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CONTENTS | |
| CHAPTER | |
| I. | A Terrible Prophecy |
| II. | Poverty Villa |
| III. | The Sermon |
| IV. | What Happened on Sunday Night |
| V. | Paul Mexton, Journalist |
| VI. | Eliza's Evidence |
| VII. | At the Vicarage |
| VIII. | In the Winding Lane |
| IX. | The Inquest at Herne Arms |
| X. | The Prophecy Again |
| XI. | Brent Speaks Out |
| XII. | A Startling Piece of Evidence |
| XIII. | The Defence of Miss Clyde |
| XIV. | Dust to Dust |
| XV. | Dr. Lester Tells a Story |
| XVI. | Catinka |
| XVII. | The Society of The Rainbow Feather |
| XVIII. | Iris Confesses |
| XIX. | Who Mr. Lovel was |
| XX. | Gran Jimboy |
| XXI. | The Return of Herne |
| XXII. | A Denial |
| XXIII. | Drek's Opinions |
| XXIV. | The Trial |
| XXV. | The Truth at Last |
| XXVI. | "All's Well that Ends Well." |
THE RAINBOW FEATHER.
CHAPTER I.
A TERRIBLE PROPHECY.
"'The lef' han', dearie, an' gowld for th' charm. Aye! a bewtiful han' for a bewtiful maid. I 'udn't rade false for--eh, dear life, what is't? Th' lines goo criss an' crass. Duvel! I be mortal feared to tell 'ee. Take tha han'. Gran hes nought to spake for sich a mayden."
As she said the last word, a startled look came into the glazed eyes of the old gipsy; and with a quick gesture she flung back the hand she had been holding. The pretty, fair-haired girl who was having her fortune told laughed nervously, and shot an anxious glance at the young man who stood near her. He was tall and dark and masterful; also he was in love with the girl, as could be seen from the tenderness in his eyes and the smile on his lips. But as the sibyl spoke, as the girl started, he changed the smile to a frown, and caught the woman roughly by the arm. She was on the point of hobbling away; but, on feeling the man's grip, she turned doggedly to face him. With her rags and wrinkles, red cloak, and Oriental countenance, she looked like the Witch of Endor--at bay.
"Not so fast, gran!" said the young man, severely. "Miss Lester has given you a shilling, so you must earn it by telling her fortune--if you can," he added, in a scoffing tone, which savoured of scepticism.
"Ef I can!" repeated gran, looking contemptuously from under bushy gray eyebrows. "Eh, young gentl'man, that han' be asy raidin' tu I. But fur all this," she waved her stick round the gorse-besprinkled common upon which they were standing--"for all that"--she pointed towards the blue arch of the July sky--"I w'uldn't freeze th' blood o' this gude maid."
"How you do go on, Mother Jimboy!" giggled the girl, with an affectation of carelessness. "I don't believe a bit in hand-reading; I'm sure I don't, so there! I know my own fortune well. Don't I, Mr. Lovel?" and again she shot a glance at the young man--this time a coquettish one.
"Of course," he assented, with a smile; "and I know mine."
"An' I know both o' mum!" cried Mrs. Jimboy, striking her stick on the ground. "Hee! hee! 'tis gran as cud fright the smile from they pretty faces, I du say. Haw be young squire, Miss Milly?"
"Insolent!" muttered Lovel, wrathfully. "Hold your tongue, you old hag, and tell Miss Lester's fortune at once!"
"I's feared for sure, dearies both; I's mortal feared."
"You silly old witch!" said Milly, with scornful bravery. "I'm not. I shall know what is in my hand; though I shan't believe a single word you say."
"Tis as ye plase, miss; belave or not, 'tis all one. But the skein will run till 'tis clipped for all that!"
"What do you mean by this jargon?" cried Lovel, still furious at the late illusion to the squire. "Speak plainly, or I'll hand you over to the police as an impostor!"
The last word touched the old dame nearly, and she reared up her bent frame to point a crooked finger at Lovel; but she spoke generally to the one and the other.
"Imposter, am I? Hee! hee! An you don't belave, Miss Milly? Hee! hee! I'll spare ye no more! Gimme th' han', dear soul alive, give th' han'; and if ye weep blood fur the tellings o' mum--well, I warned ye, I warned ye!"
Milly stamped a dainty foot, and held out a dainty hand to be seized by gran's brown claws.
"Do your worst!" said she petulantly. "I'm sure I shan't believe a single nasty thing you tell me!"
"Aye! eh!" mumbled Mrs. Jimboy, tracing the pink palm lines with a dirty forefinger; "but Fate, you zee, be stronger nor young things, dearie; aw, yis, fur sure. Here mum be, ef ye mus' now"--man and girl bent their comely heads, while gran continued--"you'm bound to one; you'm loved by another; but none o' mum shall call ye wife."
"Why not?" demanded Lovel roughly, while Milly drew back her hand with an ejaculation of alarm.
"Why?" cried the gipsy fiercely--"'cause the grave 'ull be her bridal bed, for sure; an' worms 'ull feast on the beauty ye love. Death, dearie; death an' murder, I du tell 'ee; an' murder, dear souls, an' yis," she concluded, with a relish for her evil speaking.
Enraged by this speech, which made Milly cling to him in a tremor of nervous excitement, Lovel raised his cane threateningly. With an activity wonderful in one so old, gran shuffled nimbly back, spitting and snarling like a cat. Her eyes fairly sparkled with fury.
"Duvel!" she flashed out, using the Romany oath with a shaking of her stick; "the black curse on the pair o' ye! Death to her, an' sorrow to ye. One shall be taken, the other left. Ho, ho! how will ye look then, my delicate rye? you an' the squire, wi' death houlding your gude maid in his maw. I overlook mum, I du; an' so ye've the worth of your gowld from the impostor!"
After which fiery speech Mrs. Jimboy crawled away without as much as a glance behind her. Soon she dwindled to a scarlet spot on the distant greenness; and Milly, hitherto motionless, began to recover from her fears. Some red-tiled houses were visible on the edge of the common; through the golden glories of gorse blossom wound the high-road, broad and dusty; and over all arched the cloudless azure of the sky. Save the two young people, no human being was in sight; and they looked silently at one another, weighing and considering the ominous words of the gipsy--her early refusal to speak; her pointed use of the sinister word "murder;" and her fierce casting of words and money. These were the things which took the colour from the cheeks of the couple, and made them eye each other with secret apprehensions.
"I'll go home now," said Milly abruptly, and she turned her face towards the square tower of a distant church.
Lovel walked quickly after her and laid a detaining hand on her arm. "Don't go yet," he entreated. "My dear Milly----"
"You have no right to call me so!" she interrupted sharply.
"Then give me the right."
"I can't; you know I can't. Why do you say such silly things?"
"Why?" burst out Lovel--"because I love you. Listen to me, Milly--now, it is no use your frowning--I shall call you by that name: I love you--I love you!"
"Oh!" said Miss Lester with great coolness, "then Miss Clyde----"
"I know what you are about to say," he said quickly--"that I love Miss Clyde. But you are wrong. It is true that I admired her, but when you came----" He flung out his hands and caught those of the girl's. "Milly," said he earnestly, "you have brought me to your feet for a jest; that jest must become--earnest. You must marry me."
"How you talk!" said Milly fretfully. "You know I can't marry you."
"Because of Mr. Herne--a man you don't care for?"
"Because of Mr. Herne--to whom I have been engaged for six months."
"But you don't care for him!" persisted Lovel.
"I care for him sufficiently to marry him," answered the girl evasively.
"What is the use of trying to deceive me, Milly? You marry Herne for his money and position."
"Well, and what if I do!" cried Miss Lester, flushing; "is it not my duty to do the best I can for myself and my people? What is father?--a poor country doctor with a miserable income. Our house should be called Poverty Villa, it is so wretched; and Iris worries me morn, noon, and night."
"But if your sister----"
"She is not my sister!" interrupted Milly wrathfully. "Iris Link is the daughter of my father's second wife; she is no kin of mine, and has no right to domineer over me like she does. I tell you I am thoroughly miserable at home!" cried Miss Lester with a stamp of her foot; "and I marry Darcy Herne to get away from Poverty Villa."
"Will you be any happier with Herne?"
"Why not? I shall have position and money and society."
"Pardon me," contradicted Lovel, "but you will have none of the three. Herne is as mad as a March hare, with his aspirations for a higher life, and his socialistic ideas that all are equal? Position! He gave that up long ago. Money! Well, he has money, but it will be spent in charity--not in pandering to your vanity. Society! Oh, yes! the society of the halt, the lame, the blind, and the religious! That's the set you'll move in. I tell you, Milly," cried Lovel vehemently, "that Herne does not love you; he loves no one and nothing but his mission, as he calls it. He marries you simply to experiment on you--to lead you into the narrow path, no doubt."
"I know all you tell me," rejoined Milly, coolly, "but I'll alter Darcy's conduct when I am Mrs. Herne!"
"I rather think he'll alter yours, my dear. Now, if you marry me----"
"Yes!" interrupted Milly, disdainfully; "if I marry you, what then?"
"You would be happy," finished Lovel, turning red.
Milly laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Really, Mr. Lovel, you have a good opinion of yourself! I have known you eight months as a painter, but beyond that I am ignorant. Who are you?"
"A painter--an artist, as you say," said the young man, sulkily.
"Are you rich?"
"No; I have two hundred a year."
"As if we could marry on that!" scoffed Milly. "Are your parents alive?"
"No. I don't know anything about my parents. I have been an orphan ever since I can remember."
"Oh! So you have no money, no position, and--so far as I can see--no name; only your good looks, Mr. Lovel; and on these you wish to marry me. No, thank you, Mr. Egotist," sneered Miss Lester, with a curtsey. "I prefer to marry the squire of Barnstead."
Lovel was goaded into a retort. "You'll never marry him," he said, sharply, "if Gran Jimboy is to be believed."
"How horrid of you to talk like that, just when I was trying to forget what that old wretch said! Lucas"--she said the name with a glint of terror in her blue eyes--"do you believe in palmistry?"
"No," he responded, indifferently--"no more than I believe in Fate."
"But Gran Jimboy said that I should be killed--murdered!"
Lovel looked at her, and laughed in an ugly manner. "As to that, my dear girl," he said with a sneer, "I hope it may be true. I would rather see you dead than the wife of Squire Herne!"
"You cruel wretch!" cried Milly, vehemently. "Why--why?"
"In the first place, because I love you; in the second, because Herne, the Apostle of the Higher Culture, is an unprincipled blackguard!"
"Darcy! Mr. Herne!"
"Yes. Oh, I have heard tales about him in London!"
"What kind of tales?
"Tales of profligacy. He uses his name here to cloak his London wickednesses."
"I don't believe it," cried Miss Lester after a pause. "He is too good a man to be wicked. I don't love him, but I respect him. And if he is as wicked as you say," added Milly, with an afterthought, "he wouldn't be the friend of Mr. Chaskin."
"The Rev. Francis Chaskin," sneered Lovel, "who was an officer of the army before he became a vicar in the Church. Oh, I know all about him!"
"Is he bad also?"
"Herne and he are a pair of--mysteries."
"I think you are a third one," said Milly, in a puzzled tone. "Explain!"
"No--not here; there is no time, and I have no proofs. Meet me to-morrow night in the Winding Lane at half-past eight, and I'll give you the prenuptial character of your future husband."
"To-morrow will be Sunday."
"What of that? You can meet me after evening service."
"Oh!" Milly looked terrified. "What would Darcy say if he knew that I met you at so late an hour?"
"H'm! What would Darcy say if he knew that all his iniquities were about to be laid bare? Come or not, as you like."
Miss Lester considered. "Darcy is in London, and won't be back for four days," she said at length. "I'll come--if you promise to tell no one."
"I promise. At half-past eight, in the Winding Lane."
"Yes; but I won't believe what you tell me."
"You said the same thing about Gran Jimboy's prophecy!" said Lovel, drily; "but you believe it for all that."
"I don't--I don't! Do you?"
When Milly put this question, Lovel looked at her gravely.
"I'll answer that question to-morrow night," said he; and then they parted.
CHAPTER II.
POVERTY VILLA.
Barnstead was a moderately large village, which had not increased in population or size since the Middle Ages. In fact, it was less important now than it had been in medieval times, for then several battles, detrimental to a kingly dynasty, had been fought in its vicinity. Now it was a quiet, somnolent spot, which had nothing to do with the affairs of the nation; at all events, these were not transacted within its neighbourhood. Ten miles distant, the roaring manufacturing town of Marborough responded to the business spirit of the century, and was connected by rail with the metropolis, but the iron way came no further; and to reach Barnstead it was necessary to drive or ride. For the convenience of chance visitors a coach ran daily between the Herne Arms in Barnstead and the William Pitt Hotel in Marborough. This was the sole link which connected the village with the outside world.
The surrounding country was flat and alluvial and agricultural, with prosperous farms set here and there in the extent of its plain. In the centre of these rich cornlands, which formed the wealth of the region, Barnstead was placed beside a sluggish little stream, too small to be called a river. The quaint houses of the village clustered round a beautiful minster of ornate architecture. This was St. Dunstan's Church, and dated from Saxon times, although its design was Norman, and the greater part of it had been built in the thirteenth century. The Rev. Francis Chaskin, ex-cavalry officer, was its vicar, and the living had been presented to him by Darcy Herne, squire and lord of Barnstead Manor, and the firm friend of this soldier turned priest.
Herne Grange, the great house of the district, was situated a quarter of a mile from Barnstead, and nestled amid the trees of its park, some little way back from the high road leading to Marborough. Its present owner, a man of thirty, was devoured by religious fanaticism, and was subject to trances like those recorded of the Catholic saints. He was tall, meagre, pale, and--so far as could be seen--quite detached from worldly pleasures; so why such a saint should have engaged himself to frivolous Millicent Lester was a problem which no one could solve. Yet eight months before the beginning of this tale the ascetic and the coquette--to describe them by their most pronounced characteristics--became engaged, and the wedding was to take place shortly.
Whatever Herne's reason might have been for the match, his bride-elect made no secret that her consent was based on solely monetary grounds. Her father was poor, her home--owing to the domineering of the inconvenient Iris Link--was disagreeable; and to escape from these ills she was content to become Mrs. Herne, of the Grange. Secretly she would have preferred Lucas Lovel as a husband, as he was good-looking and pleasant, but in the face of his avowed poverty she chose to marry Darcy Herne. Nevertheless, she recompensed herself for this dutiful compliance with necessity by flirting with Lovel whenever she could do so without such behavior coming to the ears of her future husband. With Darcy's strict views, he was quite capable of breaking off the match did he learn of her conduct; and Milly was too anxious to complete this rich marriage to run such a risk. So she coquetted discreetly with Lovel, and assumed a demure demeanor when in the saintly presence of Herne.
Who Lovel was no one knew. He had come from London with an introduction to Herne some eight months previously; and since that time he had remained in the village sketching and fishing, and amusing himself at Barnstead tea-tables. After remaining a month at the Grange he had taken rooms at the Herne Arms, and was quite accepted as a friend and equal by the gentry in and about the village. He was dark, and, as has before been stated, very handsome; also, he had apparently travelled a good deal, and spoke several foreign languages excellently well. His dress and manner were both irreproachable; and he was voted quite an acquisition to Barnstead society. Nevertheless, he had his detractors, and it was hinted by these that the man was an adventurer, in search of a rich wife. But Lovel's friends always pointed out that this could not be so, else he would have married Miss Clyde.
Selina Clyde was a masculine young woman who farmed her own lands and looked after her own monetary affairs. She was tall, raw-boned, and fair, with a contempt for feminine fripperies, which led her to dress in a somewhat mannish way. Wet or dry, she was out riding or walking over her lands, and knew all about draining, top-dressing, manuring, and such like agricultural matters; also, she was a shrewd business woman, and boasted with good reason that no one had ever got the better of her in a bargain. In her farmhouse, a comfortable old homestead some two miles on the other side of Barnstead, she dwelt with Mrs. Drass, her former governess, who was said to be the greatest gossip in the neighborhood. Until the appearance of handsome Lucas Lovel, Miss Clyde had made up her mind to live and die a spinster; but, with his advent, she had yielded to the influence and charm of his manner to such a degree that without inquiring into his antecedents she was quite prepared to marry him. Lovel saw this, and in other circumstances might have seized the chance of a comfortable future; but being in love with Milly, he wanted to make her Mrs. Lovel, and endow her with his poverty. Miss Clyde saw this, felt herself scorned for the frivolous beauty of the doctor's daughter, and soon came to hate Milly with all her heart. And Miss Clyde, as everyone knew, was an admirable hater.
For the last few days Herne had been in London on some business connected with religious missions; and during his absence Milly had contrived to meet Lovel once or twice in what was presumably a casual manner. She was now coming home from the meeting at which Gran Jimboy had prophesied misfortune; and was rather alarmed when she recalled her promise to meet Lucas the next evening at half-past eight. She felt that to keep such an appointment would be indiscreet.
"But I shan't go! I shan't go!" she kept saying to herself on the way home to Poverty Villa. All the same, such was her curiosity to know if there was any truth in Lovel's statements regarding the profligacy of her future husband, she knew very well she would keep the appointment. "I owe it to myself to learn the truth about Darcy before it is too late," she said several times in order to quiet her conscience; and in this frame of mind she arrived at the house of her father.
Poverty Villa, as Milly nicknamed the place, was a scrubby little house with two acres of neglected ground, and was located in the poorest part of the village. Dr. Lester should have had a flourishing practice, but had not, for two causes; the first being that the other medical man had been established for a longer time in Barnstead; the second and more serious reason being that he was an habitual drunkard. All day long he was sip, sip, sipping at brandy; and although never aggressively intoxicated, his brain was always in a confused state, which rendered people distrustful of his judgment in diagnosing cases and prescribing drugs.
"It's a wonder he hasn't killed the few patients he has long ago," said Mrs. Drass, who made no secret of her dislike for the doctor; "but some day he'll give someone the wrong medicine and poison him; then he'll be hanged, and that will be a judgment on him for letting his minx of a daughter flirt with young Lovel," the truth of which speech being that Mrs. Drass, who was something of a toady, wanted Milly to release Lovel from her fascinations, that he might marry Selina Clyde.
But other people shared this opinion, and it was only of a few patients that Dr. Lester could boast, these being mostly amongst the poorer classes of agricultural labourers. Consequently the fees were small, and but that Lester had a few hundreds of his own, it might have gone hard with himself and his daughters. As it was the Lester household was hard up for all but the barest necessities of life. Iris Link, who managed the domestic affairs, did her best to make both ends meet, and to present a fairly decent outside to the world; but all to no purpose. The world of Barnstead knew the truth about Poverty Villa, and openly pitied the trio who lived in it. But it was admitted on all hands that Dr. Lester spent on drink what he should have devoted to the nourishment and clothing of his daughters--or rather, his daughter and stepdaughter.
Milly entered the house in the full expectation of having trouble with Iris, and in this she was not disappointed. Iris met her as she closed the door, and beckoned her into the shabby little drawing-room, where for a moment or so the two girls eyed one another in silence. As Milly had told Lovel, there was no kin between them, for Iris was the daughter of the second Mrs. Lester by her first husband; and when that lady had married the doctor she found him already provided with a child by his first wife. Milly was twenty years of age, Iris twenty-five; and while the first was a beautiful girl with many admirers, the second was dark and quiet, with no grace of form or face, and, as yet, had not gained one lover. Her small accomplishments were quite extinguished by the brilliance and beauty of Milly. Yet Iris possessed the better nature of the two, and would make a better wife, in spite of her looks. The dispositions of the two girls were antagonistic; and they disliked one another exceedingly. Only the narrowness of their circumstances compelled them to live under the same roof, else they would have parted long since. Luckily--as both thought--the marriage of Milly would bring about the wished-for separation; yet even in this there was an element of bitterness to Iris. What that element was may be seen from the slightly acidulated conversation which ensued.
"Really, Milly!" said Iris with a weary sigh. "I do think you might stay at home and help me with the house. There is such a lot to do, and Eliza"--the one servant of the Lesters--"is worse than useless."
"Then get another servant!" retorted Milly, throwing down her hat. "I am not going to stay in on this fine day."
"What would Darcy say if he knew you were wandering about by yourself?"
"Bother! Who cares what he says! Besides," added Milly, defiantly, "I have not been by myself."
"Milly," cried Iris, with a dark shade on her face, "have you been again with Mr. Lovel?"
"For the last hour, my dear."
"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
Milly laughed, and examined herself critically in the mirror over the fireplace. She was used to the scoldings of Iris, and cared very little for them. So long as Darcy did not hear of her flirtations with Lovel she had no fear, and treated the expostulations of Iris and the doctor with cool disdain. She did not trouble herself to reply to the last remark, but continued to admire her beauty with critical eyes, while Iris continued:
"You know Mr. Lovel is almost engaged----"
"To Miss Clyde, I suppose you mean. Oh, dear! no, he isn't! He has just told me that he cares nothing for her and a good deal for me."
"But you are engaged to Mr. Herne."
"I am, my dear; I am!" retorted Milly swinging round on the tips of her toes. "Don't you wish you were?"
Iris flushed crimson, for Milly knew well enough that she more than admired the squire. "If I were," she said, evading the question, "I should act in a more honourable way towards him."
"Pooh! pooh! A few words with Mr. Lovel won't hurt him."
"A few words, as you call them, will hurt both men. You can't marry Mr. Lovel."
"I don't want to; nor can you marry Darcy. Look here, my love," continued Milly coolly: "please don't lecture me any more. If you think Darcy ought to know, tell him about Mr. Lovel, then he'll break off the match with me, and perhaps you'll catch him."
"I would not think of doing such a thing!" cried Iris vehemently.
"Why not? I'd do it in your place. You are too good, my dear; too, too good!"
"I'll speak to father," said Iris, who from habit called the doctor so.
"What good will that do? In the first place, he'll probably not be sober; and, in the second, he's too anxious for me to marry Darcy to tell on me. Oh, dear! I wish you were to marry Darcy, Iris; he is just the prig for you!"
Iris looked at the fire with a frown, and not caring to trust herself to speech, ran out of the room and into the garden. There was something so shameless about Milly's speeches and actions with regard to Lovel that she was almost tempted to tell Herne and prevent the match. But then she loved Herne, and her intervention would be put down to jealousy.
"I can do nothing, nothing," she thought; "if Mr. Lovel----"
At this moment the man himself passed slowly down the road in close conversation with Gran Jimboy. His face was quite pale, and he looked as though he had received a shock--as indeed he had. Mrs. Jimboy had revealed something connected with the meeting of the next night!
CHAPTER III.
THE SERMON.
By the time Lovel and his oddly-chosen companion had passed out of sight, Iris regained her composure and returned to the house. She said nothing to Milly, who was now playing waltzes on the jingling piano, and did not even re-enter the drawing room. It was quite useless to expostulate further with the spoilt beauty; so Iris went back to help Eliza in the kitchen, and to see after the dinner. Nevertheless, she thought a great deal about Milly's flirtation with Lovel; and, since she could do nothing with the girl, wondered if it would be wise to inform Dr. Lester of the situation.
It must be clearly understood that Iris did not wish Milly to marry the Squire of Barnstead. She was in love with him herself, and would have dearly liked to become his wife. The mysticism of the man attracted her in no small degree, and she sympathised with his aspirations and religious views. It was clear to the most unobservant that Milly would not make him a good wife; and nothing would have pleased Iris better than that something should occur to interrupt the marriage. But she was resolved that the obstacle should not be placed in the way by her, lest it should be said that she was scheming to obtain Herne for herself. Rather than she should be accused of such selfishness, Iris was determined to bring about the marriage by every means in her power. The one danger likely to prevent the match was the flirtation of Milly with Lovel; and Iris decided to tell Dr. Lester of this danger, so that Milly should meet her lover no more. The father alone could save his daughter from jeopardising her future.
Unfortunately, Dr. Lester returned from Marborough more or less intoxicated, and after a pretence of eating retired to his bedroom to sleep off his potations. It was quite useless to appeal to Philip drunk, as Iris knew well; therefore she was obliged to wait till next morning, when there might be some chance of getting Philip sober to take a sensible view of the matter. Milly took no notice of her father's condition, being well used to his debauches, but spent the evening in trimming a hat which she designed to wear to church the next day. Iris sat in the same room, employed with needlework; and took the opportunity of informing Milly what she intended to do. There was nothing secretive about Miss Link; she was an open enemy, and not a snake in the grass; moreover, she hoped by warning Milly of her decision to make her promise to renounce the Lovel flirtation.
"Milly," she said, as they worked rapidly, "have you thought of what I said to you this afternoon?"
"About what?" asked the other carelessly.
"About Mr. Lovel. Will you promise to stop flirting with him?"
"No, I won't!" said Milly flatly; "he amuses me, and I intend to meet him and talk to him as much as I like. If you choose you can tell Darcy."
"You know I shan't do that," replied Iris quietly, "and that you are safe in giving me the permission. But I'll tell your father."
"Pooh! What does that matter? He won't speak to Darcy: he's too anxious for me to marry the man; I told you that this afternoon."
"He will be very angry," cried Iris in despair.
"Let him be angry!" returned the dutiful daughter; "he can't kill me!"
"O Milly! Milly! Why can't you behave in a more honourable manner? If you love Mr. Lovel, break off the match with Mr. Herne."
"And let you have your chance!" sneered Milly, tossing her head. "No, thank you, dear."
"Then stop flirting with Mr. Lovel and be true to your future husband."
Milly laughed, shook her head, and busied herself with threading a needle. "My future husband," said she slowly; "h'm! perhaps I won't marry him after all."
"Then you intend to accept Mr. Lovel?"
"No, I intend to do nothing. But Gran Jimboy read my hand this afternoon, and she prophesied that I should marry neither."
"What do you mean?" asked Iris sharply. "Have you a third admirer?"
"According to gran I have," said Milly with a shiver; "the third admirer is Death, my dear. I am to be--murdered!"
Iris rose so quickly that her work rolled on to the floor. She looked at Milly in a scared sort of way. "Are you out of your mind?" she said nervously.
"No; I'm only telling you what Gran Jimboy read in my hand. But I don't believe in palmistry; do you, Iris?"
"No, I don't," said Miss Link contemptuously. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, letting Gran Jimboy play on your fears. Did she say you would die?"
"Yes; that I should be murdered. Ugh!" and Milly shivered again.
"You don't believe such rubbish?"
Miss Lester jumped up and threw the hat she had been trimming on the sofa. "I don't know," she said, pacing to and fro. "Sometimes I do; sometimes I don't. I wish you would not talk of death! I hate it!" Then, after a pause, "I'm going to bed," said she.
Iris arrested her at the door. "Milly, do be sensible, and give up these wild ideas."
"Mr. Lovel, I suppose?"
"Yes; don't flirt with him any more, and I'll not tell Dr. Lester."
"You can do as you please!" returned Milly loftily. "I'm doing no harm, and I'll talk to Lucas as much as I please!"
"Lucas! You call him by his first name?"
"When I wish to be nice, I do," replied the girl provokingly; "and he calls me by mine."
"Milly, you are ruining your life!" said Iris in despair.
"Ah, well; what of it? It's going to be a short one--according to Gran Jimboy," and before her sister could make a further remark Milly ran out of the room, with a nervous laugh. Iris resumed her seat, and again devoted herself to work, but her thoughts were busy with the ill-disciplined mind of her companion.
Whether it was Milly's attitude towards Herne, or her conduct with Lovel, or her revelation of the gipsy's prophecy, Iris did not know; but she felt a premonition of evil, and wondered what she could do to prevent the occurrence of ill. There was no thought of self in the desire, for she was genuinely sorry for the fool's paradise in which Lovel was living. Doubtless he thought that Milly would break with Herne to marry him; but Iris was assured that her sister was too fond of money and luxury to do so. Milly had no idea of morality, or right or wrong, and was quite content to flirt with one man and go to the altar with the other, without caring for the consequences. Yet in the complication she had made there lay the elements of tragedy; and Iris wondered if the gipsy had been clever enough to guess this, and had prophesied death and danger merely on the possibility of such result. She was beginning to feel alarmed at the entanglement, and resolved to put matters straight if she could. Failing the authority of Lester over his reckless daughter, which was merely nominal, it yet remained that an explanation and an appeal to Lovel might induce him to withdraw from the fascinations of Milly, and leave the village. Then the marriage with Herne might be pressed on, and under his good influence and care Milly might be sheltered from the dangers of life which were created by her love of admiration. This was the only course to pursue, and Iris decided to take it.
"I'll see Mr. Lovel to-morrow," she said when retiring to bed, "and appeal to his better nature to go away. Darcy is so much in love with her that it would break his heart to lose her. Milly must marry him, and do her best to make him happy. I can do nothing less to show my love for him. Ah! he does not guess how I worship him! If he did--alas! alas!" Here Iris broke off her meditations, and extinguished the light. Then, in the silence and darkness, she wept quietly over her unreturned love and aching heart. Truly, to a woman, the burden of unrequited affection is heavy to bear.
Early on Sunday morning Milly received a letter from Darcy, stating that he would return the next day, as he had concluded his business. The information gave her no pleasure, as it meant that she would have to submit to be bored in his company, and would not be able to see Lucas as often as heretofore. Yet the receipt of the letter gave her the assurance that she could safely keep her appointment with Lovel, without being found out; and her hitherto wavering decision was fixed from that moment. This intention was unknown to Iris else she might have prevented the meeting.
Milly did not go to church in the morning, but Iris attended at St. Dunstan's, less for the service than because she desired to see Lovel. Dr. Lester had been as cross as a bear--the usual result of his weekly visit to Marborough--and Iris had not dared to complain about Milly, lest it should raise a domestic storm. The doctor kept to his own room, Milly amused herself with a novel, and Iris went to church to see Lovel. He was not present, however, and as she could not call on him at the Herne Arms, she was obliged to return home disappointed; and decided to delay her appeal till the next day. The delay was fatal.
As usual, Milly idled through the long summer hours in a discontented fashion, keeping out of her father's way as much as possible. She saw from his conduct that Iris had not fulfilled her threat of informing him of her vagaries, and said as much.
"No," replied Iris coldly; "I have not complained to your father, as he has no authority over you. It would be useless."
"I'm glad you see that, dear," rejoined Milly cordially. "I suppose you intend to speak to Darcy and get me a lecture?"
"I have told you twice that I do not intend to speak to Mr. Herne. No; it is my intention to ask Mr. Lovel to leave the village."
"Pooh! He won't do that while I'm here.
"If he is an honorable man he will."
Milly shrugged her shoulders. "All I know is that he is a very nice fellow," she said; "if you want honor and priggishness, go to Darcy."
Iris was too disgusted to reply to this remark, and went to her room in silence to prepare for evening service. Fearing lest Lovel should speak with Milly on the way to church, she insisted that the girl should come with her. Assured that the appointment would be kept in the Winding Lane, Milly agreed to this readily enough, as she did not wish to rouse the suspicion of Iris, whom she regarded in the light of a marplot. So, to church the sisters--as they may be called--went in the most amiable fashion, and presented an affectionate exterior for the benefit of the Barnstead gossips.
St. Dunstan's was quite full, for Mr. Chaskin was the preacher, and his sermons were always worth hearing. He was a tall, well-built man, with an earnest, clean-shaven face; and as he walked in at the tail of the choir-boys a suspicion of his former military vocation could be seen in the swing of his stride. With certain alterations consequent on the Reformation, he had exchanged the sword for the cowl, like some warrior of mediaeval times. He was as earnest a clergyman as he had been a soldier; and had won golden opinions from one and all since his arrival at Barnstead.
During the earlier part of the service Milly, according to custom, looked round the church, and prayed with the lips rather than the heart. In the almost conventual gloom--for the summer twilight filtered but dimly through the stained-glass of the windows--she noted her friends and acquaintances, and particularly her lover. He was seated in a distant aisle near a pillar, but could see her plainly enough, and several times during the service they exchanged glances. Miss Clyde was there, in the company of Mrs. Drass, but being near the front of the building, they could not see Lucas. Had they been placed so as to observe him, Milly would have been more discreet in her glances; but, feeling safe from observation, she indulged in as many as she pleased. If Iris noted her looks, she made no sign; for she looked at her prayer-book constantly.
Shortly Milly's glances alighted on a strange lady, who was staring at her steadily. She was a brilliant-looking brunette, not very tall (as Milly could see when she stood up), and dressed in the height of fashion. Miss Lester wondered who she could be, and why she stared at her so hard. After a time she returned the gaze, and the eyes of the two met. At once the strange lady removed her eyes, and glanced at Lucas; then looked back to Milly in the most meaning manner. Indignant and bewildered by this pantomime, Milly grew crimson, and tried to keep her attention on the music; but whenever she looked up the lady was glancing in the same way from her to Lucas and back again. Lovel himself did not see the stranger--at all events, Milly did not think so; but Mrs. Drass had her eyes on the brunette, and was doubtless alive with curiosity.
When Mr. Chaskin gave out the text, Milly forgot the strange lady; she forgot Lucas, and Darcy, and everyone else. The only person she remembered was Gran Jimboy, for the text was "One shall be taken, the other left," which was the exact expression used by the gipsy at the time of the hand-reading on the previous day. Milly face grew pallid with nervous fear, her heart beat rapidly, and she felt that the atmosphere was too close to breathe. There seemed to be something ominous in the coincidence of the gipsy's speech and the text; and she felt that something was wrong; also, the looks of the strange lady embarrassed her. So, on the impulse of the moment, she rose from her seat and left the church with all speed.
CHAPTER IV.
WHAT HAPPENED ON SUNDAY NIGHT.
At first Iris intended to follow Milly, thinking that she suffered from some slight indisposition; but recollecting that up to the moment of leaving the girl had seemed perfectly well, she concluded that it was merely to escape the sermon Milly had left so hurriedly. For this reason she kept her seat, until it struck her that the exit might be designed in order to meet Lovel. However, a glance assured her that the young man was still in his seat, and showed no intention of following her sister. The strange lady remained, but of course Iris had not observed her as Milly had done. Mrs. Drass, in a pew a little way off, gave a sniff of significance, and glanced at Miss Clyde, but that lady, seeing that Lucas was listening attentively to the sermon (she had caught a glimpse of him, and had turned round to look), paid no attention to the hint. All this passed unperceived by the rest of the congregation.
Mr. Chaskin invariably limited his discourse to fifteen minutes; and on this occasion he was even shorter and more pithy than usual. The service was concluded by eight o'clock, and Lucas was one of the first to leave the church. At once he was followed by the strange lady, whom he had not observed, and when Iris emerged from the porch she found that both had disappeared. Neither was Milly in sight, so, concluding that she had gone home, Iris prepared to follow. Shortly, however, she was accosted by Mrs. Drass, who had left Miss Clyde in order to discover the reason of Milly's exit. To the suspicious mind of the ex-governess, everything done by the doctor's daughter was a covert act of insolence against her former pupil. To such an extent can prejudice distort a naturally liberal nature.
"Good evening, Miss Link," said Mrs. Drass, puffing and blowing--for she was very stout, and had made considerable haste to overtake Iris. "I am so glad to see you. I want to walk home with you and see your dear pa. He is in, I dare say?"
"He was when I left, Mrs. Drass," replied Iris, who quite understood what the good lady was aiming at. "Do you not feel well?"
"Not very, my dear. The heart, you know, and shortness of breath. I thought I would just see Dr. Lester before I drove home with Selina."
"Where is she?" asked Iris, glancing round at the dispersing congregation.
"Speaking with Mr. Chaskin. She will call for me at your house in half an hour, so I shall have time to see your pa. By the way, my dear," said Mrs. Drass, as they walked slowly onward side by side, "I hope your sister is not ill?"
"She did not mention that she was ailing," replied Iris, dryly.
"Then why did she leave before the sermon?"
"I do not know, Mrs. Drass. No doubt we shall find her indoors, and then you can ask her yourself."
"Oh, my dear!" Mrs. Drass exclaimed in a shocked tone, as though virtuously indignant at the idea of gossiping. "I would not think of troubling about such a trifle. I simply thought your dear sister was ill, seeing she left before Mr. Chaskin's sweet discourse; and I had half a mind to follow with my smelling bottle."
"Very kind of you," said Iris, briefly; and then, as she disliked the conversation, held her tongue. Mrs. Drass at once began on a fresh topic.
"Did you see that stranger in church?" she asked--"a handsome young lady, most beautifully dressed. I wonder who she can be?"
"I did not observe her particularly."
"She looked at Mr. Lovel a great deal," continued Mrs. Drass artfully, "and at your sister. I was ill-placed for observation, but I turned and saw their looks."
"I don't understand you," said Iris, on her guard at this coupling of Milly's name with that of Lovel.
Mrs. Drass became tart at once. "Oh, my love, it is not very difficult to understand," she said stiffly; "in my opinion, your sister exchanged so many glances with Mr. Lovel that the strange lady thought----"
"I don't want to know what she thought, Mrs. Drass. You forget that my sister is engaged."
"I think it is Milly Lester who forgets that!" cried Mrs. Drass venomously; "it is really disgraceful the way in which she flirts with Mr. Lovel!"
"Mrs. Drass!"
"Now, don't be cross with me, my dear," wheezed the fat old lady, as they stopped at the gate of Poverty Villa. "I only repeat what all the village talks about. I don't know what Mr. Herne will say to your sister's conduct! Such a good young man as he is!"
"Here is Dr. Lester," said Iris, cutting short these remarks; and leaving Mrs. Drass in the company of her stepfather, she retired hastily in search of Milly. To her surprise, the girl was not in the house. Iris searched everywhere, and, alarmed by this unexpected absence, went downstairs with the intention of leaving the house to look for her. Passing by Dr. Lester's room, the door of which was ajar, she heard the oily voice of Mrs. Drass accusing Milly of flirting with Lovel. Although she hated eavesdropping, Iris listened in the interests of her sister.
"Indeed, my dear doctor, I should advise you to interfere," Mrs. Drass was saying; "you know how particular Mr. Herne is. If he learnt too much about Milly----"
"He shall learn nothing," broke in Dr. Lester's harsh voice, "unless you tell him."
"Excuse me, I never speak of my neighbours' business. This has nothing to do with me."
"But it has a great deal to do with Miss Clyde."
"I don't understand----" began Mrs. Drass, when the doctor cut her short with a short and rude laugh.
"Oh, you understand well enough!" he said, contemptuously. "I hear gossip as well as you do. Miss Clyde wants to marry Lovel, and cannot do so till Milly is out of the way. In the interest of your friend, you wish Milly to marry Herne, and so will not tell him of this--flirtation."
"There is some truth in that," admitted Mrs. Drass, "although you put it rudely."
"I put it plainly, you mean," said Lester. "You can go away content, madam, for I shall speak to Milly."
"Poor motherless girl! She needs talking to," sighed Mrs. Drass, and prepared to take her leave, satisfied in every way with the success of her mission.
Before searching for Milly, who was yet absent, Iris determined to speak to her stepfather. The ice had been broken, and it was now easier to induce him to interfere. When Mrs. Drass took her departure, which she did almost immediately, Iris entered the doctor's consulting room at once. Lester already had got out the brandy bottle and was filling himself a glass. He looked red-eyed and wrathful, and turned viciously on Iris before she had time to open her mouth.
"What is this I hear about Milly and Mr. Lovel?" he snarled. "Is her name to be on the lips of every village gossip? Can't you look after her?"
"No, I can't. She laughs at me."
"Where is she? I'll take care she doesn't laugh at me!" cried Lester. "Send her in here at once."
"How can I? She is not yet in."
Lester looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes past eight o'clock!" he growled; "and you let her gad about at this hour! No doubt she is with Lovel now!"
"I should not be at all surprised," said Iris, coldly.
"Good Lord! how coolly you speak!" raged the doctor, setting down his empty glass and filling it again. "Don't you know that if Herne hears of these things he'll break off the marriage!"
"I shouldn't blame him if he did."
"Rubbish! I tell you, if Milly loses Herne, everything will smash up. We can't hold out much longer. Herne has promised to pay all we owe and to lend me money. It all depends on Milly; yet you let her flirt with Lovel, and run the risk of ruining all. If Chaskin heard about this Lovel affair, he would tell Herne, and then--curse it!"--the doctor broke off hastily, and drank another glass of brandy--"I must do something!"
"You won't do much if you go on taking that!" said Iris pointedly.
"What is that to you, miss? Mind your own business! I shall drink as much as I please." He filled himself a third glass of brandy. "As for Lovel, if I catch him I'll trash the life out of him! Spoiling Milly's chance of a rich husband--I'll kill him before he does that. I shall lock her up, and you also, you--you----"
Not waiting to hear what he called her, Iris withdrew, sick at heart. She knew well enough that this was the commencement of a drinking bout, which would last three or four days. Did Lester meet his daughter in the company of Lovel while the drunken fit was on him, he was quite capable of proceeding to personal violence. Iris left the house hurriedly, with the intention of finding Milly, and bringing her home lest ill should befall. At that moment, with her miserable home, the burden of Milly's follies, and her own aching heart, the poor girl felt thoroughly ill and wretched.
On leaving Poverty Villa, she turned her steps towards the main street of the village, and wondered where she would find Milly. It was yet light, a kind of luminous twilight, with a star-sprinkled heaven, and a gentle breeze sighing amid the trees. Few people were about, as it was now about nine o'clock, and the majority of Barnstead folk were within doors, lingering over their suppers. Iris paced slowly along, her head aching with nervous pain, and her heart full of anxiety. When she arrived in the square where St. Dunstan's Church was situated she paused in utter helplessness, for she knew not in which direction to look for the truant; nor for very shame could she ask any of the passers-by if they had seen the girl. For the moment she was completely at a loss what to do.
Unexpectedly the chimes began to ring, and the clock of St. Dunstan's struck nine with slow and ponderous strokes. As Iris counted them idly, she fancied she heard the sharp sound of a distant shot, and, for the moment wondered who could be shooting at that late hour. But the deep tone of the church bell striking the hour confused her, and hearing no more shots she thought that she must have been dreaming. After a pause she pursued her way, and turned homeward.
It struck Iris that Milly might have met Lovel by appointment, in which case the meeting, to elude observation, would undoubtedly take place on the outskirts of the village. Iris therefore made a detour, and walked homeward round by the common and through the sparse woods which fringed the town. But all to no purpose; not a sign of Milly or of anyone else could she see, and it was with a sigh that she reentered Barnstead streets on her way to the villa. As she passed the Herne Arms, she saw a carriage drive off, and as it whirled past her on the road to Marborough, she noted that it was occupied by a lady. However, as she did not recognize the face--which she saw indistinctly in the twilight--she took no further note of the incident. In a few moments she reached home, and was met at the door by Eliza in a great state of alarm.
"Oh, miss, I am glad you've come," cried the servant. "Your pa's run out like a raging bull, and I was feared lest he could 'urt you."
"I did not meet him," replied Iris, with a chill feeling in her heart. "Is Milly inside?"
"No, mum; that's why I am feared. Your pa was screeching out something about you and Miss Milly, an' I did believe as he was wanting to murder you both."
"Nonsense!" cried Iris irritably, as she entered the dining-room. "Dr. Lester is not well, and I daresay Miss Milly will be back soon. She--she has gone to see some friends," finished Iris, thinking she must make some excuse.
"Well, I 'ope she's safe, miss," said Eliza, ominously, "for if she meets her pa he'll hurt 'er. Jus' like a mad lion he were, miss."
When the servant withdrew Iris sat down and tried to eat; but all in vain. The excitement and trouble of the evening were too much for her, and she could only swallow a glass of wine and water. Eliza was informed that she might go to bed, and Iris sat up far into the night waiting for the return of Milly. Ten, eleven and twelve o'clock struck; still the girl did not appear, and Iris became terrified. Such a thing had never happened before; and she felt sure that some accident had occurred. Several times she went to the door, but saw no one. At twelve she ventured as far as the gate, and then in the darkness she heard the tramp of feet, and saw several men advancing, bearing something between them. In front walked a man alone.
"Father!" cried Iris, throwing open the gate. "Milly!"
"Hush!" said the grave voice of Mr. Chaskin. "It is I, Miss Link. There has been an--an accident. Your sister is--dead!"
CHAPTER V.
PAUL MEXTON, JOURNALIST.
Barnstead was provided with a new sensation, and that of the most extreme kind. The beauty of the village--for so Milly was accounted--had been murdered by some unknown person, and everyone was excited by the tragedy. Far and wide the rumour spread, gaining details more or less truthful as it slipped from tongue to tongue, until by noon of the next day it reached Marborough. From the streets it penetrated into the office of the "Tory Times," which, as its name denotes, is an old and long-established newspaper of the south of England; and so became known to Paul Mexton, who was the chief reporter of the journal. The news appealed to him more than it did to the majority of the public.
In the first place, it roused his journalistic instincts, as eminently satisfactory "copy" for the columns of the paper; in the second, he was personally acquainted with the Lester family, and particularly with Iris. The late Mr. Link had been a solicitor in Marborough, and in that town Iris had been born, and had lived for seventeen years, when, her father dying, her mother had married Dr. Lester and had removed to Barnstead. The second Mrs. Lester did not live long after her foolish second marriage, and when she died Iris was left to look after Milly and the miserable domestic affairs of Poverty Villa. But all this has been set forth before, and the main point now is the acquaintance of Mexton with Iris Link.
They had been boy and girl together, and Paul had been like a brother to Iris for many years. Twice or thrice a month he was accustomed to ride over to Barnstead, when permitted by his journalistic duties; and at one time Iris thought that their youthful friendship might develop into the warmer feeling of love. But, as has before been stated, she lost her heart to Herne, and later on Paul confessed to her that he was in love with a Polish lady who for some months previously had given violin recitals in the Marborough Town Hall. Therefore, up to the present Paul and Iris were simply good friends and nothing more.
Paul valued his friendship with Miss Link, as he was ambitious and she sympathised with his aims and aspirations. He wished to make a name in London as a novelist, to live in the metropolis, and to mix with the literary society of the day. To Iris he told all his dreams and schemes and successes and failures; and in her turn Iris consulted him about her domestic worries, the eccentricities of Dr. Lester, and the trials she experienced with Milly and her lovers. Paul, therefore, was well acquainted with the events which had preceded the tragedy; and now that the tragedy itself had taken place he was hardly surprised by its occurrence.
"I knew Milly would get herself into trouble, poor girl!" he thought on hearing the news; "but I hardly expected her follies would result in her murder. I wonder who killed her, and what was the motive for the crime? By Jove! I'll ride over and see Iris; she needs a friend just now, and she can give me all details for the paper."
No sooner had Paul made up his mind to this course than he saw the editor, and requested permission to go over to Barnstead. It was accorded at once, and, knowing Mexton's ready pen, the editor anticipated an unusually interesting account of the crime, to be in the next day's issue of the "Tory Times." Prompt and rapid in his actions as a war correspondent, Paul was on the road to Barnstead within an hour of receiving the intelligence of the murder. But the police, advised by telegram, were beforehand with him, and he found the inspector--Drek was his name--investigating the matter when he arrived at Poverty Villa.
Drek was in the untidy garden talking to a policeman when Paul rode up, and he eyed the young man in anything but a pleasant manner when he dismounted. The inspector was an alert but somewhat sour man, who had no great love for press or pressman; and he distinctly resented the prompt arrival of Mexton on the scene. With a frown he looked at the keen and handsome face of the young man, and nodded curtly in response to his greeting.
"Where the corpse is there gather the vultures," said Drek, who dealt at times in proverbs.
"Are you talking of the police, Mr. Inspector?" asked Paul, smiling.
"No, sir; I talk of the Fourth Estate, of you confounded gabblers of the press. It is my business to investigate crimes like these; but it is not yours to spread any discoveries all over the country, and put the criminal on his guard."
"Oh! then you have some inkling of who killed Miss Lester?"
"No, sir; up till now I have not gained the slightest clue."
"Then why do you say that the criminal is a man?" said Paul shrewdly. "The assassin may be a woman, for all you know."
"Women don't fire pistols as a rule."
"The New Woman does," retorted Mexton. "So the poor girl was shot?"
"Right through the brain--must have been killed instantly."
"Where did the murder take place?"
"In the lower part of the Winding Lane."
"About what time?"
"I don't know yet. How should I know?" replied Drek with a vexed air. "Now, look here, Mr. Mexton; I'm not going to answer any more questions. You'll put all I say in your paper."
"I'll keep out anything you wish, Mr. Inspector," said Paul, who saw the necessity of conciliating the man; "and, as a matter of fact, I am here not so much to get copy as to see Miss Link."
"Why do you wish to see Miss Link?" asked the inspector suspiciously.
"For the very natural reason that she is in trouble, and that I am her oldest friend. You don't object to my seeing her?"
"She'll object herself," replied Drek grimly. "At present she shut herself up in her room and refuses to see anyone."
"What about Dr. Lester?"
"Oh!"--Drek shrugged his shoulders--"the doctor is in his consulting-room--drinking!"
"What does he say about the murder?"
"Nothing. I can get no sense out of him; the man's brain is upset."
"I don't wonder at it," rejoined Paul drily; "the tragic death of his daughter is quite enough to upset it. Is the--the--body in the house?"
"No; it has been taken to the Herne Arms for the inquest."
Mexton nodded, and brushed past the inspector on his way to the house. "I'll try and see Miss Link." he said quickly. "Poor girl, she will need some comfort. You have absolutely no clue?" he asked looking back.
"Absolutely none," returned Drek disconsolately. "The girl was found dead by Mr. Chaskin about midnight. I say, Mexton----"
"Well," said Paul impatiently, his hand on the doorknob.
"Tell me what Miss Link tells you."
"She may tell me nothing, Drek. However, I'll get all I can out of her, and do my best to aid you to catch the murderer of poor Milly Lester. And you?"
"I intend to question the servant," said Drek. "It seems she knows something; at least, she hinted as much to Warner here," and he indicated the policeman with a nod.
"H'm!" said Paul slowly. "So Eliza knows something. Drek, you tell me all that you get out of the servant, and I'll reveal the result of my examination of the mistress. Let us work together."
"I'm quite agreeable," said Drek, who knew the keen intelligence of Mexton, "but you must not put too much in your paper."
"You shall see everything in proof," cried Paul, and with a nod he vanished into the house.
There was nobody in the drawing-room or dining-room when Mexton entered; therefore he looked into the doctor's consulting-room, where he found the wretched Lester half-intoxicated, with the brandy bottle before him. Indignant at the man's condition at such a time, Paul walked over to the table, seized the bottle, and threw it out of the window. In sheer amazement Lester stared blankly at him, holding a glass of brandy in his shaking hand.
"What--what did you do that for?" he asked thickly.
"To prevent you making a beast of yourself," replied the young man sharply. "Have you no sense of shame, man? Your daughter is lying dead--murdered--and yet you sit drinking here as though nothing had occurred. Shame, Dr. Lester! Shame!"
The drunkard listened vacantly to this speech, and mechanically raised the glass he held to his lips. In a moment Paul had dashed it out of his hand, and put himself on the defensive for the attack which he expected the creature to make on him. In place of doing so, and asserting some little manhood, the doctor bowed his shameful face on his hands, and began to weep in a maudlin manner.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! that I should be treated like this in my own house! Poor Milly dead, and I denied any comfort."
"You won't get much comfort out of the brandy bottle," said Paul contemptuously. "Pull yourself together, Dr. Lester, and aid me."
"Aid you--in what?" asked Lester confusedly.
"In discovering who killed your daughter."
The doctor wrung his hands in a helpless sort of manner. "No chance of that," said he; "no chance of that."
"Why? Do you think the murderer has got clean away?"
To the journalist's surprise, Lester put the same question to him as he had put to Drek. "How do you know the criminal is a man?" asked the doctor.
"I did not say so."
"You said murderer; if you had ascribed the crime to a woman you would have used the more correct word, murderess."
"I think not, doctor; I am no purist. But what do you mean by such a speech, sir? Do you know who killed your daughter?"
"No!" Lester looked confused. "Good Lord, Mexton! how should I know?" he burst out. "If I did--if I did----"