The Third Volume

by Fergus Hume

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  A DUEL OF WORDS.

  A LONGISH pause ensued between the two men. Hilliston seemed to be in nohurry to continue the conversation, and Claude, with his eyes fixedabsently on his glass, pondered over the facts that Mrs. Hilliston hadan aversion to Horriston, and that the lawyer had taken the third volumeof the novel out of the house. The two facts seemed to have someconnection with each other, but what the connection might be Claudecould not rightly conclude.

  From his frequent talks with Tait he knew that the third volumecontained the episode of the scarfpin, which was instrumental inbringing the fictitious murderer to justice. The assassin in the novelwas meant for Hilliston, and remembering this Claude wondered whetherthere might not be some reason for his removal of the book. Mrs.Hilliston had quailed at the mention of Horriston, and the explanationgiven by her husband did not satisfy Larcher. What reason could she havefor taking more than a passing interest in the tragic story? Why, afterten years, should she pale at the mention of the neighborhood? Claudeasked himself these two questions, but could find no satisfactory answerto either of them.

  He was toying with his wineglass while thinking, when a sudden thoughtmade him grip the slender stem with spasmodic force. Was it possiblethat Mrs. Hilliston could have been in the neighborhood five-and-twentyyears before; that she could have heard some talk of that scarfpin whichwas not mentioned at the trial, but which Tait insisted was an actualfact, and no figment of the novelist's brain; and finally, could it bethat Hilliston had purposely removed the third volume of "A Whim ofFate" so that his wife should not have her memory refreshed by arelation of the incident. It was very strange.

  Thus thinking, Claude glanced stealthily at his guardian, who wasmusingly smoking his cigar, and drinking his wine. He looked calm, andcontent, and prosperous. Nevertheless, Claude was by no means so sure ofhis innocence as he had been. Hilliston's confusion, his hesitation, hisevasion, instilled doubts into the young man's mind. He determined togain a knowledge of the truth by questions, and mentally arranged theseas follows: First he would try and learn somewhat of the past of Mrs.Hilliston, for, beyond the fact that she was an American, he knewnothing of it. Second, he would lead Hilliston to talk of the scarfpin,and see if the reference annoyed him; and, third, he would endeavor todiscover if the lawyer was averse to his wife reading the novel. Withhis plans thus cut and dried, he spoke abruptly to his guardian:

  "I am sorry Mrs. Hilliston's health is so bad."

  "It is not bad, my dear fellow," replied the lawyer, lifting his head."She is a very strong woman; but of course, the fatigue of a Londonseason tells on the healthiest constitution. That is why I wish her togo to Eastbourne."

  "Why not take her to Horriston?"

  "Why should I? She connects the place with the story of your father,about whom I was forced to speak ten years ago; and, speakingpersonally, I have no desire to return there, and recall the horrors ofthe past."

  "You were greatly affected by my father's death?"

  "Naturally; he was my dearest friend. I would have given anything todiscover the assassin."

  "Did Mrs. Hilliston give you her opinion as to who was guilty?"

  "No. I told her as little as I could of so painful a subject. She is notin possession of all the facts."

  "At that rate why let her read 'A Whim of Fate'?"

  "I don't wish her to read it," answered Hilliston quietly; "but I leftthe novel lying about, and she read the first two volumes. If I can helpit, she shall not finish the story."

  "Why object to her reading the third volume?"

  "Because it would recall the past too vividly to her mind."

  "I hardly follow you there," said Claude, with a keen look. "The fact towhich you refer cannot exist for your wife. To her the novel can only bea second telling of the story related by you, when she wished to knowwho I was."

  "That is very true. Nevertheless, it made so painful an impression onher excitable nature that I am unwilling that her memory should berefreshed. Take another glass of wine, my boy."

  Hilliston evidently wished to turn the conversation, but Claude was toodetermined on learning the truth to deviate from his course. Slowlyfilling his glass with claret he pushed the jug toward Hilliston, andpursued his questioning:

  "The American nature is rather excitable, isn't it? By the way, is Mrs.Hilliston a pure-blooded Yankee?"

  "Yes," said Hilliston, with suspicious promptitude; "she was a Chicagobelle, and married a millionaire in the pork line called Derrick. Hedied soon after the marriage, so she came to England and married me."

  "It was her first visit to England, no doubt."

  "Her first visit," replied Hilliston gravely. "All her former life waspassed in New York, Boston, and Chicago. But what odd questions youask," added the lawyer, in a vexed tone. "Surely you do not think thatmy wife was at Horriston twenty-five years ago, or that she knows aughtof this crime save what I have told her?"

  "Of course, I think nothing of the sort," said Larcher hastily, and whatis more he believed what he said. It was impossible that Mrs. Hilliston,American born and bred, who had only been in England twelve years,should know anything of an obscure crime committed in a dull provincialtown thirteen years before the date of her arrival. Hitherto hisquestionings had eventuated in little, so he turned the conversationinto another groove, and tried to learn if Hilliston knew anything ofJenny Paynton.

  "What do you think of John Parver?"

  "He seemed an intelligent young fellow. Is that his real name?"

  "No. His name is Frank Linton, the son of the vicar of Thorston."

  "What! He belongs to the place whither you go with Tait," exclaimedHilliston, with a startled air. "That is strange. You may learn therewhence he obtained the materials for his novel."

  "I know that. He obtained them from Miss Paynton."

  "Who is she?"

  "A literary young lady who lives at Thorston with her folks. But I fancyLinton mentioned that he had told you about her."

  "Well he did and he didn't," said Hilliston, in some confusion; "thatis, he admitted that the story was founded on fact, but he did not tellme whence he obtained such facts. I suppose it is your intention toquestion this young lady."

  "Yes. I want to know how she heard of the matter."

  "Pooh! Read it in a provincial newspaper, no doubt."

  "I think not," replied Claude, with some point. "It is next toimpossible that she should come across a paper containing an account ofthe trial. People don't keep such grewsome matters by them, unless theyhave an interest in doing so."

  "Well, this young lady cannot be one of those persons. How old is she?"

  "Four-and-twenty!"

  "Ah!" said Hilliston with a sigh of relief, "she was not born when yourfather was murdered. You must see she can know nothing positive of thematter."

  "Then how did she supply Linton with the materials for this book?"

  "I can only answer that question by reverting to my theory of thenewspaper."

  "Well, even granting that it is so," said Larcher quickly, "she knowsdetails of the case which are not set forth in the newspaper."

  "How do you know this?" asked Hilliston, biting his lip to control hisfeelings.

  "Because in the third volume----"

  "Nonsense! nonsense!" interrupted Hilliston violently, "you seem toforget that the hard facts of the case have been twisted and turned bythe novelist's brain. We do not know who slew your father, but thenovelist had to end his story,--he had to solve the mystery,--and he hasdone so after his own fashion."

  Rising from his seat, he paced hurriedly to and fro, talking the whilewith an agitation strange in so hard and self-controlled a man.

  "For instance, the character of Michael Dene is obviously taken from me.It is not a bit like me, of course, either in speech, or looks, ordress. All the novelist knew was that I had given evidence at the trial,and that the dead man had been my dearest friend. The c
ircumstancessuggested a striking dramatic situation--that the dear friend hadcommitted the crime for the base love of the wife. Michael Dene isguilty in the novel--but the man in real life, myself----You know all Iknow of the case. I would give ten years of my life, short as the spannow is, to find the man who killed George Larcher."

  This was strong speaking, and carried conviction to the heart of Claude,the more so when Hilliston further explained himself.

  "On the night of the murder I was at the ball three miles off. I knewnothing of the matter till I was called upon to identify the corpse ofyour father. It was hardly recognizable, and the face was muchdisfigured, but I recognized him by the color of his hair and the sealon his finger."

  "How was it that my father was dressed as Darnley?"

  "John Parver explains that," said Hilliston sharply. "Jeringham--Iforget his name in the novel--was dressed as Darnley, and I believe, asis set forth in the book, that George Larcher assumed the dress so thatunder his mask your mother might mistake him for Jeringham. Evidentlyshe did so, as he learned that she loved Jeringham----"

  "One moment," interposed Claude quickly, "my mother denies thatJeringham was her lover."

  "Your mother?"

  "Mrs. Bezel."

  "True; I forgot for the moment that you knew she was alive. No doubt sheis right; and Jeringham was only her friend. But in the novel he is herlover; Michael Dene, drawn from myself, is her lover. You see fact andfiction are so mixed up that there is no getting at the truth."

  "I shall get at the truth," said Claude quietly.

  "Never. After such a lapse of time you can discover nothing. Better letthe dead past bury its dead. I advised you before. I advise you now. Youwill only torture your life, cumber it with a useless task. GeorgeLarcher is dead and buried, and dust by this time. No one knows whokilled him, no one ever shall know."

  "I am determined to learn the truth!"

  "I hope you may, but be advised. Leave this matter alone. You do notknow what misery you may be laying up for yourself. Why, you have noteven a clew to start from! Unless," added Hilliston, with a sneer, "youfollow the example of the novelist and elucidate the mystery by means ofthe scarfpin."

  Again Tait was right. Hilliston had himself introduced the subject ofthe scarfpin. Claude immediately took advantage of the opening.

  "I suppose that episode is fiction?"

  "Of course it is. No scarfpin was found in the garden. Nothing was foundbut the dagger. You know that Michael Dene is supposed to drop thatscarfpin on the spot. Well, I am the living representative of MichaelDene, and I assure you I never owned a garnet cross with a centraldiamond."

  "Is that the description of the scarfpin?"

  "Yes. Do you not remember? A small Maltese cross of garnets with adiamond in the center. The description sounds fictitious. Who ever sawsuch an ornament in real life. But in detective novels the solution ofthe mystery turns on such gew-gaws. A scarfpin, a stud, a link, abrooch--all these go to hang a man--in novels."

  This assertion that the episode of the scarfpin was fiction was indirect contradiction to that of Tait, who declared it to be true. Claudewas torn by conflicting doubts, but ultimately put the matter out of histhoughts. Miss Paynton alone could give a correct opinion as to whetherit had emanated from her fertile brain, or was really a link in theactual case. Judging from the speech of Hilliston, and the silence ofthe newspaper reports, Claude believed that Tait was wrong.

  The lawyer and his guest did not go to the drawing room, as Mrs.Hilliston sent word that she was going to bed with a bad headache. Underthe circumstances Claude took his leave, having, as he thought,extracted all necessary information from Hilliston. Moreover, he wasanxious to get back to Tait's chambers and hear what the little man hadto tell him about Mrs. Bezel. Hilliston said good-by to him at the door.

  "I shall see you at Eastbourne, I suppose," he said genially.

  "Yes. I will drive over and tell you what Miss Paynton says."

  The door closed, and Hilliston, with a frown on his face, stood lookingat the floor. He was by no means satisfied with the result of theinterview.

  "I wish I could stop him," he muttered, clenching his fist; "stop him atany price. If he goes on he will learn the truth, and if he learns thetruth--ah----"

  He drew a long breath, and went upstairs to his wife. As he ascended thestairs it seemed to him as though he heard the halting step of Nemesisfollowing stealthily behind.