CHAPTER XII.

THE INTERVENTION OF CHANCE.

It was a moment or so before Garth could quite grasp the fact of this new intrusion of Mrs. Boazoph into the case. When he did so, he remarked that she had no doubt gone to Mere Hall to see Louis Fellenger. Fanks dissented. "In my opinion she went to see Binjoy."

"For what reason?"

"I can't tell you. It must be a powerful reason which would make this woman seek out Binjoy when he had so carefully destroyed his connection with Renshaw. But I have long had my suspicions of Mrs. Boazoph. She removed the dead body; she answered my questions in a hesitating manner, and attempted to exculpate herself without being requested so to do. Also she got rid of the grains of gunpowder. All these things show that Mrs. Boazoph knows more about the matter than she chooses to tell."

"Do you think that she knows who committed the crime?"

"I wouldn't swear to that," said Fanks, with some hesitation; "but she must have identified Renshaw with Binjoy, else she would never have sought out the latter at Mere Hall."

"Do you believe that Mrs. Boazoph inveigled Fellenger to her hotel by means of that advertisement, and then had him killed?"

"How can I tell?" retorted Fanks; "you know as much about the matter as I do. But I will do Mrs. Boazoph the justice to say that I hardly believe she would adopt a course so dangerous to herself. I do not think that she had anything to do with the advertisement."

"The envelope was addressed in a woman's handwriting."

"No doubt; but the handwriting may not be that of Mrs. Boazoph. Still she is in some way connected with Binjoy, and he is mixed up in the crime."

"You mean that he employed the negro to commit it?"

"It looks like it; and yet," continued Fanks, with a frown, "the evidence is too clear for me to take that view."

"Why! The clearer the evidence, the more certain you must be of the truth."

Fanks shook his head. "From my experience I am inclined to doubt easily-obtained evidence. Everything points to the committal of the crime by the negro servant of Binjoy, and for that reason I do not care to accept it. It would seem that in case of trouble Mrs. Boazoph and Binjoy had provided for their own safety by throwing suspicion on the negro."

"But one thing is clear enough," said Garth, impatiently, "the negro killed my cousin."

"A negro killed your cousin, but not necessarily the negro of Binjoy."

Garth looked puzzled. "I am more in the dark than ever," he said.

"Same here, Garth. Depend upon it this murder is no bungling affair. It is a cleverly-planned and cleverly-executed scheme; carried out by people who know what they are doing. As the case now stands I cannot see my way. The evidence--in my opinion--leads to nothing. If Crate had this matter in hand he would arrest Binjoy on suspicion, and hunt for the negro servant as the supposed murderer, and by doing so he would make a mess of the whole business. I shall arrest nobody--at present. Save to yourself and perhaps Crate I shall give my opinions to nobody. I shall watch and wait; put two and two together, and when they make four I shall pounce on the assassin. It will take time and patience and money, but, as I said before, the case is a delicate one. We are dealing with people who are as clever and cleverer than we are. I confess that the outlook is anything but promising," concluded Fanks, with a sigh.

"You cannot guess who committed the crime?"

"No, I cannot. To all appearances it was the negro, but--and this is the main point--was it the negro of Binjoy, and would the negro be clever enough to conceive so subtle a method of committing a crime as the mode of the poisoned needle? Again, would a negro be in possessiondied of such information as would induce Fellenger to permit the use of the needle? The whole mystery lies in that cross tattooed on the arm. When I discover its meaning I shall be able to name the assassin."

"Then why not see Hersham?" suggested Garth. "He has a similar tattoo mark on his left arm. He may be able to tell you what you wish to know."

"I have an appointment with Hersham at his rooms to-morrow. I may learn something from him; on the other hand, I may learn nothing."

"And what about Emma Calvert?"

"Oh, I shall find out about her at Taxton-on-Thames. I may discover dead Lady Fellenger of Paris alive at the Surrey village under another name. And yet," added Fanks, producing a paper, "Crate's report proves that the woman died in Paris in 1893, and was buried in Pere la Chaise."

"If that is so, who was the woman who appeared so strangely? The evidence of the photograph and the valet both prove that she is Emma Calvert."

"I can only surmise that she did not die; but that either knowingly or unknowingly some woman was buried in her place. It is the only explanation that I can give. Yet, for all I know, Emma Calvert may have employed that negro to kill her wicked husband."

"It is a wild theory," said Garth, "why should this woman, the lawful wife of my cousin, pretend to be dead, and submit to have her identity destroyed by the false burial? If she is alive, I can quite conceive that she should have my cousin killed out of revenge; but why the pretended death, which--to all appearances--was acquiesced in by Fellenger?"

"I can't answer that question until I wring the truth from Robert."

"There is no necessity for Robert. I have found another person who can tell you the truth."

"Oh!" said Fanks, looking up sharply, "and this person?"

"Herbert Vaud; the son of the lawyer you saw the other day."

"You don't say so," exclaimed Fanks, eagerly, "you laugh at chance, Garth; well, here is another chance which may put us on the right track. If we solve the mystery of Emma Calvert, we may unravel the Tooley Alley enigma. Tell me all you know; omit no detail. Begin, begin!"

Flattered by the interest taken in his discovery, Garth related at great length the extraordinary conduct of young Vaud; the cause of such conduct as explained by the elder Vaud; and drew attention to the fact that if confronted with the missing woman, Herbert might be able to recognise her, either as an imposter, or as the dead Emma Calvert.

Fanks listened with the closest attention; nor did he venture a remark until Garth had concluded his story. Then he drew a breath and reflected.

"It is most extraordinary," he said at length, "dare you disbelieve in chance. Chance led you to the office of the Vauds; chance made you scribble that name on the paper; chance drew the attention of Herbert Vaud to the name. I have always found that chance is my best friend."

"All this is beside the point," said Garth, impatiently, "what do you say?"

"Your discovery may lead to something," replied Fanks, cautiously. "I shall see Herbert Vaud after I have interviewed Hersham. Between the two of them I may learn something likely to throw light on the darkness of this case; but we are only on the threshold of our difficulties as yet."

Garth rose to take his leave. "I agree with you," he said, "the future looks anything but hopeful. But I shall leave you now; as you are tired after your long journey."

Fanks stretched himself. "I am rather weary," he remarked, yawning, "and I shan't be sorry to go to bed. Come and see me to-morrow, and I'll tell you how I get on with Hersham. And Garth," added Fanks, going to the door with his guest, "don't do any more detective business on your own account. It will take me some time to exhaust the information you have brought me. When I have arrived at some conclusion regarding this new evidence, I shall tell you what to do."

Garth was quite willing to be guided by Fanks' advice; the more so as he was entirely at a loss how to proceed, and was waiting for the more experienced head of the detective to guide him. With quite sufficient to think about for the next twenty-four hours he took his departure, and left Fanks to enjoy a well-earned rest.

The appointment with Hersham was for twelve o'clock the next day; and punctually at that time Fanks took his way up to Acacia Road, St. John's Wood, where the journalist had his lodgings. Certainly not a very central position for a man engaged in the press; but Hersham had been brought up in the Isle of Wight, beside the sea, and amid green trees. From the effect of early association he could not bear to be cooped up amid bricks and mortar, where he could scarcely breathe. Therefore he had taken up his abode in a suburb where he was certain of fresh air. He went to and fro between Fleet Street and St. John's Wood on his bicycle, and thus by a little dexterity, he managed to attend to his duties on the "Morning Planet," and yet to live a comparatively rural life.

When Fanks arrived at noon, Hersham, for health's sake, was digging in the garden; but, on seeing the detective, he came forward to greet his visitor. He was a slender, handsome young man of eight and twenty, or thereabouts; with curly, brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a moustache, but otherwise he was clean-shaven. Usually his face was pleasant and smiling, with a high colour and a genial expression. On this occasion he was rather pale, and there was an anxious look in his eyes which did not escape the detective. He had seen the same expression in the eyes of Binjoy.

"How are you, Fanks," said Hersham, with an obvious effort at lightness. "I see that you are punctual to the minute. I am glad of that; as I can't give you much time. I have an engagement with my editor at one-thirty."

"Oh, I can explain my business in half an hour," replied Fanks, lightly. "I won't take up more of your valuable time than I can help. You were astonished to get my note."

"Frankly speaking, I was," said Hersham, with an uneasy look. "I can't conceive what you want to see me about. I hope," he added, with a faint smile, "that it is nothing in your line of business?"

"That is just the point. It is in my line of business."

To the surprise of Fanks, the young man gave a kind of gasp, and without a word he turned and led the way into the house. This behaviour was so different to his usual manner, that Fanks suspected trouble; and, with nothing but his incurable suspicion to go on, he wondered if this agitation was in any way connected with the business he had come about. In plain words, with the tattooed cross; and with the crime of Tooley's Alley. The room into which Hersham ushered the detective, was a simply-furnished apartment of a bright and cheerful character. Furniture, carpet, wallpaper, and curtains, were all of a light and pleasant complexion. Two dwarf book-shelves on either side of the fireplace were filled with well-chosen volumes; while boxing gloves and foils on the walls showed that the tastes of the journalist were not exclusively literary. Excellent pictures adorned the walls; and photographs--mostly those of pretty women--were ranged on the mantlepiece. As a whole, the room was remarkably bright and attractive in both of which respects it thoroughly reflected the character of its occupant.

With commendable hospitality, Hersham produced a bottle of whisky, two glasses, and a jug of water. Signing to Fanks to help himself, he sat in a chair near the window, and waited for his apparently unwelcome visitor to speak. Fanks did not open his mouth, and Hersham looked up to see the cause of his silence. The detective was staring at the photographs on the mantleshelf--or rather, he was gazing with astonished eyes at one portrait. It was little wonder that he did so; for the picture was that of the young woman, who had appeared and disappeared so unexpectedly at the chambers of Sir Gregory Fellenger, in Half-Moon Street. For once in his life, Fanks was rendered dumb with astonishment.

"What are you staring at?" asked Hersham, sharply.

The detective pointed to the picture. "Who is that young lady?" he asked in a tone of intense curiosity.

"I don't see what business that is of yours," replied Hersham, "but to gratify your curiosity I may tell you she is the girl I am engaged to."

"The girl you are engaged to! Is she alive?"

"Of course she is," said Hersham, half angry, half amused, "why should she be dead. Do you know her? Have you seen her? Why do you ask?"

"I shall tell you that later on," answered Fanks, "but tell me. Is the name of that girl Emma Calvert?"

"I never heard of Emma Calvert," retorted Hersham, crossly, "the name of that young lady is Anne Colmer."

"Of Taxton-on-Thames?"

"Yes! Of Taxton-on-Thames."