The Opal Serpent Part 26

"But you have the right since you are to be her husband."

"Pardon me, no. I would never take such a responsibility on me. I shall tell Miss Norman what you say, and convey her answer to you."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Krill, graciously. But she was annoyed that her golden bait had not been taken immediately, and, in spite of her suavity, Paul could see that she was annoyed, the more so when she began to explain. "Of course you understand my feelings."

"I confess I don't quite. Naturally, the fact that you are connected with the murder in the public eyes--"

"Pardon me," said the woman, swiftly, "but I am not. The name of Krill has hardly been noticed. The public know that Aaron Norman was murdered.

No one talks of Lemuel Krill, or thinks that I am the widow of the murdered man. Possibly I may come across some people who will connect the two names, and look askance at me, but the majority of people--such as Lord George there," she pointed with her fan, "do not think of me in the way you say. As he did, they will think they remember the name--"

"Lord George did not say that to you," said Paul, swiftly.

"No. But he did to Mr. Hay, who told me," rejoined Mrs. Krill, quite as swiftly.

"To-night?" asked Beecot, remembering that Hay had not spoken privately to Mrs. Krill since they came in from the dining-room.

"Oh, no--on another occasion. Lord George has several times said that he has a faint recollection of my name. Possibly the connection between me and the murder may occur to his mind, but he is really so very stupid that I hope he will forget all about the matter."

"I wonder you don't change your name," said Paul, looking at her.

"Certainly not, unless public opinion forces me to change it," she said defiantly. "My life has always been perfectly open and above board, not like that of my husband."

"Why did he change his name?" asked Beecot, eagerly--too eagerly, in fact, for she drew back.

"Why do you ask?" she inquired coldly.

Paul shrugged his shoulders. "An idle question, Mrs. Krill. I have no wish to force your confidence."

"There is no forcing in the matter," responded the woman. "I have taken quite a fancy to you, Mr. Beecot, and you shall know what I do."

"Pray do not tell me if you would rather not."

"But I would rather," said Mrs. Krill, bluntly; "it will prevent your misconception of anything you may hear about us. My husband's real name was Lemuel Krill, and he married me thirty years ago. I will be frank with you and admit that neither of us were gentlefolks. We kept a public-house on the outskirts of Christchurch in Hants, called 'The Red Pig.'" She looked anxiously at him as she spoke.

"A strange name."

"Have you never heard of it before?"

"No. Had I heard the name it would have remained in my memory, from its oddity."

Paul might have been mistaken, but Mrs. Krill certainly seemed relieved.

Yet if she had anything to conceal in connection with "The Red Pig,"

why should she have mentioned the name.

"It is not a first-cla.s.s hotel," she went on smoothly, and again with her false smile. "We had only farm laborers and such like as customers.

But the custom was good, and we did very well. Then my husband took to drink."

"In that respect he must have changed," said Paul, quickly, "for all the time I knew him--six months it was--I never saw him the worse for drink, and I certainly never heard from those who would be likely to know that he indulged in alcohol to excess. All the same," added Paul, with an after-thought of his conversation with Sylvia in the Embankment garden, "I fancied, from his pale face and shaking hands, and a tightness of the skin, that he might drink."

"Exactly. He did. He drank brandy in large quant.i.ties, and, strange to say, he never got drunk."

"What do you mean exactly?" asked Beecot, curiously.

"Well," said Mrs. Krill, biting the top of her fan and looking over it, "Lemuel--I'll call him by the old name--never grew red in the face, and even after years of drinking he never showed any signs of intemperance.

Certainly his hands would shake at times, but I never noticed particularly the tightness of the skin you talk of."

"A certain s.h.i.+ny look," explained Paul.

"Quite so. I never noticed it. But he never got drunk so as to lose his head or his balance," went on Mrs. Krill; "but he became a demon."

"A demon?"

"Yes," said the woman, emphatically, "as a rule he was a timid, nervous, little man, like a frightened rabbit, and would not harm a fly. But drink, as you know, changes a nature to the contrary of what it actually is."

"I have heard that."

"You would have seen an example in Lemuel," she retorted. "When he drank brandy, he became a king, a sultan. From being timid he became bold; from not harming anyone he was capable of murder. Often in his fits did he lay violent hands on me. But I managed to escape. When sober, he would moan and apologize in a provokingly tearful manner. I hated and despised him," she went on, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes, but careful to keep her voice from reaching the gamblers. "I was a fool to marry him. My father was a farmer, and I had a good education. I was attracted by the good looks of Lemuel, and ran away with him from my father's farm in Buckinghams.h.i.+re."

"That's where Stowley is," murmured Paul.

"Stowley?" echoed Mrs. Krill, whose ears were very sharp. "Yes, I know that town. Why do you mention it?"

"The opal serpent brooch with which your husband's lips were fastened was p.a.w.ned there."

"I remember," said Mrs. Krill, calmly. "Mr. Pash told me. It has never been found out how the brooch came to fasten the lips--so horrible it was," she shuddered.

"No. My father bought the brooch from the Stowley p.a.w.nbroker, and gave it to my mother, who sent it to me. When I had an accident, I lost it, but who picked it up I can't say."

"The a.s.sa.s.sin must have picked it up," declared Mrs. Krill, decisively, "else it would not have been used in that cruel way; though why such a brooch should have been used at all I can't understand. I suppose my husband did not tell you why he wanted to buy the brooch?"

"Who told you that he did?" asked Paul, quickly.

"Mr. Pash. He told me all about the matter, but not the reason why my husband wanted the brooch."

"Pash doesn't know," said Beecot, "nor do I. Your husband fainted when I first showed him the brooch, but I don't know why. He said nothing."

Again Mrs. Krill's face in spite of her care showed a sense of relief at his ignorance. "But I must get back to my story," she said, in a hard tone, "we have to leave soon. I ran away with Lemuel who was then travelling with jewellery. He knew a good deal about jewellery, you know, which he turned to account in his p.a.w.nbroking."

"Yes, and ama.s.sed a fortune, thereby."

"I should never have credited him with so much sense," said Mrs. Krill, contemptuously. "While at Christchurch he was nothing but a drunkard, whining when sober, and a furious beast when drunk. I managed all the house, and looked after my little daughter. Lemuel led me a dog's life, and we quarrelled incessantly. At length, when Maud was old enough to be my companion, Lemuel ran away. I kept on 'The Red Pig,' and waited for him to return. But he never came back, and for over twenty years I heard nothing of him till I saw the hand-bills and his portrait, and heard of his death. Then I came to see Mr. Pash, and the rest you know."

"But why did he run away?" asked Paul.

"I suppose he grew weary of the life and the way I detested him," was her reply. "I don't wonder he ran away. But there, I have told you all, so make what you can of it. Tell Miss Norman of my offer, and make her see the wisdom of accepting it. And now"--she rose, and held out her hand--"I must run away. You will call and see us? Mr. Hay will give you the address."

"What's that," said Hay, leaving the card-table, "does Beecot want your address? Certainly." He went to a table and scribbled on a card. "There you are. Hunter Street, Kensington, No. 32A. Do come, Beecot. I hope soon to call on your services to be my best man," and he cast a coldly loving look on Maud, who simply smiled as usual.