CHAPTER XXV.

GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY.

Meanwhile Vassalla, quite unconscious of the storm that was about to break over his head, was enjoying himself in London, and had made arrangements to go to Marlow and see Carmela. He thought he had quite subdued Mrs. Verschoyle, and that every impediment to his marriage was removed. So he sat in his room at the Langham, smoking a cigar and moralizing complacently on the state of affairs.

"Fortune favours me," he said, aloud, idly watching the blue wreaths of smoke curling round his head. "I have silenced that devilish Bianca, and won my beautiful Carmela--both at the same time. But, how wonderful it is that the death of Verschoyle should have been the means of winning me both a wife and a fortune Now, when I am married, I must be quiet. I will take my charming wife to Malta, and live on the estate. She does not care for me now; but she will grow fond--yes--she will grow fond."

And so he went on building castles in the air, and dreaming vain dreams, that were destined never to become true, for at that moment there came a knock at the door, which, if he had known its full purport, would have alarmed him as much as the knocking at the gate did Macbeth. But, as he did not know, he merely called out, "Come in," and went on smoking.

Enter a puzzled-looking waiter, showing in Mrs. Verschoyle, Ronald Monteith, Gerald Foster, and a stranger. Vassalla, turning his head, saw them, and sprang to his feet in astonishment.

"What the devil--" he began, but Mrs. Verschoyle interrupted him.

"That is the Marchese Vassalla," she said, pointing to the dumb-foundered Maltese gentleman; whereat the stranger advanced and produced a warrant.

"Matteo Vassalla, I arrest you in the Queen's name----"

"Arrest me!" interrupted the Marchese.

"For the murder of Leopold Verschoyle," finished the detective.

"Is this a joke?" asked Vassalla, angrily.

"You will not find it so," said Ronald.

"It is my duty to inform you," said the detective, stolidly, "that whatever you say will be used in evidence at your trial."

"Bah!" snarled Vassalla, with a gesture of contempt, turning his back on the officer of the law. "Who accuses me of this crime?"

"I do," said Mrs. Verschoyle, stepping forward.

"You!" he cried out, recoiling; "you are mad to do such a thing."

"No, I am not mad," retorted Mrs. Verschoyle, "but I would have been if I had let you marry Carmela."

"Oh!" he said, viciously, looking at Ronald; "so this is a plot to rob me of my promised wife."

"She is not your promised wife," cried Ronald, boldly; "she made the promise under compulsion--now she is free."

"To marry you," said Vassalla, savagely.

"If she'll have me--yes," retorted Monteith.

The Marchese turned to Foster.

"Mr.--whatever your name is," he said, "do you believe this charge?"

"Mrs. Verschoyle says you committed the murder;" returned Foster.

"Mrs. Verschoyle," said Matteo, contemptuously, "is a madwoman."

"Am I?" she returned quietly; "you'll find there's some method in my madness."

"I can disprove the whole charge," said Vassalla, moving towards his writing-table.

"Come, sir," said the detective, "we must be going."

"Going----with you?" retorted Vassalla, in an angry tone, "are you mad? I can disprove this charge," and he threw open the desk and took his portfolio from it.

"Try," said Mrs. Verschoyle, laconically.

Muttering a curse, the Marchese opened his portfolio, and ran through a number of letters. Suddenly he turned round with a ghastly face:

"Where is the paper?" he asked.

"What paper?" said Mrs. Verschoyle, calmly.

"What paper? Curse you!" he cried; "you know the paper I mean--the one written by your husband, whom you accuse me of killing."

"I know of no paper," she said, quietly, with a sneer; "this is a fabrication to delay justice.

"I tell you it's false," cried Vassalla, in despair; "I did not kill the man. I defy you to press this charge. When the time comes I can prove my innocence, and I decline to make any statement now."

"Prove your innocence," she said, sarcastically, "with the missing paper, I suppose?"

"Yes; and you know where it is," he said.

"Maltese dog," she shrieked, "you lie," and she would have sprung forward, only Ronald her back.

"I have to thank you for this," said Vassalla to Ronald, as he put on his hat and coat, "but, I do not forget, I will repay you; and as for you, jade that you are, I'll prove myself innocent and then punish you."

"Bah! I defy you," she said, contemptuously; "you'll never marry Carmela, but hang--hang, like the dog you are!"

"Confound it, Mrs. Verschoyle, leave the man alone," said Ronald, rather annoyed at the way she was behaving.

Vassalla walked to the door with the detective beside him, and faced round as he was going out.

"As sure as there's a God in heaven," he said, proudly, "I am innocent, and that woman only brings this accusation against me to satisfy her absurd jealousy. I can prove my innocence, and she"--pointing to Mrs. Verschoyle--"holds the proof."

When the door closed, Foster turned to Mrs. Verschoyle.

"What does he mean?" asked the lawyer.

"I don't know," she said. "I possess no proof of his innocence, and I'm ready to go into the witness box, and swear he killed my husband."

"He says he is not guilty," said Ronald.

"He'll say anything to save his neck, but he is guilty; I'll see him hanged, till he is dead."

There was something so repulsive in the vindictiveness of this woman, that both the young men were disgusted, and left the room followed by Mrs. Verschoyle, who was laughing to herself in a satisfied manner.

"Why don't you thank me?" she said, savagely, to Ronald; "I have prevented Carmela from marrying another man, and secured your happiness."

"I don't care for happiness that is founded on the ruin of another man," said Monteith, coldly.

"Bah! you are a fool; he is guilty."

"That," said Foster, quietly, "has yet to be proved."

She flashed a look of anger at him, then went out of the hotel door, and stepped into a hansom.

"I will see you to-morrow," she called out, "and then I can prove that what I say is true."

The cab drove off, leaving Foster and Ronald looking at one another.

"What do you think?" asked the Australian.

"I don't know what to think," said Foster: "the Marchese says he is innocent."

"All men accused of a crime say that."

"Yes; but I fancy in this case it's true."

"Then, who killed Verschoyle?"

"I believe his wife did."

"What!"

"Yes; I think she's accusing Vassalla out of jealousy."

"But he did not accuse her of the crime."

"No, he certainly did not," said Foster, musingly. "It's a queer case. What was the paper he was talking about?"

"I don't know," said Ronald. "It is, as you say, a very queer case. I'm going down to Marlow to-morrow."

"What for?"

"I want to see Carmela, and tell her all about the affair."

"Yes, it will be best for you to do that," said Foster. "Perhaps she may throw some light on the affair."

"I don't think so; we know everything she knows."

"I expect the real reason you want to go down is, to tell her she is free?" said Foster, quizzically.

"She's not free yet," retorted Ronald.

"To all intents and purposes she is."

"I want to hear from her own lips that she considers herself free."

"But you don't think she'll marry Vassalla now--a man accused of murder?"

"I don't know," said Ronald, with a sigh, "women are such queer creatures. She may consider herself doubly bound, now he's down on his luck."

"I'll bet you she don't!"

"I'll bet you she does!"

"Very well," said Foster, philosophically, "the wager will be decided to-morrow night."