Ellis made this demand with the intention of seeing how far Mrs.
Moxton would trust him, as it was scarcely fair that the confidence
should be all on one side. To his secret astonishment and
openly-expressed pleasure, she agreed at once to the request.

"As you trust me, I shall you," said Mrs. Moxton. "Keep the will by
all means till to-morrow morning; but take care of it, as it is an
original document."

"I will put it away now "; and Ellis locked the document up in a
despatch-box which stood near his desk. "And I thank you for this
proof of confidence, Mrs. Moxton; you will not find it misplaced."

"I am quite sure of that, doctor. I trust you thoroughly."

"In some ways, yes, in others, no. For instance, why will you not tell
me about Zirknitz?"

Mrs. Moxton turned pale. "I cannot tell you about him--yet."

Ellis was vexed. "Well, there is no need," said he, a trifle crossly.
"I know about this man."

"About Rudolph? About--"

"Yes, about your brother by marriage."

The widow, who in her excitement had half risen from her chair, fell
back into it again thunderstruck. "Where did you meet him?" she
stammered.

"At the Merryman Music-Hall."

"Do you know that place?" shrieked Mrs. Moxton, much agitated.

"I was there last night. There I met Zirknitz, and he told me of his
relationship to you. Also," and here Ellis grew grave, "he informed me
who murdered your husband."

Mrs. Moxton's capacity for amazement was exhausted by these repeated
shocks, and she sat limply in her chair. The last remark, however,
seemed to brace her up for the moment.

"And who does he say killed Edgar?" she asked, with an anxiety she
strove vainly to conceal.

"None other than Busham, the man who--"

Mrs. Moxton interrupted him with a burst of hysterical laughter. "Dr.
Ellis," said she, in a choking voice, "I _know_ that is false. Mr.
Busham did _not_ kill my husband."

CHAPTER XI
A HALF CONFESSION

Mrs. Moxton made the statement regarding Busham's innocence with so
much decision that Ellis looked at her in surprise. It was strange
that she should defend a man she disliked. "How is it that you think
him guiltless?" he asked anxiously.

"Because he is a coward, and too timid to kill a man."

"Your husband was stabbed in the back in the darkness. That looks like
a coward's deed."

"All the same, I feel sure he is innocent," persisted the widow. "I
can see no reason for his killing Edgar. He knew that old Moxton made
another will shortly before dying, and that he would not inherit. No!
look at it which way you will, Mr. Busham is not the murderer. I
detest the man, but I must be just to him. What else did Rudolph tell
you, or, rather, on what ground does he accuse Mr. Busham?"

"He refused to tell me the grounds without your permission."

"My permission! Why, I know nothing about the matter."

"From what Zirknitz hinted it would appear that you do," said Ellis, a
trifle drily.

"Then he shall tell his story in your presence," rejoined Mrs. Moxton,
quickly, "and you will see that I know nothing."

"I shall be glad to be convinced. Tell me, why did you keep silent
about this young man?"

"Because of the blood marks on the arm of Edgar."

"Oh, so you knew the secret of the cryptographic signs, in spite of
your denial?"

"I did! I do! As a matter of fact, I taught that cryptogram to
my--" here Mrs. Moxton closed her mouth with the nervous gesture of
one who thinks she is saying too much.

"To your sister," finished Ellis, quietly.

Mrs. Moxton fenced. "How do you know that I have a sister?"

"From the books in your house, some of which contain your name and
that of your sister Janet. Also from a cabman on the rank here, who
described to me a woman so like you that I am convinced she is your
sister--possibly, from the exact likeness, your twin sister."

The widow became the colour of chalk at these words. "Where did the
cabman see her?"

"He drove her to Pimlico on the night, and about the time, your
husband was murdered."

For a moment or so Mrs. Moxton looked doubtfully at Ellis, and passed
her tongue over her dry lips. The doctor could see that she trembled.
His unexpected knowledge evidently inflicted a shock on her nerves.
Yet, for all her emotion, she still strove to baffle his curiosity.
"You seem to know a good deal about my husband," she said irritably.

"I do. Because I am anxious to clear your name and extricate you from
a difficult position. Mrs. Moxton"--Ellis rose and bent over her with
great earnestness--"why will you not be frank with me? You tell me
much, but you will not tell me all."

She moaned and moved away from him. "Heaven help me, I dare not tell
you all."

"Yet I am your best friend."

"I know it, but you would shrink from me did you know the truth."

Ellis took her hand gently. "Tell me who murdered your husband?" he
whispered urgently.

"I don't know! I swear I don't know!" cried the widow, with much
vehemence; "if I did I would tell."

"The blood marks hint at Zirknitz."

"Yes, yes, but I am sure he is innocent. Rudolph is foolish, vain,
shallow, but he never killed Edgar, I swear."

"Yet the name on the dead man's arm?"

"I don't know the reason of that; I can't say why Edgar wrote it. I
read it myself, although I denied all knowledge to you. It was for
Rudolph's sake that I lied. I was afraid lest he should get into
trouble. I asked him if he was in Dukesfield on that night, but he
denies that he was."

"And your sister Janet?"

A tremor passed through the frame of Mrs. Moxton. "She came to see me
on that night, and we quarrelled; she left before Edgar came back,
and, I suppose, went crying down the road to take a cab home."

"Did she see the murder committed?" asked Ellis, tentatively.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Moxton, under her breath. "I am--oh," she
burst out, "I can't tell you more. I have had to do with villains and
rogues all my life, and I am paying the penalty of their sins, not of
my own. I have tried to be a good woman, so do not shrink from me. I
swear that I do not know who killed Edgar. Some day I may tell you
more, but at present I cannot--I cannot."

She hastily let down her veil and stood up to go. "You trust me still?
you believe in me yet?" she said entreatingly, and with tears.

"I do," replied Ellis, touched by her emotion. "You puzzle me more
than I can say, yet I am sure you are innocent of all evil. But if you
would only tell me--"

"Some day! some day!" she interrupted hastily; "but not now. Yet what
you should know, you shall know. Come to me between four and five
to-day, and you will meet Rudolph. He shall confess what he means by
hinting at my knowledge of Mr. Busham's guilt."

"I will come with pleasure, but do you think Zirknitz will come?"

"Yes. I will telegraph for him now. He loves me and trusts me, and I
have great power over his weak nature. In my hands he is like wax, and
if the truth is in him you shall hear it this afternoon. But I know
that Rudolph is innocent. I am certain that Mr. Busham did not strike
the blow. Heaven alone knows the secret of Edgar's death. Good-bye,
good-bye, Dr. Ellis, and do not think badly of me. Indeed, indeed,
when the moment comes I can put myself right in your eyes. What other
people say or think, I do not care, but you must be shown that I am
more sinned against than sinning. Good-bye!" She stretched out her
hand, and withdrew it abruptly ere he could touch the tips of her
fingers. "Not yet, not yet," she muttered, and swiftly glided from the
room before Ellis could recover from his surprise.

This woman was more inexplicable than ever. Apparently she knew a
great deal, as could be seen by the information which Ellis had
dragged out of her. Yet she refused to be candid, although at the same
time she admitted that she wished to preserve her friend's good
opinion. The hints dropped in her last hasty speech showed Ellis that
he was right in trusting to his instinct concerning her nature.
Whatever Mrs. Moxton might be,--mysterious, shady, dangerous,--she had
a straightforward, honest mind. It was warped by the circumstances in
which she found herself placed through no fault of her own, and she
was forced to fence and lie, and act a tricky part for some strong
reason which she refused to impart to Ellis. Privately he thought that
all her energies were bent upon shielding her sister, as formerly she
had striven to shield Zirknitz by denying all knowledge of the
cryptogram. Could Janet Gordon be the guilty person? Ellis twice or
thrice asked himself this question, but could find no answer to it.
Her hasty flight on the night of the murder, her tears, her silence,
her absence from the music-hall hinted--if not at personal guilt--at
least at guilty knowledge. If she did not kill Moxton herself,--and on
the face of it she could have had no reason to do so,--she must have
seen the crime committed. Perhaps she had met with the assassin face
to face, and had fled horror-struck and weeping to the cab-stand. The
way to learn the truth would be to see her. No doubt she had confessed
the cause of her terror to Mrs. Moxton, and it was this secret which
Mrs. Moxton, loyally doing violence to her nature, wished to conceal.
But if the widow would not speak, Ellis made up his mind that Janet
Gordon should; therefore he resolved to find out the number of her
lodging in Geneva Square, and call upon her. Failing Mrs. Moxton,
Zirknitz might supply the information. In her own despite Mrs. Moxton
must be rescued from the dangers which appeared to surround her. She
had confessed with less than her usual caution that she was paying for
the sins of others, and Ellis was bent upon bringing the truth to
light and making the actual sinners suffer for their own wickedness.
The fact that he was more deeply in love than ever, greatly assisted
him in arriving at this conclusion. Yet a wise man, a worldly man,
would have called him a fool to still love and trust Mrs. Moxton in
the face of all he knew about her. But in this instance instinct was
stronger than argument, and Ellis was satisfied that the woman he
loved would yet emerge vindicated and spotless from the dark cloud of
troubles which obscured her true nature.

Precisely at half-past four he presented himself at Myrtle Villa. The
door was opened by Mrs. Moxton herself. Apparently she had been
watching for his arrival, and Ellis, guessing as much, felt his heart
swell with joy. Strange that his love at this moment should move him
to emotion.

"Rudolph is here," whispered the widow. "Let me question him. I know
how to make him speak out."

Ellis nodded, and when ushered into the sitting-room was sufficiently
composed to meet Zirknitz with a smile. The Austrian looked an Adonis
in the daytime, and was admirably dressed in a smart frock-coat,
fawn-coloured trousers, and patent leather boots of high polish. He
was a modern D'Orsay in looks and dress--just the handsome kind of
scamp to attract silly women. Ellis had no doubt that one day or
another Monsieur Rudolph would pick up an heiress, and become
respectable. The young man was shallow and selfish, yet--if one could
judge by his smiling face--harmless enough in other ways.

"I am delighted to see you, doctor," said the Austrian, blandly. "You
must forgive me for leaving you so abruptly the other night. But you
were beginning to ask me indiscreet questions, so I--vanished."

"Rudolph always considers himself first," observed Mrs. Moxton, who
was making tea. "He is the most selfish creature in existence."

"The most selfish!" assented Zirknitz. "I think of no one by myself.
Why should I? _Quelle bêtise_."

"Every man should think of others!" said Ellis, hardly knowing what to
say in the face of this cool confession.

"Oh, _mon cher_ monsieur, that doctrine is out of date. Thank you,
Laura. I will have some tea. Three sugar bits, my dear. I love sweets,
and sunshine, and pretty girls--as a butterfly should."

Mrs. Moxton looked at the pretty youth with something of contempt.
"You need not blazon forth your follies, Rudolph. I know what you are;
and Dr. Ellis will soon find you out. What is this story you have been
telling him about me?"

"Story? None! What is it, monsieur? _Point de moquerie!_"

"You accuse Busham of this murder!"

"Ah, yes, now I remember; and I refused to tell you my reasons until
permitted by my sister. Have I your consent, _ma chère_ Laura?"

"Tell everything you know," cried Mrs. Moxton, with a frown. "Why you
should bring my name into the matter I don't know. There is no need
for you to explain, Rudolph; you will only romance. Why do you
suspect Busham?"

Zirknitz looked at Ellis. "Can I speak freely?" he asked doubtfully.

"Certainly. The doctor is my best friend."

"Ah! so charming to have a best friend. Hear, then, monsieur, and
you, my dear Laura. When I was at Dukesfield on the night Edgar was
killed--"

"Why," said Ellis, with something of anger in his tones, "you told me
you were not at Dukesfield on that night."

Zirknitz shrugged his handsome shoulders. "I told a lie! Oh, yes, I
always tell a lie when necessary. I did not know Laura wished me to
speak, so I told what was not true. What would you, monsieur? Your
questions were indiscreet. My answers were false. _Voila!_"

"Never mind excusing yourself, Rudolph. What about Mr. Busham?"

"Eh, my dear sister, I believe he killed our poor Moxton! Why not? I
saw the excellent Busham in Dukesfield on the night of the death."

CHAPTER XII
MR BUSHAM, SOLICITOR

Lounging in his chair, Zirknitz made this astonishing statement as
though it were the most natural thing in the world. Mrs. Moxton looked
at Ellis in surprise, and both looked at Rudolph.

"Is this true?" asked Ellis, doubtfully.

"Eh, _mon cher_, most assuredly. I tell lies only when necessary."

"Rudolph, you must explain how it was you came to be in Dukesfield on
that night."

"My dear sister, did I not say I would come for Janet?"

"Yes, and you never kept your promise."

"No," chimed in Ellis. "Polly Horley said the same thing."

Rudolph smiled in a most engaging manner.

"Ah, that excellent Horley! How much she knows of what she knows not.
My sister, have I your permission to smoke?"

Mrs. Moxton impatiently nodded an assent. "But I am waiting to hear
how you did not come for Janet and yet were in Dukesfield on that
night."

With great deliberation, Zirknitz selected a cigarette from his silver
case and lighted it before making any reply. Selfish in his every act,
he offered none to Ellis--an omission which troubled that gentleman
very little. He had no great love for this egotistical butterfly.

"My Laura," said Rudolph, blowing a whiff of smoke, "on that night I
was playing cards in the _salon_ of the music-hall, and I won twenty
pounds from Edgar. He had not the money, but he gave me an 'I O U.'
Then, most furious at his loss, he drank and drank till he was as a
wild beast. I was going for Janet, and at the station I saw our Edgar;
but to avoid him I went in another carriage. At the station of
Dukesfield, I tried to run from him; but he saw me and followed;
_quelle bêtise_. There was trouble, and he wished to fight. So when he
went home I saw it was foolish to come for Janet, as Edgar would be
raging. I took back another train, and a cab to my rooms in
Bloomsbury. _Voila_, the story!"

"Not all the story!" said Ellis. "You have left out the most important
part--about Busham."

"Ah, that dear Busham. When Edgar was angry with me on the platform of
the Dukesfield station, I see out of my eye's corner that clever
advocate. He was watching our dear Edgar, but did not come near him. I
knew him. Oh, yes, I knew his face very well."

"I did not know you were acquainted with him, Rudolph!"

"Best of sisters, I do not tell you all I know, or do. Our Edgar one
day took me to see the excellent Busham in his office, where they did
fight. Oh, I tell you, monsieur, the good Busham sent us away with a
flea in our ears. Edgar spoke of his father, and said that Busham was
a rogue wanting the money; so we had trouble, and we left very
enraged. So I met Busham, the pig," finished Zirknitz, smiling, "and I
do not forget his face."

"He was watching Edgar on the night of his death?"

"_Oui da!_ He thought I saw him not, but I did see him. _Ma foi_, I
have quick eyes, Laura, as you well know. He ran out of the station
after Edgar, and I am certain followed to kill him."

"About what time was this?"

"On eleven. I did hear the clock of the station strike when I was
enraged with Edgar."

"And Moxton was drunk?" inquired Ellis, anxiously.

"He was straight drunk, for he could walk; and cross-drunk, assuredly,
since he wished to fight with me. But I care not for boxing," said Mr.
Zirknitz, gracefully. "And I go home to bed before twelve of the
clock, like a good little boy. Aha, monsieur, you think I kill Edgar,
do you not? _Eh bien!_ You demand of my landlady if I was not in my
bed before twelve of the clock. I did not kill our poor Edgar. Why
should I when he owes me twenty pounds? _Cher_ Ellis, you are in the
wrong box."

"You had better wait until I accuse you before excusing yourself,"
said Ellis, drily. "But even with this story of Busham having been at
Dukesfield, I do not see how you can be certain of his guilt."

"Eh? To me it appears clear. This clever Busham wanted the money of
his uncle, and murdered Edgar to get it."

"But, Rudolph, at that time Mr. Busham knew that a second will had
been made."

"Most certainly, _chère_ Laura. If no second will had been made, this
excellent Busham would not have killed Edgar."

"We can say nothing for certain until we see Busham," said Ellis,
after a pause, "but there is one thing probable, Mrs. Moxton. If
Busham accuses you in any way we can turn the tables on him."

"You call on Busham, Laura."

"To-morrow. I must see about the will."

"And the money," smiled Rudolph. "Eh, _ma s[oe]ur_, forget not the most
important thing."

"To you, perhaps, not to me," replied Mrs. Moxton, with contempt. "My
object is to get free of all this trouble."

"Of course. I will help you; eh, most certainly. But ask me not to
meet the police. I do not like the police. For if--"

"Monsieur Zirknitz," said Ellis, cutting short this speech, "how came
it that your name was indicated on the dead man's arm?"

The Austrian was in no wise discomposed by this remark. "Ah, Laura
spoke to me of that. I do not know; I cannot say. But I think, ah, _ma
foi_, I think."

"What do you think, Rudolph?"

"My sister, I quarrelled with your good husband at the Dukesfield
Station, and he went away enraged with me. When Busham struck him in
the back--"

"You can't be sure of that," interrupted Ellis, impatiently.

"Eh, but I am sure," insisted Zirknitz, politely; "and Edgar, not
seeing who stabbed him so cruelly, thought that I did so. Then he
wrote on his arm to tell Laura."

"But why in cryptographic signs?"

"That I cannot say. The sign of a lizard was always the good Edgar's
little jest on me. For my name is that of a town in my country where
there are many lizards. Edgar found it in a book and always jested.
Very little jests pleased the good Moxton. But now I must go," said
Zirknitz, rising. "I have told you all you wish. My sister, do you
desire me to speak more? No! My good doctor, have you a policeman
without for my arrest? No! Ah, then I will take my leave. Not _adieu_,
dear friends, but _au revoir_."

When Zirknitz sauntered out of the room, Mrs. Moxton looked after him
with a singular expression. "What do you think of him?" she asked.

"He is clever. It is a great pity he does not put his talents to
better use."

"Oh," Mrs. Moxton shrugged her shoulders, "I don't ask you about his
character. I know about that well enough. But do you think he is
speaking the truth?"

"Yes. He has no reason to tell a lie. I daresay he did see Busham."

"And do you think Mr. Busham is guilty?"

"I can't say. We have not sufficient evidence to go upon."

Mrs. Moxton turned the conversation abruptly. "Did you read the will?"

"Yes. I see that all the money is left to you. I will give you back
the document to-morrow. What time do you wish me to call?"

"About eleven o'clock. I have written to Mr. Busham making an
appointment for mid-day. I am glad you are coming with me," said the
widow, sighing; "it will be a difficult interview."

"That remains to be seen. At any rate, we are not so defenceless as we
were before. If Busham accuses you--although I don't see on what
grounds he can do so--we can denounce him on the evidence of
Zirknitz."

"He will deny that he was at Dukesfield."

"Zirknitz can swear to his presence."

"No doubt, but will Rudolph do so? He is so afraid of the police."

Ellis reflected for a moment. "You are not so candid with me as you
might be, Mrs. Moxton," said he, seriously, "therefore you render my
task the more difficult. But answer me truly now. Has Zirknitz ever
done anything for which he is wanted by the police?"

"Not to my knowledge," replied the widow, frankly, "but he is such a
coward, and his life is so open to danger, that the very name of the
law terrifies him beyond expression. It is for this reason that I am
certain of his innocence, and for the same reason I shielded him by
feigning ignorance of the cryptogram. But we can talk of these things
later. I am tired now."

In this abrupt way she dismissed Ellis, and he left the house sorely
puzzled, his constant state of mind in reference to Mrs. Moxton. If he
did marry her he would marry the sphinx. That was clear enough.

Mr. Richard Busham inhabited a dingy set of offices in Esher Lane,
adjacent to the Temple. His staff of clerks consisted of two
under-fed, overworked creatures, who scribbled in an outer room for
dear life at a miserable wage. The inner room, which had two dusty
windows looking on to Bosworth Gardens, was occupied by their
employer. This apartment was piled all round the walls with black tin
boxes with the names of various clients painted on them in white. A
brass-wired bookcase contained a few calf-bound volumes of legal
lore; there was a large table covered with green baize, two chairs,
and--nothing else. A more dreary or barren room can scarcely be
conceived, but Mr. Busham being a miser, it suited him well enough. He
called himself a lawyer, but he was really a usurer, and gained a
handsome income by squeezing extortionate interest out of the needy.
If the walls of Busham's private apartment could have spoken they
would have protested frequently against the sights they were compelled
to witness. The Holy Inquisition tortured people less than did this
rat of a lawyer. He ground down his victims to the lowest, he lured
them into his spider-web, and rejected them only when he had sucked
them dry. His law was a farce, his money-lending a tragedy.

The man himself resembled in looks Fraisier, the rascally lawyer so
admirably drawn by Balzac in "Le Cousin Pons." Like Fraisier, Busham
was small, sickly-looking and pimpled; his expression was equally as
sinister, and his heart as hard--that is if he had a heart, which his
clients were inclined to doubt. He scraped and screwed, and swindled,
and pinched to collect all the money he could; yet what benefit he
thought he would gain from this hoarding it is impossible to say. He
never spent it, he lived like a hermit, like a beggar, and gratified
his sordid pride with the knowledge that he was becoming a wealthy
man. And when he arrived at wealth? What then! Busham never gave this
consideration a thought, perhaps because he fancied he would never
become as wealthy as he wished to be. Altogether the man was an
unwholesome, evil creature, who should, for the good of humanity, have
been in gaol. But he was clever enough to keep on the right side of
the law he so misinterpreted.

At mid-day Mrs. Moxton and Ellis presented themselves before this
engaging being, and looked round the frowsy office with disgust.
Another chair had to be brought in from the outer room for the
accommodation of the doctor, and when his visitors were seated, Busham
welcomed them with a nervous titter, which showed that he was not
quite easy in his mind regarding the interview. Indirectly he resented
the presence of Ellis.

"Well, Mrs. Moxton," said he in a whistling whisper, his usual voice,
"is there a will?"

The widow produced the blue envelope and laid it on the table. "There
it is," she said, "it leaves all the property to me."

Busham went green and gasped, "All the property to you!" He snatched
up the will and hastily read it over. "I see it does," was his answer;
then after a pause he cast an evil look on Mrs. Moxton, and opened a
drawer of his desk. Evidently he was about to bring forward his
accusation.

"Since you have shown me the will, I have something equally
interesting to show you," said he, quietly. "What do you think of
this, Mrs. Moxton?" And on the table he laid a bone-handled
carving-knife, on the blade of which were dull, dark stains of blood.

CHAPTER XIII
MRS MOXTON'S SURRENDER

The widow turned pale when she saw the knife, and, unable to speak,
looked at Ellis. The doctor understood that pleading glance and at
once threw himself into the breach. "Where did you get this?" he asked
Busham, sharply.

The lawyer, scenting an enemy, looked mistrustfully at the speaker out
of his rat's eyes. "Your pardon, sir, who are you?" he demanded, with
a kind of snarl in his voice.

"I am Dr. Ellis, who examined the body of Moxton. I am also the friend
of Mrs. Moxton, and I came here to assist in this interview."

"And suppose I refuse to allow you to assist?"

"In that case, I shall know how to account for your possession of that
knife."

Busham gave a kind of screech, and threw himself halfway across the
table, shaking with anger. "You dare to insinuate that I killed my
cousin?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Why not; you were with your cousin on that night."

"It is a lie!"

"It is the truth!" cried Mrs. Moxton, finding her voice. "Rudolph saw
you following Edgar from the station."

"And who is Rudolph?"

"Monsieur Zirknitz, my brother."

"Another of your shady gang. I dare you to--"

"Speak more civilly," interrupted Ellis, starting up, "or I shall
twist that lean neck of yours."

At once the innate cowardice of Busham became apparent. Shaking and
white, he dropped back into his chair, terrified at the doctor's angry
look and menace. Yet, withal, he could not curb his venomous tongue.

"Violence," he gasped. "You do well, Mrs. Moxton, to bring your bully
here."

"What! You will have it!" cried Ellis, angrily.

Busham flung himself out of his chair, and shot up one of the dirty
windows. "Another step and I call the police," he whispered.

"Do so, and I shall give you in charge."

"Me in charge, and for what?"

"For killing Moxton. You were with him shortly before his death."

With a scared look Busham drew down the window and returned to his
desk. "I am safe from your violence I hope?" he said, looking
apprehensively at Ellis.

"So long as you are civil to Mrs. Moxton I won't touch you," replied
the doctor, coolly, and in his turn sat down.

"He! he!" laughed Busham, nervously rubbing his hands, "it will be as
well to conduct this interview quietly."

"I think so," observed Mrs. Moxton, with an expressive glance at the
knife, "for your own sake."

"Say rather for yours, Mrs. Moxton."

"What do you mean?"

"He! he! that will take some time to explain. If you would rather be
alone with me--"

"Alone with you," repeated the widow, in tones of disgust. "I would
rather be alone with a serpent. Dr. Ellis shall stay--at my particular
request."

"Dr. Ellis has no intention of leaving," remarked that gentleman, and
folding his arms relapsed into a grim but observant silence.

Busham, with a vexed air, scratched his chin with one lean finger. "As
you please," said he, with apparent carelessness, "but he will not
think much of you when I tell all."

"You know nothing about that," retorted Mrs. Moxton, very pale, but in
a steady voice, "and I have come here to learn all. Of what do you
accuse me?"

"All in good time, dear lady," said Busham, harshly. "This knife was
found by me in your garden, on the morning I called to see you after
the murder."

"Are you sure you did not find it there on the previous night?" asked
the widow, sneering.

"I was not in the garden on that night."

"Neither was the assassin," interposed Ellis, quickly. "Moxton was
stabbed as he stepped in at the gate."

"Or as he turned to close it," retorted Busham, smartly.

Mrs. Moxton held her handkerchief to her mouth and shivered, but with
her eyes on Busham's mean face nodded to him to continue. The man,
seeing that she had a vague terror of his threats, did so with a
chuckle. "Since you know that I was at Dukesfield on that night," he
went on, "I admit it. Why should I not? I am innocent and can prove as
much. So Monsieur Zirknitz saw me? H'm! I know that scamp; no one
better. He called here one day with my cousin to extort money on the
plea that I had undue influence over my uncle, but I soon turned the
rascals out, I can tell you. I am a dangerous man when roused." Mr.
Busham chuckled, and repeated the phrase with relish. "A dangerous
man."

"Oh, I daresay," said Mrs. Moxton, with a contemptuous air, which
accorded ill with her pale face and uneasy manner. "Dangerous as a
fox, or a stoat, or a weasel may be. You belong to the vermin tribe,
you do."

"Go on with your story, man," directed Ellis, curtly.

"Civil, civil, oh, very civil," snapped Busham, "but I'll teach you
both manners before I'm done with you. At Dukesfield was I? Yes, I
was. He! he! do you know what I saw there, Mrs. Moxton? You don't.
Well then, I'll tell you, and take this for my fee."

"The will!" gasped Mrs. Moxton, as Busham clawed the document. "I
thought that was what you wanted."

"Leave that will alone," growled Ellis, scowling.

Mr. Busham immediately pushed the paper away. "It will come back to me
soon," said he, nodding. "Oh, I know, I know."

"What the deuce do you know? Speak out, can't you?"

"Softly, Dr. Ellis, softly, all in good time. Maybe you won't be so
pleased with my knowledge when you are possessed of it."

"I am the best judge of that; go on. You were at Dukesfield on the
night of August 16th?"

"Yes, I was," cried Busham, with sudden energy. "I received
intelligence of my uncle's death, and knowing that a new will had been
made, that Edgar was the heir, I wished to inform him of the good
news. From that scamp, Zirknitz, I learnt that Edgar went night after
night to the Merryman Music-Hall in Soho, so I sought out that place
in the hope of seeing him. I did see him," sneered Busham, "and, as
usual, he was drunk--not in a fit state to talk business. When he
left the hall to go home I followed his cab in another, thinking that
the fresh air would sober him. But at Charing Cross underground
station he had two more drinks, and, more intoxicated than ever,
stumbled into a carriage. I went into another, thinking it best to see
him home lest he might come to harm."

"You were very solicitous for the safety of one who had robbed you of
a fortune," said Ellis, with a cynical look.

"That's just it," cried Busham, slapping the table with the open palm
of his hand, "he was to get the money, and I wished to gain his good
will, and take what pickings I could. Half a loaf is better than none,
isn't it? If Edgar had lived I would have got the money--somehow. Even
you, Mrs. Moxton, would not have prevented that."

"Even I," repeated the widow, bitterly. "Heaven help me, I would have
been the last person to prevent your robbery. I never had any
influence over Edgar. Go on, Mr. Busham. Did you succeed in
ingratiating yourself with my husband by announcing the good news of
his father's death?"

"No, I didn't," snarled the lawyer. "I saw him quarrel with Zirknitz
on the platform of the Dukesfield station, and then I watched him
leave."

"Not only watched him, but followed him," said Ellis.

"Yes, I wanted to see how he would get home. I tried to speak to him,
but being drunk he swore at me, and struck out with his cane. Seeing
that there was no good to be got out of him in his then state, and
that it would be useless to tell him the news, I resolved to defer the
appointment until the morning, when I hoped to find him sober and
repentant. He went away. I did not follow, but remained for some time
talking to a policeman. Then I missed my train, and as I had to get
home, made up my mind to take a cab."

"An unusual expense for you," jeered Mrs. Moxton.

"Oh, I wouldn't have taken the cab if I could have walked," said
Busham, naïvely, "but I was not strong enough to do so. All the cabs
at the station had carried away the theatre people, and I went down
the road to the cab-rank in the middle of Dukesfield. There was one
cab there. But just as I turned the corner a woman came running down
the road and jumped into it. She was crying, and trembling and
wringing her hands. I saw her face in the light. It was you, Mrs.
Moxton."

"One moment," said the widow, as Ellis was about to contradict this
preposterous statement. "I never saw you until after the death of my
husband, and you never saw me. How, then, did you recognise me?"

"Oh, that was easy. Edgar gave me your picture."

"I should not have thought that Edgar was sufficiently friendly with
you to do that."

"He was when I lent him money," said Busham, quietly.

"Why did you lend him money?"

"Because several times he called on me and threatened to see his
father. I did not want him to do that lest he should be forgiven, so I
lent him money on condition that he did not go. Uncertain of what his
reception would be, he took my bribe and stayed away. On one of those
occasions he showed me your photograph, Mrs. Moxton."

"Edgar was forgiven after all," said the widow, ignoring this last
remark.

"Yes, but the forgiveness did not do him much good. He! he!"

"Mr. Busham!" burst out Ellis, who could no longer be restrained. "You
did not see Mrs. Moxton enter a cab on that night. The lady was her
sister."

"I know about the sister," said Busham. "The twin-sister. Zirknitz
told me."

"Are you friendly with Zirknitz?" asked Ellis, with unconcealed
surprise.

"Very!" retorted the lawyer, with an ugly grin. "I lend him money."

"Lend money to a scamp like that, whom you hate, who will never repay
you?"

Busham scratched his chin. "Oh, as to that," said he, "I know what I
am about, you may be sure. So it was your sister, Mrs. Moxton? Bless
me, how like she is to you; a twin, of course? I see. Why was she
crying and flying?"

"She may have cried because we quarrelled on that night," said the
widow, in an agitated tone; "but she was not flying. She merely went
home."

"To thirty-two Geneva Square, Pimlico? I know! I know!"

"How do you know?"

"Because I picked up another cab and followed her!"

"Why did you do that?"

"I thought she was you, and wished to know where you were going at
that hour of the night. Your sister going home? Ah, that explains it."

"So far, so good, Mr. Busham," said Ellis, weary of this talk; "but
what about the knife?"

"I called next morning at Myrtle Villa, after hearing of the murder. I
searched the garden for traces of the criminal, and found that knife
hidden behind some laurel bushes."

"It was not hidden," cried Mrs. Moxton. "It was thrown there by
Edgar."

"Ah! you acknowledge that the knife is your property," said Busham.

"Why should I deny it? That knife is ours. It was tossed into the
garden by Edgar."

"And this is rust on it, no doubt," said the lawyer, touching the
stains. "Not blood, then, Mrs. Moxton?"

The widow rose with an agitated face, and, snatching up the will,
thrust it into Busham's hand. "Take it, and say no more," she said
harshly.

"Mrs. Moxton! The will!" cried Ellis, jumping up.

"Let him destroy it! Let him take and keep the money!"

"Thank you; and in return I will hold my tongue. If you like you can
take the knife," said Busham.

Mrs. Moxton picked it up, thrust it into the pocket of her cloak, and,
without a glance at the amazed doctor, left the room. As she did so
Busham stepped across to the grate in which a starved fire was burning
and deliberately placed the will on the coals. Before Ellis could
prevent it, the document was ablaze, and shortly nothing remained but
black tinder.

"Now," snapped Busham, pointing to the door, "you can follow her."

CHAPTER XIV
THE PIMLICO HOUSE

Having seen Busham commit a felony by burning the will, Ellis left the
office. He did not even protest against the destruction of the
document, since it was none of his business to do so. Mrs. Moxton, who
benefited under the will, had not only handed it over to her enemy,
but had advised him to destroy it. She had exchanged it, so to speak,
for the knife with which Moxton had been killed, and, in addition, had
secured the lawyer's silence by yielding up her property. Silence
about what? That was the question Ellis asked himself, and which he
put to Cass when reporting the extraordinary scene which had taken
place in the Esher Lane office.

"I think I can guess what Busham hinted at," said the reporter. "He
accuses Janet Gordon of the crime?"

"Why should he? She had no motive to kill Moxton, so far as I can
see."

"Precisely, so far as you can see, Bob. Depend upon it, Busham is
certain that Janet Gordon is guilty, and Mrs. Moxton knows that such
is the case, else she would not give up her property so freely."

"You mean that she allowed the will to be destroyed so that Busham
should not accuse her sister?"

"Yes. All along I said that Mrs. Moxton was shielding some person; now
we know who the person is."

"It might be so," said Ellis, reflectively. "Janet Gordon may have
rushed out of the house with that knife and have killed Moxton, and
afterwards she may have ran weeping to take a cab from so perilous a
place. But why did she stab the man? Why? Why?" and Ellis, according
to custom, began to pace the room.

"Ah," said Cass, who was resting on the sofa, "you must ask Mrs.
Moxton for a reply to that question."

"She won't reply to it. For some reason which I cannot fathom she
persistently keeps me in the dark."

"H'm!" mused the journalist. "A dangerous, secretive woman! Don't get
your back up, Bob, I am not calling her names. But you must admit that
she is secretive, and secretive people are always very dangerous to
those of a more open disposition. But how did Mrs. Moxton excuse
herself for letting Busham burn the will?"

"I don't know, Harry. I have not seen her since she left the office
with that knife concealed in her pocket."

"What! Did she not wait for you outside?"

"No," replied Ellis, gloomily, "there was not a sign of her, although
I searched all round. What is queerer still, she has not been home
since. I have called twice at Myrtle Villa this afternoon, but no one
is there."

"Queer. I wonder what she is up to. After all, Bob, the burning of the
will does not amount to much. Mrs. Moxton, as the dead man's widow,
retains half the money. Busham has not got the whole."

"No, but he will get it," said the doctor, vehemently. "He'll not keep
silence in spite of her giving up half. He will blackmail her into
giving up the whole by threatening to betray her sister."

"You forget. By burning the will he has committed a felony. If Mrs.
Moxton is clever she can checkmate him with that."

Ellis shook his head doubtfully. "I think not, Harry. She might get
him put in prison; but then, in revenge, he could hang her sister. No,
Busham is all right on that point; he would not have burnt the will
had he not known how to protect himself."

Cass stared at the ceiling and mused for a few moments. "From what you
tell me of Zirknitz," he said at length, "I am not inclined to trust
that man. He is too thick with Busham, and, moreover, he is a venal
creature who would sell any information for money."

"Do you think he is in league with Busham?"

"I would not put him on so high a plane. I think he is the tool of
Busham, though. I should not be at all surprised to find the whole of
this mystery traced to that Esher Lane office."

"What! Do you think that Busham is guilty?"

"No; he is too clever to risk his neck."

"Zirknitz?"

"No; the Austrian is a coward."

"Then what do you mean?"

"I hardly know how to explain," said Cass. "I fancy old Moxton's money
is at the bottom of all this business, and that Busham is the moving
spirit. Watch him, Bob, he is the clue to the mystery."

"H'm! I don't know. He is too crafty for me to tackle directly, but I
might get at his secret through other people. The person to question,
Harry, is Janet Gordon. Mrs. Moxton evidently thinks her guilty, and
to save her surrendered the property. Now, I wish to see the girl
personally and judge for myself."

"Mrs. Moxton won't speak out."

"Hitherto she has refused, but in the face of the destroyed will she
may do so. I shall question her closely when I next see her."

"You are still firm in your belief about her honesty?"

"Yes; and I still love her," said Ellis, firmly. "Depend upon it,
Harry, when the truth comes to light, Mrs. Moxton will not be to
blame."

"Humph!" said Cass. "I hope so, for your sake, since you are so bent
upon making her your wife. But I tell you one thing, Ellis, the widow
won't show herself again to you in a hurry."

"Why not?"

"Because, like Zirknitz, she will not risk your indiscreet questions.
She has gone away to avoid answering them. My opinion is that she will
remain away."

For the next few days the arrest of events in connection with the case
seemed to point to a realisation of this prophecy. Mrs. Moxton did not
return to Myrtle Villa, and it remained shut up and empty. Dr. Ellis
called at least once a day, but on no occasion did he find the widow
within. From the time she vanished so suddenly from Busham's office,
he never set eyes on her. Firm as was his belief in her innocence,
Ellis began to have his doubts about her absolute rectitude. Why had
she vanished? Why did she remain away from her best friend, as she
considered him to be? Whither had she gone? Ellis wondered if he could
trace her, but, after consideration, decided in the negative. There
was no clue to her hiding-place. She had disappeared as a drop of
water in a mighty ocean. Failing in his attempt to trace the widow,
Ellis made up his mind to follow another clue. For this purpose, four
or five days after Mrs. Moxton's disappearance, he sought out number
thirty-two in Geneva Square, Pimlico. Here, according to Busham's
statement, he expected to find Janet Gordon.

Everybody in London knows Geneva Square. It obtained an unpleasant
celebrity in connection with the tragedy of the Silent House, and was
given as a sketch in many weekly papers at the time of the murder. The
Silent House is pulled down now, and its position occupied by a
brand-new mansion of red brick, which, amongst the sober grey houses
of the square, looks like a purple patch on a ragged cloak. Number
thirty-two was in the corner of the square, and from the notice
in the window Ellis saw that it was a boarding-house. On inquiring
for its mistress, a sluttish servant introduced him into a tawdry
drawing-room, where he found himself in the presence of a lean,
yellow-faced woman, overdressed and effusive in manner. At one time of
her life Mrs. Amber--such she informed him was her name--must have
been very pretty, but the years had turned her into a lean and
withered hag on the wrong side of forty. She wore a gaudy pink
tea-gown, trimmed with cheap black lace, and carried on wrists and
neck a considerable number of jingling ornaments, inexpensive and
showy. For the sake of her faded beauty the window-blinds were drawn
down, and Ellis found himself in a kind of subdued twilight. Mrs.
Amber was affected and garrulous, but, on the whole, did not appear to
be an ill-natured woman. She seemed to have a high opinion of Janet
Gordon.

"Dr. Ellis!" said she, disposing herself in a graceful attitude in a
basket-chair. "Do you wish to see me with a view to becoming a
lodger?"

"No, madam. I have come to inquire for Miss Gordon."

Mrs. Amber raised her painted eye-brows--they were painted, although
the obscurity of the room prevented that fact becoming too apparent.
"You are a day after the fair, doctor," said Mrs. Amber, with an
artificial laugh. "I regret to say that Miss Gordon has left us."

"Left this house?" said Ellis, astonished at this information.

"Three days ago she left us. Her sister came for her and took her
away. I am very sorry Miss Gordon is gone; I always had, and always
shall have, the highest opinion of Miss Gordon. Of course, she was not
the kind of person with whom I have been accustomed to associate,"
added Mrs. Amber, arranging the bracelets on her lean wrists, "being
only an attendant at a low music-hall. Still, she was thoroughly
respectable, and a thorough lady, I will say that. You wonder,
perhaps, Dr. Ellis, that I should have a lodger of that occupation.
But I am liberal in my views I was on the boards myself many years
ago. You must have heard of the beautiful Miss Tracey, who appeared in
the burlesque of 'Cupid,' at the Piccadilly Theatre--I was Miss
Tracey. I was Cupid, and I retired only when I married Mr. Amber. Ah!"
sighed the ex-actress, "he is dead now, and I keep a boarding-house.
Such is life!"

As soon as Ellis could cut short these biographical reminiscences he
did so. "I am sure that Miss Gordon is all you say, madam," he
observed politely. "But can you tell me where she now is?"

"No," replied Mrs. Amber, promptly, "I can not. Her sister came for
her. She packed her box and they left the house. She gave no address
to the driver of the cab. Mrs. Moxton simply told him to go to the
Marble Arch. I was out at the time Mrs. Moxton arrived, and she went
straight up to her sister's bedroom. I was glad that I returned before
Miss Gordon went away."

"Why do you say that?" asked Ellis. "Did you not see her daily?"

Mrs. Amber glanced round apprehensively. "I wouldn't say it to
everybody," said Mrs. Amber, giving a queer reason for her confidence,
"but as you are a stranger it does not matter. Since that horrid
murder of poor young Moxton, Miss Gordon has been very strange. She
came back from seeing her sister on the night of the crime, and from
that time until she left, remained shut up in her room."

"Shut up in her room?"

"Yes. Was it not strange? In vain I wished to see her. She refused to
let me into the room. Sarah, my servant, took up her meals and told me
that Miss Gordon was in bed the whole time. Through the door, and by
sending a message with Sarah, I implored her to have a doctor, but she
refused constantly. Yet when she went away she did not look so ill as
Mrs. Moxton. Ah!" said Mrs. Amber, expressively, "she looked ill if
you like."

"Strange!" murmured Ellis. "I suppose you knew the Moxtons
intimately?"

"Very intimately. Laura Gordon lived here before her marriage, and she
was married to Edgar Moxton from this house. It was terrible that he
should have been killed in so savage a manner, Dr. Ellis. I never
liked Mr. Moxton; but I must say I was horrified when I heard of his
doom. I wonder who killed him?"

"That is what I and many other people would like to know," said Ellis,
drily. "I suppose you guess from my name, Mrs. Amber, that I am the
doctor who examined the body?"

"Yes. I guessed that when I received your card, and was certain of it
when you asked for Miss Gordon. You know Miss Gordon, of course?"

"No, I never set eyes on her."

"Really! Then why do you wish to see her?" asked Mrs. Amber,
anxiously.

"To see if she knows anything about this murder."

Mrs. Amber did not reply immediately, but trembled so violently that
her ornaments jingled like so many little bells. "Dr. Ellis," said she
at length, in a shaking voice, "you speak the doubts that are in my
own mind."

"What! Do you think she knows of the murder?"

"I am unwilling to harm Miss Gordon," said Mrs. Amber, in a scared
tone, "as I have a great respect for her. But I fancy she must have
seen something on that night or she would not have shut herself up in
her bedroom all these weeks. And, Dr. Ellis, do you know I have
sometimes suspected her myself."

"Of the murder?"

Mrs. Amber nodded. "I was afraid of getting into trouble if I spoke,"
she said nervously, "and I really can't bring myself to believe that,
Miss Gordon killed her brother-in-law. But Sarah brought down a pair
of cuffs to be washed--Miss Gordon's cuffs--and they were spotted with
blood!"

CHAPTER XV
WHAT MRS. AMBER KNEW

Mrs. Amber made this communication in a whisper, and then drew back to
see what effect it would have on Ellis. He appeared to be less
surprised than she expected, for the scene in Busham's office had
prepared him to suspect Janet Gordon. Therefore he was not astonished
to find his suspicions confirmed, but he did not go quite so far in
his accusation as Mrs. Amber.

"For reasons which I need not repeat," said he, deliberately, "I am
not so surprised as you expect me to be. I have long thought that Miss
Gordon might know of the murder, but I most emphatically decline to
believe that she struck the blow herself."

"But the cuffs were stained with blood. I washed them myself, and told
Sarah to hold her tongue."

"Miss Gordon may have handled the body after the death, Mrs. Amber,
but I do not think she killed the man. If you read the report of the
evidence I gave at the inquest you will remember that I stated no
woman could have struck so firm and sure a blow. I hold to that
opinion. Moxton was stabbed by a man."

"What man?"

"That is what I wish to ask you, Mrs. Amber."

The ex-actress turned pale beneath her rouge, and two red spots glowed
crudely on her white cheeks. "I!" she exclaimed, drawing back. "How do
I know who killed Mr. Moxton?"

"I do not say that you know, but from your experience of the man, and
from a certain amount of knowledge which you must have of his past
life, it is not improbable that your suspicions may have fallen on
someone who had a grudge against him."

"No," declared Mrs. Amber, vehemently. "I suspect no one--that is, I
_did_ suspect Miss Gordon because of those blood-stained cuffs. But
from what you say she cannot have struck the blow, so I can guess at
no one else. If I had done so I should have come forward to give
evidence. It was my personal liking for Miss Gordon which made me hold
my tongue. Besides, I never saw the cuffs until the inquest was over
and Moxton was buried," finished Mrs. Amber, naïvely.

"You have known Mrs. Moxton and her sister for some time?"

"For four years, more or less. They are twins, you know, and very much
alike, but I think Janet the cleverer of the two. Certainly she has
the finer character, and the more generous spirit. Laura is fickle and
vain."

Ellis did not agree with this, and, being in love with the Laura
aforesaid, was vexed to hear such deprecatory criticism. However, he
consoled himself with the hackneyed reflection, weak in so clever a
man, that women never spoke well of one another, and continued his
inquiries. "Mrs. Moxton earned her money by typewriting, did she not?"

"Yes. Janet wanted to keep her out of mischief, so selected that
employment as the best for her. Laura wished to be an attendant in the
Merryman Music-Hall, also, but this Janet would not allow."

"I wonder the sisters could not obtain better employment."

"My dear Dr. Ellis, they were wretchedly poor and had to take what
they could get. Anything to earn their bread and butter."

"Where did they come from?"

"I don't know. They came to me recommended by Herr Schwartz, and I
took them in as cheaply as I could, because I fancied Janet's face.
Ah, me," sighed Mrs. Amber, "I trust I have not been mistaken. But so
good a girl! No! in spite of those cuffs I believe in her still. Why,
Dr. Ellis, Janet is worth a dozen of her sister or that scampish
brother."

"Zirknitz, do you know him?"

"Yes, I do," replied Mrs. Amber, bluntly, "and I don't like him. He
was here with the girls for some weeks, and let them slave and work
while he idled about. He left pretty soon, as I remonstrated with him
on the subject, and I wasn't sorry to see his back."

"You know Schwartz also, it seems."

"Of course. I was in a theatrical company of his once," cried Mrs.
Amber, with great vivacity. "Papa Schwartz is a dear, good man. He
helped Janet by engaging her at the hall. She was his private
secretary."

"I thought she sold programmes?"

"Oh, yes, and showed people to their seats. She did that also, but she
really was the secretary of Papa Schwartz. Sometimes Laura went to the
hall, and it was there she met Moxton. He fell in love with her and
married her. She brought her pigs to a pretty market," said Mrs.
Amber, vigorously but vulgarly, "but she would marry the beast in
spite of all that Janet could say."

"Do you know about Captain Garret?"

"And Hilda? Of course I do. They lived with me for some time. Poor
girl, she is blind, and Papa Schwartz is devoted to her."

"What about her father?"

Mrs. Amber shrugged her shoulders and jingled her bracelets. "Oh! he
is well enough," said she, in a disparaging tone. "A broken-down
military dandy. Hilda would be in the workhouse so far as he is
concerned. It is Papa Schwartz who keeps them both."

"In spite of his reputation Schwartz seems to be a good man," said
Ellis, musingly. "You say that he engaged Janet Gordon as his private
secretary. How was that?"

"He knew her in Germany, or Austria, or somewhere."

"Indeed, have she and her sister lived abroad?"

"Yes, for a considerable time, I believe. Their stepfather was a M.
Zirknitz, as I learnt from that horrid Rudolph. But I really do not
know anything about their past life, doctor. Janet held her tongue,
and so did Laura, in spite of her frivolity. Who they are or where
they came from I do not know. Papa Schwartz might."

"I shall see him about it. There appears to be some mystery about
these girls, Mrs. Amber."

"I agree with you, doctor. But I am certain they are ladies."

"Did you see Miss Gordon when she arrived here after the murder?"

"No, she came in after midnight and used her latchkey. I thought
nothing of it at the time, as her business kept her out late. But when
I wished to see her about the murder, which was in the morning papers,
she refused to let me enter the room. I never saw her until two or
three days ago, when she went away."

"Did Mrs. Moxton come to see her?"

"No, Mrs. Moxton never came near her, except this last time to take
her away. Where they have gone I know no more than the man in the
moon."

"Did anyone come to see her while she was in her bedroom."

"Papa Schwartz did, but she refused to admit him."

"I wonder if he will know their whereabouts?"

"He might," said Mrs. Amber, with a nod. "Janet is his secretary."

"She was, but she is not now," contradicted Ellis. "She gave up her
place."

Mrs. Amber's face expressed unqualified amazement. "Dear me, how does
she intend to live?"

"I don't know. Mrs. Moxton may keep her."

"But Mrs. Moxton hasn't a shilling. Her husband's father disinherited
him for marrying her."

"Oh, she will come in for some of the property," said Ellis, trying to
explain without mentioning about the burnt will. "Old Moxton died
intestate, so half his estate will go to his son's widow. But tell me,
Mrs. Amber, do you know a man called Busham?"

"No, I never heard the name."

"He did not call here?"

"Not to my knowledge. Who is he?"

"Mrs. Moxton's lawyer." Ellis rose to take his leave. "Well, Mrs.
Amber," he said, "I am much obliged for the information you have given
me. For certain private reasons I wish to find out who murdered
Moxton, but it seems you cannot help me."

"No, I know of no one. I cannot guess who would be such a villain. But
if anyone knows, it will be Janet Gordon. She must have handled the
body, as those blood-stained cuffs show."

"You knew that she was at Dukesfield on that night?"

"Yes, she told me she was going, and that M. Zirknitz intended to
fetch her home. That was why I wished to see her next day when the
papers were full of the murder. I thought she might know something
about it. And I am sure she does know," cried Mrs. Amber; "else why
did she shut herself up in her room all these weeks? I wouldn't have
stood it from anyone but Janet Gordon, I can tell you."

"You appear to have a great admiration for her."

"I have. Women, Dr. Ellis, do not as a rule admire one another, but
when I know how Janet Gordon has protected that silly sister of hers,
and looked after her scampish brother, I think of her as one of the
noblest women I have ever met."

With this eulogy bestowed, in the opinion of Ellis, on the wrong
woman, Mrs. Amber parted from him with theatrical effusion. The doctor
left the Pimlico house in a musing frame of mind. It was strange that
Mrs. Amber, who seemed to be a good-natured woman in spite of her many
affectations, should think so little of Mrs. Moxton. Ellis piqued
himself upon being a reader of character, and he could not bring
himself to believe that he was mistaken in the widow. But he was
puzzled to think how completely Mrs. Amber's estimate of her nature
differed from his own. Thinking about Mrs. Moxton recalled his mind to
the fact of her disappearance and he wondered if Schwartz would know
of her whereabouts. With this in his mind he hailed a hansom and drove
to Soho. In the meantime, pending the discovery of Mrs. Moxton, he
dismissed all speculations concerning her from his mind. So far as he
could see, time and association were needed to explain her very
complex character. After the interview with Mrs. Amber, the doctor
considered the little woman more of a sphinx than ever, and he wanted
her to speak and unravel the enigma of her being.

Schwartz was in his office when Ellis sent in his card, and saw the
doctor at once. He looked more than a trifle careworn, but his
pleasure in seeing Ellis was great, and he advanced towards him with
outstretched hands. Nothing could have been more genial than his
welcome.

"Aha, mine goot doctor," said he, in his guttural voice, "dis is kind
to gome and zee me. But you haf not peen to zee mine Hilda. Dat is
wrong."

"I have been very busy, Mr. Schwartz, but I will pay you a visit next
week--say on Thursday afternoon."

"Ach, dat is goot. At what time, for I must be in mine house when you
zee the eyes of mine poor Hilda."

"Four o'clock on Thursday next," said Ellis, booking the visit. "Oh,
yes, I know the address. Goethe Cottage, Alma Road, Parkmere."

"Dat is zo, doctor. I vill wait you on that day. And what did you wish
to zee me about?"

"Mrs. Moxton. She has left Dukesfield, and I wish to learn where she
is."

The fat face of the German lost its genial expression. "Ach, she haf
gone. Vell, and why do you gome to me, doctor?"

"I have been told that you are an old friend of Mrs. Moxton and Miss
Gordon."

"Zo! Who told you?"

"Mrs. Amber, of Geneva Square, Pimlico."

"Ach, she was in a gombany of mine. I know her. Vell, yes, I am a
frent of Miss Corton, but she haf left me. I do not know vere she is
now."

"Has she not seen you lately?"

"Not, not des many veeks. And Mrs. Moxton haf gone?"

"Yes, she called at Pimlico for her sister, and they went off
together."

"Why do you want to finze zem?"

"Because I have something to tell Mrs. Moxton."

"Zo! About ze murder of dat boor man?"

"Well, not exactly, but Busham, the--"

The eyes of Schwartz suddenly flashed with rage. "Ah, he is a pig, zat
man. I could kill him."

"Do you know him?"

"Ach, I knows him. I did throw him out of mine music-halls. Vell,
vell, do not talk of him, or I vill be angry. If you wish to know of
Mrs. Moxton zee Zirknitz."

"Will he know?"

"I zink zo. If he does not, no one vill."

With this information Ellis was obliged to be content, but as he left
the hall he observed that the German looked after him with a very
singular expression.

CHAPTER XVI
ANOTHER MYSTERY

The behaviour of Schwartz perplexed Ellis, and during his homeward
journey he pondered over the meaning of that glance. Could it be
possible that the German was lying; that Janet Gordon had seen him,
and had confessed what she knew of the crime? Ellis did not know what
to think, but he was satisfied that the woman could solve the mystery.
But she was not to be found; she had vanished as suddenly as Mrs.
Moxton, and it seemed as though both of them were keeping out of the
way lest they should get into trouble. But Ellis was bent upon
discovering them at all costs.

In order to achieve this necessary purpose he kept a close watch on
Myrtle Villa for the next few days, but all in vain. The house
remained empty, and Mrs. Moxton gave no sign of reappearing. Ellis
advertised judiciously in the _Standard_, but no notice was taken of
his advertisement; he waited impatiently for the post, but no letter
arrived. Mrs. Moxton and her sister had vanished as completely as
though the earth had swallowed them up. The anxiety began to tell on
Ellis's health, and Harry Cass advised him to abandon his pursuit of
these shadows. As an intimate friend, Cass was brutally candid.

"It is no use mincing matters, Bob," said he, "the widow never loved
you, and has made use of you only to secure her own ends. She will
never return to Dukesfield."

"She must, Harry; if only to take the furniture out of her house."

"Oh, I daresay she will delegate that office to Zirknitz. There is no
doubt that Janet Gordon knows the truth about the murder, and has
confessed it to Mrs. Moxton. That is why both women are keeping out of
the way."

"Zirknitz," repeated Ellis, paying no attention to the latter part of
this speech. "I quite forgot about him. He may know where they are?"

"If he does he will not tell."

"I'll see about that, Harry. To-morrow I shall call on Zirknitz."

Cass shrugged his shoulders, but said no more. The obstinacy of Ellis
was not to be overcome by argument, so, like a wise man, the
journalist did not waste his breath in futile protestations. Secretly
he was pleased that Mrs. Moxton should have voluntarily taken herself
out of the way, as he did not wish Ellis to marry her. But in his own
mind he was satisfied that the widow herself had proved by her last
action that there was little fear of such an alliance taking place. To
gain her own ends she had feigned a passion for Ellis; now that she
saw nothing further was to be got out of him she had put an end to a
disagreeable situation by disappearing. And this--in the opinion of
Cass--was the end of Mrs. Moxton and her shady doings.

The next day Ellis went to see Zirknitz, the first thing in the
morning, as he hoped to catch him before he left home. He knew that
the Austrian was the most indolent of men, as Mrs. Moxton had told him
as much, so it was unlikely that he would find him out of bed before
ten o'clock. The doctor presented himself at the Bloomsbury lodging
shortly before eleven, and found that even at so late an hour Zirknitz
had not shaken off his slumbers. A smart maid-servant conducted him
into an elegantly-furnished sitting-room, and took in his card.
Shortly she returned with a message that M. Zirknitz in ten minutes
would be at the disposal of his visitor. Like its owner, the room was
very pretty. Wherever Zirknitz got the money to pander to his
luxurious tastes, he certainly knew how to spend it. Ellis marvelled
at the luxury by which he was surrounded, and wondered in what shady
way it had been obtained. The walls were hung with Japanese silks of
marvellous design and colouring, the floor was covered with a
velvet-pile carpet of pale green, with a pattern of primroses. Green
silk curtains draped the windows; there were charming pictures in
every corner, and the furniture--also of pale green--was in the best
possible taste. Near the window stood a piano, opposite to it a
satinwood bookcase filled with French novels, and everywhere articles
of useless luxury, evidently bought merely for the sake of buying.
While Ellis was wondering at this bachelor's paradise, which more
resembled the boudoir of a pretty woman, M. Zirknitz, fresh and pink
from his bath, appeared through an inner door. He wore a loose
dressing-gown of blue silk, and looked wonderfully handsome, if a
trifle effeminate. With a joyous air he advanced to greet his visitor.

"_Cher ami_, so you have found me out. Well, I am charmed to see you,
doctor. Is that chair comfortable? Good. Try this cigarette, it is a
new brand. Can I offer you any refreshment--No? Ah, you are wiser than
the majority of Englishmen. They eat and drink too much; bad for the
nerves, pardy. Over-eating, over-feeding. _Quelle bêtise_."

Zirknitz ran on thus lightly, but kept a sharp eye on his visitor, as
he was anxious to know what had brought him there so early in the
morning. Having fulfilled the duties of hospitality, he waited for
Ellis to explain himself, which the doctor did almost immediately.

"I have called, M. Zirknitz, to inquire if you can inform me of the
whereabouts of Mrs. Moxton?"

"Eh? How should I know? Am I my sister's keeper? Is she not in Myrtle
Villa, Dukesfield?"

"No, she has not been there for five days. Your sister Janet has
disappeared from Pimlico also."

"How do you know that, my brave doctor?" demanded Zirknitz, mockingly,
yet with a shade of anxiety in his manner.

"Because I called there. Mrs. Amber informed me that Mrs. Moxton had
taken away Miss Gordon. She did not know whither they had gone. I
thought you might have had some idea."

"I fear, monsieur, I cannot assist you. I have not seen Mrs. Moxton
since that day you spoke to me at Dukesfield. My sisters leave me much
to myself. Why do you wish to see them?"

"I have my reasons," said Ellis, stiffly.

"And they are connected with that murder. _Mon cher_ Ellis, _soyez
tranquil_. I do not want to penetrate your secrets. I do not know
where mesdames my sisters are. If I did I should tell you most
assuredly, in spite of your bad opinion of me. But I am pleased you
have come." Here M. Zirknitz rose and touched an electric button. "You
will hear from my landlady that I was here on the night our dear Edgar
was killed."

"I don't want any evidence to prove that, M. Zirknitz. I am satisfied
that you are innocent."

"_Bon_. But there is a doubt in your suspicious English mind which
peeps out of your eye. Ah, here is Jane. Jane," addressing the smart
servant, "will you be so kind as to tell Mrs. Pastor I wish to see her
at once. A pretty girl, Jane," resumed Zirknitz, as she vanished. "I
like pretty women and all pretty things. You think my rooms nice, eh?"

"Charming. But I did not know you were so rich."

"Rich! _Ma foi_, I am as poor as a mousie mouse. If you--"

Before the Austrian could explain the source of his domestic
magnificence his landlady entered the room. She was a formidable-looking
woman, as tall as a Guardsman, with a severe face and the glance of a
predatory bird. Dressed in black, with a lace cap and lace apron, she
presented a wonderfully dignified and stately appearance. Anyone more
unlike the scampish, airy Zirknitz it would have been impossible to
conceive, yet the relaxing of her iron visage and the softening of her
eagle glance showed that Mrs. Pastor was under the spell of her lodger's
charm of manner. He greeted her with a sunny smile when she entered,
and pointed to a chair, but Mrs. Pastor tacitly refused to be seated, and
continued to stand bolt upright in the doorway.

"_Chère madame_," said Zirknitz, in his most caressing tone,
"this is Dr. Ellis, of Dukesfield, who examined the dead body of my
brother-in-law, Mr. Moxton. He wants to know at what hour I returned
here on the night of August 16th last, the night of the murder."

"Is it possible, sir, that you suspect Monsieur Zirknitz in any way?"
asked Mrs. Pastor, solemnly, addressing herself to Ellis.

"No, I do not. M. Zirknitz is performing a little comedy for his own
satisfaction."

"_Eh bien_," said Rudolph, with a graceful wave of his hand, "then for
my own satisfaction, madame, tell this dear doctor what I ask."

"Monsieur Zirknitz returned here at a quarter to twelve," said Mrs.
Pastor. "I was still out of bed, and I admitted him myself. Next
morning, when we were informed of the murder, M. Zirknitz begged me to
take note of the time."

"Most assuredly," broke in the Austrian, impetuously, "for evil people
might have accused me of the murder, since I was at Dukesfield then.
But you see, my brave Ellis, I was here before twelve. As monsieur,
_mon beau frère_, met his fate by your own showing about half-past
eleven, I must be innocent."

"I quite believe in your innocence," said Ellis, rising. "There is no
need to convince me so thoroughly. Thank you, M. Zirknitz, for the
trouble you have taken in proving your case. Since you know nothing of
the whereabouts of your sisters, my errand here is at an end. I shall
go now."

"Ah, I am sorry to lose you. _Je suis désolé, mon bon ami_. Another
cigarette? No? Good-bye. _Au revoir!_ Some day we shall meet again.
Mrs. Pastor, may I ask you to conduct monsieur, _mon ami_, to the
door."

The landlady bowed solemnly, and, leading Ellis from the society of
this graceful babbler, dismissed him with a second bow into the
street. And in this unsatisfactory way ended the doctor's visit to the
Austrian. Unsatisfactory, because he had obtained no information save
that Zirknitz was innocent of the imputed charge, a conclusion at
which Ellis had long since arrived. That same evening, after supper,
he informed Cass about the alibi, but found that the journalist was
less ready to accept the information.

"I don't trust Zirknitz," said he, emphatically, "neither does
Schwartz. The man is a bad egg. I believe this murder is a family
affair to get money. Zirknitz, I daresay, murdered Moxton with that
knife. Janet saw him do so, and told Mrs. Moxton, and they have both
disappeared so that they may not be asked questions likely to lead to
their brother's arrest. As for Busham, now that the will is destroyed
he will hold his tongue."

"But the _alibi_," protested Ellis. "If Zirknitz was at Bloomsbury
before midnight, he could not have been in Dukesfield at half-past
eleven."

"The _alibi_ may be a false one."

"You would not say so if you saw the witness to its truth. Mrs. Pastor
is a regular Puritan, as rigid and unbending as a piece of iron."

"Yet she tolerates that frivolous scamp?"

Ellis shrugged his shoulders. "All women have their weaknesses," said
he. "However, the main point is, that Zirknitz could not inform me of
his sisters' whereabouts."

"Humph! Would not, rather than could not, I should say," observed
Cass, crossly. "I don't believe myself that you will see Mrs. Moxton
again, and I fervently hope that such will be the case. You have now
one or two patients, Bob, the nucleus of a good practice, so give up
this wild-goose chase after the widow and settle down to your work."

Before Ellis could answer this friendly appeal, which was made in all
good faith, Mrs. Basket entered with a note for Ellis, which had been
brought that moment by a boy. "Clark, the grocer's son," explained the
fat landlady. "I 'ope, doctor, it's a noo patient, for if ever a gent
deserved the sick and ailing, you are that gent," after which
expression of sympathy Mrs. Basket waddled out of the room with much
noise.

"Great heavens!" cried Ellis, who was reading the note.

"What is the matter, Bob?"

For answer Ellis threw the note to Cass on the sofa, and he read it
also. Then the two men looked at one another in amazement. And well
they might be amazed, for the note, inviting Ellis to call at Myrtle
Villa, was from no less a person than Janet Gordon.

"Why should she write to me?" asked Ellis, on finding his tongue.

"Mrs. Moxton must have told her about your friendly spirit. Perhaps
she wishes to confide in you, and her sister has brought her to Myrtle
Villa for that purpose. Shall you go, Bob?"

"Go? I should think so. To-night I may learn the secret of the
murder," and Ellis, putting on hat and coat, immediately left the room
in a great hurry.

He ran rather than walked to Myrtle Villa, and, to his joy, saw a
light in the sitting-room window. Mrs. Moxton, the woman he loved, had
returned, and Ellis could hardly restrain his joy when the widow
herself opened the door to him. After greetings, hurried and brief,
were over, she conducted him into the sitting-room. At once Ellis
looked round for the writer of the note.

"Where is your sister?" he asked.

"She is in the next room. You will see her soon. But you are making a
mistake, Dr. Ellis. I wrote that note asking you to call."

"You? Good Heavens! Then you are--"

"I am Janet Gordon. It is my sister who is Mrs. Moxton."

CHAPTER XVII
A LIFE HISTORY

To say that Ellis was amazed by the discovery that the pseudo Mrs.
Moxton was really Janet Gordon, would be to give a feeble idea of his
feelings. For some moments he was too thunderstruck to speak, and
remained staring at Miss Gordon as though she were a ghost. Seeing
this, the girl--for she was no more--gently took his hand and guided
him to a comfortable chair by the fire. Then she sat down at his elbow
and explained herself seriously. She was as pretty as ever, but her
cheeks were pale, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she had
the nervous, agitated manner of one suffering from a great strain.

"Yes, I am Janet Gordon," said she, with a sigh, "and I have been
masquerading as my sister ever since the terrible night of her
husband's murder. My reasons for so doing you shall learn later on,
for I am determined to tell you the whole truth of this matter so far
as it is known to me."

"This is the secret you have been keeping from me?" said Ellis, much
agitated.

Miss Gordon nodded. "I was afraid to speak before, even to so good a
friend as yourself. But I find that I can bear my burden no longer; so
I turn to you for help and comfort. You must aid me, you must see
after my unhappy sister who lies in the next room."

"Is she guilty of the murder?" asked the doctor, rather harshly.

"No, no," cried Janet, trembling. "She is innocent, although
appearances are against her. You will hear her story about that night
from herself, but first I intend to relate my life history. I do not
wish you to have a wrong opinion of me, Dr. Ellis."

"I could never have that, Miss Gordon," said Ellis, promptly. "I
always believed that you were more sinned against than sinning. I
wonder I did not guess at your identity before. Schwartz and Mrs.
Amber both spoke highly of you, and I could not reconcile their
opinion of Mrs. Moxton with what I knew of you under that name. Your
explanation makes all clear."

"How do you know Mrs. Amber?"

"I went there to see the supposed Janet Gordon, and Mrs. Amber told me
that you--that is Mrs. Moxton--had gone."

"I was afraid to leave my sister there after what Busham said,"
replied Janet, with a troubled air. "I let him burn the will, so that
he might hold his tongue about Laura, for I saw that he suspected her.
I took Laura to Bayswater, where we lived quietly for the last few
days. But she is ill, and seeing no way out of the difficulty, and
being in want of money, I resolved to bring Laura here and ask for
your help."

"It will be freely given, I assure you."

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Ellis looked at his
companion with so meaning a gaze that her cheek flushed and her eyes
dropped before his. Yet she raised a deprecating hand to quell his
emotion. "No, no, not yet, perhaps never. You must hear my story
before you can think of me in that way."

"I shall always think the same of you. You are the dearest and the
noblest of women. But I must confess that I am anxious to hear your
confession. Begin at once; I am all attention."

Janet folded her hands on her black dress and looked musingly at the
fire. There was a shadow on her resolute face cast by some bitter
memory of the past. Ellis watched her in silence, and noted with pity
how weary and worn she looked. Her reverie continued for two or three
moments. Then she raised her head and related her unhappy past in
quiet, melancholy tones.

"Laura and I are twins," she began. "We are very much alike in looks,
but entirely different in disposition. I am strong-minded and calm;
she is frivolous and highly excitable--indeed, sometimes I think she
is not in her right senses, so furious are her rages. She has the
fiery Celtic nature inherited from our mother, who was a Highland
woman. I am more like my father, who was a calm-tempered, persevering
man. We were born in Edinburgh, where my parents lived for some years
after their marriage. My father was a doctor, and made a great deal of
money."

"How strange that I should be a doctor also," said Ellis, meaningly.

Janet smiled and shook her head at the interruption. "As I say, my
father made a great deal of money," she continued, "for he had a large
and increasing practice, but a chill he contracted while visiting a
patient in the country carried him off when Laura and I were ten years
old. My mother was left a widow and well off, so taking a dislike to
Edinburgh after her husband's death, she travelled abroad. For some
years we wandered on the Continent, and Laura and I were educated at
several schools, but my mother so wished to keep us beside her, that I
am afraid we gained little knowledge. However, we learnt to speak
French, German and Italian, so we benefited in some degree by our
roving. For some years things went on like this, until at Carlsbad my
mother met with Colonel Zirknitz, who was in the Austrian army."

"Rudolph's father?"

"Yes. Rudolph was then eighteen years of age, Laura and I fifteen. My
mother fell in love with Colonel Zirknitz, and hearing that she was
rich, he married her. But I am sure that he never loved her. We went
to Vienna and lived there for some time. Our stepfather was not
unkind, and treated my mother with every courtesy, but he was a
gambler and a spendthrift."

"I see. The vices of Zirknitz are hereditary!"

Janet sighed. "I suppose so," said she, "but you must not be too hard
on Rudolph, doctor. His failings are hardly vices. He has many good
qualities."

"Mostly negative qualities, I fear, Miss Gordon. You are fascinated by
that splendid scamp, like everyone else."

"That may be. Rudolph has not a fine character, and I have rather a
contempt for him. All the same I am fond of him, although sometimes I
feel angry for being so. Of course, Rudolph grew up with me, so to
speak, and I look upon him as a brother. He was always wild; he has
never done anything all his life, and although I have great influence
over him I cannot get him to settle down."

"Is Colonel Zirknitz alive?" asked Ellis, anxious that she should
proceed with her story.

"No, he died some time ago, but lived long enough to spend all my
mother's fortune."

"And is she dead also?"

"Yes, she is dead," sighed Janet. "She died six months after her
husband. I believe the loss of him broke her heart. He was a
singularly fascinating man."

"After seeing the son I can well believe that. What happened when you
found yourself alone in the world?"

"I came back to London with Laura. We were left penniless in Vienna,
but Rudolph procured money somehow--by gambling, I fancy, and came to
England with us. We left him in London staying at Mrs. Amber's house
in Geneva Square, and went to Edinburgh to see if our father's
relations would help us. Alas! they would do nothing."

"So much for the world's charity," said Ellis, cynically. "Brutes!
what made them refuse, or, rather, what excuse did they make?"

"The excuse that my mother had married a second time. I begged and
implored them to help Laura, if not me, but as they refused we came
back to London. Rudolph behaved very well, for he paid our board at
Mrs. Amber's for some time; so you see, doctor, he has some good
points."

"I suppose so," replied Ellis, grudgingly. "He could do no less. Then
you met Schwartz, I suppose?"

"We did. Some years ago in Germany we knew him, and on hearing of our
penniless condition he gave me first an engagement as an attendant,
and afterwards made me his private secretary. He offered to take on
Laura also as an attendant, but I knew how frivolous she was, so I got
her a situation in a typewriting office instead. I might have saved
myself the trouble of protecting her from harm," sighed Janet,
wearily, "for look what she has come to."

"Why did she marry Moxton?"

"She was tired of poverty and work. Moxton was the heir to wealth, and
he professed to love her deeply. Against my will she married the man.
I think she was encouraged by Rudolph, who fancied Moxton, as a
brother-in-law, would lend him money. But after the marriage took
place Edgar had no money to lend. His father resented the marriage,
and cut him off with a shilling. With what money he had inherited from
his mother Edgar went abroad with my sister. He gambled and drank, and
treated Laura cruelly, as he accused her of being the cause of his
ruin. They came back to England, and lived in this house the life I
described at the inquest in the character of Mrs. Moxton."

"Ah," said Ellis, "now you come to the crucial point. Why did you
impersonate your sister?"

"To save her from arrest and perhaps from death," replied Janet,
feverishly. "I knew she could not face the inquest, or protect
herself, and knowing that few people in this district were acquainted
with her looks, and being very like her myself as her twin-sister, I
seized the advantage offered, and stepped into her shoes."

"You are a brave and noble woman, Miss Gordon. So all through these
terrible months you have been fighting on your sister's behalf?"

"Yes; she could not fight for herself. Rudolph, of course, knew the
truth and supported me. Do you not remember how he called me Laura
when you met him here?"

"I remember," replied Ellis, drily. "He never faltered or hesitated
once. I think the young man has a positive genius for intrigue. But
now that we have arrived at this point, Miss Gordon, I should like to
know what really happened on that night."

"I will tell you all I know," said Janet, frankly, "then you shall see
Laura and hear her story." She paused for a moment and continued in
rapid tones: "I came here on that night to pay a visit to Laura, as I
knew that Edgar would be at the Merryman Music-Hall as usual. I found
Laura in a state of nervous rage against her husband, as he left her
at home night after night, kept her short of money, and was altogether
cruel to her. Laura, as you must know, doctor, has a neurotic
temperament, and when angered lets her temper carry her beyond all
bounds. She inherited this disposition with her Highland blood from
our mother, who was likewise given to these fits of causeless rage.
Often and often I implored Edgar not to anger Laura, knowing how
dangerous she was when roused. But he neglected my warnings, and the
pair were always fighting. I declare, doctor, that a dread of what
might occur kept me in so nervous a state that I grew quite ill. I
came down here constantly to soothe Laura, and never remained absent
for any time without expecting to hear of a tragedy."

"I know the kind of irresponsible being your sister is," said Ellis,
"and I do not wonder you were terrified. So the tragedy happened at
last?"

"It did, and on that night," answered Janet, much agitated. "But it is
not as you appear to think, doctor. Laura did not kill her husband."

"What about the carving-knife?"

"Oh, Edgar was killed with that, without doubt. What was said in
Dukesfield about Laura carrying the knife was true. She was afraid of
tramps in her half-hysterical state; and whenever a ring came to the
door after dark she never opened it without arming herself with the
knife. In this way she confronted the telegraph boy who spread the
rumour."

"I wonder you did not take the knife from her," observed Ellis.

"If I had she would only have used a smaller knife. Well," continued
Miss Gordon, "on that fatal night Laura was particularly angry with
Edgar because she had been informed by Rudolph that he was flirting
with Polly Horley. However, I managed to soothe her, and, as Rudolph
never came for me as he promised, I left this house for the station a
few minutes after eleven. When I got near the station I found that I
had forgotten my purse and returned for it; then, Dr. Ellis," said
Janet, clasping her hands, "I came on a terrible sight. Edgar was
lying dead on the path, and Laura was lying beside him. The moon
showed at intervals, so I saw all quite plainly. Finding Edgar was
dead I thought Laura had murdered him, especially as the carving-knife
lay on the path beside her. Laura revived very soon, and said she had
not killed Edgar. I dragged her into the house; but picking up the
carving-knife she said it was the cause of all, and threw it behind
some laurels. I had no time to look for it, as my sole object was to
get Laura away. I made her put on my hat and cloak and take my purse,
telling her to go to Mrs. Amber's and remain in her bedroom, and that
I would impersonate her and see the matter through. Laura was beside
herself with terror, saying that she was innocent; but she had wit
enough to see her danger if she stayed. Therefore, she braced herself
up and went away to take a cab to Pimlico. She got one and arrived at
Geneva Square safely."

"Yes, and remained in her bedroom as you told her. Mrs. Amber informed
me of that. And you, Miss Gordon?"

"I," said Janet, simply, "assumed my sister's character and ran round
to call you to see the corpse. You know the rest."

CHAPTER XVIII
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED

After Janet had finished her history there ensued a short silence.
Ellis was lost in admiration at the wonderful pluck and resolution of
the girl, which had enabled her to face and carry through a difficult
matter for the sake of her weaker sister. Now that the worst was
over--since she had rescued Laura Moxton from the ordeal of a public
accusation--Janet seemed to be in danger of breaking down. After the
tension of nerve and will came the inevitable relaxation. The impulse
of Ellis was to take her in his arms, and comfort her with assurances
of love and protection. But the time was not yet ripe for him to speak
of his personal feelings. There was much to do, much to be learnt,
before the crooked could be made straight; therefore Ellis,
sacrificing self, began to question Janet on points which did not seem
quite clear to him. At his first remark she braced herself and gave
him immediate attention.

"If you thought that your sister had killed Moxton, why did you not
hide the carving-knife?"

"How could I? She threw it away before I could stop her, and there was
no time for me to search. When I sent Laura off, I had to call in you
and the police, so I could not go out to look for it in the darkness.
Next morning, when I could evade the policeman in charge, I slipped
out to search. But by that time the knife was gone."

"Busham took it," said Ellis, with a nod. "I wonder how he found it.
There was no need for him to search. It looks as though he knew
beforehand that with such a weapon Moxton had been stabbed, and came
here to secure it."

Janet mused. "I have my doubts of Mr. Busham," she said at last. "He
knows more about the matter than he says. Indeed, I should not be at
all surprised to hear that he is the guilty person!"

"Impossible! He declares that he can prove an _alibi_--that at the
time of the crime he was talking to a policeman, and afterwards
followed your sister to Pimlico."

"Have you seen the policeman?"

"No, but I intend to see him as soon as I learn his name or number
from Busham."

"He won't tell it to you."

"I can but try, at all events. To do away with my suspicions he may
speak out. But, Miss Gordon, I have yet to learn how Edgar Moxton was
killed."

"Laura can tell you that," said Janet, rising. "Now that you have
heard my story you must listen to what she has to say; then, doctor,
you will see how to save her. I was forced into the position I took
up."

"I shall be glad to hear Mrs. Moxton's story. Shall I come with you?"

"No, Laura is not so ill as all that; she is merely lying down in the
next room and I will bring her in shortly."

She left Ellis alone for a few minutes, which he employed in
considering the possibility of Busham being implicated in the
crime--indeed, he himself might be the actual criminal. Zirknitz had
seen him following Moxton from the Dukesfield Station, and his
subsequent acts were related by himself as harmless; but the story of
the conversation with the policeman and the following of Mrs. Moxton
to Pimlico might be invented to hide the truth. There was nothing to
show that Busham had not murdered Edgar, for at that time he was
ignorant that Moxton's will was in existence, and by getting rid of
his cousin he might hope to clutch a portion of his uncle's money.
Ellis made up his mind to do two things--first to see Busham and learn
with whom he had been engaged at the time of the crime; second, to
interview the policeman hinted at, and discover if Busham was speaking
the truth. While he was arguing the necessity of this course in his
own mind, Janet returned with Mrs. Moxton leaning on her arm.

The resemblance between the sisters was striking. They were of the
same height, their figures were moulded to the same contour, and in
face, feature and colouring they were remarkably alike. The difference
between them lay in the expression, and in the character of the eye.
Laura's glance was soft and wandering, that of Janet steady and calm;
the face of Mrs. Moxton was weak, the countenance of Miss Gordon firm.
Janet, indeed, seemed to be the masculine counterpart of her sister;
she had all the strength of will and resolution of purpose which the
other lacked. She was a being of flesh and blood, Laura a shadow, a
feather blown by the wind. At the first sight of her face Ellis no
longer wondered that she had married a brute like Moxton. She would
have married any man had the necessary force of will been exerted.
When Ellis beheld this frail creature, when he recalled the evil,
scampish nature of Rudolph Zirknitz, he admired Janet more than ever
for the wonderful manner in which she had controlled the pair. She was
a female Prospero, who ruled at once a weakly, flighty Ariel and a
refined Caliban. It must be admitted, however, that the latter part of
the above illustration is too severe on Zirknitz, as he was rather a
Lazun, a Duc de Richelieu, a Count D'Orsay than the son of Sycorax.
However, he was certainly a scamp and dangerous.

Mrs. Moxton, who looked ill and weary, bowed in silence to Ellis, and
sank exhausted into the chair vacated by her sister. Janet took a seat
beside her and motioned with her head that the doctor should do the
same. Ellis obeyed and looked at Mrs. Moxton with some curiosity, but
more eagerness, for from her lips he hoped to learn sufficient to
indicate the mysterious assassin of Moxton. But the widow, with her
eyes fixed on the fire, seemed in no hurry to begin.

"Laura, dear," said Janet, in a coaxing tone, such as a nurse would
use to a fractious child, "this is our best friend, Dr. Ellis. He is
the only one who can help us out of our difficulties, and I want you
to tell him all you remember about Edgar's death."

Mrs. Moxton uttered a low wail, and with a shudder covered her face.
When she did speak, it was in so low a tone that Ellis could with
difficulty catch what she was saying. "Shall I ever forget that
horrible night?" she murmured.

"Tell Dr. Ellis about it, dear," urged Janet, and after a pause Mrs.
Moxton did as she was requested. At first her voice was low and
nervous, but as she proceeded in the recital it grew powerful. Her
nerves responded to the demand made upon them, and gave her a
surprising strength of speech in comparison with her frail body. From
a physiological standpoint, Ellis was as much interested in her as in
the story she told.

"Edgar and I quarrelled on that night about Polly Horley," she began,
"for Rudolph told me that he was paying attention to that horrid
woman. Edgar swore that it was not true, and I wanted to go to the
music-hall to see for myself. He refused to take me and flung out of
doors in a great rage. Then Janet came, and her company and
conversation calmed me. When she went, and I was left alone, I grew
frightened, and got out the carving-knife. I heard Edgar come in at
the gate and, not thinking, I ran to open the door with the knife in
my hand. When I met him he was on the step, but seeing the knife, and
knowing how furious I could be, I suppose he grew frightened. At any
rate, he ran back to the gate. I followed, calling out: 'Edgar, Edgar,
what is the matter?' When I came up to him he must have thought I
meant to strike him, for he was half drunk at the time. His face was
white and terrified as I saw in the moonlight; although, as the night
was cloudy, that was not very strong."

"I remember the night," interpolated Ellis, "it was windy and rainy,
with a fitful moonlight showing through the flying clouds. Well, Mrs.
Moxton, what did your husband do when you came up to him?"

"He seized me by the throat," said the widow, hysterically. "I believe
that, being half intoxicated, he wished to kill me, and I struggled to
get away. But he held me tightly, so that I could not cry out. We were
pressed right against the gate. I held the knife above my head, as I
was afraid of hurting him with it."

"Why did you not drop it?" asked Ellis.

"I don't know. I never thought of dropping it. The more Edgar fought
with me the tighter I held it. He was strangling me, and I could not
cry out. Then I saw, all at once, a man on the other side of the
gate."

"Could you describe his looks?" asked Ellis, eagerly.

Mrs. Moxton shook her head. "Remember it was a darkish night, with
only occasional gleams of moonlight. I was struggling with Edgar, and,
holding me by the throat, he had half strangled me. As I said, I held
up the knife out of the way. The man on the other side of the gate
wore a tall hat and a great coat with a fur collar. I tried to call
out to Edgar, but he did not see the man. Suddenly the stranger
snatched the knife out of my hand, and struck at Edgar's back. Edgar
gave a yell which, I wonder, was not heard all over Dukesfield, so
loud it was. He fell forward on me, and crushed by his weight, worn
with the struggle, and terrified by the murder, I fainted clean away.
The last thing I remember was that Edgar lay over me, struggling and
moaning."

"Was the man still at the gate after he struck the blow?"

"I don't know. When I came to myself Janet was bending over me, and I
was so frightened that I could explain nothing. After that I picked up
the knife which was lying by Edgar's body and flung it over some
bushes against the fence. Then Janet hurried me away, and told me she
would take my place and deny everything. I was so dazed that I did not
know what I was doing. I ran down to the cab-rank and told a cabman to
drive me to Pimlico. He did so, and I recovered myself sufficiently in
the cab to pay him, and to slip into the house with the latchkey which
Janet had pushed into my hand. I knew that she still had our old room,
so I ran up to it without seeing anyone, and locked myself in."

"Mrs. Amber told me that you isolated yourself for weeks."

"I did so by Janet's advice, lest Mrs. Amber should recognise me.
Janet came to see me a few days afterwards, and told me about the
inquest."

"Did you call at Geneva Square?" asked Ellis, turning to Miss Gordon.
"That is strange, for Mrs. Amber particularly explained that until a
few days ago no one called save Schwartz."

"I paid a visit one night when Mrs. Amber was at the theatre,"
explained Janet, "and I bribed Sarah, the servant--a most venal
creature--to say nothing about it. It was necessary that I should tell
Laura what had taken place, and hear her story. Now you know, doctor,
why I fenced with you and refused to tell the truth. I was afraid lest
my sister should be brought into the matter."

"But Mrs. Moxton is innocent, and you knew it," protested Ellis.

"Yes, I am innocent," wailed Mrs. Moxton, "but what could I do in the
face of all I have told you. I cannot hold my tongue like Janet, or
foresee things as she does. In one way or another I should have
betrayed myself and perhaps have been arrested. Janet was right, Janet
was wise to advise me to stay at Pimlico. I feigned ill-health, and
would not let Mrs. Amber into my room lest she should get to know too
much. Only Sarah knew me, as I had to confide in her to get food. But
she held her tongue."

"She nearly betrayed you though, Mrs. Moxton, by taking those cuffs to
Mrs. Amber."

"That was a mistake," said the widow. "In touching Edgar's body I got
blood on my cuffs, and threw them aside in the bedroom. I never
thought of hiding them, and Sarah took them downstairs without
consulting me."

"How did you manage to keep up the concealment of your identity to the
end?"

"I managed that," said Janet, in her firm, clear voice. "I called when
I knew that Mrs. Amber was absent, and told Laura that, on account of
Busham, I intended to take her away. When Mrs. Amber came back, of
course, she thought that I had been in my bedroom all the time, and
that Laura had called for me. She was so deceived," added Janet,
smiling, "that she told me how ill I looked after lying so long in
bed. But I am afraid I did look ill, with all the worry."

"I don't wonder at it," said Ellis, sympathetically. "I cannot imagine
how you have borne up through all the troubles you have had. Few women
would have taken another's burden so bravely on their shoulders as you
have done, Miss Gordon."

"Indeed, she has been the best of sisters," exclaimed Mrs. Moxton,
with tears in her eyes. "Never shall I forget what Janet has done for
me."

"At some cost to yourself, dear Laura," said Janet, patting her
sister's hand. "After all, my defence of you has cost you your
fortune."

"I don't mind in the least, Janet. Let Mr. Busham take all so long as
he holds his tongue."

"I fancy Busham will keep silent for his own sake," remarked Ellis,
drily, "for I feel certain that he has more to do with this murder
than you think."

"You don't believe that he killed Edgar?"

"I might even go so far as that, but I must collect sufficient
evidence to justify such belief. However, we can talk of that later.
With reference to the destruction of the will, Miss Gordon, you need
not worry about that."

"Oh, but I do. Laura will lose her father-in-law's money."

"Not by the destruction of the will, because the original document is
in my possession, and what Busham burnt was a copy carefully prepared
by myself and my friend Mr. Cass."

CHAPTER XIX
THE RED POCKET-BOOK

"Do you mean to say that the paper Mr. Busham destroyed was not
Edgar's will?" asked Janet, while her sister uttered an exclamation of
joy.

"I do mean it. I reported your conversation about our mutual friend to
Cass, and we both agreed that he was not to be trusted with the
original will. Cass, who is clever at imitating handwriting, procured
a sheet of paper similar, to that upon which the will was written, and
copied it out, signatures and all. I am afraid it was a species of
forgery, but as it had to be done if we wished to checkmate Busham, we
contrived the crime. It was just as well we did so, Miss Gordon, as
Busham had no compunction in destroying the will. My wonder is that a
clever pettifogger such as he is could not see that the document was
forged. Singular obtuseness on his part."

"If it had remained longer in his possession, he no doubt would have
discovered the truth," replied Janet, "but, if you remember, he merely
glanced at it, and not crediting me with so clever an idea as
substituting a copy for the original, took it for the genuine will. I
can never thank you sufficiently, doctor, for what you have done."

"Nor I either," chimed in Laura, who, seeing that there was a prospect
of recovering her husband's money, plucked up her spirits. "Now Mr.
Busham will not be able to rob me."

"H'm!" said Janet, with a frown, "putting the will out of the
question, my dear, you are still in the same dangerous position as
formerly. If he finds out the trick Dr. Ellis has played him, he may
denounce you."

"He will do so at his own risk," cried Ellis, promptly. "And you may
be sure he will never learn the truth from me until it can be told
with safety to Mrs. Moxton. Leave Busham to me. I shall know how to
deal with him. In some way or another we must clear up this mystery,
and exonerate Mrs. Moxton. If there was only some clue."

Janet and Laura looked meaningly at one another. "There _is_ a clue,
although it is only a slight one," said Miss Gordon, hesitatingly.

"To the identity of the murderer?"

"No, but a clue which may lead to his discovery. When Laura was lying
in a faint, the man who stabbed Edgar robbed him of his pocket-book."

"But how could he do that without Moxton recognising him?" asked
Ellis. "You know that Moxton did not die at once, but lived long
enough to scrawl those blood signs on his arm denouncing Zirknitz.
Now, I know that your brother is innocent, as he has established an
_alibi_ with the assistance of his landlady, Mrs. Pastor."

"I cannot explain that, doctor, but undoubtedly Edgar thought that
Rudolph stabbed him, and so wrote on his arm to let Laura know."

"You can read the cryptogram, I presume, Mrs. Moxton?"

"Oh, yes, I know the signs very well. Janet taught them to me, and I
showed them to Edgar for amusement. He, no doubt, wished me to know
that Rudolph had stabbed him, but why he used the signs I cannot say.
He hated Rudolph always, and would have got him into trouble if he
could."

"Well," said Ellis, after a pause, "I can conceive no reason why he
acted as he did. I don't suppose the truth will ever be revealed. But
about this pocket-book, Mrs. Moxton. How do you know that the murderer
took it?"

"I only think so. It was a red Morocco pocket-book with Edgar's
initials on it in gold. He had it when he went out that night, and I
saw him put it into his breast pocket. When Janet came to Pimlico I
asked her if she had seen it, as I thought that there might be some
bank-notes in it, and we needed money badly."

"Did he carry money in it?"

"Yes, when he had any."

"On that night were there any notes in the pocket-book?"

"I cannot say. Rudolph declares that he won twenty pounds from Edgar
on that night. Edgar could not pay him save with an I.O.U., so I don't
think there could have been money in the book."

"Then why should the assassin steal it?"

"Why, indeed!" echoed Janet, who had been silent for some time; "that
is what we wish to find out. As Edgar's jewellery was untouched,
robbery could not have been the motive of the crime. I believe myself
that the pocket-book must have contained some papers of value to the
murderer. No person but he could have taken it, for I examined very
carefully the clothes Edgar wore when he was killed, and could not
find the pocket-book. Dr. Ellis," said Janet, earnestly, "it seems to
me that if you can find that book, you will be able to lay hands on
the criminal."

"Possibly, Miss Gordon. But in what direction am I to look. In the
autumn many men wear fur-lined overcoats, so that is not a strong
clue. Moreover, the pocket-book must long since have been destroyed if
the murderer valued his neck. No; on the whole I think it will be best
to see Busham, as I said before. My movements will depend upon the
sort of information he supplies."

"He will tell you nothing."

"Not of his own free will, perhaps, but I maybe in a position to force
his confidence."

It was now late, as this conversation between the three had lasted a
considerable time. Laura looked so fatigued and ill that Ellis, in his
capacity of medical man, insisted that she should retire. "Take as
much rest and sleep as you can, Mrs. Moxton, and don't worry. I will
help you all I can in this matter, and I have no doubt I shall be able
to clear you of all suspicion. Good-night."

Ellis was accompanied to the door by Janet, who was hopeful of his
success.

"You will be certain to solve this mystery--you and Mr. Cass," said
she. "Think how much you have discovered already by observation."

"And if I do solve it, and right your sister, what then, Miss Gordon?"

Janet laughed, and, in the kindly darkness, blushed. "We can talk of
that when the time comes," she said, answering his thought after the
manner of women.

With this assurance the doctor was fain to be content, and departed
without gaining the kiss of which he had dreamt. Needless to say, he
was more in love than ever, and thanked Heaven that he had been
brought into contact with so noble and earnest a woman as Janet
Gordon. Anxious to hear the result of his friend's visit, Cass was
waiting up for him, and into his astonished ears Ellis poured the
whole story which exonerated and cleansed Janet. Cass admitted that he
had been wrong in his estimate of her character.

"But how was one to read it properly under the circumstances," he said
testily. "I could not believe in the woman without proof."

"I did," said Ellis, smiling.

"Because you are in love; yours was not legitimate belief. On the same
mad principle you would have trusted Lucrezia Borgia. Still, your
experience is sufficiently strange, and I am glad that your instinct
has been justified. Miss Gordon, on the face of it, has proved herself
a singularly able, and, I may say, a noble woman; but I must see more
of her, and learn to know her better before I can rescind my former
opinion--that she is not the wife for you."

"To know her is to love her," said Ellis, with deep emotion.

"Ah, you see I don't know her, therefore I cannot love her; if I did
you might object. However, the main question at present is how to
extricate her and Mrs. Moxton from their equivocal position. Until the
assassin is found, and all is made plain, Mrs. Moxton dare not explain
our trick to Busham or claim her property. If she did he might be
dangerous."

"Can he be dangerous?"

"So far as inclination goes I should say so, but whether he has the
power is another question, and one not so easily answered. However,
for your satisfaction, Bob, I can tell you that Busham is a liar.
While you were at Myrtle Villa I went round to Drake at the Police
Office and tried to find out if Busham had spoken to any policeman on
that night. If you remember he declared that he held a long
conversation with one at, or near, the station. He trusts to that for
an _alibi_."

"But Drake does not know Busham; he could tell you nothing, Harry."

"Quite so, but he could tell me who was on duty on that night. I did
not inform him of my reasons, save that I was curious on my own
account to learn who killed Moxton, so I found out the names of the
police on duty that night. Queerly enough their term of service has
come round again for night duty, so I went out and questioned at least
half a dozen about Busham."

"Well?" asked Ellis, impatiently.

"Well, Busham is a liar; he spoke to none of them, and none spoke to
him. They never saw a gentleman of his description about on that
night, so I judged that he dodged after Moxton in the shadows to avoid
recognition. Now, Bob, your best plan is to see Busham and accuse him;
then we shall see if he can bring forward in his defence this
supposititious policeman."

"Good. I'll call on our mutual friend to-morrow. But I shall see
Zirknitz first."

"What for?"

"To ask him how Busham was dressed on that night. As the police would
not recognise Busham by his face, they might by his dress. In that way
we can learn if anyone of them saw him following Moxton after they
left the railway station."

Having decided upon this course, which, under the circumstances, was
the most sensible, both men retired to bed. Next morning, after a
further discussion with Cass, the doctor set out for Bloomsbury. As
yet he had not many patients, so he could afford the time, but his
practice was increasing, and he foresaw that unless he could bring the
matter of the murder to a speedy conclusion, he would be obliged to
throw it over altogether. But on Janet's account he was unwilling to
do this.

As usual, M. Zirknitz was still in bed, and Ellis waited for some time
in the gorgeous sitting-room, which its owner--apparently--had created
out of nothing. When the Austrian made his appearance he was as lively
as ever, and greeted Ellis in his most genial manner.

"Ah, Ellis, _mon ami, mon cher_, so you have arrived once more. Is it
to take me to a prison or to join me at _déjeuner_--the latter, I hope;
friendship is so much more charming than enmity."

"I have come only to ask you a few questions, Zirknitz; also to tell
you something which may astonish you."

"Astonish me! _C'est une mauvaise plaisanterie, mon cher_. I am never
astonished at anything in this best of all possible worlds. You have
not read _Candide_, in which that saying occurs? No. Ah, you should.
Voltaire is the most witty of his race. _Eh bien!_ What is your
astonishing news?"

"I know your history and that of your sisters, and I have learnt how
Miss Gordon took the place of Mrs. Moxton to fight her battles."

"You know that? Ah, well, Janet must have told you. If she did, she is
right. Janet can do no wrong. She is the dearest and most excellent
sister in the world."

"Are you the best brother to her?"

"I? _Mon, ami_, I am a scamp. I have no good in me. If I had it would
not be so creditable to Janet that she is fond of me. So she has told
you all her intrigues. What can I do?"

"Inform me about Busham. You saw him on that night?"

"_Oui da!_ He followed that poor Edgar from the station."

"How was he dressed?"

Zirknitz reflected. "It was cold that night," said he, musingly. "I
put on a fur coat. Eh! Ah, yes. Busham had a coat of the same and a
tall hat. I can say no more than that."

A fur-lined coat, a tall hat. This was precisely the scanty
description given by Laura of her momentary glimpse of the assassin.
What if the lawyer, after all, should be the guilty person? Full of
excitement Ellis detailed to Zirknitz his suspicions, and cited the
fact of the red pocket-book. The Austrian uttered an exclamation of
astonishment on hearing that this was missing.

"Edgar, excellent Edgar, had it in his pocket at the music-hall. Eh!
yes, I quite remember. He took out the book to show me a bill."

"A bill? What kind of a bill?"

"A bill of exchange or a promissory note. Now you speak, _mon cher
ami_, it all comes back to me. Edgar showed me the name of his father
on the bill and declared that it was forged."

"A forged bill!" said Ellis, "and in the pocket-book which was stolen?
Ah, this, then, may be the motive for the crime. Zirknitz, did Moxton
say who had forged the bill?"

"Eh? No. He said, 'My Rudolph, see what I got from Busham this
night.'"

"Busham! Busham! Could he have forged the bill?"

"Eh? No, I think not, or he would not give it to Edgar."

"Still, a forged bill, obtained from Busham, and he followed Edgar out
of the station. He wore a tall hat and a fur coat. As the assassin was
dressed the same it might be--By Heavens! Zirknitz, I believe that
Busham is the guilty person, after all."

Zirknitz shrugged his shoulders, but did not offer an opinion, and as
the doctor did not think that there was anything further to be learnt
from him, he rose to go. At the door, however, he paused, and made a
chance remark which gained him greater results than any of his
previous questions.

"I forgot to tell you," said Ellis, "that I have tricked Busham. He
thinks that he has a claim to a portion of Mrs. Moxton's property
because he destroyed the will. But what he destroyed, M. Zirknitz, was
a copy made by me; the original is in my possession."

Rudolph's eyes sparkled. "Then Laura will inherit all Moxton's
wealth?"

"Undoubtedly, as soon as she can claim it, without risking any danger
from Busham. He knows too much."

"But not as much as I know. Listen, _mon ami_. I can tell you a great
deal about Busham which will help you to save Laura. Eh, yes, I will
see that she gets the money of that poor Edgar."

"So that you may get a share of it, I suppose?" said Ellis, drily.
Zirknitz laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "But, certainly-- Why
not? I am her brother; I need money. If I help her, she must help me.
Listen! _mon cher_."

With this exordium Zirknitz poured forth into Ellis's ears a story
about the lawyer and about his own treachery which at once pleased and
horrified Ellis. He did not know whether most to hate or admire the
scamp; but in the end he decided that it would be diplomatic to hide
his feelings, and so ended his visit.

CHAPTER XX
BUSHAM AT BAY

It was in a state of subdued excitement that Ellis left the rooms of
Zirknitz. He now seemed to be nearer solving the mystery than he had
ever been before. There was no doubt that Moxton had been murdered in
order to obtain the forged bill; but Ellis was uncertain in his own
mind whether Busham had actually struck the blow. A silk hat and a
fur-lined coat was not a distinctive dress on a cold evening for any
man--a dozen might wear it. Still, the coincidence of dress was
striking. Busham might be the criminal, after all, and Ellis drove
directly to Esher Lane for the purpose of satisfying himself on this
point.

What the doctor particularly wished to know was who had forged the
elder Moxton's name? If Busham had done so he would scarcely have
given the bill to Edgar, who had no great love for him. To hand him
over an incriminating document and then murder him to get it back
again would have been the height of folly. If, therefore, Busham was
innocent of the forgery, he would scarcely risk his life in
endeavouring to recover the bill. Thus, if anyone had a reason to
desire the death of Edgar, it must have been the forger himself.
Having committed one crime he certainly would not hesitate to commit a
second, if only to conceal the first. This theory was excellent, and
Ellis wished to prove its truth. To do so, it was necessary that he
should learn the name of the man who had forged the bill. Busham had
given the document to Edgar Moxton, as was asserted by Zirknitz,
therefore Busham could inform him of what he wished to know. But would
he do so? Ellis, for want of experience of the man, could not answer
this question, and arrived at Esher Lane in a state of perplexity.
However, his head was clear and his will determined--a most necessary
frame of mind for anyone who had to deal with so crafty a creature as
Busham.

The office was as dingy and dirty as ever. The lean clerks still
scribbled interminable folios, and strained their eyes in the
uncertain light. From the inner room came the rasping cough of Busham,
which showed that he was alive and plotting. Ellis sent in his card,
which was received by the lawyer with anything but pleasure. However,
he did not think it wise to betray any fear of his visitor, so gave
orders that he was to be admitted at once. More than that, he threw
into his greeting as much cordiality as was possible with one of his
detestable nature.

"I am glad to see you, doctor," said he, pointing to one of the two
chairs. "That seems strange, does it not? We had a tiff last time we
met here, eh? Quite so. But I never bear malice, not I. How is Mrs.
Moxton?"

"The true Mrs. Moxton is quite well."

Busham's naturally pale face became of a greenish hue. "What do you
mean with your 'true Mrs. Moxton?'" he demanded, narrowing his eyes
until they looked like those of a cat.

"What I say, and what you know. Janet Gordon, to fight her sister's
battles, took that sister's place."

"You are well informed," sneered Busham. "On whose authority?"

"I have the best authority. Miss Gordon told me herself."

"How dare you say that I knew of this plot!" cried the lawyer,
savagely. "Ridiculous! I know nothing about the sisters."

"That is a lie!" replied Ellis, coolly. "You know everything about
them. For months you have been watching for an opportunity to get them
into your toils."

"Who says this?"

"Rudolph Zirknitz."

"Bah! that silly fool! What does he know?"

"More than you think," retorted Ellis. "Zirknitz is a scamp, but no
fool, and he told me all about the questions you had asked him. He
even mentioned the sums of money you have paid him for his
information."

"What information?" said Busham, fighting every inch.

"Is it necessary for me to inform you?" questioned Ellis, with icy
contempt.

"What information?" repeated the lawyer.

"He told you that the supposed Mrs. Moxton was really Janet Gordon. He
betrayed his sisters for money like the contemptible creature he is,
and in turn he has betrayed you."

"I don't understand your hint of betrayal."

"I think you do. But if you wish me to be more explicit, I can inform
you that Zirknitz saw you following Moxton on that night."

Busham sneered, and his brow cleared. "So you said when Mrs. Moxton--I
beg your pardon--Miss Gordon was here. I then admitted that I was at
Dukesfield on that night, and gave my reasons for being there. Also, I
gave an account of my actions."

"I know you did, Mr. Busham. A very pretty account which did justice
to your imagination."

"I told the truth," cried Busham, gnawing his lip.

"No, you did not. You told what suited your purpose. You spoke to no
policeman on that night, for those who were on duty then have all been
closely questioned. You never followed Mrs. Moxton to Pimlico, but you
called there later and bribed the servant, Sarah, to tell you the
truth."

"Who says I did?"

"Zirknitz. I am afraid you were a trifle overconfident of his silence,
Mr. Busham."

"Zirknitz is a liar!"

"Oh, no, only a traitor who changes sides when he sees a chance of
making money."

"He won't make any out of his sisters," growled Busham. "I have burnt
that will, and the Moxton property will come to me."

Ellis smiled when he thought on how slight a foundation this belief
rested. "Well, we will say nothing about the will But even though you
have destroyed it, Mrs. Moxton takes a great portion of her husband's
property as his widow."

"She sha'n't have one penny," snarled Busham. "A jade, an adventuress
and a murderess! that's what she is. If she refuses to give me the
whole of the Moxton property, I'll denounce her. He! he! then she will
be hanged."

"I doubt it, Busham. There is a prejudice against hanging women in
this country. As to your saying that she killed Moxton, that is a lie,
and you know it. The man who murdered your cousin wore a silk hat and
fur coat."

"Who says so?"

"Mrs. Moxton herself. She saw the man strike the blow, but could not
recognise him."

"Oh, that is an invention to save her neck," scoffed Busham. "A man in
a silk hat and a fur coat? Bosh! Who is the man!"

"Well, I am not quite clear on that point," replied Ellis, speaking
very slowly, "but I fancied he might be you."

Busham started from his seat with a kind of screech hardly human. "I?"
he gasped. "You dare to accuse me of that crime! And on what grounds?"

"You wore a similar dress on the night you followed Moxton."

"Who says I did?"

"Your dear friend, M. Zirknitz."

Busham ground his teeth, and said something not precisely
complimentary to the Austrian. After a time he recovered his calmness,
but not his colour. "You accuse me of murdering Moxton?" he said.

"Oh, no, I don't accuse you, I merely state that such might be the
case."

"Bah! The accusation is not worth considering. What motive could I
have for killing my cousin! It is true that his father altered his
will at the last moment and left everything to Edgar. What then? I had
sufficient influence with him to finger that money, and I certainly
intended to do so. Why should I risk my neck to upset all my plans?"

"You might have hoped to get the money after Moxton's death, or, at
least, a share of it."

"Don't deceive yourself," snapped the lawyer. "I hoped for none of it.
Edgar told me that, after his marriage, he had made a will leaving all
to his wife. What motive, then, had I to commit so purposeless a
crime. I could manage Edgar because I knew him; but I never met,--I
never saw Mrs. Moxton, and could hope to gain no influence over her,
especially with that infernal sister in the way. If she--"

"Speak more respectfully of Miss Gordon," interrupted the doctor,
angrily. "She is my friend, and I will not permit a word against her.
You say that Mrs. Moxton killed her husband. Prove it!"

"She was always quarrelling with him," replied Busham, sullenly. "I
know that for a fact, because Edgar told me so. He said that he was
afraid of his wife, that she frequently threatened him with the
carving-knife. When I heard of the murder next morning I went down to
see Mrs. Moxton, as I was certain she had killed Edgar. As I walked
up the garden I saw the flash of steel in a laurel bush, and on
going to it I found a knife stuck in one of the branches. It was a
carving-knife, and there was blood on the blade and the handle. I was
certain then that Mrs. Moxton was guilty, but having my own ends to
gain I did not denounce her then, but simply slipped the knife up my
sleeve and went away. I produced it as you saw to make Miss
Gordon--for thanks to Zirknitz I knew my visitor was not Mrs.
Moxton--give up the will. She made the exchange and took away the
knife. I burnt the will as you saw, and by destroying it could hope to
get a portion of the property. Now I mean to have the whole, or else I
shall denounce Mrs. Moxton."

"I don't think you'll do that, Busham, for I shall then state that you
committed a felony by burning the will. No, no, whatever happens you
can't afford to denounce Mrs. Moxton. You might frighten her, and,
perhaps--as she is only a woman--Miss Gordon, but you can't frighten
me. As to your finding of the knife, Mrs. Moxton threw it into the
laurel bush after the murder, but she did not use it."

"You will find it difficult to prove that," snarled Busham, beginning
to feel beaten. "If she did not use it, who did?"

"The man in the fur coat, who snatched it from her when she was in her
husband's grip."

"And who is the man in the fur coat?"

"I think you know, Busham."

"Indeed, I don't, confound you!"

"At least you know the name of the man who endorsed that bill."

With a gasp the lawyer started out of his chair. "Bill? What bill?"

"The forged bill which you gave to Moxton at the Merryman Music-Hail
on the night of the murder."

"I gave no bill. I know of none."

"Oh, yes, you do. Moxton showed the bill to Zirknitz and told him that
it was forged on his father. It was placed in a red pocket-book, Mr.
Busham, and that pocket-book was stolen from the corpse."

"Lies! Lies! All lies!" raved Busham, stamping. "I know nothing of any
bill! I don't know who killed Moxton!"

Ellis did not waste words, but rising to his feet glanced at his watch
with a calm air. "I must go now," said he. "I shall give you five days
to tell the truth, Mr. Busham. Failing that, I shall place the whole
matter in the hands of the police, and re-open the case. Good-day,
sir;" and with that last warning Ellis walked out of the room.

With a white face and a haggard expression, Busham sat for an hour or
more in his chair. Twice one of his clerks opened the door and looked
in, but awed by the expression of terror in the lawyer's eyes,
withdrew. At last Busham wiped his brow, which was beaded with
perspiration, and rose to his feet. "Shall I fly or stay?" he asked
himself; then, bringing down his fist on the table, he cried: "No, by
Heaven! I'll stay and fight it out!"

CHAPTER XXI
THE BLIND GIRL

In compliment to the great poet of his nation, Herr Schwartz
dignified his English home with the name of Goethe Cottage. It was a
one-storeyed house of no great size, built somewhat in the style of a
bungalow, and standing in a fairly large garden, at the bottom of a
rural _cul-de-sac_, termed Alma Road. Shortly after his visit to the
lawyer, Dr. Ellis called at this place, and having advised Schwartz of
his coming, found the German and Captain Garret awaiting his arrival.
So eager were they to welcome him that they appeared at the gate
before the bell ceased to jingle.

"Mine goot doctor," cried Schwartz, beaming, with outstretched hands,
"you haf gome at last to zee boor liddle Hilda!"

"Glad to see you, Dr. Ellis," said Garret, jerking out his words in
abrupt military style. "We have long expected your visit. Come in."

The three walked towards the house through a theatrical-looking
garden, with many coloured glass balls ranged on squat pedestals along
the borders of the flower-beds. There was also a tiny fountain, in
which a small Triton spouted a smaller stream of water out of a
conch-shell, an arbour fiery red with Virginia creeper, and wide walks
of white pebbles, which threw back a glare, even under the pale rays
of the late autumn sun. The house was surrounded by a wide verandah
with gaily-striped red and white sun-blinds, cane lounging-chairs and
marble-topped iron tables. Within, Ellis found the place luxuriously
furnished, but also theatrical in taste, and he was shown into a
drawing-room where intrusive colours of scarlet and magenta inflicted
torture on a sensitive eye. Schwartz had money and a love of comfort;
but the complacent way in which he looked round this terrible
apartment showed that he was absolutely without the artistic sense. A
woman might have softened the general glaring effect of the room; but
the only woman in the house was blind, and could have no idea of the
crude, ill-matched colouring by which she was surrounded.

When they sat down Ellis looked at his companions, and was astonished
how ill Schwartz appeared to be. Garret, as formerly, was haggard,
lean and gentlemanly, with the same military bearing and bored
expression. Evidently he was a man who had, as the saying is, "gone
the pace," and now, in his middle age--he was between forty and
fifty--lacked vitality and zest. As usual he was carefully dressed,
and looked eminently well-bred and well-groomed beside his patron and
friend. Schwartz himself was less complacent and jolly, also he was
lean in comparison with his former portly figure, and his clothes hung
loosely on his limbs. Instead of his face being smooth and red, it was
now pallid, and wrinkled, and although he attempted to be his usual
happy self, the attempt was an obvious effort. Occasionally he stole a
troubled glance at the Captain, but that gentleman hardly looked at
him and manifested supreme indifference. Only when the conversation
had to do with Hilda did he wake up and take any interest in what was
going on.

"You are not looking well yourself, Herr Schwartz," said Ellis, when
the trio were seated and refreshments had been produced by the
hospitable German.

"Ach! I am ferry vell," replied Schwartz, hastily. "The hot dimes of
the zun haf made me thin, and I haf moch thinking apout the liddle
Hilda."

"Oh, you must keep up your spirits about that. I may be able to
restore her sight. Was she born blind?"

"No," interposed Garret. "Took notice like other children for a few
weeks, but afterwards the sight went. Do you think you can cure her?"

"I must make an examination first. It is impossible for me to give an
opinion before then."

"Das is right, doctor. You vill zee the liddle Hilda at vonce. I would
gif all my moneys if you could make her zee."

"You are very fond of her, Herr Schwartz?"

Tears came into the German's eyes, for after the manner of his nation
he was emotional and sentimental and easily touched. "The liddle Hilda
is the light of mine life," he said, in tones of deep feeling. "I haf
lofed her for years, and she is to me mine own child. I am her zecond
vater."

"Father and mother and everything else," jerked Garret. "Much better
than a scamp like me."

"No, no," protested Schwartz, but with a ring of insincerity in his
voice, which Ellis at once detected. "You are a goot man, mein frind."