THE GODDESS: A DEMON.

Otago Witness, Issue 2413, 31 May 1900, Page 49

THE GODDESS: A DEMON.

By RICHARD 3IARSH,

Author of "In Full Cry," "The Beetle : A Mystery," " The' Crime and the Criminal,'' "The Datchet Diamonds," "The Duke and the Damsel," &c, &c.

[GOPYRIGH/C.]

CHAPTER XVH.-MY UNPERSUASIVE ■>- MANNER.

S I left the house, a m&n came across the pavement, as if with the intention of knocking at Philip Lawrence's door. At sighii of me coming down the steps he stopped short. It was young Moore. His appearance set the blood tingling in my veins. His hat was cocked at an acute angle on

one side of his head. A cigar was stuck in the corner of his mouth. There was something in his bearing and about the way he spoke which showed that he had been drinking. "What are you doing in that house? You answer me that! Seems to me that you've got a finger in every pie. " He addressed me in tones which were probably audible in Piccadilly. " Might I ask you, Mr Moore, -to pitch your voice a little lower?" " You may ask, but as for paying attention to anything you ask, not me. I'm not afraid of anyone hearing what I've got io ■say. This is the public street, this is, and if you so much as lay a hand on me Here, drop that! Help! Police!" As T moved Howards him, he sprang out of my reach, shouting in a fashion which could not fail to attract attention. Indeed, a man, apparently a respectable artisan, -who had passed us a few seconds before, turned to look at v*. " Y^hat's the matter there ?" Mr Moore was quite at his cage. ' " Nothing — at least, not yet there isn't. But there will be soon, if he so much as lays a finger on me." The man went on. " You seem to bs a pretty sort of idiot," I observed. He flicked the ash off his cigar, with a

j jeering laugh. "We can't all be as wise as you, nor as big. Size goes for something, you great, overgrown monster. Barnum's museum is where you ought to be, not walking about the 'streets." I hardly knew what to make of him. If 1 had had him in a room, I might have taught him manners. Out in the street he had me at an advantage. He was plainly disposed to court, rather than avoid, a public scandal, while I was anything but inclined to find myself an object of interest to a curious crowd. While I hesitated he went on : " A nice sort you seem to be, all round. A pretty lot of lies you stuffed me with this morning, Adair and you together. On my honour ! • Making out that Eddie Lawrence Had had his throat cut, and the Lord knows what ! Setting me thinking that my sister' d cut it for him — my goodness ! What is your little game? I wish she had!" He 'burst into boisterous laughter. "Bessie cut Eddie Lawrence's throat !— that would be an elegant joke ! I only wish she'd clone it. D'ye hear? 1 say I only wish she'd done it! You can put that into your pipe and smoke it." He swaggered off up the street. I made no attempt to stop him — crediting him with the wild utterances of a drink-fuddled brain. I did wonder what errand hud brought him fa Pliilig L»wjrejic&'s j, for that he had been

f going, there when I interrupted him I felt sure.' But that, in his present condition, I should get no information on that point, or any other, from him Avas evident. I returned home. As soon as I entered the sitting room I became conscious that someone was in the bedroom beyond. " If that is Hume aoain " It would have gone hard with him if it had been. But it was not. It was Inspector Symonds, and a colleague. It came '{ upon me, with a rush of sickening recollection, that I had actually gone out without putting the room to "rights, but with all my possessions tying about, just as j Hume and I had left them. On the bed j was still that irrepressible cloak. Why had I not burnt the thing ; or torn it into rags; or got rid of it somehow? Anything would have been better than allowing it to continue in existence. The two men were examining it minutely, from top to bottom. "What — what are you doing here?" There was a choking something in my throat. They had taken me by surprise ; > and I was conscious that this was not a case m which physical force could be adi vantageouly employed. ' "Our duty, Mr" Ferguson. We are act- ; j ing within the limits of our authority. I . have a search warrant in my pocket. Shall I read it to you. sir?"' : "What are you searching for in my room?'' J .'. "For something that will throw light 1 upon murder of your friend. Mr Edwin . Lawrence. As that "is an object for which . you will, no doubt, be willing to do anything which lies in your power. You will be glad to hear that we have come upon what looks like a very important piece of evidence. Whose cloak is this, Mr Ferguson?" , "Cloak? What cloak? Oh, that! That's my cousin's." | "Indeed. What is your cousin's name?" | " Mary — Miss Mary .Ferguson. She was here a few days ago, and, as her nose bled . very badly, she left her cloak behind." My wits were wool-gathering. It was , the first invention I could think of. ! " And were these marks upon the cloak , made by yoifr cousin's nose bleeding?" ' "Exactly." " She must have almost bled to death. Did a bloodvessel break?" •"No. I don't think s=o." "\ou don't think so?" " That is, I'm sure. She has suffered very badly from bleeding at the nose her 1 whole life long ; some people do — as you are, perhaps, aware." i i " How long is it since she was your visitor?" " Oh, some days. Quite a week — if not more?'V j- _"Is that -■ 'so 1r It's odd that the blood ■ ! should have continued in a liquid state so , long. Some of it is not dry yefr." ' j ""Well, perhaps it. wasn't so long as that." I "So I should imagine." j ''If you'll give lt~to me I'll pack it up 1 a lid send it to her at once. I meant- to 1 i have done so before." ! '' -Let me have . her address, and I will ' send it to her. Or, rather, I will take it ' to her at once. That will save both time ' and trouble." > ' , " You are very good, Symonds, but I won't.put you to so much inconvenience. I ' prefer to take it to her myself." ■ ; | " You are sure that your cousin's name | isn't Moore — Miss Bessie Moore?" | '"What do you mean? Are you presuming again?" j 4f Are 3 r ou prepared to asperfcj Mr Ferj guson, that this .cloak was net worn by i Alias Bessie Moore when, last night, she ' came out of Mr Edwin Lawrence's room?" " I'll swear it." ' " You will have an opportunity of doing so in the witness-box. Though 1 warn 1 you to consider what are the pains and penalties oi committing perjury, because I : shall bring trustworthy witnesses who will ■ prove not only that she wore this cloak, , but that the fact of her wearing it was i well within your knowledge."' \ • He began "to roll it up. j " You are not going to take it away, Symonds — my cousin's property?" j " Your cousin's properly ! Listen to me, !Mr Ferguson. I'm told that you've lived , a good deal abroad. I don't know what j may be the manners and, customs in .those parts, but I can assure you that at home you cannot do a more serious disservice to a person suspected oi crime than to resist, I on his or her behalf, due process of law. j And I may admit that, in the eyes of judge \ and jury, a prisoner is not assisted by the ' discovery that a witness has been endeavour- < ing to bolster up his or her cause by I swearing to a series of unmistakable false- ' hoods. I know thot Miss Bessie Moore ■ was wearing a cloak when she went to ' see Mi Edwin Lawrence. Mrs Peddar j says that she had on nothing of the kind ■ when you hid her in her apartment. What i hay become of it? In the interval, be1 tween her leaving Lawrence and going up to Mrs Peddar, she was in your room. I search your room. In it I discover a \ cloak which Miss Moore has been described as wearing. You will do that lady a very serious injury by endeavouring to persuade ', mo, or anybody else, that this garment is the property of a supposititious cousin, who • never existed except in your own imagina- , tion." j As he continued to speak in his measured, emotionless tones, I lelt as if something , w^is being drawn tighter about my throa-t: something against which it was vain to struggle. I endeavoured to collect my~ thoughts. But, somehow, all at once, I had grown stupid ; more stupid, even, than I was wont to be. I could not get my , ideas into proper order ; they eluded me. My brain wa,s in confusion. I could not see what was the wisest thing to do. I came to a desperate resolve, which I put into execution with sufficient clumsiness. ■ " You're on the wrong tack, Sir Sy- , monds." i ' I've not said what tack I am on." " You police are famous for your blunders. I'll save you from making another," "Thai's kind." " I killed Edwin Lawi'eacea."

They looked at me, then at*each othef^ smiling. The inspector's colleague gave * short, dry laugh. "It's a little too thin," he said. v " I repeat that I killed Edwin Lawrence. 1 * The inspector gazed at me with twinkling eyes. " What do you propose to gain by that?'-'-"Gain? Nothing; except, I suppose,the gallows. But I don't care. Life haa no longer any charms for me, with this— < this upon my soul. . His blood is on my hands. I admit it." "With a view, I presume, to getting his blood off the hands of somebody else, eh?" " What on earth do you mean ? You seem to be some sort of monomaniac — possessed with but one idea. I tell you that I am the man's murderer. You can take your prisoner . And there's an end of it." ," Hardly. What we want to know, just noAv, is how you account for these stains upon Miss Moore's cloak." " I know nothing at all about it." " They arc not the results of your cousin'? feleeding at the nose?' 1 " you, Symonds !" " Thank you, Mr Ferguson. That's scarcely a matter which is likely to come within your province. • You must take us 'for a pair of really remarkable simpletons, Gray and I, to wish ,us to. believe that you know so much about the one thing and nothing at all about the' other. It is odd." "As you please. I have admitted my guilt. If you decline -to arrest me I certainly shall n,6t be the one to grumble." " You shouldn't be, but it seems that you are. Tell us the story of these stains. It may be that the explanation will mak9 your guilt clear. Then we'll arrest you with the greatest pleasure." 1 thought what Hume had said about the advisability of concocting a plausible story, which could hold water. I wished heartily that I had availed myself of his assistance to frame one there and then. lam one of the worst liars 'living. More than once, when the situation could have been saved by a lie, I have made a mess of things. lam without the knack which some men have; no one would mistake a lie of mine for truth. I felt that the two officers were watching me, with keenly observant eyes, incredulity written large all over them. I was conscious that I must- say something. If Hume had only been there to prompt me ! Bracing myself together, I made a plunge. " I will tell you everything? I'll keep back nothing. What would be the use. You'd be sure to find out." / " Quite so." " She saw me kill him. She tried to save him. She rushed forward, and he fell back into' her arms; )SO that his life blood dyed her cloak." " : " That was the way of it — as he -fell back? From the., position in which he was found, the idea was that he fell forward.".. "Well, it might have beea forward. I—lI — I was hardly in a state of mind to pay close attention to every detail." "With what did you kill him?" '' With — with a knife which I brought home with me from a tribe of negroes on the West Coast, of Africa." " Might 1 see the weapon ?" I had an armoury of such things, but was conscious that there was nothing among them which could have been responsible for the injuries which had been inflicted on Edwin Lawrence. "I haven't it. I took it out with me just now, and — threw it into the river." '' That's unfortunate. Because, apart from anything else, it must have been a truly extraordinary weapon — worth looking' at, since the doctors were under the impression that at least 50 knives were used, of varying sizes." ' My knife had several blades." "Is that so? All of the same length?" "All lengths." " But fitted into one handle?" "Yes, but it was a peculiar handle?" '" So I should imagine. I'm afraid, Mr Ferguson, that you'll have to make a drawing of this knife of yours in order to make the judge and jury and the doctors understand what kind of article it was. When you entered the room was Miss Moor© already there?'' " Yes ; she was there on an errand of mercy." " Indeed. Did . she stop the- proceedings in order to tell you so?" " I know." " I have already remarked that you seem to know a good deal about some things and nothing at all about others. How long was it after jouv entrance that the murder be- • gan?" "I rushed 'at him instantly, without a word of warning. ' "Describe how the crime was committed — in detail.' "He was standing with his back to me. I stabbed him before he had. a chance to turn ; when he did turn I stabbed him in the chest." "And then in the face?" "Yes, and then in thejface." "What was Miss Moore doing all this time?" a " She was taken by surprise. So soon as she understood what was happening she rushed to the rescue." " I suppose, by then, you had stabbed him 30 or 40 times. The corpse is disfigured by hundreds of wounds." "I can't say." " And, after the rescue, did you continue stabbing him?" "I did." " And what did Miss Moore do — nothing V" " She tried co prevent me — she did all that she could." "Struggled with you, for instance?" "Yes." " Do you say that Miss Moore struggled with you?" " Look here, Symonds, confound you, and confound your questions ! Do you know that I'm -beginning to feel like killing you?" " Steady ! Keep a little farther off. You're not the sort of man with whom 1 should care to struggle. Especially, €ft

aow, for the first time, I believe you. I have no doubt that, at the present moment, -you feel much more like killing me than you ever felt like killing -Edwin Lawrence. •No, Mr Ferguson, I've an inkling of what ' you're driving at, and I'm not sure that, .policeman though I am, in a sort of a way S. don't admire you. But you're no hand at a game like this. You're no fictionist ; it's not your line ; your plots don't dovetail. We still have to find out how these stains came upon the lady's cloak." "Aren't you — aren't you going to arrest me?" "I am not, at present. Perhaps, when you are in the witness-box you may succeed in inducing the judge to order your arrest, but, in that case, I'm afraid that it .will be for perjury. Come along, Gray. .If I were you, Mr Ferguson, I'd let things take their course ; they will, however you may try to stop them. If the lady is innocent, it will be made plain ; if she is not, that also will be made plain ; and you may take my word for it that ifs just as well for everyone concerned that it should be." The inspector went out of .the room, ■with the cloak rolled up under his arm — I making no sort of effort to prevent him. The truth is that I was conscious I iiad succeeded in making an ass of myself, -end that the backbone had all gone out of ,me, and I felt as limp as a rag. -- And yet that- imbecile old Morley liad prated of my persuasive manner! CHAPTER XVIII.— I AM CALLED. - Had I liad my way, that night Miss -Moore would have sought a place of refuge, where she could have lain hidden till the cloud had passed over and her integrity was made clear. Anything, to my mind, was better than that she should run even a momentary risk of a v policeman's contaminating handd. But Hume would have none of it. Someone knocked at the door, while I was sitting on the side of the bed, wondering, since I had failed to do murder, if suicide were not the next bsst thing. It was Hume. He gave me one of his swift, keen glances as he came in. "Anything fresh?" " Man, jl ye made an idiot of myself — an idiot." " Ah ! But what I said Avas, is there anything fresh?" I told him the story of my interview with Symonds. He kept on smiling all the time, as if it had been a funny tale. When . I had finished, he rubbed" bis chin. "You burned your boats, that's clear. You'll never hang for the lady. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put that murder story of yours together again. You've managed very well, my dear Ferguson." ~ I cared nothing for "his sneers. Other thoughts were racking me. " I shouldn't be surprised if he's gone off to arrest her right away, and all because of xaj — niy cursed blundering." , -T think' not. The lady's safe. for tonight. The police don't always move" so fast as you appear to think. They'll know where, to find her wLen they want her." "That's it! Hume, couldn't — souldn't she be induced to go where they wouldn't know where to find her?" " I hope she's not so foolish. To run away would be about equivalent to pleading guilty. She'd have all 'England hot-foot after her. Better stay and face the music. The inquest's for to-morrow. As one of the most important witnesses, you will be able to make ihe whole thing clear and establish her innocence in the eyes of all men." The inquest! I had never thought ox it. And for to-morrow? The idea came with a shock of surprise. That was what Symonds had' meant by his ironical allusions to my conduct in the witness box. In my state of mind, with my muddled ■nead and stumbling tongue, an expert lieckler might goad me into saying anything—into ' hanging her with the words out of my own mouth. I had a wild notion of flying myself, that there might be no risk of doing her an injury by my inability to hold my own in a tongue match with the lawyers. But I remembered what she had said about feeling safe when I v was near ; and I myself had a' sort of suspicion that, if the worst " came to the worst, I still might do her yeoman's' service. So; as I could not .keep still" at home, -and think, instead of going j • farther from her, I went closer to her. j After T had -swallowed a hurried dinner, I took a "cab Bromptonwards, and hung about Hailsham road for hem- after hour. I -passed and re-passed the house. A light was burning ~iri the window of an upper room. I wondered if the room were hers. I would have given a good deal for the courage to inquire. But my nervous system was disorganised-. I was as afraid of being seen as if I had been there for an improper purpose. When anyone came into the street from either direction I quickened my pace and almost bolted. Once, when someone raised a corner of a' blind, with the apparent intention of peeping out into the street 1 i'ailv took to my heels and ran. -On one point I derived some negative satisfaction — so far as I could judge the house was not being watcheg by the police. The lady was free to come or go. I was the only person who was taking an obvious interest in her proceedings. Perhaps that was in some degree owing to the weather, which was bad, even for London. There was a delightful fog, which, for some inscrutable reason, was seemingly not aft all affected by a cutting east wind, and a filthy rain. I had on an overcoat, but was conscious that I was not getting drier as the niglrb wore on. .What .1 was waiting for I could not have told myself; until, towards midnight, a hansom" dashed into the street, in which, as it passed, I saw the face ot Miss Adair. I was aftei it like a flash, catching it just tis'it reached' the door of No. 22. "Miss Adair!" I cried, as the lady was preparing to descend into the mud and rain. "Good gracious, Mr Ferguson, •is that -you? Whatever are you doing here at this time of night?"

" I—lI — I thought I'd call and inquire how — how Miss Moore was getting on." "•Well, and have you called?" " No, I — T thought I'd wait till you came home from the theatre and — and ask you. " From her post of vantage in the cab, Miss Adair looked me up and down, perceiving that I was neither so well groomed nor so dry as I might have been. " And, pray, how long have you been, waiting for me to come home from the theatre?" " Oh some — some few minutes." "A good few minutes, I should imagine. And where have you been waiting?" " Oh, I—l'veI — I've been hanging about." " In the mud, I should say, from the look of you. You are a disreputable object. I cannot but hope that you've enjoyed your vigil. I may toll you, for your satisfaction, that when I left home Miss Moore was ill." " 111 ! Not— not really ill?" "Really ill. This time there's not a doubt about it. She's in bed. Dr Hume says that it's the result of the breakdown from the overstrain which might have been naturally expected." " Hume ! Has Hume been here?" " Certainly. And another medical man." ■" But — what did Hume' want?" '•My "good sir! Dr Hume's a doctor; and a very clever one." -'■ Yes, ' but only in special cases. This sort of thing is not his line." "I think you are mistaken. I should say that everything was his line. Besides, he is a very old and a very intimate friend of Miss Moore." " Oh — I—l1 — I wasn't aware that he was quite — quite so intimate as that." I felt that the woman was regarding me out of the corner of her eye. She knew that she was torturing me. "-Oh, dear, yes. Not that I fancy that Bessie's very fond of Dr Hume. Indepd, it's rather the other way. It's my belief that she can't bear the sight of the man. Though I don't know why. He's most charming — and so clever. Don't you like clever people?" No, I did not; I never did, and never shall. '" Shall I ascertain how Bessie's progressed since. I went out, or don't you care to stay?" "If — if you would let me know how she is !"'-■ Letting herself in with a latchkey, she made inquiries of the maid who appeared ii the hall. "How is Miss Moore?" " I don't think she's quite so well, mi&s. I sent for Dr Nockolds, and I did think of sending for Dr Hume." • " Htfine !" I cut in.- " I shouln't send for Hume. The other man's as good, 'if not better.'' Miss Adair turned to me., . "But, my dear Mr Ferguson, Br.Hiune is a most skilful practitioner." '**• ".Yes, s but not— r»ot in -.these sorb- of oases. I'm sure the other "man's better. And, if you like, I'll send in a man ; P^-I know a most wonderful man." ': -.^.j-"-And what did Dr Nockolds say?" "He seemed to think she was going on all right, only a little feverish. But he sent in a nurse, who's going to sit up with her to-night." " She'll be all right with the nurse, not a doubt of it. Good night," Mr Ferguson. So good of you to call." That woman showed me to the door, without giving me a chance to slip a word in edgeways. I went home in the cab which had brought her from the theatre. Hume indeed ! Why had I not been trained to be a doctor. If there was a more miserable man in London that, night than I was, I should have liked to have seen him. And on the morrow it was worse ! They held the inquest, after the agreeable English custom, in a publichouse — the Bolt and Tvn — the sort of place no decent person could have entered in the ordinary way. There, in a long room, with a sanded floor, the coroner sat with his jury. The witnesses hung about as if they did not know what to do with themselves. The police Avcre very much in evidence. And a heterogeneous collection of doubtful looking men, women, and children "represented the general public. The coroner was a man named Evanson — a Dr Keginal Evaxidon, A small, thin, sharp-faced man," with sandy hair, -who looked as if he drank. I am very much mistaken if it was not only because he failed as a medical practitioner that he got himself elected coroner. I disliked the fellow diiectly I caught a glimpse of him; and I do -not think that ho took an inordinate fancy to me. - As for his jury, he and they were . a capital match. There was not one man among them to whom, on the strength, of his appearance, I would have lent a five-pound note. They commenced proceedings by viewing the body. Edwin Lawrence still lay oh his bed," so that they had a walk of a hundred yards or more. It seemed as if they enjoyed the little excursion, for two or three of them were sniggering and joking together when they returned : I should not have been surprised to learn that they had refreshed themselves with a glass _ of something at the bar, on the way upstairs. Then evidence was called : George Atkins. It; was Atkins and I vho had discovered the tragedy. They did not keep him long. He said his say in a crisp, business-like manner, which I only hoped that I might be able to imitate when my turn came. He told how he had taken his morning cup of coffee to Lawrence's bedroom door ; how h& had failed to receive an answer ; how he had brought my coffee to me, telling me of his inability to make the man hear ; how I had gone along the balcony, looked through the window, called to him; how we had entered the room together, and what we had seen lying on the floor. When Atkins had told them so much they let him go. "Call John Ferguson." It was unnecessary. John Ferguson was waiting, close at hand, completely fit their service — or, at least, as much at their service as he was ever likely to be. I stepped up to the table. -"Large size in blokes, ain't he?" whis-

pered one idiot to - another, as I passed through ihe little crowd. The other idiot chuckled. I could have hammered their heads together, so sensitive was I, at that moment, to everything and anything, and so calmly judicial was my frame of mind, in excellent fettle to cut a proper figure on an occasion when eveiything — happiness, honour, life itself — might hang upon a word ! (To be continued.) -