CHAPTER XXVIII.
A DISCOVERY.
Jimmie's first move, on entering his chambers, was to lock the doorbehind him and turn up the gas. Then he produced the envelope, and toreit open, wondering as he did so what penalty the law would exact forsuch an offense. The enclosure consisted of a dozen closely-writtenpages of note-paper, dated two days before the murder. It was in thenature of a statement, or confession, which some whim had prompted Dianeto put down in writing. Her motive became clearer to Jimmie as he readon. She had meant no treachery to Jack in her letter. She had come toLondon, a repentant woman, to do him a real service--to open his eyes tovarious things--and for that purpose she had made the appointment atBeak street on the fatal night. In all likelihood the document hidden inthe closet was due to a premonition of impending evil--a haunting dreadof the danger that was creeping upon the unfortunate woman.
The statement was in the form of a letter, addressed to Jack Vernon onthe first page, and signed "Diane Merode" on the last. It ended quiteabruptly, and did not refer directly to the mysterious stranger or toDiane's early life, though it hinted at certain things of importancewhich she was resolved to tell. But what she disclosed was astoundingin itself, and when Jimmie threw down the pages, after reading themattentively, his face showed how deeply he was agitated. It took much torouse his placid nature to anger, but now his eyes blazed with rage andindignation.
"By heavens, this is awful!" he said, hoarsely. "It is far worse than Idreamed of! The consummate scoundrel! The treacherous blackguard! Thereis no need to keep further watch on Victor Nevill. His record isexposed. How true were my suspicions about that money-lending business!He dropped some letters in Diane's room last spring, which she declaresproved him to be a partner in the firm of Benjamin and Company. I believeher--I don't doubt it. The cursed tout! For how many years has he madeuse of his social advantages to ruin young men--to decoy them into theclutches of the Jews? It makes my blood boil! And the worst of it all isthe part he has played toward poor Jack--a false, black-hearted friendfrom beginning to end; from the early days in Paris up to the presenttime. If I had him here now--"
He finished the sentence by banging his clenched fist on the table witha force that made it quiver.
Little wonder that Jimmie was indignant and wrathful! For Diane, wearyof being made a cat's-paw for an unscrupulous villain, remorseful forthe misery she had brought on one who once loved her, had confessed inwriting all of Victor Nevill's dark deeds. She had not known at first,she said, that his sole aim had been to injure his trusting friend, elseshe would have refused to help him. She had learned the truth since, andshe did not spare her knowledge of Nevill's dark deeds and cunningtricks. She told how he had tempted her to desert her husband and fleefrom Paris with him; how he had met her five years later in London, andplanned the infamous scheme which brought Jack and Diane together onRichmond Terrace; and she declared that it was Victor Nevill also whosent the anonymous letters to Madge Foster, the second of which had ledto the painful _denouement_ in the Ravenscourt Park studio. It was allthere in black and white--a story bearing the unmistakable evidence oftruth and sincerity.
"This is a private matter," thought Jimmie, when he had calmed down alittle, "and I'm bound to regard it as such. The statement can't affectthe case against Jack--it is useless to Mr. Tenby--and it would beunwise to make it public for the purposes of denouncing Nevill--at leastat present. I will put it away carefully, and give it to Jack when hisinnocence is proved, which I trust will be very soon. As for Nevill,I'll reckon with the scoundrel at the proper time. I'll expose him inevery club in London, and drive him from the country. He shall not marryMiss Foster--I'll nip that scheme in the bud and open her eyes--and I'lllet Sir Lucius Chesney know what sort of a man his nephew is. He'll cuthim off with a penny, I'll bet. But all these things must wait until Ifind Diane's murderer, and meanwhile I will lock up the confession andkeep my own counsel."
Taking the letter, he reread the closing lines, studying thecuriously-worded phrases.
"I am not writing this to send to you," Diane concluded, "but to hide ina secret place where it will be found if anything happens to me; life isalways uncertain. I have much more to tell, but I am too weary to put iton paper. You will know all when me meet, and when you learn my secret,happiness will come into your life again."
"It's a pretty clear case," reflected Jimmie. "The secret refers,without doubt, to the man who murdered her. And the motive for it mustbe traced back to her early life at Dunwold. She left a discarded loverbehind when she went to Paris. Ah, but why not a husband? Suppose shewas never really Jack's wife! In that case it is easy to see what shemeant by saying that she would make him happy again. By Jove, I'manxious to ferret the thing out!"
Jimmie looked at his watch; it was just seven o'clock. He put the letterin his desk, safe under lock and key, and went straight to Morley'sHotel. He dined with Sir Lucius Chesney, and told him what he hadlearned from his visit to Mrs. Rickett. He made no mention of what hehad found in the secret closet, nor did he refer to Victor Nevill.
Sir Lucius was amazed and delighted, hopeful of success. He thoroughlyapproved Jimmie's plan, and gave him a brief note of introduction to theVicar of Dunwold.
"I wish I could go with you," he said; "but, unfortunately, I have twoimportant engagements in town to-morrow."
The interview was a long one, and it was eleven o'clock when Jimmie leftthe hotel. He went straight home to bed, and an early hour the nextmorning found him gliding out of Victoria station in a South Coasttrain.
* * * * *
On the previous night, while Jimmie and Sir Lucius were dining atMorley's, Victor Nevill emerged from his rooms in Jermyn street, andwalked briskly to Piccadilly Circus. He looked quite unlike the spruceyoung man of fashion who was wont to disport himself in the West End atthis hour, for he wore tweeds, a soft hat, and a rather shabby overcoat.He took a cab in Coventry street, and gave the driver a northernaddress. As he rode through the Soho district he occasionally pressedone hand to his breast, and a bundle of bank notes, tucked snugly awaythere, gave forth a rustling sound. The thought of them aggravated himsorely.
"A thousand pounds to that black-mailing scoundrel!" he muttered. "It'sa steep price, and yet it means much more than that to me. There was noother way out of it, and I can't blame the fellow for making a hardbargain and sticking to it. If all goes smoothly, and I get possessionof the papers, it's ten to one I will be secure, with nothing more tofear. It was fortunate that Timmins picked _me_ out. It would have meantruin to my prospects had he sold his knowledge elsewhere. He is a cleverrascal, and he knows that it will be to his interest to keep his mouthshut hereafter. What risk there may be from other quarters is so slightthat I needn't worry about it."
It had not been an easy matter to find the thousand pounds, and in theinterval he had twice seen Mr. Timmins, and vainly tried to beat downhis price. The money was finally squeezed out of Stephen Foster, withextreme reluctance on his part, and by means which he resented bitterlybut was powerless to combat. He had angrily upbraided his unscrupulousyoung confederate, who would not even tell him for what purpose hewanted the sum. Nevill was indifferent to Stephen Foster's wrath andreproaches. He had accomplished his object, and he was too hardened bythis time to feel any twinges of conscience. He was now going to meetthe man Timmins by appointment, and buy from him the valuable papers inhis possession.
It was nine o'clock when the cab put him down in one of the noisythoroughfares of Kentish Town. He paid the driver, and entered a publichouse on the corner. He ordered a light stimulant, and on the strengthof it he re-examined the rather vague written directions Mr. Timmins hadgiven him. He came out five minutes later, and turned eastward into agloomy and squalid neighborhood. He lost his bearings twice, and thenfound himself at one end of Peckwater street. He took the first turn tothe left, and began to count the houses and scan their numbers.
While Nevill was speeding along the Kentish Town road in a cab, Mr.T
immins, _alias_ Noah Hawker, was at home in the dingy little room whichhe had selected for his residence in London. With a short pipe betweenhis teeth, he reclined in a wooden chair, which was tipped back againstthe wall. On a table, within easy reach of him, were a packet of tobaccoand a bottle of stout. A candle furnished light.
"I wonder if the bloke'll turn up," he reflected, as he puffed ranksmoke from his mouth. "If he don't he knows what to expect--I ain't aman to go back on my word. But I needn't fear. He'll come all right, andhe'll have the dust with him. Is it likely he'd throw away a fortune,such as I'm offerin' him? Not a bit of it! I'll be glad when the thingis done and over with. A thousand pounds ain't to be laughed at. I'll goabroad and spend it, where the sun shines in winter and--"
At this point Mr. Hawker's soliloquies were interrupted by footstepsjust outside the room.
"That's my swell," he thought, "and he's a bit early. He must be in ahurry to get hold of the documents."
The door opened quickly and sharply, and two sinewy, plainly-dressed menstepped into the room. Hawker knew his visitors to be detectives.
His jaw dropped, his face turned livid with rage and fear, and he triedto thrust one hand behind him. But the move was anticipated, and heabandoned all thought of resistance when the muzzle of a revolver staredhim in the eyes.
"None of that, Hawker," said the detective who held the weapon. "You'dbest come quietly. Didn't expect to catch us napping, did you?"
"I ain't done nothin'," panted Hawker, who was breathing like a windedbeast.
"I didn't say you had," was the reply, "but you've been missing for afew months. Last spring you stopped reporting yourself and went abroad.We want you for that--nothing else _at present_."
The two final words were spoken with an emphasis and significance thatdid not escape the prisoner, and brought a desperate look to his face.He seemed about to show fight, but the next instant a pair of irons wereclapped on his wrists, and he was helpless.
A brief time was required to search the room, but nothing was found,for all that Hawker owned was on his person. The bedding was pulledapart, and the strip of ragged carpet was lifted up. Then the detectiveswent downstairs with their prisoner, followed by the indignant andscandalized Mrs. Miggs. She angrily upbraided Mr. Hawker, who receivedher reproaches in sullen silence. Her breath was spent when she slammedthe door shut.
The affair had been managed quietly, without attracting publicattention, and the street was as lonely and dark as usual. One of thedetectives whistled for a cab, which he had in waiting around thecorner, and just then a man walked quickly by the house, glancing keenlyat the little group as he passed. He slouched carelessly on into thegloom, but not until he had been recognized by Noah Hawker.
The cab came up, and the prisoner was bundled into it. He was apparentlyvery submissive and unconcerned as he sat with manacled hands betweenhis captors, but when the vehicle rolled into a more populousneighborhood, the street lamps revealed the expression of burning,implacable hatred that distorted his face.
"It was that swell who betrayed me to the police," he thought bitterly."I was a fool to trust him. I know his little game, but he'll be badlymistaken if he expects to find the papers. They'll be safe enough till Iwant them again. I'll get square in a way he don't dream of, curse him!Yes, I'll do it! I'd rather have revenge than money. A few days yet, andthen--"
"What's that?" asked one of the detectives.
"Nothing," Mr. Hawker replied, in a tone of sarcasm. "I was thinkin' ofa friend of mine, what'll be sorry I was took."