The Yellow Holly
"Then you think that the assassin of your father was also the assassin of Mrs. Jersey?"
"I fancy so, as I can explain the disappearance of the confession in no other way. And if I remember rightly, Bawdsey, it was you who said that the San Remo crime was connected with the one committed in this house."
"I did say so," replied Bawdsey, thoughtfully. He pondered for a few minutes and then looked up briskly. "Well, Mr. Brendon, that point cannot be settled without proof, and there is no use our wasting time in indulging in vain speculations. Let me tell you about the night I went to see Mrs. Jersey."
"Go on," said Brendon, crossing his legs. "I am all attention."
"I knew before your grandfather came to see me that you were about to pass the night here. Lola told me."
"Yes, I was foolish enough to tell her; though, to be sure, I had no great reason to conceal my visit to Train. I never knew that a murder would take place. So Lola told you?"
Bawdsey nodded. "She did. But I never intended to bother about the matter, as I did not think there was anything in your visit. But Lord Derrington came and put a different complexion on the affair. It was his belief that you intended to force Mrs. Jersey into confessing about the marriage."
"I came to appeal to her," said Brendon, dryly. "There was no thought of forcing in my mind."
"Lord Derrington judged you by himself and thought there might be. I rather agreed with him. Then, knowing his temper, I fancied if he went to see Mrs. Jersey there would be a row and a scandal, and I did not want that to happen. I was making a very good thing out of Lord Derrington," admitted Bawdsey, frankly, "and if a scandal had taken place my occupation would have been gone. I therefore determined to drug him and to go myself."
"But why in his coat?"
"I thought that Mrs. Jersey might not admit me."
George pounced upon him at once. "There was no need that she should do so. You took the latch-key my grandfather carried."
"Oh, you know that, do you?" said Bawdsey, composedly. "Then I may as well be absolutely frank."
"It is your best course."
"Oh, I'm not on my trial, Mr. Brendon. It is only my friendship for you that is making me speak out."
"I accept that excuse. Go on."
Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders to show his annoyance at the uncompromising attitude of his visitor. "I feared lest Mrs. Jersey should order me out of the house unless I could gain time by being mistaken for Lord Derrington. I drugged the old gentleman, and then, taking his coat and the latch-key, I went to see Mrs. Jersey."
"At what time were you there?"
"Some time before twelve. I cannot say for certain. Well, Mr. Brendon, I let myself in with the latch-key, and I found the house by the red light over the door. In former years it had been my custom to guide myself in that way. I told Lola so."
"Why did you tell her that?"
"Oh, she knew that you were going late to the house and made a fuss about the chance of your being lost in the fog. I said that probably Train would tell you of the red light, and that you could guide yourself by that."
"Humph. Lola was always unnecessarily kind," said George. "Well?"
"Well, I closed the door softly and went into the sitting-room."
"You knew where that was?"
"Of course. Don't I tell you I once lived in this house? I entered the sitting-room. The lamp was burning, and Mrs. Jersey was seated at the table." Bawdsey shuddered. "There is no need to tell you more. I left the room at once, for the sight horrified me."
"Why did you pause in the hall?"
"I thought I heard a footstep on the stairs, and the shock gave me one of my fits-the fear of open spaces, you know. How did you come to learn that I paused in the hall?"
"Because I had come down the stairs to see who was with Mrs. Jersey."
"Ah! Then it must have been your footstep I heard," said the detective. "Well, I soon recovered, and left the house."
"What about the stiletto?"
"It was lying on the floor near the table. I saw it glittering in the lamplight. As there was blood on it and I saw the wound, I knew that Mrs. Jersey had been killed by it. I slipped it into my pocket with a vague idea that thereby I might trace the assassin."
"Did you leave it purposely in the coat?"
"No," said Bawdsey, frankly. "I did not. I was so moved and-as a woman would say-flustered by the death, that I forgot all about it. Lord Derrington woke up and went home. I said nothing about the murder to him at the time. I had not the nerve. It was only after he departed that I remembered the stiletto. I thought he might make a row and accuse me of the crime. But he said nothing, and I judged it wise to let sleeping dogs lie. So that is all I can tell you, Mr. Brendon, and you will see that I am not such a bad man as you try to make out."
"Oh, you have spoken clearly enough," said George. Then after a pause, "Yes, I think you are honest, so far as I can judge. I trust you."
Bawdsey looked delighted. "Will you have a glass of wine with me to show that?" he asked rising.
"On the Arab principle of bread and salt?" said Brendon. "Certainly."
Bawdsey nodded in a pleased manner, and went to his sideboard at the end of the room. George mechanically took up the newspaper. His eyes were caught by a cross-heading-"Strange Affair in an Essex Church," and by the words "destruction of the registers." Just as he was about to glance over the article, never thinking what it meant to him, Bawdsey returned with the wine and two glasses. He uttered an exclamation of dismay when he saw the paper in George's hand.
"Hang it, I never meant you to see that!" he said.
"Why not?" replied George. "Is it this news about a lady trying to tear the registers?" He started and looked at Bawdsey, who was uneasy and pale. "It's Lola!" said George.
"No, and yet-why should you not know? I believe it is Lola, though no name is mentioned."
George picked up the paper again and read rapidly. No name was mentioned, as it was said that the strange lady who had been arrested refused to give any name. It seemed that she went to Wargrove Church and asked to see the registers for a certain year-the registers of marriage. The sexton took the fee and showed the books. Then it appeared that the strange lady searched for an hour. The sexton left the vestry for a few minutes. When he returned he saw that she had torn a page out of the book. Being taken by surprise she had tried to conceal her theft, but the sexton seized her, rescued the torn page, and called for assistance. The end of it was that the strange lady-who was described as having a foreign air-was arrested and placed in prison. "It is Lola," said George, breathlessly.
"Yes," assented Bawdsey, also pale. "She evidently tried to destroy the evidence of your mother's marriage."
George gave a cry. "Wargrove," he said, "Wargrove in Essex. It was in the parish church that the marriage took place. And Lola knew-Lola-" he paused. The eyes of the two men met.
CHAPTER XX
THE TROUBLE OF LOLA
It was four o'clock when George left Bawdsey. The two had spoken little of the newspaper paragraph which informed them of Lola's escapade. Although her name was not mentioned there was no doubt in the mind of Brendon that she was the culprit. The newspaper gave the year of the book when the sheet was torn, and that corresponded to the year when Percy Vane married-or had been supposed to marry-Rosina Lockwood. And this was the explanation of Lola's absence from town. She had not fled from the rebuke of Brendon, but had gone to do him an injury by destroying the evidence of his parents' marriage. This finally was the meaning of her wild threat to Dorothy. By preventing George from proving his legitimacy, Lola hoped to put a final end to his chance of making Miss Ward his wife.
Bawdsey was much upset over the news. He would have flown immediately to Wargrove, but some special business kept him in town. However, he purposed to go the next morning by the first train. Bawdsey did not think that Brendon had sufficient interest in Lola to go down to Wargrove at once. But George was going that very day, all the same. Lola could not have known that his parents had been married at Wargrove without having seen Mrs. Jersey's confession wherein the fact was probably mentioned.. Therefore she must have obtained the confession in some way. How she achieved this, George could not conjecture. Then he thought of Lola's hot Spanish blood, of the stiletto-a peculiarly foreign weapon-and shuddered. It occurred to him that Lola herself must have stabbed the woman.
However, he put this thought aside for the moment and set about getting to Wargrove. On consulting an A. B. C. he found that a train left Liverpool Street Station for Southend at ten minutes past five, and that Wargrove was a tiny rural town which could be reached in an hour. Ever quick and expeditious in his movements, George had entered a Strand shop to buy the railway guide, and, having ascertained about the train, he simply stepped into his cab and ordered the man to drive to Liverpool Street. At the appointed time he was on his way down the country.
This precipitancy of action was due to a dread lest Bawdsey should change his mind and see Lola, first. Certainly the detective had spoken frankly, and his conduct appeared to be dictated by sentiments of honor. Nevertheless, George felt that Bawdsey was playing a part and that this apparent honesty was not his real character. It behooved him to be on his guard against him; and to know as much about the death of Mrs. Jersey as Bawdsey did, so as to able to counterplot him if necessary. From the fact that she was in Wargrove, Lola evidently had possession of the confession. If Bawdsey saw her he would doubtless try and get it from her, to learn the name of Percy Vane's assassin. George wished therefore to forestall Bawdsey, and to make Lola surrender the confession-always presuming she had it-to himself. For this reason he departed quickly for Wargrove. At the Liverpool Street Station he examined all the passengers as they entered the train. Bawdsey did not put in an appearance, and as the next train would not depart for another two hours George felt that he had stolen a march on the detective. Bawdsey would never think that he had acted with such promptitude.
It was a dull journey, as Brendon was worried by a commercial traveler who would talk politics. George put him off as civilly as possible, and finally turned his prattle-for it was little else-to his own advantage by asking for the whereabouts of Wargrove. It seemed that the new town of Wargrove was the place where the train stopped, but Old Wargrove was three miles distant, and it was there that the parish church was situated. The commercial traveler followed up this information with many details concerning the manners and customs of the natives, which bored George to distraction. However, he listened quietly, and paid as little attention as was consistent with politeness. His officious companion watched for the station, and roared out the name when the train stopped. George thanked him and alighted, glad to be relieved of such a weary talker. And till the train was moving the man leaned out of the window shouting directions as to the best way to reach Old Wargrove.
As it proved there was no necessity for George to go there. Lola was stopping in the policeman's house prior to her removal to the prison at Chelmsford. Her attempt at robbery had been committed on the previous day, and Brendon thought she would have already been removed. However, he was informed that there was some delay owing to the illness of the Chelmsford inspector, and therefore Lola would have to remain in Wargrove for another twelve hours. Brendon was glad to hear this, as it would save him a long journey. He thanked the policeman who had explained, and was directed by the man to the house of his superior officer, which was on the outskirts of the town. George soon found a semi-detached house with a notice on it, and on knocking at the door explained his errand to a brisk little woman. She pursed up her lips, looked inquisitively at him with bright eyes, and called her husband. The policeman was a burly, slow-witted, fat man who seemed nervous on being asked for a sight of the prisoner, for such Lola was to all intents and purposes. He did not want to exceed his duty. George produced a sovereign, but the official, although his eyes twinkled, hesitated to take the bribe. It was then that Mrs. Policeman came to Brendon's assistance.
"Nonsense, Jeremiah," she said briskly. "Let the young gentleman see his young lady. She's dying to have a sight of him."
"How do you know that she is my young lady?" asked George.
Mrs. Policeman nodded with her arms akimbo. "Why she's been crying out in that foreign way of hers for George-George-"
"That is my name certainly."
"And you are her gentleman. She told me what you were like, and cried all the time, poor soul. Tall, fair, with eyes of blue."
"It's all very well," grumbled Jeremiah. "But 'tis against the law."
"You can be present at our interview if you like."
"There, Jeremiah, you can't have the gentleman saying fairer than that." Here the sharp little woman nudged her husband's arms. This was a hint for him to swallow his scruples and take the sovereign. Jeremiah agreed, and shortly the sovereign was in his pocket and he was leading George to a back upstairs room.
"We'd have put her in the best parlor," he said, "as I always like to make 'em comfortable. But she'd have run away, so we was obliged to keep her in the room with the bars on the window."
"Poor Lola," thought George, as he conjured up the small stuffy room and the barred window.
But the room was not so comfortless as Jeremiah stated, thanks to Mrs. Policeman. It was small, certainly, but it was neatly furnished as a bed-sitting-room. The window was certainly barred, but there was no other sign that it was a prison cell. Before introducing George to this abode, it struck Jeremiah that the prisoner had been inquired for as "the young lady." He stopped Brendon at the door. "Might you know her name, sir?"
"Of course I know it," replied George, promptly. "Don't you?"
"Now I do," said Jeremiah, with a heavy nod, "but it was a rare time afore she'd speak. My missus got it out of her. Loler Veal it is, she says, and she's by way of being on the stage."
"She is the most celebrated dancer in London, and her name is Lola Velez," said George. "I don't suppose she'll be punished much for this. She's mad at times."
"Oh, if she's mad she'll get off lightly, but them parish register to be torn-it's bad work that. My father were a sexton," explained Jeremiah, soberly.
"And naturally you think Mademoiselle Velez has committed the most atrocious of crimes. But don't stand chattering here, my good fellow. I have to return by the nine train."
"I'll wait outside," said Jeremiah, on whom Brendon's generosity and peremptory manner had made an impression, "but you won't give her poison, or knives, or that, sir?"
George laughed. "No. She is the last person to use them if I did supply her with such articles."
"She's a lively young woman," said the policeman, and slowly unlocked the door. George was admitted, and then Jeremiah, so as to give the lovers-as he thought them-an opportunity of meeting unobserved, retired, locking the door after him. Lola and George were together.
She was seated by the window staring out into the darkness. On the table was a small lamp, and a fire burned in the grate. Lola started up when the door closed again. "Who is-who is?" she asked in her rapid way, and came toward him.
"Lola," began George, but he got no further. She ran forward and flung herself with tears at his feet, clutching his legs and wailing:
"Oh, my dear one, hast thou come in anger? Trample me, make me as earth, beloved, but be not enraged-ah, no-ah, no!"
"Lola. Get up and don't be a fool," said Brendon, speaking roughly to brace her nerves.
She rose, sobbing, and crept to a chair in a slinking manner, quite unlike her usual free grace. She did not raise her eyes, and George was pained to see the change. Badly as she had acted, he felt sorry at beholding her depressed, and like a sick beast in confinement.
"Lola," he said, taking a chair near her, "I have come as your friend."
"Not in anger-ah, but yes, in anger."
"I am not angry. I am very sorry."
"Ah, but in your eyes-they sparkle. I see Mees Vards. I do try to steal the church books. You are furiously enraged."
"Look at me and see."
But Lola would not, so George took her chin and made her gaze directly into his eyes. Lola's were filled with tears, but after a time she began to smile. "Ah, you are not enraged, it was for you I did it. I wish my dear George to myself-all-all."
"You know that is impossible."
"But it is not. I will have you."
"Not at all," said George, deliberately. "You will marry Bawdsey."
"That pig-cow, horrible and miserable. Non. Ah, non!" She sprang to her feet. "Jamais. Ah grand jamais! I do swear," and producing a small black crucifix from her dress she kissed it vehemently.
She was a most impossible person to deal with, being as wild as a tigress and as impulsive as a child. George made her resume her seat, and drew his chair close to her. Much delighted, Lola took his hand within her own and looked at him affectionately. Brendon did not like the position at all, but it was necessary to humor Lola if he wished to arrive at the truth. He spoke to her very directly.
"Now, Lola, I wish you to tell me the truth."
"Ah, but I will. When you are kindness I tell you all."
"Do you know that you have done a wrong thing?"
"Pschutt," she said contemptuously. "I give that old mans knocks on the heads, but he is alive. Oh, yes, I did not kill him.
"I don't mean the assault, though that is bad enough. But your trying to destroy the register of the marriage.
"It is your fault," cried Lola, impetuously. "For loves of my George I did so. I wish you not to marry any but me."
"We can talk of that later, Lola. Answer me a few questions, and make no remarks."
"I will do what you say, my friend," said Lola, nodding. George thought for a moment. "How did you learn that Wargrove was the place where my parents were married?"
"I tell not that-indeed, I will not. It is my businesses."
"Mine also. You must tell."
"But I will not."
"For my sake, Lola."
"Ah, you want to know all, and then trick me. I will not tell."
"Then I will explain to you."
"Aha, you cannots-you know nothings at all. Pah! La, la, la, la."
George spoke sternly. "Lola, I know more than you give me credit for. I have seen the dagger."
This time he struck home, for she started. "What dagger?"
"The stiletto you left in Mrs. Jersey's room."
"I did nothings. I was not there."
"Yes you were. For all I know you may have killed the woman."
"But it is foolish you talk, George. I did not. She was frightened-oh, very much afraid."
"So much that she gave you the confession you asked for?"
"Ah, yes-yes-yes," cried Lola, then seeing she had betrayed herself, she began to be alarmed. "Ah, you will say nothing. I would not tell anys but my George. He loves me. He will not see me dead."
"Good heavens, Lola, did you kill the woman?"
"That fat ladys in black silk? Ah, no, I did not. But she was so afraid of the knife."
"You left her alive on that night?"
"Why, yes, my George. We part-oh, such good friends." Lola blew a kiss from her finger-tips. "She quite pleased, immense!"
"Well, Lola, as you have told so much, you must tell me all."
"There is nothing to say," she replied, turning sullen.
George rose. "Then I shall go away," he declared. "I came here to be your friend, Lola, and to save you from getting into further trouble. But if you will not be candid-" He moved to the door.
"What is candids? I know not, George." She sprang to her feet. "Ah, my heart, do not go. Soul of my soul, leave me not. I will do anythings what you ask of me."
"Then tell me the whole story of your visit to Mrs. Jersey."
"But you will marry Mees Vard!"
"I do that in any case. See here, Lola," he added artfully, "this marriage register which you wish to destroy does not matter now. My grandfather has acknowledged me as his heir."
She looked at him with wide eyes and pale cheeks. "And you will be milor-you will marry Mees Vard-you will-you will-" Her mouth began to work piteously like a child being reproved.
"I will always be your friend, Lola!"
"You will marry Mees Vard?" she persisted.
"Lola," he took her hand, "if we married we would never be happy. I and you are different people. Do you wish to see me happy?"
"Ah, yes-if I die I would have you happy," she sobbed.
"Then allow me to marry Miss Ward, and give me up."
"Ah, but it is asking much-always too much."
"Well," said George, a trifle cruelly, "you offered to die for me just now, yet to see me happy you won't deny yourself anything."
"Yes-yes-but it is all so quick, my dear. Give times-oh, give times till I become used." She sobbed for a moment, then dried her eyes and sat down briskly. "I am ready, my George. You shall be happy, but you must not forget poor Lola-ah, no!"
"Of course not," replied George, patting her hand. "Now tell me the story. Wait. Was it you mother who told you of my father's death?"
"Yes," assented Lola. "She often talked of your fathers,"
"I heard she was in love with him," said George, slowly.
Lola shrugged her shapely shoulders. "That I know not. My dear mother was handsome-oh, yes, and dark, and fond of gayness. She might have loved-eh-it is not impossibles."
"Did she ever hint who killed my father?"
Lola shook her head. "No. Never did she say anythings. He was found dead-stabbed-" she made a gesture, "that was all-all!"
Evidently she could tell him nothing, so George reverted to more immediate matters. "How about that night? You knew that I was going to Mrs. Jersey's on that night?"
"Ah, but yes. You did tell me."
"Then what made you come also? Was it to see me?"
Lola put her finger in her mouth and looked down. "No, my George. I did want that confessions of the fat old lady, to stop you being milor, and then I thought you would marry only poor Lola."
"How did you know about the confession?"
"That pig-man told me."
"Bawdsey? Why did he tell you?"
"Pschutt!" said Lola, contemptuously. "He loves me so, I can twist and twist him so," she made a rapid motion with her fingers. "We did talk of the death of your fathers. I lamented that my poor mother did loves your fathers unhappily, as I did love you. And I was enraged to think that your fathers had died. I did ask Bawdsey who made the stab-gave the death? – eh, it is, so I asked," she added, nodding. "He could not say, but he declares that Mrs. – what you call her-eh, but my friend, Mrs. – "
"Mrs. Jersey. Bawdsey declared that she knew?" Lola nodded. "It was so," she assented. "Mrs. – what you call that fat ladys-she write out all she know, – of your father's death and of his marriages. I say to myself that I would get that confession and learn where the marriage was made. Then I would burn the book that no one might learn. After I would say to you, that I could tell who killed your father if you made me madame your wife."
"That's a very pretty plot," said Brendon, not knowing whether to be angry with her wrong-doing or touched by a love that to gain him would not hesitate to commit a crime. "So far you have carried it out. You have the confession-"
Lola put her hand on her breast. "He is here," she said, nodding. "I carries him always-always!"
"Give it to me, Lola."
Her eyes opened in wide alarm. "Ah, no, you will not ask me. I keep him to myself all."
George saw that the moment was not propitious. But he was determined to get the confession before he left her. However, he begged her to continue her story. "How did you know the house?" he asked.
"It was the scarlet windows-"
"I remember. Bawdsey gave you that for guide."
"Bah! He knew not I was going," said Lola with a shrug. "I got out of him the fool-man all that I did want. I thought I would get to the fat ladys on the night you were with her, that I might have you for helps if she was enraged."
