CHAPTER III.

THE RESULT OF THE CRIME.

A week after his discovery of the identity of the dead man, Fanks, having slipped his detective skin for the time being, was seated in the writing room of the Athenian Club, with the "Morning Planet" newspaper on his knee. He was not reading it, however, but was looking absently at a long and lean young man, who was writing letters at a near table.

Francis Garth, of the Middle Temple, barrister and journalist, was one of the few West End men who knew the real profession of Rixton, alias Fanks. In fact, there was very little he did not know; and Fanks--as it will be convenient to call the detective--was debating as to whether he should question him about the Tooley Alley crime. He was urged to this course by the remembrance that he had seen Garth at the inquest. This had been held on the previous day. The jury had brought in a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, and the conduct of the case had been placed officially in the hands of Fanks. So far all was ship-shape.

And now the detective found himself at a standstill. No evidence had been brought forward implicating either Mrs. Boazoph or Dr. Renshaw; and, doubtful as was Fanks as to their honesty, he could gain no clue from the one or the other of them likely to elucidate the mystery. Failing this, he had determined to learn if possible all about the previous life of the deceased, and in this way discover if anyone was likely to be a gainer by his death. Garth, who had known the late Sir Gregory intimately--who had been present at the inquest--was the most likely person to furnish these details; and Fanks was waiting for an opportunity of addressing him. On the result of the projected conversation would depend his future movements.

"I say, Garth," said Fanks, "how much longer will your correspondence take?"

"I shall be at your service in ten minutes," replied Garth, without desisting from his occupation. "What do you wish to talk about?"

"About the death of your friend, Sir Gregory Fellenger."

Garth looked up and turned round with alacrity.

"Is the case in your hands, Fanks?"

"Yes; and I want some information from you."

"I shall be happy to give it. But wait for a few minutes; I am just writing about it to a friend of mine--and yours."

"Humph! and the name?"

"Ted Hersham, the journalist."

They looked at one another, the same thought occupying both their minds.

"Has your reason for writing anything to do with the left arm of our friend?" asked Fanks, after a pause.

Garth nodded and returned to his work. When he had sealed, directed, and stamped the letter Fanks spoke again.

"Garth?" he said; "I say, Garth?"

"Yes! What's the matter?"

"Don't send that letter till after our conversation."

"Ah! You guess why I am writing to him."

"My remark of a few moments ago ought to have shown you that," said Fanks, dryly. "Yes; I guess your object, and I want you to leave the case in my hands. It is too difficult a one for you to manage alone."

"I know that it is difficult, Fanks, but I wish to solve this mystery."

"Because Fellenger was your friend?" asked Fanks.

"Because Fellenger was my cousin," replied Garth.

The announcement took Fanks by surprise, as he had not known of the relationship. He was aware that Fellenger and Garth had been close friends, but he knew little of the former, save as a club acquaintance, and the latter was very reticent about his private affairs, although he was curious concerning the affairs of others.

"So you wish to revenge the death of your cousin," he remarked after a thoughtful moment.

Garth shrugged his shoulders.

"Hardly that," he replied; "between you and me, I did not care overmuch for Fellenger. He was a bad lot, and we only held together because of our relationship. But I should like to find out what took him to Tooley's Alley and who killed him."

"A laudable curiosity. Do you suspect anybody?"

"Not a soul. I am as much in the dark as--you are."

"I may not be so much in the dark as you think," said the other.

"Then why did you ask me to assist you?" retorted Garth, sharply. "See here, Fanks, I will tell you all that I know if you will promise to keep me posted up concerning the progress of the case."

Fanks twisted his ring and reflected.

"I agree," he said briefly, "but you must not meddle--unless I tell you to do so."

"Agreed!" And the pair shook hands on the bargain.

"And now," said Fanks, grimly, "that letter, if you please."

After a moment's hesitation Garth handed it over. He had a great respect for the mental capacity of his friend, and on the whole he judged it advisable to carry out the agreement which had been concluded.

"Though I would send that letter if I were you," he expostulated; "Hersham has----"

"I know what Hersham has," interrupted Fanks; "but I want him to see me, not you. Wait till we know how we stand at the present moment. Come into the smoking-room and answer my questions."

"What a peremptory chap you are," grumbled Garth, as they left the room. "Evidently you don't confide in my discretion."

"I am about to do so," said Fanks, who understood the art of conciliation; "we will work together, and all that I know you shall know. But you must let me manage things in my own way."

In his heart Garth was flattered that Fanks should have chosen him as his coadjutor, and, dominated by the stronger will of the detective, he quietly took up the position of an underling. Garth was self-willed and not usually amenable to reason; but Fanks had the law at his back, without which Garth could not hope to do anything. Hence his acquiescence.

"Come, now, old fellow," said Fanks, amiably, "we have a hard task before us; so you must make it easier by answering my questions."

"Go on," said Garth, lighting a cigar; "I always give in to a man who has had more experience than myself."

Fanks laughed at this delicate way of adjusting the situation, but as he wished to keep on good terms with the touchy lawyer he let the remark pass in silence. When they were fairly settled, and he saw that they had the smoking-room to themselves, he took out his pocket-book and began his examination as to the past of the dead man.

"The Fellengers are a Hampshire family, I believe?"

"Yes," replied Garth, with a nod; "Sir Gregory was the fourth baronet and only son. The family seat is Mere Hall, near Bournemouth."

"You are Sir Gregory's cousin?"

"I am, on the mother's side."

"Who is the present baronet? Yourself or somebody else?"

"Somebody else," said Garth, with a sigh. "I should have told you if I had been his heir. I wonder at so clever a man as you asking so very frivolous a question."

"I have my reasons," said Fanks calmly. "Well, and who is the heir?"

"My cousin, Louis Fellenger; he is twenty-five years of age, and as great a prig as ever lived."

"Where does he reside now?"

"I believe that he has gone to Mere Hall to take possession of the property. But he did live at Taxton-on-Thames, a village near Weybridge."

"Do you know Sir Louis intimately?"

"No. I have only seen him once or twice. He is a bookish, scientific man, and an invalid;--at least," corrected Garth, "he has always a doctor living with him; a tall, fat brute, called Binjoy, who twists him round his finger. He has been with him for years."

"A tall, fat brute," repeated Fanks, smiling at this amiable description. "Has the gentleman in question a long, brown beard?"

"No, he is clean shaven. A pompous creature, fond of using long words, and proud of his voice and oratorial powers. Something like 'Conversation Kenge' in 'Bleak House.'"

"Humph!" said Fanks, rather struck by the description, which was not unlike that of Renshaw, "we will discuss Dr. Binjoy later on. In the meantime, just enlighten me as to your precise relationship with the present baronet."

"It's easily understood. Gregory's father, Sir Francis--after whom I was named--had a brother and sister. She married my respected father, Richard Garth, and I am the sole offspring."

"And the brother was the father of the present Sir Louis?"

"Exactly. There is a great deal of similarity between all three cases. Gregory was an only child and his parents are dead; Louis is an only child, and his parents have also gone the way of all flesh; I am an only child, and I am likewise an orphan."

Fanks made a note of the family tree in his book.

"So far so good," he said, with a nod. "Sir Gregory is dead and Sir Louis has succeeded him; if Louis dies without issue, you are the heir. And failing you?"

"The property goes to the Crown," replied Garth. "Louis and I are the sole representatives of the Fellengers."

"The race has dwindled considerably. Now what about your dead cousin. He was a trifle rapid, I believe?"

"A regular bad lot; but I kept in with him because--well, because he was useful to me. Understand?"

"Perfectly," replied Fanks, who knew of Garth's financial difficulties. "We will pass that. Have you any idea what took him to Tooley's Alley?"

"Not the slightest. I saw him two days before his death--on the nineteenth--and he said nothing about going there then."

"Did he behave as usual towards you?"

"No. He was out of sorts. He had lost a lot of money at cards, I believe, and he was crabbed in consequence."

"There was no other trouble; no financial difficulty?"

"Not that I know of. Fast as he was, he could not get through ten thousand a year before the age of twenty-eight."

"I have known men who have done so," said Fanks dryly. "However, if it was not a question of money, what about the inevitable woman?"

"I don't think it was that, either," demurred Garth. "It was a man he met--a negro--not a woman."

"True. Well, you were at the inquest?"--

"How do you know?" asked Garth, starting.

"I saw you there in the crowd."

"You see everything, Fanks."

"It is my business to see everything, Garth. It is because you were at the inquest that I sought you out to-day. Now that you have explained to me your relationship to Sir Gregory I understand why you were present. But to return to the main point. You heard the theory of Dr. Renshaw?"

"Yes," replied Garth reflectively. "There might be something in that secret society business. Not, mind you, that Gregory was the man to meddle with rubbish of that kind. He was too much of a fool; but one never knows; a man does not have a cross tattooed on his arm for nothing."

"Do you think that it is the mark of a revolutionary society?"

"I can't say; I should like to know. That is why I was writing to Hersham. Of course you know that he----"

"I know that he has a cross tattooed on his arm also. And it is for that reason that I reject your secret society business."

"It isn't mine. I am merely following the lead of Renshaw."

"Then you are following a will-o-the-wisp," retorted Fanks. "See here, Garth. I have known Hersham for a long time; he is the son of a clergyman in the Isle of Wight. He was brought up to the law like yourself; and also like yourself, he left it for journalism. As you know, he is a merry, open-minded creature, who could not conceal a secret if his life depended upon it. Do you think that if he had been mixed up with secret societies that he would have been able to conceal the fact from me?"

"Then why is there a cross tattooed on his left arm?" asked Garth.

"I intend to see him and find out. I noticed it long ago; but made no remark on it, thinking that it was the result of some school-boy freak. Now it has assumed a new importance in my eyes. Therefore you must let me interview Hersham, and choose my own time and place for doing so."

"I suppose you are right. Tear up that letter, please." Fanks held out the letter.

"Tear it up yourself," he said.

This Garth did without further remark, and looked at his friend.

"What do you intend to do now?" he asked.

"Continue this conversation for a few minutes longer. You were intimate with the dead man, Garth. Did you ever notice this cross?"

"I did not," said Garth, promptly, "or I should have asked what it meant. By Jove!" he added, with a start. "Then all that obliteration business must be nonsense."

"Of course," assented Fanks, smoothly. "I came to that conclusion long ago. Fellenger had no cross on his arm when he entered Tooley's Alley. It was tattooed that night by the negro."

"What makes you think that?"

"I found a few grains of gunpowder on the tablecloth of the room in which they were together; gunpowder is used in tattooing. Again, the arm, when Renshaw showed it to me, was raw, as though the operation had been done lately."

"But why should Gregory go to Tooley's Alley to be tattooed?"

"Tell me that, and the mystery of his death is at an end," said Fanks, significantly. "But I am certain that Fellenger voluntarily let this negro tattoo his arm; and so came by his death."

"Came by his death," echoed Garth in astonishment. "What do you mean?"

"Why," answered Fanks, seriously, "I mean that the needle used for the tattooing was poisoned; and so--," he shrugged his shoulders, "--the man died."