CHAPTER V

MRS MOXTON SEEKS COUNSEL

Needless to say, Ellis, in his then state of mind, declined to believe that the widow had intrigued with a lover, or had--according to the theory of Cass--armed his hand with the knife. In her evidence she declared that she knew no one in Dukesfield and went nowhere, and this statement was substantiated by Mrs. Basket. The landlady, with feminine curiosity about matters which did not concern her, was as good as a detective, and from the first coming of the mysterious Moxtons to Myrtle Villa, she had watched their movements. Knowing this, Ellis made a few inquiries when Mrs. Basket was clearing the breakfast-table. Harry having already departed to Fleet Street, the doctor was alone, and conducted the examination as he pleased and at his leisure. Mrs. Basket, only too willing to talk, chattered like a parrot, and, indeed, her green dress with yellow trimmings resembled the plumage of that bird in no small degree. She was a gaudy, irresponsible gabbler.

"Bless your 'eart, sir, she didn't know no one," declared Mrs. Basket. "A prisoner in a gaol, that is what she was at Myrtle Viller; not but what she oughtn't to be in a real one. I don't say as that Moxton," Mrs. Basket shivered, "wasn't a brute in his treatment of her, but she did for him as sure as I'm a living woman. She did for him."

"The jury did not think so, Mrs. Basket!"

Mrs. Basket snorted. "A jury of them swindling tradesmen," said she, contemptuously. "What do they know of it? Mrs. Moxton killed him with the carving-knife, and threw it away arterwards.

"How do you know she threw it away?"

"'Cos it ain't in the 'ouse. Yes! you may look, an' look, doctor, but it ain't in the 'ouse. I've bin there and know."

"You have been in Myrtle Villa?" said Ellis, astonished. "Do you know Mrs. Moxton, then?"

"For the sake of law and order and Queen's justice I made it my business to know her, sir. The other morning I went over to offer to buy some of her furniture, 'earing as she was leaving Dukesfield."

Ellis jumped up. "She is not leaving Dukesfield," he denied.

"Oh, that was my idear of getting into the 'ouse," explained Mrs. Basket, complacently. "She said she wasn't, and told me so in the kitching, where it was I wished to be. Then she looked so poorly that I offered to make 'er a cup of tea, and she said I might, asking me questions about the people 'ere in the meantime."

"What sort of questions?"

"Oh, what was thought of her, and if they called her names," returned Mrs. Basket, incoherently. "But I made 'er the tea and she 'ad it. For a few minutes she went into the front parlour, and I looked in all the dresser drawers for the knife, but it wasn't there. No, doctor," repeated Mrs. Basket, with emphasis, "I do assure you it wasn't in the 'ole of that there kitching, though I searched most perticler."

"Someone might have stolen the knife."

"There weren't nobody in the 'ouse to steal it. Not a soul ever went near the viller but tradesmen, and they never got no further than the back door. Sir, I do believe as she murdered him with the knife, and 'id it way arterwards--p'r'aps in them brickfields," concluded Mrs. Basket, vaguely.

"Well, we can't be sure of that. You are certain that Mrs. Moxton had no visitors?"

"Quite, sir."

"And she saw no one?"

"Not a blessed soul save 'er 'usband as she did for. And if you'll excuse me, doctor, I've my work to look arter," whereupon the gossip waddled away with the breakfast tray.

It may appear strange that a cultured man like Ellis should listen to the coarse babblings of an uneducated woman, but he had a reason for doing so. For the sake of protecting Mrs. Moxton it was needful that he should know the gossip of the neighbourhood, and none could so well enlighten him on this point as Mrs. Basket. Several times her openly-expressed conviction of Mrs. Moxton's guilt made Ellis wince, and but for the above reason he would have ordered her out of the room. However, his self-control gained him two pieces of information; firstly, that Mrs. Moxton had received no masculine visitor since her arrival in Dukesfield, and, secondly, that the carving-knife with which the murder--from the nature of the wound--might have been committed, had disappeared. Ellis was now satisfied that the widow had no lover, but he was disturbed over the concealment or loss--he did not know which to call it--of the carving-knife. If no one but Mrs. Moxton was, or had been, in the house, she must know the whereabouts of the knife. For enlightenment on this point, and in order to satisfy his doubts, Ellis made up his mind to call on the widow, and, acting on the impulse of the moment, did so.

Strangely enough Mrs. Moxton not only welcomed him eagerly, but informed him that his arrival was opportune. "If you had not come I should have sent for you," said she, and conducted him into a cheerful little sitting-room all white paint, Chinese matting, and furniture covered with bright-hued chintz.

"What is the matter, Mrs. Moxton? There is nothing wrong, I hope."

"Oh, no! but I want your advice. You are my only friend."

"I am proud of the position, Mrs. Moxton, and I hope you will permit me, as a friend, to ask you a few plain questions?"

The little woman's resolute face grew pale. "About the death?" she murmured.

"Yes! You know that there is a slur on your name in connection with that. As your friend, I wish to remove that slur by assisting you to hunt down the murderer."

It was an odd but true thing that Mrs. Moxton had the same habit as Ellis of walking up and down the room when annoyed. At the conclusion of the doctor's last speech she rose suddenly and took a turn to compose her mind. "It is very good of you to think of helping me," she said abruptly, "but why should you?"

"Because I wish to be your friend, and I know that you are in danger."

"I am in no danger if you allude to this preposterous accusation that I killed my husband. If needs be I can protect myself should the occasion arise."

"By denouncing someone else?"

Mrs. Moxton turned on Ellis with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"Rumour says that if you did not murder Moxton yourself you know who did, and that you are shielding him."

"Him! Oh, I am shielding a man," said the widow, catching at the final word. "Set your mind at rest, doctor, I am shielding no man."

"Mrs. Moxton, why not be candid and tell me all?"

"I told all I knew at the inquest," she replied sullenly.

"Can you swear that you do not know who killed your husband?"

"I was on my oath at the inquest, I tell you," cried the woman, passionately. "I will not swear again--to you."

"Very good," said Ellis, coldly. "I see that you doubt me."

"I doubt you! I trust you more than you think. Doctor Ellis, in spite of what I said to you before, I am surrounded on all sides by difficulties and dangers. One false step and Heaven knows what may happen! I can't tell you all--I dare not. But you are my friend and must help me."

"How can I when you won't confess the truth?"

"If I only dare!" Mrs. Moxton took another turn up the room, and came back to Ellis with a more determined expression on her face. "Listen, doctor! I will tell you what I can. Afterwards you can ask me what questions you will, and I shall reply to the best of my ability. Thus we shall understand one another."

Ellis looked at her trim little figure in the black dress, at the widow's cap on the fair hair, at the candid face beneath it. As has been before stated, Mrs. Moxton was comely rather than pretty, but she had a firmly-moulded chin, a resolute expression on her lips and in her grey eyes, and was, on the whole, a woman of courage and resource. How one so sensible could have tied herself to a brute like Moxton, and could have submitted to neglect and cruelty for long months was more than Ellis could understand. Perhaps it was one of those unanswerable problems of the feminine nature which women themselves cannot explain. Ellis was puzzled, and in the hope of gaining some insight into this apparently contradictory nature, waited eagerly for the promised explanation.

"On the day after the murder--in the morning, that is," said Mrs. Moxton, "I had a visitor. His card, with the name Richard Busham, was brought to me by a charwoman I engaged, but owing to the events of the previous night I refused to see him. He went away saying he would call again, but up to the present he has not done so."

"Who is Richard Busham? Do you know him?"

"Not personally. I never saw him, and he has never met me. But he is the cousin of my late husband, the nephew of Moxton of Bond Street. Now, I believe that he came to see me about the will, and I am vexed at not having admitted him."

"Why not call on him? Have you his address?"

"I heard it from Edgar. Mr. Busham is a solicitor, and has his office in Esher Lane, near the Temple. The late Mr. Moxton, of Bond Street, was a mean, shabby man who employed the cheapest labour he could get, and I believe his nephew did all his legal business for him. Now, Edgar and Mr. Busham hated one another, and when my husband was disinherited Mr. Busham was declared heir by old Moxton. If that will held good he would not waste time coming to see me, but from the very fact of his visit I believe that Edgar's father repented at the last moment, and made a new will, leaving the property to us."

"You can make certain of that by seeing Busham."

Mrs. Moxton looked troubled. "I am afraid," she said faintly. "I am terribly afraid."

"I do not see why you should be."

"Mr. Busham called on the morning after the murder; he must have learnt then of my loss. Yet he has never repeated his visit, has never written a line. I can't conceive his reason for acting in this way, unless," here she hesitated, "he believes that I murdered Edgar."

"He would not be so foolish as to believe that without evidence, and even if he did, the inquest must have disabused his mind of the idea."

"For all that I am afraid to call. I have heard Edgar talk of Mr. Busham; he is a dangerous man, Dr. Ellis, and for all I know may be laying a trap for me."

"Tell me the truth and I will prevent your falling into this trap."

Mrs. Moxton hesitated, and then burst out defiantly: "What is it you wish to know?"

"Firstly, if you know the meaning of the blood signs on your husband's arm?"

"No! I do not."

"Then I am wiser than you, for I do."

"You!" Mrs. Moxton bit her lip. "What do you know?"

"That the signs stand for the letters R. U. Z. What the lizard, as I think it is, means I don't know. Mrs. Moxton, what is the meaning of the three letters R. U. Z.?"

"I don't know, really I don't!"

"Had your husband any friend with a name beginning Ruz, or with initials R. U. Z.?"

"Not that I ever heard of."

"What about the lizard?"

"I cannot understand its meaning."

"And you don't comprehend either the letters or the cypher?"

"No! no! no!"

This triple denial was so emphatic that Ellis was forced to believe her. Yet it appeared strange that she should be so ignorant of matters which virtually concerned the death of her husband. He looked keenly at her for some sign of confusion, but the brow of Mrs. Moxton was as open as the day. If she lied she was a wonderful actress, but Ellis did not believe that she lied, being too much in love to consider her so deliberately base.

"Well!" said he, making an attempt in another direction to fathom the mystery. "My landlady, Mrs. Basket, called to see you the other day."

"To spy out the land. Oh, I saw through her pretended kindness at once. She wished to find some proof of my guilt, but as I had nothing to conceal I gave her the opportunity of convincing herself that I was innocent."

"The very proof you gave convinced her of your guilt," said Ellis, warmly. "Mrs. Basket is a dangerous woman, Mrs. Moxton; one of those well-meaning people who do so much harm. She has no special grudge against you, but she has got it into her mind that you killed your husband with the carving-knife."

"But I did not. It is nonsense talking like that!"

"Then where is the carving-knife? Mrs. Basket searched but could not find it, and now she believes that you have hidden it."

"What rubbish!" said Mrs. Moxton, with contempt. "Edgar threw it away."

"Threw it away? Why?"

"Because he knew that I kept it by me to protect myself against tramps or burglars, so, out of sheer devilry, the week before he died, he threw it into the garden behind some bushes."

"Is it there now?"

"No. I searched everywhere for it after the murder and could not find it. Why do you ask?"

"Because a broad-bladed knife was used to kill your husband, and it might have been the carving-knife. The murderer must have picked it up and made use of it. And----"

The woman appeared uneasy, and interrupted Ellis. "How would the murderer know that the knife was in the garden? Only two people knew where it was thrown. One was Edgar, the other myself."

"I would not advise you to say that in public, Mrs. Moxton, as people might count it as good circumstantial evidence that you killed Moxton."

"Oh!" cried the widow, clenching her fists. "Do you believe me guilty?"

"No, I do not. Is there any need to ask me that question?"

"Why? why? You have plenty of evidence against me. I have placed myself in your hands by confessing about the carving-knife. Why do you not denounce me as guilty?"

"How can you ask?" cried Ellis, carried out of his usual equable self by her vehemence. "Don't you know--can't you see--I love you! I love you! that is why I believe you guiltless."