from poverty villa, with its guilty occupant, paul wandered through the village, into the neighbourhood of the herne arms. a crowd of people, more or less excited, filled the tap-room of the inn, and the space before it. many were drinking ale at the bar, others idled outside in the street, and all were vigorously discussing the tragedy and surmising as to who was the criminal. some hinted at lovel, a known admirer of the dead girl; others boldly accused a nameless tramp of the crime, and declared that robbery was the motive for its committal; but no one had the courage or the fancy to hint at the possible guilt of the drunken father. such an idea, owing to the relationship, was too monstrous to be entertained even by the most imaginative.
paul, with unusual caution--for ordinarily he was an impulsive man--said nothing, but wandered from group to group, gathering opinions but offering none in exchange. there was no need for him to conjecture the name of the assassin. he knew that dr. lester had committed the crime, and that before twelve hours elapsed he would be arraigned on circumstantial evidence; perhaps, if his conscience proved trustworthy, on his own confession. great as had been the horror inspired by the murder, the arrest of the wretched father of the victim would enhance that horror four-fold. mexton knew this, but out of sheer humanity for the miserable criminal he held his peace.
the crowd babbled on, discussed the affair over their tankards, and looked up with awe at the windows, the drawn curtains of which notified that the dead body of milly lester was lying within. policemen guarded the door of the room and the approach to the stairs, so that no one could enter. paul mexton had little desire to do so; he did not wish to see the still white face, which he had last beheld full of life and beauty and girlish vanity. sick at heart, he turned away from inn and crowd and all the chatter of the market-place, to take his way to the vicarage. on arriving there he inquired for mr. chaskin.
so far as his journal was concerned, paul had collected sufficient "copy" for a long and interesting article; therefore it was with no zeal for his profession that he sought the clergyman. but the theory of the idlers before the inn, that a tramp might have killed milly in order to rob her, inspired him with a faint hope that lester might be innocent. all the evidence, that of eliza, that of the mud-stained clothes, that of the pistol, pointed to the guilt of the unhappy father. nevertheless, a man has been hanged before on circumstantial evidence and afterwards has proved guiltless of the crime for which he suffered; so it might be, thought paul, that dr. lester was not guilty of this monstrous act of criminality. if the body had been robbed of jewellery and purse, these facts might hint at a vulgar murder by a tramp. chaskin had found the corpse of the girl; therefore chaskin was the necessary witness to prove the theory of a robbery. in the character of dr. lester's friend and well-wisher, paul presented himself at the vicarage to question mr. chaskin. upon the result of the interview hung the question of lester's guilt or innocence. the chances were greatly in favour of the former.
at first the servant who opened the door refused to admit mexton. she declared that mr. chaskin was within, but stated that he was particularly engaged, and had given orders not to be disturbed. paul scribbled a line on his card to the effect that his business was important with regard to the discovery of the assassin, and told the girl to ask mr. chaskin to afford him an interview on these grounds. after some hesitation the servant conveyed the message and shortly afterwards showed mexton into the presence of the clergyman.
mr. chaskin was in his study, a comfortable room, which had somewhat of a sacerdotal atmosphere in its appointments and furnishing. there were many books lining the walls in bare and unpretentious bookshelves; a small altar in one corner with a bronze crucifix thereon; and several pictures of catholic saints here and there. on the desk before the window another crucifix was standing amid a litter of papers, and beside the desk itself a chair was placed, hinting to the ready mind of paul that mr. chaskin had been engaged with a visitor when he accorded him the interview.
evidently the visitor had vanished through a small door on the right, wishing to escape unseen. paul wondered who this unknown person might be, and why he or she had departed with such unnecessary haste and mystery. at the very door paul felt that an uncomfortable and uneasy atmosphere pervaded the apartment.
the vicar rose to his feet with an agitated air as paul entered, and looked at the young man with the card in his hand. he seemed much moved, for his lean, ascetic face was white and drawn, his breathing quick and hurried. not till the servant had closed the door did he speak, and then he addressed his visitor with a tremour in his strong voice.
"you come at an inconvenient time, mr. mexton," he said, hurriedly. "i was engaged with a friend; but your writing here"--he touched the card--"hinted at a matter of such importance that i decided to see you."
"i am sorry to interrupt you," replied paul, taking the chair near the desk, "and you may be sure i should not have done so without a good reason."
"i am sure of that," said chaskin, still standing, "but i hope your reason is not connected with your duties to your journal."
"no; it is connected with my friendship for the dead girl and for her father."
"dr. lester. ah, i am sorry for him, in spite of his vice of drinking. the loss of his daughter will be a great blow to him. where is he now, mr. mexton?"
"in his own house," said paul, slowly, "under arrest."
"under arrest!" repeated the vicar, staring at the young man. "for what?"
"for the murder of his daughter."
"mr. mexton!" the clergyman fell back into his chair as though he had been shot, and turned even paler. "impossible!" he groaned; "impossible!"
"unfortunately, it is true," said paul, sadly--"and on these grounds;" whereupon he rapidly detailed the evidence upon which drek intended to obtain a warrant for arrest. chaskin listened with clasped hands, the beads of perspiration bedewing his high forehead, and did not make any comment upon the intelligence until paul had finished. then he spoke slowly and with an effort.
"it points to the guilt of the poor creature," said he, raising his head; "but for all that i cannot believe that dr. lester committed a crime so abhorrent to human nature."
"i don't think he did it knowingly, mr. chaskin," replied paul; "he declares that he remembers nothing of the events of the night. might he not have killed his daughter while under the influence of drink? not knowingly, as i say, but guided mechanically by his confused intelligence?"
"no," cried chaskin, with a negative gesture. "no--no. impossible!"
"quite impossible," said a calm voice behind them. paul turned his head to see who had interrupted their conversation, and at the side door beheld darcy herne. evidently he was the visitor with whom chaskin had been talking prior to the visit of the journalist.
"quite impossible," reiterated herne, advancing into the room. "i agree with my friend, mr. mexton. whosoever killed my poor milly, it was not her miserable father."
paul said nothing for a moment, being taken up with an examination of the intruder. the squire was a man of middle height, lean even to emaciation; and, clothed in black as he was, from head to foot, he looked of greater stature than he actually was. his face was clean-shaven and handsome, though not strikingly so; but his eyes were hard and glittering, and perpetually changing their expression. they were the eyes of a leader of men, but of a fanatic; of a man rendered pitiless by religious mania. there was no softness, no tenderness in them; but they flashed like stars, brilliant as diamonds; the eyes of a loyola, of a torquemada. darcy herne was a reformer, a fanatic; in earlier times he would have been a prophet; but in whatever age he lived he would always have preserved the characteristics of a nature frozen and narrowed by a devouring devotion to religion. there was nothing loveable about the man; and it was little to be wondered at that the dead girl had feared him. the curious thing was that she could have brought herself to accept the attentions of this religious machine.
"i did not know you were here, mr. herne," said paul, without replying to the remark made by the squire.
"i came down to-day," replied darcy, taking a chair. "it was not my intention to return until this evening, but my friend chaskin telegraphed me about the death of milly, so here i am."
he spoke with great deliberation and calmness; so much so that paul stared at him in surprise, and wondered how he could be so social in the face of such a tragedy as the murder of his future wife. paul had known herne for many years, having met him frequently at the lesters, and he had always had an unpleasant feeling towards him. now that the man proved himself to be so devoid of any tender feeling towards the dead girl, mexton felt that his latent distaste was developing into positive dislike. perhaps he showed his feelings too plainly, for chaskin bent forward and touched him on the knee.
"you must not think that my friend is heartless because he does not exhibit much sorrow," said he; "he feels this terrible event deeply."
"i feel it more than you or mexton can imagine," said herne, with an impressive look on his face. "i selected millicent lester to be my wife in order to save her from the snares which her beauty and vanity were laying for her. i designed that she should help me in my life-work of succoring the poor and lowly and oppressed. with her beauty and my wealth, i imagined in my vain pride that we would be powerful instruments in the hand of an all-guiding providence; but alas! god has brought her down to the grave and myself he has left without a helpmate."
during this speech herne had risen to his feet, and he delivered it with outstretched hand, in oratorical style. paul was quite used to the vagaries of the man, but he resented the cold way in which he spoke of the poor girl as a lost instrument, and not as a human being, a beautiful woman done to death in a violent fashion. chaskin seemed to resent it also, for he looked reprovingly at herne--a look which was entirely lost on the fanatic. not only did he disregard the warning, but he proceeded to talk of his private matters as though they were of greater moment than the murder.
"do you know what i have been doing in london, mr. mexton?" he said in measured tones. "i have been seeing a young woman who has the cause of the oppressed at heart, and will aid me to lighten their burden. it is true that at present she is exercising the light and frivolous profession of a musician; but i hope to ween her from these vanities. a polish girl must aid her downtrodden countrymen."
"a polish girl!" cried paul, with a start. "a musician--a violinist."
"yes; catinka. do you know her?"
"a little. i saw her some months ago in marborough, where she gave a concert. i rather admired her," concluded paul, blushing.
"she is beautiful," replied herne quietly, "but i do not look to the outward form, but into the mind. she is concerned to raise up her fallen race and she desires me to aid her. i hope to do so. who knows?" cried darcy, with a flash of his brilliant eyes, "she may be designed by god to replace my lost milly?"
"i rather think it is of milly we should speak, herne," said chaskin, reprovingly. "leave off thinking of this catinka, and let us see what we can do to prove the innocence of dr. lester."
"i am at your service," said herne, the fire dying out of his eyes. "i am convinced that dr. lester did not kill the girl."
"then who did?" demanded paul, frankly.
herne turned and looked at him steadily. "lucas lovel," said he, in composed tones.
"impossible!" said chaskin and mexton together.
"i don't think so," persisted herne. "lucas lovel wanted to marry milly--to ween her from me; and frequently met her on the common and in the winding lane. i was told about these meetings by a certain person who shall be nameless; but i said nothing, trusting to milly's true heart. i believed that she was true to me; and that for such a reason lovel killed her."
"but lovel was not with her on sunday night."
"i believe he was," said darcy, "although i have no means of proving it. i intend to see mr. lovel and force him into confession; but before doing so i wish to examine the spot where the murder took place."
"for what reason?" asked chaskin, hurriedly.
"to search for evidence. let us go now, while the daylight lasts. mr. mexton, you will come also?"
"willingly," said paul, rising. "i wish to see the spot, too; indeed, i came here to ask mr. chaskin for all particulars regarding the finding of the body."
"why?" asked the clergyman, quickly.
"because i wish to prove the innocence of dr. lester. black as is the evidence against him, i cannot think that he killed his own daughter. the murder may have been committed by a tramp for robbery."
"no," said herne, doggedly. "lovel killed her."
"mr. chaskin," said paul, taking no notice of his interruption, "were the earrings and rings and bracelets of milly on the body when you found it?"
"yes," replied chaskin, promptly, "they were; and her purse was in her pocket also. i thought the murder might be due to robbery, and i examined the body carefully; but nothing had been touched. it was lying with outspread hands face downwards. apparently the poor girl had been shot from behind and fell prone on her face stone dead."
"nothing was touched," murmured paul to himself. "then that disposes of my tramp theory. whatever the motive of the crime, it was not robbery."
"of course not," said darcy, quickly; "it was jealousy."
"of the dead girl?"
"of me--on the part of lovel. i believe he killed her."
"he would not commit a crime for so slight a cause," protested chaskin.
"why not? lovel has gipsy blood in his veins; he told me so himself, and his passions once roused he does not care what he says or does. face to face with him, i'll force him into a confession."
"then you believe that dr. lester is innocent?"
"as innocent as i believe lovel is guilty!" replied herne, with emphasis.
after this direct statement, chaskin and mexton felt there was no more to be said.
