CHAPTER XIV.

FANKS MAKES UP HIS MIND.

Naturally Fanks was astonished at this confession; but he was so conversant with the character of the young man that he could not believe the journalist was guilty. Despite the coincidence of the tattooed cross and the relationship of Fellenger's wife with Anne Colmer, he did not think for a moment that his friend had anything to do with the crime. Nevertheless, it would appear from the hesitation of Hersham to speak openly that he had some knowledge--if not of the crime itself--at all events of the circumstances leading to its accomplishment. This was the only construction he could place on this last outburst.

"After what I have said, Hersham, I think you ought to confide in me," he remarked after a pause. "I do not suspect you in any way; yet you refuse to aid me. You ought to be the first to help me."

"I do not see how you make that out," replied Hersham, with a pale face. "I never met with Sir Gregory. I heard nothing but evil of his life, and he drove to suicide the sister of the girl to whom I am engaged. Why should I help you?"

"Ah!" cried Fanks, sharply; "then you can help me if you choose."

"I certainly cannot," returned Hersham, doggedly. "I have not the slightest idea who killed Fellenger. I can tell you nothing."

"Yes, you can; only you refuse to. Why I cannot say. You had better be careful, Hersham; you will not find me easy to deal with if you rouse my suspicions."

"Do you threaten me?"

"I warn you," retorted Fanks, smartly, "I am not accustomed to have my offers of help repelled. Your remark of a few moments ago shows me that you know something. What is it?"

"I know nothing."

"You do! Speak, if not for your own sake, at least for that of Miss Colmer."

Hersham stepped up to Fanks with an angry face. "How dare you introduce the name of Miss Colmer?" he cried. "I forbid you to speak of her."

"All the worse for you and for--her. She called at the chambers of the dead man. Why did she call there? She was at Tooley's Alley on the night of the murder. What was she doing in such a place? You refuse to tell me? I shall ask her."

Hersham sprang forward, and grasped the arm of Fanks to prevent his leaving the room. "Think of what you are about," he gasped. "Ask her nothing, you hear me, nothing."

"That rests with yourself. Tell me what you know and--"

"I know nothing," said Hersham, and turned away with an obstinate look.

"Good!" said Fanks, putting on his hat. "We now understand one another. I shall find out all without troubling you. Good-bye. And you may thank your stars that I do not arrest you on suspicion."

"I swear that I am innocent."

"I know that, else I would have had you in custody by this time. But you are screening another person. Anne Colmer, for instance."

"She knows nothing."

"I shall judge of that for myself," retorted Fanks, and left the room.

In Acacia Road the detective hailed a cab and drove to the nearest telegraph office. It had occurred to him that Hersham might attempt to communicate with Anne; and he was resolved to checkmate such a move. To this end he sent a wire to the head of the rural police at Taxton-on-Thames, instructing him to delay if possible all letters and telegrams which might come to Miss Colmer. Thereby he hoped to prevent Hersham warning the girl.

Arriving at New Scotland Yard, he detailed a man to watch Hersham, and sent him up to Acacia Road. A glance at "Bradshaw" assured him that to reach Taxton-on-Thames, Hersham would have to start from Waterloo. Thither he sent another detective, to keep an eye on the trains. Therefore, by letter, by telegram, and by railway, he had stopped Hersham from communicating with Anne Colmer. After taking these precautions he saw Crate.

"I am going to Taxton-on-Thames at three o'clock," he said.

"Are you going to look for the woman who directed the envelope, Mr. Fanks?"

Fanks stretched out his legs, and began fiddling with his ring. "That is just what is puzzling me, Crate," observed he. "I have told you of my conversation with Mr. Hersham. Well, unless he is deceiving me, Mrs. Conner, is a paralytic. She could not have directed that envelope; yet, going by the writing, I'll swear that an elderly woman penned the address. If not Mrs. Colmer--an obvious impossibility--who wrote it?"

"Anne Colmer," said Crate, promptly.

"No. For disguise, she would rather have adopted a masculine hand."

"Mrs. Boazoph?"

"If Mrs. Boazoph had been traced to Taxton-on-Thames I should say yes; if the letter had been sent from Mere Hall I should have said yes. But," added Fanks, with emphasis, "as it did not come from Mere Hall, and Mrs. Boazoph has nothing to do with Taxton-on-Thames, I am not inclined to suspect the lady."

"Then there is nobody else."

"There must be somebody else; and the somebody else committed the crime."

Crate thought. "Do you think that the negro sent that star?" he asked.

"I feel perfectly certain that the negro had nothing to do with the star."

"But we have proved conclusively that a negro killed Fellenger."

Fanks smiled complacently. "I should not be at all surprised if we found out that a negro had nothing to do with the murder," he said, slowly.

"But that is impossible, Mr. Fanks."

"Nothing is impossible in a criminal case," said Fanks. "Look here, Crate, as you know, it is not my habit to give an opinion before I have thoroughly threshed out the subject matter of a case; but in this instance, I shall depart from my rule. I should not be surprised if I had already spotted the assassin of Sir Gregory Fellenger."

"No!" cried Crate in admiration. "And who is it, Mr. Fanks. Man or woman?"

"Walls have ears, Crate. I shall whisper the name and when the case comes to an end--if it ever does--you can laugh at me or congratulate me at your will. Now then."

Fanks approached his mouth to the ear of Crate and whispered a single name. "That is my opinion," he said slowly.

Crate shook his head. "No, Mr. Fanks. I am loth to put my opinion, against yours, but I think you are making a mistake."

"Perhaps I am," assented Fanks, carelessly, "the case is a difficult one, and I am quite prepared to find out that I am wrong. All the same, I am confident that the person I named is guilty. I'll bet you five pounds to five shillings that I am correct."

Crate grinned and took up the bet. The behaviour of his chief flattered him, and he would not have minded losing. But he could not bring himself to agree with Fanks as to the name of the guilty person; for he had a theory of his own in which he believed. This theory was diametrically opposed to that of his superior.

"How long shall you be at Taxton-on-Thames," he asked Fanks, when this little piece of amusement was concluded.

"I may be a few days, a few hours, or a month. It all depends on what I find out. I must interview Anne Colmer; see her mother; and make inquiries about Binjoy and his negro servant."

"But the doctor is at Mere Hall. You must go there to ask about the negro."

"Rubbish. As I told you before, the negro has never been seen at Mere Hall. Binjoy lived at Taxton-on-Thames, and it is there that I must ask after this mysterious black man. Afterwards, I can go to Mere Hall."

"Have you any reason for going?"

"One. I wish to find out why Mrs. Boazoph visited the Hall."

"And what about the tattooed cross, Mr. Fanks?"

"Oh, I shall see that later on. But in the meantime I must pay these visits. Firstly, Taxton-on-Thames. Secondly, Mere Hall. Thirdly, the Isle of Wight and the Rev. Mr. Hersham."

"Humph!" said Crate, doubtfully. "From what you say, I should think Mr. Hersham junior would thwart your plans, if he could."

"I have not the least doubt of it," replied Fanks dryly, "but he is being watched. If he tries to thwart me I shall, at least, have the satisfaction of knowing it. By the way, do you know anything about Bombay?"

"That's in India, isn't it?" said Crate, rather taken aback by the apparent irrelevancy of this question. "I don't know anything about Bombay, Mr. Fanks, except what I've seen in books."

"You must extend your knowledge then; for I may want you to go there in a week or so."

"Has my going there anything to do with this case?" demanded Crate, still very much astonished at the turn the conversation had taken.

"It has everything to do with this case," replied Fanks, enjoying his perplexity, and the confusion of his somewhat slow-moving mind.

"Dr. Renshaw did not go to India," was Crate's next remark.

"Quite so. Renshaw having resumed his real name of Binjoy, is now at Mere Hall--in safety, as he thinks. I can lay hands on him any time; but I can't lay hands on that negro. You must do that, Crate."

"But the negro isn't in India, Mr. Fanks?"

"In my humble opinion--I may be wrong--he is," replied the other. "See here, Crate. Dr. Binjoy must know that as I am employed by Sir Louis to hunt down the assassin, I must see him sooner or later. If I see the new baronet, I can hardly help seeing his 'Fidus Achates.' Now, although Binjoy has--as he thinks--destroyed all trace of his connection with Renshaw, yet he cannot quite alter his personal appearance, which is rather noticeable. He may shave off his beard so as to make himself look younger; he may even get rid of his stoutness; but he cannot alter his voice or entirely change his pompous manner. He must, therefore guess that I may be struck with his resemblance to Renshaw. In some way--for I give him the credit of being clever--he will endeavour to account for the resemblance. I do not know the particular lie he will stick to; but of one thing I am certain;--he will keep up the deception that Renshaw is in India by means of prepared letters written to Dr. Turnor."

"It is my opinion, Crate," continued Fanks, solemnly, "that Binjoy has got rid of his negro servant by sending him to Bombay; and, from Bombay the negro will forward letters--already written--to Turnor of Great Auk Street. I may be wrong, of course, and I do not wish to act in a hurry. But the first letter I see from India, purporting to be from Binjoy-Renshaw, that very day you start for Bombay to look for the negro who is at present missing. I am content to stake my professional reputation that you will find him there."

"Well, you are a 'cute one, Mr. Fanks," said Crate in an admiring tone. "I should never have thought of that."

This tribute of respect from Crate put an end to the conversation for the time being. Fanks went to his chambers, packed a few clothes, and repaired to Waterloo Station. The detective who was watching there, assured him that Hersham had not been seen on the platform; and Fanks went down to Taxton-on-Thames quite satisfied that he had what the Americans call "the inside running."

He amused himself while in the train by making notes in his pocket book; and with figuring out the questions which he intended to ask Miss Colmer. Notwithstanding his assurance to Crate, he was very doubtful if he would be able to discover the assassin of Sir Gregory, for the further he went into the case the more intricate did it become. So far as he could see at the present moment, the person who had killed the Tooley Alley victim had every chance of escaping the gallows. All that the detective could do was to go on in the darkness; and trust to any stray gleam of light which might reveal the assassin; but at present, he could not see an inch ahead of him.

On arriving at Taxton-on-Thames he drove at once to the local post office; and, as he expected, he there found a telegram, which the police had succeeded in delaying. It was addressed to Anne Colmer, and ran as follows: "Detective coming; answer him nothing." There was no name; but from the context, and the place whence it had been sent--High Street, St. John's Wood--Fanks had no difficulty in guessing that it had come from Hersham.

"Very good," he murmured. "What Hersham knows, the girl knows. I failed to get the information from him; I may from her."