PART OF THE TRUTH

Captain Jessop ate as greedily as he drank strong waters, and did full justice to the curry, which was really excellent. Hurd did not broach any unpleasant topic immediately, as he wished the man to enjoy his meal. If Jessop was guilty, this dainty dinner would be the last of its kind he would have for many a long day. Moreover, Hurd wished to learn more of the mariner's character, and plied him with questions, which the unsuspecting sailor answered amiably enough.

"Me an' you might become mates, as it were," said Jessop, extending his large hand again and again. "Put it there."

"Well, we'd want to know something more about one another to become real mates," laughed Hurd.

"Oh, you're a commercial traveller, as you say, and I'm the captain of as fine a barkey as ever sailed under Capricorn. Leastways I was, afore I gave up deep-sea voyages."

"You must miss the ocean, living at Stowley."

"Inland it is," admitted the mariner, pulling out a dirty clay pipe, at the conclusion of the meal, "and ocean there ain't round about fur miles. But I've got a shanty there, and live respectable."

"You are able to, with the stand-by," hinted Hurd.

Jessop nodded and crammed black tobacco, very strong and rank, into the bowl of his pipe with a shaking hand. "It ain't much," he admitted; "folks being stingy. But if I wants more," he struck the table hard, "I can get it. D'ye see, Mister Commercial?"

"Yes, I see," replied Hurd, coolly. Jessop was again growing cross, and the detective had to be careful. He knew well enough that next morning, when sober, Jessop would not be so disposed to talk, but being muzzy, he opened his heart freely. Still, it was evident that a trifle more liquor would make him quarrelsome, so Hurd proposed coffee, a proposition to which the sailor graciously assented.

"Cawfee," he observed, lighting his pipe, and filling the room with evil-smelling smoke, "clears the 'ead, not as mine wants clearing, mind you. But cawfee ain't bad, when rum ain't t' be 'ad."

"You'll have more rum later," hinted Hurd.

"Put it there," said Jessop, and again the detective was forced to wince at the strong grip of a horny hand.

Miss Junk appeared in answer to the tinkle of the bell and removed the food. Afterwards she brought in coffee, hot and strong and black, and Jessop drank two cups, with the result that he became quieter. Then the two men settled down for a pleasant conversation. At least, Jessop thought so, for he frequently expressed the friendliest sentiments towards his host. Then Matilda appeared with a bottle of rum, a kettle and two glasses. When she departed, Hurd intimated that he would not require her services again that night. This he whispered to her at the door, while Jessop was placing the kettle on the fire, and before returning to his seat, he quietly turned the key. So he had the mariner entirely to himself and got to business at once while the kettle boiled.

"You have known this place for years I believe," said Hurd, taking a chair opposite to that of Jessop. "Did you ever drop across a man, who used to live here, called Lemuel Krill?"

The other man started. "Whatever makes you arsk that?" he inquired in a husky voice.

"Well, you see, as a commercial I trade in books, and had to do with a second-hand bookseller in Gwynne Street, Drury Lane. It seems that he was murdered," and he eyed Jessop attentively.

The sailor nodded and composed himself with a violent effort. "Yes," said he in his husky voice, "so I heard. But what's he got to do with Lemuel Krill?"

"Oh," said Hurd, carelessly, "it is said Aaron Norman was Krill."

"Might ha' bin. I don't know myself," was the gruff reply.

"Ah! Then you did not know Lemuel Krill?"

"Well," admitted the captain, reluctantly, "I did. He wos the landlord of this here pub, and a cuss to drink. Lor', 'ow he could drink, and did too. But he run away from his wife as used to keep this shanty, and she never heard no more of him."

"Until she found he was rich and could leave her five thousand a year," said Hurd, absently; "so like a woman."

"You seem to know all about it, mister?" said the sailor, uneasily.

"Yes, I read the papers. A queer case that of Norman's death. I expect it was only right he should be strangled seeing he killed Lady Rachel Sandal in the same way."

Jessop, resting his hands on the arms of his chair, pushed it back and stared with a white face. "You know of that?" he gasped.

"Why not? It was public talk in this place over twenty years ago. I understand you have been here-abouts for thirty years," went on Hurd, carelessly, "possibly you may recollect the case."

Jessop wiped his forehead. "I heard something about it. That there lady committed suicide they say."

"I know what they say, but I want to know what you say?"

"I won't be arsked questions," shouted the captain, angrily.

"Don't raise your voice," said the detective, smoothly; "we may as well conduct this conversation pleasantly."

"I don't converse no more," said Jessop in a shaky voice, and staggered to his feet, rapidly growing sober under the influence of a deadly fear. Hurd did not move as the man crossed the room, but felt if the key was safe in his pocket. The sailor tried to open the door, and then realized that it was locked. He turned on his host with a volley of bad language, and found himself facing a levelled revolver.

"Sit down," said Hurd, quietly; "go back to your chair."

Jessop, with staring eyes and outspread hands, backed to the wall. "Who are you anyhow?" he demanded, hardly able to speak.

"Perhaps that will tell you," said Hurd, and threw the warrant on the table. Jessop staggered forward and looked at it. One glance was sufficient to inform him what it was, and he sank back into his chair with a groan, leaving the warrant on the table. Hurd picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. He thought Jessop might destroy it; but there was no fight in the mariner.

"And now that we understand one another," said Hurd, putting away his weapon, "I want to talk."

"Sha'n't talk," said Jessop, savagely.

"Oh, yes, I think so; otherwise I can make things unpleasant for you."

"You can't arrest me. I've done nothing."

"That may be so, but arrest you I can and I have done so now. To-morrow morning you will go to London in charge of a plain-clothes policeman, while I go to Stowley."

"To my crib. No, I'm blest if you do."

"I sha'n't go immediately to your crib," rejoined Hurd, dryly, "though I may do so later. My first visit will be to that old pawnbroker. I think if I describe you—and you are rather a noticeable man, Captain Jessop—he will recognize the individual who pawned an opal serpent brooch with him shortly after the death of Lady Rachel Sandal, to whom the said brooch belonged."

"It's a lie," said Jessop hoarsely, and sober enough now.

"Quite so, and perhaps it is also a lie that a man resembling yourself tried to get certain jewellery from a lawyer called Pash—"

Jessop lost his self-control, which he was trying desperately to preserve, and rose to his feet, white-faced and haggard. "Who are you?" he shouted, "who are you?"

"Doesn't the warrant tell you," replied his companion, not at all upset. "My name is Billy Hurd. I am the detective in charge of the Norman murder case. And I've been looking for you for a long time, Mr. Jessop."

"I know nothing about it."

"Yes, you do; so sit down and talk away."

"I'll break your head," cried the captain, swinging his huge fists.

"Try," Hurd whipped out his revolver, but did not rise, "at the risk of getting a bullet through you. Pshaw, man, don't be a fool. I'm making things as easy for you as possible. Create a disturbance, and I'll hand you over to the police. A night in the village lock-up may cool your blood. Sit down I tell you."

The sailor showed his teeth like those of a snarling dog and made as to strike the seated detective; but suddenly changing his mind, for he saw well enough in what danger he stood, he dropped into his chair, and, covering his face with his hands, groaned aloud. Hurd put away his revolver. "That's better," said he, pleasantly; "take a tot of rum and tell me all you know."

"I'm innocent," groaned Jessop.

"Every man is innocent until convicted by a jury," said Hurd, calmly. "Consider me a jury and I'll size up your case, when I hear all. Are you innocent of both murders?"

"Lady Rachel committed suicide," said Jessop, raising a haggard face. "Yes—I stick to that, sir. As to Krill's death in London, I didn't touch him; I swear I didn't."

"But you saw him on that night?"

"How can you prove that?"

"Very simply. Norman—or Krill if you prefer the old name—took certain jewellery to Pash for safe keeping shortly before his death. You presented to Pash a paper, undeniably written and signed by the old man, saying that the jewellery was to be given up to bearer. Now, before taking the jewellery to Pash, Krill could not have written that paper, so you must have seen him during the few hours which elapsed between his visit to Pash and his death."

This was clearly argued, and Jessop could not contradict. "I left him quite well and hearty."

"In the cellar in Gwynne Street?"

"Yes, in the cellar," admitted Jessop.

"At what time?"

"About half-past eight—say between eight and nine."

"Well, what happened?" asked Hurd, smoking quietly.

The sailor twisted his big hands and groaned. Then he laid his head on the table and began to sob, talking brokenly and huskily. "I'm done for," he gasped. "I'd know'd it would come—no—I ain't sorry. I've had a nightmare of a time. Oh—since I pawned that brooch—"

"Ah. Then you did pawn the brooch at Stowley?"

Jessop sat up and wiped his eyes. "Yes, I did. But I pulled my cap down over my eyes and buttoned up my pea-jacket. I never thought old Tinker would ha' knowed me."

"Wasn't it rather rash of you to pawn the brooch in a place where you were well known?"

"I wasn't well known. I only come at times, and then I went away. Old Tinker hadn't seen me more nor once or twice, and then I pulled down my cap and—" Jessop, badly shaken, was beginning to tell the episode over again, when Hurd stopped him.

"See here," said the detective. "You say that you are innocent?"

"I swear that I am," gasped Jessop.

"Well, then, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. My business is not to hang innocent people. Take a glass of rum and tell me all you know, beginning with your first meeting with Krill and running down through the death of Lady Rachel to your last meeting in the Gwynne Street cellar."

"And when you know all?"

"Then I'll see what is to be done."

"Will you arrest me?"

"I have arrested you. Don't make conditions with me, man," said Hurd, with a stern face. "The night is growing late and I want to get to the bottom of this business before we go to bed. Take some rum."

Seeing there was nothing for it but to make a clean breast, Captain Jarvey Jessop wasted no further time in useless lamentation. He could have smashed Hurd easily enough, even though there was the risk of being shot. But the fracas would bring others on the scene, and Jessop knew he could not deal with the police. Therefore, he took a stiff peg and became quieter. In fact, when once started on his confession, he appeared to be rather relieved.

"It's been a nightmare," said he, wiping his forehead. "I'm glad it's come to the lawr, that I am. I met Krill, as he wos then, some twenty-five year back by chance, as you may say"—he cast a strange look at the detective, which the latter noted—"yes, by chance, Mr. Hurd. I found he kep' the pub here, and this bein' no distance from Southampton I took to runnin' down here when the barkey was at anchor. Me an' Krill became great mates, and I'd what you might call free quarters here—yes, sir—it's a frozen fact."

"Very generous of Mr. Krill," remarked Hurd, dryly, and wondering what the man was keeping back.

"Oh, he was right enough as a mate when not drunk; but the liquor made a howling dorg of him. I've seen many drunk in many places," said Jessop, "but anyone who held his liquor wuss nor Krill I never did see. He'd knife you as soon as look at you when drunk."

"But he evidently preferred strangling."

"Hold on, mate," said Jessop, with another deep pull at the rum. "I'm comin' to that night. We wos both on the bust, as y'may say, and Mrs. Krill she didn't like it, so got to bed with the child."

"How old was the child?"

"Maud? Oh, you might say she was thirteen or fifteen. I can't be sure of her age. What's up?"

For Hurd, seeing in this admission a confirmation that Maud was either not Krill's child or was illegitimate, and could not inherit the money, had showed his feelings. However, he made some trivial excuse, not wishing to be too confidential, and begged Jessop to proceed.

"Well, mate," said the captain, filling another glass of rum, "y'see the lady had come earlier and had been put to bed by the missus. I never saw her myself, being drinking in this very room along o' Krill. But he saw her," added Jessop, emphatically, "and said as she'd a fine opal brooch, which he wish he'd had, as he wanted money and the missus kept him tight."

"Krill was a judge of jewels?"

"Travelled in jewels once," said the captain. "Bless you, he could size up a precious stone in no time. But he sat drinking with me, and every now and then got out of the room, when he'd stop away for perhaps a quarter of an hour at the time."

"Did he mention the opal brooch again?"

"No," said Jessop, after reflection, "he didn't. But he got so drunk that he began to show fight, as he always did when boozy, though a timid chap when sober. I concluded, wishing no row, to git to my hammock, and cut up stairs. Then I went by mistake into the room of that pore lady, carrying a candle, and saw her tied to the bedpost stone dead, with a silk handkerchief round her neck. I shouted out blue murder, and Mrs. Krill with the kid came tumbling down. I was so feared," added Jessop, wiping his forehead at the recollection, "that I ran out of doors."

"What good would that do?"

"Lor', I dunno," confessed the man, shivering, "but I wos skeered out of my life. It wos rainin' pitchforks, as y'might say, and I raced on through the rain for an hour or so. Then I thought, as I wos innocent, I'd make tracks back, and I did. I found Krill had cut."

"Did his wife tell you?"

"Oh, she wos lying on the floor insensible where he'd knocked her down. And the kid—lor'," Jessop spat, "she was lying in the corner with her lips fastened together with the brooch."

"What?" cried Hurd, starting to his feet. "The same as her—the same as Norman's was?"

Jessop nodded and drank some rum. "Made me sick it did. I took th' brooch away and slipped it into my pocket. Then the kid said her father had fastened her lips together and had knocked her mother flat when she interfered. I brought Mrs. Krill round and then left her with the kid, and walked off to Southampton. The police found me there, and I told them what I tell you."

"Did you tell about the brooch?"

"Well, no, I didn't," confessed Jessop, coolly, "an' as the kid and the mother said nothing, I didn't see why I shouldn't keep it, wantin' money. So I went to Stowley and pawned it, then took a deep sea voyage for a year. When I come back, all was over."

"Do you think Krill murdered the woman?" asked Hurd, passing over for the moment the fact that Jessop had stolen the brooch.

"He said he didn't," rejoined the man with emphasis, "but I truly believe, mister, as he did, one of them times, when mad with drink and out of the room. He wanted the brooch, d'ye see, though why he should have lost the loot by sealin' the kid's mouth with it I can't say."

"When did you come across Krill again?"

"Ho," said Jessop, drawing his hand across his mouth, "'twas this way, d'ye see. I come round here lots, and a swell come too, a cold—"

"Grexon Hay," said Hurd, pointing to the photograph.

"Yes. That's him," said Jessop, staring, "and I hated him just, with his eye-glass and his sneerin' ways. He loved the kid, now a growed, fine gal, as you know, and come here often. In June—at the end of it anyhow—he comes and I hears him tells Mrs. Krill, who was always looking for her husband, that a one-eyed bookseller in Gwynne Street, Drury Lane, had fainted when he saw the very identical brooch showed him by another cove."

"Beecot. I know. Didn't you wonder how the brooch had left the pawnshop?" asked Hurd, very attentive.

"No, I didn't," snarled Jessop, who was growing cross. "I knew old Tinker's assistant had sold the brooch and he didn't oughter t' have done it, as I wanted it back. Mrs. Krill asked me about the brooch, and wanted it, so I said I'd get it back. Tinker said it was gone, but wrote to the gent as bought it."

"Mr. Simon Beecot, of Wargrove, in Essex."

"That wos him; but the gent wouldn't give it back, so I 'spose he'd given it to his son. Well, then, when Mrs. Krill heard of the one-eyed man fainting at sight of the brooch, she knew 'twas her husband, as he'd one eye, she having knocked the other out when he was sober."

"Did she go up and see him?"

"Well," said Jessop, slowly, "I don't rightly know what she did do, but she went up. I don't think she saw Krill at his shop, but she might have seen that Pash, who was Mr. Hay's lawyer, and a dirty little ape o' sorts he is."

"Ha," said Hurd, to himself, "I thought Pash knew about the women beforehand. No wonder he stuck to them and gave poor Miss Norman the go-bye," he rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Well, we'll see what will come of the matter. Go on, Jessop."

"There ain't much more to tell," grumbled the captain. "I heard of this, and I wasn't meant to hear. But I thought I'd go up and see if I could get money out of Krill by saying I'd tell about the murder of Lady Rachel."

"You are a scoundrel," said Hurd, coolly.

"I wos 'ard up," apologized the captain, "or I wouldn't, not me. I'm straight enough when in cash. So I went up in July."

"On the sixth of July?"

"If that was the day of the murder—yes. I went up and loafed round until it wos dark, and then slipped through that side passage at eight o'clock to see Krill."

"How did you know where to find him?"

"Why, that Hay knew about the chap, and said as he did business in a cellar after eight. So Krill let me in, thinking, I 'spose, I wos a customer. He'd been drinking a little and was bold enough. But when I said, as I'd say, he'd killed Lady Rachel, he swore he was an innercent babe, and cried, the drink dyin' out of him."

"The same as it died out of you lately," said Hurd, smiling.

"Go slow," grunted the captain, in a surly tone. "I ain't afraid now, as I ain't done nothing. I said to Krill I'd say nothin' if he'd give me money. He wouldn't, but said he'd placed a lot of pawned things with Pash, and I could have them. He then gave me a paper saying I was to have the things, and I went to Pash the next morning and had trouble. But I heard by chance," again Jessop cast a strange look at Hurd, "that Krill had been murdered, so I didn't wait for the lawyer to come back, but cut down to Southampton and went on a short voyage. Then I come here and you nabbed me," and Jessop finished his rum. "That's all I know."

"Do you swear you left Aaron Norman alive?"

"Meaning Krill? I do. He wasn't no use to me dead, and I made him give me the jewels Pash had, d'ye see."

"But who warned you of the death when you were waiting?"

Jessop seemed unwilling to speak, but when pressed burst out, "'Twas a measily little kid with ragged clothes and a dirty face."

"Tray," said Hurd. "Hum! I wonder how he knew of the murder before it got into the papers?"

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