MRS. KRILL AT BAY

Next day Hurd did not go to see Mrs. Krill as he had intended, but spent his time in hunting for the missing boy. Tray, however, was not to be found. Being a guttersnipe and accustomed to dealing with the police he was thoroughly well able to look after himself, and doubtless had concealed himself in some low den where the officers of the law would not think of searching for him. However, the fact remained that, in spite of the detective's search, he could not be caught, and the authorities were much vexed. To unravel the case completely Tray was a necessary witness, especially as, even when examined at Jubileetown, Hurd shrewdly suspected he had not confessed all the truth. However, what could be done was done, and several plain-clothes detectives were set to search for the missing boy.

Pash remained quiet for, at all events, the next four-and-twenty hours. Whether he saw Mrs. Krill or not during that time Hurd did not know and, truth to say, he cared very little. The lawyer had undoubtedly acted dishonestly, and if the matter were made public, there would be every chance that he would be struck off the rolls. To prevent this Pash was quite ready to sell Mrs. Krill and anyone else connected with the mystery. Also, he wished to keep the business of Miss Norman, supposing the money—as he hinted might be the case through his assistance—came back to her; and this might be used as a means to make him speak out. Hurd was now pretty sure that Mrs. Krill was the guilty person.

"She knew Pash through Hay," argued the detective, while thinking over the case, "and undoubtedly came to see him before Norman's death, so that Pash might suggest ways and means of getting the better of the old man by means of the bigamy business. Mrs. Krill was in the Chancery Lane office when the brooch left by Tray was on the table, and Mrs. Krill, anxious to get it, no doubt slipped it into her pocket when Pash was talking to his clerk in the outer room. Then I expect she decided to punish her husband by fastening his lips together as he had done those of her daughter twenty and more years ago. I can't exactly see why she strangled him," mused Hurd, "as she could have got the money without proceeding to such an extreme measure. But the man's dead, and she killed him sure enough. Now, I'll get a warrant out and arrest her straight away. There's quite enough evidence to justify her being taken in charge. Hum! I wonder if she made use of that young devil of a Tray in any way? Well," he rose and stretched himself, "I may force her to speak now that she is in a corner."

Having made up his mind Hurd went to work at once, and the next day, late in the afternoon, he was driving in a cab to No. 32A Hunter Street, Kensington, with the warrant in his pocket. He also had with him a letter which he had received from Miss Qian, and written from Beechill in Buckinghamshire. Aurora had made good use of her time and had learned a number of facts connected with Mrs. Krill's early life which Hurd thought would prove of interest to the woman. In one way and another the case was becoming plain and clear, and the detective made sure that he would gain the reward. The irony of the thing was, that Mrs. Krill, with a view to throwing dust in the eyes of the law, had offered a bribe of one thousand pounds for the discovery of the assassin. She little thought when doing so that she was weaving a rope for her own neck.

Hurd had brought a plain-clothes policeman with him, and this man remained outside in a hansom while Hurd rang the bell. In a few minutes the door was opened and the detective sent up his card. Mrs. Krill proved to be at home and consented to receive him, so, shortly, the man found himself in an elegantly-furnished drawing-room bowing before the silent and sedate daughter.

"You wish to see my mother," said Maud, with her eternal smile. "She will be down in a few minutes."

"I await her convenience," said Hurd, admiring the handsome looks of the young woman, although he plainly saw that she was—as he phrased it—"no chicken."

After a few words Miss Krill rang the bell. "I want these things taken away," she said, pointing to a workbasket and some millinery with which she had been engaged when Hurd was announced, "then I shall leave you to speak to my mother."

The detective wondered if she was too fine a lady to remove these things herself, but his surprise ceased when the door opened and no less a person than Matilda Junk appeared. He guessed at once that the landlady of "The Red Pig" had come up to see her sister and had related details about her visitor. Probably Mrs. Krill guessed that Hurd had been asking questions, and Matilda had been introduced to see if he was the man. He became certain of this when Miss Junk threw up her hands. "The commercial gent," she exclaimed.

"Oh, no," said Maud, smiling smoothly. "This is Mr. Hurd, the detective, who is searching for the assassin of my dear father."

"Lor,'" said Matilda, growing red. "And he's the man as came to ask questions at the 'otel. I do call it bold of you, Mister Policeman."

"Well," said Hurd, swinging his hat lazily, and looking from one to the other, quite taking in the situation, "you answered very few of my questions, so that is all right."

"Why did you go down to Christchurch?" asked Miss Krill.

"If I have to find out who killed your father," said Hurd, with an accent on the word "father," "it was necessary that I should learn about his past life as Lemuel Krill."

"My mother could have informed you, sir."

"I guessed as much, and, as Miss Junk would not speak, I have come to question Mrs. Krill. Ah, here she is." Hurd rose and bowed. "I am glad to see you, madam."

Mrs. Krill, who was as plump and smiling and smooth-faced and severe as ever, bowed and rubbed her white hands together. At a sign from Maud, Matilda gathered up the fancy work and went out of the room with many backward glances. These were mostly indignant, for she was angry at Hurd's deception. "Do you wish my daughter to stay?" asked Mrs. Krill, smoothly.

"That is as she pleases," said the detective.

"No, thank you, mother," said Maud, shuddering, "I have heard quite enough of my poor father's terrible death," and she swept out of the drawing-room with a gracious smile.

"The poor child is so sensitive," sighed Mrs. Krill, taking a seat with her back to the window. Whether this was done to conceal her age, or the expression of her face during a conversation which could not fail to prove trying, Hurd was unable to determine. "I trust, Mr. Hurd, you have come with good news," said the widow.

"What would you call good news?" asked the detective, dryly.

"That you had traced the assassin," she replied coolly.

Hurd was amazed at this brazen assurance, and thought that Mrs. Krill must be quite convinced that she had covered up every trail likely to lead to the discovery of her connection with the murder.

"I'll leave you to judge whether I have been successful," he said calmly.

"I shall be pleased to hear," was the equally calm reply. But as Mrs. Krill spoke she glanced towards a gorgeous tapestry curtain at the end of the room, and Hurd fancied he saw it shake. It suddenly occurred to him that Maud was behind. Why she should choose this secret way of listening when she could have remained it was difficult to say, and he half thought he was mistaken. However, listening openly or secretly, did not matter so far as the daughter was concerned, so Hurd addressed himself to Mrs. Krill in a loud and cheerful voice. She composed herself to listen with a bland smile, and apparently was quite ignorant that there was anything wrong.

"I was lately down at Christchurch, madam—"

"So my servant, Matilda Junk, said."

"It was necessary that I should go there to search out your husband's past life. In that past I fancied, might be found the motive for the commission of the crime."

"I could have saved you the journey," said Mrs. Krill, shrugging her plump shoulders. "I can tell you what you wish to know."

"In that case I will relate all that I have learned, and perhaps you will correct me if I am wrong."

Mrs. Krill bowed but did not commit herself to speech. For the sake of effect the detective took out a sheaf of notes, but in reality he had the various points of the case at his finger tips. "You will excuse me if I talk on very private matters," he said, apologetically, "but as we are alone," again Mrs. Krill glanced at the curtain and thereby confirmed Hurd's suspicions of an unseen listener, "you will not mind my being, perhaps, personal."

"Personal," echoed Mrs. Krill, a keen look coming into her hard eyes, and she stopped rubbing her hands together.

"Well, yes," admitted Hurd, with affected reluctance. "I had to look into your past as well as into that of your husband's."

Mrs. Krill's eyes grew harder than ever. She scented danger. "My past is a most uninteresting one," she said, coldly. "I was born at Stowley, in Buckinghamshire, and married Mr. Krill at Beechill, which is a few miles from that town. He was a traveller in jewellery, but as I did not like his being away from me, I induced him to rent 'The Red Pig' at Christchurch, to which we removed. Then he left me—"

"On account of Lady Rachel Sandal's murder?"

Mrs. Krill controlled herself excellently, although she was startled by this speech, as was evident from the expression of her eyes. "That poor lady committed suicide," she said deliberately. "The jury at the inquest brought in a verdict of suicide—"

"By a majority of one," added Hurd, quickly. "There seemed to be a considerable amount of doubt as to the cause of the death."

"The death was caused by strangulation," said Mrs. Krill, in hard tones. "Since you know all about the matter, you must be aware that I and my daughter had retired after seeing Lady Rachel safe and sound for the night. The death was discovered by a boon companion of my husband's, with whom he was drinking at the time."

"I know that. Also that you came down with your daughter when the alarm was given. I also know that Krill fastened your daughter's lips together with the opal brooch which was found in the parlor."

"Who told you that?" asked Mrs. Krill, agitated.

"Jessop—the boon companion you speak of."

"Yes," she said, suppressing her agitation with a powerful effort. "Matilda said you had him to dine with you. What else did he say?" she asked with some hesitation.

"Much less than I should have liked to know," retorted Hurd, prepared to throw off the mask; "but he told me a great deal which interested me very much. Amongst other things that Grexon Hay had been engaged to your daughter for two years."

"Well?" asked Mrs. Krill, coolly, "what of that?"

"Nothing particular," rejoined Hurd, just as coolly, "only I wonder you took the trouble to pretend that you met Hay at Pash's office for the first time."

"That was some romantic rubbish of my daughter's. There was no reason why we should not have acknowledged Mr. Hay as an old acquaintance."

"None in the world that I can see," said Hurd, smoothly. "He told you that Aaron Norman was your husband."

"No," said Mrs. Krill, decidedly, "I first heard of my husband by seeing a chance hand-bill—"

"Not at all," answered Hurd, just as decidedly, "Hay has confessed."

"There was nothing to confess," cried Mrs. Krill, loudly and with emphasis.

"Oh, I think so," said the detective, noting that she was losing her temper. "You didn't want it known that you were aware of Norman's identity before his death. Do you deny that?"

"I deny everything," gasped Mrs. Krill, her hands trembling.

"That's a pity, as I want you to corroborate certain facts connected with Anne Tyler. Do you know the name?"

"My maiden name," said the widow, and a look of fear crept into her hard, staring eyes. "How did you come to know of it?"

"From the marriage certificate supplied by Pash."

"He had no right to give it to you."

"He didn't. I possess only a copy. But that copy I sent down in charge of a certain person to Beechill. This person found that you were married as Anne Tyler to Lemuel Krill in the parish church, twenty miles from your birthplace."

Mrs. Krill drew a long breath of relief. "Well?" she demanded defiantly, "is there anything wrong about that?"

"No. But this person also made inquiries at Stowley about you. You are the daughter of a farmer."

"I mentioned that fact myself."

"Yes. But you didn't mention that your mother had been hanged for poisoning your father."

Mrs. Krill turned ghastly pale. "No," she said in a suffocating voice, "such is the case; but can you wonder that I forebore to mention that fact? My daughter knows nothing of that—nor did my husband—"

"Which husband do you mean, Krill or Jessop?" asked Hurd.

Mrs. Krill gasped and rose, swaying. "What do you mean, man?"

"This," said the detective, on his feet at once; "this person hunted out the early life of Anne Tyler at Stowley. It was discovered that Anne was the daughter of a woman who had been hanged, and of a man who had been murdered. Also this person found that Anne Tyler married a sailor called Jarvey Jessop some years before she committed bigamy with Lemuel Krill in Beechill Church—"

"It's a lie!" screamed Mrs. Krill, losing her self-control. "How dare you come here with these falsehoods?"

"They are not falsehoods, Anne Tyler, alias Anne Jessop, alias Anne Krill, etc.," retorted Hurd, speaking rapidly and emphasizing his remarks with his finger in his usual fashion when in deadly earnest. "You were married to Jessop in Stowley Church; you bore him a daughter who was christened Maud Jessop in Stowley Church. The person I mentioned sent me copies of the marriage and birth certificates. So your marriage with Lemuel Krill was false, and his second marriage with Lillian Garner is a good one in law. Which means, Mrs. Jessop," Hurd hurled the word at her and she shrank, "that Sylvia Norman or Sylvia Krill, as she rightfully is, owns that money which you wrongfully withhold from her. The will gave the five thousand a year to 'my daughter,' and Sylvia is the only daughter and only child—the legitimate child, mark you—of Lemuel Krill."

"Lies—lies—lies!" raged Mrs. Krill, as she may still be called, though rightfully Jessop, "I'll defend the case on my daughter's behalf."

"Your daughter, certainly," said Hurd, "but not Krill's."

"I say yes."

"And I say no. She was fifteen when Lady Rachel was murdered, as Jessop, her father, admitted. I knew the man was keeping something back, but I was far from suspecting that it was this early marriage. No wonder the man came to you and had free quarters at 'The Red Pig.' He could have prosecuted you for bigamy, just as you would have prosecuted Krill, had you not murdered him."

Mrs. Krill gave a yell and her eyes blazed. "You hound!" she shouted, "do you accuse me of that?"

"I do more than accuse you, I arrest you." Hurd produced the warrant. "A man is waiting in the cab. We'll get a four-wheeler, and you'll come along with me to gaol, Mrs. Jessop."

"You can't prove it—you can't prove it," she panted, "and I sha'n't go—I sha'n't—I sha'n't!" and her eyes sought the tapestry.

"Miss Jessop can come out," said Hurd, coolly, "and, as to your not coming, a few policemen will soon put that right."

"How dare you insult me and my daughter?"

"Come, come," said the detective, sternly, "I've had quite enough of this. You offered me one thousand pounds to learn who killed your so-called husband, Krill. I have earned the reward—"

"Not one shilling shall you have."

"Oh, I think so. Miss Sylvia will pay it to me, and you—"

"I am innocent. I never touched the man."

"A jury will decide that, Mrs. Jessop."

"Krill—my name is Krill."

Hurd laughed and turned towards the tapestry.

"What do you say, Miss Jessop?" he asked.

Seeing that further concealment was at an end, Maud lifted the tapestry, which concealed a small door, through which she had silently stolen to listen. She advanced calmly. "I have heard all your conversation with my mother," she declared with flashing eyes, "and not one word of it is true. I am the daughter of Lemuel Krill."

"You'll find that hard to prove in the face of your birth certificate and your mother's marriage to Captain Jessop, your father."

"It will all be put right."

"Quite so, and Miss Norman will get the money."

"That girl—never!" cried Maud, fiercely. She looked very like her mother at the moment, but the more angry she grew the calmer became Mrs. Krill, who kept darting anxious glances at her daughter. "And you sha'n't take my mother away," she cried threateningly.

"I don't want to make a scandal in the neighborhood," said Hurd, taking a small whistle from his pocket, "but if I blow this my man out there will call the nearest policeman, and then—"

"There is no need," interrupted Mrs. Krill, who had recovered her self-control. "Maud, come over beside me. On what grounds, Mr. Hurd, do you accuse me of the crime? I was not in town on—"

"Oh, yes, you were, Mrs. Jessop. Pash can prove that you were in his office and took the brooch left by Tray from the table. I don't know where you stopped on that night—"

"At Judson's Hotel, Strand," cried Maud, placing herself beside her mother, "and anyone there can prove that my mother and myself were within doors after we came from Terry's Theatre, where we spent the evening. As my father—for Krill was my father—was killed after twelve, and we were both in bed in one room before then, your accusation falls to the ground. My mother was with me, and she did not leave the whole evening. Next day we went to Christchurch."

Hurd was rather staggered by the positive way in which the young woman spoke. But the facts were too plain for him to hesitate. "I must trouble you to come along with me," he said. "No, don't go!"

"To put on my cloak and hat?" urged Mrs. Krill. "I'll come quietly enough. I don't want a scandal. I am sure when the magistrate hears what I have to say he will let me go free."

"I trust so. But you must not leave the room. Matilda will, no doubt, bring your things."

Mrs. Krill touched the electric button of the bell, while Maud walked up and down, deathly white and fuming. "Mr. Hay shall see to this," she said in a cold rage.

"Mr. Hay will have quite enough to do to look after himself," said the detective, coolly; "you had better let your mother go quietly, and I won't say anything to Matilda Junk."

"Yes, do, Maud," urged the mother, placing an imploring hand on her tall daughter's shoulder; "it's better so. Everything will be put right when the magistrate hears my story."

"What will you tell him, mother?" asked Maud.

"That I am innocent, and that I am, as you are, ignorant of who killed your unfortunate father."

Matilda entered the room and heard that Mrs. Krill had to go out on business with Mr. Hurd. On receiving her orders she departed, and presently returned with the cloak and hat. Mrs. Krill, who was now quite cool, put these on. Hurd could not but admire the brave way in which she faced the terrible situation. Maud seemed to be far more upset, and Hurd wondered if the young woman knew the truth. Mrs. Krill kept soothing her. "It will be all right, my love. Don't excite yourself. It will be all right," she said several times.

Miss Junk departed, and Mrs. Krill said that she was ready to depart. Hurd offered her his arm, which she rejected, and walked to the door with a firm step, although her face was rather white. At the door she caught her daughter round the neck and kissed her several times, after which she whispered earnestly in her ear, and then went down the stairs with the detective in attendance. Maud, with white lips and cheeks, but with dry eyes, followed. When her mother was safely in the cab, the plain-clothes policeman alighted, so that Hurd might take his place. Maud came quietly down the steps and seized the detective by the arm.

"You have ruined my mother," she said in a cold, hard tone; "you have robbed me of my money and of the chance of marrying the man I love. I can't hurt you; but that girl, Sylvia—she shall never get one penny—so, remember!"

Hurd shook her off, and, stepping into the cab, drove away. Mrs. Krill looked apprehensively at him. "What did Maud say?" she asked. Hurd told her, and Mrs. Krill closed her lips firmly. "Maud is quite right," she said with a strange smile. "Sylvia will never get the money."

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