before miss berengaria could communicate with durham, he had left the castle for town. on hearing this from bernard, the old lady at once sent up to him a full report of the arrival of michael at the bower under the name of gore.
"he is now a trifle better," wrote miss berengaria, "but having suffered from great privations he is still ill, and, so far as i can see, is likely to keep to his bed for some time. payne is attending to him and says he needs careful nursing and tonics. he is so weak as to be scarcely able to talk, which is perhaps all the better, as alice and i might arouse his suspicions. we have accepted him as bernard, and when you come down you can question him either in that character or as michael. to tell you the truth, i am sorry for the boy—he is only twenty-one or thereabouts, and i think he has been misguided. after all, even he may not have committed the crime, although he was certainly with sir simon on that fatal night. the servants—with the exception of my own especial maid, maria tait—know nothing of the man's presence in the turret chamber. and you may be sure that i am taking care jerry moon learns nothing. but i shall be glad when you can come down to take the matter out of my hands. i am much worried over it. conniston comes over daily to see lucy randolph at the hall, but he is so feather-brained a creature that i don't care about entrusting such a secret to him. nor do i wish bernard to know. with his impetuosity, he would probably come over at once, and run the chance of arrest. the whole matter is in your hands, durham, so write and tell me what i am to do. at all events i have a fast hold of bernard's double, and you may be sure i shall not allow him to go until this mystery is cleared up."
in reply to this pressing epistle, durham wrote, telling miss berengaria to wait for three or four days. he was advertising for tolomeo, and hoped to see him at his office. if, as durham thought, the italian had been with sir simon on that night, something might be learned from him likely to prove the presence of michael in the room. the examination of michael—which durham proposed to make, would then be rendered much easier. the lawyer, in conclusion, quite agreed with miss plantagenet that conniston and bernard should not be told. "i hope to be with you by the end of the week," he finished.
"deuce take the man," said miss berengaria, rubbing her nose. "does he think i can wait all that time?"
"i don't see what else you can do, aunt," said alice, when the letter was read. "and this poor creature is so weak, that i do not think he will be able to speak much for a few days. all we have to do is to nurse him and ask no questions."
"and to let him think we believe him to be bernard."
"oh, he is quite convinced of that," said alice, quickly. "i suppose he hoped i would think his altered looks might induce me to overlook any lack of resemblance to bernard."
"yes, but he must guess when you talk you will find him out, seeing you know much of bernard that he cannot know."
"perhaps that is why he holds his tongue," said alice, rising. "but we must wait, aunt."
"i suppose we must," said miss berengaria, dolefully. "drat the whole business! was there ever such a coil?"
"well then, aunt, will you leave it alone?"
"certainly not. i intend to see the thing through. owing to my reticence to sir simon about your parents, alice, i am really responsible for the whole business, so i will keep working at it until bernard is out of danger and married to you."
"ah!" sighed miss malleson. "and when will that be?"
"sooner than you think, perhaps. every day brings a surprise."
one day certainly brought a surprise to lucy randolph. she learned that conniston loved her, though, to be sure, his frequent visits might have shown her how he was losing his heart. she was glad of this as she admired conniston exceedingly, and, moreover, wished to escape from her awkward position at the hall. when bernard came back and married alice, she would have to leave the hall and live on the small income allotted to her by the generosity of the dead man. it would be much better, as she truly thought, to marry conniston, even though he was the poorest of peers. one can do a lot with a title even without money, and lucy was wise in her generation. moreover, she was truly in love with the young man, and thought, very rightly, that he would make her a good husband.
as usual, conniston, having taken into his head that lucy would be an ideal wife, pursued his suit with characteristic impetuosity. he came over daily—or almost daily—to gore hall, and, finally, when lucy broke off her engagement to beryl, he told her of the whereabouts of bernard. lucy was overwhelmed and delighted.
"to think that he should be alive after all," she said. "i am so pleased, so glad. dear bernard, now he will be able to enjoy the fortune and the title, and marry alice."
"you forget," said conniston, a trifle dryly, "bernard has yet to prove his innocence. we are all trying to help him. will you also give a hand, miss randolph?"
lucy stared at him with widely-open eyes. "of course i will, lord conniston," she said heartily. "what do you wish me to do?"
"in the first place, tell me if you sent a boy to bring bernard to crimea square?"
"no. i know the boy you mean. he is a lad called jerry moon. julius found him selling matches in town, ragged and poor. he helped him, and the other day he procured him a situation with miss berengaria."
"he is there now. but he—we have reason to believe—is the boy who lured bernard to crimea square."
"i know nothing about that," said lucy, frankly. "why not ask the boy himself? it would be easy."
"we will ask the boy shortly," replied conniston,evasively, not wishing at this juncture to tell her that the great object of everyone was to prevent jerry thinking he was suspected. "should you meet the boy say nothing to him."
"i will not, and i am not likely to meet the boy. he is usually in miss plantagenet's poultry yard, and i rarely go round there." lucy paused. "it is strange that the boy should act like that. i wonder if sir simon sent him to fetch bernard, and arranged the red window as a sign which house it was?"
"the red window. ah yes! mrs. webber saw the light, and——"
"and julius afterwards didn't. i know that. it was my fault. when we drove up in the carriage on that terrible night i saw the red light, and wondered if sir simon had arranged it as a sign to bernard. when i saw bernard in the hall i was not astonished, for i thought he had come in answer to the light. i went upstairs, and after attending to sir simon, i went to the window. the lamp was before it, and stretched across the pane was a red bandanna handkerchief of sir simon's. i took that away, so you see how it was julius did not see the light."
"why did you remove the handkerchief?" asked the puzzled conniston.
"well, i wanted to save bernard if possible, and i thought if the red light which had drawn him were removed, he could make some excuse. julius knew about the red light, and, as he hated bernard, i fancied he would use it against him. but really," added miss randolph, wrinkling her pretty brows, "i hardly knew what i was doing, save that in some vague way i fancied the removal of the handkerchief might help bernard. is that clear?"
"perfectly clear," said conniston, "and i am glad i know this. may i tell bernard and durham?"
"certainly. i want to do all i can to help bernard."
"ah, you are a good woman," said conniston, eagerly. "i wonder if you could make a chap good?"
"it depends upon the chap," said lucy, shyly.
"i know a chap who——"
"please stop, lord conniston," cried lucy, starting up in confusion. "i have heaps and heaps to do. you prevent my working."
her hurried flight prevented conniston from putting the question on that occasion. but he was not daunted. he resolved to propose as soon as possible. but lucy thought he was making love too ardently, and by those arts known to women alone, she managed to keep him at arm's length. she was anxious that bernard should be cleared, that he should take up his rightful position, and should receive back the hall from her, before lord conniston proposed. of course, lucy was ready to accept him, but, sure of her fish, she played with him until such time as she felt disposed to accept his hand and heart and title and what remained of the west fortune. conniston, more determined than ever to win this adorable woman, came over regularly. but lucy skilfully kept him off the dangerous ground, whereby he fell deeper in love than ever. then one day, she appeared with a blue-covered book, the contents of which so startled them that love-making was postponed to a more convenient season.
"fancy," said lucy, running to meet conniston one afternoon as soon as he appeared at the drawing-room door, "i have found the diary of mrs. gilroy."
"that's a good thing," said conniston, eagerly. "she knows more of the truth than anyone else. we must read her diary."
"will that be honorable?" said lucy, retaining her hold of the book.
"perfectly. one does not stand on ceremony when a man's neck is at stake. mrs. gilroy's diary may save bernard's life. she knew too much about the murder, and fled because she thought durham would come and question her."
"oh! was that why she ran away?"
"yes! a woman like mrs. gilroy does not take such a course for nothing. she's a clever woman."
"and a very disagreeable woman," said lucy, emphatically. "but what did she know?"
conniston wriggled uneasily. he was not quite certain whether he ought to tell lucy all that had been discovered, and, had he not been in love with her, he would probably have held his tongue. but, after some reflection, he decided to speak out. "you are, of course, on bernard's side," he said.
"yes. and against julius, who hates bernard. i will do anything i can to help bernard. i am sure you can see that," she added in a most reproachful manner.
"i know—i know. you are the truest and best woman in the world," said conniston, eagerly, "but what i have to tell you is not my own secret. it concerns bernard."
"then don't tell me," said lucy, coloring angrily.
"yes, i will. you have the diary and i want to read it. to know why i do, it is necessary that you should learn all that we have discovered."
"what have you discovered? who killed sir simon?"
"no. we are trying to hunt down the assassin. and mrs. gilroy's diary may tell us."
"i don't see that."
"you will, when you learn what i have to say." and conniston related everything concerning the false marriage and the half-brother of young gore. "and now, you see," he finished triumphantly, "mrs. gilroy is fighting for her son. it is probable that she has set down the events of that night in her diary."
"she would not be such a fool, if her son is guilty."
"oh, people do all manner of queer things. criminals who are very secretive in speech sometimes give themselves away in writing. you were at the theatre on that night?"
"yes, with julius; so neither of us had anything to do with the matter, if that is what you mean."
"i mean nothing of the sort," said conniston, quickly. "how can you think i should suspect you?"
"you might suspect julius," said lucy, suspiciously, "and although we have quarrelled i don't want to harm him."
"would you rather have bernard hanged?"
"oh!" lucy burst into tears and impulsively threw the book into conniston's lap. "read it at once; i would rather save bernard than julius."
conniston availed himself of this permission at once. he took away the diary with lucy's permission, and carried it in triumph to the castle. here he and bernard sat down to master its contents. these astonished them considerably. conniston made out a short and concise account of the events of that fatal night, for the benefit of durham. they were as follows:
mrs. gilroy, it appears, thought that her son, michael, was really and truly in america. she had no suspicion that the lover of jane riordan was her son, but truly believed from the description that he was young gore whom she hated—as she plainly stated in several pages. when the presumed bernard went away before six, he did not call again at ten o'clock. the man that called, mrs. gilroy asserted, was bernard, and not her son. he saw sir simon and after a stormy interview he departed.
"why then doesn't she accuse me of the crime?" said gore.
"wait a bit," said conniston, who was reading his precis. "this diary is meant for her eye alone. still, she may have thought it might fall into the hands of another person, and therefore made her son safe. michael called before ten—for then, bernard, you were with durham and myself. michael saw sir simon, and then mrs. gilroy, pretending the man was you, says he departed, leaving your grandfather alive. see! here's the bit," and he read, "sir simon was alive after mr. gore left the house."
"go on," said bernard. "if i am innocent, why did she accuse me?"
"because i believe her son is guilty. he left sir simon dead. mrs. gilroy found the body, knew what had occurred, and then ran out on hearing jerry's whistle knowing she would meet you. it's all plain."
"very plain," said gore, emphatically. "a regular trap. go on."
"afterwards, and shortly before a quarter past ten, there came a ring at the door. mrs. gilroy went, and there she found signor tolomeo, who asked to see sir simon. she took him up the stairs, and left him to speak with sir simon. what took place she did not know, but she was sitting below working, and heard the door close. it was just before a quarter to eleven that she heard this."
"about the time i came," muttered bernard.
mrs. gilroy—as appeared from the diary—ran up to see if the master was all right. she found him strangled, and with the handkerchiefs tied over his mouth and round his neck. then she ran out and found gore at the door. he had come back again, and mrs. gilroy said she accused him. she then stated in her diary that she looked upon bernard as an accessory after the fact. he had hired guiseppe tolomeo to kill his grandfather, and then came to see if the deed had been executed thoroughly. mrs. gilroy ended her diary by stating that she would do her best to get both the italian and his nephew hanged.
"very much obliged to her," said bernard, when conniston concluded reading, and beginning to walk to and fro. "well, it seems my uncle is the guilty person, conniston."
"i don't believe it," said dick, firmly. "mrs. gilroy is trying to shield her son. i believe he killed him."
"if we could only find michael," said bernard, dolefully.
"ah! things would soon be put right then," replied conniston, and neither was aware that the man they wished to see was at that very moment lying in the turret chamber at the bower, "or even mrs. gilroy. could we see her, and show her the diary, she might put things straight."
"i believe she left the diary behind on purpose," said gore, with some ill-humor. "i can't believe that tolomeo killed sir simon."
"what kind of man is he?"
"a very decent chap in his own way. his blood is hot, and he has a temper something like the one i have inherited from my mother, who was guiseppe's sister. but tolomeo is not half bad. he has the credit for being a scamp, but i don't think he deserves it."
"can't you see him and show him the diary?"
"no. i don't know his whereabouts. however, durham, at my request, has put an advertisement in the papers which may bring him to the office, then we can see how much of this story is true. certainly, mrs. gilroy may have seen him at the house on that night."
"what would he go for?"
"to ask my grandfather for money. he was always hard up. sir simon hated him, but if guiseppe was hard up he wouldn't mind that. i daresay tolomeo did see sir simon, and did have a row, as both he and grandfather were hot-blooded. but i don't believe my uncle killed sir simon," said bernard, striking the table.
"well," drawled conniston, slipping his precis and the diary itself into an envelope, "i don't see what he had to gain. tolomeo, from your account of him, would not commit a murder without getting some money from doing it. but the best thing to do, is to take this up to durham and see what he thinks."
"i'll come too," said gore, excitedly. "i tell you, dick, i'm dead tired of doing nothing. it will be better to do what miss berengaria suggests and give myself up."
"wait a bit," persuaded dick. "let me take this up to durham, and if he agrees you can be arrested."
bernard was unwilling to wait, but finally he yielded sullenly to conniston's arguments. dick with the precious parcel went up to town alone, and bernard did what he could to be patient.
