Fergus Hume

“ Fiction is a reflection of real life—a holding of the mirror up to Nature. Eh—author?"
"Shakespeare," said Octavius, promptly, "and quoted wrongly."
"Never mind; the spirit if not the form is there."
"We've strayed from the subject," observed Axton, smiling, "regarding this case. Since Spolger and myself are innocent, who is guilty?"
"Ask something easier."
"Do you know, my good Vidocq," remarked Japix, contemplating his large feet, "that I wonder you have not turned your attention to Monsieur Judas."
"I have done so," said Octavius, quietly; "but I can bring nothing home to him. ”

“ I know he's one of those men who hit their wives over the head with a poker; he looks like a poker man. I wish he was Sebastian, and Sebastian was he."
"Don't talk about Sebastian, my dear Florence," said Miss Varlins, severely—that is, as severely as she could to Florry; "your father would never have agreed to your marrying such a scamp!"
"He's no worse than other people," muttered Florry, rebelliously.
"I don't know about other people," replied Judith, coldly; "but I'm certain Sebastian Melstane would have made you a bad husband. ”

“ Fanks and the sitting down of the stranger brought both their faces within the mellow radiance of the lamp, whereupon a sudden look of recognition flashed into the eyes of each.
"Roger Axton!" cried the detective, springing to his feet.
"Fanks!" said the other, also rising and cordially clasping the hand held out to him. "My dear old schoolfellow!"
"And your dear old schoolfellow's nickname also," remarked Fanks, as they shook hands heartily. "What a curious coincidence, to be sure! It is only the mountains that never meet." ”

“ Roger sprang forward and raised her in his arms, but Judas, with a mocking, sardonic laugh, tossed his long arms in the air, and burst out into a jeering speech.
"Yes, yes! Take her in your arms! Lift her from the ground, but you cannot lift her again to her purity of a woman. She is lost, the woman you loved. In her place you find the murderess. Ah! it is a good play!"
This cowardly triumphing was too much even for the phlegmatic Fanks, and with a suppressed oath he strode up to the gibing villain. ”

“ Wosk behind the screen, looking over prescriptions, and to Monsieur Judas at the counter making up neat packages of medicine bottles. At the little window at the back which looked into the Wosk dwelling-house, an occasional vision of Mrs. Wosk's head appeared like that of a cross cherub, keeping her eye on chemist and assistant.
"Bur-r-r," says Monsieur Judas, blowing on his lean fingers, "it is to me the most coldness of times. Aha! le brouillard! it makes itself to be all the places to-day." ”

“ How do you know that I may not suspect some one else?"
"Whom?"
"Miss Varlins," observed Fanks, leisurely, "may, for all we know, be acting a very noble part, and may be trying to screen another person—for instance, Mr. Francis Marson."
"What?" shouted Japix and Roger in one breath.
"I'm not certain—by no means certain; but I have my suspicions."
"Of Marson?" said Japix, scornfully; "pooh! nonsense! There isn't a more respected man in Ironfields."
"It's generally your respected persons who fancy they can sin with impunity, and not be found out on account of that very respectability. ”

“ No one can prove it but yourself, and you say nothing. Judith, listen! You are in deadly peril. Fanks is coming up to-night with Judas, and they will accuse you of this crime!"
"To-night?"
"Yes; they have written to Mr. Marson. They will produce the handkerchief. They will tell the story. You refuse to answer me; you must answer them. Fanks told me of this to-day, and I came up at once to warn you."
"It is useless! I can say nothing."
"You must say something. It is a question of life and death. The affair is in the hands of the law. Nothing can save you but your own denial. ”

“ I tell this dear Monsieur Fanks that she is the criminal, and show him the handkerchief of her which was let to fall by the dear angel. We go to the house of Monsieur Mar-rson, and then the angel is distraught; she is mad and tells all. Behold, messieurs, my story is at an end, and nothing can I say more. I played for a large thing. I have lost. It is cruel, but who can fight the angry gods? Everything I have failed in. All are innocent but the angel, and she is dead. ”

“ A chemist's assistant is not a fitting match for the heiress of Francis Marson."
"True, true!"
"Besides," said Axton, taking up the defence, "why should Judas take the trouble to kill Melstane at Jarlchester when he could have done so at Ironfields?"
"Oh, that's merely a question of safety," replied Octavius, thoughtfully. "If Melstane had died here, awkward questions might have been asked, which would have been difficult for Guinaud to answer; but at Jarlchester the man dies, and there is nothing to connect Judas or any one else with the death. That pill idea is a devilish ingenious one." ”

“ She says: 'He must not drag me to poorness! I am afraid of myself if he does. I am like my mother.' Then, messieurs, I hear from her sweet lips that madame, her dead mother, was mad. The poor angel is afraid she will be mad some day also. Nevertheless, I love her, I wish her for mine. I am the friend of Melstane; but him I love not, because of this dear one. I say: 'My friend Melstane will pull you to the cold, to the street, to the want of bread. Defend yourself, my beautiful. Kill him!'"
"Oh!" cried Roger, in a tone of horror, "you put the idea into her head?" ”

“ He relapsed into silence, slipped the pill-box into his pocket, and taking the cup from the table began to sip his coffee slowly. Coffee—black coffee, hot and strong, as Mr. Fanks was now taking it—clears the brain, and renders it intensely sharp and wakeful; so after a few minutes the detective put down the cup, and thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, stretched out his long legs, and began to think aloud once more, as was his fashion when alone.
"It's a fine profession that of a detective, but one gets tired of commonplace murders; this, however, isn't a commonplace murder. ”

“ The devil told me about the morphia. Hist! I will tell you! His name is Spolger. He lives in the big house on the hill. He has poison. Oh, yes, yes! I know. I stole it to give Sebastian—poor Sebastian."
"Gentlemen," cried Marson, piteously, "do not believe her. This is raving."
"I believe it's the truth," said Fanks, solemnly.
Japix advanced towards Florry, but she saw him coming, and with a shriek of anger, darted towards the study table, upon which she sprang with the activity of an antelope. ”

“ Melstane loved Florry, but that did not deter him from loving her himself. He has shown by a thousand signs that he loves her, and he kept it from no one but his dead friend. Oh, he's not called Judas for nothing. ”

“ Melstane would never suspect, and so would come by his death. Oh, Spolger's the man who killed Melstane, I'm certain of it."
"Wait a bit," said Fanks, rapidly making a few notes in his pocket-book. "When a crime is committed, the first thing is to look for a motive. Now, what motive had Spolger for killing Melstane?"
"Motive!" repeated Roger, in amazement, "the strongest of all motives. He was in love with Florry and wanted to marry her. She, however, was in love with Melstane, and while he lived Spolger had no chance. So of course he removed his rival by death. It's as clear as daylight." ”

“ Wosk walked into the shop, whereupon Monsieur Judas at once explained the matter to him.
"My assistant is—ahem—correct," said Mr. Wosk, sadly, as if he rather regretted it than otherwise. "I remember Mr. Melstane's tonic pills, and I—ahem—did count them. There were—ahem—twelve."
"You are sure?"
"I am certain."
"An' I to myself can assure it," remarked Judas, in English; "but if monsieur would make to himself visits at monsieur le docteur, he could know exactly of the numbers. Eh bien. Je le crois."
"Where does Dr. Japix live?" asked Fanks, picking up the pill-box and putting it in his pocket. ”

“ Melstane loved you."
"I—I can't help it if he did," sobbed Florry, passionately; "it's not my fault if people will love me. There's Mr. Spolger—he's always making love, and that horrid, red-haired Frenchman; every time I go out he never takes his eyes off my face."
"What! that man at Wosk's?" cried Judith, with great indignation. "Surely he has not such impertinence!"
"No, he hasn't," replied Florry, sitting up and drying her eyes; "but he will look at me in such a way. I'm sure he's in love with me—the horrid thing." ”

“ Fanks said nothing, but remained for a time in meditative silence, which Spolger broke by asking him if he would take some refreshment.
"No, thank you," he replied, quickly. "I'm much obliged to you, sir, for your courtesy. Are you ready, Roger?"
"Oh, yes, I'm coming," said Axton, rising to his feet. "Have you heard how Miss Marson is to-day, Spolger?"
"Just the same, I believe."
"Poor girl!"
"Yes, it's dreadful!" responded Spolger, with a groan; "of course the marriage will have to be put off. I'm not sorry, because I'm so upset. Fancy being taken for a murderer!" ”

“ Roger Axton turned furiously on his friend.
"How dare you insult Miss Varlins?" he said, fiercely. "Are you a gentleman?"
"I am a detective," replied Fanks, significantly.
"There is no need to quarrel, gentlemen," said Judith, quietly. "I agree to Mr. Rixton's request. If you will both get into the carriage we can drive to Wosk's, obtain the letters, and settle Mr. Rixton's doubts at once."
Fanks bowed in silence, and stepped into the carriage without further remark, but Roger turned sullenly away. "Thank you, I prefer not to come," he said, stiffly. ”

“ This scoundrel says that you visited Melstane at night and put those two pills into the box with the intention of poisoning him."
Still she said nothing, and Roger felt a feeling of horror arise in his breast as he watched her face, so cold, so frozen, so impassive in its fixed calm.
"He has your handkerchief to prove that you were there. Judith, speak!"
All at once the still figure became endowed with life, and with a choking cry she tore herself from his encircling arms, and sprang across the room. ”

“ Nature, with that black, ugly, clamorous city constantly before her eyes, lost heart in her work, and did not attempt to place beauties before the eyes of people who did not know anything about beauty, and would have thought it a very useless thing if they had. So the fields lying round Ironfields were only a shade better than the city itself, for the shadow of smoke lay over everything, and where sunshine is not, cheerfulness is wanting. ”

“ Yes! she is to marry this rich monsieur; but my brave Sebastian, he mocks himself of that. Here in this house he stays, and I make myself his friendship. He tells me all his love. The father of my charming mees is enraged, and forbids my friend to look, to see, to speak with the beautiful child. But she has a heart, this angel, and loves to distraction the handsome boy, my friend. They meet, they talk, they write the letters, and monsieur the father knows nothing. Then to this pension there comes Monsieur Axton."
"Roger Axton?" said Fanks, biting his lips. ”

“ Roger, who was walking rapidly up and down the long room, now vanishing into the chill shadow, anon emerging into the warm lamp-light, stopped at the sound of the name and flung up his arms with a low cry of anguish.
"Never! never!" he cried bitterly, "I shall never marry her."
"Poor old chap, you do seem to be hard hit," said Octavius, sympathetically, "but hope for the best. Florry will marry her patent medicine man, and forget the scamp. Judith will marry you and forget Florry, so things will come out all straight in the long run." ”