CHAPTER XXVI.
A THUNDERBOLT FROM THE BLUE.
Another day dawned, as wet and gloomy as the preceding ones. It was themiddle of the morning when Jack got out of bed, and as he dressed heheard the penetrating voices of newsboys ringing through the WaterlooBridge road. He could not distinguish what they were saying, thoughhe judged that the papers must contain some intelligence of unusualimportance. He rang for his breakfast, and his landlady, Mrs. Jones,appeared in person, bringing coffee, rolls and bacon on a tray. Her facewas flushed with excitement.
"Oh, Mr. Vernon, 'ave you 'eard?" she exclaimed. "There was a 'orriblemurder last night! I do pity the poor, dear creature--"
"I don't want to be shocked," Jack curtly interrupted. "Murders arecommon enough. But you might send me up a paper."
"And you won't 'ear--"
"Not now, my good woman."
Mrs. Jones put down the tray, tossed her head, and departed in a huff.The paper arrived five minutes later, and Jack glanced over it while hesipped his coffee. One of the inside pages suddenly confronted him withhuge headlines: "The Beak Street Murder!" He read further down thecolumn, and his face turned as pale as ashes; he swayed in his chair.
"My God!" he cried. "It is Diane!"
The report of the affair was enlarged from a briefer account that hadappeared in a late edition on the previous night. It seemed that Mrs.Rickett, the landlady and proprietress of 324 Beak street, haddiscovered the crime at a quarter to ten in the evening. A red stain,coming through the ceiling of her sitting-room, attracted her attention.She went to the room overhead, which was occupied by a female lodgercalling herself Diane Merode. The door was locked, and her demands foradmittance brought no response. She promptly summoned the police, whobroke in the door and found the unfortunate woman, Merode, lying dead ina pool of blood. She had been stabbed to the heart by a powerful blowdealt from behind.
"The murderer left no traces," the _Globe_ continued. "He carried offthe weapon, and, after locking the door, he took the key. According tomedical opinion, the deed was committed about half-past eight o'clock.At that time there were several other lodgers in the top part of thehouse, but they heard no noise whatever. Fortunately, however, thereis a clew. Mrs. Ricketts, who was out making purchases for breakfast,returned about a quarter to nine. As she entered the doorway a manslipped by her and hastened in the direction of Regent street. She hada good look at him, and declares that she would be able to recognize himagain. The police are searching for the suspected person."
Jack's breakfast was untasted and forgotten. His trembling hand hadupset the coffee, spilling it over the paper. He felt cold in everyvein, and his thoughts were in a state of wild chaos. It was hard tograsp the truth--difficult to realize the import of those staringheadlines of black type!
"Diane murdered! Diane dead!" he repeated, vacantly. "I can't believeit!"
After the first shock, when his brain began to throw off the numbingstupor, he comprehended the terrible fact. The crime gave him nosatisfaction; it never occurred to him that he was a free man now. Onthe contrary, a dull remorse stirred within him. He remembered his wifeas she had been five years before, when she had loved him with as muchsincerity as her shallow nature would permit, and her charms and beautyhad bound him captive by golden chains. There were tears in his eyes ashe paced the floor unsteadily.
"Poor Diane!" he muttered. "She has paid a frightful penalty for thesins of her wayward life--more than she deserved. She must have beenlying dead when I rapped on her door last night. Yes, and the fatal blowhad been struck but a short time before! The assassin was theforeign-looking man who came down the stairs as I went up! There can beno doubt of it! But who was he? And what was his motive? A discardedlover, perhaps! What else could have prompted the deed?"
He suddenly paused, and reeled against the wall; he clenched his hands,and a look of sharp horror distorted his face.
"By heavens, this is awful!" he gasped. "I never thought of it before!The police are looking for me--I remember now that I met the landladywhen I left the house. I brushed against her and apologized, and shestared straight at me! And the real murderer--the foreigner--appears tohave been seen by nobody except myself. What shall I do? It is on methat suspicion has fallen!"
The realization of his danger unnerved and stupefied Jack for aninstant. Dread phantoms of arrest and imprisonment, of trial andsentence, rose before his eyes. One moment he determined to flee thecountry; the next he resolved to surrender to the police and tell allthat he knew, so that the real murderer might be sought for withoutloss of time. But the latter course was risky, fraught with terriblepossibilities. The evidence would be strong against him. He rememberedDiane's letter. He must destroy it! He hurriedly searched the pockets ofthe clothing he had worn on the previous night, but in vain.
"The letter is gone--I have lost it!" he concluded, with a sinkingheart. "But where and how? And if it is found--"
There was a sharp rap at the door, and as quickly it opened, withoutinvitation. Two stern-looking men, dressed in plain clothes, steppedinto the room. Jack knew at once what the visit meant, and with asupreme effort he braced himself to meet the ordeal. It was hard workto stand erect and to keep his face from twitching.
"You are John Vernon?" demanded one of the men.
"Yes."
"I will be very brief, sir. I am a Scotland Yard officer, and I am hereto arrest you on suspicion of having murdered your wife, known as DianeMerode, at Number 324 Beak street, last night."
"I expected this," Jack replied. "I have just seen the paper--I knewnothing of the crime before. I am entirely innocent, though I admit thatthe circumstances--"
"I warn you not to say anything that may incriminate yourself. You mustcome with me, sir!"
"I understand that, and I will go quietly. I am quite ready. And at theproper time I will speak."
There was no delay. One of the officers remained to search theapartments, and Jack accompanied the other downstairs. They got intoa cab and drove off, while Mrs. Jones shook her fist at them from thedoorway, loudly protesting that she was a disgraced and ruined womanforever.
The magistrate was sitting in the court at Great Marlborough street, andJack was taken there to undergo a brief preliminary formality. Contraryto advice, he persisted in making a statement, after which he wasremoved to the Holloway prison of detention to await the result of thecoroner's inquest.
About the time that the cell-door closed on the unfortunate artist,shutting him in to bitter reflections, Victor Nevill was in his rooms onJermyn street. Several of the latest papers were spread out before him,and he brushed them savagely aside as he reached for a cigar-box. Helooked paler than usual--even haggard.
"They have taken him by this time," he thought. "I was lucky to pick upthe letter, and it was a stroke of inspiration to send it to the police.He is guilty, without doubt. I vowed to have a further revenge, my finefellow, if I ever got the chance, and I have kept my word. But there areother troubles to meet. The clouds are gathering--I wonder if I shallweather the storm!"
* * * * *
Enterprising reporters, aided by official leaking somewhere, obtainedpossession of considerable facts, including the prisoner's arrest andstatement, before two o'clock, and the afternoon journals promptlypublished them, not scrupling to add various imaginary embellishments.The simple truth was enough to cause a wide-spread and profoundsensation, and it did so; for John Vernon's reputation as an artist, andhis Academy successes, were known alike to society and to the masses. Itwas a rare morsel of scandal!
Madge Foster's first knowledge of the murder was gleaned from a morningpaper, which, delayed for some reason, was not delivered until herfather had gone up to town. Toward evening she bought a late editionfrom a newsboy who had penetrated to the isolated regions of Grove Parkand Strand-on-the-Green, and she saw Jack's name in big letters. Whenshe had read the whole account, the room seemed to swim around her, andshe dropped, half fainting, into a chair.
"He is innocent--his story is true!" she cried, feebly. "I will neverbelieve him guilty! Oh, if I could only go to him and comfort him in hisgreat trouble!"
Stephen Foster came home at seven o'clock, but he dined alone. Madge wasin her room, and would not come out or touch food. Her eyes were red andswollen, and she had wept until the fountain of her tears was dried up.
At four o'clock that same afternoon Mr. Tenby, the famous criminalsolicitor, was sitting in his private office in Bedford street, Strand,when two prospective clients were announced simultaneously, and, by amistake on the part of the office-boy, shown in together. The visitorswere Jimmie Drexell and Sir Lucius Chesney, and, greatly to their mutualamazement and the surprise of the solicitor, it appeared that they hadcome on the same errand--to engage Mr. Tenby to look after the interestsof Jack Vernon. They were soon on the best of terms.
"Mr. Vernon is an old friend of mine," Jimmie explained, "and I am goingto see him through this thing. I will stake my life on his innocence!"
"I am glad to hear you say that," replied Sir Lucius. "I am convincedmyself that he is guiltless--that his story is true in everyparticular. His face is a warranty of that. I am deeply interested inthe young man, Mr. Drexell. I have taken a fancy to him--and I insist onaiding in his defense. Don't refuse, sir. Expense is no object to me!"
"Nor to me," said Jimmie. "But it shall be as you wish."
This understanding being reached, the matter was further gone into.The solicitor, by adroit questioning, drew from Jimmie various bits ofinformation relating to the accused man's past life. His own opinion--hehad read all the papers--Mr. Tenby held in reserve behind a sphinx-likecountenance, nor did he vouchsafe it when it was finally settled that heshould defend the case.
"The circumstantial evidence appears strong--very strong," he saiddrily. "The situation looks black for Mr. Vernon. But I trust that thepolice will find the foreign-looking individual whom the accused metcoming out of the house, if it is certain that--" He broke off sharply.
"At all events, gentlemen," he added, "be assured that I shall do mybest."
This promise from the great Mr. Tenby meant everything. He dismissed hisvisitors, and they walked as far as Morley's Hotel together, discussingthe situation as hopefully as they could. It was evident to both,however, that the solicitor was not disposed to credit Jack's innocenceor the truth of his statement.
"I'll spend every dollar I have to get him free," Jimmie vowed, as hewent sadly on to the Albany. And much the same thing was in the mind ofSir Lucius, though he wondered why it should be. He was the creature ofa whim that dominated him.
The next day was Sunday, and on Monday the coroner held his inquest.The accused was not present, but he was represented by Mr. Tenby, whoposed mainly as a listener, however, and asked very few questions.Nothing fresh was solicited. Mrs. Rickett repeated her story, and theletter from the murdered woman, which the prisoner admitted having lost,was put in evidence. The proceedings being merely a prelude to a highercourt, the jurors rendered an undecisive verdict. They found that thedeceased had been murdered by a person or persons unknown, but thatsuspicion strongly pointed to her husband, John Vernon. They advised,moreover, that the police should try to find the stranger whom theaccused alleged to have seen coming from the house.
On Tuesday the unfortunate woman was decently buried, at JimmieDrexell's expense, and on the following day a more formal inquiry washeld at Great Marlborough street. Jack was there, and he had a brief andaffecting interview with Sir Lucius and Jimmie; he had previously seenhis solicitor at Holloway. He repeated to the magistrate the story hehad told before, and he was compelled to admit, by the Crown lawyers,that the murdered woman had been his wife, that they had lived apart fornearly six years, and that she had recently prevented him from marryinganother woman. What prompted these damaging questions, or how theprosecution got hold of the lost letter, did not appear. Mrs. Rickettpositively identified the prisoner, and medical evidence was taken. Thepolice stated that they had been unable as yet to find the missing man,concerning whose existence they suggested some doubt, and that they haddiscovered nothing bearing on the case in the apartments occupied byeither the accused or Diane Merode. Mr. Tenby, who was suffering froma headache, did little but watch the proceedings. The inquiry wasadjourned, and John Vernon was remanded in custody for a week.
But much was destined to occur in the interval. The solicitor had aformidable rival in the person of Jimmie Drexell. The shrewd American,keeping eyes and ears open, had formed suspicions in regard to theprincipal witness for the Crown. And he lost no time in making the mostof his clew, wild and improbable as it seemed.