by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XXX
BLACKMAIL
For some moments Graham did not speak, but looked with pity on thegrief-shaken frame and bowed shoulders of his sorely-tried friend.Indeed, the position of the man was such that he did not see whatcomfort he could administer, and so, very wisely, held his peace.However, when the bishop, growing more composed, remained still silent,he could not forbear offering him a trifle of consolation.
'Don't grieve so, Pendle!' he said, laying his hand on the other'sshoulder; 'it is not your fault that you are in this position.'
The bishop sighed, and murmured with a shake of his head, 'Omnis quifacit peccatum, servus est peccati!'
'But you have not done sin!' cried Graham, dissenting from the text.'You! your wife! myself! everyone thought that Krant was dead andburied. The man fled, and lied, and forged, to gain his freedom--toshake off the marriage bonds which galled him. He was the sinner, notyou, my poor innocent friend!'
'True enough, doctor, but I am the sufferer. Had God in His mercy notsustained me in my hour of trial, I do not know how I should have bornemy misery, weak, erring mortal that I am.'
'That speech is one befitting your age and office,' said the doctor,gravely, 'and I quite approve of it. All the same, there is anotherreligious saying--I don't know if it can be called a text--"God helpsthose who help themselves." You will do well, Pendle, to lay that toheart.'
'How can I help myself?' said the bishop, hopelessly. 'The man is deadnow, without doubt; but he was alive when I married his supposed widow,therefore the ceremony is null and void. There is no getting behind thatfact.'
'Have you consulted a lawyer on your position?'
'No. The law cannot sanction a union--at least in my eyes--which I knowto be against the tenets of the Church. So far as I know, if a husbanddeserts his wife, and is not heard of for seven years, she can marryagain after that period without being liable to prosecution as abigamist, but in any case the second ceremony is not legal.'
'Mrs Krant became your wife before the expiration of seven years, Iknow,' said Graham, wrinkling his brow.
'Certainly. And therefore she is--in the eyes of the law--abigamist'--the bishop shuddered--'although, God knows, she fullybelieved her husband to be dead. But the religious point of view is theone I take, doctor; as a Churchman, I cannot live with a woman whom Iknow is not my wife. It was for that reason that I sent her away!'
'But you cannot keep her away for ever, bishop!--at all events, unlessyou explain the position to her.'
'I dare not do that in her present state of health; the shock would killher. No, Graham, I see that sooner or later she must know, but I wishedfor her absence that I might gain time to consider my terrible position.I have considered it in every way--but, God help me! I can see nohope--no escape. Alas! alas! I am sorely, sorely tried.'
Graham reflected. 'Are you perfectly certain that Jentham and Krant areone and the same man?' he asked doubtfully.
'I am certain of it,' replied Pendle, decisively. 'I could not bedeceived in the dark gipsy face, in the peculiar cicatrice on the rightcheek. And he knew all about my wife, Graham--about her family, hermaiden name, the amount of her fortune, her taking up parish work inMarylebone. Above all, he showed me the certificate of his marriage, anda number of letters written to him by Amy, reproaching him with hiscruel desertion. Oh, there can be no doubt that this Jentham is--orrather was--Stephen Krant.'
'It would seem so!' sighed Graham, heavily. 'Evidently there is no hopeof proving him to be an impostor in the face of such evidence.'
'He came to extort money, I suppose?'
'Need you ask!' said the bishop, bitterly. 'Yes, his sole object wasblackmail; he was content to let things remain as they are, provided hissilence was purchased at his own price. He told me that if I paid himtwo hundred pounds he would hand over certificate and letters anddisappear, never to trouble me again.'
'I doubt if such a blackguard would keep his word, Pendle. Moreover,although novelists and dramatists attach such a value to marriagecertificates, they are really not worth the paper they are writtenon--save, perhaps, as immediate evidence. The register of the church inwhich the ceremony took place is the important document, and that canneither be handed over nor destroyed. Krant was giving you witheredleaves for your good gold, Pendle. Still, Needs must when Sir Uriandrives, so I suppose you agreed to the bribe.'
The bishop's grey head drooped on his breast, his eyes sought thecarpet, and he looked like a man overwhelmed with shame. 'Yes,' hereplied, in low tones of pain, 'I had not the courage to face theconsequences. Indeed, what else could I do? I could not have the mandenounce my marriage as a false one, force himself into the presence ofmy delicate wife, and tell my children that they are nameless. The shockwould have killed Amy; it would have broken my children's hearts; itwould have shamed me in my high position before the eyes of all England.I was innocent; I am innocent. Yes, but the fact remained, as it remainsnow, that I am not married to Amy, that my children are not entitled tobear my name. I ask you, Graham--I ask you, what else could I do thanpay the money in the face of such shame and disgrace?'
'There is no need to excuse yourself to me, Pendle. I do not blame youin the least.'
'But I blame myself--in part,' replied the bishop, sadly. 'As an honestman I knew that my marriage was illegal; as a priest I was bound to putaway the woman who was not--who is not my wife. But think of the shameto her, of the disgrace to my innocent children. I could not do it,Graham, I could not do it. Satan came to me in such a guise that Iyielded to his tempting without a struggle. I agreed to buy Jentham'ssilence at his own price; and as I did not wish him to come here again,lest Amy should see him, I made an appointment to meet him onSouthberry Heath on Sunday night, and there pay him his two hundredpounds blackmail.'
'Did you speak with him on the spot where his corpse was afterwardsfound?' asked Graham, in a low voice, not daring to look at his friend.
'No,' answered the bishop, simply, not suspecting that the doctor hintedat the murder; 'I met him at the Cross-Roads.'
'You had the money with you, I suppose?'
'I had the money in notes of tens. As I was unwilling to draw so large asum from the Beorminster Bank, lest my doing so should provoke comment,I made a special journey to London and obtained the money there.'
'I think you were over-careful, bishop.'
'Graham, I tell you I was overcome with fear, not so much for myself asfor those dear to me. You know how the most secret things become knownin this city; and I dreaded lest my action should become publicproperty, and should be connected in some way with Jentham. Why, I eventore the butt of the cheque I drew out of the book, lest any recordshould remain likely to excite suspicion. I took the most elaborateprecautions to guard against discoveries.'
'And rather unnecessary ones,' rejoined Graham, dryly. 'Well, and youmet the scamp?'
'I did, on Sunday night--that Sunday I was at Southberry holding aconfirmation service, and as I rode back, shortly after eight in theevening, I met Jentham, by appointment, at the Cross-Roads. It was astormy and wet night, Graham, and I half thought that he would not cometo the rendezvous, but he was there, sure enough, and in no very goodtemper at his wetting, I did not get off my horse, but handed down thepacket of notes, and asked him for the certificate and letters.'
'Which, no doubt, he declined to part with at the last moment.'
'You are right,' said the bishop, mournfully; 'he declared that he wouldkeep the certificate until he received another hundred pounds.'
'The scoundrel! What did you say?' 'What could I say but "Yes"? I wasin the man's power. At any cost, if I wanted to save myself and thosedear to me, I had to secure the written evidence he possessed. I toldhim that I had not the extra money with me, but that if he met me in thesame place a week later he should have it. I then rode away downcast andwretched. The next day,' concluded the bishop, quietly, 'I heard that myenemy was dead.'
'Murdered,' said Graham, explicitly.
'Murder
ed, as you say,' rejoined Pendle, tremulously; 'and oh, myfriend, I fear that the Cain who slew him now has the certificate in hispossession, and holds my secret. What I have suffered with thatknowledge, God alone knows. Every day, every hour, I have been expectinga call from the assassin.'
'The deuce you have!' said the doctor, surprised into unbecominglanguage.
'Yes; he may come and blackmail me also, Graham!'
'Not when he runs the risk of being hanged, my friend.'
'But you forget,' said the bishop, with a sigh. 'He may trust to hisknowledge of my secret to force me to conceal his sin.'
'Would you be coerced in that way?'
Dr Pendle threw back his noble head, and, looking intently at hisfriend, replied in a firm and unfaltering tone. 'No,' said he, gravely.'Even at the cost of my secret becoming known, I should have the manarrested.'
'Well,' said Graham, with a shrug, 'you are more of a hero than I am,bishop. The cost of exposing the wretch seems too great.'
'Graham! Graham! I must do what is right at all hazards.'
'Fiat justitia ruat coelum!' muttered the doctor, 'there is a morselof dictionary Latin for you. The heavens above your family willcertainly fall if you speak out.'
The bishop winced and whitened. 'It is a heavy burden, Graham, a heavy,heavy burden, but God will give me strength to bear it. He will save meaccording to His mercy.'
The little doctor looked meditatively at his boots. He wished to tellPendle that the chaplain suspected him of the murder, and that Baltic,the missionary, had been brought to Beorminster to prove suchsuspicions, but at the present moment he did not see how he couldconveniently introduce the information. Moreover, the bishop seemed tobe so utterly unconscious that anyone could accuse him of the crime,that Graham shrank from being the busybody to enlighten him. Yet it wasnecessary that he should be informed, if only that he might be placed onhis guard against the machinations of Cargrim. Of course, the doctornever for one moment thought of his respected friend as the author of adeed of violence, and quite believed his account of the meeting withJentham. The bishop's simple way of relating the episode would haveconvinced any liberal-minded man of his innocence and rectitude. Hisaccents, and looks, and candour, all carried conviction.
Finally Graham hit upon a method of leading up to the subject ofCargrim's treachery, by referring to the old gipsy and herfortune-telling at Mrs Pansey's garden-party. 'What does Mother Jaelknow of your secret?' he asked with some hesitation.
'Nothing!' replied the bishop, promptly; 'it is impossible that she canknow anything, unless'--here he paused--'unless she is aware of whokilled Jentham, and has seen the certificate and letters!'
'Do you think she knows who murdered the man?'
'I--cannot--say. At that garden-party I went into the tent to humoursome ladies who wished me to have my fortune told.'
'I saw you go in, bishop; and you came out looking disturbed.'
'No wonder, Graham; for Mother Jael, under the pretence of reading myhand, hinted at my secret. I fancied, from what she said, that she knewwhat it was; and I accused her of having gained the information fromJentham's assassin. However, she would not speak plainly, but warned meof coming trouble, and talked about blood and the grave, until I reallybelieve she fancied I had killed the man. I could make nothing of her,so I left the tent considerably discomposed, as you may guess. Iintended to see her on another occasion, but as yet I have not done so.'
'Is it your belief that the woman knows your secret?' asked Graham.
'No. On consideration, I concluded that she knew a little, but notmuch--at all events, not sufficient to hurt me in any way. Krant--thatis Jentham--was of gipsy blood, and I fancied that he had seen MotherJael, and perhaps, in his boastful way, had hinted at his power over me.Still, I am quite certain that, for his own sake, he did not reveal mysecret. And after all, Graham, the allusions of Mother Jael were vagueand unsatisfactory, although they disturbed me sufficiently to make meanxious for the moment.'
'Well, bishop, I agree with you. Mother Jael cannot know much or shewould have spoken plainer. So far as she is concerned, I fancy yoursecret is pretty safe; but,' added Graham, with a glance at the door,'what about Cargrim?'
'He knows nothing, Graham.'
'Perhaps not, but he suspects much.'
'Suspects!' echoed the bishop, in scared tones. 'What can he suspect?'
'That you killed Jentham,' said Graham, quietly.
Dr Pendle looked incredulously at his friend. 'I--I--murder--Ikill--what--Cargrim--says,' he stammered; then asked him with a sharprush of speech, 'Is the man mad?'
'No; but he is a scoundrel, as I told you. Listen, bishop,' and in hisrapid way Graham reported to Dr Pendle all that Harry Brace had told himregarding Cargrim and his schemes.
The bishop listened in incredulous silence; but, almost against hiswill, he was obliged to believe in Graham's story. That a man whom hetrusted, whom he had treated with such kindness, should have dug thispit for him to fall into, was almost beyond belief; and when the truthof the accusation was forced upon him, he hardly knew what to say aboutso great a traitor. But he made up his mind to one thing. 'I shalldismiss him at once!' he said determinedly.
'No, bishop. It is unwise to drive a rat into a corner; and Cargrim mayprove himself dangerous if sharply treated. Better tolerate his presenceuntil Baltic discovers the real criminal.'
'I don't like the position,' said the bishop, frowning.
'No man would. However, it is better to temporise than to risk all andlose all. Better let him remain, Pendle.'
'Very well, Graham, I shall take your advice.'
'Good!' Graham rose to depart. 'And Gabriel?' he asked, with his hand onthe door.
'Send him to me, doctor. I must speak to him.'
'You won't scold him for seeing me first, I hope.'
'Scold him,' said the bishop, with a melancholy smile. 'Alas, my friend,the situation is too serious for scolding!'