doesnot seem to have known before. He meets her by night, corresponds withher. Who and what is this woman? I think we could not be far wrong inguessing some very old flame of Lord Pharanx's of _Theatre desVarietes_ type, whom he has supported for years, and from whom, hearingsome story to her discredit, he threatens to withdraw his supplies.However that be, Randolph writes to Cibras--a violent woman, a woman oflawless passions--assuring her that in four or five days she will beexcluded from the will of his father; and in four or five days Cibrasplunges a knife into his father's bosom. It is a perfectly naturalsequence--though, of course, the _intention_ to produce by his wordsthe actual effect produced might have been absent; indeed, the letterof Lord Pharanx himself, had it been received, would have tended toproduce that very effect; for it not only gives an excellentopportunity for converting into action those evil thoughts whichRandolph (thoughtlessly or guiltily) has instilled, but it furthertends to rouse her passions by cutting off from her all hopes offavour. If we presume, then, as is only natural, that there was no suchintention on the part of the earl, we _may_ make the same presumptionin the case of the son. Cibras, however, never receives the earl'sletter: on the morning of the same day she goes away to Bath, with thedouble object, I suppose, of purchasing a weapon, and creating animpression that she has left the country. How then does she know theexact _locale_ of Lord Pharanx's room? It is in an unusual part of themansion, she is unacquainted with any of the servants, a stranger tothe district. Can it be possible that Randolph _had told her_? And hereagain, even in that case, you must bear in mind that Lord Pharanx alsotold her in his note, and you must recognise the possibility of theabsence of evil intention on the part of the son. Indeed, I may gofurther and show you that in all but every instance in which hisactions are in themselves _outre_, suspicious, they are rendered, notless _outre_, but less suspicious, by the fact that Lord Pharanxhimself knew of them, shared in them. There was the cruel barbing ofthat balcony window; about it the crudest thinker would argue thus tohimself: "Randolph practically incites Maude Cibras to murder hisfather on the 5th, and on the 6th he has that window so altered inorder that, should she act on his suggestion, she will be caught onattempting to leave the room, while he himself, the actual culpritbeing discovered _en flagrant delit_, will escape every shadow ofsuspicion." But, on the other hand, we know that the alteration wasmade with Lord Pharanx's consent, most likely on his initiative--for heleaves his favoured room during a whole day for that very purpose. Sowith the letter to Cibras on the 8th--Randolph despatches it, but theearl writes it. So with the disposal of the jewels in the apartment onthe 9th. There had been some burglaries in the neighbourhood, and thesuspicion at once arises in the mind of the crude reasoner: CouldRandolph--finding now that Cibras has "left the country," that, infact, the tool he had expected to serve his ends has failed him--couldhe have thus brought those jewels there, and thus warned the servantsof their presence, in the hope that the intelligence might so getabroad and lead to a burglary, in the course of which his father mightlose his life? There are evidences, you know, tending to show that theburglary did actually at last take place, and the suspicion is, in viewof that, by no means unreasonable. And yet, militating against it, isour knowledge that it was Lord Pharanx who "_chose_" to gather thejewels round him; that it was in his presence that Randolph drew theattention of the servant to them. In the matter, at least, of thelittle political comedy the son seems to have acted alone; but yousurely cannot rid yourself of the impression that the radical speeches,the candidature, and the rest of it, formed all of them only a veryelaborate, and withal clumsy, set of preliminaries to the _class_.Anything, to make the perspective, the sequence of _that_ seem natural.But in the class, at any rate, we have the tacit acquiescence, or eventhe cooperation of Lord Pharanx. You have described the conspiracy ofquiet which, for some reason or other, was imposed on the household; inthat reign of silence the bang of a door, the fall of a plate, becomesa domestic tornado. But have you ever heard an agricultural labourer inclogs or heavy boots ascend a stair? The noise is terrible. The trampof an army of them through the house and overhead, probably jabberinguncouthly together, would be insufferable. Yet Lord Pharanx seems tohave made no objection; the novel institution is set up in his ownmansion, in an unusual part of it, probably against his own principles;but we hear of no murmur from him. On the fatal day, too, the calm ofthe house is rudely broken by a considerable commotion in Randolph'sroom just overhead, caused by his preparation for "a journey toLondon." But the usual angry remonstrance is not forthcoming from themaster. And do you not see how all this more than acquiescence of LordPharanx in the conduct of his son deprives that conduct of half itssignificance, its intrinsic suspiciousness?
'A hasty reasoner then would inevitably jump to the conclusion thatRandolph was guilty of something--some evil intention--though ofprecisely what he would remain in doubt. But a more careful reasonerwould pause: he would reflect that _as_ the father was implicated inthose acts, and _as_ he was innocent of any such intention, so mightpossibly, even probably, be the son. This, I take it, has been the viewof the officials, whose logic is probably far in advance of theirimagination. But supposing we can adduce one act, undoubtedly actuatedby evil intention on the part of Randolph--one act in which his fathercertainly did _not_ participate--what follows next? Why, that we revertat once to the view of the hasty reasoner, and conclude that _all_ theother acts in the same relation were actuated by the same evil motive;and having reached that point, we shall be unable longer to resist theconclusion that those of them in which his father had a share _might_have sprung from a like motive in _his_ mind also; nor should the mereobvious impossibility of such a condition of things have even the veryleast influence on us, as thinkers, in causing us to close our mindagainst its logical possibility. I therefore make the inference, andpass on.
'Let us then see if we can by searching find out any absolutely certaindeviation from right on the part of Randolph, in which we may be quitesure that his father was not an abettor. At eight on the night of themurder it is dark; there has been some snow, but the fall hasceased--how long before I know not, but so long that the intervalbecomes sufficiently appreciable to cause remark. Now the party goinground the house come on two tracks of feet meeting at an angle. Of onetrack we are merely told that it was made by the small foot of a woman,and of it we know no more; of the other we learn that the feet were bigand the boots clumsy, and, it is added, the marks were _halfobliterated by the snow_. Two things then are clear: that the personswho made them came from different directions, and probably made them atdifferent times. That, alone, by the way, may be a sufficient answer toyour question as to whether Cibras was in collusion with the"burglars." But how does Randolph behave with reference to thesetracks? Though he carries the lantern, he fails to perceive thefirst--the woman's--the discovery of which is made by a lad; but thesecond, half hidden in the snow, he notices readily enough, and at oncepoints it out. He explains that burglars have been on the war-path. Butexamine his horror of surprise when he hears that the window is closed;when he sees the woman's bleeding fingers. He cannot help exclaiming,"My God! what has happened _now_?" But why "now"? The word cannot referto his father's death, for that he knew, or guessed, beforehand, havingheard the shot. Is it not rather the exclamation of a man whose schemesdestiny has complicated? Besides, he should have _expected_ to find thewindow closed: no one except himself, Lord Pharanx, and the workman,who was now dead, knew the secret of its construction; the burglarstherefore, having entered and robbed the room, one of them, intendingto go out, would press on the ledge, and the sash would fall on hishand with what result we know. The others would then either break theglass and so escape; or pass through the house; or remain prisoners.That immoderate surprise was therefore absurdly illogical, after seeingthe burglar-track in the snow. But how, above all, do you account forLord Pharanx's silence during and after the burglars' visit--if therewas a visit? He was, you must remember, alive all that time; _they_ didnot kill him; certainly they did not shoot him,
for the shot is heardafter the snow has ceased to fall,--that is, after, long after, theyhave left, since it was the falling snow that had half obliteratedtheir tracks; nor did they stab him, for to this Cibras confesses. Whythen, being alive, and not gagged, did he give no token of the presenceof his visitors? There were in fact no burglars at Orven Hall thatnight.'
'But the track!' I cried, 'the jewels found in the snow--theneckerchief!'
Zaleski smiled.
'Burglars,' he said, 'are plain, honest folk who have a just notion ofthe value of jewelry when they see it. They very properly regard it asmere foolish waste to drop precious stones about in the snow, and wouldrefuse to company with a man weak enough to let fall his neckerchief ona cold night. The whole business of the burglars was a