CHAPTER XXVII.

EXIT MRS. VERSCHOYLE.

Of course it is not to be wondered at that the arrest of Vassalla made a great sensation. True Vassalla was not a very well known man; but then the strangeness of the case, which was reported with numerous embellishments in all the papers, attracted everybody's notice. And then the way the crime had been brought home to him by the divorced wife of the dead man--in fact, it was quite a romance.

The curious part of the whole case was that Vassalla obstinately refused to say anything in his own defence, and his persistent silence was taken as an acknowledgment of his guilt. But the Marchese only smiled grimly when spoken to, and said he could defend himself well enough when the time came, and, moreover, would be in a position to punish Mrs. Verschoyle.

As for that lady, she was quite the heroine of the hour--not exactly in a complimentary sense, perhaps--but everybody wanted to see a woman with such an exciting history, who had divorced her husband, and then accused her cousin of being his murderer. Plenty of papers wanted to interview her, but she declined to allow herself to be seen, and generally sat at home in a quiet, private hotel off the Strand, where she exulted over the downfall of Vassalla.

"He wouldn't marry me," she said to herself, vindictively; "well, we'll see how he likes being in prison for murder."

Carmela came up to town, and had an interview with her, in which Mrs. Verschoyle lost her temper, as usual.

"He wanted to marry you--he wanted to marry you," she hissed repeatedly.

"I couldn't help that," retorted Carmela, angrily; "I certainly did not want to marry him, and would never have become engaged to him if it had not been to save you."

"Ha! ha! to save me from the gallows, I suppose--bah. I do not believe it? he would have accused me of the murder of my husband, the Maltese dog; but he shall die for it--yes, he shall die."

"Are you sure he committed this--this crime?" said Carmela, hesitatingly.

"Yes, I am sure. Did I not meet him coming out of the cabin on that night; was the stiletto in the dead man's breast not the one you gave him years ago? am I sure--bah! if he is innocent, let him prove it."

There was nothing to be got out of Mrs. Verschoyle, who was simply mad with anger, and grew purple in the face, till Carmela thought she would break a blood-vessel.

"You ought to be grateful to me," she said, furiously; "but for me you would have married Vassalla, and then what of your Australian lover?"

"You can leave my Australian lover out of the question," said Carmela, with great spirit. "I am only waiting for this unhappy affair to be settled, in order to marry him."

"Yes, do, do," cried Mrs. Verschoyle; "and go with him to Australia. Put the ocean between us. I never wish to see your face again. If it had not been for you, my husband would have loved me."

"He did love you," said Carmela, "but your temper drove him away."

At this Mrs. Verschoyle burst out into a storm of anger; so, in order to put a stop to the scene, Carmela left the room, and went back to the Langham, where Sir Mark Trevor waited her.

"I don't want to see my sister again," she said, firmly, and she never did.

Of course, when the trial came on, the court was crowded with the most noted people in London, anxious to see the end of this strange case. It ended more dramatically than they thought it would.

Vassalla entered the dock in a calm, cool manner, and glanced quickly round the court, of course everyone thinking he was a hardened scoundrel for not exhibiting more emotion. He had engaged a famous lawyer to defend him, and this gentleman was smiling quietly to himself, and by no means looking as if he thought the case a grave one. Foster was in the court, together with Ronald and Sir Mark Trevor, all listening eagerly to the introductory address of the prosecuting counsel.

He stated the whole story, which had already appeared in the papers, but with some slight variations:--

That Leopold Verschoyle had been married to Miss Bianca Cotoner seven years before, with whom the prisoner was also very much in love. When she married the deceased, the prisoner had sworn he would kill him. The prisoner, however, did not carry his resolution into effect at that time, but went travelling about Europe, and Miss Cotoner married the deceased. They did not live happily together, and separated, which separation was afterwards followed by a divorce, owing to the deceased's infidelity with another woman called Elsie Macgregor.

The deceased then travelled all over the world, and was coming to England on board the P. and O. steamer "Neptune," which stopped at Malta. While there the deceased went on shore, and was recognised by his wife, who went on board to speak to him, The prisoner was also on board with the sister of the deceased, called Miss Carmela Cotoner, and then--according to Mrs. Verschoyle, who was the principal witness--recognised deceased, and heard him tell Mr. Monteith, another witness, the number of his cabin.

The prisoner then disappeared from Mrs. Verschoyle's side, and when she went to speak to her husband, she met the prisoner coming out of the cabin, and though he tried to prevent her, she looked in and saw her husband--or rather her husband that had been, lying dead with a stiletto in his breast. The stiletto, as will appear from the evidence of Miss Carmela Cotoner, was given by that lady to the prisoner, and was used in the commission of this crime.

With a few concluding remarks, the counsel for the prosecution sat down, and the witnesses were called. During all the discourse the Marchese never moved a muscle, but sat in the dock as still as death.

The first witness called was Ronald, who repeated the story the dead man had told him, and, during his examination, the paper written by Carmela was put in evidence.

He was followed by Carmela, who deposed that she had given the stiletto in question to the prisoner, and also said that the letter produced was written by her, and not by the wife of the deceased, Mrs. Verschoyle.

Q. You were on board when Mrs. Verschoyle came?

A. Yes.

Q. Was she alone?

A. At first, yes. Afterwards she was escorted by the Marchese Vassalla.

Q. Did you see her again?

A. No.

Q. When the Marchese saw you again, what time was it?

A. About a quarter-past nine: just after the boat started.

Q. Did he make any remark?

A. None, except that my sister could not find me in the crowd, and had to go ashore without saying good-bye.

Q. Was he agitated?

A. No; he was in his usual spirits.

This closed Carmela's examination; and the next to go into the witness-box was Mrs. Verschoyle, pale and haggard, but who glanced angrily at the prisoner, as she kissed the book. She repeated the story she had told to Ronald and Foster. That she was with Vassalla, and wanted to see her husband. Both herself and her cousin heard him tell the number of his cabin; and though she tried to get near her husband, she was prevented by the crowd. Afterwards she missed Vassalla, and on going along to see her husband in the cabin, she found Vassalla coming out. He tried to prevent her going in, but she insisted, and found her husband lying dead with a stiletto in his breast.

Q. You know to whom the stiletto belonged?

A. Yes, to the prisoner; it was given to him by my sister.

Q. What did the prisoner say when you met him?

A. He implored me not to tell, and for the sake of the honour of our family I complied.

Q. Do you know by doing so you run the risk of being taken as an accomplice?

A. (Mrs. Verschoyle getting angry). I know nothing of English customs. I am a Maltese lady.

Q. Did you ever hear the prisoner threaten the deceased?

A. Yes, very many times; he wanted to marry me, and when I married the deceased, he swore he would revenge himself.

Q. That was seven years ago; did he do so lately?

A. Many times. (Here Vassalla shrugged his shoulders).

This was the close of Mrs. Verschoyle's examination, and was supposed by the people present to be conclusive evidence of the prisoner's guilt. There was no evidence for the prosecution, and so the counsel for the defence arose to make his speech, a speech which considerably startled everyone.

In the first place, he said Mrs. Verschoyle was guilty of perjury--(sensation)--gross perjury; it was true the prisoner was once in love with her, but that was seven years ago, and he had long since forgotten his passion. The prisoner was on board the "Neptune" on the night in question, going to England, and Mrs. Verschoyle also came on board; she wanted to see her husband, and the prisoner, hearing the number of the cabin, volunteered to look for him; he was considerably delayed in the crowd, and did not reach the cabin for some time, particularly as he met one of the stewards, who asked him about his luggage, and engaged his attention for nearly ten minutes.

When he reached the cabin, he knocked, and, getting no reply, entered. He found the deceased dead (sensation), having committed suicide, and on the washstand by the berth was a letter directed to Mr. R. Monteith, a friend of the deceased, stating that he had committed suicide. This paper the prisoner took charge of, and was coming out with it, when he met Mrs. Verschoyle. He told her what had occurred, and she was so shocked with the news that she went straight on shore.

The prisoner was blameable in not producing the paper at the inquest, but had anyone been accused of the crime, he would have produced it. With regard to the stiletto, it was once the property of the prisoner, but he had given it to the deceased as a parting gift before he left for Australia, for both the deceased and prisoner were good friends then.

The wife of the deceased, Mrs. Verschoyle, knew that the deceased had the dagger in his possession, as the prisoner showed a letter to her from deceased, acknowledging the gift of stiletto (letter produced). She was in love with prisoner, who refused to marry her, being in love with Miss Carmela Cotoner, to whom he was engaged to be married. Mrs. Verschoyle, hearing of this, came here from Valletta, and had a private interview with prisoner. During his absence from his room at the Langham Hotel she stole the confession made by the deceased, and it is now in her possession--she----

"That's a lie!" cried Mrs. Verschoyle, mad with fury, rising from her seat.

"Silence in the court!" cried the usher.

"I will not be silent. It is an infamous lie. That man is guilty of murder. He killed my husband, and by God!--by God!----"

All at once she stopped speaking, her face turned to a ghastly pallor, and appeared convulsively drawn to one side as if by a stroke of paralysis. Every eye in the Court was fastened on that solitary figure, and there was an awful pause of expectancy. Another moment and she fell prone on the floor with a heavy thud.

The Court was in an uproar at the strange occurrence, and at first it was thought she had merely fainted through excitement. A doctor, however, being present, came forward, and knelt down by Mrs. Verschoyle, who was now breathing stertorously.

He glanced at her pain-drawn face, felt her pulse, and while he was doing so the heavy breathing stopped.

"What is the matter?" asked the judge, bending forward; "is it a faint?"

The doctor raised his head.

"No, my Lord--it is death!"

"Death!" echoed several voices, and the Court arose in confusion.

"Yes--she has burst a blood vessel in the brain."

Dead! Dead! Yes, Mrs. Verschoyle was dead--in the very moment of her triumph!