could not touch her money which was safely tied up, nor could he deal with the land she owned. But he had a way of terrorising her which would make her give him whatever he wanted. He would spend the money, treat his children badly, leave her next door to a pauper, and on the whole make things as unpleasant as he knew how.
There is nothing makes a man bolder than fear. This is paradoxical but true. Under the influence of supreme fear, the most cowardly person will become brave to rid himself of the cause of terror. Balzac acutely observes that "The rebellion of a sheep is terrible," and in this way Mrs. Baldwin felt. She was a timid woman in reality and had given in to the will of the brute she had unfortunately married. When he went away-not being able to get more money out of her-she breathed freely. But now that there was a chance of his coming into her life again, Mrs. Baldwin felt all her old terrors revive. But she determined if he did come she would kill him. To this extent had her fear driven her. She was scared to death, and therefore was the more dangerous.
Had she been wise, she would have seen her lawyers and told them everything. As Rufus had deserted her for so many years, the law would put things right for her. As he had treated her with brutality her evidence would enable the law to arrange matters so that she would no longer live in a state of terrorism. She could get a separation, even a divorce. But Mrs. Baldwin was not wise. She was a slow-thinking woman, and the mere presence of the man terrified. If he came to rule her again, she would not have the will to go to her lawyers and tell the truth. She therefore took matters into her own hands and bought a pistol which she kept under her bed-pillow in the night and under the sofa-pillow in the day. She made up her mind that if he came secretly to the house, as he had done, and would likely do again, she would shoot him. She would give the man no chance of exerting his influence over her. But of all this she said nothing, not even to Gerty, who could not understand why her mother grew thinner and more silent. Instead of reading and eating Turkish-delight as usual, Mrs. Baldwin wandered about the house feeling every now and then for the weapon in her pocket which she always took when she left the sofa.
"I'm all right, dear," said Mrs. Baldwin fretfully when Gerty made remarks; "I have a little worry, but it will pass away."
Things were in this state when Tracey arrived in the company of Arnold. The two entered the room, being introduced by one of the twins. Gerty was away teaching an old gentleman to manage a motor-car, and Mrs. Baldwin was alone. As usual she was lying on the sofa, but no longer reading or eating sweets. She lay there a shapeless mass in her tawdry tea-gown staring at the roof. When Tracey entered she started and thrust her hand under the pillow. But when she saw it was merely her future son-in-law she sank back with a smile. However, the sudden start made her face white, and Tracey noted it.
"You haven't been troubled by Rufus, have you?" he asked.
"No," said Mrs. Baldwin, with a faint smile, "he has never been near me since. When he does come," her eyes gleamed, "I am ready for him-I am no longer the timid weak woman I was. How are you, Mr. Calvert?"
"Very well, Mrs. Baldwin. You do not look well."
"I have trouble. We all have our troubles."
"Say," observed Tracey, "I've brought Calvert here to ask a question about a piece of jewellery of yours."
Mrs. Baldwin sat up. "My diamond necklace," she cried, "where is it?"
Arnold looked puzzled and Tracey held his tongue. "I know nothing about a diamond necklace," said Calvert; "this is what I wish you to see-" As he spoke he extended his hand in the palm of which lay the round locket of pale gold which Fane had produced. Arnold did not get a chance of finishing his sentence, for the moment Mrs. Baldwin set eyes on the unpretending piece of jewellery she gave a loud cry, opened her eyes, and sitting up grasped Calvert by the arm:
"Where is he?" she asked; "is he outside? If he is-" she released Arnold and pulled out the pistol.
"What do you mean?" asked Calvert, drawing back.
"I guess I know," said Tracey, recalling the previous interview; "this locket belongs to Rufus."
"Yes it does," admitted Mrs. Baldwin, casting apprehensive glances at the door and window, and still grasping the pistol; "where is he?"
"Not here," said Tracey, and strove to take the pistol away. But Mrs. Baldwin resisted.
"He will come," she said, "and I must be ready," and with that she replaced the pistol under the pillow.
"What does she mean?" asked Calvert in a whisper.
"Never mind," returned the American much discomposed, "ask her about the locket. She's queer, that's all."
"The locket-the locket," murmured Mrs. Baldwin, beginning to weep; "I gave it to Rufus when I thought he wasn't a brute. My portrait is in it. I was a young girl-"
"Will you look at it?" said Calvert, passing the locket.
Mrs. Baldwin shrank back as though she had been asked to handle a snake. "No, I dare not. He has worn it. Did he give it to you; or," she asked vindictively, "was it taken from his dead body?"
"It was taken from a dead hand."
"From the hand of Rufus. Is he dead? Am I free? Oh, great heavens, am I free?" and Mrs. Baldwin clapped her hands hysterically.
"No. It was taken from the hands of the woman who was killed at Ajax Villa. Evidently the man who wore it-"
"Rufus," whispered Mrs. Baldwin-
"Had a struggle with his victim. She might have seen the blow coming, and putting out her hand to ward it off, must have clutched the locket as it hung to the watch-chain."
"Rufus wore it on his watch-chain," said Mrs. Baldwin; "it is his locket. I gave it to him. He is a burglar. Now he is a murderer. He will come and kill me. Where's the pistol?" and she fumbled under the sofa-pillow, grey with fear.
"We don't know that he's a murderer yet," said Tracey soothingly; "you go slow, ma'am."
"I tell you if that locket was found in the dead woman's hand, Rufus killed her," said Mrs. Baldwin, crushing her hands together.
"What is Rufus like in looks?" asked Tracey.
"Fat and red-faced, with grey hair. Always smiling-always smiling-a kind-looking man-with a black heart. A criminal-a brute, a-"
"Tracey," interrupted Arnold, rising, "she is describing Jasher."
"That's so," said the American, without surprise; "ever since Bocaros confessed that Jasher was his friend I have suspected. Well, now we know at last who killed Mrs. Brand."
"Another woman-another woman," moaned Mrs. Baldwin, "another victim."
"It will be his last," said Tracey grimly; "thank God he's not Gerty's poppa. I'm sorry for the children, though."
Mrs. Baldwin rose. "They must never know-never!"
"If Jasher, or Rufus as you call him, is caught he'll speak out, and the whole business will come to light," said Tracey.
"I don't know about that," said Arnold, with a troubled look; "let us see what we can do. Perhaps Jasher may be innocent."
"If there was murder to be done he did it," said Mrs. Baldwin, in a sharp manner; "do what you like, but keep the man out of my life. I'm dangerous. Quite as dangerous as he is."
"It's all right. You say nothing," said Tracey, and thereupon made Mrs. Baldwin lie down. Then he sent Arnold to wait for him outside, and soothed the woman. When he came out, he walked in silence to the gate. "I've mailed that letter," he said, "and sent a wire also. You bet Jasher, not suspecting anything wrong, will be at the little house yonder to-night."
"Will we get in the police?"
"Not just yet," said Tracey hesitatingly; "you see, he's Gerty's step-father after all. I guess we'll make him confess, and then chuck him out of the country. I don't want him to be arrested."
"We can't be sure of his guilt yet, either."
"No. That's a fact. Bocaros is keeping something back."
"What about Mrs. Baldwin?"
"She's all right. I've got her quiet. So long as this man doesn't cross her track she'll lie still. If he does-"
"Well. What if he does?"
"She'll drop him with that pistol of hers."
"Nonsense. She can't shoot!"
"She'll get the bullet into the heart of Jasher somehow, if he is her husband, as seems likely. The woman is mad with fear, and she'll get him out of her life somehow. I say, Calvert, don't say anything to any one of the rubbish she talks."
"No I won't-not if she shoots Jasher. And if he's the murderer, it would be about the best thing that could happen. For the sake of Mrs. Fane and the child, for Laura's sake, I want things hushed up."
"Same here," assented Tracey, "for the sake of Gerty and the kids. And for Momma Baldwin's sake also," he added; "I'm real sorry for her. She's a good sort, and will sleep better when Jasher's caught."
"But, I say, Tracey, why should Jasher have killed Flora Brand?"
"Can't say, unless it has to do with the money. But you go slow, we'll get at the truth this night."
Nothing more was said at the time, and with Luther, Calvert drove back to town. The play had ceased to run, so his evenings were now his own. He and the American had a meal in a Soho restaurant, but neither ate very much. When the meal was ended Tracey proposed to start for the professor's house at once. But Arnold, calling a cab, first drove to his lodgings. When there he produced two Derringers, and giving one to Tracey, put the other into his pocket.
"But what's this for?" asked Tracey.
"I think there's going to be a row," said Arnold, leading the way downstairs. "Jasher will show fight if he is the villain Mrs. Baldwin makes him out to be. Then there's Bocaros. I do not trust Bocaros."
"Oh, he's all right," said Luther, as they entered a hansom; "he's on the money tack, and so long as you give him the dollars he'll make it hot for Jasher."
"Do you think Bocaros knows the truth?"
"I'm sure of it. He only told so much as he was obliged to this afternoon. A deep cuss is the professor. I say, it's raining!"
"Worse," said Arnold, drawing up the collar of his coat, "a mist is coming on. We'll get lost in those fields."
"Don't mind, so long as Jasher don't get lost."
The cab drove on. The fog was not very thick in town, but as they neared Troy it became more dense. By the time they turned down Achilles Avenue a dense white pall lay over the earth, and the air was as cold as a December day. The cabman professed his inability to drive them further. On hearing this Tracey hopped out, followed by Calvert. "It's just as well," said the latter; "we don't want to make the thing too public."
He paid the cabman lavishly, and then the two men set off down the side-road which ran through the ancient village of Cloverhead. They passed along the lane which led to the stile on the verge of the fields, and at the back of the manor saw a light on the ground floor. "Mrs. Baldwin's bedroom," said Tracey as they jumped the stile; "she's in bed early-it's just eight o'clock. I guess her nerves have given way."
"I wonder she isn't afraid to sleep on the ground floor," said Arnold.
"Oh, she's only lost her nerve lately. She didn't mind before. I guess she'll change her bedroom soon and get up to the garret. Say, what a fog."
It was indeed a thick white fog, and to make things more uncomfortable it was raining steadily. The low-lying meadows underfoot were slushy, muddy, and slippery. The two men toiled through the dense curtain of mist more by instinct than by sight. Tracey knew the path to the little house well, as he had often passed over the fields to see Bocaros. By the feel of their boots they managed to keep to the somewhat irregular path which ran from the stile, and so by devious ways they succeeded in making their way across the waste. At last they came to gorse bushes looming out of the fog, and beyond this was a dim yellow light.
"I guess the professor hasn't disappointed us," said Tracey, as they felt their way to the door; "he's in there."
"Alone, probably," said Calvert.
Tracey shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. It's not the night to tempt a cat out let alone a comfortable scoundrel like Jasher, who hates, I bet, to get his feet wet. But the business is urgent, else Bocaros would not send for him, so fog or no fog, he's there."
"But Tracey was wrong. When they entered the warm study and took off their coats they formed a trio with the professor. He explained that Jasher had not arrived. Then they sat down and talked over the matter. The Greek had by this time turned King's evidence to save his own skin, and to get money out of Calvert.
"But you didn't tell us everything this afternoon?" said Arnold.
"What else there is to be told will be explained when Jasher is here," replied the Greek grimly; "it won't be pleasant for him."
"Guess there's no honour amongst thieves," muttered Tracey, toasting his steaming feet. "Say, professor," he added aloud, "why do you call that low-down cuss Jasher?"
"Has he another name?" asked Bocaros.
"He's bad enough to have a dozen names," growled Tracey, who did not intend to give away Mrs. Baldwin's secret, for Bocaros was just the man to make capital out of it. He had only made a tentative attempt to see if Bocaros knew anything of the matter. Apparently he did not, and to him Jasher was simply the private inquiry-agent he represented himself to be.
While they were thus talking a soft knock came to the window. The Greek put his finger to his lips and nodded silently. Evidently this was Jasher's private signal. When Bocaros left the room to admit his confederate-for Jasher was nothing more and nothing less-the young men felt for their revolvers. It was not likely that Jasher would give in without a struggle, and a show of force might be necessary. Arnold's heart thrilled at the coming fight, and Tracey's eyes glittered. "It might be a clearing out West," he whispered Calvert, "with judge Lynch holding his court."
Jasher, round and ruddy and as complacent as ever, entered in the wake of Bocaros. He had no idea that the Greek had betrayed him, for he shook hands-he insisted on shaking hands-with much gusto. "I am glad you are here, Mr. Calvert," said he, sitting down. "I have much to say. But what brings you to this quarter?"
"We have made a few discoveries ourselves," said Calvert, "and we came to talk them over with the professor."
"Why, the professor knows nothing," said Jasher, still quite unsuspicious. "Let me hear what you have found out."
"On the contrary, I should like to hear of your discoveries."
"Well," said Jasher, gazing into the fire, "it seems to me that Fane committed the crime. He came up from Southend, and he was at the villa on that night. I've an idea he knew this woman."
"What was she to him?" asked Arnold calmly.
"I have heard it said she was his wife."
"Why don't you say straight out what you know?" broke in Tracey; "I guess you knew the truth from Bocaros."
"Bocaros!" Jasher, with sudden suspicion, leaped to his feet, and his little eyes glittered. "What's that?"
"This much," said the Greek, also rising, "I have told these gentlemen all I know. Ah-"
"No you don't," said Tracey, catching Jasher as he hurled himself forward. "Go slow."
Jasher tried to recover his calm. "This is some joke, gentlemen," he said, wiping his face and looking at the watchful faces before him. "What does Professor Bocaros know?"
"He knows," said the Greek, keeping well behind Calvert, "that it was you who suggested the idea of getting Mrs. Brand to make the will in my favour. It was you who put me up to getting the key stolen and duplicated. It was you who wrote those letters luring Mr. Calvert and Miss Mason to the villa so that you might put the blame on them. I never knew you meant murder, Jasher," said Bocaros, stepping forward, "or I should not have joined with you."
"This is all lies," said Jasher faintly.
"It is true. And it was arranged when we found that the woman was dead that I should engage you as a detective so that you might be able to manipulate the case at your will. Owing to the change which Mrs. Brand made in her will, Calvert stood in my way and in yours. It was then that you proposed to fix the guilt of the murder on him."
"And had I not overslept myself," said Calvert, his eyes on Jasher, "I should have fallen into your trap."
"Let me out of this," said the detected scoundrel, and made a dash for the door. He was met by Tracey, revolver in hand. With an oath he slipped round his hand for his own weapon.
"Hold up your hands or I shoot!" said the Yankee. "Now get back to your seat and tell the truth if it's in you."
Sullenly and with all his surface good-nature gone, Jasher, with his hands held over his head, sat down. "It's a lie-a lie!" he said vehemently, finding his voice in the extremity of his danger. "Bocaros lured the woman to the villa. I came later-a few minutes after ten. I was admitted by him."
"That's a lie!" said Bocaros. "You told me you let yourself in with the key of Mrs. Brand."
"I didn't. I was not at the villa till after ten-the woman was killed before. I found you standing by the dead body. You killed her."
"I did not. From the fact that you had the key to enter, I guessed you must have seen Mrs. Brand earlier. You met her, I swear-not I. It was you who stabbed her, and with the dagger which she brought with her to threaten Fane. You arranged all these plans so that you could lay the blame on others. If I did not pay up, you arranged-as you told me-to hunt me down in your character of detective. It was you who killed the woman to get control of the money."
Jasher had kept his eyes steadily on the face of the professor. When the man finished, he flung up his hands with a wild cry and pointed to the window. "Look! Look! A face!" he shrieked.
The others involuntarily turned. In a moment Jasher whipped out his revolver and dashed out of the door. As he passed Bocaros he fired, and the Greek fell to the floor. "Judas! Judas!" cried the other man, and fled into the darkness.
Calvert remained behind to attend to the wounded man, but Tracey, whose blood was up because of the stratagem of which he had been the victim, dashed after Jasher, revolver in hand. He plunged into the cold mist, running wildly. His foot caught in the stump of a tree, and he fell at full length. In the blinding fog it was useless to attempt pursuit, but Jasher, without coat and hat, could not run far without being questioned by a policeman. The recent crime in Troy had made the police wary, and Jasher would certainly be detained. With this idea, Tracey rose and limped back to the house.
Meanwhile Jasher, who knew the ground well, turned to the left and ran across the meadow. He slipped his weapon into his pocket, and raced hard through the mist. By chance he came against the fence at the back of the manor-house, and saw above the yellow light of Mrs. Baldwin's bedroom. Jasher knew that she slept there, as for reasons of his own he had made himself acquainted with all that went on in the house. He had heard that his wife was rich because of the rise of land, and had intended to come back with an apology for having taken the diamond necklace. But the chance offered by the murder of Mrs. Brand to get a large sum of money out of Bocaros proved too tempting, and thus Jasher had remained away. Now that he was a fugitive and with-so far as he knew-Calvert and Tracey on his track, he thought he would take refuge with the wife he had treated so badly. He also knew that without hat and coat he would be stopped by the police, and when he dashed out of the professor's house it was his intention to make for the abode of his wife.
After listening intently and hearing nothing but the steady rain, Jasher, cursing his bad luck, climbed over the fence. He walked up the lawn and mounted the terrace which ran before the windows of Mrs. Baldwin's bedroom. At the middle window he knocked softly. He heard a cry within, and applying his eyes to a hole in the blind, he saw that his wife was alone, reading in bed. She had half-started up, and had her hand under the pillow.
"Who is there?" asked Mrs. Baldwin sharply.
"Maria. It's me-Rufus. Let me in. I am in danger!"
"Never! Never! Go away, or I'll alarm the house."
"Jasher pleaded, and swore, and did all he knew to make her alter her decision. But she would not. He was drenched by the rain, shivering, and hatless. The bloodhounds were on his track. He lost his head, and with a furious oath dashed his whole weight against the window. The frail structure broke inward, and, half blinded, he burst through the curtain. As in a dream he saw his wife wild with terror start from the bed. She raised her hand, and the next moment there came a stunning report. With a yell Jasher threw up his hands and fell. Mrs. Baldwin's shrieks aroused her daughter, the children, and the servants. They rushed into the room, and found the dead man and the frantic woman.
"A burglar-a burglar cried Mrs. Baldwin. I've killed him." Then she threw up her hands wildly. "Out of my life at last-out of my life!"
The next moment she was lying senseless by the side of the husband she had shot.