Coroner: "Did you see the meeting?"
Mrs. Gilroy: "No. I pushed Mr. Gore into the room then went down to wait. But I think Sir Simon was disposed to be friendly. Mr. Gore remained upstairs for about fifteen minutes, then left the house hurriedly. I saw him go out of the door. I called after him. He did not answer. I then ran upstairs, and found Sir Simon dead. I came down again and ran out in pursuit of Mr. Gore, crying out, 'Murder!' He was almost on the doorstep and came into the house with me. He denied that he had killed his grandfather and loosened the two handkerchiefs. Then the police came and he escaped."
She persisted in her statements, and said calmly that young Gore had certainly killed the old man. At the interview at the Hall, she had heard him use the word "strangle," and Sir Simon had been murdered in that way.
Lucy Randolph also gave evidence as to the quarrel. "Bernard had a fiery temper," she said, weeping, "and when Sir Simon spoke badly of Miss Malleson, he threatened to throw Sir Simon out of the window. I did not hear him use the word strangle. I never saw him when he came to the kitchen at Crimea Square, and it was only two days before the murder that Mrs. Gilroy recognized him by the description given by the housemaid. I am quite friendly with Bernard."
This evidence led to that of Jane, the housemaid. She was shown a photograph of Gore and swore positively that it was the face of the young soldier who had courted her. Before Sir Simon came to Crimea Square she had met him in the Park. He was in the uniform of the newly-formed Imperial Yeomanry. He made love to her, and asked if he might come to the house. He also seemed to be very inquisitive about Sir Simon. He came many times, and was introduced to the cook. Also William, the page, saw him. He called himself Bernard, nothing more, and did not make use of his name of Gore. Whenever Mrs. Gilroy was heard coming he always hid himself. He seemed afraid to meet her. Both witness and cook connived at the concealment as they feared the rebuke of the housekeeper. On the night of the crime a message came from Sir Simon by the page, William, asking Bernard to step upstairs. He displayed great alarm, and went away at once, saying he might return to see Sir Simon after ten. Witness gave other evidence, but the important point was, that she identified the photograph as that of Bernard Gore. Also the name was the same.
The cook and the page also identified the photograph as that of Mr. Gore. Evidence was then given by an officer of the Imperial Yeomanry as to Gore calling himself Bernard alone. He was known as Corporal Bernard. On the night of the murder he had obtained leave of absence to dine with a friend and had left the barracks before five. It was between five and six, according to the cook, that Bernard was in the kitchen. Bernard, added the officer, was not expected back till close on midnight. Since then nothing had been heard of him.
Durham then stepped into the box and stated that Gore had dined with him at his house on Camden Hill. There was another mutual friend present. Bernard had arrived at seven at the house and had left it at ten o'clock. Witness produced Sir Simon's letter stating that Gore was courting the housemaid Jane. But Durham swore that Bernard had denied this, and said that he had not been near the house. "Indeed," added the witness, "he did not know the whereabouts of the house till I told him."
Coroner: "Then he must have gone from your house direct to Crimea Square."
Durham: "I can't understand why he should do so. He had no intention of going, and certainly he had no idea of killing Sir Simon. I am quite convinced that he is innocent."
This expression produced incredulous smiles, as by this time everyone present was certain that Gore was the culprit. Thanks to Durham's representations Dick West (alias Lord Conniston) was not called. It is needless to say that the real name of this witness was not known. Had it been public the Coroner would have doubtless insisted on his production, if only to swell the scandal of the case by the addition of a title.
In summing up the Coroner was quite on the side of the prosecution and public opinion was with him. He pointed out that the evidence of the cook, the housemaid, the page and the officer all showed that Bernard Gore and Corporal Bernard were one and the same. Also there was the evidence of Mrs. Gilroy, who opened the door at ten o'clock to the man himself. Without doubt Gore was the person who had called to see his grandfather. As to the motive for the commission of the crime, the jury could see for themselves that there was a strong one. Mr. Beryl's evidence showed that a bitter quarrel existed, and this was confirmed both by Miss Randolph and Mrs. Gilroy. Even the word "strangled" had been used, and in that way Sir Simon had met with his death. Without doubt Gore, furious at being disinherited, had called to see Sir Simon, to see if he could be reinstated. Doubtless, as both had fiery tempers, a quarrel had taken place, and then the younger man, having rendered the older one unconscious by means of chloroform, had murdered him. It was certainly inexplicable that he should have returned to the house, but then the jury must take into consideration that perhaps Gore thought such a bold course might prove his innocence. Finally, his escape showed that he was guilty, as had he been an innocent man, he would have faced the matter out. It would seem that the criminal was dead. He had fallen into the hands of God, and thus had not escaped punishment. But on the facts before them the jury would have to give their verdict.
Biased both by the evidence and by the Coroner's speech, the jury brought in a verdict of guilty against Bernard Gore. Durham expected the verdict and so did Miss Plantagenet, but both of them, being Bernard's firm friends, felt a pang when they heard him thus condemned of wilful murder.
"Fools," said Miss Berengaria, as she drove back in her brougham with Durham to the office of the lawyer.
"I don't think that," expostulated Durham. "Under the circumstances the jury could hardly bring in a different verdict."
"You know that Bernard is innocent," snapped the lady.
"Certainly! But on the evidence before them – "
"A fig for the evidence!" interrupted Miss Berengaria. "I go by my own knowledge of the boy. He wouldn't kill a fly."
"Ah! But you see, the men on the jury never met Bernard."
Finding the lawyer too strong for her, Miss Berengaria changed the subject, being determined not to acknowledge defeat. "Have you heard from young Gore?" she asked.
"No. He may be drowned for all I know."
"For all you know, and you know nothing."
"More's the pity, Miss Plantagenet. Did I know anything I might be able to satisfy myself that Gore is alive."
"Of course he is alive."
"On what ground do you say that?" asked Durham, surprised.
"On the grounds of common sense. Bernard is not the man to die when his living is needed to prove his innocence."
This was so truly a feminine argument that Durham, with a shrug, held his tongue. "There's no more to be said," he remarked.
"I know that," snapped Miss Berengaria in a bad humor. "I am quite upset by all the rubbish those fools have been talking. What's to be done next?"
"I shall go down to Gore Hall and read the will."
"Ha!" said the old lady, brightly. "Can you do that until you are sure of the death of Bernard?"
"Yes. He may be dead after all – "
"He isn't, I tell you."
"Then it is all the better he should be thought to be so," said Durham, giving up the point in the face of this firm opposition.
"Why?" asked Miss Berengaria promptly.
"Because no search will be made for Gore should he be alive and in hiding. Yet I fear Beryl will search."
"I don't see why he should. Oh, I see what you mean. Sir Simon, the horrid old – Well, we'll say nothing about that. But he has left the money to Beryl, after disinheriting Bernard for keeping faith with my poor Alice."
"Not exactly that," said Durham, hesitating. "I can't tell you the contents of the will, Miss Plantagenet, as – "
"I know," she snapped. "You needn't tell me that. I'll come to the Hall and hear it read. But, of course, I know it already."
"In that case there's no more to be said," replied the solicitor, suppressing a smile. Miss Berengaria saw it.
"Ha!" said she, sharply and pondering. "So Bernard's not disinherited after all."
"I never said so."
"You smiled. That's quite enough for me. 'A nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse.' Not that I'm a horse or blind. Thank God I have my eyesight and can read print with glasses. Well, keep your professional secrets, but tell me this: Will Beryl – the deuce take him – hunt for Bernard?"
"Not if he thinks he is drowned, as is probable," said Durham, rather surprised at hearing strong language from the lips of the lady.
"And if he thinks otherwise?"
"He will certainly hunt," replied the lawyer determinedly.
"Ha!" said Miss Berengaria, rubbing her nose. "So that's it, is it?"
"What do you mean, Miss Plantagenet?"
"That Bernard has not been disinherited. That old scamp – no, we must talk better of him – that the good old man who is dead repented and left the money to his rightful heir. What a joke!" Miss Berengaria chuckled. "There! there!" she went on, catching Durham's eyes. "It's all right. You have told me nothing. I can guess. Well, well, we must wait till the will is read. Then we shall see what is to be done to prove Bernard's innocence."
"That will be a hard task," said Durham, with a sigh; then added, with some little hesitation, "Miss Plantagenet, should Beryl make advances to you in the way of friendship receive them."
"Hum," said the lady. "I detest the fellow."
"But for Bernard's sake – "
"What plan have you in your head?" she asked sharply and peering into his troubled face.
"None. But I think that after the reading of the will – "
Miss Plantagenet chuckled. "After the reading – well?"
"Beryl may make advances to you."
"I will receive them. But if he thinks I will tell him where Bernard is to be found he is mistaken."
"You don't know where he is, or if he is alive," said Durham, astonished to find how quickly she fathomed his thoughts.
"True enough. But I will know before many days are over my head. I quite expect that Bernard will communicate with Alice, and of course she will tell me. As Beryl will find that the money is left to – "
"I did not say that," interrupted Durham, quickly, as the brougham stopped at the office door.
"To Bernard," went on Miss Berengaria, coolly, "he will try and learn if he is dead or alive. If dead he will – no, I can't say what he will do as I don't know if the money, failing Bernard, is left to him. But if he thinks Bernard is alive he will hunt him down so as to get the money."
Durham stepped out of the brougham rather afraid of the old dame. She was so clever that she seemed to read his most secret thoughts. He was glad the drive was at an end, and held out his hand to say good-bye. To his surprise and vexation Miss Berengaria stepped out at his heels. "I'm coming in to talk," she said, and marched up the steps. "I go down to-night to Hurseton, and I want to arrange what is to be done. Not a word, young man. I am Bernard's friend and so are you. If we don't combine it's all up with the poor fool." Durham followed the energetic lady with a feeling of helplessness, not knowing very well how to get rid of her. And he had particular reasons for not having her in the office. Conniston was coming to see him, and a meeting between him and his aunt might be productive of trouble. Not that Miss Plantagenet was his aunt, as she was only a distant relative. But she always styled herself so, and would answer to no other term. Durham regretted that he had accepted the lady's offer to be driven to his office. But it was too late by this time, for Miss Berengaria was in the room. And in the room also sat Lord Conniston, now out of uniform, and looking much excited.
"Ha!" said Miss Plantagenet, not recognizing the young man, "and who is this?" She turned to Durham, who shot past her, making a sign of silence to his friend.
"A client of mine. Will you leave us for a moment, Conniston?"
The name slipped out before he was aware, and he could have stamped with vexation to see how quickly Miss Berengaria grasped the situation. With a grim smile she looked at the astonished young man. "So you are Dick," she said looking at him through a double eyeglass. "I haven't seen you since you made yourself sick in my garden. Bernard told Alice by letter that he met you. Where are you staying?"
"I don't understand," stammered Conniston, while Durham, giving up Miss Plantagenet as impossible, sat shuffling his papers.
"You ought not to be dense. Don't you remember me boxing your ears?"
Conniston burst out laughing. "Oh! by Jove! It's Cousin Berengaria."
"Aunt Berengaria," reproved Miss Plantagenet, giving him her hand. "I don't like league-long names. Come and sit down and tell me all about yourself."
"Miss Plantagenet," said Durham, hastily. "Lord Conniston and I have met to talk of Bernard."
"Then I'll form a third," said the old lady, sitting. "Dick – I shall call you Dick," she interpolated – "you are Bernard's friend, as his letter to Alice was all about you. Are you going to desert him?"
"No," said Conniston, taking her entirely into his confidence. "I have chucked the service to see him through his trouble."
"Chucked what service?"
"The army. I was going to the front. But I'll stop till I prove the innocence of Bernard, Aunt Berengaria."
"You don't know that he is alive, Conniston," said the lawyer.
"Ah, but I do," replied Dick. "Here's a letter from Bernard. He is safe and sound hiding at Cove Castle."
CHAPTER VIII
BERNARD'S ENEMIES
The deceased baronet was buried in the family vault under St. Peter's Church, with all the pomp of wealth. Sir Simon had never been popular, and had been known widely as a hard, gripping man. Yet his tragic fate, and a certain pity therefore, had drawn together a large concourse of people. Distant relatives who hoped to be mentioned in the will were present clothed in deepest black, although they cared very little for the dead. Julius, who already regarded himself as in possession of Gore Hall, was there with a long face and a satisfied heart. He was glad that he had inherited the wealth after which he had long hungered, and gladder still that his rival, Bernard, was dead with a stain on his name. In fancied security he moved along, not knowing what retribution was in store for him. Even the pitying angels must have laughed at his complacency.
Durham, as the solicitor and executor of the dead man, was present and directed operations. Conniston had gone to Cove Castle to see Bernard and hear his story; and Durham smiled as his eyes rested on the smug face of the presumed heir. There was no love lost between the two men, and Julius privately determined that, when in possession of the property, he would place the legal business in the hands of another solicitor. The young lawyer guessed somewhat of this, and smiled ironically as he thought how this spite would be frustrated.
From far and near people were gathered, for the murder had made a great stir. Everyone united in condemning Bernard, and not one person in the throng thought him innocent. Lucy was weeping alone at the Hall, with Mrs. Gilroy offering her such cold comfort as she could think of. For the girl was truly sorry for her cousin, although she believed him to be guilty. But her theory was that Bernard had been goaded into committing the rash act by the bitter tongue of his grandfather. It was a matter of disagreement between her and Julius that she should so mourn the downfall and death of Bernard. He reprovingly advised her to keep her tears for Sir Simon, from whose death both were likely to derive benefit. But Lucy, in spite of Beryl's evil influence, which had rather warped her better nature, persisted in weeping for the miserable cousin who had so suddenly been cut off in the midst of his wickedness. At least that – in the face of circumstances – was the view she took of the matter.
And Alice remained at The Bower, talking over the death with Miss Plantagenet. Her joy, when the old lady returned with the good news that Bernard was yet alive, had been painful to witness. She wished to go at once to Cove Castle, but this Miss Berengaria, by Durham's advice, would not permit. Suspicion might be excited, so it was decided that Conniston himself should visit his own castle, as that would seem a natural thing for him to do. The merest suspicion that Bernard was alive and in hiding would set the bloodhounds of the law on the trail, and Beryl would be the first to loosen them. Therefore, Alice waited at home with Miss Berengaria until the funeral was over. Then they intended to go to the Hall to hear the will read. Miss Berengaria had some idea of the punishment that awaited Julius, and would not have been absent for half of her income. She detested the young man with all the virulence of her honest nature. And she insisted on Alice coming also, although the girl was unwilling. This again was by Durham's advice. He wanted both ladies to understand exactly how matters stood. It would save him the trouble of an explanation. And then, since he and the two ladies and Conniston were bent upon proving Bernard's innocence, Durham wanted all who could be spared – which did not include Conniston to be present, so as to daunt Bernard's enemies. Should Julius lose his temper over the will, it was probable that he might say something likely to afford a clue to the true assassin. And then Mrs. Gilroy was an enemy also, and she might be unguarded in her speech. Durham had a vague idea that both knew more than they admitted. As to Lucy, it was impossible to say whether she was friendly or hostile.
Sir Simon's body was duly interred, and he left all his wealth behind him to take up his abode in the dark vault. After the service several people lingered in the graveyard, but the majority, thinking the spectacle was at an end, made haste to go. Julius with Durham returned in the carriage, and the rest of the relatives followed, flocking like vultures to the feast. While in the carriage Durham thought he would see if Julius suspected that Bernard had escaped.
"You have not heard if Gore's body has been found?" he asked.
"No," said Beryl, raising his pale eyes and looking as sad as any owl. "I fear he is dead in his sin."
"You can't be sure if he did sin, Mr. Beryl."
"The jury thought so."
"A jury is not always infallible!"
"I think the case had a fair hearing, Mr. Durham. So far as I am concerned I should have been pleased had the verdict been otherwise. It is not pleasant for me to have a relative accused of such a crime. But since he is dead let his evil rest with him. You will not hear me say a word against his memory," added the virtuous Julius.
"Perhaps it will be as well," replied Durham, dryly. "You never were a friend of Bernard's."
"All the more praise to me that I should not run him down."
"Tell me, Beryl, do you really believe he committed the crime?"
"I answered that indirectly before. Yes, I believe he was guilty."
"Then it is just as well he is dead."
"Just as well," asserted Beryl, quickly.
"You don't think he can have escaped?"
Julius started. "What makes you think so?" he demanded uneasily.
"Well, you see, Bernard was a good swimmer, and – "
"The best swimmer in the world could do nothing against the current of the Thames on a foggy night. On a fine day I dare say he might have gained the opposite bank, but in the fog he must have circled round and round until he was exhausted."
"Yet, his clothes were discovered on the bank," persisted Durham. "I wonder if I offered a reward, would anything be discovered?"
"His corpse might," said Beryl, unpleasantly, "but no reward shall be offered. Better let sleeping dogs lie."
"But surely, Mr. Beryl, if you inherit the property, you will seek for the poor fellow's dead body?"
"No," replied Julius decisively. "I think it is best to leave things alone. Bernard committed a vile act, and if his body has been swept out to sea all the better for his memory and the position of the family. I shall offer no reward."
Durham, seeing the young man was absolutely certain of his inheritance, and that he was prepared to act in a most niggardly spirit, looked out of the window to hide a smile. "Poor Sir Bernard," he said.
"Sir Bernard?" questioned the supposed heir, raising his eyebrows.
"Certainly. On the death of Sir Simon, Bernard took the title!"
"He hasn't enjoyed it long," said Beryl, with so villainous a sneer that the lawyer longed to pitch him out of the carriage, "and seeing he is dead I suppose the title becomes extinct."
"It does," assented Durham gravely. "Bernard was the only heir in the direct line."
Julius shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'll be quite content with the money," said he.
"Here we are," said Durham, as the carriage stopped. "By the way, Miss Plantagenet and Miss Malleson have come to hear the will read. I hope you don't object."
"Yes, I do," retorted Beryl, angrily, as he alighted. "They would have shown better taste had they remained away."
"But remember Miss Malleson has lost Bernard."
"All the better for her. She would have had a miserable life with that fellow."
Durham suppressed a violent inclination to punch the man's head, but, knowing what punishment awaited him, he walked up the steps with a contemptuous smile. Here was a change indeed from the meek Julius of the old days. This presumed heir was obnoxious and insolent, thinking he was absolutely certain of entering into his kingdom. The lawyer was by no means a vindictive person, but it afforded him a certain amount of satisfaction when he thought of the irony of the situation.
However, when Julius reached the drawing room, in which those invited to hear the will read were assembled, he adopted a more conciliatory manner. Several relatives were present, and Mrs. Gilroy headed the servants at the end of the room. Miss Berengaria sat beside Alice in a recess somewhat screened by the window curtain. But Lucy was nowhere to be seen. However, when Durham took his seat at a small table and opened his bag, she entered in deep mourning. Julius went to meet her.
"Dear Lucy," he said, "we have buried our best friend."
Lucy made no reply, and, drawing her hand away, walked to where Alice was seated. She kissed the girl, whom Bernard had loved, in silence; and in silence was the kiss returned. Even Miss Berengaria, voluble as she was on all occasions, held her peace. She saw that Lucy was sincerely sorry for the loss of her cousin, and from that moment she entertained a better opinion of her. Alice drew Lucy into a seat beside her, and the two girls sat side by side, while Julius, already assuming the airs of a master, bade the company welcome.
"I am glad to see you all," he said in an important voice, "and I am sure that our deceased relative in his will has done all that his kind heart inspired him to do. Mr. Durham will now read the will."
When he sat down some of the relatives smiled at the phrase about a kind heart, for which the late baronet had been in no wise remarkable. Durham took no notice of Beryl's little speech, but opened the will and began to read. Julius listened with a complacent smile, which changed as the reading went on.
Legacies were left to nearly all the servants who had been with the testator a long time. Lucy became entitled to three hundred a year, and Mrs. Gilroy received one hundred. The sum allotted to her did not satisfy her, as she frowned when it was mentioned. Beryl's name was not mentioned, but he did not mind as he was waiting for the disposal of the residue of the estate. But when Durham read out that the estate had been left entirely to Bernard Gore, with the exceptions of the above-named legacies, he started to his feet.
"That is not the will!" he exclaimed loudly, and with a ghastly white face. "I am the heir."
"By a former will," interposed Durham, "or, rather, I should say, by a will which Sir Simon afterwards destroyed."
"He disinherited Bernard!" cried Julius savagely.
