CHAPTER XXIII.

THE CONFESSION OF HERSHAM.

When Fanks saw Mrs. Boazoph lying at his feet his first intention was to wait until she recovered. Later on he changed his mind, and when he had placed her in the hands of the servant he went home full of thought and dark surmises. It seemed to him that the case was centring in Ted Hersham; that the whole situation depended on the right reading of the tattooed cross riddle. Mrs. Boazoph knew something about the cross, she knew something about Hersham; but what it was Fanks could by no means make up his mind. It seemed to him that in exploring the depths of Mrs. Boazoph's mind he had found a still lower deep; and he was puzzled what to think.

"Confound the woman," he thought, meditating over a pipe; "I said that we should find her at the end of the path which leads to the discovery of the mystery, and it seems that I was right. She screened Binjoy for some reason which I cannot discover; she will now attempt to save Hersham, lest he should fall into my clutches. Why should she take all this trouble for those two men? And what does she know about the tattooed cross? Does Binjoy know about it also? And was it he who made the obliterating mark? I can't think Hersham guilty, and yet things look black against him. But no," said Fanks, rising, "the disguised man who slew in Tooley's Alley and Hersham are two different people; I proved that conclusively to Garth. What's to be done now?"

It was difficult to decide. At first he almost resolved to return to Mrs. Boazoph and urge her confession; again, he thought it best to wait until he heard what Hersham had to say. It might be, he thought, that Hersham's confession would throw some light on his relation to Mrs. Boazoph. The hints of Anne Colmer, the terror of Hersham, the fainting of Mrs. Boazoph were all of a piece, and Fanks felt confident that beneath these perplexities lay the key to the riddle. It was not that he had no clue; he was in reality quite bewildered by the multiplicity of clues, so bewildered that he did not know which clue to seize first. At length he came to the conclusion that it would be best to wait till he saw Hersham and heard what he had to say, and afterwards to follow up the clue placed in his hands by the fainting of Mrs. Boazoph.

"I'll write to Hersham, and remind him that he promised to see me in a few days and tell the truth," said Fanks, going to his desk; "and if he reveals all I am certain that his confession will contain the information that Mrs. Boazoph wrote and warned him against me."

He was confident, as he said, that she would do this. If she tried to save Binjoy, she would certainly try to help Hersham; but her reason for doing the one was as inscrutable as her reason had been for acting in the way she did towards Binjoy. The further he went into the case the darker it grew; and in sheer despair Fanks wrote his reminder to Hersham, and did nothing more for the next few days but meditate over the tangle in which he found himself involved. His meditations led to no result, and when Hersham called on him at the Duke Street chambers in three days, the detective was at his wit's end how to proceed.

However, he was delighted to see Hersham, as he had doubted whether the young man would fulfil his promise. Now that he had come to do so there might be some chance of seeing a gleam of light. Fanks did not tell the journalist what he had discovered concerning his movements on the night of the twenty-first, as he wanted to see if Hersham would confess as much. If he did so, such frankness would confirm his belief that the young fellow had nothing to do with the commission of the crime. If, on the other hand, Hersham concealed the proven facts Fanks intended to force him into confession by revealing what he had heard from Berry Jawkins. By the result he would be guided in his future movements. The ensuing conversation was likely to prove as interesting and important as that which he had held with Mrs. Boazoph.

"I am glad to see you, Hersham," he said, in a gentle tone, "as I hope what you have to tell me may throw some light on the darkness of this Tooley Alley crime."

"I can throw no light on the cursed thing," said Hersham, gloomily. "I am only here to exonerate myself."

"From what? What do you mean?"

"Why should you ask me that?" said Hersham, angrily. "Is it not you who suspect me of killing this man?"

"Decidedly not. I do not think you killed Fellenger. As I told you before I do not believe you had anything to do with it."

"Then why did you have me watched?" demanded the young man.

"Ask that of yourself," said Fanks, coolly. "You roused my suspicions; you hinted that you knew something; you thwarted me with regard to Anne Colmer. Cast your mind back to our first conversation, man; you will say that I had every reason for acting as I did. If you had told me the truth at first; had you become my ally instead of my enemy, you would not have had all this trouble. But, for all that, I do not suspect you of being a murderer. Had I done so," finished Fanks, "you would have been in a cell long e'er this."

"I held my tongue because I was afraid of you," said Hersham, sullenly.

"If you are innocent, there is no reason to be afraid of me."

"I am innocent; and yet I am afraid of you. Yes, I am dreading to tell you what I am about to reveal."

"Why so?"

"Circumstances may so close round an innocent man," continued Hersham, not heeding the interruption, "that it would seem as though he were guilty. Think yourself, Fanks. Innocent men have been hanged e'er now, because circumstantial evidence was strong against them."

"True enough," replied Fanks. "I suppose it is natural that you should be afraid. No man would run the risk of putting his head into the noose if he could help it. You say that circumstances are strong against you. What are these circumstances?"

Hersham bit his lip, and turned a wan face on his friend. "I place my life in your hands, mind you," he said, hoarsely.

"It will be safe there," replied Fanks, getting up and fetching a decanter of brandy from the sideboard. "Nothing will induce me to believe that you had anything to do with the commission of this crime."

"Will you swear to that?" cried Hersham, stretching out a shaking hand.

"Certainly if it will comfort you. Here, my friend, drink this, and tell me what you know. It may help me to nab the person I have my eye on."

Hersham drank the brandy. "Have you found out who killed Fellenger?"

Fanks shrugged his shoulders. "I think so," he said, "but who can tell; I may be wrong."

"Is it a man or woman?" asked Hersham, quickly.

"I shan't tell you."

"Is it--"

"I shan't tell you, my friend. But I shall tell you this for the quieting of your fears, that it is not you whom I suspect. Now sit down again, and let me hear what you have to say."

Hersham resumed his seat obediently, and began his recital. He confessed exactly what Fanks expected he would confess; what Fanks already knew, but the detective listened to this twice-told tale with the keenest attention. Thereby he hoped to learn some new detail which had been overlooked by the zealous Berry Jawkins.

"About the beginning of June," said Hersham, in a hesitating voice, "I was engaged on a series of papers for the 'Morning Planet' on Street Music. To gain the information I required, I thought it would be an excellent plan to go about the streets of London in guise, and to get at the root of the matter. I told my editor that I would burnt-cork my face and go with some street minstrels. He approved of the idea, and I did so."

"And how were you dressed?"

"In a great coat with brass buttons. I also wore brown boots. Now, you can see why I was afraid to tell you. That is the dress the negro you are looking for wore."

"Yes!" said Flanks, perplexedly, "I know that; but I do not see why you should have been afraid to tell me. You can explain your movements on that night."

"That is exactly what I can't do," said Hersham, his face growing dark.

"I don't understand."

"I shall explain. On the night of the twenty-first I intended to go out in the streets in disguise. Before doing so, I told the office boy that if a telegram came for me he was to bring it at once to me; I expected a wire about six o'clock; and I told the boy that I would be in the Strand near St. Clements Church."

"From whom did you expect the telegram?"

"From Anne Colmer. That day I had received a letter from her, saying that she was greatly worried about something; what it was she did not tell me; but she said that if she wanted me she would wire, and that I was then to come down at once to Taxton-on-Thames."

"Go on," said Fanks, greatly interested in the introduction of Anne's name.

"Well, I blacked my face, and went out with the genuine niggers to sing and play. About six, or a little after, I was near St. Clement's Church, and there the office boy came to me with a telegram."

"Why did you expect the telegram at six?"

"Because I was in the office about five, and it had not come then. I thought it might come after I left, so I appointed St. Clement's Church as the meeting-place where the boy might find me."

"And you obeyed?"

"What was in the telegram?"

"A request that I should come down to Taxton-on-Thames at once."

"Yes, there was no reason why I should not. I thought that Anne was in trouble; I went down at once on my bicycle."

"Why did not you go by train? It would have been easier."

"Not for me. I was in the habit of running down to Taxton-on-Thames on my machine; it is only two hours' run."

"Had you your machine in town?"

"Yes; I had left it at a shop in the Strand where I usually leave it; though sometimes I ride it on to the office in Fleet Street. On this occasion it was in the Strand. As soon as I got the telegram I left my troupe and went off on my bicycle.

"Didn't you wash your face?"

"Not at that time; I was in such a hurry and so anxious to learn what was the matter with Anne, that I did not think of doing so. I rode along until I was recalled to the spectacle I must have presented, by the laughing, and the guying of the boys. Then I thought that I might startle Anne, and I determined to wash myself."

"And did you?"

"Not immediately. On the way to Richmond I had an accident, and the tyre of my back wheel was punctured. The air escaped, and I was over an hour mending it. Then I had to go slowly, and did not get to Richmond till after eight o'clock. I went into the hotel called the Eight Bells, and had a drink and a wash. Then I came out a white man to the astonishment of the barman, and went on down to Taxton-on-Thames. I got there shortly after nine o'clock."

"Didn't you nearly run over a man as you neared the village?"

"Yes, I did," said Hersham, in some astonishment. "But how do you know that?"

"I'll tell you later on," replied Fanks, smiling. "But about the result of your trip to Taxton-on-Thames?"

Hersham's face fell. "There was no result," he said, in a low voice. "When I arrived I went at once to Briar Cottage and asked for Anne. I was told that she had gone up to town by the five o'clock train."

"Gone up to town!" repeated Fanks. "That is curious. Why did she go up to town after sending you a wire to bring you down?"

"I can't say. She returned by the night train, and I was at the station to meet her. I asked her why she had gone to town, and she refused to tell me. She merely said that she had sent the wire shortly before five o'clock, and that she had found occasion to go up by the five train."

"Can you conjecture what took her to town?"

"No; and she will not tell me."

Fanks said nothing. He was meditating on the strange story told to him by Hersham, and on the stranger conduct of Anne Colmer. The mystery concerning this young lady, which had begun in the chambers of Sir Gregory, seemed to be thickening. Fanks was puzzled and gloomy.