by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XXII
THE TRUTH
The arrest of Sir Bernard Gore made a great sensation. It was generallysupposed that he was dead, and his unexpected appearance surprised everyone. Also, as he was believed to be guilty, the public was amazed thathe should thus thrust himself into jeopardy. But more thoughtful peoplesaw in Gore's surrender a proof of his innocence, and argued veryrightly that were he guilty of the murder of Sir Simon, he would notcome forward as he had done to stand his trial.
An additional surprise came in the arrest of Michael, who was said to bethe half-brother of Gore, and to resemble him very closely. A rumor gotabout--no one knew how--that this resemblance between the two would bemade the basis of the defence. Also, the boy, Jerry Moon, who wasimplicated in the matter, was in charge of the police, and it wasexpected that he would make startling revelations. On the whole, therewas every chance that the forthcoming trial would be extremelyinteresting. Every one looked forward with great expectation to the timewhen Sir Bernard would be placed in the dock. Inspector Groom, formerlyin charge of the case, was now attending to the matter again. He saidvery little, although the reporters tried to make him give his opinion.But, from the few words he let drop, it would seem that he believedfirmly in the innocence of the accused man.
"I don't see anything about Beryl in the papers," said Conniston, whenat Durham's office.
"There is nothing to say about him at present," replied the lawyer. "Wehave not caught him yet, and perhaps never may."
"Victoria warned him, then?"
"Yes. That imp of a boy wrote a letter stating that Bernard was at CoveCastle, and advising flight. Victoria caught a train shortly beforeeleven and came straight to Beryl's rooms, the address of which shereceived from Jerry. Beryl--as Jerry had done--saw that the game was up,and realized that we, knowing Gore to be alive, had been simply playingwith the imposture of Michael. He bolted that same night and managed tocross to the Continent. At least, we suppose so, as no trace of him canbe found."
"What will you do about him, then?"
Durham shrugged his shoulders. "There is nothing can be done," heanswered. "With the evidence of Michael, Jerry and Miss Randolph andTolomeo, we shall be able to prove Bernard's innocence and his cousin'sguilt. Bernard will be set free without a stain on his character. But asto how Beryl will be arrested, or whether he will ever be punished, I amunable to give an opinion."
"What about Mrs. Gilroy?"
"Ah, we want her. But we cannot find out where she is. Even her sondoesn't know. He would speak out if he did know, as I fancy he issincerely repentant for the trouble this new edition of the CorsicanBrothers has caused."
"But had you not some plan to lure Mrs. Gilroy out of her hiding?"
Durham searched amongst his papers and produced a journal. "Read that,"said he, pointing to a column.
It was an article dealing with the case, in which the writer hinted thatMichael was guilty and Bernard innocent. It was also stated that Michaelwould certainly be put in the dock, and that sufficient evidence was inthe power of the prosecution to procure his condemnation. The wholearticle was written strongly, and after reading it, Conniston, had henot known the true facts of the case, would have fancied Michael guilty.He said as much. Durham smiled.
"That is exactly the feeling I wish to convey to Mrs. Gilroy," hedeclared, taking back the paper. "She, if any one, can prove the guiltof Beryl, but for some reason--perhaps for money--she is hiding. If shereads that paragraph she will at once come forward to save her son, andthen we'll be able to prove Beryl's guilt beyond a doubt."
"But she may not take in the particular journal," said Conniston.
"Oh, this is only one paper. Within the next few days that article willbe copied in every newspaper in London. Mrs. Gilroy is bound, wherevershe is, to hear of the arrest of her son, and of Bernard giving himselfup. To learn what is taking place she will read whatever papers she canget hold of. Then she will see that article, and if it doesn't bring herforward to save Michael and condemn Beryl, I am very much mistaken."
"It sounds rather like contempt of court," said Dick, gravely.
Durham laughed. "It is, in a way. Every man has a right to be consideredinnocent in English law until his guilt is proved. But I arranged withScotland Yard that this article should appear in the hope that Mrs.Gilroy--an important witness, mind you--should be brought forward. Ican't exactly tell you all the details, but you may be sure that thething has been done legally. Besides," argued Durham, calmly, "seeing wehave such a strong proof of Beryl's guilt, there is no doubt thatMichael will have a fair trial."
"I say," said Conniston, rising to take his leave, "do you know it'sBernard's idea that Jerry might have committed the crime. It seems to methat Beryl is too great a coward to do it himself."
"Stuff!" said Durham, quite in the style of Miss Berengaria. "The boycould not have possibly strangled the old man. He was leading Bernard tothe Square to within a few minutes of the time when Mrs. Gilroy came outshouting murder. No, Conniston, Beryl is the man, as is proved by hishandkerchief. He came to the house immediately Tolomeo left, since hepassed that man in the Square. The boy saw him departing, after Bernardwas lured to be on the spot. Beryl was hurrying back to the theatre toarrange for his _alibi_. Everything was beautifully arranged. But forthe discovery of Michael, we might have learned nothing. Also Tolomeo'sevidence is valuable. Mrs. Gilroy, having been in the house at the time,is the woman who knows all. Doubtless Beryl threatened to denounce herson, and that was why she accused Bernard, counting on the resemblanceto carry the matter through."
"What an infernally wicked woman!" said Dick, angrily.
"Oh! not at all. Mrs. Gilroy is a mother, and she naturally wouldsacrifice the whole world to save her son. Besides, she may have actedon the spur of the moment, and then had to go on with the matter."
"Well," said Conniston, putting on his hat, "I sincerely hope your netwill capture her."
"It is sure to. A woman who would try and save her son by accusing aninnocent man would not remain quiet to see him hanged. By the way, MissBerengaria is in town, I believe?"
"Yes, with Miss Randolph and Alice. They are stopping at the WaterlooHotel, Guelph Street. I believe they expect you along to dinner thisevening."
Durham nodded. "I received a note from the old lady, and intend to come.By the way, Dick, I hope you are fascinating her. Remember, she canleave you five thousand a year, and can't last much longer."
"I believe Miss Berengaria will see her century," said Dick. "Besides,now you have my affairs in order, I have enough to live on."
"But not enough to marry on," said Durham, significantly.
Conniston flushed. "If you speak of Lucy," he said, "she has a littlemoney of her own, and our two incomes will keep us alive."
"It won't keep up the dignity of the title."
"Oh, the deuce take the dignity of that," said Conniston, carelessly."In this democratic age who cares for titles?"
"The Americans, Dick. You ought to marry one."
"I'll marry Lucy, who is the sweetest girl in the world," said Dick,firmly. "We understand one another, and as soon as this business isover, Mark----"
"You will marry."
"No. Bernard and I will go out to the Front."
"What! Does Bernard say that?"
"Yes. He intends to go back to his Imperial Yeomanry uniform, and Ihonor him for it," said Dick, with some heat. "Bernard is not the man tosneak out of doing his duty. And Miss Malleson approves. I go out to theFront also, and daresay I shall manage to get a place of sorts, fromwhich to take pot-shots at the enemy."
"But, my dear fellow," said Durham, much disturbed, "you may be killed."
"'Naught was never in danger,'" said Conniston, opening the door. "Youget Bernard out of this scrape, Mark, and then come and see us start.We'll return covered with glory."
"And without legs or arms," said Durham, crossly. "Just as if Bernardhadn't enough dan
ger, he must needs run his head into more. Go away,Dick. It's your feather brain that has made him stick to his guns."
"Not a bit," retorted Conniston, slipping out, "it's Bernard's own idea.Good-bye, Mark. I hope you will recover your temper by the time we meetat Aunt Berengaria's hospitable table."
Things fell out as Durham prophesied. The article was published in allthe London and country journals, and provoked both praise and blame.Many said that it was wrong to hint that a man was guilty before he hadbeen tried. Others pointed to the sufferings that the innocent BernardGore had undergone, and insisted that even before the trial his nameshould be cleared. Those in authority took no notice of the storm thusraised, which seemed to confirm Durham's statement that the article hadbeen inspired from high legal quarters. But the result of thepublication and discussion of the matter was that one day a woman cameto see Durham at his office.
The moment she entered he guessed who she was, even although she wasveiled. Clothed from head to foot in black, and looking tragic enoughfor a Muse, poor soul, for certainly she had cause, Mrs. Gilroy raisedher veil and examined the keen face of the lawyer.
"You did not expect to see me?" she asked, taking the seat he pointed tosilently.
Durham was not going to tell her that the article had been published todraw her forth, as she might have taken flight and suspected a trap.
"It is a surprise," he said artfully. "And I am at a loss to understandwhy you have come."
"To save my son," said Mrs. Gilroy, looking at him with haggard eyes.
"Michael Gilroy?"
"Michael Gore. He has a right to his father's name."
"Pardon me, I think not. Bernard Gore is the heir."
"Ah!" said the woman, bitterly, and clasping her hands with a swift,nervous gesture. "He has all the luck--the title--the money--the----"
"You must admit," said Durham, politely, "that he had had very bad luckfor the most part."
"His own foolishness is the cause of it."
"Did you come to tell me this?"
Mrs. Gilroy sat quite still for a moment, and Durham noticed that evenwhat good looks she had were gone. Her cheeks were fallen in, her eyeswere sunken, her drab hair was streaked with white, and her face wore aterrible expression of despair and sorrow. "I have come to tell you allI know," she said. "I would not do so, save for two things. One is, thatI wish to save my son, who is absolutely innocent; the other, that I amdying."
"Dying? I hope not."
"I am dying," said Mrs. Gilroy, firmly. "I have suffered for many yearsfrom an incurable disease--it doesn't matter what. But I cannot livelong, and, but for my son, I should have ended my miserable life longago, owing to the pain I suffer. Oh the pain--the pain--the pain!" shemoaned, rocking to and fro as Michael had done.
Durham was sincerely sorry for her, although he knew she was not a goodwoman. "Let me get you some brandy," he said.
"No," replied Mrs. Gilroy, waving her hand. "Call in some clerk who cantake down what I have to say. I will probably speak quickly, as mystrength will not last long. I have come from an hospital to see you.Get a clerk who writes rapidly, and be quick."
Durham called in a clerk and gave the order, then turned to his client."Was it on account of going to the hospital that you left Gore Hall?" heasked.
Mrs. Gilroy, still rocking, bowed her head. "Did you want me?" sheasked.
"I wanted to tell you that Michael came to Miss Berengaria's to----"
"Michael. He came there. Why?"
"To pass himself off as Bernard."
"Ah, that was part of Beryl's scheme to get the money."
"Was it part of his scheme to poison Michael?" said Durham.
Mrs. Gilroy started to her feet, flushed with anger.
"Did he do that, Mr. Durham?" she asked. "Did he dare to----"
"Yes. He got Michael to sign a will as Bernard, leaving all the money tohim, and then employed Jerry to poison him. Jerry should not have doneso for two or three days, but he was eager to get away, as he was afraidof being found out, so he poisoned your son within a few hours of thesigning of the false will."
"The villain!" said Mrs. Gilroy, thinking of Beryl. "But he shall notescape. I have come to tell you all. I wish I could see him hanged. Heis the cause of all the trouble. I saw in the papers that Sir Bernardwas alive," she added; "how did he escape?"
"He swam across the river and went down to Cove Castle. We knew all thetime he was there in hiding."
"Who knew?"
"Myself, Lord Conniston, Miss Berengaria and Miss Malleson."
"So you played with Michael?" said Mrs. Gilroy, drawing a breath.
"Yes. Miss Malleson and Miss Plantagenet both knew he was not the trueBernard. Your hint about your son being like his father showed me whoMichael was, and I told the others. Yes, Mrs. Gilroy, I allowed Michaelto sign the false will, so as to trap Beryl. But, believe me, had Iknown Beryl intended to poison your son, I should not have allowed thematter to go so far."
"You could do nothing else," said Mrs. Gilroy, sadly. "Both Michael andmyself have suffered. I was deceived by a false marriage, and the sinsof the father have been visited on the child."
"That is true enough," said Durham. "But for the sin of Walter Gore,Michael, with his wonderful resemblance to Bernard, would not have beenborn, and Beryl would not have been able to plot as he did."
"Well! well! He is an exile and has been punished."
"When you can prove his guilt, as I suppose you intend to do," said thelawyer, grimly, "I'll do my best to have him brought back and hanged.You will be pleased at that."
Mrs. Gilroy laughed in a hollow manner, and cast a strange look at thelawyer. "I should be pleased indeed," she said, "but there's no suchluck. Hanging is not Beryl's dukkeripen."
"That's a gypsy word."
"I was found and brought up by gypsies," said Mrs. Gilroy,indifferently, "although I am not of Romany blood. But I learned a fewsecrets from the Romany," added Mrs. Gilroy, her eyes flashing, "and oneof them relating to drabbing--if you know what that means--may come inuseful this day."
"What does drabbing mean?"
"It has to do with drows," said Mrs. Gilroy, laughing and rocking. "Idaresay you'll know the meaning of both words before the end of thisday." And she began to sing softly:--
"'The Romany cha, And the Romany chal, Shall jaw tasulor, To drab the bawlor, And dook the gry.'"
Durham thought that her illness had affected her head. He did not sayanything, but resolved to get her examination over as quickly aspossible. A clerk entered at the moment, carrying a typewriting machine,which he set down on a small table near at hand.
"I think it will be best that your words should be taken down by themachine," said Durham, turning to Mrs. Gilroy, "as the writer can keepup with your speech."
"As you please," said Mrs. Gilroy, coolly. "I have to sign my statementin the presence of witnesses, you and this young man."
"But why do you----"
"There, there," said the woman, impatiently, "don't I tell you I havevery little strength left. Are you ready?"
"Yes, madam," said the clerk, who was addressed.
"Then don't interrupt. I am about to tell you strange things," and shebegan forthwith, the clerk taking down all she said as quickly as shespoke. Durham, pencil in hand, made a note occasionally.
"I am a foundling," said Mrs. Gilroy, smoothly and swiftly. "I waspicked up by some gypsies called Lovel, in the New Forest. I was withthem till I came of age. I was then a pretty girl. In our wanderings wecame to Hurseton. There I saw Walter Gore at a fair. I did not know hewas married, as we stopped at Hurseton only a short time. We went away.Walter followed and said he loved me. He married me at last. We wentabroad--then came back to London. When my child, Michael, was born, Ilearned the truth, for Walter had deserted me. I went down to Hursetonto see Sir Simon. He sent me to the States with Michael, my son. Waltersent me money."
"This is slightly different to w
hat Michael said," remarked Durham. "Iunderstood that you never saw Sir Simon till you returned from theStates."
"Michael doesn't know everything," said Mrs. Gilroy, impatiently. "Itell my own story in my own way. Do not interrupt. I remained in theStates for a long time. Then Walter died, and his true wife also. I cameto see Sir Simon again. He was sorry for me, and offered to make me thehousekeeper at Gore Hall, which should have been my home, but heinsisted that Michael should return to the States. My boy did so, incharge of some friends. Sir Simon promised to give me five hundred ayear when he died, so that I could help my boy. He only left me onehundred, the mean villain! I supported my son out of my wages. He grewweary of the States and came to England. Sir Simon was angry, but he gothim a situation in London, on condition that the boy never came toHurseton. That was why no one knew there was any one resembling SirBernard so closely. Well, in London Michael fell in with JuliusBeryl----"
"I know all that," said Durham, quickly. "Michael told me. I know he wasemployed by Beryl to impersonate Bernard so that Sir Simon's angershould be aroused."
"Well, then, you know a good deal," said Mrs. Gilroy, "but not all. No,indeed," she added, smiling strangely, "not all."
"Tell me the events of that night, and how Beryl killed Sir Simon."
Mrs. Gilroy laughed again. "I am coming to that. You will be muchsurprised when I tell you all. Bernard was in town as a soldier; Berylgot Michael to masquerade. I never knew it was my own son who courtedJane Riordan. Had I known, I should have put a stop to the business. Ireally thought from the description given, that Jane's lover wasBernard. I wanted Sir Simon, whom I told, to throw over Bernard and letmy son have the property. He would have done so, but that Michael hadforged a check----"
"I know about that also."
"Very good. We will pass that," said the woman. "Well, Sir Simon wasangry. I saw there was no chance for my boy, and cast about how else toget the money for him. Beryl informed me that he intended by means ofthe Red Window and Jerry to lure Bernard to the Square, in the hope thatwhen he saw the red light he would come up and have a quarrel with hisgrandfather."
"What about?" asked Durham.
"About Bernard's supposed courting of the housemaid. That was why Berylemployed my son to masquerade. He knew that Sir Simon was a proud man,and would not readily forgive such a thing. He knew Sir Simon wasregretting his quarrel with Bernard, and wished to give it renewed life.Well, then, Beryl arranged to go to the theatre. He said he would comeround after ten or near eleven to see if the old man had quarrelled withBernard. He hoped that he would be able to get the order to turn Bernardout. He did not know, though, at what time Bernard would arrive. Butwhen he did, I was to open the door to him."
"Jerry's whistle was to be the signal," said the lawyer.
"Yes. Then I was to show Bernard up, and the quarrel would then takeplace."
"Beryl did not really intend murder, then?"
"Mr. Durham, you will harp on that," said Mrs. Gilroy, impatiently."Wait till I speak out. You see how matters were arranged for thatnight. Miss Randolph and Beryl went to the theatre so that they shouldnot be mixed up in the quarrel."
"But Miss Randolph knew nothing?"
"Of course not. Beryl knew she was friendly to Bernard, and wished herout of the way. For that reason, he took her to the theatre. I thensuggested to Sir Simon that probably Bernard knew of the house from you,and might come back. Sir Simon had sent for him to the kitchen, but myson, being afraid, ran away. Sir Simon laughed at the idea of the redlamp, but he did not forbid my arranging it. I got a lamp and placed itbefore the window. Then I placed across the window a red bandana of SirSimon's. From the outside the signal could be plainly seen."
"What happened next?" asked Durham, while the typewriter clicked in amost cheerful manner.
"Various things," retorted Mrs. Gilroy, "and not those you expect tohear. I sat downstairs, waiting and working. Sir Simon was in the roomwith the red light showing through the window. The trap was laid. Itonly remained for Jerry to bring Bernard to fall into it. Shortly beforeten an Italian called."
"Bernard's uncle, Signor Tolomeo?"
"Yes. I knew him, and took him up to Sir Simon, thinking his presencemight make the quarrel worse. All Beryl and I wished to do was toprevent Bernard and Sir Simon from becoming reconciled. Well, Tolomeosaw Sir Simon, and while he was with him, my son arrived. I asked himwhat he was doing there. He told me then that he had been masqueradingas Bernard, and informed me about the check. He was afraid of trouble inconnection with it, as by means of it, Beryl held him in his power. Hecame to make a clean breast of it to Sir Simon. I tried to stop himgoing up----"
"But why?" interrupted the lawyer, quickly.
"I had my own plans, with which Michael's presence interfered," saidMrs. Gilroy, coolly. "However, he would not be overruled, and went up tosee Sir Simon. The old man concealed Tolomeo behind a curtain, and thenquarrelled with Michael about the check. There was a great row, as SirSimon threatened to have Michael arrested. In the middle of the quarrelTolomeo came out. Michael took him for a detective, and fled. He ran outbefore I could stop him. Then Tolomeo departed also. I went up thestairs and implored Sir Simon not to arrest my son. Then Beryl arrivednearly at the half hour."
"How did he enter?"
"Tolomeo, running after Michael, left the door open. Beryl tried topacify the old man. I remained in the room all the time----"
"Then you saw the murder."
"Wait a moment," said Mrs. Gilroy, rising in the excitement of her tale."Beryl and the old man quarrelled. Then Sir Simon told him to go back tothe theatre. Beryl, thinking he had offended Sir Simon past recall,wept. Yes," said Mrs. Gilroy, with a sneer, "he cried like a child. SirSimon was disgusted. He snatched his handkerchief from him, and threw iton the floor. Beryl was ordered out of the house again. He left and wentback to the theatre. The interview took only a few minutes."
"But the murder?"
"I committed it," said Mrs. Gilroy, simply.
Durham and the clerk both jumped and stared.
"You?" said the lawyer.
"Yes," said Mrs. Gilroy, coolly. "You have been on the wrong tack allalong. You thought that Bernard killed Sir Simon--that my son didso--that Tolomeo did so--that Beryl was guilty. But you were all wrong.I, and none other, killed Sir Simon."
"You say this to save your son?"
"No. Tolomeo can prove that Sir Simon was alive when Michael fled fromthe house. Beryl can prove that I was alone with Sir Simon. It waslate--the servants were in bed. I determined to kill the old man."
"Why, in Heaven's name?"
"Because I saw that when Bernard came he would be arrested, and therewould be a chance for my son getting the money. Then Sir Simon intendedto have Michael arrested--I wished to stop that. Then, again, for yearsSir Simon had insulted and humiliated me. I hated him fervently. Oh, Ihad plenty of reasons to kill the old brute. I went downstairs and gotthe chloroform."
"Had you that ready?" asked Durham, horrified at this recital.
"Yes and no. I didn't buy it then. I always thought that Sir Simon kepthis will at the Hall, and I bought the chloroform months before, hopingone night to make him insensible, so that I could look at the will. Butthe chloroform was not wasted," said Mrs. Gilroy, with a pale smile. "Ibrought it with me to town--always ready to watch for my chance ofrendering my master insensible and of reading the will. I wanted to seeif he left Michael anything, and if he had really left me the fivehundred he promised. Besides, in his death, I saw a chance of gettingrid of Bernard by hanging, and of having my son acknowledged as theheir."
"But Beryl? You reckoned without Beryl?"
"No," said Mrs. Gilroy, calmly. "You forget the handkerchief. I tookthat down with me, and soaked it with chloroform. I guessed that thehandkerchief would condemn Beryl, should it be necessary to accuse anyone. I did not foresee what would happen," added the woman, impatiently."I only acted as I saw things then. I came upstairs, and whilepretending to arrange Sir Simon's cushions
, I clapped the handkerchiefover his mouth. He struggled for a long time. It is not easy tochloroform people," said the woman, pensively. "I thought they went offat once, but Sir Simon was some time struggling."
"Go on--go on," said Durham in disgust. "Get this over."
Mrs. Gilroy laughed and drew her shawl tightly about her spare figure.
"After he was insensible," she continued, "I strangled him with his ownhandkerchief, after tying Beryl's handkerchief across his mouth. I thenwent down and took my work up again while waiting for Bernard."
Durham made a gesture of abhorrence. "You could work?"
"Why not?" said Mrs. Gilroy. "There was nothing else to do--the old manwas dead--the trap was set. All I had to do was to wait till Bernardwalked into it."
"Had you no regrets for that?"
"None. Bernard Gore robbed my boy of his birthright."
"Bernard was the eldest son, even though Michael had been born in----"
"I know all about that," said Mrs. Gilroy, waving her hand, "spare meyour preaching. Is there anything more you wish to know?"
"About this plot to get the false will signed?"
"I knew little of that. I accused Bernard, and he escaped. Beryl guessedI murdered the old man, but for his own sake he held his tongue. I heardBernard's whistle, or rather Jerry's, and went out crying murder. Therest you know. Then I played my part. I left the diary at the Hall forMiss Randolph to find, as I thought Tolomeo might be accused. I fancied,as things turned out, it would be better to have Bernard back, and gethim to do something for Michael. That was why I prepared the diary."
"It was a false entry?" said Durham, looking at her.
Mrs. Gilroy yawned. "Yes, it was. I prepared it, as I say. I am gettingvery tired," she added. "Let me sign the paper and go."
"You must sign the paper, and you must be arrested," said Durham.
"As you please," said Mrs. Gilroy, perfectly calmly. Then Durham sentfor Inspector Groom, and, pending his arrival, Mrs. Gilroy signed thepaper, with Durham and the clerk as witnesses. She then fell asleep, andDurham went out to receive Groom. They talked together for some time,then entered the room. Mrs. Gilroy was lying on the floor inconvulsions, and laughed when she saw them.
"Good Heavens!" cried Groom. "She has poisoned herself!"
"I have taken drows," gasped Mrs. Gilroy. "That's my dukkerin!" and diedhard.