"So do I, Mr. Hench. After all, if two people are tenderly attached, why should they not wed?"
"Why, indeed? When were they married?"
"Yesterday, at a Registrar's office. I scarcely look upon such a civil contract as a marriage myself, Mr. Hench, as such a ceremony should surely be sanctified by the blessing of the Church. But married they are according to the law of the land, and I expect they will leave me now."
"Why should they?"
"Because Madame Alpenny will never allow them to live under the same roof as herself. She is a very determined woman, Mr. Hench. I shall be sorry to lose the company of the bridal pair," said poor Mrs. Tesk, wiping away a tear, "as I highly approve of their young affection. It's so romantic. Ah!" she rose suddenly and opened the door. "They have broken the news. Hark!"
Madame Alpenny certainly was not pleased. She stood at the head of the stairs anathematizing the bridal pair as they descended arm in arm. Zara was weeping and Bracken's stolid face wore an angry expression. Moved to the depths of her being, Mrs. Tesk was about to rush out and console them when her skirts were plucked by Hench.
"Don't say that I am here," he whispered, and the landlady nodded comprehendingly as she disappeared.
While Mrs. Tesk was accompanying Bracken and his wife to the door Madame Alpenny still stood at the top of the stairs raging wildly. She was fat and homely in her appearance, and still wore her eternal orange-spotted dress, bead mantle and picture hat. But furious anger made her look quite picturesque as she poured out a torrent of words, shaking her fists and with flashing eyes. "Never come near me again, you miserable girl!" she shouted after her daughter. "Ah, but what a wicked child you are to throw yourself away on a fool. As to that man Hench, who has bribed you into deceiving me, he shall suffer for his evil doings. Take my curse with you, Zara, and may you-----" Sheer wrath choked her further utterance, and perhaps the fact that the happy pair had stepped out of the front door. Even Atê cannot waste her fury on nothing, and Madame Alpenny looked very like Atê indeed.
Luckily the boarders were all away and the servants were downstairs, so there were no spectators of the scene but Hench and Mrs. Tesk. The landlady parted with Zara and Bracken quite tenderly, for their romance appealed to her ever-young heart. While she was dismissing them on the doorstep, with a blessing which she hoped would neutralize the maternal curse, Hench ran up the stairs and into the drawing-room as quickly as he could. Madame Alpenny had staggered into the same a few moments earlier, and was sobbing violently on the sofa when Owain entered and closed the door. At the sound of the closing she looked up, and her face became purple with rage when she saw who had disturbed her.
"You dare to come here, you--you--you?" she stormed, rising promptly and shaking her fist. "You who have ruined my hopes for Zara."
"As those hopes were connected with a possible marriage between myself and your daughter," said Owain suavely, "I told you long ago that they could never be realized."
"You told me. What do I care what you told me?" Madame Alpenny was in such a rage that she could scarcely get the words out. "And you smile, do you? Ah, yes, you can smile at my shame."
"Don't be a fool," said Hench brusquely. "Your daughter has married an honourable man, whom you ought to be proud of as your son-in-law."
"But I wanted you," sobbed Madame piteously, and suddenly passing from anger to pleading sorrow.
"I know, and I pointed out to you that the thing was not possible. Zara loves Bracken, and I have arranged for money to be given to them so that they can make a fresh start in life."
"Money; my money," moaned the old woman. "Your money! What do you mean by saying that?" Madame Alpenny dropped her handkerchief from her eyes and stood up with as great a dignity as her stout ungainly figure permitted. "Your money is mine, Monsieur. You owe it to me that you inherited the money."
"Indeed!" Hench trapped her at once. "So you admit your guilt."
"My guilt?"
"Yes. It was you who murdered my uncle."
"I?" Madame Alpenny stood stock still and stared hard. "It is a lie."
"It is the truth. You learned from my father how matters stood twenty years ago, and our conversation in this very room revived your memory when I mentioned the place where my father had passed his youth. You went down to see my Uncle Madoc and arranged with him that I should be brought to meet him in Parley Wood by means of that advertisement which you showed me. And----"
Madame Alpenny interrupted his flow of words by waving her fat hand for silence. "I admit all this, although I don't know how you found it out."
"Never mind how I found it out. You are guilty."
"What? You tell me a long story of what I have done and which I admit to be true. But you have said nothing which can prove that I murdered the man."
"I was coming to that when you interrupted me," said Hench calmly. "You knew that I would go to the meeting, although I was then ignorant of my relationship to Squire Evans. Therefore you travelled down to Cookley on the first of July and----"
"I never did; I never did," interrupted Madame Alpenny violently, but looking very anxious in spite of her denial.
"You did, and when you arrived at Cookley you went to the Gipsy Stile before I did to stab my uncle."
"Oh!" Madame Alpenny waved her arms grotesquely. "La! la! la! la! I murdered him, did I? And why should I murder him?"
"So as to place me in possession of the money," said Hench solemnly. "So as to implicate me in the death, as you knew that I would arrive to find the dead body of the man you had killed. In this way you hoped to force me to marry your daughter and handle my fortune."
Madame Alpenny sat down with a cool ironical air. "A very clever tale indeed, Monsieur. And who can prove its truth?"
"Two people at least. You were followed when you first went to Cookley to join my uncle in laying the trap by means of the advertisement; you were followed on the occasion of your second visit, when you killed him."
"Who followed me? Who saw me?"
"Simon Jedd, who is a page here, and his brother Peter, who is in the service of Mrs. Perage at Cookley."
"And how much have you paid them to tell this lie?"
"I have paid them nothing. They are voluntary witnesses. Come, Madame, it is useless for you to deny the truth."
"But I do deny it, see you!" she cried excitedly. "I deny it wholly and altogether. My first visit---ah, yes, I say that I did call on your uncle, and he did tell me about the advertisement, but----"
"Why did he put in that advertisement?" interrupted Owain sharply.
"He wished to see you before revealing himself as your uncle."
"He could have appointed the meeting to take place in his house. Why was it arranged to come off in Parley Wood?"
"There," said Madame Alpenny with candour, "I cannot help you. But that Monsieur Evans was strange--ah yes, he was dangerous. He told me that he would meet you at the Gipsy Stile, and took me there to show me the place. I went into the wood after I had left the big house."
"I am aware of that," said Hench, remembering what Peter had said. "Go on."
"You seem to know much," she sneered.
"Enough to get you arrested and tried, condemned and hanged," said Hench in a significant tone. "Go on, I tell you."
Madame Alpenny snarled, and her eyes glittered viciously. "Don't try to ride the tall horse over me, beast that you are. I am not afraid; no, I am not at all afraid. I do not know why your uncle arranged the meeting for the wood. All I had to do was to draw your attention to the advertisement, which I did. He wrote it out and put it in the journal. For all I know," went on the woman, more or less to herself, "this man wished to kill you, and chose a lonely place to do so."
"Why should he wish to kill me?"
"Because he hated your father and he hated you, Monsieur. He did not wish you to get the money. I did, because then you could marry Zara and I would be rich for the rest of my life."
"That means I would have been under your thumb."
"Ah, but no. Why should you be under my thumb? It was gratitude I looked for because I knew what would give you a large fortune. Your uncle would have given you enough to live on--perhaps two thousand a year."
"Why so, when he hated me?"
"Because I would have persuaded him. I told him about my daughter and how you loved her."
"I did not," said Hench quickly and with a frown. "You did; you did. And Monsieur Evans, he said that if he found you a good young man and better than your wicked father, whom your uncle hated, that he would allow you a good income as his heir. For that reason did I agree to him putting in the advertisement and bringing you to meet him in that solitary spot. But it was in my mind to tell you all when I came back."
"Why didn't you? It would have saved much trouble."
"Because if I had not consented your uncle would never have acknowledged you as his heir or allowed you anything. Then you could not have married Zara and have given me money as I desired. Monsieur Evans was a healthy man, and I saw he would live for many years."
"Therefore to get the money into your clutches at once you killed him."
"I did not. Who dares to say that I did?"
"Simon Jedd will dare for one, when I examine him, and Mr. Spruce has already accused you, for another."
Madame Alpenny jumped up in a fury. "Mistare Spruce!" she shouted, with a violent gesture. "That wicked beast! That evil one! He accuse me?"
"Of murdering my uncle? Yes. It is due to his information that I am here, as he can help me to prove your guilt."
"My guilt!" Madame Alpenny snapped her fingers, with a crimson face. "Oh, that for my guilt! I am innocent."
"Naturally you say so. But can you prove your innocence?"
"I can." She said this with so much assurance that Hench was staggered, and began to wonder if he had made a mistake. "See you, that Mistare Spruce make me confess to him and then betrays me to you. Beast!"
"You should not have trusted him," said Owain coldly. "Any one can see that he is a bad lot. I wonder that a woman of your penetration, Madame, behaved in so rash a manner."
"Rash! Ah, but I did not behave rash. He forced me to speak. He knew so much that I had to tell him all."
"About the murder?"
"I am innocent of the murder," cried the woman, throwing back her head in a fierce way. "Hear what I speak, and then you shall see. Mistare Spruce was in this room when I told how I met your father. Is it not so?"
"Yes," agreed Hench. "He heard the whole conversation."
"I said," went on Madame Alpenny, "that there was a mystery about you, and now you know what the mystery was. Mistare Spruce, wanting to make money out of you and thinking that I knew something--which I did--watched me as a cat a mouse. I went to Cookley saying that I had to go away to find an engagement for my daughter. Is it not so?" she asked again.
"Yes. You were away for a few days and so was Spruce."
"He followed me down to Cookley."
"Are you sure?" asked Hench, wondering why the two sharp Jedd boys had not also seen the Nut.
"He confessed to me. He saw me enter the Grange; he saw me come out and go into the wood to meet Monsieur Evans at the Gipsy Stile. He stole after me and listened. You understand? He listened and learned about the property coming to you; about the advertisement; about my desire that you should marry my daughter Zara."
"Well?" asked Owain, when she stopped for want of breath.
"Well,"--she made a dramatic gesture,--"and what follows. He said nothing, but he knew the paper in which the advertisement appeared--Monsieur Evans mentioned it at the stile--and learned about the meeting. He still said nothing, but after the tale of the murder appears in the paper he comes to me."
"Yes? To accuse you; to blackmail you?"
"Ah, but no. He said nothing of me being guilty. He declared that you went down to Cookley to meet your uncle."
"How did he know?"
"I cannot say. It was, perhaps, what you call a pot-shot. But he says you are the guilty person and that he will denounce you unless I confess all. I tell him all, as I did not wish you to be arrested, and Mistare Spruce said that he would wait until you married Zara before speaking. Then he expected me to get you to give him two thousand a year for ever."
Hench nodded. "Quite so. That is the price he asked for betraying you. And why did he alter his arrangements?"
"He grew weary, and then that Bracken--the pig who stole my daughter--told him that he loved Zara and would marry her, as she loved him. And, mark you, Mistare Spruce still says nothing to me. Oh, no. He goes down to you and declares that I am guilty, as only in that way could he get the money. Do you think, Monsieur, that I am blind? Ah, but no. I see it all. You wish your name to be cleared, and you are helped by Mistare Spruce to accuse me. But it is a lie--a lie--a lie!" She rose to stamp furiously. "I am as innocent as you are guilty. You murdered Monsieur Evans to get the money."
"Well," said Hench, with a shrug, "it's not much use my denying that I did, as you can only save yourself by believing that I struck the blow. You had a strong case against me," ended Hench, with emphasis. "But now that Spruce has told his story, these Jedd boys who watched you on the night of the murder can prove you to be the assassin."
"Ah," sneered Madame Alpenny contemptuously, "it is that silly, insolent, ugly page who accuses me?"
"He has not done so yet, but he will when I see him, if what Spruce says is true; and true, Madame, I believe it to be."
"Pfui!" She snapped her fingers again. "I did not go to Cookley on that night."
"Can you prove that?"
Madame Alpenny looked somewhat disconcerted; then a thought seemed to strike her and she burst into a violent rage. "Ah, but you dare to ask me that when you arranged, to save yourself, that I should go to Hampstead on the night."
"Go to Hampstead? What are you talking about?"
"Your wickedness!" vociferated the woman, beside herself with fury. "I received a letter on the morning of the first of July, asking me to meet the writer at the Ponds in Hampstead, as I would then be told how to get the money of your uncle at once. It was six o'clock I was to meet this person, and----"
"Who was the person?"
"There was no name signed to the letter, as you well know who wrote it," cried Madame Alpenny indignantly. "And it said also that if the person who wrote was not there I was to wait if it was two or three hours. I go"--she spoke dramatically, in the present tense--"I find no one. I wait and wait and wait; hour and hour and hour I wait. After ten o'clock--yes, and nearer eleven, if I remember--I come back disappointed to this place. I hear no more of the letter or of the person. But you see that I am innocent. Could I be in two places at once, I ask you, Monsieur?"
"No. But have you any witness to prove that you were at Hampstead?"
"No," said Madame Alpenny, in her turn, and disconcerted again as she was quite sharp enough to see the flaw in her story. "I cannot bring any one to prove I was at Hampstead. But I was----I was----I was."
"Show me the letter."
"I have not got it. I tore it up and so made a mistake."
"You did," said Hench coolly, and not believing a word of her tale. "All the worse for you, Madame. Well"--he rose and took up his hat--"it only remains for me to go to the police and tell them everything."
If Hench thought that this statement would frighten the woman, he was never more mistaken in his life. She snapped her fingers right under his nose. "Go! Go! Go!" she cried. "You have robbed me of my daughter by giving money to that fool to marry her; now you would rob me of my liberty. I defy you. I care not for the police, nor for you, nor for anything."
"Very good." Hench walked towards the door. "If you had behaved in a different spirit I would have tried to arrange matters differently for your daughter's sake. As it is you must take the consequence. To clear my own character, you can understand----"
"Oh, yes, I well understand, Monsieur. You murdered your uncle; you wrote that letter asking me to leave this house, so that I could be unable to explain where I was, and now you accuse me at the bidding of Mistare Spruce. I see it all, and I defy you; I spit upon you; I----" Here Hench, unable to stand any more of her savage anger, left the room, while she still raged.
The young man descended the stairs with the determination to go as soon as possible to the police-office and tell his tale. If he did not, the chances were that Madame Alpenny would run away, although he admitted to himself that her speech was not that of a frightened person. But when he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Mrs. Tesk at the door of her sanctum, he remembered that Simon Jedd had still to be examined, and walked up to the landlady.
"Where is Bottles?" he asked abruptly.
"Dismissed from my employment!" was the unexpected reply.
"Dismissed! His brother, who is a page at Mrs. Perage's, did not tell me so."
"Simon did not wish his brother to know," said Mrs. Tesk quietly, "as he was ashamed, very naturally."
"Ashamed of what?"
"Of being dismissed for theft."
"Come, come, Mrs. Tesk, I can't believe that Bottles is a thief."
"He is!" insisted the ex-school-mistress, colouring. "Sorry as I am to say so, Mr. Hench. Several small articles have been missing lately, and amongst them a valuable carving-knife with a horn handle, which I inherited from my grandmother. So you see----"
"A horn-handled carving-knife!" echoed Hench with a start, and remembered clearly that such a weapon had been used to stab Madoc Evans. "Can you swear that the boy took it?"
"I accused him of stealing the knife and several other small articles. He turned red, but he did not deny his guilt. Out of consideration for his hard-working mother, I did not prosecute him, but sent him away, lest he should contaminate Amelia and the other servants."
"Where is he now?"
"Staying with Mrs. Jedd, his mother. As you know, she is the wardrobe mistress at the Bijou Music-hall."
"Thank you. I'll go and see Bottles. I can't believe that such an honest lad is guilty." And Hench turned on his heel.
"Wait, sir. You do not blame me?"
"Oh, no. If he did not deny your accusation, you acted rightly. But there must be some explanation of this. What it is I go to find out."
Mrs. Tesk would have detained him to ask questions concerning Madame Alpenny's frame of mind, but Hench refused to stay. He was now beginning to wonder if the Hungarian lady really was guilty. It seemed as if Bottles was the culprit, that is if he had really stolen the carving-knife. With such a weapon the crime had certainly been committed.
CHAPTER XX
REAPING THE WHIRLWIND
The weather was uncommonly hot. For weeks the sun had been blazing in a cloudless sky, as it did in the tropics, and the earth was parched for want of rain. Everywhere it was seamed and cracked; everywhere the grass was brown and the trees were wilted, while the air was like the thrice-heated breath of a furnace. Animals and human beings went languidly about their business and longed all day for the cool night hours. Not that it was particularly cool even when the twilight came, but it was something to escape the pitiless blue sky and the burning sun. And on this particular evening a hot wind rose with unexpected suddenness to make matters worse. It raised clouds of dust, it rattled the dry foliage in Parley Wood, and brought no sense of relief to the worn and weary. As people are never really prepared for an unusually hot season in England, the Cookley villagers found this equatorial summer excessively trying and disagreeable.
Spruce enjoyed the sultry weather personally, as he loved warmth with all the affection of a cat, and the worst heat never caused him any discomfort. After dining excellently at seven o'clock, he now sat by the open window of his sitting-room at the Bull Inn, enjoying a cup of fragrant coffee and as many cigarettes as he could get through. Of course, he was in accurate evening dress, as he always loved to be clothed appropriately according to the hour of the day. No one was more of a slave to social observances than the Nut, for he had the petty soul of a Beau Brummel. A small table stood before him, and he passed the time in trying new card-tricks, which might be useful some day, should he again become hard up. Not that Spruce always played false to make money, since he was a cheat by instinct. To get the better of any one by trickery was pleasant, as it involved danger, which was exciting, and gave him an agreeable feeling of superiority because of his wonderful dexterity. So he shuffled and cut and dealt; slipped cards up his sleeve and out again; diddled an imaginary opponent by sleight of hand, and in every way trained himself to cheating as though it were a fine art. Most card-lovers when alone play Patience. Spruce preferred to prepare himself for future campaigns.
Every now and then he cast a disdainful look round the shabby old room, which was by no means to his taste. Undoubtedly the apartment was ancient and time-worn, containing too much furniture, and giving little gratification to the eye. But Time had mellowed the whole into pleasing, sober colours, and less fastidious people would have been delighted with the reposeful look of things. The atmosphere was quite monastic. But Spruce admired spacious chambers filled with gilded furniture and blazing with lights. He had the tastes of Louis XIV., and Versailles was his idea of a dwelling house. When he was in possession of the two thousand a year, he intended to live in great luxury, but meanwhile contented himself with this dingy habitation. The window at which he was seated looked out on to a small garden surrounded by a low wall beyond which stretched fields right up to the grey churchyard. The sill of the window was so low that the Nut could easily have vaulted over it into the pleasant garden. But not having any love for Nature, he preferred to stay where he was playing cards, and dreaming of luxurious years, which were as he thought--truly coming to him.
While Spruce was thus occupied, the landlady of the inn knocked at the door to announce that Mr. Hench and Mr. Vane wished to see him. The Nut at once ordered them to be admitted, never doubting but what they were coming to conclude the matter of his blackmail. He rose to greet them pleasantly, as if he was the most honest person in the world, and when the door was closed signed that they should be seated. He resumed his post near the window, and in that way obtained a good view of their faces, while his own was in the shadow. As it was only half-past eight o'clock, the twilight was yet luminous enough to see very plainly, and although Spruce offered to ring for lights, Hench signified that it was not necessary. Then the host offered cigarettes and drinks, both of which were curtly refused.
"You are uncommonly rude," said the Nut, much nettled. "When you look up a man you might be civil."
"That depends very much on the man," said Vane coolly. "Neither Hench nor myself were ever friends of yours, Spruce."
"Oh, I don't want your friendship. After all, you are a dull couple."
"But honest," said Hench with emphasis.
"Honesty implies dullness. It takes a clever man to sin."
"What a brilliant person you must be, then."
"That's sarcastic, I suppose." Spruce was not at all offended, but accepted the observation as a tribute to his powers. "But I don't mind. On the whole, I am clever enough to get two thousand a year."
"You haven't earned it yet," snapped Vane with a look of dislike.
Spruce started. "Ah, play fair, whatever you do," he protested. "Hench promised me two thousand a year if I told him about that old woman. You heard him, Vane."
"I heard Hench promise to give you that income if the crime was brought home to Madame Alpenny, and his character cleared," said Vane dryly. "There is a difference between telling a thing and proving a thing."
"I suppose that means Madame Alpenny denies her guilt?" said the Nut, turning to the other man. "It is useless for her to do so, as Simon can prove it."
"Oh, I have seen Simon and have brought him down with me," said Hench quietly. "In fact, he is waiting outside to come in when called."
"Then call him at once," said Spruce briskly. "I want to get this business completed and see the last of you. I hate bores."
"Oh, you'll see the last of us sooner than you expect," said Vane grimly.
"Good! You will confer a favour on me when you do cut." Spruce looked round again at Owain. "So you saw Madame Alpenny?"
"Yesterday, at The Home of the Muses. I went up to town especially to see her, as you know."
"And she----"
"She denies that she was in Cookley on the night when my uncle was killed. I was given to understand by her that an anonymous letter summoned her to the Hampstead Ponds to meet some one."
"For what purpose?"
"The letter said that the person who wrote it--there was no name, remember--declared that information would be given to enable her to get the money at once from my uncle."
"What money?"
"My property, I presume, for which she was scheming."
"Well, and did Madame Alpenny see this person?"
"No. She went to Hampstead about six and returned home after ten."
"Quite time enough for her to travel to Cookley and back in order to commit the murder," said Spruce coolly. "Did you see the letter?"
"No. She had torn it up."
"Fudge!" cried the Nut inelegantly. "There never was such a letter. She invented that yarn so as to account for her presence elsewhere on the night of the crime. She did murder Squire Evans. You heard what Peter said?"
"Oh, yes. And I have heard what Simon said. I am bound to say," said Hench with emphasis, "that his story is much the same."
"Well then, with two witnesses, what more proof do you want of the woman's guilt?" demanded Spruce indignantly. "I fancy I have earned my money. What do you say, Vane?"
"I say we had better have Simon in and hear his story," retorted the barrister dryly. "It is just as well to get everything made quite plain."
"So I think," declared the Nut briskly. "Call him in, Hench."
With great calmness the young man did so, not at all disturbed by the imperious tone in which the order was given. This was Spruce's little hour of triumph, so both the visitors allowed him to control the situation while he was able. Bottles made his appearance quickly, and cap in hand stood before the closed door, waiting to be interrogated. With his freckled face and red hair he looked anything but prepossessing. At least he did not in the Nut's eyes, who failed to observe the good-humoured expression and intelligent gaze of the lad, which were worth much more than mere animal comeliness.
Spruce, in the attitude of an examining judge, surveyed the boy superciliously and immediately began to question him. "You are to tell these gentlemen what you told me," he commanded. "Now, on the first of July you followed Madame Alpenny to the Liverpool Street Station?"
"Yes, sir. She caught the five o'clock train to this place."
"And you followed?"
"I did, sir. I wished to see what her game was."
"One moment," interpolated Hench at this remark. "I may mention that I also came to Cookley on that night by that train. I had an idea that Madame Alpenny was at my elbow. In fact, I fancied that I caught a glimpse of her in the crowd at Liverpool Street Station. But I thought that I was mistaken."
"You wasn't mistaken, sir," said Bottles calmly.
"She was in the crowd, sure enough, and went down by that train. So did you, sir, for I saw you, and dodged."
"Good!" said Spruce, rubbing his hands. "This unsolicited testimony of yours, Hench, emphasizes the fact of the woman's guilt. Go on, Simon."
"The train got here at half-past six. I had already sent a telegram to my brother saying that Madame was coming, and telling him to meet the train and watch. He was on the Cookley platform, sure enough, but I hadn't any time to speak to him, having to keep my eye on Madame Alpenny. She didn't go through the village street, but across the fields to the churchyard and then by the path to Parley Wood. I followed, hiding as often as I could."
"She didn't see you, then?" inquired Vane idly.
"No, sir. I was much too fly. Peter, he came also at a distance, and hid in the churchyard, while I follered Madame Alpenny into the wood. She made for the Gipsy Stile."
"How did you know where that was?" inquired Hench.
"Why, sir," said the boy, greatly surprised, "of course I was there before when she and the old cove talked together about the advertisement."
"Yes! Yes! I understand."
"And, of course," said Spruce smoothly, "he was following Madame, who also knew the appointed meeting place. Well, Simon?"
"She didn't stay at the stile, but hid in the wood. I hid near her and kept my eyes on her, as there was plenty of light."
"Of course. It was not late and the Gipsy Stile is in a clearing," explained the Nut, waving his hand. "Go on, boy."
"After a long time--I couldn't say how long, as I hadn't a watch--the old cove came to the stile. Madame Alpenny came to meet him and talked to him for a time, and----"
"Did she raise her veil?" asked Hench quickly.
"No, sir. She spoke for a few minutes, and I could see as she'd something in her right hand. What it was I don't know. Then she suddenly lifted her arm and stabbed the old gentleman, who fell without a cry. As soon as she made sure he was dead, she cut. My brother saw her go through the churchyard."
Vane nodded. "On her way to the station. I remember. Then you came out of the wood, to meet your brother near the church, and made him swear not to say a single word."
"What else could I do, sir?" protested Bottles, distressed. "I might have got into a row with the police. That is why I said nothing."
"Very wise of you," said Spruce approvingly, then turned to the others. "Well, gentlemen, I think the case is clear. Madame Alpenny murdered Squire Evans, and her guilt is proved by Simon here, who saw the crime committed, and by Peter, who saw her in the vicinity, even though she swears that she was at Hampstead. What more proof do you want?"
"None," said Hench calmly. "Undoubtedly my uncle was murdered by--some one dressed as Madame Alpenny!"
Spruce gave a gasp and rose as if moved by springs.
"What do you mean by saying that, may I ask?" he demanded in a choked voice.
"I mean that you murdered Madoc Evans and that Bottles here can prove it."
"A lie! A wicked, false lie!" gasped the Nut, who became deadly pale.
Vane chuckled; tense as the situation was, he chuckled. "You have been weaving a rope for your own neck all this time, Spruce," he remarked grimly.
"Such an accusation is ridiculous!" said the other, with an attempt at dignity. "Is it likely that I would dress up as a woman to----"
"You were always good in amateur theatricals," said Vane remorselessly. "And you would do anything to get the two thousand a year, which, by the way, you are not likely to enjoy."
"My enemy speaks," said Spruce dramatically. "It's one thing to say a thing and another thing to prove a thing."
"You are quite epigrammatic!" sneered the barrister.
"Hush, Jim, and let the boy speak. He can prove that Spruce is guilty."
"I just can," said Bottles promptly, and greatly enjoying his rôle of detective. "For I've watched you, Mr. Spruce, for ever so long. I watched Madame Alpenny first, thinking she meant harm to Mr. Hench."
"Why should she have meant harm?" asked Vane quickly, for he was not so well acquainted with the story as his friend.
"Oh, she knew something about him, and said that he was a mystery. I heard her talking to Miss Zara, and then I heard something of the talk in the drawingroom, when she said as she knowed Mr. Hench's father. She asked me for an A.B.C., too, she did, and left it open on the table. I looked and saw on the page the timetable for Cookley. I didn't know she was going there, as other time-tables were on the page, but I thought it was queer seeing Cookley, considering that my brother was down here with Mrs. Perage."
"It's all rubbish, of course," said Spruce, with a kind of hysterical cackle. "But what did you do then?"
"I watched. When she went away I got my holiday and follered. She did go to Cookley, and so did you, Mr. Spruce."
"It's a lie, you imp. I didn't!"
"You did!" insisted the lad. "And it was your follering Madame Alpenny as made me watch you. I knowed as you wasn't up to any good. Me and Simon follered you both, and when Madame Alpenny went into the Grange you hung about in the midst of the trees waiting for her. Then you follered her when she went into the wood to see the old cove at that stile, and heard everything."
"Admitting all this," said Spruce, appealing to the two men, "how does it connect me with the murder and this masquerade, which is so ridiculous?"
"Oh, I'll connect you, right enough," said Bottles tartly. "Don't you make any mistake, sir. I ain't read detective stories for nothing. When you came back I watched you and I watched Madame. Then you made friends with the manager of the Bijou Music-hall,"
"I was friends with him long before!" declared Spruce angrily, and hoping against hope that the boy would fail to substantiate his accusation. "Ah, but you became better friends," said Bottles persistently, "and got behind the scenes. Then you were agreeable to mother and asked to look over the theatrical properties. I didn't know what you was after until mother said as you'd asked her for a red wig to play in some theatricals. Then I guessed as you wanted to imitate Madame, who has hair as red as mine. I was sure when you brought mother some orange-spotted black cloth to make a dress and borrowed a bead mantle and a flopping hat off her."
"I did not. You are a brazen liar!"
"Liar yourself, sir! Mother can prove the truth of everything I say. You paid her well for the things, I don't deny. But mother wouldn't have taken a penny if she knowed what you was after. She never did know, as there was no mention of Madame Alpenny's dress, or of Madame, in the papers reporting the murder. Only when Mr. Hench come yesterday did I take him to mother and tell her all. She was horrified, for mother is a good sort, and told him what I am telling you. I knowed it all before."
"The woman is a liar, as the boy is," said Spruce, licking his lips, which were very white and dry.
"Shut up, Bottles!" said Hench, as the boy was about to make an angry response. "Let me say the rest. Bottles watched you leave the house dressed as Madame Alpenny, Spruce----"
"It was Madame Alpenny!" insisted the Nut, fighting desperately.
"It wasn't!" cried Simon, who could not be suppressed. "She'd gone to Hampstead later, after you went, and I let her out. No, I'm talking wrong. I saw her leave the house after four, and she said as she'd an appointment at Hampstead, and wouldn't be back till late. She come back very late, and so did I, because I was follering you."
"The boy equivocates, you see," mumbled Spruce.
"First one thing, then another."
"I think his evidence is very clear, on the whole," declared Vane calmly.
"So do I," said Hench. "And after Madame Alpenny went, you came out, Spruce, dressed in the same way. Bottles, knowing how you got the clothes from his mother, the wardrobe mistress at the Bijou, and knowing that Madame Alpenny had already left the house, guessed it was you in disguise. He snatched up his cap and followed, catching the five o'clock train, as you did. The rest you know. You are the guilty man."
"He is!" said Bottles with relish. "And he gave back the things to mother saying as the amateur theatricals had been quite a success."
"As he hoped to make two thousand a year, I presume they were!" said Vane in a cruel voice. "Well, Spruce, what have you to say before being arrested?"
"Arrested!" Spruce gave a scream like a woman, and he dropped limply into his chair, white-faced and aghast. "What for?"
"For the murder of Squire Evans."
"No! No!" He thrust out his hands as if warding off a blow. "I did not kill him. You cannot bring the crime home to me."
"The evidence you have heard brings the crime home to you only too positively," said Hench, with a certain pity in his voice, for the sudden collapse of the man was dreadful. "Peter can prove that you were mixed up in the matter, and Mrs. Jedd can prove that you borrowed the clothes, having the orange-spotted dress made after the style of that worn by Madame Alpenny. And Simon can prove the murder. He saw you kill the man."
"No! No! No!"
"May I die if I didn't!" swore Bottles, who was looking nervous, for the scene shook him considerably, since he was only a boy.
"It was a mean, sordid murder, committed for the sake of gain," said Vane.
"Don't kick the man when he is down, Jim," said Hench, pityingly.
"Why not? He was insolent enough while he was up. And to kill an old man of whom he knew nothing! Owain, it was beastly. I hope I'm as decent a chap as any, but my gorge rises at the sight of this creature."
What little pride remained in Spruce rose at these words. He sprang to his feet and shook his fist wildly in the air. "I shall get off!" he screamed. "I can prove my innocence!"
"Do so to the detective," said Hench, wishing to end the scene.
"A detective! a detective!" Spruce clutched his throat as if to tear away the rope he was doomed to. "You won't--you won't----" His voice failed.
"I saw the authorities and procured a warrant before leaving London. Every moment I expect the detective in to execute it."
"No! No! No!" Spruce flung himself on his knees. "Dear Hench, good Hench, you won't allow me to be hanged? I don't want the money; I'll give it up. Let me get away; let me hide."
"Did you murder my uncle?"
"Yes! Yes!" Spruce's cheeks were streaming with tears and his teeth were chattering. "It's all true. I acknowledge that I killed him to get the money. But I am sorry--really and truly I am sorry. Don't give me up--don't----"
"Get up," cried Vane in disgust, "and take your gruel like a man."
"Bottles, see if the policeman is there," ordered Hench, and Bottles, glad to escape from the scene, fled willingly.
"No!" Spruce rose from grovelling on the ground, and from a tearful martyr was suddenly changed into a wild beast. His lips curled, showing his teeth. He drew back towards the window, and his eyes flashed fire. If he had had a weapon in his hand there is no doubt he would have killed both the men. "You shan't catch me, hounds that you are. I shall escape; I shall----"
"Look out, Owain, he's trying for the window!"
But Vane's warning came too late. With a surprising spring, the miserable little creature flung himself through the window into the garden. Before the two men could recover from their surprise he was over the low garden wall and racing for the churchyard. Terror winged his feet, and he flew onward like an arrow from the bow. Hench leaped after him immediately, and followed close behind him, while Vane rushed out to see if the police had arrived with the warrant. Two men were there in plain clothes, with a village constable, and in a few hurried words the barrister related how the man wanted had escaped. With the rapidity of lightning the news spread, and in a wonderfully short space of time half the village, headed by the police, Vane and Bottles, were making for the churchyard. Far ahead they could see Hench running swiftly through the twilight, but of the fugitive they could see no trace.
It was no wonder that the pursuers could not gain a glimpse of their wretched quarry, for Spruce flew on with amazing speed. Behind him were the dogs of justice, and he knew that once they pulled him down all that remained for him to do was to face the death he had earned by his cowardly crime. But he was not a man, only a creeping crawling thing saturated with evil, a bird of prey, a snarling tiger--and he did not wish to receive the reward of his wickedness. Instinctively he made for the wood wherein his crime had been committed. Once in its dark recesses he hoped to remain hidden until he could escape over seas. Behind him he caught sight of Hench, and longed to have a knife or revolver to shoot or stab the man he hated. Gasping, and streaming with perspiration, he plunged into the wood, broke from the path which led to the Gipsy Stile, and struggled through the dry, rustling undergrowth. They would never catch him, he swore, and even as he did the miserable creature heard the beat of Owain's feet in pursuit.
A thought struck him. The wood was dry, and would burn like tinder. Hench, being in the wood and unprepared, would be probably burnt to death. Without thinking of the danger to himself in his mad fury--only resolved to make an end to Owain and to place a blazing screen between himself and his pursuers---Spruce took out a silver box and struck a match. Then another, and another, until all round him, in the grass and the moss and the undergrowth, were stars of fire. The stars grew into blazing suns, as the flames caught the tall, dry trees and roared upward. With inconceivable rapidity the fire spread, and now it was time for Spruce to fly from the death he had created. As he plunged onward he came suddenly into the open, and fell, catching his foot in a fallen tree-trunk. He tried to rise and could not, as his ankle was twisted. So he lay shrieking on the verge of a fiery furnace, unable to move, and condemned by his own evil act to a far more terrible death than that which he would have suffered at the hands of the law. Shouting for help, and only anxious now to escape the immediate doom, Spruce heard the cries of the villagers, when they saw the tall columns of flame rising from the wood. Hench was lunging here and there amidst the undergrowth seeking for Spruce, and continued to do so until a barrier of flame cut him off from further search. Before that terrible heat he was forced to retreat, and made for the pathway so as to get back into the open. Vane's voice, high, clamorous and clear, could be heard shouting for him, and in the roar of the flames Hench heard the shrieking of the wretched creature who had lighted the funeral pyre of himself. He made for the direction whence the cries came, as they appeared to be near at hand. Fighting the flames, he stumbled into the open space round the Gipsy Stile and saw Spruce writhing on the edge of the clearing under a canopy of fire. It blazed overhead; it ran along the moss and grass, licking up everything with greedy avidity; and all round the wood was like a seven-times heated furnace.
"Save me; save me!" yelled Spruce, seeing his enemy.
Wicked as the creature was, Owain did his best. He ran towards the spot where Spruce lay in agony, and tried to reach him. But the flames came out with a gust of the hot dry wind, which now was blowing furiously, and the young man fell back, shielding his face with his arms. When he removed them he heard a wild cry of agony, and saw a tall bulky tree falling slowly down. Spruce was beneath it, and saw its gradual descent. He cried to Hench for help; he cried to God for pardon; but the tree dropped inch by inch in the midst of that hell until it suddenly crashed down on the doomed man. Then there was silence, save for the roar of the flames rejoicing over their prey.
Hench turned and fled, skirting the flaming trees and getting round to where the police and villagers were by slipping along the park wall. Blackened and burnt, dizzy and faint, he staggered into the open space, where all watched the great bonfire. Vane rushed forward and caught him in his arms.
"Are you hurt--are you hurt?"
"No. I'm all right. But Spruce----!" He gasped at the memory of the horror.
"My man," said the police officer. "What of him?"
"Dead!" breathed Hench faintly, and then fell unconscious to the ground, while Parley Wood, with a noise like the roaring of many waters, vanished for ever in flames and smoke.
CHAPTER XXI
THE SUNSHINE OF LIFE
The discovery that Spruce was the murderer of Squire Evans, the burning of Parley Wood, and the consequent death of the criminal, were wholly unexpected events. They descended on the Cookley villagers like so many bolts from the blue, and naturally caused a very great commotion. So far as the woodland was concerned, nothing remained but a vast area of grey ashes, wherein multitudinous smouldering stumps pricked up here and there. Luckily the trees of the Grange park were untouched, as the fire had not reached across the considerable space which, like a wide roadway, divided Hench's property from the miniature forest. Also, the violent wind blowing from the south had swept the flames northward, long-side the brick wall girdling the demesne. But considerable damage had been wrought, as Parley Wood was dear to many artists, and they, as well as the villagers, lamented the blotting out of this beauty-spot. But, as some people said, perhaps it was just as well, since the murder of Madoc Evans had given the wood an evil reputation. These philosophical individuals, however, were in the minority.
Under the huge tree-trunk which had crushed him to death the body of Cuthbert Spruce was found, burnt and disfigured almost beyond recognition. But there was not the least difficulty in identifying the remains of the wretched man, and he was duly buried in Cookley churchyard. A large number of morbid sight-seers were attracted to the ceremony, and there was much talk about the extraordinary events which had led to his guilt being proved. Hench, naturally enough, was anxious that the whole miserable story should be kept from the public, but this was not possible. The Inspector who had been charged with the arrest of Spruce advised the young man--for the clearing of his own character--to allow all facts to become known. Therefore the newspapers were filled with true accounts of all that had happened in connection with the affair, from the time of his early conversation with Madame Alpenny down to the moment when he staggered out of Parley Wood to fall unconscious at Vane's feet. Owain was considerably shaken by what he had undergone, both physically and mentally, so it was natural that he should take some days to recover. He was burnt and bruised; very much horrified by the appalling death of his old schoolfellow; and greatly disturbed by the enforced publicity of the whole dreadful business. It was fortunate that Mrs. Perage was at hand to look after him, as she proved to be a very dragon to guard the broken man from the curiosity of the public. Vane brought Hench to the old lady's house, and there he remained in bed for quite a week to be nursed back to health and strength by Gwen. Save the Inspector, who advised him to make the facts of the case known to the world, he saw no one but the old lady and the young one. Not even Jim Vane was permitted to interview him.
The result of this judicious treatment on the part of Mrs. Perage was obvious, for while the excitement was going on Hench remained secluded in his sick-room, and was not worried with questions. By the time he was able to get up, healed of his hurts and much calmer in mind, the worst was over. Spruce lay in the churchyard, the newspapers had said all they could say about the matter, and the nine days' wonder of the whole awful business had come to an end. It only remained for Owain to fulfil his promise to the Brackens; to reward the Jedd boys for the clever way in which they had saved him; to take formal possession of his property, and to marry his cousin. Then he could begin a new life, and all the old troubles would be forgotten. Of course it required decision and strength to deal with such matters, but, thanks to Gwen's careful nursing, Owain was quite able to attend to the business. With his descent into the drawing-room, wholly cured at the end of nine days, the 'nine days' wonder came to a termination.
"Now we must sweep up the fragments," said Hench, who was rapidly recovering his strength, although he still looked somewhat pale.
"Quite so," agreed Mrs. Perage, who looked more grim and masculine than ever. "I have asked the fragments to come here to-day for the sweeping."
"What do you mean?"
"My meaning is plain enough, young man!" she replied vigorously. "I want all this disagreeable business concluded, so that it will not be necessary to re-open it again. Then, as soon as possible, you must arrange about getting the property, marry Gwen, and go for a year's tour in Europe, or in the States, if you like. I don't care where you go, so long as you get away."
"I don't know if Owain is strong enough to travel yet," said Gwen, who was sitting beside the sofa holding her lover's hand.
"Fudge!" retorted Mrs. Perage, standing on the hearthrug in quite a manly attitude, with her hands behind her back. "Don't make a mollycoddle of the fellow, you silly girl. While he remains here, everything will remind him of the horrors which have taken place. Let him travel to forget, and then he can return to take up his work as the Squire of Cookley. You must go with him, as he is sure to be miserable without you."
"That is very certain!" said Hench, smiling.
"Well, then," cried Mrs. Perage argumentatively, "so young a girl can't go with you as a chaperon, can she? Marry her in a couple of weeks and then no one can say a word, even if you take her to the North Pole."
"But my father has not been dead very long," murmured Gwen nervously.
"My dear, don't be a fool. God forbid that I should say a word against your father, who has paid for his foolishness. But you owe him nothing and you never got on with him. Then why sacrifice yourself to a feeling which does not exist? Pfui!" Mrs. Perage rubbed her nose. "Can't you understand that I am anxious to see the backs of you two nuisances? I've had quite enough bother with you as it is."
Hench laughed outright, knowing that Mrs. Perage looked upon himself and Gwen as her own children. "You wouldn't be happy without us," he said gaily. "You would have no one to scold."
"Oh, there's always Jim Vane, at a pinch," said Mrs. Perage good-humouredly. "But I daresay I shall miss you two brats. Babies, that's what you are. As to scolding, there will be plenty of that when you return. You are the Lord of the Manor, but I have much property in Cookley also, so there will be ample for us to fight about. I want my own way and so do you. Hum!" Mrs. Perage rubbed her hands. "There are lively times ahead."
Both the young people looked at the tall, grim old Amazon with great affection, as they recognized how much they owed her. Gwen particularly loved her, as she had brought common-sense to bear on the estrangement after the fatal interview in the churchyard with Madame Alpenny. But that Mrs. Perage had acted so vigorously, Gwen saw plainly enough that she and Owain might never have entirely understood one another. Now they did, especially since the nine days' nursing had drawn them together more rapidly. Never did a couple arrange to enter into the bonds of matrimony with such an excellent knowledge of each other's character. Mrs. Perage guessed what was passing in the girl's mind and nodded approvingly.
"Trouble brings people together very quickly," she said briskly. "Time is nothing and opportunity is everything. Owain has saved your life; carefully nursed him back to health, so you comprehend one another a thousand times better than if you had dawdled through a ten years' courtship. You are both decent, also, my dears; quite different to your fathers. It's the mothers' blood that tells, I expect. What do you say, Hench?"
"Oh, don't call him Hench," said Gwen, with a shudder. "Let us leave that false name behind with all the other trouble."
"Very good. What do you say, Evans?"
"I agree with you, Mrs. Perage. Gwen and I will get on capitally."
"You had better!" she threatened. "If I catch you beating her it's me you'll have to reckon with. Ha!" She glanced out of the window. "Here's Jim, the first of the fragments come to be swept into the dustbin of oblivion."
"I hope not," said Owain, laughing. "I wish Jim to remain my very good friend and be my best man."
"Of course he will be. And I will be the bridesmaid if Gwen is sensible enough to ask me."
"You shall do whatever you like at the wedding," said Gwen, also laughing, for she felt uncommonly happy.
"And afterwards also, my dear. I am fond of my own way; it's a great fault of mine. Jim,"--Vane entered as she spoke,--"here you are at last. There! I'm not fond of kisses. Go and talk to Evans yonder, and ask him if you can kiss Gwen."
"Oh!" said Gwen in alarm, whereat every one laughed.
"Don't be frightened, Miss Evans," said Vane, with a smile on his lean face. "I am quite sure that Owain yonder is now strong enough to punch my head if I take Aunt Emma's advice. Well, old chap, how goes it? You look much better and are quite a different man."
"I am, Jim. Hench has vanished for ever. Only Owain Evans remains."
"Well, I hope he'll be as good a chap as Hench was."
"Much better!" said Gwen resentfully. "I've improved him. He is no longer to be a wanderer, but intends to settle down with me as the Squire of the parish."
"After a year's travelling!" said Mrs. Perage sharply, and detailed her scheme to her nephew, who quite approved.
"Better be off with the old life, Owain, before you take on with the new," he said judicially. "Travel will heal all the old soreness, and will place a barrier between the disagreeable past and the pleasant future. Aunt Emma is a sensible woman."
"I always am!" said Aunt Emma. "Now, Jim, say what you have to say about this trouble, and let us bury the same for ever."
"There isn't much to say," said Vane carelessly. "The newspapers have dropped the matter, and everybody is forgetting the sensation. You won't be bothered with reporters or photographers when you come abroad, Owain. All the same, it is just as well that you are going away."
"What does the Inspector say about Bottles' share in the business?"
"He wasn't very pleased, and gave both Bottles and his brother a good talking to for having held their tongues for so long."
"I wonder why they did," murmured Mrs. Perage, rubbing her nose.
"My dear aunt, it was a game to both of them. Bottles having read detective tales was burning to be a Sexton Blake or a Sherlock Holmes. Only when he saw that miserable creature brought to book did the boy realize that his comedy had turned into real tragedy. I've brought him with me as you desired." Vane went to the door and beckoned to the lad, who entered bashfully, to look with adoring eyes on his hero. Hench called to him to come forward and shook him heartily by the hand, thanking him for his great services.
"Oh, it ain't nothing, sir," said Bottles, with a glowing face as crimson as his hair. "I'd do anything for you, as you've always been kind to me. And it's been a rattling good game, anyhow."
"A sadly serious game, Bottles, I fear."
"Yes, sir." The lad turned pale, shivered, and swallowed something with an effort, as he recalled the scene at the Bull Inn. "I didn't think it was so bad till I saw that little cove's face. It wasn't me who got him burnt, was it, sir?" he asked entreatingly.
"No! No! my boy. How he came to set the wood on fire, I don't know. Perhaps he struck a match to see his way in the darkness. But we will never know exactly what happened. You are not in any way to blame. What made you suspect him?"
"I didn't suspect him at first, sir. It was Madame I thought was the wrong 'un, as I told you. But when I saw that little cove sneaking after her down to Cookley I watched him as well as her. Then I found out he was talking a lot to mother and learned about the dress and the wig. After that, it wasn't hard to twig his game. But I never thought as he'd murder the old cove," said Bottles, shivering. "I turned sick in the wood when I saw that knife go in."
"Oh, by the way, Bottles, Mrs. Tesk told me that she dismissed you for stealing the knife."
"Yes, she did, sir. She said as I'd taken other things. But it was Amelia, I was engaged to, as stole the things, and I couldn't give her away. But I ain't going to make her my wife, sir," said Bottles seriously. "She ain't what she should be in the way of honesty."
"Did she steal the knife also?"
"No, I think Mr. Spruce stole that; took it off the table one day, and slipped it up his sleeve. He killed the old cove with it, as you know, and left it in the body. I knowed it was Mrs. Tesk's carving-knife all along."
"Does Mrs. Tesk know all this now?" asked Owain quickly. "Yes, sir. Mother went and told her, though I didn't wish to split on Amelia, who's only a gel after all. Mrs. Tesk said as she was sorry and asked me to go back, which I have done, sir."
"Well, then, Bottles, I am going to take you away from there and send you to school. Also I intend to settle a small income on your mother so that she need not work any more at the Bijou Music-hall. Finally, I will arrange with my lawyers to invest a sum of money for you so that you may be able to start life with something in hand. What do you wish to be?"
"I think if Bottles is wise he will be a detective," suggested Vane.
Bottles turned a shining face towards the speaker. "That's just what I want to be, sir. I can do it, I'm sure."
"I think so also," remarked Mrs. Perage gruffly. "But I hope Peter doesn't want to be one also. I can't have a juvenile Vidocq in my house."
"Oh, Peter ain't got no ambitions, mum," said Bottles contemptuously. "He's just as pleased as Punch to stay on with you and rise to be a butler and a footman."
"I'll look after Peter," said Mrs. Perage, nodding briskly. "He has also had a share in this business which has cleared up the mystery, and he deserves to be rewarded. But see here," she added sharply, "why didn't you tell the police immediately about the murder?"
"Because I wanted to see what that little cove would do, mum. I guessed from his disguise that he intended to make out that Madame Alpenny had murdered the old cove. But I didn't think he'd accuse Mr. Hench there."
"Mr. Evans, Simon," corrected Gwen quickly. "That is his real name."
"I think I shall always be Hench to Bottles," said Owain, laughing. "He can call me what he likes as he has done so much for me. But you would have saved a lot of trouble, Bottles, if you had told the police at once."
"So the Inspector said, sir," grinned the boy. "He gave me what-for, he did. But I wanted to see the game out, sir."
Owain saw that Bottles would persist in regarding the whole dreadful business as a game, in spite of its terrible termination, so he left the subject alone. "But you might have guessed, my detective friend, that Spruce would accuse me, as he wanted to get my money. He committed the murder to trap me."
"I thought he'd do that through Madame Alpenny when you married Miss Zara," was the boy's reply, promptly given. "As you'd never have liked your mother-in-law to be hanged. You didn't mind my giving the address I got from Peter to Madame Alpenny and the little cove, did you, sir?"
"I did when I was in the dark. But now I see that you did so deliberately."
"It was part of the game," persisted Bottles coolly. "And as the little cove had gone so far, I knew he'd go further. If I hadn't told him and Madame of your address they might have asked the police where you were."
"That suggestion doesn't do credit to your detective acumen, Bottles. Had either of the two brought the police into the matter, they would not have been able to get the expected money. Spruce was playing the blackmail game."
"I see, sir." Bottles rubbed his red head. "Well, I've got something to learn yet, I expect, as a 'tec, and I ain't above learning. But thank you for helping me, sir, and for helping mother. She's a good one, is mother, and gave me such a talking for not having spoke out before."
"Between the Inspector and your mother, I daresay you have had a bad time, Bottles," said Vane idly.
"You bet I have, sir. But it don't matter. I've enjoyed myself, I have, in pulling the strings."