Fergus Hume

“ If your poor dear pa's remains are not found within a certain time, marry Mr. Thorold and be happy."
"I can't--I won't. How can I be happy knowing poor father isn't at rest?"
"His soul is at rest--the earthly tabernacle is nothing. Come, Sophia, don't break with your life's happiness!"
"Alan and I understand one another, Vicky. I dare say we shall marry some day. But the body must be found."
"Lord grant it!" ejaculated Miss Vicky piously, and said no more. For she found that the more she argued the more obstinate Sophy grew.
Amongst those who had hopes of gaining the reward was Cicero. ”

“ Doubtless such an office is somewhat out-of-date nowadays; but Miss Victoria Parsh would rather have died than have left a young girl alone in the company of a young man.
Yet she knew well enough that this young man was altogether above reproach, and, moreover, engaged by parental consent to the pretty girl to whom he was talking so earnestly. And no one could deny that Sophy Marlow was indeed charming. There was somewhat of the Andalusian about her. Not very tall, shaped delicately as a nymph, she well deserved Alan Thorold's name. ”

“ You must be mad to think of such a thing! How dare he bring forward such a terrible--such a dastardly accusation? For what reason does he say that I did it?"
"Out of revenge, I expect," said Phelps. "He dislikes you, Alan. He says you took poor Marlow's body to dissect it."
"And bases his lie upon some gossip of my having been a medical student, I suppose?" cried the young man, now thoroughly angry. "I'll thrash the scoundrel within an inch of his life!" ”

“ It was the only way I saw of escaping Lestrange."
"Tell me the story from the beginning," said Alan. "I know only scraps."
"The beginning was in Jamaica, Alan," said Beauchamp sadly. "All this trouble arose out of the love I had for Sophy's mother. Poor Zelia! if only she had married me, I would have made her a good husband. As it was, she chose Achille Lestrange, a roué and a gambler, a spendthrift and a scoundrel. I could never tell Sophy what a bad man her father was. He treated poor Zelia abominably." ”

“ But you killed Achille. Yes, you left the room where Zelia lay dead, you found Achille senseless on the veranda, and you stabbed him to the heart. Warrender saw you commit the crime. It is all set out here, and signed by Warrender, in the presence of two witnesses. Can you deny it?"
Lestrange moistened his dry lips, looked at Sophy, at Beauchamp, then suddenly shook off Alan's hold.
"No, I don't deny it," he said in a loud, harsh voice. "You have been one too many for me. I am so poor as to be almost starving, so I don't care what becomes of me. Hang me if you like. ”

“ Marlow's death?" asked Alan.
"Do I think it, sir? Why, I knows it! After twenty years of hearing nothing, the shock, as you might say, killed my master."
"Then he was guilty, and my accusation was a righteous one to make," chimed in Lestrange. "A clean conscience fears nothing."
"Mr. Beauchamp's conscience was a darned sight cleaner nor yourn, Captain Jean, but you had the whip-hand of him, as all those in Jamaica thought he'd murdered Munseer Achille, from them quarreling about him coming after his wife. But master didn't do it--I swear he didn't! ”

“ Do you believe it, Alan?"
"There are so many things in it which I know to be true, that I can't help thinking the man is honest, in so far as his story goes," said Alan gloomily. "Whether Sophy is really his child I can't say. She is certainly very like him, and the certificate appears to be genuine. Again, Mr. Phelps, you heard Warrender call Marlow 'Beauchamp,' and, as I told you, a sum of two thousand a year is by Marlow's will to be paid to a Herbert Beauchamp. What if he should be Marlow himself?" ”

“ Alan laughed.
"He has already made a clutch at it by accusing me of the theft of Mr. Marlow's body."
The inspector nodded and smiled grimly.
"The two are working in unison," said he, rubbing his hands; "but I'll catch them."
"By the way," said Thorold, "is Mr. Marlow coming back here?"
"To be caught by Lestrange? No, I think not. He is not such a fool. If you want to see him, you must go to Brighton."
"I shall go to-morrow, Blair. I am most anxious to hear the story of that night."
"A strange story--more like fiction than truth."
"Truth is always stranger than fiction." ”

“ In New Orleans I met Julian Warrender--he was old, but he was madly in love with me--and I married him for a home. We came to England five years ago, and settled at Heathton. I always did my best to be a good wife, although I dare say I was extravagant. Diamonds! yes, I have diamonds, and I made Julian buy me all he could. And why?--to provide against the days of poverty which I knew would come. They have come--my husband is dead. God help me!" Her voice rose to a scream. "Murdered!" she cried.
"This," interpolated Gramp, addressing no one in particular, "is very painful." ”

“ As from a rostrum he delivered his speech, and dwelt upon his own words with the gusto of a modern Micawber.
"Mr. Thorold and Clara Maria," he began in deep tones, "a few days ago circumstances connected with money turned me weary and hungry from the seaport of Southampton. I went--let us be plain--I went on the tramp, and in the course of my peregrinations I drew near Heathton, a salubrious village, notorious at the present moment for the crimes which have been committed there. I spun a coin, my only sixpence, to decide if an intrusion into that village would bring me good or evil fortune. ”

“ Well, and what does he say?"
"That you stole my father's body, Alan!"
"I--I--stole the body?"
"Yes!" chimed in the Rector. "And he further says that you took it to the hut on the heath, where Warrender's corpse was found."
"Oh, indeed!" cried the young man derisively. "And did I murder Warrender, too?"
"Alan! Alan! Oh, don't jest! If you love me, Alan, tell me the truth."
"Sophy! What do you mean?" He pushed away his plate and rose. "Do you believe this man's tale for one moment? Am I the man to violate a grave--to drag the remains of a man I respected and honored to the light of day? ”

“ Phelps sent the village constable for the inspector at Burchester, the big market town twenty miles away across the heath. Meantime, at an early hour, Alan presented himself at the Moat House. He broke the news as gently as he could. Both Sophy and Miss Vicky were horrified.
"To think of such things taking place in a Christian graveyard!" cried the little woman, wringing her hands. "Sacrilege and murder! It makes one believe in the existence of atheists and anarchists, and such-like dreadful people--it does, indeed!" ”

“ Marry, not at all pleased at being left out in the cold. "He wore cloth boots for his gout--walked very badly, did Mr. Brown."
"Strange!" murmured Blair, again looking round the room. "How could an old man helpless through gout in the feet carry off a dead body? Humph!"
"He carried off no dead body!" cried Mrs. Marry, crimson with wrath, "if it's Mr. Marlow's corpse you're talking of. I believe Mr. Brown's bin murdered like the doctor." ”

“ The man is as dead as a doornail--you saw the corpse yourself, Alan. The body was put in a leaden casing, hermetically sealed, and that in a tightly-screwed-down oaken coffin. Even if Marlow had been in a trance--if that is what you mean--he could not have survived that! ”

“ A few ragged children were playing about, and some slatternly women were watching them from doorways. A man or two, brutalized by drink, hovered in the distance. But a smart constable, who passed and repassed the entrance of the cul-de-sac, casting inquisitive glances at Alan and his companion, kept these birds of prey from any nearer approach. Finding that they were out of earshot, Mrs. Warrender produced a letter and handed it to Alan. It was written on the same thick, creamy paper, and in the same elegant handwriting as had been the communication to Sophy. ”

“ The scoundrel had fled--he had taken my child with him."
"Why should he have encumbered himself with the child?"
"To wring my heart!" replied Lestrange savagely. "He knew that I loved my little Marie. He carried her away. I would have followed, but all my troubles and the shock of Zelia's death brought on an attack of fever. I rose from my bed weeks later to hear that Beauchamp had vanished. On the night he committed the double crimes of murder and kidnapping he went on board his yacht at Falmouth, and was never heard of again. ”

“ But the man is dead; let us not speak evil of the dead," said Phelps. "But there is one question I wish to ask you, Marlow--Beauchamp, I mean. How was it that the page-boy swore Joe Brill was never out of the room on that night?"
"Joe drugged the lad's supper-ale, and slipped out when he was fast asleep. He did the same the next night when he had to take Warrender's body to the vault. That was my idea, for I was terrified lest I should be traced by the murder, and I wanted to get rid of the evidence of the crime. That tramp, confound him! spoilt all." ”

“ Gramp was a scoundrel, and could be dangerous. But finally he decided that the gentleman in broadcloth, if properly handled, could be converted into a useful tool, and he determined to make use of him in that capacity. The intimacy began one night when Cicero, having taken more than was good for him, allowed his tongue to wag more freely than usual. Lestrange thus became aware that it could dispense useful knowledge.
"I tell you what it is, my noble Captain," said Cicero, with drunken gravity, "you are a clever man--I am another. Why shouldn't we get that reward by working together?" ”

“ As to Warrender, he was a scoundrel, and I am sure that, like all scoundrels, he has left a record of his villainies in black and white. If this is so, I can prove Marlow's innocence, and he can defy Lestrange."
By this time Alan and the inspector were walking along the road which led to Heathton. It was a bright, sunny morning, and Alan was in high spirits. How happy Blair's news would make Sophy!
"And Warrender, what about his death?" he asked. "Does Marlow know who killed him?"
"Strange as it may seem, he does not, Mr. Thorold. He is as ignorant as you or I. That death is a mystery still." ”

“ Warrender came out, and in the moonlight he recognized Lestrange, who turned to run away, but the doctor caught him and they struggled. Then Lestrange, knowing that he would be arrested for the murder of Achille in Jamaica, stabbed the doctor to the heart. Terrified at what he had done, he lost his head, and hurried up to me in London. At first he refused to tell me anything, but I made him drink," said Barkham, with a leer, "and so I got the whole truth out of him."
"You scoundrel!" cried Thorold. ”

“ Cicero Gramp," he observed dryly. "Are you in training for a ballet-dancer?"
The man stopped short, and turned a disturbed face on them.
"I'll be even with him!" he gasped, wiping his streaming forehead. "Oh, the wretch! oh, the Judas! Gentlemen, proceed, and leave an unhappy man to fight down a whirl of conflicting emotions. E pluribus unum!" quoted Cicero, in a pathetic voice; "that is me--Ai! Ai! I utter the wail of Orestes."
"And, like Orestes, you seem to be mad," observed Alan, as the fat man returned to his dancing.
"And no wonder, Mr. Thorold. I have lost thousands. ”

“ Marlow's body, how did he put Dr. Warrender's in its place? And how could he without the key of the vault?"
"No," said the stonemason, "he couldn't get into that there vault without a key. I built him myself, me and my mates. If that fat man put the doctor there, he must have killed him. There's a hole in his heart as you could put your fist in. It's murder!" cried the man, dashing his hand on the table, "sacrilege and murder!"
It took a good many tankards of Mrs. Timber's strong ale to wash down the sinister word "murder." ”

“ Warrender. "I have enough to live on, even without selling my jewels. Perhaps I shall marry again."
"I'm sure you will, Clara Maria. You always were a determined woman."
"Hold your tongue, and tell me how much longer do you intend to disgrace me here?"
"How can I tell you, if I am to hold my tongue?" said Cicero coolly. "As to staying here, I'm not disgracing you that I know of. No one knows you are my ungrateful sister."
"Billy, if I wasn't a lady, I'd---- Ungrateful, indeed, you brute! ”

“ It must be found again before I marry--before I can think of marriage, Alan."
"Sophy is right," cried Thorold, drawing the girl to him and kissing her. "She is right, Miss Parsh. I swear also that I will devote my life to solving this mystery. Your father's body shall be brought back, Sophy, and the murderer of Dr. Warrender shall hang. Good-bye, dear. To-day I go to London. The first step towards the discovery of this crime will be to see Cicero Gramp. He may supply the clue."
"Yes, yes. Bribe him; pay him anything, so long as you get at the truth." ”

“ I wonder if Lestrange is the Quiet Gentleman after all!"
"Alan!" said Phelps suddenly. "Joe Brill!"
"What about him?"
"Do you think he is guilty? He was devoted to his master. Warrender possessed his master's secret, and Joe might have killed him, and have run away to escape arrest."
Alan shook his head.
"There was no suspicion against Joe," he said. "Why should he have run away?"
"His guilty conscience, perhaps."
"A man who had nerve enough to commit such a murder and take the corpse of his victim back to the vault wouldn't have any conscience to speak of. ”