CHAPTER XIX.

THE DEFIANCE OF ANNE COLMER.

Before Fanks could remark on the strangeness of this discovery, the door opened and Anne entered the room. With characteristic quickness she recognised the photograph in the hand of the detective. At once she came forward, and signed to him to be silent. At the same time she spoke to her mother.

"Mr. Fanks has been shown into this room by mistake," she said, hurriedly; "so with your permission, mother, I shall conduct him into the next room."

"As you please, Anne; you know best."

Accepting this permission Anne drew Fanks quickly into the passage, and led him into the apartment he had seen on the occasion of his last visit. He still held the photograph in his hand; and at this she looked anxiously as she signed to him that he should take a seat. Fanks placed himself in a comfortable armchair; Miss Colmer took up her position opposite to him, and both prepared for a difficult conversation. As was natural from her late action, she made an observation on the picture of Mrs. Boazoph.

"I see that you recognise that face," said Anne, coolly; "no doubt you wonder how that photograph came to be in this house?"

"I do wonder. Am I to hear the truth from you, Miss Colmer?"

"Certainly; there is no reason why I should tell you a lie."

Man and woman looked directly into one another's eyes, and a look of mutual distrust passed between them. It was Fanks who first took up the unspoken challenge.

"I think you would tell me a lie if there was anything to be gained or concealed by it," said the detective, dryly.

"You are not far out there," returned Anne, coolly. "I am above petty moral doubts in such circumstances. But in this instance, Mr. Fanks, I have nothing to gain or to lose by telling a falsehood. You saw Mr. Hersham this morning," she added abruptly and irrelevantly.

"Yes. Have I you to thank for the alteration in his demeanour?"

"You have; I persuaded him to tell you all. Has he done so?"

"No; he has postponed the confession for a week."

"What foolish weakness," muttered Anne, with a sigh. "I wish he had told you this morning."

"Do you? Why?"

"Because you may find out that which he wished to hide before he can brace his mind to a confession. I love Edward Hersham dearly, Mr. Fanks; but I can see his faults and weakness of character as plainly as you can. I entreated him to tell you all at once. He consented; yet you see when it comes to the point his feebleness makes him shrink from the ordeal."

"You hint at danger to Hersham. May I ask if it is connected with the committal of this crime?

"No, you may not, Mr. Fanks. Edward can tell you the truth for himself in a week; he is foolish but he is not guilty."

Fanks was at once piqued and delighted with this woman. She was so clever and so inscrutable that he could not help respecting her. For the first time for many days he had met with a woman with the mind of a man; and he felt that he would need all his intelligence to beat her. On the other hand, he was not unprepared to expect defeat in place of victory.

"What would you say, Miss Colmer, if I told you that I had found the assassin of Sir Gregory?" he asked, craftily.

"I should at once congratulate you, and doubt you," was the quick response. "No, Mr. Fanks, you are not yet successful, else you would not come to see me, nor would you be astonished at seeing the photograph of Mrs. Boazoph."

"You know her, it seems?"

"I do; but my mother does not know her under that name."

"What do you mean?"

Miss Colmer made no immediate reply. She compressed her beautiful lips tightly together, and looked out of the window.

"I see that I shall have to make a confidant of you, sir," she said, slowly, "although I do not recognise your claim to demand an explanation."

"Pardon me, Miss Colmer," said Fanks, with the utmost politeness, "the law gives me every right. By your visit to Half-Moon Street where the murdered man lived you implicated yourself in the matter. I can see by the hints of yourself and Hersham that you both know more than you choose to tell; and as I am deputed to search out the truth, I can call on you to reveal all you know."

"I made my confession yesterday."

"Was it the truth?"

"It was the truth so far as it went."

"Ah! then there is more to tell?"

"Yes," said Anne, after a pause; "there is more to tell; but not yet, not yet."

Fanks leaned forward and looked into her eyes. "Miss Colmer," he said in a low tone, "tell me who killed Sir Gregory?"

"I do not know; I swear I do not know. See here, Mr. Fanks," she cried, suddenly, "I do not know the truth, but I have an inkling of the truth; I may be wrong; I fervently trust that I am wrong; still I am doubtful; very, very doubtful. I can't tell you of my suspicions: they might get an innocent person into trouble."

"Are you alluding to Hersham?"

"I decline to say; by my advice Mr. Hersham is about to tell you all he knows; I cannot take the words out of his mouth; he would never forgive me; and I do not wish to lose his love."

"Then you mean Mrs. Boazoph?"

"I refuse to speak; I shall leave you if you ask further questions," she said, almost fiercely. "You nearly discovered what I think is the truth in those chambers; I did not know that you were there, but I went up to Half-Moon Street to prevent the truth being discovered, if I could. I failed because you were present."

Fanks sat up alertly. She had given him a clue. "Is the truth to be discovered in Half-Moon Street?" he asked, eagerly.

Anne moistened her dry lips, and turned away her face. "Yes! I believe it is," she murmured, "and I hope you will never discover it."

She was so moved that Fanks thought she was about to faint. With considerable dexterity he left the question alone for a time and turned the conversation toward the subject of Mrs. Boazoph.

"You have not yet told me about this portrait," he said, gently.

"I will do so now," said Anne, recovering her nerve, "Mrs. Boazoph is my mother's sister; she is my aunt."

"Oh!" said Fanks, considerably astonished, "then how is it that your mother does not know the name of Boazoph?"

"Because she only knows her sister as Mrs. Bryant."

"But I do not understand," said Fanks, rather bewildered.

"The matter is easy of explanation. My mother is a gentlewoman, although we keep a shop; and she is very proud of her birth and blood. The behaviour of my sister nearly killed her. You can, therefore, guess what she would think of my aunt, Mrs. Boazoph, did she know that she kept a notorious hotel in Tooley's Alley; and was so well known to the police as she is."

Fanks looked at this woman in astonishment. It was so strange to hear her speak in this manner of her own flesh and blood. Anne noticed his astonishment; and a faint blush crept over her cheek. "I see what you are thinking of, Mr. Fanks. But I know my aunt; she has told me all about her unhappy life. Believe me, she is more to be pitied than blamed."

"Like Hersham?" said Links, dryly.

"Yes, like Mr. Hersham," she retorted, defiantly. "My aunt made an unhappy marriage with a man far beneath her. His name was Bryant, not Boazoph, so my mother only knows her sister by that name. Bryant lost all his money, and was set up by some of his friends in the Red Star, in Tooley's Alley. There, from some shame at his fall, he called himself Boazoph. When he died, my aunt carried on the business; and I daresay you know all the rest of her life."

Fanks nodded. "I suppose Mrs. Boazoph visits you occasionally, as Mrs. Bryant?" he said, inquisitively.

"She comes once or twice in the year; and, for my mother's sake, I see her; but I do not approve of Mrs. Boazoph's misguided life, and I am not what you would call friendly with her."

"Yours is indeed an unfortunate family," said Fanks, bluntly, and with less of his usual courtesy. "Your sister driven to her death by that dead scoundrel; your aunt one of the most notorious women in London; your mother paralysed; your lover mixed up in this murder."

Anne lost her temper at this brutal speech, which was just what Fanks wished her to do, and why he had made it. Inherently a gentleman, he would never have thought of taunting the poor girl with the crime and follies of her family had he not desired to get the better of her; but in this instance he desired to make her angry; and took this way--an unworthy way it must be confessed. With a burst of indignation, Anne rose to her feet.

"I always understood that you were a gentleman, Mr. Fanks," she said bitterly, "but I see I am mistaken. If you think to trap me into helping you by insulting my family, you are mistaken. I shall tell you nothing--now."

"Perhaps I may force you to help me," said Fanks, looking very wicked.

"I am afraid not. In what way do you hope to accomplish so impossible a task?"

"Why," said Fanks, keeping his eyes fixed on her face, "by arresting your lover."

"You dare not."

"I dare! I dare anything. Look you here, Miss Colmer, I am growing tired of being in the dark; and rather than remain in it any longer, I shall resort to strong measures. In some way--of which you know--Hersham is mixed up in this crime. If you won't be persuaded to tell, you must be forced to speak out, if only to save Hersham from being tried for the crime. I shall arrest him."

"Do so; and you will only be the loser by so rash an action."

Fanks walked to the door. "Good day, Miss Colmer, I shall do as I say; and the blame will lie at your door."

Anne said nothing; but, very pale and very determined, she stood looking at Fanks. He admired her for the way in which she was fighting, and he privately considered that if the way to the truth lay through Anne Colmer, there was small chance of it being discovered. He made one more attempt to induce her to speak.

"Come," he said, pleadingly, "be advised; save yourself and Hersham, by telling the truth."

"I don't know the truth, I only guess it."

"Your guess may be the correct one; let me know what it is?"

"No, no, no!"

"You won't speak?"

"No. Not for worlds."

It was plain that whatever she knew she would not reveal, so Fanks, shaking his head, left the room. When he was out of the door, Anne broke down, and, falling into a chair, she burst into tears. Yet she had no idea of yielding: for better or worse the die was cast, and if Hersham was arrested, at her door would lie the ruin and disgrace of his life. Truly, it was a powerful reason which made Anne conceal the truth at the expense of her lover's liberty, and--it might be--of his life.

As for Fanks, he went off to the station, and caught the train to town. He had gone to Taxton-on-Thames full of hope of success; he left it beaten on every point--and by a woman. His sole chance of learning anything further lay in advertising for the negro; and in the chance that Hersham would confess next week. Anne Colmer was as silent as the Sphinx; all the same, Fanks had not done with that young lady.