A Terrible Secret Part 13

Come away. Don't you know she is dead?"

He lifts his dim eyes to her face, blind with the misery of a dumb animal.

"_Dead_!" he whispers.

Then with a low, moaning gasp, he falls back in her arms, fainting wholly away.

Her cries bring aid--they lift him and carry him up to his room, undress and place him in bed. The family physician is summoned--feels his pulse, hears what Lady Helena has to say, and looks very grave.

The shock has been too much for a not overstrong body or mind. Sir Victor is in imminent danger of brain fever.

The night shuts down. A messenger comes to Lady Helena saying the squire is much better, and she makes up her mind to remain all night.

Inez comes, pale and calm, and also takes her place by the stricken man's bedside, a great sadness and pity for the first time on her face. The White Room is locked--Lady Helena keeps the key--one pale light burns dimly in its glittering vastness. And as the night closes in blackness over the doomed house, one of the policemen comes in haste to Superintendent Ferrick, triumph in his face. He has found the dagger.

Mr. Ferrick opens his eyes rather--it is more than he expected.

"A bungler," he mutters, "whoever did it. Jones, where did you find this?"

Jones explains.

Near the entrance gates there is a wilderness of fern, or bracken, as high as your waist. Hidden in the midst of this unlikely place Jones has found the dagger. It is as if the party, going down the avenue, had flung it in.

"Bungler," Superintendent Ferrick says again. "It's bad enough to be a murderer without being a fool."

He takes the dagger. No doubt about the work it has done. It is incrusted with blood--dry, dark, and clotted up to the hilt. A strong, sure hand had certainly done the deed. For the first time the thought strikes him--_could_ a woman's hand, strike that one strong, sure, deadly blow? Miss Catheron is a fragile-looking young lady, with a waist he could span, slim little fingers, and a delicate wrist. Could she strike this blow--it is quite evident only one has been struck.

"And besides," says Superintendent Ferrick, argumentatively to himself, "it's fifteen minutes' fast walking from the house to the gates.

Fifteen minutes only elapse between the time Nurse Pool sees her come out of the nursery and Maid Ellen finds her mistress murdered. And I'll be sworn, she hasn't been out of the house to-day. All last night they _say_ she kept herself shut up in her room. Suppose she wasn't--suppose she went out last night and tried to hide it, is it likely--come, I say! is it likely, she would take and throw it right in the very spot, where it was sure to be found? A Tartar that young woman is, I have no doubt, but she's a long way off being a fool. She may know _who_ has done this murder, but I'll stake my professional reputation, in spite of Mrs. Pool, that she never did it herself."

A thin, drizzling rain comes on with the night, the trees drip, drip in a feeble melancholy sort of way, the wind has a lugubrious sob in its voice, and it is intensely dark. It is about nine o'clock, when Miss Catheron rises from her place by the sick-bed and goes out of the room. In the corridor she stands a moment, with the air of one who looks, and listens. She sees no one. The dark figure of a woman, who hovers afar off and watches her, is there, but lost in a shadowy corner; a woman, who since the murder, has never entirely lost sight of her. Miss Catheron does not see her, she takes up a shawl, wraps it about her, over her head, walks rapidly along the pa.s.sage, down a back stairway, out of a side door, little used, and so out into the dark, dripping, sighing night.

There are the Chesholm constabulary on guard on the wet gra.s.s and gravel elsewhere--there are none here. But the quiet figure of Jane Pool has followed her, like her shadow, and Jane Pool's face, peers cautiously out from the half-open door.

In that one instant while she waits, she misses her prey--she emerges, but in the darkness nothing is to be seen or heard.

As she stands irresolute, she suddenly hears a low, distinct whistle to the left. It may be the call of a night-bird--it may be a signal.

She glides to the left, straining her eyes through the gloom. It is many minutes before she can see anything, except the vaguely waving trees--then a fiery spark, a red eye glows through the night. She has run her prey to earth--it is the lighted tip of a cigar.

She draws near--her heart throbs. Dimly she sees the tall figure of a man; close to him the slender, slighter figure of a woman. They are talking in whispers, and she is mortally afraid of coming too close.

What is to keep them from murdering her too?

"I tell you, you _must_ go, and at once," are the first words, she hears Inez Catheron speaking, in a pa.s.sionate, intense whisper. "I tell you I am suspected already; do you think _you_ can escape much longer? If you have any feeling for yourself, for me, go, go, I beseech you, at once! They are searching for you now, I warn you, and if they find you--"

"If they find me," the man retorts, doggedly, "it can't be much worse than it is. Things have been so black with me for years, that they can't be much blacker. But I'll go. I'm not over anxious to stay, Lord knows. Give me the money and I'll be off."

She takes from her bosom a package, and hands it to him; by the glow of the red cigar-tip Jane sees her.

"It is all I have--all I can get, jewels and all," she says; "enough to keep you for years with care. Now go, and never come back--your coming has done evil enough, surely."

Jane Pool catches the words--the man mutters some sullen, inaudible reply. Inez Catheron speaks again in the same pa.s.sionate voice.

"How dare you say so?" she cries, stamping her foot. "You wretch! whom it is my bitterest shame to call brother. But for you _she_ would be alive and well. Do you think I do not know it? Go--living or dead, I never want to look upon your face again!"

Jane Pool hears those terrible words and stands paralyzed. Can it be, that Miss Inez is not the murderess after all? The man retorts again--she does not hear how--then plunges into the woodland and disappears. An instant the girl stands motionless looking after him, then she turns and walks rapidly back into the house.

CHAPTER IX.

FROM THE "CHESHOLM COURIER."

The Monday morning edition of the _Chesholm Courier_, September 19th, 18--, contained the following, eagerly devoured by every man and woman in the county, able to read at all:

THE TRAGEDY AT CATHERON ROYALS.

"In all the annals of mysterious crime (began the editor, with intense evident relish), nothing more mysterious, or more awful, has ever been known, than the recent tragedy at Catheron Royals. In the annals of our town, of our county, of our country we may almost say, it stands unparalleled in its atrocity. A young and lovely lady, wedded little better than a year, holding the very highest position in society, in the sacred privacy of her own household, surrounded by faithful servants, is struck down by the dagger of the a.s.sa.s.sin. Her youth, her beauty, the sanct.i.ty of slumber, all were powerless to s.h.i.+eld her.

Full of life, and hope, and happiness, she is foully and hideously murdered--her babe left motherless, her young husband bereaved and desolate. If anything were needed to make the dreadful tragedy yet more dreadful, it is, that Sir Victor Catheron lies, as, we write, hovering between life and death. The blow, which struck her down, has stricken him too--has laid him upon what may be his death-bed. At present he lies mercifully unconscious of his terrible loss tossing in the delirium of violent brain fever.

"Who, we ask, is safe after this? A lady of the very highest rank, in her own home, surrounded by her servants, in open day, is stabbed to the heart. Who, we ask again, is safe after this? Who was the a.s.sa.s.sin--what was the motive? Does that a.s.sa.s.sin yet lurk in our midst? Let it be the work of the coroner and his jury to discover the terrible secret, to bring the wretch to justice. And it is the duty of every man and woman in Chesholm to aid, if they can, that discovery."

_From Tuesday's Edition_.

The inquest began at one o'clock yesterday in the parlor of the Mitre Inn, Lady Helena Powyss, of Powyss Place, and Miss Inez Catheron being present. The first witness called was Ellen b.u.t.ters.

ELLEN b.u.t.tERS sworn.--"I was Lady Catheron's maid; I was engaged in London and came down with her here; on the afternoon of Friday, 16th, I last saw my lady alive, about half-past six in the afternoon; she had dressed for dinner; the family dinner hour is seven; saw nothing unusual about her; well yes, she seemed a little out of spirits, but was gentle and patient as usual; when I had finished dressing her she threw her shawl about her, and took a book, and said she would go out a few minutes and take the air; she did go out, and I went down to the servant's hall; sometime after seven Jane Pool, the nurse, came down in a great flurry and said--"

THE CORONER.--"Young woman we don't want to hear what Jane Pool said and did. We want to know what you saw yourself."

ELLEN b.u.t.tERS (sulkily).--"Very well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. If Jane Pool hadn't said Sir Victor had gone off to Powyss Place, and that she didn't think it would be proper to disturb my lady just then, I would have gone up to my lady for orders. Jane had her supper and went up to the nursery for baby. She came back again after awhile--it was just past eight--in a temper, saying she had left my lady asleep when she took away baby, and returned to awake her. She had met Miss Inez who ordered her away about her business, saying my lady was still asleep. Jane Pool said--"

THE CORONER--"Young woman, we _don't_ want to hear what Jane Pool said. Jane Pool will tell her own story presently; we won't trouble you to tell both. At what hour did you go up to the nursery yourself?"

ELLEN b.u.t.tERS (more sulkily).--"I disremember; it was after eight. I could tell all about it better, if you wouldn't keep interrupting and putting me out. It was about a quarter or twenty minutes past eight, I think--"

THE CORONER (dogmatically).--"What you think won't do. Be more precise if you please, and keep your temper. What o'clock was it, I say, when you went up to the nursery?"

ELLEN b.u.t.tERS (excitedly).--"It was about a quarter or twenty minutes past eight--how can I know any surer when I _don't_ know. I don't carry a watch, and didn't look at the clock. I'm sure I never expected to be badgered about it in this way. I said I'd go and wake my lady up and not leave her there, to catch her death, in spite of fifty Miss Catherons. I rapped at the door and got no answer, then I opened it and went in. There was no light, but the moon was s.h.i.+ning bright and clear, and I saw my lady sitting, with her shawl around her, in the arm-chair. I thought she was asleep and called her--there was no answer. I called again, and put my hand on her bosom to arouse her.

Something wet my hand--it was blood. I looked at her closer, and saw blood on her dress, and oozing in a little stream from the left breast.

Then I knew she had been killed. I ran screaming from the room, and down among the rest of the servants. I told them--I didn't know how.

And I don't remember any more, for I fell in a faint. When I came to I was alone--the rest were up in the nursery. I got up and joined them--that's everything I know about it."

Ellen b.u.t.ters retired, and William Hooper was called. This is Mr.

Hooper's evidence:

"I have been butler in Sir Victor Catheron's family for twenty years.