CHAPTER XIV.

A LETTER FROM MALTA.

_Julian Roper to Ronald Monteith_.

Dear Sir,--I have now been here a week, and in accordance with your instructions, have lost no time in investigating the case entrusted to me; but the results, I regret to say, are far from satisfactory. On my arrival at Valletta, I took up my quarters at the Hotel D'Angleterre, in the Strada Sta. Lucia, made inquiries as to the whereabouts of Mrs. Verschoyle, and after some considerable difficulty, found that she was staying at a boarding-house in the Strada Cristoforo.

On learning this, I thought my best plan would be to take up my abode in the same house, as I could then learn with more precision the movements of Mrs. Verschoyle. To this end I went to the Strada Cristoforo, and found the boarding-house to be a very comfortable one, kept by a fat widow whose name is Signora Briffa. I secured very pleasant apartments, and took possession of them next day, much to my own satisfaction and that of the Signora.

At the _table d'hôte_ I met the rest of the lodgers, who are a queer-looking lot, mostly Italians, with a sprinkling of English people. Among the latter is a Mrs. Dexter, the widow of a colonel in the Indian army, who has been staying in Valletta for the last fifteen years for her health, and being a garrulous old person, much given to gossip, knows everything and everyone. She is tall, rather thin, with sharp features--scanty, grey hair, and cold, grey eyes. In fact, she gave me the impression of being a decidedly unpleasant person, a presentiment which turned out to be true on my further acquaintance with her. She confesses to the age of thirty-five, though I shrewdly suspect forty-five, or even more, would be near the mark. She has one quality, however, which is of great service to me--she hates Mrs. Verschoyle with all the intense hatred of a narrow-minded woman. Her reasons are twofold. First, Mrs. Verschoyle is very handsome; Mrs. Dexter is not. Secondly, Mrs. Verschoyle is rich, whereas Mrs. Dexter is poor. Given these reasons, can you wonder at the malignity of her feelings towards Mrs. Verschoyle? As to the latter, she is very beautiful--I speak as an unenthusiastic man--tall, dark skinned, with clearly cut features, and magnificent, black eyes, she impressed me at once with an overwhelming sense of a strong personality. Looking at her in repose, she is a fine picture, but once hear her talk, and the charm is gone. Yes, her voice is very coarse, and sounds discordantly; in addition to which, she is insufferably proud--another cause of Mrs. Dexter's dislike--and has a very violent temper. She, of course, did not deign to speak to me--a mere English tourist--such, of course, is my character--but gave all her attention to Lord Francis Hurlington, a young nobleman who hovers round her like a moth round a candle. I hope he will not singe his lordly wings.

Seeing me, seated in the drawing-room all alone, Mrs. Dexter came and sat beside me, apparently out of good nature for one so forsaken, but in reality to learn all my history, and gratify her love of curiosity. I told her my history--that is, I invented a fictitious story, which proved that I ought to have been a novelist. In return for my confidence, she told me all about the inmates of the house, more especially of Mrs. Verschoyle, thinking, I've no doubt, that a skilfully coloured story might injure the lady in my estimation. I heard all about the divorce case, but as you are already acquainted with the facts, there is no need, on my part, for repetition, so I may as well tell you the story of Mrs. Verschoyle's life from the time she settled in Valletta after the divorce.

In the first place, she has an income from the late Mr. Verschoyle, and not caring to take a house, lived at first in lodgings; but such was the violence of her temper that she was turned out of one place after another till she found a haven of rest at Signora Briffa's, as that lady does not regard temper so long as the money is paid regularly. Mrs. Verschoyle has a sister called Carmela, who is at present in England, whither she went, on board the "Neptune." It appears she was in England before, but came out to Malta to live with her sister. They quarrelled, however, and Carmela, in a rage, left Mrs. Verschoyle and went to London, as you know, in the same boat as you did.

The Marchese Vassalla, who is her cousin, also went with her, though he has always been, and is still, good friends with Mrs. Verschoyle, and I shrewdly suspect, from hints conveyed by Mrs. Dexter, that the lady in question is in love with him. Having thus got a general outline of the life of Mrs. Verschoyle, I questioned Mrs. Dexter in detail, and here I was even more fortunate than before, as I found this excellent person kept a diary, which she agreed to show to me. You will wonder at my being honoured with such a confidence after so short an acquaintance, but the fact is Mrs. Dexter discovered--with a woman's instinct--that my mission was inimical to the interests of Mrs. Verschoyle, and she agreed to let me see her diary, in order that I might secure anything that could be detrimental to her enemy's character.

I might as well mention that Mrs. Colonel Dexter, being quite alone in the world, and having very little money, agreed to accept a sum of money as a bribe, or, as she put it, a loan--loan or bribe, the fact remains the same--she took it. She likewise promised to observe profound secrecy, so, having thus secured her allegiance, I went to my own room and perused the pages of her diary, taking notes as I went along. The notes are as follows, but I am afraid they are of small value, as they seem--to my mind--to lead to nothing:--

EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF MRS. DEXTER.

April 29th.--Another quarrel! I knew it would lead to this. I wonder Carmela puts up with the insolence of her sister. No wonder Mr. Verschoyle divorced her; no one could live with such a bad-tempered woman. She says she divorced him, but, of course, I know the truth, though she doesn't think so. She puts me in mind of that horrid Major Penton's wife at Simla--the same bold way about her. I asked Carmela where Mr. Verschoyle was, and she said she did not know. Of course she did not, but I do; he's in Australia. Signora Briffa told me that Carmela was in love with Mr. Verschoyle herself, but he preferred her sister. No wonder they quarrel.

May 1st.--Mrs. Verschoyle is setting her cap at Lord Francis, and I can see very well is trying to marry him. He's a fool, I know, but not quite so foolish as to make her his wife, in fact, I think he rather inclines to her sister. I believe Mrs. Verschoyle sees this, and it makes her none the more friendly towards Carmela. I wonder how it will end?

May 10th.--Such a lot has happened lately. Lord Francis is gone, and Mrs. Verschoyle is furious. I am very glad, as she has missed her chance of a coronet. I believe he proposed to Carmela, and went away in a rage because she refused him. He has left for Constantinople in his yacht, and Mrs. Verschoyle would have given her ears to have gone also--the bold thing! The enmity between the sisters still continues, and I verily believe Mrs. Verschoyle would kill Carmela with pleasure if she could do so with safety. I overheard a curious conversation between them, and I wonder what it means. I was sitting in the drawing-room, half hidden by the curtains, when the sisters entered the room and began to quarrel as usual--a most delightful pair. I despise listeners, but I could not help myself, so had to overhear their conversation--unwillingly, of course; it will be best for me to put it in a dramatic form.

Mrs. Verschoyle: You know you loved him! (I wonder whom she means).

Carmela: Yes, I did, but it was only the fancy of a girl; when he married you I did not care a bit about him; (I see now, they are talking of Mrs. Verschoyle's husband;) but he was a good husband to you, and you might have made his life happy.

Mrs. Verschoyle: He betrayed me for another woman.

Carmela: Only after you made his life so unendurable that he had to leave you.

Mrs. Verschoyle: You take his part? I believe you are in love with him still.

Carmela: I am not, and you know it.

Here, Mrs. Verschoyle burst into a torrent of such abusive language, that, as a gentlewoman and a Christian, I had to interfere. Carmela left the room, and after Mrs. Verschoyle's anger had expended itself, she relapsed into sulky silence.

June 5th. Such a delightful man is staying here--Marchese Matteo Vassalla--he is a cousin of the sisters, and is waiting the arrival of the P. and O. "Neptune" to go on to England. I have made a discovery; he is in love with Carmela, and Mrs. Verschoyle is in love with him. How strange! Carmela always seems to stand in the way of her sister, and that does not mend the breach between them. They went out together and came back quarrelling--I suppose, about the Marchese--and Carmela said she was going to England in the "Neptune."

June 13th. The "Neptune" has arrived, and Carmela has secured her passage. She is going to Sir Mark Trevor in England, and will be escorted by her cousin, Vassalla. I should not wonder if they were engaged by the time they reach London. Carmela and her sister made up their quarrel, and went out together, then Carmela came back alone, almost crying and shut herself in her room. Mrs. Verschoyle's a minx; later on that lady came back in a fearful rage, I fancy she must have spoken to some one who differed from her; she tried to see Carmela, but that young lady very properly refused to be further insulted, so Mrs. Verschoyle shut herself up in her room. Carmela went away without saying good-bye to her, and Mrs. Verschoyle refused to come to dinner. After dinner, I went up to her room, and knocked at the door; it was still locked, and I could obtain no answer from her, so I went to bed early, having a headache.

June 14th.--Next morning Mrs. Verschoyle was not at breakfast, and sent down word she had a headache; no wonder, with the way she lets her violent temper run away with her. I saw her later in the day, and asked her why she did not answer when I knocked on the previous night. She said she was asleep and did not hear me. I did not speak to her again. She has lost both her lovers and her sister, and I'm not sorry.

Here all extracts from the diary likely to be of any use to us end, and if you will read them carefully, you will see that according to the report of Mrs. Dexter, faithfully given, Mrs. Verschoyle did not leave the house on the night of the sailing of the "Neptune," so she could not have been on board, and consequently must be innocent of the crime.

Now, of course, it is a debatable question whether or not Mrs. Verschoyle really did leave the house. You will perceive that she refused to come down to dinner, and stayed in her own room. After dinner, Mrs. Dexter went up to her door, found it locked, and could get no answer. Now, what was easier than for Mrs. Verschoyle to slip out of her room while all were at dinner, and the servants away in the kitchen, lock her door, to lead to the belief that she was still there, and go off to the ship, commit the crime, and come home again? Unluckily, Mrs. Dexter went to bed early, or Mrs. Verschoyle's return would not have escaped her lynx-eyes; so if she did go out as I surmise--and, mind you it is only a surmise--the servants might have seen her return. I therefore questioned the servants, but could get no satisfactory answers out of them, as they could remember nothing; not even money could sharpen their wits. In this extremity, I bethought myself of boldly asking Mrs. Verschoyle herself, and in the drawing-room, after dinner, I led the conversation round to the excellence of the P. and O. steamers, and asked her if she had seen the "Neptune"? She winced and changed colour a little, and then answered, "No." Mrs. Dexter then became my ally, and the conversation was as follows:--

Mrs. Dexter: Your sister went to England in the "Neptune?"

Mrs. Verschoyle: Yes, and so did my cousin, the Marchese Vassalla, but for all that, I did not see the boat.

Myself: Why--did you not go on board to say good-bye?

Mrs. Verschoyle: No; I had a headache, and did not leave my room.

Mrs. Dexter: Yes, I remember. I knocked at your door, and could get no answer.

Mrs. Verschoyle (quickly): I was asleep.

Myself: It was a pity you did not see the "Neptune"; she is such a magnificent vessel.

This closed the conversation, and left things as they were. You see, Mrs. Verschoyle denies that she left the house on that evening; so if this is the case, she can prove an _alibi_, and thus cannot be accused of committing the crime. I, however, am not satisfied with her denial; she winced when I mentioned the "Neptune"; moreover, I knew that her husband was on board, as she met him during the day; which, by the way, explains the passage in Mrs. Dexter's diary, that she returned in a rage.

To my mind, therefore, the only people who can definitely say if she were on board, are Miss Carmela Cotoner and the Marchese Vassalla; for even if she went on board secretly to see her husband, she could not have escaped notice by her sister and cousin. My advice, therefore, is for you to see either Miss Cotoner or the Marchese Vassalla, and find out if Mrs. Verschoyle were on board before the "Neptune" sailed; if so, we can pursue our inquiries; if not, we must turn in another direction.

As I have now got all the information I can obtain here, I am leaving to-morrow for England, and if possible, will get the stiletto used in the committal of the crime from the authorities at Gibraltar. I may add that I have obtained a specimen of Mrs. Verschoyle's writing to compare with the paper you gave me; and though there is a similarity, there is also a distinct difference; but then handwriting does alter in five or six years, and the best thing will be to submit the papers to an expert, who can easily tell if they were written by the same person.

I will call at Mr. Foster's rooms directly on my arrival in England, and report more fully.

Yours obediently,

JULIAN ROPER.