CHAPTER XXIV.

THE CLUE OF THE HANDWRITING.

On concluding the recital of his movements on the night of the twenty-first of June, Hersham looked anxiously at Fanks to see what the detective thought of the matter. The latter made no immediate comment, whereupon the journalist, impatient of the silence, made the first observation.

"I have told you all," he said; "now what is your opinion?"

"Let me think for a minute or two," replied Fanks, holding up his hand. "I must consider."

Thereupon he thrust his hands into his pockets and strolled to the window, where he stood looking absently at the adjacent chimney-pots. Hersham eyed him with continued anxiety, but he did not dare to interrupt, so that Fanks had ample time to reflect over the strange story which had been related to him.

He had heard the main facts of it before from Berry Jawkins, and these corresponded entirely with the narrative of the journalist. Still, the additional evidence concerning Anne Colmer disquieted Fanks not a little. Her behaviour was strange, to say the least of it, and far more suspicious than that of Hersham. Why had she sent a telegram to withdraw her lover from London at the very time of the committal of the crime? And why had she--so to speak--nullified that telegram by going herself to town almost immediately after she had despatched it. Such conduct was decidedly suspicious; and it looked as though she was implicated in the matter in some underhand way. Why had she behaved in so mysterious a fashion, and why had she refused to reveal her reason for so acting to Hersham?

So far, so good; but there remained a greater mystery. It was Anne Colmer herself who had instructed Hersham to confess to Fanks; yet she must have known that her very extraordinary conduct would need explanation. But would she explain? Fanks thought not. He recalled his conversation with her; how she had refused to speak lest her evidence--whatever it was--should be detrimental to an innocent person. Clearly that innocent person could not be Hersham, for he had established his innocence in the eyes of the detective. Then if the person in question was not Hersham, who could he--or she--be? Mrs. Colmer, Dr. Binjoy, Anne, or Caesar, the missing negro?

Not the first, thought Fanks, decidedly not the first, for Mrs. Colmer was confined to her room by paralysis, and could not take an active part in the business. Scarcely the second, for Anne could have no reason to screen the doctor--at least no reason that Fanks could even guess at. If the third--and seeing that Mrs. Boazoph was her aunt it might be so--the motive might be that Anne desired aid to carry out a scheme of revenge against the destroyer of her sister. As to Caesar, Fanks had quite settled in his own mind that the negro was innocent, and that his personality was being made use of merely to screen the chief actor or actors in the tragedy.

The result of Fank's meditations therefore resulted in his having an increased suspicion of Mrs. Boazoph. Her behaviour at the time of the discovery of the murder, her visit to Mere Hall, and her fainting at the mention that Hersham was the probable criminal--all these things were suspicious; and now the probable visit of Anne Colmer to her aunt--although such visit was not yet proved--clinched the matter. All the interest of Fanks now centred in Mrs. Boazoph; and he addressed himself again to Hersham in the hope of learning something tangible, likely to connect her more intimately with her niece either in London or at Taxton-on-Thames. He was right to act in this way; an indefinable instinct had placed him on the right path.

"I wish you had told me of this before," he said to Hersham, as he resumed his seat. "It would have saved me a lot of trouble."

"I did not wish to tell you. I was afraid to speak lest I should inculpate myself. I am sure my movements on that fatal night must appear very suspicious to you. What is your opinion of me now?"

"The same as before. I am satisfied that you have told me the truth. No, Hersham, it is not you whom I suspect."

"Then who is it?" asked the young man, eagerly.

"I'll tell you that later on," replied Finks. "In the meantime you must answer a few more questions. I am not yet quite clear on some points. How did you obtain your disguise?"

"Oh, that was Miss Colmer's suggestion."

"The deuce it was!" said Fanks, rather startled at this admission.

"Yes! I told her of my idea to disguise myself in order to obtain a thoroughly realistic description of street music, and of those who make it. I asked her how she thought I should dress. In a half-laughing way she advised me to take Binjoy's servant Caesar as my model."

"Which you did?"

"Certainly. I thought the suggestion a good one. Caesar was rather an oddity in his way, and dressed with that mixture of vivid colours which is so dear to the black race. When off duty he usually wore a red neck scarf, a brown felt hat, black trousers, and a long green coat with large brass buttons, quite a noticeable garb in fact. He had several of these quaint garments, and he had brought one to Anne's establishment to get yellow velvet cuffs and collar sewn on to it. On the promise that I would not keep it more than a fortnight Anne lent me the coat, which I wore for my purpose."

"Strange," said Fanks, thoughtfully. "So you wore the very coat of the man whom we suspected in the first instance?"

"I did. It is odd now that you mention it."

Fanks considered. "Did anyone suggest your disguising yourself as a negro for this street music business, or was it your own fancy?"

"It was the suggestion of Dr. Binjoy."

"Oh, was it? Humph! I am beginning to see daylight."

"Why, you don't think----?"

"I think nothing at present," said Fanks, quickly; "matters are in too crude a state."

This observation was hardly true, for Fanks was beginning to think that the affair of the green coat looked singularly like a conspiracy. He was unwilling to communicate his suspicions to Hersham, because of necessity they included Anne Colmer; therefore he passed the matter off as before mentioned. Nevertheless, he thought it doubtful that the disguise was the result of an accident. That Binjoy should suggest the idea of blackening the face, that Anne should induce Hersham to dress up in the very clothes of Caesar, both these things seemed suspicious and quite impossible to understand. He could guess Binjoy's object, presuming that Binjoy had designed the murder--it was to avert suspicion from himself and servant by throwing it on Hersham. But what Fanks could not see was why Anne should act as she did, when Hersham was her lover. She surely did not wish to implicate Hersham in the matter--if it could be presumed that she was connected with it herself, of which Fanks was by no means sure--and yet Fanks was honestly puzzled to understand the action, so at variance with her position. With his usual sense he therefore abandoned the subject for the present, and re-addressed himself to the examination of Hersham.

"Did you know Dr. Binjoy?"

"I did, and disliked him greatly. I don't think he liked me either," added Hersham, smiling, "for I was his successful rival."

"With Miss Colmer?"

"Yes! Fancy, that old man fell in love with Anne and wished to marry her; asked her to be Mrs. Binjoy four or five times, in fact. Like his impudence, wasn't it? However, Anne told him that she was engaged to me, and sent him off with a flea in his ear. I don't think he liked me any better for my triumph."

"No," said Fanks, dryly. "I have no doubt he would do his best to injure you."

"Fanks, do you think he designedly induced me to act as a duplicate of Caesar?"

"That I can't say. It looks suspicious. His being at the Red Star on the night of the murder under an assumed name is still more suspicious. All the same he has managed the business so cleverly that I can bring nothing home to him."

"Do you think that he designed the murder of Fellenger so as to get the estates for Sir Louis?"

"His actions bear that interpretation," said Fanks, scratching his chin; "but I have no proof as yet. I may find out at Mere Hall."

"Are you going there?"

"Next week. I wish to see my employer, Sir Louis, and tell him what I have done; at the same time I intend to observe Binjoy. By the way," added the detective, "did you like Sir Louis?"

Hersham shrugged his shoulders. "So, so," he replied. "He is a dry stick, wrapped up in his scientific studies. He passes most of his days with Binjoy in the laboratory making experiments. A tall, stout fellow, he is, not at all like a dry-as-dust savant."

"Humph!" said Fanks, twisting his ring; "a tall stout creature. Dr. Binjoy is also tall and stout?"

"Yes! and so is the negro, Caesar. The trio are all fat and healthy."

"Humph!" said Fanks again. "I wonder--but that is impossible."

"What is impossible?"

"Something that came into my head. What it is, does not matter. I shall no doubt prove its impossibility at Mere Hall."

"You suspect Sir Louis?"

"Such a suspicion did cross my mind. But, as Sir Louis is employing me to hunt down the murderer, he would hardly act in such a way. Never mind that at the present moment, Hersham, but tell me if you have written to your father?"

"About the tattooed cross? No, I have not done so yet. I don't see how my father can help you."

"I am of another opinion," said Fanks, dryly. "It is my firm conviction that the whole secret of that murder in Tooley Alley lies in the explanation of that tattooed cross. Do not look so scared, Hersham. I do not suspect your father."

"I should think not," said Hersham, fiercely.

Fanks laughed indulgently, in nowise offended with the indignant tone adopted by the young man. Indeed, he rather admired him for being so ready to take up the cudgels on behalf of his parent. Nevertheless, he stuck to his point, as he was determined to fathom the meaning of the tattooed cross, and he saw no one was so likely to help him to an interpretation as the Rev. George Hersham, Vicar of Fairview, Isle of Wight.

"You must do as I ask," he said, "and write to your father. I must know why he had that cross tattooed on your arm."

"I don't believe my father had anything to do with it," said Hersham, angrily. "However, as you insist on it, I shall go home and see him. If he tells me, I shall tell you. If he refuses, as he has done before--"

"In that case I'll come down to Fairview and see him myself."

"As you please," said Hersham, with a feigned air of indifference, but real vexation. "I'll do my best; I can do no more."

"Don't be angry, old fellow. I don't wish to vex either you or your father, but you must see that it is important that I should know the meaning of this cross. You will go and see Mr. Hersham?"

"Yes; before the end of the week. Will that content you?"

"Yes," replied Fanks, in his turn. "And now, before you go, just tell me if you received a letter from Mrs. Boazoph, and if you have brought it with you?"

"Now it is strange that you should have guessed that," said Hersham, in astonishment. "I did get a letter from Mrs. Boazoph; I brought it to see what you thought of it. It quite slipped my memory till you spoke of it. Here it is. Came yesterday from Fairview."

"From Fairview!" repeated Fanks, making no attempt to take the letter which Hersham held towards him. "Was it sent to that address?"

"Yes, care of my father, who forwarded it on to me. See for yourself."

"Did Mrs. Boazoph know of your address in the Isle of Wight?"

"No, that's odd," added Hersham, staring at Fanks. "How did she get it?"

"From Miss Colmer."

"I have never given any but my London address to Miss Colmer. I had my reasons for not doing so."

"So Mrs. Boazoph knew of your address without your telling her," said the detective, stretching out his hand for the letter. "Queer! If I am not mistaken I--By Jove!"

"What is the matter?"

"Wait. Wait," said Fanks, in great excitement. "Let me read the letter first. My word, here is a discovery."

"What discovery?" asked Hersham, staring at the letter.

But Fanks paid no attention to him. He was already devouring the communication from the landlady of the Red Star, which ran as follows:--

"Dear Mr. Edward Hersham,--Come and see me at once. Important business, and, in the meantime, hold no communication with the man who calls himself Fanks. I will explain when we meet.--Yours, Louisa Boazoph."

"I wish you had shown me this before," said Fanks.

"I was so anxious about what I had to confess, that I forgot, Fanks. Is it important?"

"I should think so. You must see her at once, and tell me what she says. We may find the key to the whole business in her conversation."

"Do you think Mrs. Boazoph has anything to do with it?"

For answer, Fanks got out the photograph of the dead Emma Calvert, and the envelope which had contained the red star. He pointed out the handwritings on both to Hersham.

"You see that," he said, eagerly. "The handwriting on the back of the portrait, and that on the envelope are the same as that on your letter."

"True enough," said Hersham, examining the three objects closely, "but what of that?"

"Only this. That Mrs. Boazoph addressed the envelope, and enclosed the red cardboard star, which lured the late Sir Gregory Fellenger to his death on the evening of the twenty-first of June."