The Opal Serpent Page 16

  CHAPTER XVI

  Sylvia's theory

  It was close upon midnight when Paul reached his garret. Sandal drovehim in a hansom as far as Piccadilly Circus, and from that place Beecotwalked through Oxford Street to Bloomsbury. He had not been able toextract further information of any importance from the young lord. Itappeared that Lady Rachel Sandal, in love with an inferior, hadquarrelled with her father, and had walked to Christchurch one nightwith the intention of joining the man she wished to marry in London. Butthe night was stormy and Lady Rachel was a frail woman. She took refugein "The Red Pig," intending to go the next morning. But during the nightshe was found strangled in the bedroom she had hired. Sandal could giveno details, as the events happened before he was born, and he had onlyheard scraps of the dreadful story.

  "Some people say Lady Rachel was murdered," explained Sandal, "andothers that she killed herself. But the opal brooch, which she wore,certainly disappeared. But there was such a scandal over the affair thatmy grandfather hushed it up. I can't say exactly what took place. But Iknow it happened at a small pub kept by a woman called Krill. Do youthink this woman is the same?"

  "It's hardly likely," said Paul, mendaciously. "How could a woman whokept a small public house become suddenly rich?"

  "True," answered Lord George, as they stopped in the Circus, "and she'dhave let on she knew about my name had she anything to do with thematter. All the same, I'll ask her."

  "Do so," said Paul, stepping out of the cab. He was perfectly satisfiedthat Mrs. Krill was quite equal to deceiving Sandal. The wonder was,that she had not held her peace to him about "The Red Pig."

  "You won't come on to my club?" asked Sandal, leaning out of the cab.

  "No, thank you," replied Paul. "Good-night," and he walked away.

  The fact is Beecot wished to put on paper all that he had heard thatnight and send it to Hurd. As soon as he reached his attic he set towork and wrote out a detailed account of the evening.

  "You might find out if Lady Rachel committed suicide or whether she was strangled by someone else," ended Beecot. "Certainly the mention of the serpent brooch is curious. This may be the event in Norman's past life which led him to change his name."

  Paul wrote much more and then went out to post the letter. It was aftermidnight when he did, so there was not much chance of Hurd getting theletter before the second or third post the next day. But Paul felt thathe had done his duty, and had supplied the information as speedily aspossible, so he went to sleep with a quiet mind, in spite of theexcitement of the evening. But next morning he was unable to sit down tohis desk as usual, and felt disinclined to go to the newspaper office,so he walked to Jubileetown to see how Sylvia was getting along. Deborahmet him at the gate.

  "Well I never, Mr. Beecot," said Mrs. Tawsey, with her red arms akimboin her usual attitude; "this is a sight for sore eyes. Won't my prettybe 'appy this day, say what you may. She's a-makin' out bills fur themas 'ad washin' done, bless her 'eart for a clever beauty."

  "How is business?" asked Paul, entering the gate, which Deborah opened.

  "Bless you, Mr. Beecot, I'll be a lady of forting soon," answered theproprietress of the laundry, "the way washing 'ave come in is jestamazin'. One 'ud think folk never 'ad no linen done up afore, and thatthey never did 'ave," said Deborah, rubbing her nose hard, "in my way,which _is_ a way. If you'd only send along your shirts, Mr. Beecot, I'dbe proud to show you what can be done with fronts, an' no thumbnailsdown them to spile their loveliness."

  Paul did not reply to this, but laughed absently. He was wondering ifDeborah had ever heard her master drop any hint as to his having comefrom the place where Mrs. Krill resided, and asked the question on thespur of the moment.

  "Do you know Christchurch in Hants?"

  Deborah rubbed her nose harder and looked at him doubtfully.

  "Me as said as I'd no relatives must tell the truth now, as I 'ave,"said she rather incoherently, "for my sister, Tilly Junk, worked forsomeone in that there place for years. But we never got on well, shebeing upsettin' and masterful, so arsk her to my weddin' I didn't, anddenied relatives existing, which they do, she bein' alive ten years agowhen she larst wrote."

  "You have not heard from her since?" asked Paul, inquisitively.

  "Sir, you may burn me or prison me or put me in pillaries," said Mrs.Tawsey, "but deceive you I won't. Me an' Tilly not bein' of 'appymatchin' don't correspond. We're Londing both," exclaimed Deborah,"father 'avin' bin a 'awker, but why she went to the country, or why Istopped in Gwynne Street, no one knows. And may I arsk, Mr. Beecot, whyyou arsk of that place?"

  "Your late master came from Christchurch, Mrs. Tawsey. Did you neverhear him mention it?"

  "That I never did, for close he was, Mr. Beecot, say what you like. Inever knowed but what he'd pawned and sold them bookses all his blessedlife, for all the talkin' he did. If I'd ha' knowd," added Deborah,lifting her red finger, "as he'd bin maried afore and intended to castout my lovely queen, I'd ha' strangled him myself."

  "He had no intention of casting out Sylvia," said Paul, musingly; "hecertainly left the money to her."

  "Then why 'ave that other got it?"

  "Sylvia's name wasn't mentioned, and Miss Krill is legally entitled asthe legitimate daughter."

  "Call her what you like, she's a cat as her mother is afore her," saidMrs. Tawsey, indignantly, "and not young at that. Thirty and over, asI'm a livin' woman."

  "Oh, I don't think Miss Krill is as old as that."

  "Being a man you wouldn't, sir, men bein' blind to wrinklings and paint.But paint she do, the hussey, and young she ain't. Over thirty--if I diefor the sayin' of it."

  "But Mrs. Krill was married to your master only thirty years ago."

  "Then more shame to 'er," snapped Deborah, masterfully; "for she ain'tan honest woman if the signs of age is believing. Will I write to mysister Tilly, as I don't love Mr. Beecot, and arsk if she knowed masterwhen he wos in that there place, which she can't 'ave, seeing she's binthere but ten year, and he away twenty?"

  "No, Deborah, you'd better say nothing. The case is in Hurd's hands.I'll tell him what you say, and leave the matter to him. But you must bedeceived about Miss Krill's age."

  "I've got two eyes an' a nose," retorted Mrs. Tawsey, "so don't talk ofdeceivin's. Thirty and more she is, the hussey, let her Jezebel of a marlie as she like, an' can say what you will, Mr. Beecot. But there's mypretty smilin' from the winder and the tub's a-waitin'; so you go in andsmooth 'er to affections, while I see that Mrs. Purr irons the shirts,which she do lovely there's no denyin'. Hoh!" and Deborah plunged roundthe corner of the house, rampant and full of corn.

  Paul walked through the newly-created garden, in which he saw manyproofs of Sylvia's love for flowers, and reached the door in time totake the girl in his arms. She was flushed and joyful, and her eyes wereas bright as stars. "Paul, darling," she said, as they entered thesitting-room, where she was struggling with the accounts, "I'm so gladyou are here. What's nine times nine?"

  "Eighty-one," said Paul, looking at the long list of figures Sylvia hadbeen trying to add up. "Why do you make your head ache with theseaccounts, darling?"

  "I must help Debby, Paul, and I get on very well with the aid of anarithmetic." And she pointed to a small school book which she hadevidently been studying.

  "Let me take the burden from your shoulders," said her lover, smiling,and sat down at the table which was strewn with bills. In about an hourhe had arranged all these, and had made them out neatly to Deborah'svarious customers. Then he directed the envelopes, and Sylvia sealedthem up. All the time they laughed and chatted, and despite the dulltoil thoroughly enjoyed themselves. "But I am glad to see, Sylvia," saidBeecot, pointing to three library volumes lying on the sofa, "that youenjoy yourself occasionally."

  "Oh!" said Sylvia, pouncing on these, "I'm so glad you spoke, Paul; Iwanted to say something to you. _The Confessions of a Thug_," she readout, and looked at Paul. "Have you read it?"

  Beecot nodd
ed. "By Colonel Meadows Taylor. A very interesting book, butrather a bloodthirsty one for you, dearest."

  "Debby got it," confessed Miss Norman, "along with some other books froma literary customer who could not pay his bill. It is very strange,Paul, that _The Confessions of a Thug_ should be amongst the books."

  "Really I don't see why," smiled Beecot, fingering the old-fashionedvolumes.

  "It's the finger of Fate, Paul," said Sylvia, solemnly. Then seeing herlover look puzzled, "I mean, that I should find out what goor is?"

  "Goor?" Paul looked more puzzled than ever.

  "It's an Indian word," explained Sylvia, "and means coarse sugar. TheThugs eat it before they strangle anyone."

  "Oh," laughed Beecot, "and you think your father was strangled by aThug? My dear child, the Thugs were stamped out years ago. You'll readall about it in the preface of that book, if I remember. But it's longsince I read the work. Besides, darling," he added, drawing her to himcaressingly, "the Thugs never came to England."

  "Paul," said Sylvia, still more solemnly and resenting the laugh, "doyou remember the Thug that came into the shop--"

  "Oh, you mean the street-hawker that Bart spoke of. Yes, I remember thatsuch an Indian entered, according to Bart's tale, and wanted to sellboot-laces, while that young imp, Tray, was dancing on poor Bart's body.But the Indian wasn't a Thug, Sylvia."

  "Yes, he was," she exclaimed excitedly. "Hokar, he said he was, andHokar was a Thug. Remember the handful of coarse brown sugar he left onthe counter? Didn't Bart tell you of that?"

  Paul started. "Yes, by Jove! he did," was his reply.

  "Well, then," said Sylvia, triumphantly, "that sugar was goor, and theThugs eat it before strangling anyone, and father was strangled."

  Beecot could not but be impressed. "It is certainly very strange," hesaid, looking at the book. "And it was queer your father should havebeen strangled on the very night when this Indian Hokar left the sugaron the counter. A coincidence, Sylvia darling."

  "No. Why should Hokar leave the sugar at all?"

  "Well, he didn't eat it, and therefore, if he was a Thug, he would havedone so, had he intended to strangle your father."

  "I don't know," said Sylvia, with a look of obstinacy on her prettyface. "But remember the cruel way in which my father was killed, Paul.It's just what an Indian would do, and then the sugar--oh, I'm quitesure this hawker committed the crime."

  Beecot shook his head and strove to dissuade her from entertaining thisidea. But Sylvia, usually so amenable to reason, refused to discard hertheory, and indeed Paul himself thought that the incident of the sugarwas queer. He determined to tell Hurd about the matter, and then thehawker might be found and made to explain why he had left the goor onthe counter. "But the sect of the Thugs is extinct," argued Paul,quickly; "it can't be, Sylvia."

  "But it is," she insisted, "I'm sure." And from this firm opinion hecould not move her. Finally, when he departed, he took the books withhim, and promised to read the novel again. Perhaps something might comeof Sylvia's fancy.

  The lovers spent the rest of the time in talking over their future, andBeecot looked hopefully towards making sufficient money to offer Sylviaa home. He also described to her how he had met Mrs. Krill and relatedwhat she was prepared to do. "Do you think we should accept the fivehundred a year, Paul," said Sylvia, doubtfully; "it would put everythingright, and so long as I am with you I don't care where we live."

  "If you leave the decision to me, darling," said Paul, "I think it willbe best to refuse this offer. Something is wrong, or Mrs. Krill wouldnot be so anxious to get you out of the country."

  "Oh, Paul, do you think she knows anything about the murder?"

  "No, dear. I don't think that. Mrs. Krill is far too clever a woman toput her neck in danger. But there may be a chance of her daughter losingthe money. Sylvia," he asked, "you saw Maud Krill. How old would youtake her to be?"

  "Oh, quite old, Paul," said Sylvia, decisively; "she dresses well andpaints her face; but she's forty."

  "Oh, Sylvia, not so much as that."

  "Well, then, thirty and over," insisted Sylvia. "Debby thinks the sameas I do."

  "Don't you think Debby's zeal may lead her to exaggerate?"

  "It doesn't lead me to exaggerate," said Sylvia, slightly offended; "andI have eyes in my head as well as Debby. That girl, or that woman, Ishould say, is over thirty, Paul."

  "In that case," said Beecot, his color rising, "I fancy I see the reasonof Mrs. Krill's desire to get you out of the country. Maud," he addeddeliberately, "may not be your father's daughter after all."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Well. According to the marriage certificate, and to Mrs. Krill'sadmission, she was married to your father thirty years ago. If Maud isover thirty--can't you see, Sylvia?"

  "Yes." Sylvia colored. "You mean she may be the same as I am?"

  "Not exactly, dear," replied Paul, soothing her. "I mean that Mrs. Krillmay have been a widow and have had her little girl with her when shemarried your father. In that case Maud certainly could not get themoney, and so Mrs. Krill wants you to leave England."

  "In case I would get it," said Sylvia, excited.

  Paul looked puzzled and rather sad. "I can't say, dear," he replieddoubtfully. "Certainly the money is left to 'my daughter,' but as themarriage with your mother unfortunately is void, I fear you would notinherit. However," he said grimly, "there would be a certain pleasure intaking the money from that woman. Maud is a mere puppet in her hands,"he laughed. "And then Hay would marry a poor bride," he endedmaliciously.

  Sylvia could not quite understand all this, and gave up trying to solvethe problem with a pretty gesture of indifference. "What will you do,Paul?" she asked.

  "I'll see Hurd and tell him what you and Deborah say about the age ofMaud Krill."

  "Why not see Mr. Pash?"

  "Because he is a traitor," replied Beecot, darkly, "and, knowing he haslost your confidence, he will certainly try and give Maud Krillpossession of the money. No, I'll speak to Hurd, who is my friend andyours. He is clever and will be able to unravel this tangle."

  "Tell him about the goor also, Paul."

  "Yes. I'll explain everything I can, and then I'll get him to go down toChristchurch and see what happened there, when your father lived withMaud's mother."

  "What did happen, Paul?" asked Sylvia, anxiously.

  "Nothing," he replied with an assumption of carelessness, for he did notwant to tell the girl about the fate of Lady Rachel Sandal, "but we mayfind in your father's past life what led to his murder."

  "Do you think Mrs. Krill had anything to do with it?"

  "My own, you asked that question before. No, I don't. Still, one neverknows. I should think Mrs. Krill is a dangerous woman, although I fancy,too clever to risk being hanged. However, Hurd can find out if she wasin town on the night your father was killed."

  "That was on the sixth of July," said Sylvia.

  "Yes. And he was murdered at twelve."

  "After twelve," said Sylvia. "I heard the policeman on his beat at aquarter-past, and then I came down. Poor father was strangled before ourvery eyes," she said, shuddering.

  "Hush, dear. Don't speak of it," said Paul, rising. "Let us talk of moreinteresting subjects."

  "Paul, I can think of nothing till I learn who killed my poor father,and why he was killed so cruelly."

  "Then we must wait patiently, Sylvia. Hurd is looking after the matter,and I have every confidence in Hurd. And, by Jove!" added Beecot, withan after-thought, "Mrs. Krill doubled the reward. Were she concerned inthe matter she would not risk sharpening the wits of so clever a man asHurd. No, Sylvia, whosoever strangled your father it was not Mrs.Krill."

  "It was this Indian," insisted Sylvia, "and he's a Thug."

  Paul laughed although he was far from thinking she might be wrong. Ofcourse it seemed ridiculous that a Thug should strangle the old man. Inthe first place, the Thugs have been blotted out; in the second, if anysurvived, they certainly woul
d not exercise their devilish religion inEngland, and in the third, Hokar, putting aside his offering strangledvictims to Bhowanee, the goddess of the sect, had no reason for slayingan unoffending man. Finally, there was the sailor to be accountedfor--the sailor who had tried to get the jewels from Pash. Paul wonderedif Hurd had found out anything about this individual. "It's all verydifficult," sighed Beecot, "and the more we go into the matter the moredifficult does it get. But we'll see light some day. Hurd, if anyone,will unravel the mystery," and Sylvia agreed with him.