"And with regard to the assassin. We are inclined to think he is a man-and that man who spoke to the policeman at eleven o'clock. It might be, that gaining admittance by his latch-key with the woman, he killed her almost immediately he entered, and then watched his chance of escape. That he entered the house with the woman appears clear. We stated above that it is impossible to say if the woman entered the house alone. By this we mean that the man may have come earlier, and may have admitted her before nine o'clock. The poor creature walked into a death-trap. Taking her to the White Room, he lured her to sit down at the piano, which would give him an opportunity of standing behind her to stab her unawares. Then when she was dead, he probably looked out of the window to see how he could escape. Fear evidently kept him within till nearly eleven o'clock. Then he saw the policeman passing, and then he sang the song to make the man believe a woman was singing. Afterwards, when he had lulled any suspicions the policeman may have entertained, he came out and escaped in the manner described. This is our theory. The singer is described by Mulligan-a remarkably intelligent officer-as having a deep contralto voice; so it is probable the assassin sang in falsetto. That the man killed the woman and thus escaped, we are sure; for only he having the latch-key could have admitted her, and only he could have a reason to lure her into the house. What that reason may be, must remain for ever a mystery."
So far the Daily Budget with its gimcrack theory. A rival newspaper promptly set to work to pick holes in the case as presented by the paper. This rival journal, the Star of Morning, commented as follows:
"Our respected contemporary goes too fast. Evidence was given clearly by Mulligan that the song was being sung while the presumed assassin-in the Daily Budget's opinion-was in conversation with him at the gate. Therefore the young man with the pointed beard could not have sung 'Kathleen Mavourneen' in falsetto. The theory is amusing, but it won't hold water. Our belief is quite different, and we think more real.
"In the first place, we think that the young man was the person who admitted the women into the house. So far we agree with our contemporary. We say 'women,' because we believe there were two people, the victim and another woman. These two women came to the house either in the company of the young man or by themselves. In any case, he admitted them, since, however he obtained it, he alone possessed the latch-key, and was thus enabled to enter the deserted house. Once in the White Room, and the victim lured to the piano-again we agree-she was murdered. The two assassins-for both the man and the woman are equally guilty, though we are not prepared to say who actually struck the blow-then watched their opportunity to escape. It is a marvel that they should have remained three hours in the house, perhaps in the room, after the crime was committed. They arrived unseen along with their victim, so it is natural to think that they would have escaped from the house as soon as possible, positive that they would not be suspected. But guilt makes cowards of every one, and it made cowards of these two. They waited in the room, watching the gradual desertion of Achilles Avenue. About eleven they decided to venture. Then the policeman appears. Doubtless to save appearances, the woman sang. The man looking out, went away to lure the policeman. He did so, and then the woman escaped. She saw Mr. Tracey's motor-car standing unwatched at a gate, and forthwith used it to fly, fearful lest she should be followed. If she went straight to Charing Cross she must have arrived about half-past eleven. In the crowd in the yard on a Saturday night, with cabs and other vehicles coming and going, she would easily be able to draw up her car in a quiet corner. No one seems to have noticed her, and women driving motors is such a common spectacle now that no one would remark on the circumstance. We think that the woman then entered the station and left London. She may have escaped to the continent; she may have gone merely to a suburb. At all events, all trace of her is lost, and the deserted car was noted some hours later.
"This is our theory, and we think it is a more feasible one than that offered by our contemporary. As Mr. Fane is ignorant of the name of the deceased, it is inexplicable how she came to meet with her tragic death in his house. All the servants of Mr. Fane were at the seaside along with their master and mistress, so no blame can possibly be attached to them. Mr. Fane himself was ill in bed at Westcliff-on-Sea, so he can know nothing. He positively asserts that he alone possessed the latch-key, and the locksmith from whom he obtained it, declares that no duplicate was made. This is not the least strange element in this case. One thing we would draw our readers' attention to-the decoration of the room in which the murder was perpetrated. It was all white, and the black dress of the corpse must have formed a strange contrast to the snowy desert around when the poor creature was discovered by Mulligan. Quite a picturesque murder! Mr. Fane seems to be a gentleman with an original turn for furnishing to possess such a room, and the crime adds to its romance. And the secret of this murder will never be discovered. Why the woman should be stabbed, why she should have been lured to that strange room to be killed, how the assassins obtained possession of the latch-key-these things must remain for ever a mystery. But we are convinced that the crime was committed by a man and a woman, and we have given our reason."
To this statement-a purely theoretical one-the Daily Budget retorted in a short paragraph.
"We will merely ask our clever contemporary one question. 'If the woman assassin thus invented was singing at the piano before the policeman leaned over the gate, what opportunity had she and the young man to concert their scheme of escape?'"
To this demand there came no reply, and the press ceased to comment on the crime. The murder at Ajax Villa was relegated to the catalogue of unknown crimes for quite two weeks. Then a strange thing came to light.
CHAPTER VI
A STRANGE DISCOVERY
"You will have to make up your mind what you intend to do, my dear," said Mrs. Fane to her sister, "for I may tell you that Walter and I have arranged to make a change."
"In what way?" asked Laura, looking up from her sewing.
Mrs. Fane did not answer directly. She looked round the cosy morning-room, with rather a wistful expression. It was a very charming room, decorated in the fashion of a quaint, old parlour. In such an apartment might Jane Austen's heroines have sat, and the two ladies in modern dresses looked rather out of place. Mrs. Fane was tall and statuesque, with a placid, firm face, beautiful but cold. Her eyes were calm; she had none of those wrinkles which show the indulgence of emotion, and an earthquake would have failed to upset her eternal self-possession. Occupied in knitting a fleecy shawl, she scarcely lifted her eyes as she spoke, but continued to work placidly, never dropping a single stitch. There never was a woman who had herself so much under control as Mrs. Fane. Laura often wondered how she came to marry an excitable, vivacious man like Walter. But perhaps the exception to the law that like draws to like drew them together, and Mrs. Fane found in her husband, whose nature was so totally opposed to her own, the complement of herself.
The sisters resembled one another very little: Mrs. Fane was dark and tall, Laura slight and fair. Laura laughed when she was amused, showed anger when she felt it, and indulged unrestrained in her emotions, though she never exceeded them. She was as open in her disposition as Mrs. Fane was secretive. A glance would reveal Laura's thoughts, but no scrutiny would show what Mrs. Fane had in her mind. Both of them were plainly dressed, but Laura indulged in a few more trimmings than her sister. Mrs. Fane might have been a lady abbess, from the severity of her black garb. And a very good abbess she would have made, only the nuns under her charge would have been controlled with a rod of iron. She had no weaknesses herself, and had no patience with them in others. Not even pain appealed to her, for she had never been ill. Toothache was unknown to her; headaches she had never experienced; and she seemed to move amongst less favoured mortals like a goddess, majestic, unfeeling, and far removed from the engaging weaknesses of human nature. Mrs. Fane, by reason of this abnormal severity, was not popular.
To make a happy marriage, either the man or the woman must rule. If both have strong wills, separation or divorce is the only remedy to avert an unhappy life. If the man is strong, he controls the woman; if the woman has the will, she guides the man; and thus with no divided kingdom, the domestic life can be fairly happy, in some cases completely so.
When Mrs. Fane-Julia Mason she was then-determined to marry Walter, she also determined to have her own way. He was as weak as she was strong, therefore he did exactly as she ordered him. But she always gave him the outward rule, and, so to speak, only instructed him behind the scenes how he was to act on the stage of the world. People said that Mr. and Mrs. Fane were a happy pair, but they never knew the real reason of such happiness. Mrs. Fane concealed the iron hand in a velvet glove. Occasionally Walter proved restive, but she always managed by a quiet determination to bring him again into subjection. It may also be stated that she cherished a secret contempt that he should thus give in to her, although such yielding formed the basis of her ideal marriage. Only Laura knew how Mrs. Fane despised her husband; but since she was living with the pair, she was wise enough to keep this knowledge secret. Otherwise, Mrs. Fane would have made herself disagreeable, and she had a large capacity for rendering the house too hot for any one she disliked. Witness the expulsion of two servants who had served Fane when he was a bachelor, and who were discharged in the most polite way two months after Mrs. Fane came to live at Ajax Villa.
This domestic Boadicea looked round the room vaguely, and then brought her eyes back to the pretty, anxious face of Laura. She had a poor opinion of Laura, and always strove to impose her will on her. But Laura had her own ideas of life, and resented Julia's interference. There was but little love between the sisters, and this was entirely due to Julia's domineering temper. Not that the two ever fought. Mrs. Fane would not fight. She simply held out till she got her own way, and thus was usually successful with Walter. But Laura, made of sterner stuff, managed to hold her own, a firm quality which annoyed Julia, who liked people to grovel at her feet. She was a domestic tyrant of the worst.
Outside the sun was shining, and its rays penetrated even into the room. Mrs. Fane sat in a flood of gold, but was as unwarmed thereby as the statue of a goddess. Even the tragedy which had happened lately left but few traces of annoyance on her placid brow. Now that the unknown woman was buried, and the papers had ceased to interest themselves in the matter, she apparently dismissed it from her mind. Secretly she was annoyed with Laura because the girl had insisted on changing her bedroom. "I am not going to sleep in a room in which that body was laid out," said Laura. And it was on this hint that Mrs. Fane framed her reply.
"I wonder at you asking in what way we intend to make a change," she said in her cold voice, "seeing that you changed your room."
"Oh; you find the villa disagreeable after this tragedy?"
"I do not. So far as I am concerned, I should not mind living here for the rest of my days. I like the house and the neighbourhood, and especially do I like the White Room-"
"The very place where the poor creature was killed said Laura, with a shudder, which made Mrs. Fane smile.
"My dear, what does that matter? Death is death, however it comes, as you ought to know. If a murder took place in every room in the house I should not mind."
"Would you like it to take place in the nursery?" asked Laura.
Here she touched Mrs. Fane on a raw spot. If there was one thing the self-possessed woman loved it was her little daughter. That she was annoyed showed itself by the slight flush which crimsoned her face.
"You shouldn't say such things, my dear," she said in icy tones; "of course I except the nursery. An atmosphere of crime would not be conducive to the health of Minnie. But as I was saying, Walter wishes to give up the house."
"You said nothing of the sort," said Laura, irritated.
"I say it now, then. Walter wishes to go abroad."
"What about the business?"
Mrs. Fane raised her perfectly marked eyebrows. "Well, what about it, Laura? You know Walter is often away for weeks yachting. Times and seasons make no difference to him, so far as his love of the sea is concerned. Frederick says" – Frederick Mason was her brother-"that Walter is of very little use in the office."
"I wonder he keeps him, then," said Laura.
"There is no question of keeping," replied Mrs. Fane serenely; "you speak of Walter as though he were an office-boy. He is a partner, remember, and I do his business for him."
"I don't quite understand."
"It's very simple, Laura. Walter, as you know, brought very little money into the business. He seems to have spent what he had, or the greater part, in furnishing this house for me."
"It was furnished before you and he became engaged."
"That is true. But I saw what was coming a long time before Walter asked me to be his wife. He hinted that he was furnishing a house here, and how he was spending money on it. I then knew that he intended to make me his wife, and I determined to accept him. Not that I loved him over much," added Mrs. Fane quietly, "but I was anxious to have a say in the business. Frederick is a fool; and unless the business is looked after, it will go to ruin. As the wife of one of the partners, I am able to take a part in the conduct of the business."
"You could have done so without marrying," said Laura.
Mrs. Fane shook her head.
"No. Father left you an income of five hundred a year, but he left me much more, because he knew that I would make good use of it. The money which came to me, and your principal, were not invested in the business. I asked Frederick to let me become his partner. He refused. Then I engaged myself to Walter, who became a partner with my money. Frederick is willing, seeing that Walter is not a good business man, to let me act for my husband. I dare say he could have permitted this without the marriage, but he would not for some reason. However, you know now why I married Walter. Besides, Walter is a fool, and I wished to have a weak husband, so that I might control him."
"Was there no love at all in the marriage?"
"Well, my dear" – Mrs. Fane laughed-"I must confess that Walter is very good-looking, and that I should be jealous of his attention to any other woman. Are you answered?"
"Yes-so far as the love is concerned. But I don't understand how Walter can go abroad and leave the business."
"He is not much use. I can look after it for him, as I have always done. Do you think I should let Walter go away yachting if I did not like a free hand? He is happy on the sea, and I am happy in the counting-house, so all is well. This villa has become objectionable to Walter on account of the murder, so we intend to give it up. Probably we shall move to a French watering-place or to Switzerland. Walter can enjoy himself in his usual way, and I can run over when needful to attend to the business."
"I understand. But if you make your home in Switzerland, you will be far from London. Also, Walter will not be able to yacht."
"True enough. We shall see. I must be near England, so that I can run across rapidly, and Walter must be near the sea, for his beloved boat. If I allow Frederick to conduct the business without help, I am sure he will ruin it and me too."
"I wonder you like Walter to remain away for so long, Julia."
"My dear, I have perfect confidence in him."
"But if you loved him-"
"I would keep him by me. Well, I do love him in a way, though he is too weak to command my respect. But Walter is one of those demonstrative men who are a nuisance to a woman of my temperament. He wants to kiss and caress all day long. I find that trying, so I prefer him to go away occasionally. And now you know what we intend to do, what about yourself?"
"Am I not to go with you?"
"If you like. But you are getting older, and, I must confess, that as you have an income of your own, I think you should have a home."
"I see" – Laura looked directly at her sister-"you wish to get rid of me."
"Oh no," replied Mrs. Fane in quite a conventional way; "you are a very good companion for Walter, and he is fond of you in his weak way. As you don't trouble me, I shall be pleased to have you with us abroad. But I think it right to give you the choice."
"Of going with you as the fifth wheel on the chariot-"
"Or marrying," said Mrs. Fane calmly-"yes. That is what I mean."
"Suppose I do neither. I have my own money. I might go and live with Gerty Baldwin."
"You might," assented the elder sister, "if you like to live in a pig-sty with that lymphatic woman, who is more like a jelly than a human being."
"There's no harm in her," protested Laura.
"Nor is there in a pig. But I don't care to live with a pig. As to Gerty Baldwin, she is a fast young minx, engaged to a vulgarian."
"Mr. Tracey is a kindhearted man."
"But vulgar. And Gerty?"
"The dearest girl in the world."
Mrs. Fane again lifted her eyebrows.
"I confess I don't care for people of that sort."
"Do you care for any one but yourself?" asked Laura bitterly.
"I care for Minnie, and a little for Walter," said Mrs. Fane, "but the ordinary human being does not seem worthy of being liked."
"You condemn the world as though you were its judge and not its denizen," said Laura, with a curled lip and flashing eyes. "Julia, you were always a hard woman. Your nature is like our father's."
"Quite so, and for that reason he left me most of the money. You and Frederick take after our late mother. A kind woman, but so weak! Oh, dear me," sighed Mrs. Fane; "how very weak!"
"Laura felt inclined to walk out of the room. But she knew that such behaviour would result in nothing. Mrs. Fane would show no anger, but would simply attack Laura on the subject uppermost in her mind when they again met. The subject was Laura's future, so the girl thought it best to bring the matter to an issue.
"Does all this mean that you withdraw your opposition to my marriage with Arnold?"
"No. I still think the match is a bad one. But if you are determined to commit social suicide, I will not hinder you. Down at Westcliff I considered the matter, and resolved to tell you this when I returned. Of course this murder brings the matter still more to the front, since it makes us give up the villa. You must decide whether to come with us, or to marry Mr. Calvert, and take your own life on your own shoulders."
"We can settle that later. When do you go?"
"In three or four months. We have to get rid of the lease of the villa, you see, and there are other things to be considered. Have you accepted Mr. Calvert's hand?"
"Yes. We are engaged."
Mrs. Fane shrugged her ample shoulders.
"Fancy marrying an actor, and a mediocre actor at that! Why, the man can't keep you."
"I have money enough for us both."
"Oh, I am quite sure that he will live on you, my dear. Why hasn't he been to see you lately?"
Laura rose to her feet.
"Because I asked him not to come," she said distinctly. "You have been so disagreeable to him that, for the sake of peace, I thought it best he should not visit me."
"You saw him when you were at the Baldwins'?"
"Several times."
"Oh indeed!" sneered Mrs. Fane; "and when do you marry?"
"When we choose. Arnold is an actor and-"
"A perfect stick," said Mrs. Fane derisively.
"A fine actor, as every one acknowledges. He will make his mark."
"There are few signs of it at present. Just now he is acting in this new play at the Frivolity Theatre. A secondary part!"
"He has the leading comedy part," said Laura angrily. "Julia, why will you annoy me?"
"My dear, I don't. It's your own bad temper. You never will face the truth. However, I have placed matters before you, so you can take time and decide your future course."
"I won't go abroad with you, Julia. We should only quarrel."
"Oh dear me, no! I never quarrel. People-you included-are too weak to quarrel with. However, it's decided you won't come?"
"Yes. I shall live with the Baldwins."
"I wish you joy! But recollect, if you marry this actor, I refuse to come to the wedding."
"You had better wait till you are asked," said Laura rather weakly, and left the room, fearful what she might say next. The last words she heard from Julia were an admonition to keep her temper.
At first Laura intended to go to her own room, but hearing voices in the White Room she peered in. To her surprise, she saw Arnold seated with Walter Fane. When they saw her, Arnold rose quickly and came forward.
"My dearest, how glad I am you have come!"
"Why didn't you send for me?" said Laura, as he kissed her.
"I asked him not to," interposed Walter uneasily. "Julia was with you, and she would have come also. I don't feel well enough for Julia's preaching at present," he said, passing his hand across his brow; "this murder has upset me."
"Have you heard about it, Arnold?" asked Laura, looking at her lover in a searching manner.
"Yes," he replied calmly, and evidently prepared for the question. "And I should have come before to see you, but that you told me not to."
"You haven't been here for a long time," said Walter wearily.
"Not since you left for the seaside. But I saw Laura at the Baldwins' a week ago. Laura, you are not going?"
Miss Mason, who had changed colour while her lover was speaking, and had not taken her eyes from his face, was by this time half-way to the door.
"I must go," she said rapidly. "I have something to do. I shall see you again."
"When?" asked Calvert, detaining her at the door.
"I shall write and let you know," said Laura, and abruptly withdrawing her hand from his, she escaped.
Arnold returned to his seat near Fane with a puzzled expression.
"What is the matter?" he asked, and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
Fane also looked nervous, but that was scarcely to be wondered at, considering the late events.
"I suppose Julia has been going on at her about you," he said fretfully. "I wish you'd marry her right away and take her from Julia. Poor Laura has a bad time."
"I am not in a position to do so now," said Calvert gloomily; "things are bad with me. This play has not been a success, and I'll be out of an engagement soon."
"Laura has money for you both," said Fane.
Arnold flushed to the roots of his fair hair.
"I do not intend to live on my wife," he said sharply. "Until I can keep her in the style to which she has been accustomed, I will not marry her."
Fane laughed rather weakly.
"As things stand at present there is not much chance of your becoming a wealthy man," he said.
"Perhaps. And yet I don't know. I may come in for money."
"Really!" said Walter with interest; "some relative?"
Arnold nodded. "A cousin on my mother's side. A man called Brand."
Fane, who had been listening quietly, started from his seat.
"What!"
"A man called Brand. He lives in Australia, and is very rich. I think the money will come to me, or to a cousin of mine-a woman."
Fane was quiet again by this time. "I knew a man called Brand once. He was a scoundrel who cheated me out of a lot of money. A young man he was, with green eyes."
"Can't be any relative of mine," said Calvert. "I never saw my cousin in Australia, but he looks a kindly man from his portrait. Not at all the sort to have green eyes. As to Flora's eyes, they are brown."
"Flora," said Fane idly; "what a pretty name! Who is she?"
"The cousin I told you of. The money may come to her. She lives at Hampstead, but I have never been to her house."
"How is that?"
"I only became aware of her existence some months ago," said Arnold lightly. "We met by chance, and-but it's a long story. But we learned that we were relations, and I promised to call."
"But you didn't?"
"No. Something always came in the way. But I dare say if Flora came in for the money she would help me. I might chuck the stage, and get a start-read for the bar, perhaps. Then I could marry Laura."
"Have you any capabilities for the bar?" asked Fane. "For instance, what do you think of this murder?"
Arnold threw up his hand.
"Don't ask me," he said abruptly; "I have heard nothing else discussed but that murder for days. I am perfectly sick of it. What is your opinion?"
"I don't know-I haven't one. The whole thing is a mystery to me. All I know is that the death in this room has so sickened me, that I intend to give up the villa and go abroad to Switzerland."
"An inland place. That will rather interfere with your yachting."
"Before Fane could answer, the door opened, and Mrs. Fane, serene as ever, entered with an evening paper in her hand. She started a trifle when she saw Arnold, but bowed gracefully.
"So pleased to see you," she said with conventional falseness. "I must send Laura to you. She is dying to see you."
"I have seen her, Mrs. Fane. I am now going away."
"Oh!" Mrs. Fane smiled agreeably. "You have quarrelled."
"No, but-"
"Never mind-never mind!" interrupted Walter irritably. "What is the matter, Julia?"
"She laid her cool hand on his head.
"How hot your brow is," she said soothingly. "You have never been yourself since this horrid murder."
"We agreed not to talk of it again," said Fane, moving his head from under her hand.
"I fear we must," said his wife, sitting down. "Don't go, Mr. Calvert. This is no secret. Merely a paragraph in the paper."
"Have they found out anything?" asked Arnold quietly.
"Well, it seems to be a sort of a clue. This room, you know-"
"This room!" Both men looked round the White Room, and then at one another. Finally both pairs of eyes were fixed on Mrs. Fane's face.
"Yes," she said calmly. "I need not read the paragraph. The gist of it is that the police have received a letter stating that there is a room like this in a house at Hampstead."
"At Hampstead?" said Calvert, advancing a step.
"Yes. It belongs to a Mr. Brand."
"Brand!" said Fane, looking at Calvert. "Why, that is the name you mentioned just now!"
"Yes," said the young man with an effort. "I have a cousin called Flora Brand."
"Dear me," said Mrs. Fane in her cold way. "I wonder if she can be the miserable creature who was murdered in this room."
"Julia!" Fane started to his feet. "What do you mean?"
"Don't grow excited, my dear," she replied in her soothing tones. "But it seems that Mrs. Brand has disappeared. The writer of the letter doesn't describe her to the police; but inquiries are being made. Perhaps she may be the dead woman. How strange that she should have died in this room, when she has one of her own furnished exactly the same. This room was your own idea, Walter?"
"Yes," he replied, looking puzzled, "my own idea. And I don't know Mrs. Brand. How came she to have a similar room?"
Arnold took up his hat.
"I'll find that out," he said.
When he left the room, husband and wife looked at one another.