CHAPTER XVI

MISS WEDDERBURN

Having failed with Ferris, owing to the artist's obstinate refusal to speak, Gebb thought that he would hear what Basson had to say. He knew from Prain that the barrister had defended Marmaduke Dean, and although he had not succeeded in obtaining an acquittal, believed that his client was innocent. Dean, of course, must have known that his counsel held this opinion; so, on escaping from prison, with a desire to prove his innocence, it was not unlikely that he might have called secretly on Basson, and implored his assistance. If so, Basson might know a good deal about the man, if he could only be induced to speak out, and it was to gain his confidence in this matter that Gebb paid him a visit.

"Of course he may know nothing," thought Gebb, as he walked the next day towards Blackstone Lane, in which Mr. Basson--according to Alder--had his abode. "On the other hand, if Dean called on him, which is not unlikely, he may know a good deal. I wish to learn where Dean is hiding; how he manages to live; and what his movements were towards the end of July last. Basson may be able to inform me of these matters If he can, so much the better; if he can't, I'll go down to Kirkstone Hall to search for that confession, and see Miss Wedderburn before she leaves the place. If she can't force Ferris to speak, no one else can; the man is as obstinate as a pig."

With this elegant simile Gebb turned out of Fleet Street into Blackstone Lane, and shortly found himself climbing the narrow staircase of No. 40. Mr. Basson being poor and briefless, and evidently careless of his ease, lived at the very top of the high building. After ascending four flights of steep stairs, the detective came upon a door with the name "Clement Basson" painted on it in black letters. Also there was a dingy scrap of paper, on which was written, "Back in five minutes"; so it seemed, much to Gebb's disappointment, as though Basson were not in his office. However, two or three sharp knocks brought forth a grinning boy in a suit several sizes too small for him, and this lad, having put Gebb through a short examination, with the intention of discovering if he had a bill or a writ, or a judgment summons in his pocket, at length relented, and announced that Mr. Basson was within. Evidently the "Back in five minutes" label was used to beguile creditors into thinking that Mr. Basson was absent. That announcement, and the conversation with the juvenile Cerberus, gave Gebb an immediate insight into the state of Mr. Basson's finances, and his Bohemian mode of hand-to-mouth living.

Shortly he was ushered into a dingy chamber, very barely furnished, and very dirty. There was a yellow blind pulled up askew on an unclean window; below this a deal table covered with green baize, ink-stained and worn-out, which was piled up with dirty papers. An ancient bookcase, with a brass screen, was filled with an array of untidy-looking volumes in calf-skin, with red labels; there were two chairs--one for the lawyer and one for any possible client, a rusty grate, filled with torn-up papers, and an empty Japan coal-scuttle. In the midst of these ruins of prosperity, like Marius amid the remains of Carthage, sat Clement Basson, a tall, jovial-looking man, with a fine head of grey hair, a quick eye, and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. He was carelessly dressed in a kind of sporting fashion, and wore an old cricketing-cap on the back of his head. The man was clever, kindly, and quick-witted; he was also thriftless, weak-willed, and untidy. His worser qualities weighed down his better; and with many qualifications for climbing to the top of the tree, Mr. Basson preferred, out of sheer idleness and lack of concentration, to dance gaily round the trunk in ragged attire. He looked like a survival of Grub Street; one of the feather-headed crew who wrote pamphlets and starved in garrets, and naturally belong to the reigns of the early Georges. He was quite out of place in the late Victorian epoch--an ironical survival of the unfittest.

"Good day!" he said, in a rich baritone voice, advancing to meet his visitor. "What can I do for you, Mr. Gabb?"

"Gebb, sir; not Gabb," answered the detective, seating himself in the one other chair.

"The boy said Gabb," retorted Basson, returning to his chair. "He was thinking of his own gift, maybe;" and he laughed heartily at his rather feeble joke. "Well, Mr. Gebb, have you brought me a brief?"

"No," said Gebb, smiling, for the man's good humour was infectious. "I'm in a different branch of the law to a solicitor. I don't deal in briefs so much as in handcuffs."

"Ah! You are a detective. A Bow Street Runner."

"Yes. In charge of the Grangebury murder case."

"Just so!" said Basson, with a nod, and looking grave. "I read about it in the papers; and now I remember, your name was mentioned. Well, and have you caught the blackguard who murdered the poor woman?"

"Not yet I've come to see if you can help me."

"I?" said Basson, much amused. "You've come to the wrong shop, then. How should I know the assassin?"

"If I can believe Mr. Alder, you knew him once," was Gebb's reply.

"Ah! So Alder has been speaking to you about me. He thinks that Dean is guilty, and I was Dean's counsel in that Kirkstone case. Is it that you are driving at, Mr. Gebb?"

"It just is. Do you believe that Dean is guilty?"

Basson did not reply immediately. He lighted a German pipe of porcelain, and, blowing out the match, placed it in a little pile which lay near the inkstand. Then he puffed out a cloud of smoke, and through it looked at his visitor.

"Why do you ask me?" he demanded abruptly.

"I want your opinion. I know from Mr. Alder that you did not believe Dean guilty of Kirkstone's murder."

"No. That I did not," rejoined Basson, hastily. "No more than I believe Mr. Ferris--poor boy--guilty of this one. I was coming to tell you that he was at my lecture on the night of the murder, but Alder said he would speak to you about it. Did he?"

Gebb nodded. "I know that Ferris is innocent, but he had the necklace in his possession, and that is a suspicious circumstance."

"I saw about that in the papers," said Basson, nodding. "Well, and how does he say the necklace came into his hands?"

"He declines to tell me."

"Does he? With his neck in the noose, so to speak."

"Precisely, Mr. Basson; he did not even confess his presence at your lecture. He said he was innocent, and for the rest held his tongue."

Basson stared, and pressed the tobacco in the pipe bowl with his little finger. "Now, that's queer," he said. "Why does he act in this way?"

"I think he wishes to shield his father."

"I didn't know he had a father. Thought his father was dead."

"As good as dead, I am afraid. Dean is his father."

"What!" Basson's pipe fell out of his hands, and he looked at Gebb in amazement. "Dean, the man I defended, Ferris's father?"

"Yes, Ferris lived with some relations, who changed his name when his father was condemned. Now, Mr. Basson, I don't believe Dean is guilty of this second murder; but on no other ground than that he did kill the woman, and gave Ferris the necklace to pawn, can I account for the young man's silence."

"Does he say that Dean is guilty?" asked Basson, picking up his pipe.

"No; he denies it, but refuses to confess how he became possessed of the necklace. Mr. Basson, tell me on what grounds you believed that Dean did not kill Kirkstone."

"No motive," rejoined Basson. "People don't commit murders without motives. But a year or two ago I got an anonymous letter, which strengthened my belief in his innocence. Wait a bit, and I'll get it for you."

He opened a small safe standing at the end of the room near the bookcase, and after five minutes' groping in its depths, at length fished out a dingy bit of paper, which he brought back to Gebb. This he spread out on the table, and raised his finger to enforce the attention of the detective.

"Dean declared his innocence to me," said the barrister, with forensic force, "and I believed him. But he thought that Laura Kirkstone was guilty--that in a mad fit she killed her brother. I did not agree with this, for I held then, and I hold still, that Ellen Gilmar stole that knife from Laura, and murdered Kirkstone before she went upstairs to call Dean and inculpate him in the murder. Now, when Dean escaped from prison I received this letter; read it."

Gebb glanced his eye rapidly over the scrap of paper, which contained two lines of writing running thus: "If you see Dean, tell him not to hunt down a wretched woman. When she dies justice shall be done." To this there was no name and no date and no envelope. Gebb inquired after this latter.

"I'm sorry to say I destroyed it by mistake," said Basson, with regret; "but I remember that it had the Norminster postmark on it, therefore I am sure the note came from Miss Gilmar."

"But why should she write to you?" inquired the detective.

"She fancied Dean on escaping might visit me to get my aid to prove his innocence."

"I thought such might be the case myself," said Gebb, thoughtfully, "Did he come near you at any time after his escape?"

"No," said Basson, emphatically, "I never saw him from the time he went into prison. I don't know where he is; I wish I did, as this note shows that Miss Gilmar knows herself to be guilty, and has left some sort of confession behind, to be read after her death and clear Dean."

"Where do you think this confession is to be found?"

"I don't know. She may have hidden it in Kirkstone Hall, or may have had it with her. When I got this note I went at once to the Hall to tax Miss Gilmar with writing it. However, she had fled out of fear of Dean, and I could not learn her whereabouts. The next I heard was her murder at Grangebury under the name of Ligram."

"Do you think Dean' killed her?" asked Gebb, anxiously.

"I don't know. He might have found her and tried to force her into confession, and failing getting her to do so have killed her; but I don't know."

"Well," said Gebb, getting on his legs, "I had an idea myself that there might be a confession concealed in Kirkstone Hall. Now, on the evidence of this note, I am sure of it. I'll go down and search. But tell me frankly, Mr. Basson, do you know where Dean is to be found?"

"No," said Basson, solemnly, "I swear I don't."

"I must rely on myself, then," said Gebb, with a sigh. "I'll see you again, Mr. Basson."

"I shall be glad to help you, sir," replied the barrister, and bowed the detective out of his dingy room.

Gebb retired in an exultant frame of mind, as he had discovered beyond all doubt that a confession by Miss Gilmar was in existence which would probably exonerate Dean from all complicity in Kirkstone's murder. The question was, where to search for it. On his way back to the office Gebb tried vainly to find an answer to this query, but it was banished from his mind when he discovered that no less a person than Miss Wedderburn was waiting to see him. She approached him at once when he entered, and there was a sparkle of rage in her eyes, which intimated that the object of her visit was not a peaceful one.

"Here you are at last, Mr. Gebb!" she said, in a wrathful voice. "And pray, sir, what do you mean by arresting Mr. Ferris?"

"Oh, that's your trouble, is it, miss?" answered Gebb, coolly. "Well, my dear young lady, I arrested Mr. Ferris because he pawned a diamond necklace!"

"And what had that to do with you, may I ask?"

"This much, miss. The necklace was the property of Miss Gilmar, and was removed from her dead body."

"Nothing of the sort!" cried Edith, vehemently. "Ellen was alive when she gave away that necklace."

"Gave away that necklace!" repeated Gebb, starting up. "What do you mean?"

"What I say!" rejoined Miss Wedderburn, tartly, "I gave the necklace to Arthur, and it was Miss Gilmar who presented it to me in Paradise Row, on the night she was murdered."