CHAPTER XX.

JULIAN ROPER REPORTS.

Julian Roper, alias Signor Clement, had come to London in the same boat as Mrs. Verschoyle, and had made profitable use of his time by inflaming that lady's anger. On the morning after his arrival he went to Foster's chambers, in order to make his report, and there found his employer, Ronald Monteith, in anything but a joyful frame of mind. Poor Ronald was very much cast down by the news of Carmela's engagement to the Marchese, though Foster tried to console him to the best of his ability.

"She is acting under compulsion, my dear boy," said Gerald. "Vassalla has been telling her that Mrs. Verschoyle is the assassin of her husband, and has demanded her hand as the price of his silence."

"How does he know that Mrs. Verschoyle is guilty?" asked Ronald, fiercely. "We have proved nothing! She may be as innocent as you or I, for all we know!"

"My dear lad," said Foster, shrugging his shoulders, "we can only go by circumstantial evidence in this case, and you must acknowledge, things do look very black against Mrs. Verschoyle!"

"Oh, why did I ever start trying to find out the murderess of Leopold Verschoyle?" groaned Ronald, laying his head on the table.

"Rather, why did you fall in love with Carmela Cotoner?" said Foster, not unkindly.

"We'll talk no more of this," said Ronald, hastily rising to his feet, "till we see Roper, and hear what he has to say."

So Gerald, pitying the young man's sorrow in his kindly heart, went back to his musty law papers, and Signor Jilted-in-Love looked out of the window in sulky silence. Yet not sulky, poor lad, for his heart was aching with the thought of his future life being passed without Carmela, having, with the fine chivalrous feelings of youth, vowed he'd marry no other lady.

Soon Julian Roper arrived, and was welcomed with heartfelt joy by both gentlemen, who sprang with alacrity to their feet to greet him. He entered quiet and impassive as ever, but his sharp, blue eyes took in at a glance the haggard looks of the Australian.

"You've been fretting, Mr. Monteith," he said, looking keenly at him.

"Bah! don't mind me," said Ronald, peevishly; "I'm a little jaded with London gaiety. Tell us all you have learned."

"I have not much to tell," said Roper, smoothly. "You read my letter?"

"Yes, we read your letter," echoed Foster, quickly; "that Mrs. Dexter, said Mrs. Verschoyle had not been out of the house. Monteith saw Vassalla, who corroborated the fact, and showed me a letter from Mrs. Verschoyle, which proved Mrs. Dexter's statement to be true, but----"

"Go on," said Roger, calmly, "I like but's--there is always a chance of another step being made when 'but' comes into the question. What did you do after seeing Vassalla?" addressing himself to the Australian.

"I saw Miss Cotoner," burst out Monteith.

"Humph!"--there was a world of meaning in Roper's voice, "and she said----"

"That Mrs. Verschoyle had been on board."

"I thought so."

"And afterwards denied it."

"Indeed!" Roper's eyebrows went up. "At whose instigation?"

"Vassalla's," broke in Foster, hastily, before Ronald could speak.

"I thought so," said the detective, calmly.

"Why did you think so?" asked Monteith, impatiently.

"In the first place," remarked Roper, complacently, "I had the honour of coming home in the same boat with Mrs. Verschoyle; secondly, I made her acquaintance as Signer Clement, and she liked me very much. I had frequent conversations with her, and told her I was a friend of Vassalla's."

"But you don't know him," said Ronald.

"All's fair in love, war, and--detective work," observed Roper, quietly; "I told Mrs. Verschoyle,--who I knew, from Mrs. Dexter's diary, was in love with Vassalla,--that the Marchese wanted to marry Carmela Cotoner, her sister."

"That's true enough," said Foster; "he's engaged to her now," whereat Ronald winced.

"The result was I aroused her jealousy, and she swore that she would prevent the marriage."

"But how?" from Ronald, eagerly, fain to cling like a drowning man to a straw.

"That's what I could not find out," said Roper, thoughtfully; "she said she could stop the marriage, and Vassalla would have to obey her. Now, what logical inference do you draw from this?"

"That Vassalla committed the murder!" said Ronald, hastily.

"Not necessarily," replied Roper, dryly; "but this, that if Vassalla knew she was on board that night, he also knew she committed the murder, and would therefore have a power over her; but her determination to stop the marriage shows that she must have some power over him; so that either she is innocent, or he committed the murder himself, and she can force him by fear of exposure to do what she wants."

"And which of these theories do you think is right?" asked Foster.

"I am doubtful," said the detective, becoming a little agitated; "but I--I have a third theory."

"Yes?" said Ronald, in a quiet tone, looking strangely at the detective.

Roper arose to his feet, and took a walk up and down the room for a minute, then turned to the young men, who were puzzled by his curious manner.

"Of course, it's only a theory," said Roper, nervously; "but--but--I can only tell you what I think."

"Tell us, in heaven's name!" cried Foster, rising.

"Then I think Miss Carmela Cotoner committed the crime."

"What?" Ronald sprang to his feet, and made a spring at the detective, but Foster caught him and held him back.

"Be quiet Ronald, be quiet," he said, firmly.

"A lie, a cursed, black lie," panted Ronald, glaring at the detective, who stood quietly looking at him. "What proof, what pro-- D--n you, sir, where is your proof?"

Roper took out of his pocket-book the yellow scrap of paper given by Mrs. Taunton, and the fragment of a letter written by Carmela to her sister.

"I obtained these through Mrs. Dexter," he said, quietly placing them on the table; "look!"

Ronald looked for a moment, then reeled back into Foster's arms.

"My God! my God!" he sobbed. "My God!"

The handwritings were identical in every particular.

Foster went to a cupboard and got Ronald a glass of brandy, which he forced him to swallow; then, leaving the young man in the chair, with his face buried in his hands, he sat down at his own table, and began to speak to Foster.

"How did you make this discovery?" he asked, quietly.

"I remembered in Mr. Monteith's story," said Roper, "that both sisters loved the husband, and I wondered if it were not possible that the younger might commit the crime quite as well as the elder, though, I confess to you, I had no grounds for my suspicion. As I told you in my letter, I obtained a specimen of Mrs. Verschoyle's handwriting, and found, by comparison with this paper"--laying his hand on the yellow sheet--"that, though there was a similarity, there was also a slight difference. This began to confirm my theory, and by the kind aid of Mrs. Dexter, I obtained this letter of Miss Cotoner's, by which you will see they correspond in every particular."

At this moment Ronald arose from his seat, and staggering to the table, produced from his pocket-book the note written to him by Carmela before the "Neptune" reached Gibraltar.

Laying this down by the other papers, with a shaking hand, at the first glance it could be seen the handwritings were identical.

"It's true," groaned Ronald; "my God, it's true!" and he fell heavily into his chair again.

"And what is your opinion?" asked Foster.

"My theory," corrected Roper, "is this: I think Miss Cotoner saw her old lover on the boat, and committed the murder, trusting to the presence of her sister on board to shield her from the consequences of her crime.. I also believe that Vassalla knows she is guilty, and has threatened to tell unless she marry him."

"Yes, but what about Mrs. Verschoyle?"

"Oh! I think she knows that Carmela's guilty, and threatens to expose her, if she will not refuse to marry Vassalla."

"It all seems clear enough," said Foster, thoughtfully.

"Yes, but it's a d----d lie, for all that," said Ronald, springing to his feet, and oh, how haggard and worn his young face looked! "Look here, you fellows. I love Miss Cotoner, and I don't believe she's guilty. I think that cursed Vassalla is at the bottom of it all. I'm going to Marlow, where Carmela is, and there I'll act a part. I'll see her, speak to her, and find out everything, but I must have your promise not to move in the matter, till I tell you."

"We cannot promise," said Roper.

"Whose servant are you?" asked Ronald, fiercely; "will you do what I tell you?"

"The law----" began Roper.

"Hang the law, and you too," burst out Ronald; "if Carmela is guilty, you can't arrest her on the evidence you have, but she's innocent--innocent! d'ye hear? I'll stake my head on it. Give me a month to clear her, and if I don't do it by then, the law can take it's course."

"Agreed," said Roper.

"For my part," said Foster; "I don't care if the case stops now."

"I only want a month," cried Ronald, "and I'll prove her innocence, if I have to tear the truth out of Vassalla's black heart. Because of a little superficial evidence, you believe her guilty. I don't. I love her, and I'll clear her; so help me God!"

Theatrical, no doubt, but both the men felt that the lad spoke from his heart.

"I'll have another glass of brandy, Foster," said Ronald, quietly.

He got it, and drank it.

'Tis but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous.