by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER VII
CYRIL AND BELLA
Captain Huxham's death having been legally relegated to the list ofundiscovered crimes, his gnarled old body was committed to a damp gravein Marshely cemetery. There was a vast concourse of people from far andnear to assist at the funeral of one who had been so mysteriouslymurdered. So greatly had the strangeness of the deed appealed to theimagination of metropolitan readers, that many London reporters camedown to see the last of the case, and if possible to begin it again bymaking enquiries. But ask as they might, they could learn nothing. Theywere therefore compelled to content themselves with picturesquedescriptions of the ancient Manor-house amidst its corn-fields, and withinaccurately lurid accounts of the late owner's career as a sailor.
Mrs. Coppersley went to the funeral as chief mourner, as Bellaresolutely declined to do so. She was sorry for her tyrannical father'sviolent death, but being very human, found it difficult to forgive himfor the way in which he had behaved. He had bullied her and shut her inher room, and finally had drugged her by stealth. But as it turned outit was just as well that he had done so, as thereby she was able toprove that she knew nothing of the crime, even though she was alone inthe house. Then again, there was the other side of the question totake--that if Huxham had not administered the laudanum he might havebeen alive and well at the moment. It seemed to Bella, overstrung withnerves, that some higher powers had dealt out a punishment to theCaptain for crimes committed but undiscovered. Certainly she agreed withTunks that her father had some dark secret in his mind, which led him toisolate himself in the midst of the corn.
However, he was dead and buried, so all debts were paid, and Bellasitting in the vast drawing-room of the Manor-house with achurch-service open on her lap, tried hard to forget Huxham's bad traitsof character, and to remember his good ones. This was somewhatdifficult, as the captain had few engaging qualities. But Bella recalledthat he had been kind in a gruff sort of way and had never grudged herthe best of food and the gaudiest of frocks. Huxham had been one ofthose so-called good people, who are amiable so long as everything isdone according to their liking; but who display the tyrant when crossed.But on the whole he might have been worse, and after all, as sheanxiously kept in mind, he was her father.
The room wherein she sat, with the blinds down, was opposite the studyand was a large apartment sparsely furnished. Huxham did not care for adrawing-room, as he preferred his den, but Mrs. Coppersley had botheredhim incessantly until he provided her with furniture for the place. Sheselected the furniture herself, and what with her brother's stinginessand her own bad taste, the result was woefully bad. The room, spacious,lofty and stately, was decorated as beautifully as was the study, andrequired the most exquisite furniture to enhance its faded splendours.But Mrs. Coppersley had bought a magenta-hued sofa and manymagenta-covered chairs, together with a cheap sideboard, so sticky as tolook like a fly catcher, and two arm chairs of emerald green. The inlaidfloor she had covered with lineoleum, diapered white and black, and herartistic taste had led her to paint the mellow oak panelling with pinkAspinall's enamel. As the curtains of the many windows were yellow, andthe blinds blue, the effect was disastrous, and suggestive of apaint-box. An artist would have died of the confusion of tints, and thebarbarism of destroying the oak panels, but Mrs. Coppersley was morethan satisfied with the result, and when seated in the drawing-room onSunday felt herself to be quite the lady.
At the present moment Bella's nerves were less troubled than usual; theblinds were down in sympathy with the funeral, and a dim twilightpervaded the room, hiding more or less the atrocious grandeur. She satin one of the green arm-chairs near the fire-place, reading the burialservice and listening to the solemn tolling of the bell. But after atime she dropped the book on her lap and leaned back to close her eyesand reflect on her grave position. If only she had not seen Cyril onthat night she could have married in ignorance that he had anything todo with the death of her father; but, enlightened as she was, itappeared impossible that she should become his wife. She had saidnothing of his visit at the inquest, but the hideous doubt remained inher mind, although she strove to banish it by assuring herself over andover again that Lister could have had no hand in the matter. But howcould she prove his innocence?
She was alone in that sinister house, and although it was brightsunshine out of doors she felt scared. The cool dim room, the drearybooming of the distant bell, the impressive words of the burial servicewhich she had just been reading--all these things united in a weirdappeal to her psychic instincts, to those mysterious senses which dealwith the unseen. In the arm-chair she sat with closed eyes strung up tobreaking-point, and felt that if the psychic influence which seemed tocontrol her became more insistent, she would scream. A thought flashedacross her mind that her father was walking that dim, chill apartment,trying to communicate the truth; and in her nervous excitement she couldalmost have sworn that she heard the heavy tread of his feet.
Thus, when she really did hear a light footstep in the entrance hallwithout, she uttered a piercing scream, and staggered to her feet. Thehall door, she knew, had been left open since the coffin had beencarried down the path between the standing corn, so that anyone couldenter. Perhaps the assassin had come back to review the scene of hiscrime, or to commit another.
White-faced and panic-stricken by the power of her own emotionsengendered by the circumstances, she clung to the back of the arm-chair,straining her eyes towards the door. At the sound of her thinhigh-pitched scream the footsteps had ceased for a moment, as though theintruder was listening. Now they recommenced and drew near the outsideof the door. Unable to utter a sound Bella stared through the dim lightsand saw the door open cautiously. A face looked in and the eyes set inthe face blinked in the semi-gloom. Then the door opened widely andCyril Lister stepped in.
"Oh, my darling!" With a sudden rush of relief Bella ran rapidly towardsthe door to throw herself into her lover's arms. Then a gruesome memoryof that sinister visit made her falter and pause half way. Cyril closedthe door and stood where he was, holding out his hungry arms.
"Dearest," he said softly. "Oh, my poor girl."
But Bella did not move; she stood looking at him as though fascinated.He wore a white drill suit made, tropic-fashion, high at the neck, withwhite shoes, and a panama hat. His white-clothed figure accentuated thetwilight of the room, which now looked brown and grim. Considering thather father was dead and even now was being laid in an untimely grave,Cyril might have come to her dressed in mourning, unless--ah, unless."Oh!"--she stretched out an arm as he advanced slowly--"don't come nearme--don't come near me."
"Bella!" He stopped in sheer surprise. "Bella, darling, don't you knowme?"
"Ah, yes, I know you," she gasped, retreating towards the chair."Perhaps I know you too well."
"Because I have not been to see you before?" he asked, surprised."Bella, dearest, I would have come but that I have been abroad duringthe week. I had to go to Paris to see a--a friend of mine."
She noted the hesitation and shivered. "When did you go?"
Cyril came near, and again she shrank away. "On the afternoon when yourfather found us in the corn-field."
"It's not true; it's not true. How can you lie to me?"
"Bella!" Cyril stopped short again, and in the faint light she could seethat he looked thoroughly puzzled and amazed. "What do you mean?"
The girl's legs refused to support her any longer, and she sank into thechair. "My father is being buried," she gasped.
"I know, I know," he replied sympathetically. "I went to the funeral,but finding you were not present, I came here to comfort you."
"You--you--you went to the funeral?" her eyes dilated.
"Why should I not go. After all, even though we quarrelled, he was yourfather, and a last tribute of respect----"
"Oh, stop, stop. You can say this to me--to me, of all people?"
Lister frowned and pinched his lip. "This lonely house and this cold,dull room have unnerved you," he said after a p
ause. "I make everyallowance for what you have gone through, but----"
"But you know, you understand."
"Know what? understand what?" he inquired sharply.
"I said nothing at the inquest. I held my tongue. I never----"
"Bella!" Cyril, now thoroughly roused, advanced and seized her wrists inno gentle grasp, "are you crazy, talking in this way?"
"I have had enough to make me crazy," she said bitterly, "let me go."
"Not till you explain your mysterious behaviour. No"--he grasped herwrists tighter as she strove to release herself--"not till you explain."
"Ah!" she cried out shrilly, "will you murder me also?"
Lister suddenly released her wrists and fell back a pace. "Murder youalso?" he repeated. "Am I then in the habit of murdering people?"
"My father. You--you----"
"Well, go on," said he, as the word stuck in her throat.
"Oh"--she wrung her hands helplessly--"I saw you; I saw you."
"Saw me what?" His voice became impatient and almost fierce.
"I saw you enter the house--this house."
"Saw me--enter this house? When?"
"On the night my father was murdered--at eight o'clock."
"What the devil are you talking about?" cried Cyril roughly. "I was inLondon at eight o'clock on that night, and went to Paris the nextmorning. I never heard of the murder, as I saw no newspapers. When Ireturned last night I read the account of the inquest in the eveningpapers, and I came down this morning to comfort you. I really thinktrouble has turned your head, Bella."
The girl stared at him in astonishment. Even though she had spoken sovery plainly, Cyril did not seem to comprehend that she was accusing himof having committed a dastardly crime. Her heart suddenly grew light.Perhaps, after all, she was mistaken, and--and--"You can prove yourinnocence?"
"My innocence of what, in heaven's name?" he cried angrily.
"Of--of--the--the--murder," she faltered.
Lister stared, and scarcely could believe his ears. "You are notserious?"
"Oh, my dear:" she sobbed, "I wish I were not."
"And you accuse me of murdering your father?"
"No, no! Really, I don't accuse you of actually--that is, of really--butI saw you enter this house at eight o'clock, or a little after, on thatnight. I intended to come down, thinking you and my father mightquarrel, but I drank the tea--you must have seen about the tea at theinquest--that is, in the report given in the papers. Then I fell asleep,and woke to hear that my father was dead. But I never betrayed you,Cyril. God is my witness that I have held my tongue."
Lister passed his hand across his forehead, and fell helplessly into anear chair. "You accuse me of murdering your father?" he said again.
"No, no;" she repeated feverishly, "but I saw you--you looked up--youwore the grey clothes, as you had done in the afternoon when fatherinterrupted us."
"Bella! Bella! You must have been dreaming, or the drug----"
"I was not dreaming," she interrupted vehemently, "and I saw you beforeI drank the drugged tea. I called to you, and you looked up; but youentered the house without making any sign of recognition. Then I fellasleep, and--and--oh,--my dear"--she flung herself down at his feet andseized his hand. "What took place between my father and you? I'm sureyou did not kill him. I am quite sure of that, and, remember, I held mytongue. Yes, I held----"
"Oh," groaned the young man, looking down into her agitated face. "I amlosing my reason. You will shortly persuade me that I killed----"
"But you did not--you did not. Ah, never say that you did."
"No," said Lister shortly, and rose so suddenly as to let her fall, "andif you believe me to be a murderer, we had better part."
"I don't! I don't!" she wailed, stretching out her hands, as he strodetowards the door. "Oh, Cyril, don't leave me. You are all I have."
Lister was in a white heat with rage, and stood fumbling at the door.But a backward glance at her pale face cooled him somewhat. Herecognised that he was in the presence of some mystery, and that it wasnecessary for his own peace of mind, as for Bella's, to probe themystery to the bottom. On the impulse of the moment he walked back, andlifting her, placed her again in the arm-chair. Then he knelt besideher, and took her hands. "Darling," he said, softly and firmly, "I swearto you, what I would not swear to any living creature, that I aminnocent. If anyone but you had accused me, I should have----"
"Cyril! Cyril!" She wreathed her arms round his neck, "I only fancied,but I really did not think that----"
He removed her arms. "You should believe in my innocence in the face ofall evidence," he said sternly.
"But my own eyes," she faltered.
He frowned. "That certainly is puzzling; still, the drug----"
"I saw you enter the house before I drunk the tea," she protested. "Itold you that before."
"Your senses were quite clear?"
"Perfectly clear. And I thought that you had come to try and induce myfather to consent to our marriage."
"Strange," muttered the young man. "I was not near the house."
"Are you sure? are you sure?"
"Oh!" Lister's tone was highly exasperated. "You will drive me mad,talking in this way. Hearken," he added, speaking calmer, "when I leftyou and Captain Huxham in the corn-field, I went straight back to mylodgings. There I found a letter referring to the thousand pounds Iwished to borrow. I had to see the friend who was willing to lend it tome on that night. I therefore went to London by the six o'clock train.My landlady can prove that I left the house; the flyman can prove that Idrove to the local station; the ticket office there that I bought aticket, and the guard of the train shut me himself in a first-classcompartment. That is evidence enough, I fancy."
"Yes. Yes, for me, but----"
"But I might have sneaked back, I suppose you mean?" he said bitterly,and rising to walk the floor. "I can prove an _alibi_ easily. At eighto'clock I was at my friend's rooms in Duke Street, St. James's, as hisman can swear. He had gone to Paris, and I arranged to follow. I went tothe theatre, and to dinner with two friends of mine, and did not leavethem until one in the morning, when I returned to my hotel. The murdertook place at eleven, or between eight and eleven, so I can easily provethat I was not here. Next morning I went to Paris, and got the moneyfrom my friend. I lingered there with him, and only returned yesterday,to learn that your father was dead. Then I came down here this morningto--meet with this reception."
"Cyril! Cyril! Don't be hard on me."
"Are you not hard yourself?" he retorted. "How can I love a woman whodoubts me? Besides, robbery was the motive for the commission of thecrime. Am I likely to stab an old man, and then rob him?"
"No, I never believed, and yet----"
"And yet what?" he asked curtly.
"You--you--wanted a thousand pounds."
"Oh"--his lip curled--"and you believed that I robbed your father's safeto get it. Unfortunately, I understood, from your aunt's evidence at theinquest, that only one hundred pounds in gold were in the safe, so Imust have committed a brutal murder needlessly."
"I never said that you murdered my father," cried Bella despairingly.
"You inferred as much," he retorted cuttingly; "also that I robbed----"
"No, no, no!" she cried vehemently, now thoroughly believing him to becompletely innocent, and trying woman-like to recover her position."But, Cyril, listen to me, and you will see that as things look I wasjustified----"
"Nothing can justify your believing me to be guilty of a double crime."
Bella bowed her proud head. "I can see that now," she said humbly.
"You should have seen it before," he replied harshly.
She raised her head, and looked at him indignantly, bringing into playthe powerful weapon of sex. "You give me no opportunity of defendingmyself," she said, in the offended tone of a woman wronged.
"I ask your pardon, and give you the opportunity now," he repliedcoldly.
"I saw you enter the house," she repeated s
omewhat weakly.
"That is impossible," he rejoined briefly.
"Oh!" She clasped her hands together. "What is the use of saying that?It was not you, since I firmly believe what you tell me; all thesame----"
Cyril sprang forward, seized her hands, and looked deep into her eyes"You believe me, then?"
"Yes, I do. But if the man was not you, he must have been your double."
"Was he so like me, then?"
"Exactly like you. Don't I tell you, Cyril, that I leaned out of thewindow and spoke to the man. I called him by your name."
"What did he do?"
"He looked up, but making no sign of recognition stepped into the house,as the door was not locked. I never believed for one moment that it wasnot you, and resolved to clamber out of the window to be present at theinterview. Then I drank the drugged tea, and----" she made a gesture ofdespair--"you know the rest."
"How was the man dressed?"
"In a grey suit, just as you wore in the afternoon."
"You saw the face?"
"I saw it very plainly, although the twilight was growing darker at thetime. But I could have sworn it was your face. Would I have spoken tothe man had I not believed him to be you?"
"No, and yet"--Cyril stopped, and tugged at his moustache. His face hadgrown pale, and he looked decidedly worried. "The man was of my height?"
"He was like you in every respect. Perhaps if I had seen him in broaddaylight I might have recognised my mistake unless--oh, Cyril, could ithave been your ghost?"
"No," said Lister, in a strangled voice, "don't be absurd. I have anidea that----" he made for the door. "There's nothing more to say."
"Cyril, will you leave me? Won't you kiss----"
"There's nothing more to say," said Lister, now deadly pale, and walkedabruptly out of the dim room. Bella fell back in the chair and wept. Allwas over.