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Transcriber's Notes:
     1. Book Scan Source:
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        (Library of Congress: City of Washington)






_THE "UNKNOWN" LIBRARY_

---------------------




THE LONE INN

A MYSTERY




BY
FERGUS HUME

AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB,"
"THE FEVER OF LIFE," "MADAME MIDAS," "THE
RED STAR," "ALADDIN IN LONDON," "THE
QUEER STORY OF ADAM LIND,"
ETC., ETC.




NEW YORK
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.
31 East 17TH St. (Union Square)






COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY

FERGUS HUME.



Copyright, 1895, by
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.



_All rights reserved_.




THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.






CHAPTER I.
THE ADVENTURE AT THE INN.


If there be aught in presentiments I was well warned by that first
glimpse of the inn. The monstrous bulk of gables, sloping roofs, and
lean chimneys, hunched blackly against the sky, would have scared a
bolder spirit than mine. All day I had walked under blue sky, between
green hedgerows, with light heart and whistling lip. Confronted in the
twilight by so sinister a scene I felt qualmish. Ragged clouds dropped
their fringes over sullen western red, around spread the salt marshes,
evil in their desolation, and I with chilled blood stared at the
lonely mansion dominating the outlook. Here, thought I, an adventure
awaits me. The hour, the house, the scene, hint at romance, and that
of the strangest.

So much were my spirits dashed by these ominous environments, that it
was in my mind to walk the further ten miles and shelter for the night
at Marshminster. Yet some fate compelled my unwilling feet toward that
inhospitable door, and almost before I knew my own mind I was knocking
loudly. It opened while my hand was still raised for the final rap,
and a handsome woman presented herself to my astonished eyes. What
beauty did among the tombs I know not, yet there she smiled. Though
handsome, she was not a lady, and lacked the undefinable stamp of
birth. At the same time she was above the commonality. Not a lady, not
a servant; but something between the two. Her appearance confirmed the
promise of romance.

"I have walked from Eastbury," said I, cap in hand, "and wish to put
up here for the night."

"Marshminster is only ten miles away," answered she, in nowise
disposed to admit me.

"And for that reason I want a bed here. Twenty or more miles walking
under a hot sun has wearied me considerably."

"I am sorry we cannot accommodate you, sir."

"This is an inn," I said, glancing at the sign.

"The Fen Inn, sir," she replied, still smiling, "and full of guests
for the time being."

"Full of guests, in this locality! You must then entertain waterfowl,
for I have seen no human being for the last twelve miles."

She made no direct answer, but shook her head and prepared to close
the door. Piqued by the discourtesy, and still more by the mystery of
this reception, I was about to insist upon admission, when my
attention was attracted to a face at the near window. I recognized it
as that of a college friend, and waved my stick in greeting.

"Halloa, Briarfield!" I shouted lustily. "Come and help me to a
night's lodgings."

The girl was surprised by my remark, and, as I thought, changed color.
She stepped aside to let Briarfield pass, and exhibited further
astonishment at the urbanity of our greeting.

"What wind blows you here, Denham?" asked Briarfield, shaking my hand.

"I am on a walking tour," I answered, "and hoped to have reached
Marshminster to-night. But as it is ten miles away and I feel weary I
wish to sleep here. This young lady, however, says the inn is full of
guests and----"

"Full of guests!" interrupted Briarfield, looking at the girl.
"Nonsense, Rose, I am the only guest here!"

"We expect others, sir," said Rose obstinately.

"You can't expect a sufficient number to fill the house," he retorted;
"surely Mr. Denham can have a bed?"

"I shall ask my father, sir!"

When she disappeared Briarfield turned to me with a smile, and asked a
strange question.

"Now, I'll be bound," said he, "that you don't know my first name?"

"Felix."

"No! You are wrong, I am not the rich Felix, but the poor Francis."

"You see the result of being one of twins," said I impatiently; "if at
college I could not distinguish between you how can you expect me to
do so now? I haven't seen either you or your brother for at least two
years. Where is Felix?"

"At Marshminster."

"And what are you doing here?"

"Ah, that's a long story. If you----"

"Please to walk in, sir," interrupted Rose at this moment, "my father
desires to speak with you."

"I have then to submit myself to the approval of the landlord," said
I, and forthwith entered the house, followed by Francis Briarfield.

The landlord, a lean, saturnine man, above the common height, saluted
me with a sour smile. In appearance and demeanor he was quite in
keeping with that dreary inn. About him lurked a Puritanic flavor, not
ill suited to his somber attire and unctuous speech. He was less like
an innkeeper than a smug valet. I mistrusted the man at first sight.

"I can give you supper and a bed, sir," said he, bending his body and
rubbing his hands, "neither, I regret to say, of the first quality."

"Never mind," I answered, unstrapping my knapsack. "I am too tired and
hungry to be particular."

"We have only lately taken up this house, sir," he continued, still
bowing, "and things are a trifle disordered."

I glanced round. Despite the cheerful blaze of a fire, the room had a
mildewed look, as though long uninhabited. Traces of hasty cleansing
were visible in all corners, and in the dim light filtered through
dusty panes, the apartment had a singularly uninviting aspect. Again
that premonition of misfortune came over me.

"I wonder you took up the house at all," said I. "You won't make your
fortune in this locality."

The landlord made no reply, but muttering something about supper left
the room. His daughter had already departed, presumably in the
direction of the kitchen, and I found myself alone with Francis
Briarfield. He was absently looking out at the window, and started
when I addressed him directly. I augured mystery therefrom.

"What's the meaning of these mysteries?" I asked abruptly. The horror
of the place was already influencing my spirits.

"What mysteries?" demanded Briarfield, in a listless manner.

"This inn has been uninhabited for some considerable period. A
suspicious looking rascal and his pretty daughter have taken up their
abode here with no possible chance of getting customers. I stumble on
this Castle Grim in the twilight and find you here--you of all men,
whom I believed to be in South America. Don't you call these
mysteries?"

"If you put it that way I admit the mysteries," replied Francis,
coming toward the fire. "I know little about the inn--still less about
the landlord and his daughter. As to myself--I am here by appointment
to meet my brother Felix. Came from London to Starby, and rode from
thence to this inn."

"Why meet him in this murderous looking house?"

"He named the place of meeting himself."

"And you?"

"I only arrived this month in England from South America. I wrote him
from London asking to see him. He appointed this inn as neutral ground
for us to meet, so here I am."

"Why neutral ground? Have you quarreled!"

"Bitterly."

"You did so at college," said I looking steadily at him. "Strange that
such ill blood should exist between twin brothers."

"The inevitable woman," said Francis, in a harsh tone, quite at
variance with his usual soft speech.

"Oh! And her name?"

"Olivia Bellin!"

"I know her. Do you mean to say, Briarfield, that----"

"Hush!" he said, rapidly indicating the door, and there stood the girl
Rose listening to our conversation. Her face was pale and it was
evident that the mention of the name had powerfully affected her.
Seeing our eyes were on her, she apologized in a low, nervous voice.

"Your pardon, gentlemen," she said, placing a tray on the table. "I
did not intend to interrupt your conversation. Allow me to lay the
table for supper!"

"First show me my room," said I, picking up my knapsack. "I am dusty,
and wish to give myself a brush up."

Rose nodded, and preceded me out of the apartment. I glanced back, and
saw that Francis had returned to his old post by the window. Evidently
he was watching for the arrival of his brother.

"When does Mr. Felix Briarfield arrive?" I asked Rose, as we ascended
the stairs.

"I don't know the name, sir," she said with an obvious effort.

"You don't know the name," I repeated, seeing she was lying, "yet Mr.
Francis Briarfield is here to meet his brother."

"It may be so, sir! But I know nothing about it. Mr. Briarfield is a
stranger to me, like yourself."

"It is to be hoped you received him more willingly than you did me."

My words fell on the empty air, for after her last remark she hastily
departed. I mechanically attended to my wants, and wondered what could
be the meaning of the girl's attitude.

"She knows Miss Bellin and Felix Briarfield," I thought, "perhaps not
personally, but at least their names. She is also aware of the
intended visit of Felix to this place. I must find out from Francis
the reason of that visit, and it may throw some light on the demeanor
of Rose. I am glad I came here to-night, for that landlord is scarcely
a person to be trusted. Certainly my presentiment of romance is coming
true."

When I descended to the dining room I found supper laid, and Francis
impatiently awaiting my arrival. A lamp was lighted, and for the first
time I saw his face plainly. The alteration in his looks and demeanor
since our college days was astonishing. Felix had always been the
graver of the twins, and it was the distinguishing mark between them.
Now the livelier spirits of Francis had calmed down to a subdued
gravity which made the resemblance between them still greater. We
seated ourselves at the table in silence, and he colored as he caught
my earnest look.

"You find me altered?" he asked, with manifest discomposure.

"Very much altered, and more like Felix than ever!"

"I haven't seen him for over a year," said Briarfield abruptly, "so I
don't know if the resemblance is still strong."

"It is stronger," I answered emphatically. "I saw Felix two months
ago, and now I look at you to-night I can scarcely believe it is
Francis, and not Felix seated before me."

"We are alike to outward view, Denham, but I hope our natures are
different."

"What do you mean?"

"Felix," said he, with marked deliberation, "is a thief, a liar, and a
dishonorable man!"

"You speak strongly!"

"I have reason to."

"The before-mentioned reason, Briarfield," said I, alluding to the
feminine element.

"Yes! By the way," he added feverishly, "you said Miss Bellin was
known to you."

"In a casual way only. She is a society beauty, and I have met her
once or twice; also her very silly mother. The latter is as remarkable
for folly as the former is for beauty. Well, Briarfield, and what
about Miss Bellin?"

"I was engaged to her."

"You are engaged to her?"

"I said I 'was,'" he replied, with emphasis; "now she is engaged to my
brother."

"Of her own free will?"

"I don't know," said Briarfield, "I really don't know. When I went to
Chili I was her affianced lover. Now I return and learn that she is to
marry my brother."

"What explanation does he make?"

"None as yet. To-night or to-morrow morning he comes here to explain."

"But why here, of all places?"

"Miss Bellin is in Marshminster. Felix is staying there also, and in
his letter asked me to see him at the Fen Inn, as he wished to explain
his conduct fully before I met Olivia again."

"And you agreed?"

"As you see."

"In your place," said I meditatively, "I should have gone at once to
Marshminster and confronted both. There is some trickery about this."

"You think so?"

"I am by nature suspicious," I answered, "perhaps too much so. Yes! I
think there is some trickery."

Francis frowned and glanced at his watch.

"It is now eight o'clock," he said, replacing it in his pocket, "too
late to go to Marshminster.'

"Besides which," I added, "our worthy landlord has doubtless neither
trap nor horse."

By this time we had finished supper and Rose came in to clear away.
Thoughtfully filling my pipe I watched her closely. Undeniably she was
a very beautiful woman, and ill suited to her present occupation. Why
a girl so handsome should bury herself in this lonely inn was a
mystery to me. I felt sure that there was a purpose connected with her
presence here, and that inimical to Briarfield. The landlord did not
make his appearance, which was to me a matter of some relief. I
disliked the fellow greatly.

Francis, smoking hard, sat staring at the fire, and took no heed of
Rose. Once or twice she glanced in his direction, and looked as though
about to address him. Catching my eye, she bit her lip and desisted.
Finally she disappeared from the room with manifest anger at not
having accomplished her design.

"Strange," said I, lighting my pipe.

"What is strange?" asked Briarfield, looking up.

"That girl knows your brother."

"It's not impossible," he answered carelessly; "Felix always had an
eye for pretty faces, and as he appointed this inn as a meeting place,
he has probably been here before. Rose Strent no doubt draws him
hither by her beauty."

"That is not a compliment to Miss Bellin."

"I know it. Felix is a profligate scamp, and will make her a bad
husband. He shall not marry her!" added Briarfield angrily. "I say he
shall not marry her and make her life miserable! I'll kill him first!"

"Man! man! think of what you are saying--your own brother."

"My own brother--my twin brother," scoffed Francis; "is that any
reason why he should take away from me the woman I love?"

"She is not worth regretting if she forgets you so soon."

"She has not forgotten me," he said earnestly; "I assure you, Denham,
she loves me still. The last letter I received from her gave no hint
that she wearied of me. As you say, there is some trickery about it.
I'll have an explanation from Felix," continued he, striking the table
with his fist, "or, by Heaven, I'll kill him!"

"Where did you meet her?" I asked, ignoring his last remark, which was
but idle.

"In town, over a year ago," he replied, calming down. "She is, as you
know, very beautiful, and her mother wished her to make a great match.
I am comfortably off, but have not a title, therefore Mrs. Bellin
would not sanction the engagement. Then I had to go out to South
America on business connected with my property. Before I left she
promised to become my wife, and swore that nothing should part us or
render her false to me. See, here is the ring she gave me," he added,
stretching out his hand, "this pearl ring. I was to be back in six
months, and our engagement was to be made public. I am back in six
months, and the first news I hear is that she is to marry Felix."

"Did she write and tell you so?"

"No, but Felix did, and asked me to meet him here before seeing her."

"Now, I wonder if this apparent treachery of Miss Bellin has anything
to do with your twinship."

"What do you mean?" asked Briarfield, starting up.

"You are so like in appearance," said I, "that no one could tell you
apart. You have lived constantly together save for the last six
months, and know every action of each other's lives. It may be that
Felix has passed himself off to Miss Bellin as you."

"Impossible! She would detect the deception."

"I doubt it, save by intuition. I assure you, Briarfield, that the
resemblance between you is most perplexing. There is not the slightest
difference. You dress the same, you have the same features, you almost
think the same. It is scarce possible to tell which is which when
apart. I thought to-night that you were Felix."

"It cannot be, it cannot be," he muttered feverishly; "her own heart
would tell her the truth."

"Did you tell Felix of your engagement?" I asked abruptly.

"Yes; I told him all."

"And when did you hear last from Miss Bellin?"

"Some three months ago. It was because she did not reply to my letters
that I came back so soon."

"To whom were your letters sent?"

"To her, of course!"

"Care of Felix?" said I, with instinctive suspicion.

"Why, yes," he said, with a sudden frown. "I did not want Mrs. Bellin
to know of our engagement, so did not dare to write openly. Felix
undertook to deliver the letters."

"He may have undertaken to do so, but," I added forcibly, "he did
not."

"Denham!"

"The whole case is as clear as day," said I. "Felix was in love with
Miss Bellin, and wished to marry her. Knowing she was in love with
you, he was well aware he had no chance, so resorted to trickery. When
you left for Chili, he gave her your letters for three months, then
saying he was going abroad, ostensibly left England, but really
stayed, and presented himself as--you."

"As me!"

"Yes. He has traded on the marvelous resemblance between you. He knows
all your life, all your love affairs, and I have no doubt that Miss
Bellin believes that he is Francis Briarfield, her lover, returned
from South America in three months instead of six."

"If I thought so," muttered Francis, biting his fingers, "if I thought
so----"

"I am sure it is so. Now you see why it is imperative that he should
interview you before you meet Miss Bellin. He wishes to reveal the
deception and throw himself on your mercy."

"He'll get no mercy from me if this is so," said Briarfield, in a
somber tone. "Oh, fool that I was not to write direct to Olivia when I
came back to England! But it is not too late. When he comes here I'll
learn the truth, and denounce him to Olivia. Then our troubles will be
over."

"A man capable of such a trick is capable of worse," said I
sententiously. "I advise you to be on your guard against Felix."

"Do you think he'll kill me?"

"I don't go as far as that," I replied cautiously; "but your meeting
will be--productive of trouble. Just now you expressed a wish to kill
him."

"And I shall, if he has tricked me as you say."

"Nonsense, Briarfield; you talk wildly. This matter can surely be
settled in a less melodramatic fashion. I am glad I am here, as
perhaps you will permit me to be present at the interview."

"Willingly. I know how clever you are, Denham. You may assist me to
unmask Felix."

"Do you think he'll come to-night?" said I, going to the window.

"His letter said to-night or to-morrow!"

"Then it will be to-morrow! Felix wouldn't risk meeting you at night
if he has thus betrayed you. Let us go to bed and to-morrow settle the
matter."

At first Francis was unwilling to retire, but when the landlord came
to lock up for the night, and laughed at the idea of anyone coming
there from Marshminster, he fell in with my desire. Together we went
upstairs and parted on the threshold of his room. It was five or six
doors away from mine.

"Lock your door," said I as we parted.

"What! do you think I'll be murdered in my sleep?"

"No! but I don't like the inn, and I dislike the face of Strent, the
landlord. Besides," I continued, tapping Briarfield's breast, "that
girl Rose!"

"What about her?"

"She knows Miss Bellin. Goodnight!"

With that I departed, notwithstanding his desire for an explanation of
my last words. So wearied was I that despite my suspicions of the inn
I speedily fell asleep.




CHAPTER II.
THE SEQUEL TO THE ADVENTURE AT THE INN.


It was close on ten o'clock when I awoke next morning. My long tramp
of the previous day had tired me more than I thought. Nevertheless, I
was annoyed at oversleeping myself, and astonished that Francis had
not called me earlier. I knew how anxious he was about the proposed
meeting with his brother, and fancied that his impatience would have
drawn him to my room at dawn. Apparently he was less curious
concerning the interview than I thought. Yet, leaving him out of the
question, I ought certainly to have been roused by Strent or his
daughter, and determined to reprove them for such neglect. After all,
an inn is an inn, and one has a right to attentions for which one
pays. Judging from the landlord's looks, I did not think my bill would
err on the side of cheapness.

These thoughts passed through my mind as I hastily dressed myself.
Opening the window, I looked out on the marshes, golden in the
sunshine. A keen wind was blowing from the sea, and the smell of brine
struck into the heavy atmosphere of my bedroom. An absolute stillness
prevailed both inside and out. I felt as though I had awakened in the
spellbound palace of the sleeping beauty. An inn, of all places,
should be full of bustle and noise, but there was something uncanny in
the silence which reigned in this marsh-locked hostel. It hinted
trouble, and I felt uneasy.

In no very good temper I descended to the dining room, with the
intention of apologizing to Francis for my tardy appearance and of
rating the landlord for his negligence. To my astonishment, neither
Francis nor anyone else was seen, and the room was in precisely the
same condition as on the previous night. The fire was unlighted, the
table not set out for breakfast, even the window blinds were down. For
the moment I was sick with apprehension, as it was impossible to
conjecture the reason of this neglect and absence of human life. The
stillness was as absolute as had prevailed upstairs, and when I rang
the bell it echoed throughout the house as though mocking my efforts
to summon landlord, maid, or friend.

Twice, thrice, I pulled the bell-rope without result; then, somewhat
unnerved by the silence in which I found myself, went to the back part
of the premises. Here the condition of things was the same as in the
dining room. The kitchen was empty, nor were there any signs of fire
or of food. I explored the whole of the ground floor and found nobody.
The conclusion forced itself upon me that Strent and his daughter had
left the inn during the night.

What was the meaning of this sudden flight? What reason could be
sufficiently powerful to force them to vacate the premises? Asking
myself these questions I entered room after room, but in none of them
did I find any answer. The front door was bolted and barred, the back
entrance was in the same condition, and there was no key in either
lock. I considered the features of the case, and saw that the air was
full of mystery, perhaps of--but no, in that lonely house I could not
bring myself to utter that terrible word.

I knew not what had happened during my sleep, but felt certain that
some event had taken place. Otherwise there could be no reason for
this state of things. Almost against my will I searched the house
again, but could discover neither Strent nor his daughter Rose. I was
alone in the house! But Francis----

"Francis!" said I, repeating my thoughts aloud, "aye, Francis. I
wonder if he has left the inn also, or whether he has overslept
himself, and is still in his room."

To make sure, I went upstairs to his bedroom. Pray observe that all
this time I had not connected these things with crime. It is true I
had a faint suspicion that there might possibly be some foul play, but
as there was nothing to confirm such a belief I abandoned the idea. I
declare that when I knocked at the door of Briarfield's room I had no
more idea of the horrid truth than a babe unborn. My premonitions
pointed to mystery, but not to murder. Yet from the conversation of
the previous night I might have guessed what had happened. The house
was as accursed as the palace of the Artidæ and Ate bided on the
threshold stone.

Not until I had thrice knocked without receiving any answer did my
suspicions begin to form. Then they took shape in an instant. I tried
the door. It was locked. The ominous silence still hinted at
unspeakable horrors. My knocking echoed jarringly through the
stillness. At that moment there flashed before my eyes the picture of
two figures flying across a red horizon against which blackened the
beams of a gallows. It was the shadow of the future. I knocked, I
called his name, and finally in desperation at the continued silence
set my shoulder against the crazy door. It yielded with a tearing
sound, and I entered the room amid a cloud of fine dust.

He was lying on the bed stiff and cold. I had no need to call, to
touch his shoulder, to place my hand on his heart. He was dead! With
the clothes drawn up smoothly to his chin lay the man with whom I had
conversed the previous night. The right arm lay outside the
counterpane. On the hand glistened a pearl ring. I looked at that
bauble, I glanced at the waxen face. The matter was beyond all doubt.
Francis Briarfield was dead.

Before I could further examine the body or the room I was forced to
run for my brandy flask. For the moment I was deadly sick, and it
needed a long draft of the fiery spirit to speed the stagnating blood
through my veins. The strange circumstance was a sufficient apology
for such qualmishness. This lonely inn set on a hand breadth of living
ground amid quaking bogs, this dead body of what had once been a
friend, this solitude by which I found myself environed, these were
sufficient to shake the strongest nerve. It looks in a manner prosaic
on black and white, but think of the horror of the actual experience!

For the moment I could formulate no ideas on the subject. That my
friend should be dead was sufficient to stun me. When reason came back
I asked myself how he died and who was responsible for the crime. The
landlord, the maid, the brother--one of these three had murdered
Francis Briarfield. But in what way?

I examined the body. It was clothed in a nightgown and the clothes lay
folded up on the chair by the bedside. The face was calm, there were
no marks of violence on the throat or on the frame. Only on the violet
lips lingered a slight curl of foam. The smooth bedclothes drawn up to
the chin forbade the idea of a struggle. I looked at the right arm
lying on the counterpane, at the hand, and there in the palm was a
ragged wound from thumb to little finger. It was discolored at the
edges, and looked green and unwholesome. This livid appearance made me
think of poison, but I was not sufficiently a doctor to diagnose the
case correctly. Yet I was certain of one thing. That Francis
Briarfield had come by his death in some foul fashion, and that at the
hands of--whom?

Aye! there was the rub. So far as I knew the landlord had no motive to
commit such a crime. Suspicions pointed toward the maid who had wished
to speak with the dead man after supper. Yet why should she desire his
death? From the lips of Francis himself I had heard that he knew
neither Strent nor Rose, nor indeed aught of the Fen Inn. Hither he
had been brought by his brother's letter to keep an appointment, and
was as ignorant of the inn, of its inmates, of its surroundings as I.

Could Felix have committed the crime? True, if my theory were correct,
and he had passed himself off to Olivia Bellin as Francis, there were
some grounds for believing he wished his brother out of the way.
Francis would undoubtedly refuse to permit the deception to be carried
on, so it was just possible that Felix, in a frenzy of wrath and
terror at the idea of his treachery being exposed, might have slain
his brother. Yet all this fine theory was upset by the fact that Felix
had not arrived on the previous night to keep the appointment. He
therefore must be guiltless.

If so, what of the landlord and his daughter? Certainly they had no
reason to slay a stranger who had sheltered under their roof for the
night. Yet their flight looked suspicious. If they were innocent why
did they leave the inn?

Another question pregnant with meaning was the reason of their being
alone in the inn. I had seen no servants either indoors or out. Father
and daughter appeared to do all the work, yet it was beyond all reason
that they should have no assistance. Where was the cook, the waiter,
the hostler, the chambermaid? The house was a large one. Two people
with all the will in the world could not thoroughly attend to the
domestic economy of so great a mansion. Moreover, the girl had looked
unused to work. That in itself was suspicious.

"Can it be?" I thought. "Can it be that these two hired this inn to
compass the death of Francis Briarfield, and that he was drawn here as
into a snare by his brother's letter? On the face of it, it looks
absurd, and yet in what other way can I explain the absence of
servants, the mildewed aspect of the rooms? Now Francis is dead, and
they without a word to me have departed."

I could not solve the mystery. Far from doing so, the more I thought,
the more I examined the surroundings, the deeper grew the mystery. The
door had been locked and I could find no key. The window also was
locked, and even had it not been, no one could have entered thereby,
so considerable was the height from the ground. How, then, had the
assassin gained admittance? Yet sure was I that Briarfield had been
murdered, but by whom it was hard to say--nay, impossible.

I did indeed think that he had committed suicide, but this was too
wild an idea to entertain even for a moment. When I parted from him on
the previous night he was in the best of health, looking forward to
meeting Miss Bellin, and was passably content with his life. There was
no hint of self-destruction either in speech or action. The thought
that his brother had deceived him would not have engendered such an
idea. Rather was he determined to unmask the traitor, and regain his
promised wife by force. Murder it might be, suicide was out of the
question.

Thus far I threshed out the matter, yet arrived at no logical
conclusion. As there seemed no signs of landlord and maid, it behooved
me to consider what I should do. According to Francis, his brother was
due at the meeting place that morning, so I deemed it advisable to
wait until he arrived, and then explain the circumstances to him. If
he was in league with Strent to murder his brother he would hardly be
able to disguise his joy at hearing the success of his plot. I
therefore determined to watch his face during the interview, and if I
saw therein any signs of guilt, to there and then in that lonely inn
accuse him as a second Cain. By thus terrorizing his soul with such
accusation and with the sight of his victim I might force him into
confession.

If he were guilty, I guessed the plea behind which he would shelter
himself: That he had not been near the place on the previous night.
This I would counter by the accusation that his emissaries had carried
out his orders and then sought safety in flight. It might be that I
suspected Felix wrongly, yet, after the story told me by Francis, I
could not but think he was connected in some unseen way with the death
of the latter. But, after all, these suspicions were yet vague and
aimless. All I knew for certain was that Francis Briarfield was dead.
I swore on the instant to devote myself to finding out and punishing
his detestable assassin.

Having come to this resolution, I propped up the open door, so as to
close the entrance to the chamber of death, and descended to the lower
regions. Finding victuals and fuel in the kitchen, I cooked myself a
meal, and made a sufficiently good breakfast. Then I lighted my pipe
and took my seat at the front door, to watch for the coming of Felix
Briarfield. Whether my suspicions would be dispelled or confirmed by
his demeanor I was, of course, unable to say until the interview took
place. But I was most anxious to know.

All that morning I looked down the winding road to Marshminster, but
saw no one coming therefrom. Not a soul was in sight, and if I did for
a moment think that Strent and his daughter might return and declare
themselves innocent, the thought was banished by a few hours' outlook.
The inn, as I said before, was on a slight rise, and I could see far
and wide. No human being was to be seen, and as the hours passed I
grew almost horrified at the gruesome solitude. To be alone with a
dead body in a lonely house in a lonely moor is hardly healthy for the
mind.

Toward noon I took a resolution.

"If," said I, "the mountain won't come to Mahomet--why, then, Mahomet
must go to the mountain."

The interpretation of this was that I intended to see Felix Briarfield
at Bellin Hall, Marshminster. Face to face with him, I would force him
to explain why he had not kept the appointment. It seemed to me a
suspicious circumstance. Perhaps Strent had told him Francis was dead,
and therefore it would be useless for him to ride to the Fen Inn. If
this were so, it would go a long way toward implicating him in the
crime.

I re-entered the house, locked up everything, and, strapping on my
knapsack, took my departure toward Marshminster. Some way down the
road I looked back at the ruin, and saw it loom more grim and ghastly
than ever. Even in the bright sunshine it could not appear otherwise
than eerie, and it was with great pleasure that I left it behind. Yet
under those sloping roofs Francis Briarfield lay dead, and it was to
discover his assassin and to avenge his death that I set my face
toward Marshminster.




CHAPTER III.
FELIX OR FRANCIS?


Late in the afternoon I tramped into Marshminster. It was by no means
my first visit to that sleepy provincial town. Under the shadow of the
cathedral tower dwelt relatives with whom I had aforetime spent school
and college holidays. Their house was the goal of my pilgrimage, and a
week's rest was to recoup me for the toils of the walking tour. The
tragic occurrence at the Fen Inn altered all my plans. With an
assassin to be tracked, there was no time for comfortable idleness.
Francis Briarfield had been my friend, and I owed it to his memory to
avenge his death. It was no easy task I had set myself; I recognized
that from the first.

In place, therefore, of seeking the center of the town and my maiden
aunt's, I turned off at the outskirts and made for Bellin Hall.
According to the story of Francis, his brother was staying with the
Bellins, and it was necessary that I should see him at once about the
matter. My acquaintance with Mrs. Bellin and her daughter was confined
to casual conversation at crowded "at homes" during the season. I had
hardly the right to thrust myself on them uninvited, but my business
brooked of no delay. The sooner Felix knew the truth the better it
would be for him. If he were guilty, I could punish him for his crime
by denouncing him at once to the authorities; if innocent, he need
lose no time in hunting down those who had slain his brother. Besides,
I wished to put Olivia on her guard against the man masquerading as
Francis Briarfield. That I intended to do in any case, whether he was
innocent or guilty.

Bellin Hall was a grotesque specimen of architecture, built by
Jeremiah Bellin, who had made his money out of blacking. It was
uncommonly like a factory, but perhaps the deceased Jeremiah liked
something to remind him of the origin of his fortune and keep him from
thinking his ancestors came over with William the Conqueror. He
married the daughter of a baronet, and then took his departure to the
next world, leaving his widow well provided for and his daughter an
heiress in her own right. Mrs. Bellin was a pretty woman, with no
brains and a giggling laugh. Her daughter had the beauty of her mother
and the brains of her father, so she was altogether a charming girl.
How she could tolerate her silly dolly of a mother I could never
understand. Perhaps twenty-three years of constant forbearance had
inured her to the trial.

On arriving at the front door I learned that Mr. Briarfield was
within, and sent up my card, requesting a private interview. For the
present I did not wish to see Olivia, as it was my intention to warn
Felix that I was cognizant of his trickery. My theory was proved
correct by the following dialogue:

Myself: "Is Mr. Briarfield within?"

Footman: "Yes, sir. Mr. Francis Briarfield has just returned from
town."

After which question and answer I was shown into a room. Observe that
I said "Mr. Briarfield," and the footman answered "Mr. Francis
Briarfield." Now, as I well knew that the man bearing that name was
lying dead at the Fen Inn, it was conclusive proof that Felix, to gain
the hand of Olivia, was masquerading as his brother. I had just argued
this out to my complete satisfaction when Felix made his appearance.

The resemblance between the brothers was extraordinary. I had some
difficulty in persuading myself that the man before me was not he whom
I had seen dead that morning. The same pale face, dark hair, and
jaunty mustache, the same gestures, the same gravity of demeanor, and
actually the same tones in the voice. There was not the slightest
difference between Felix and Francis; the one duplicated the other. I
no longer wondered that Olivia was deceived. Despite my acquaintance
with the brothers, I should have been tricked myself. As it was I
stared open-mouthed at the young man.

"This is a pleasant surprise, Denham," he said, looking anxiously at
me. "I did not know you were in this part of the world."

"Nor was I until yesterday. I am on a walking tour, and last night
slept at the Fen Inn."

"The Fen Inn," he repeated, with a slight start; "what took you to
that out of the way place?"

"I came by the marshes, and, as I was belated, had to take the shelter
that offered."

"But, man alive!" said Felix, raising his eyebrows, "the inn is
empty."

This time it was my turn to be astonished. If Felix thought the inn
was empty, why did he appoint it as a meeting place for his brother?
He either knew too much or too little, so it behooved me to conduct
the conversation with the utmost dexterity.

"It was not empty last night, at all events," I retorted, keeping my
eyes fixed on his face.

"Indeed! Are gypsies encamped there?" he said coolly.

"Well, not exactly," I answered, emulating his calm; "it was in charge
of a man called Strent, and his daughter."

"This is news to me. I was always under the impression that the Fen
Inn was quite deserted."

"You have not been near it lately?"

"No! Nobody goes near it. They say it is haunted."

"Pshaw," I answered angrily, "an old wife's tale. And yet," I added,
after a moment's thought, "it may well be haunted after what took
place there last night."

"This begins to grow interesting," said Felix. "Had you an adventure?"

"Yes! I met with your brother."

"Impossible! My brother Felix is in Paris."

"I am talking of Francis."

"Francis!" he repeated, with a disagreeable smile. "Francis! Well,
Denham! I am Francis."

"I think you are making a mistake, Briarfield," said I coldly; "your
brother Francis slept at the Fen Inn last night."

"I slept in this house."

"I quite believe that. But you are Felix!"

"Oh!" said Briarfield, bursting into a harsh laugh. "I see you are
making the inevitable mistake of mixing me up with my brother. It is
pardonable under the circumstances, otherwise I might resent your
plain speaking."

The assurance of the man was so complete that I wondered if he knew
that his secret was safe by the death of his brother. Such knowledge
would account for his complacency. Yet it was quite impossible that he
could know of the death, as he certainly had not been to the inn. I
knew that from my own knowledge.

"If you are Francis," said I slowly, "you are engaged to Miss Bellin."

"I am," he answered haughtily, "but by what right you----"

"One moment, Mr. Briarfield. Miss Bellin gave her lover Francis a
pearl ring. I do not see it on your finger."

He glanced down at his hand and grew confused.

"I lost it," he muttered, "I lost it some time ago."

"That is not true!"

"Do you dare to----"

"I dare anything in connection with what I know to be a fraud. You are
passing yourself off as your brother Francis."

"By what right do you make this mad assertion?"

"From what Francis told me last night."

"But I tell you I am Francis," he said savagely. "Don't I know my own
name?"

"If you are the man you assert yourself to be, where is the pearl
ring?"

"I lost it."

"You did not! You never had it! I saw it on the finger of Francis no
later than last night."

"I think you are mad, Denham!" said Felix, white with passion; "or
else you must be talking of Felix, who is in Paris."

"That untruth will not serve," I said coldly. "Felix is before me, and
Francis is lying dead at the Fen Inn."

"What, Francis dead?" he cried unguardedly.

"Ah! you admit it is Francis!"

"No, I don't," he retorted quickly. "I only re-echoed your words. What
do you mean by saying such a thing?"

For answer I rose from my seat and made for the door. The farce
wearied me.

"Where are you going, Denham?" he asked, following me up.

"For the police!" I answered, facing him. "Yes, I am determined to
find out the mystery of Francis Briarfield's death. You, his brother,
decline to help me, so I shall place the matter in the hands of the
authorities!"

"Upon my soul, Denham," said Felix, detaining me, "you are either mad
or drunk. I declare most solemnly that I am Francis Briarfield. From
this story of yours I should think it was my brother Felix who is
dead, did I not know he is in Paris."

"A fine story, but it does not impose on me," I answered scoffingly.
"Listen to me, Briarfield. Your brother Francis went out to South
America some six months ago. Before he went he was engaged to Miss
Bellin. The mother would not hear of the marriage, so the engagement
was kept quiet. You alone knew of it and took advantage of such
knowledge to suppress the letters sent to Miss Bellin through you by
Francis, and represent yourself to Olivia as her lover returned three
months before his time. You, I quite believe, are supposed to be in
Paris, so that you may the more easily carry out the game."

"This is mere raving!"

"It is the truth, and you know it. As Miss Bellin did not answer his
letters, Francis thought something was wrong and returned home. Afraid
lest he should find out your plot, you asked him to meet you at the
Fen Inn, and there either intended to throw yourself on his mercy
or--to murder him!"

"Murder him!" he repeated fiercely; "it is false!"

"That will be for the police to determine!"

"But surely, Denham, you don't intend to inform the police?"

"I am going to do so now."

Felix seized me by the arm and dragged me back to my seat. He was now
much agitated, but made every effort to restrain his emotion.

"Sit down," he said in a hoarse tone. "You do me wrong, Denham--on my
soul you do me wrong. I was engaged! I am engaged to Olivia Bellin;
her mother consented to our engagement after I returned to England
three months ago. Felix, I believe, is in Paris! I don't know whom you
met at the inn last night. It was not I--it could not have been Felix.
There was no appointment between us. I am not masquerading as Francis,
because I am Francis."

"I don't believe you!"

"You must! I can bring forward witnesses to prove my identity!"

"They may be misled by the resemblance. Remember you and Francis are
twins."

"I said before, and I say it again, you are mad!" he cried, roughly
casting me off. "Who ever heard of an appointment being made at a
ruined inn? No one has lived there for months. Anyone in Marshminster
will tell you so."

"Strent and his daughter Rose----"

I began, when he cut me short.

"Who are they? I never heard of them. They are figments of some dream.
You went into that ruined inn last night and dreamed all this."

"You don't believe my story?"

"Not one word," said Felix, coolly looking me straight in the face.

"Then I don't believe one word of yours!" I cried, jumping up; "let us
place the matter in the hands of the authorities and see who will be
believed."

"What are you going to say, Denham?"

"Say! that Francis Briarfield has died in the Fen Inn."

"You won't believe that I am Francis?" he said, evidently making some
resolve.

"No, you are Felix!"

"One moment," he said, going to the door; "I shall prove my identity,
and in a manner that will admit of no denial."

With that he vanished, and I waited to see what further evidence he
would bring forward to back up his imposture.




CHAPTER IV.
OLIVIA'S EVIDENCE.


Here was no doubt that Felix intended to continue passing himself off
as Francis. For how long I was uncertain; perhaps for the rest of his
natural life, or until he made Olivia his wife. In this latter event
he could reveal the fraud with impunity and revert to his own
identity. I could not help thinking that he had been informed
beforehand of the death of his brother, else he would not have dared
to keep up his imposture with a possible revelation so near at hand.
Even assuming such ignorance, I had now told him of the death myself,
and so strengthened his position. I regretted that I had not been more
cautious.

I was curious to see whom he would bring forward as a witness to his
identity. Scarcely Olivia, as if she once had a suspicion of the truth
she would never rest until all was cleared up to her satisfaction. I
hardly thought Felix would run such a risk, the more so as his story
of losing the pearl ring could not stand against my assertion that it
was on the finger of the dead man. If he still persisted in declaring
himself to be Francis, I determined that he should ride with me to the
Fen Inn and there see the corpse of the man whose name he had so
shamelessly assumed. That would surely settle the matter.

Felix was bolder than I gave him credit for, as his witness proved to
be none other than Olivia Bellin. She entered the room with assumed
lightness, but her face was anxious and she glanced every now and then
at Felix, as though to seek his aid and countenance. He, as was
natural, wore a haggard expression. His nerves were tensioned up to
the highest pitch, a matter of small wonderment, seeing that his
life's happiness depended upon this interview.

"What is this strange story you bring, Mr. Denham?" asked Olivia,
greeting me coldly. In our best days we were never overfriendly.

"Has not Mr. Briarfield told you?"

"I have not had the time," interposed Felix quickly; "beyond a few
hints of the truth she knows nothing."

"Not even that you are Felix Briarfield?"

"Felix!" repeated Miss Bellin in surprise. "But you are making a
mistake, Mr. Denham; this is Francis."

"So he says!"

"You see, Olivia," said Briarfield, addressing Miss Bellin, "Denham
insists upon taking me for my brother Felix."

"How absurd! I assure you, Mr. Denham, that Felix is in Paris. I only
received a letter from him this morning."

"Impossible!" said I, taken aback by the authority of her tone.

"It is quite true," she continued hurriedly. "Excuse me for a moment,
and I shall fetch the letter. You must believe the evidence of your
own eyes."

When she left the room, Felix turned toward me with a gleam of triumph
in his eyes.

"Are you convinced?" he asked mockingly.

"No; I am puzzled."

"In what way?"

"To think how you managed to get that letter sent on from Paris
without being there yourself."

"Against stupidity the gods themselves fight in vain," quoth Felix,
shrugging his shoulders. "I assure you that my brother Felix is in
Paris. Miss Bellin is about to produce a letter received from him only
this morning, and yet you insist that I am not myself, and that he
whom I pretend to be is dead. You are mad."

"Here is the letter," said Miss Bellin, entering at this moment. "You
see it bears the date of yesterday, He is at present staying at the
Hôtel des Étrangers, Rue de St. Honoré, but talks of going to Italy."

I examined the letter closely. It was genuine enough; of that there
was no doubt, as it bore the French and English postmarks. I quite
believed that it was written by Felix, but also that it had been
forwarded from Paris by an emissary of the young man in order to keep
up the needful deception. Certainly Felix had a marked talent for
intrigue.

"If Felix Briarfield is in Paris," said I, handing back the letter to
Olivia, "who was it I met at the Fen Inn last night?"

"The Fen Inn!" replied Olivia, with a puzzled look; "why, no one lives
there now, Mr. Denham. It is in ruins, and has been empty for over two
years."

"Nevertheless, it was tenanted last night, and I slept there. Also I
met Francis Briarfield at the same place."

"Francis was not out of the house last night," declared Olivia
decisively.

"Quite true," he replied. "I went to bed early with a bad headache."

"It was not you I met at the inn last night, but your brother
Francis."

"How can you persist in so foolish a story?" said Olivia angrily.
"This is Francis, and Felix is in Paris. You could not have met either
of them at the Fen Inn last night, and, indeed, I can't believe that
you slept there at all!"

"I did, Miss Bellin, and there I met Francis."

"If you did, where is he now? Why not clear up the mystery by bringing
him here with you?"

"Because he is dead!"

"Dead!" she echoed, catching the arm of Felix. "Dead! Who is dead?"

"Francis Briarfield."

"He is mad," she said to Felix in a low tone, her face white with
fear.

"Upon my word, I am beginning to think so myself," I said, losing my
temper; "but I declare on my oath that I speak the truth. There is
only one way of solving the riddle. Come out with me to the Fen Inn,
and look on the face of the dead man I say is Francis Briarfield. A
single glance will give the lie to the assertion of this man who
pretends to be your lover!"

Felix looked at Olivia, she at him. It seemed to me that they grew a
shade paler. I wondered whether any guilty bond existed between them,
as certainly they seemed to understand one another very well. Olivia
appeared anxious to protect Felix from harm. Either she really
believed him to be Francis, or had taken her heart from one brother
and given it to the other. It was she who spoke first in and
throughout the interview; the woman played a more daring game than did
the man. Her attitude puzzled me, and for the moment I was quite in
the dark as to what were her real thoughts regarding my story and that
of the pseudo Francis.

"We cannot go to-night," she said, with some hesitation, "but tomorrow
morning, if you like, we will ride out to the inn."

I glanced at my watch.

"It is now five o'clock," said I; "and will be light up to nine or
thereabouts. There is plenty of time for us to ride to the Fen Inn,
and I think it advisable to do so at once."

"Why not to-morrow morning?" objected Felix.

"Great Heavens, Briarfield! have you no natural affection? Don't I
tell you that your brother is lying dead there? Can't you understand
the necessity of attending to so serious a matter without delay? If
you have no affection, you might at least have decency."

"I decline to believe that my brother is dead," said Briarfield
coolly; "that letter shown to you by Olivia proves that he was in
Paris yesterday. He could not have come over so quickly, and, besides,
would have no reason to go to the Fen Inn."

"Of course, if you insist upon assuming your brother's name, I can say
nothing, but I know the truth, and had it from the lips of Francis."

"What do you mean?" asked Olivia.

"I mean that Francis returned from Chili a few days ago and went to
the Fen Inn by appointment in order to hear the explanation of Felix."

"What explanation?"

"The reason of Felix passing himself off as Francis."

"You are utterly mistaken, Mr. Denham. I swear that this is Francis,
the man to whom I am engaged!"

"Can you wish for stronger proof?" asked Felix, with the marked
intention of insulting me.

I paid no attention to his sneer, but turned round to Miss Bellin, and
asked a pertinent question.

"Where is the pearl ring you gave Francis, Miss Bellin?"

"The pearl ring!" she said, much agitated. "Yes, I did give Francis a
pearl ring, but he lost it. Did you not lose it, Francis?" she added,
turning toward her lover.

"Two months ago."

"Well, Miss Bellin," said I deliberately, "if you come out with me to
the Fen Inn, I will show you the pearl ring on the finger of the dead
man."

"It cannot be--it is impossible," she murmured, clasping her hands
together in great distress. "I am utterly bewildered by your talk.
Francis returned from Chili three months ago, and my mother consented
to our engagement."

"It was not Francis who returned," I asserted doggedly, "but
Felix--Felix, who pretends to be in Paris."

"But this letter!"

"Bah! That was written here by Briarfield, and forwarded to a friend
in Paris to be posted back to you."

"Liar!" cried Felix, dashing forward with clenched fists; "if you
don't retract that statement, I'll----"

"For pity's sake be quiet," entreated Olivia, throwing herself between
us. "Do not bring my mother here. Francis, you do not know the harm
you are doing. Mr. Denham," she added, turning to me as he suddenly
stepped back, "do you say this gentleman is Felix?"

"I do! Most decidedly.

"I tell you, sir, it is not so. This is my affianced lover, Francis.
Great Heavens! could a woman make a mistake in so serious a matter?"

"I believe the resemblance between the brothers would deceive anyone."

"Let us settle the question by going to the Fen Inn," said Felix
sharply. "I'll wager that there we find neither landlord nor anyone."

"You don't believe me," said I quickly.

"I do not, sir. I believe you have dreamed all this rubbish. I am
here--I, Francis Briarfield; Felix, my brother, is in Paris; and as to
your cock and bull story of a murder at the Fen Inn, I don't believe a
word of it."

"Very well, Briarfield," I said, picking up my hat. "You have chosen
your course, I will now choose mine. Hitherto I have kept the affair
quiet for your sake and for that of Miss Bellin. Now I will place the
matter in the hands of the authorities, and wash my hands of the whole
affair."

"Do what you think fit," retorted Briarfield fiercely, and turned his
back on me. Stung by his contemptuous manner, I walked smartly toward
the door, but was stopped on the threshold by Miss Bellin.

"It is no use your going to see the police, Mr. Denham," she said
anxiously. "I assure you it will only get you into trouble. Your story
is too wild to believe. They will say you are mad."

"I'll take the risk of that. I am not yet so mad as not to believe the
evidence of my own eyes. Let me pass, Miss Bellin."

"Stay!" she said in a peremptory tone. "Let me speak a moment with
Francis."

I bowed my head in token of acquiescence, and she glided back to where
Felix was looking out of the window. For a few minutes they spoke
together in low, hurried voices. She seemed to be entreating and he
refusing. At length he evidently yielded to her prayers, for he sank
into a chair with a gesture of despair, and she returned to my side.

"I don't wish you to get into trouble, Mr. Denham," she said coldly,
"nor do I wish you to use my name, as you assuredly will do in making
your report to the police. I believe this story of yours to be an
hallucination, and, in order to convince you of it, am willing to ride
out to the Fen Inn to-morrow with you and Francis. When we arrive
there, I assure you we shall see nothing."

"I am certain you'll see more than you bargain for," said I dryly. "I
would rather you went there tonight."

"I cannot. My mother would not allow me to go. Be a little
considerate, Mr. Denham."

I saw the justice of this reasoning, and forebore to press the point.
After all, so long as they went the time did not much matter.

"Then let it be to-morrow morning," I said coldly, "at ten o'clock. I
will be at your park gates. If you and Briarfield are not there, I go
at once to the police office and give information concerning the
murder of Francis."




CHAPTER V.
AN ASTOUNDING DISCOVERY.


After that momentous interview I presented myself to my astonished
relatives. These were two lovable old maids, sisters of my mother, who
had passed the best part of their existence in the Cathedral Square of
Marshminster. They knew everybody and all about everybody, and
pottered through life with the assistance of a comfortable income
which they shared in common, a trifle of gossip, and a series of
afternoon teas. At the daily services of the cathedral they were
always to be seen, and were intimately acquainted with the dean and
chapter. Even the bishop condescended to take tea with them on
occasions, and they held their heads high in consequence. Moreover,
they loved me greatly, though I was but a graceless nephew to the good
souls.

When I made my appearance, the Misses Durrant received me with open
arms. They had not expected me till much later in the month, but had
already prepared for my reception. My portmanteau, which I had ordered
to be sent down from London, had arrived, the bedding of my room was
thoroughly well aired, and Rachel, their handmaiden, spread for me a
sumptuous meal. When I washed and clothed myself anew, I made an
excellent meal, for the long tramp from the Fen Inn made me hungry, I
then sat down for a chat and a smoke.

"I think he may, Jane," hinted Sophia gently.

"If he sits near the open window, Sophia," was the firm reply,
whereupon, this little comedy having been gone through as usual, I
produced my pipe and took my appointed station. Thus settled I made
inquiries about Bellin Hall and its inmates.

"I see you have the London beauty down here, aunt."

"Olivia Bellin," said they both in a breath, and then sighed.

"Is there anything to mourn about, Aunt Jane?" I asked, pricking-up my
ears for useful information which I knew these gossips could supply.

"Ah," sighed Aunt Jane, folding her withered hands, "who knows the
wickedness of the heart?"

"Olivia's heart?"

"Dear me, no, Lionel," said Aunt Sophia, scandalized; "she is a good
girl,--as good as she is lovely,--and not so silly as her mother,"
concluded the old lady, with feminine spite.

"Then to whose heart do you allude?"

This question started a duet between the two old ladies.

"Francis Briarfield! You remember, Jane."

"Yes, Sophia! That hussy with the feather boa----"

"Was seen speaking to him in the cathedral by Bishop Jevon's tomb."

"And he seemed very intimate with her."

"Still, Jane, he was glad when she left Marshminster."

"Rather relieved, I think, Sophia."

"And poor Olivia Bellin knew nothing about his wickedness," they
concluded together.

My heart beat rapidly. In this idle talk I saw a link which would bind
Felix Briarfield to the girl at the Fen Inn.

"Was she a pretty girl?" I asked with well-simulated carelessness.

"Handsome is that handsome does," snorted Aunt Jane, who was
remarkably plain herself.

"Sure, sister, she was not ill-looking," said the gentler Sophia, who
had been a toast in her youth; "she had a good figure and dark hair
and eyes. I admired her complexion, Jane! it was like cream, and a
dimple here," finished Sophia, touching her chin, "a pretty-pretty
dimple."

"Sophia!"

"Well, it was a pretty dimple, jane. No one can deny that."

In this description I espied Rose Strent, especially as regards the
dimple. I had noticed it myself. Evidently there was an understanding
between this woman and Felix which had led to her taking up her
quarters in the Fen Inn with her father--if indeed the landlord was
her father, a fact I was beginning to doubt. I set the garrulous
ladies off on another tack.

"Do you know anything about the Fen Inn, Aunt Jane?"

"The Lone Inn, child! Never name it! In my youth it was the scene of a
terrible murder, and since that time no one has lived in it, save one
man."

"It is now in ruins," said Sophia, with bated breath, "and is said to
be haunted."

"Does anyone go near it?"

"No one: I don't think there is a man in the country who would venture
near the Lone Inn after dark. Two years ago a stranger refurnished and
repaired it. But he did not stay longer than a week."

"What became of him?"

"He disappeared," said Aunt Sophia, nodding her head solemnly,
"vanished altogether. It was supposed that he was drowned in the
marshes. The house is still furnished, I believe, but no one goes near
it."

"What about the landlord?"

"It's in Chancery," said Aunt Jane wisely; "it has no landlord."

After this discussion I went to bed with plenty to think about. I saw
well enough that Strent and his daughter had taken up their abode in
the ruined house for a certain purpose. That purpose was, I verily
believe, to encompass the death of Francis Briarfield, and now that it
was accomplished they disappeared. As Aunt Sophia said, the furniture
of the former proprietor was still there, so a touch or two had
rendered the house habitable. This accounted for their unwillingness
to receive me as a guest, and for the mildewed aspect of the rooms
which had struck me so forcibly. A second tragedy had accentuated the
evil reputation of the house. But while the first tragedy was known to
all, the second was known only to myself and to--Felix Briarfield.

I felt certain that he was connected in some way with the unexpected
death of his brother. Francis had been lured to that lonely inn for
the purpose of being murdered, and the crime had been accomplished by
Strent and his daughter. So far as I knew, Felix had not been near the
house on the night in question, yet he was without doubt morally
guilty of the crime. Olivia, believing him to be her lover Francis,
did not place much faith in my story, but surely, when she was
convinced by the sight of the dead body, and I had torn the mask from
the face of Felix, she would let me deal with him as he deserved.

Next morning I was up betimes, and, telling my aunts I would not be
back till late, went round to the sole livery stables possessed by
Marshminster. These were kept by Bob Fundy, a bow-legged little man,
who had been a jockey in his youthful days, and who was a great friend
of mine. He expressed great joy at my reappearance in Marshminster,
and mounted me on the best of his steeds. I was in too great a hurry
to exchange more than a few words with the genial old fellow, and set
out at once for Bellin Hall. Later on I regretted my haste, as a few
words of explanation from Fundy would have saved me much money and a
long journey.

At ten o'clock I was at the park gates, but Felix and Olivia had not
yet put in an appearance. I intended to denounce Felix as a murderer
in the presence of his brother's dead body, and to tell Miss Bellin of
his friendship with Rose Strent. Jealousy, if nothing else, might make
her guess the truth, and prevent Felix carrying on the shameless
imposture in which he now indulged so insolently. Once I proved the
identity of the dead man by means of the pearl ring, which Olivia
would recognize, I hoped to make short work of the pretensions of
Felix. It was a difficult task, but I was now seized with what is
known as detective fever, and determined to run the assassin to earth.
His name, I firmly believed, was Edward Strent; and that Felix was an
accomplice. It was questionable whether Rose Strent had taken any
active part in the commission of the crime.

In a few minutes I saw them riding down the avenue. They looked a
handsome couple, and I sighed to think how the outward appearance of
Felix belied his foul spirit. Olivia looked remarkably beautiful and
managed her horse to perfection. As they drew near I noted their
haggard looks, as though they had passed the night without sleep, and
again the thought flashed through my mind that there might be an
understanding between them.

But however much Olivia knew, I felt sure she was ignorant that
Francis had been done to death by his brother, else even she would
have recoiled from so base a scoundrel.

"Here we are, you see," said Felix defiantly, as I raised my hat to
Miss Bellin, "quite ready to set out on this wildgoose chase."

"I am afraid you will find it more serious than you think,
Briarfield."

"At all events we won't find that body you speak of."

"I am certain you will, Mr. Felix Briarfield."

"You still insist that Francis is Felix," said Olivia, as we rode on
together.

"I am absolutely certain of it."

"What about this?" interposed Felix, reining up his horse and handing
me a telegram; "Olivia received it this morning."

I glanced at the telegram. It was from Felix in Paris to Olivia at
Marshminster, and stated that he was going to Italy in a few days, but
hoped to return for the wedding. I handed it back without remark, but
it struck me as strange that such matter should have been sent by wire
instead of by post. The telegram to my mind was only another move in
the game Felix was playing so boldly.

"Well, Denham," he said, restoring it to his pocket, "you see by that
telegram that Felix is in Paris, and if so I must be Francis."

"In that case," said I, looking at him keenly, "who is the dead man at
the Fen Inn."

"There is none there!" he answered jestingly, yet with a lurking
anxiety which I was quick to note; "I have no third brother. We are
twins, not triplets."

I vouchsafed no reply to this witticism, which I judged to be in bad
taste, but rode on rapidly. By this time we had left the town far
behind, and were some way on the winding road which crossed the
marshes. Miss Bellin evidently did not desire to talk, for she pushed
forward well in front, and as Felix also relapsed into silence, we
rode on smartly without uttering a word. A more dismal riding party I
never saw. The keen wind brought a touch of color into the pale cheeks
of Olivia, but she had dark circles under her eyes and looked
considerably worried. Felix rode by her side and addressed her every
now and then, but I was too far in the rear to know what they said. I
felt anything but comfortable while in their company, as they regarded
me with great disfavor.

"Never mind," I thought, touching my horse with the whip, "once I
bring Felix face to face with his dead brother he will be forced to
abandon these airs. At whatever cost I must tear the mask off him, if
only for the sake of that poor girl who believes so firmly in such a
villain."

There was no change in the appearance of the Fen Inn as we rode up to
it, save that it looked more ruinous than ever. The solitary building
had a sinister aspect, and even in the bright sunshine hinted at
secret murder. I noticed how thick grew the grass round the house,
thereby marking more strongly its desertion and desolation. Sure
enough, it had not been inhabited for a considerable period, and this
fact alone roused my suspicions as to the motives of Strent and his
daughter. They could have no good design in staying in so haggard a
dwelling.

"You see the inn is a ruin," said Olivia, pointing toward it with her
riding whip; "no one could find shelter there even for one night."

"I did, Miss Bellin."

"It was a dream," she answered, "an idle dream. You may have slept
there, but you never met Francis within its walls."

"We are on a fool's errand," said Felix derisively; "I thought so all
along."

"Come and see," I said, dismounting at the door of the inn; "he laughs
best who laughs last."

It seemed to me that Olivia made as though to turn her horse's head
away from the house, but by this time the hand of Felix was already on
the bridle rein, and she suppressed the momentary inclination to flee.
The action revived my suspicions. With a half sigh she dismounted with
the aid of Felix and we entered the house.

All was as I had left it. The blinds were down, the rooms mildewed and
desolate, the fireplaces filled with heaps of gray ashes. Olivia drew
her riding skirts closely round her and shuddered. I led upstairs to
the room of Francis. Here the door had fallen down and we walked on it
into the room. To my surprise the bed was empty.

"Well, Denham," said Felix, after a pause, "where is the dead body to
whom you have given my name?"

"Someone has been here and taken it away!"

"I don't think so. The absence of the body only proves the truth of
what I said from the first. You dreamed your adventure!"

Before I could reply Olivia burst into hysterical tears. The strain on
her nerves was very great, and now that the climax was reached she
broke down utterly. Felix took her in his arms and soothed her as he
best could, while I, utterly bewildered by the turn events had taken,
carefully searched the room. All was in vain. I could find neither
body, nor clothes, nor aught pertaining to Francis Briarfield. I began
to think to myself that I must be dreaming. But that was out of the
question. The only conclusion I could come to was that Strent had
watched me leave the house and then returned to make away with the
body. Without doubt it was Strent who had slain my unfortunate friend,
and now had hidden the corpse in some quaking bog.

When Olivia broke down Felix led her from the room, and I went to the
front door--there to find them mounted on their horses.

"We are going back to Marshminster," said Felix, gathering up his
reins; "thanks to this wildgoose chase Miss Bellin is quite ill. I
trust now, sir, that you are convinced."

"I am not convinced that you are Francis!" I answered doggedly.

"You still think I am Felix," he asked, with a sneer.

"I do! notwithstanding the disappearance of the body, which has been
made away with by Strent. I firmly believe that Francis is dead, and
that you are Felix Briarfield."

"As we have seen nothing, Mr. Denham," said Miss Bellin coldly, "I
must decline to believe your statement. This gentleman is Francis, and
Felix is in Paris."

"Very good," said I quietly; "then I leave for Paris to-morrow."

"For what reason?"

"I go to seek Felix. You say he is in Paris, I say he is now before me
on that horse. You came to the Fen Inn and found no body, Miss Bellin;
I go to Paris--to the Hôtel des Étrangers, and I'll wager that I shall
find no Felix."

They looked at one another in silence for a few moments. My remark
evidently scared them.

"Are you going to put this matter in the hands of the police?" asked
Felix.

"It is useless to do so now, as the body of your brother has
disappeared. I shall go to Paris, and if I do not find Felix
there----"

"Well?" she said, seeing I hesitated.

"I will tell the police all and have this neighborhood searched," I
said, concluding my sentence.

Olivia laughed scornfully and rode away, while Felix, preparing to
follow, uttered a last word.

"Consult a doctor, Denham, at once. You are mad, or subject to
hallucinations."

And with that he set off at a smart trot, and I was left alone at the
door of the inn.

After the extraordinary experiences I had undergone I began to think
there might be something in what he said. Nevertheless, I determined
for my own satisfaction to go to Paris and see if Felix Briarfield was
at the Hôtel des Étrangers. If he were not, then my suspicions might
prove to be correct; but if he were, then I might believe that my
adventure at the inn was a dream.




CHAPTER VI.
THE MAN IN PARIS.

Having made up my mind what course to pursue, I returned to
Marshminster, took leave of my relatives, and left that evening for
London. There I remained two days reviewing the strange events in
which I had lately been an actor. At one moment it was in my mind to
abandon what certainly seemed to be a hopeless search, for I could not
but see it was a matter of great difficulty to lay my hand on the
assassin of Francis. It would be better, I thought, to place the
matter in the hands of the police, and let them thrash it out for
themselves. Two reasons prevented my taking this ignoble course.

One was that Francis Briarfield had been a college friend, and I was
unwilling that his death should go unavenged. The story of his love
for Olivia which he had told me at the inn contained the elements of a
strange romance, fitly capped by his tragic end. I felt certain that
Felix through his hired bravo--for I could call Strent by no other
name--had encompassed the death of his brother. Felix was passionately
in love with Olivia, and the unexpected return of Francis not only
threatened to take her away from him, but also to reveal the
scoundrelly fashion in which he had behaved. At one blow Felix would
lose her love and respect, therefore his motive for averting such a
catastrophe was a strong one. That he should determine on fratricide
was a terrible thought, but there was no other course left to him by
which to secure the woman he loved, and the respect he valued. It was
the mad action of a weak, passionate man such as I knew Felix to be.
Too cowardly himself to strike the fatal blow, he had hired Strent to
carry out his plans, and the death had been duly accomplished, though
in what way I was quite unable to say. It was sufficient for me to
know that Francis was dead, and I felt myself called upon to avenge
his death.

The other motive was perhaps the stronger one of detective fever. I
was a bachelor, I had a good income and nothing to do, therefore this
quest was one of great interest to me. I had often hunted beasts, but
this man hunt was a much more powerful incentive to excitement. I
could hardly sleep for thinking of the case, and was constantly
engaged in piecing together the puzzle. As yet I had no clear clew to
follow, but the first thing to be settled was the identity of Felix at
Marshminster with Felix at Paris. Once I established that point, and
proved conclusively that Felix had never left England, I would be in a
position to prosecute the search in the neighborhood of Marshminster.

I own that there was an additional reason in the pique I felt at the
scornful disbelief of Olivia. She evidently considered my story pure
fiction, and the strange disappearance of the corpse from the inn
confirmed her in this belief. Irritated by such contempt, I was
resolved to bring home the crime to Felix, and to prove conclusively
to her that he was masquerading as her lover, the dead Francis. It
would be a cruel blow when assured of the truth, but it was better
that she should suffer temporary pain to dragging out a lifelong agony
chained to a man whom I knew to be a profligate, a liar, and a
murderer.

At the end of two days I confirmed myself in the resolution to hunt
down the criminal, and decided as the first step to go to Paris.
Leaving Victoria by the night mail, I arrived in the French capital
next morning. Anxious to lose no further time, I hastened at once to
the Hôtel des Étrangers, in Rue de St. Honoré, and there took up my
quarters. Recovered from the fatigues of the journey, I partook of
luncheon, and then made inquiries about Felix Briarfield. To my
surprise I not only discovered that he was in Paris, but that he was
in the hotel at that moment.

"Has he been staying here for any length of time?" I asked the
manager.

"For six weeks, monsieur, and now talks of going to Italy," was the
astonishing reply.

To say that I was surprised would give but a faint idea of what I
felt. That the assertion of Olivia should thus prove true was almost
impossible of belief. If Felix were here, and had been here for the
past six weeks, it could not possibly be he whom I had met at
Marshminster. Assuming this to be the case, who was the man of the Fen
Inn who called himself Francis? My head was whirling with the endeavor
to grapple with these thoughts. Suddenly an idea flashed into my brain
which might possibly account for the mystery.

"Can it be," thought I, "that it was Felix whom I met at the inn?
Felix who tried to pass himself off as Francis, and then invented that
lying story? Perhaps he was not dead, as I thought, but merely plunged
into a trance. When he revived, seeing the uselessness of fighting
with Francis, he fled back to Paris."

All this time I stared hard at the manager. In reality I was puzzling
out the mystery, and not paying any attention to the man before me.
He, however, grew weary under my regard, and moved uneasily.

"Mr. Briarfield is now in his room, monsieur. Shall I take to him your
card?"

"If you please," I answered mechanically, and handed it to him. In a
few moments a waiter came with a message, stating that Mr. Briarfield
would be glad to see me. I followed the man, in a state of the utmost
bewilderment, and found myself in the presence of Felix before I knew
what to say or do. He was so like Francis, whom I thought was lying
dead at the Fen Inn, so like the man who passed as Olivia's lover,
that for the moment I could do nothing but stare at him. Yet he could
be neither of the two, for one was dead and the other I had left
behind at Marshminster.

"How are you, Denham?" he said, somewhat surprised at my strange
conduct. "And why do you stare so steadily at me?"

"Are you Felix Briarfield?" I gasped out.

"As you see," he answered, raising his eyebrows; "surely you know me
well enough to dispense with so foolish a question."

"And your brother?"

"He is at Marshminster, I believe, with Miss Bellin, to whom he is
engaged. Why do you ask so strange a question?"

I sat down on the sofa, and buried my face in my hands. Either I was
out of my mind or the victim of some horrible hallucination. I
certainly had met Francis at the inn, and beheld him dead under its
roof. As surely had I seen the man I believed to be Felix at
Marshminster. Yet here in Paris I beheld an individual who was neither
the dead friend nor the living lover, and he called himself Felix
Briarfield.

"I must be mad! I must be mad!" was all I could say for the moment.

"What is the matter, Denham?" asked Briarfield, touching my shoulder.
"Are you ill?"

For answer I seized first one hand and then the other. On neither
appeared the least scratch. Yet the man whom I believed to be Francis
had a ragged wound on the right hand. My theory of a trance vanished
into thin air at this proof that the men were distinct. Astounded by
my action, Felix drew back in some alarm.

"How strangely you act, Denham," he said uneasily. "Is there anything
wrong?"

"Do you think I am mad?" I asked irritably.

"Your action just now was scarcely the act of a sane person. Why did
you examine my hands?"

"To see if they were cut in any way."

He turned the palms of his hands toward me, and shook his head with a
slight laugh.

"You see," he said, smiling, "they are absolutely free from cut or
wound. Why do you expect them to be marred?"

I made no reply, but passed my hand across my brow. The situation in
which I found myself was so strange and embarrassing that I did not
know how to proceed. In the presence of facts I could not but admit
that my story would sound but a wild invention.

"Come, Denham," said Briarfield soothingly, "you are doubtless in some
trouble, and have come to me for help and advice. I'll give both to
the best of my ability."

"I want neither," I muttered in a low voice; "but if you will answer
some questions I wish to ask, you will oblige me greatly."

Briarfield drew back with a queer look in his eyes, as if he thought
my madness was increasing. However, he overcame the dread my actions
apparently caused him, and answered civilly enough.

"Certainly! If it will do you any good. What is it you wish to know?"

"Were you in England within the last seven days?"

"No! I have not been in England for at least six weeks."

"Do you know the Fen Inn?"

"Never heard of it in all my life."

"Are you acquainted with a girl named Rose Strent?"

"I don't even know her name."

"When did your brother Francis return to England from South America?"

"Three months ago."

"Have you seen him since his return?"

"Frequently in London, but he is now, I believe, at Marshminster."

"Do you know he is engaged to Miss Bellin?"

"Of course I do," said Briarfield; "the marriage takes place shortly,
and I am to be the best man--that is, if I return in time."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm going to Italy tomorrow," said the young man, shrugging his
shoulders, "and it is just--possible that I may prolong my tour to the
East. In that case I may be absent from England for at least six
months or more. During that time Francis will doubtless marry Olivia,
and I shall not be able to be at the wedding."

"You have not been to England within the last six weeks, you don't
know the Fen Inn, nor of the existence of Rose Strent," I summed up;
"then I am the victim of some extraordinary hallucination."

"You are very extraordinary altogether," retorted Briarfield. "Now I
have answered your questions, pray answer mine. Why do you ask all
these things?"

"It is a strange story, and one which you will scarcely believe."
"Let me hear it."

Thus adjured, I told him the story of my adventure at the inn, but
suppressed all mention of the belief I then entertained that the
brothers had changed names. He listened attentively and eyed me with
some concern. At the conclusion of the narrative he considered for a
few moments before making any reply.

"I hardly know what to say," he said at length. "Your story is very
circumstantial, yet you must have been deceived by the chance
resemblance."

"I swear that the man I met at the Fen Inn was your brother Francis."

"How can that be when Francis was at Bellin Hall, and Olivia said he
had not been out of the house? Besides, you say the man whom you
believed to be Francis was murdered, yet you left Francis alive and
well at Marshminster."

"I thought Francis was you."

"Ah! Deceived by our resemblance, no doubt."

"Yes! I think so," I replied, not wishing to tell him of my
suspicions.

"Well, you see, you made a mistake! Francis is at Marshminster, and I
am here, I suppose," he added jokingly. "You are quite convinced that
I am Felix?"

"I was quite convinced the other man was Francis."

"Great Heavens, man, you surely don't doubt that I am Felix
Briarfield?" he cried irritably, rising to his feet.

"I don't! I can't!"

"Perhaps you thought it was I whom you met at the inn?"

"No! because the man I met at the inn is dead. Besides, he had a wound
on his right hand, and you have not."

"It's a queer business altogether," said Briarfield, walking to and
fro. "I cannot but agree with your idea of hallucination."

"I tell you it is too real for hallucination."

"Then how can you explain it?" he demanded sharply, pausing before me.

"I can't explain it!" I replied helplessly.

"If you had discovered the corpse when you returned to the inn, there
might be some chance of solving the mystery. But you admit there was
no corpse there!"

"Not the vestige of one."

"Then that proves the thing to be hallucination," he said
triumphantly. "If the man was murdered, who would take the trouble to
remove the corpse?"

"Strent might have done so to conceal the evidence of his crime."

"He fled the previous night by your own acknowledgment. The whole
thing is ridiculous. If I were you, Denham, I would see a doctor. That
brain of yours is in a dangerous state."

"In spite of all you say, I am certain it was Francis I met at the
inn."

"How can that be when he whom you met is dead and Francis is alive? It
could not be Francis, and, as I have not been out of Paris, it could
not have been me."

"Then who was it?"

"Some stranger, no doubt, in whom you saw a facial resemblance to us."

"Impossible!"

"So I think," said Briarfield significantly; "for my part I think you
are subject to delusions. Do not pursue this case, my friend, or you
may find yourself in a lunatic asylum!"

"Will you come over to Marshminster and help me to solve the mystery?"

"Certainly not, Denham. My plans are all made for Italy, and I go
there to-morrow. I certainly don't intend to put them off for such a
wildgoose chase as you wish me to indulge in."

I took up my hat and prepared to go. The matter was beyond my
comprehension.

"There is nothing for me but to return to England."

"Do!" said Briarfield in a pitying tone; "and give up following this
Will-o'-the-wisp."

"It seems hopeless enough."

"Well, so far as I can see, it seems madness. Nothing more nor less.
My brother Francis is at Marshminster, you see me here, so it is
absolutely impossible you could have met either of us at that inn. The
more so as the man you met is dead, and we are both alive."

"Yes! Facts are too strong for me," I said, holding out my hand.
"Good-by, Briarfield. Many thanks for your kindness; but, oh, man!" I
added, with a burst of bitterness, "what does it all mean?"

"It's hallucination," said Briarfield; "place yourself at once in the
hands of a doctor."




CHAPTER VII.
LINKS IN THE CHAIN OF EVIDENCE.


After that interview with Felix I returned forthwith to London. I had
accomplished the object of my journey, and did not care about staying
longer in Paris. My mind was much perturbed, as I was quite unable to
come to any conclusion respecting the episode at the Fen Inn. Beyond
all doubt I had proved that Francis was at Marshminster, Felix in
Paris. Who, then, was the man whom I had met at the inn? It was
impossible that I could be mistaken in the identity of my college
friend, yet in the face of such evidence as I had gathered it was
ridiculous to cling to my first impressions. There could not be three
brothers exactly alike in personal appearance, and yet I had beheld
three men, at the Fen Inn, at Marshminster, and in Paris, who
resembled each other in every respect. The more I pondered over the
mystery the deeper did it become, and the more confused grew my brain.

I began to think that I was the victim of some hallucination, as I
could explain the matter in no other way. With this idea, which was
the only feasible one left to me, I took the advice of Felix and on my
return to town went to see Dr. Merrick. He, a specialist on diseases
of the brain, listened to my story with great attention, and
questioned me closely on all points.

"There is some trickery about this, Mr. Denham," he said, after
consideration.

"You do not, then, think my meeting with Francis Briarfield was an
hallucination?" I asked eagerly.

"There is no hallucination about you, sir," was the comforting
response; "you seem to me as sane and matter of fact a person as I
have ever met."

"Then, if it is not hallucination, how do you account for my having
met three men all exactly alike, when I know there are only two with
that special appearance in existence?"

"I think it is trickery," repeated Merrick, nursing his chin. "This is
more a case for a detective than for a doctor. Were I you, Mr. Denham,
I would employ a good detective, and probe the mystery thoroughly. The
matter seems miraculous to you now, but I feel sure when you learn the
solution you will be astonished at its simplicity."

"If I am sane, as you say, and as I believe myself to be, I will
thrash out the matter myself."

"Better get a trained man, Mr. Denham. From what you have told me I
see you have to deal with a criminal of no ordinary intelligence. It
is an extraordinary case," mused the doctor, "and I do not wonder at
the fascination it seems to exercise over you. Were I in your
place----"

"Were you in my place?" seeing he hesitated.

"Here am I setting up for a lawyer," said Merrick quaintly. "To tell
you the honest truth, Mr. Denham, you have inoculated me with
detective fever. I should like to solve this problem myself. Criminal
investigation has always been rather a hobby of mine. In my business I
meet with some queer experiences. There are more insane people in the
world than you think."

"Tell me your ideas, doctor, and I'll carry them out, and report
progress."

"Good! I'll be the sleeping partner," he said in an amused tone; "but
I warn you, Mr. Denham, that from what I see of this case it will be
one of great difficulty, and may take months to work out."

"I don't mind that; it is nothing to an idle man like myself; but I am
afraid, Dr. Merrick, I take up your valuable time."

"Oh, I can spare a few minutes," said the doctor quickly. "I work hard
enough, so it is permitted to even a professional man to indulge
occasionally in some amusement. This case is so to me."

"Well, and your idea?"

"In the first place, I am inclined to agree with your ideas of Felix
passing himself off as Francis."

"I have abandoned that idea," said I dolefully; "I saw Felix in
Paris."

"Wait a moment," replied Merrick, "we'll come to that later on.
Furthermore, I believe it was Felix you met at Marshminster--Felix,
who called himself Francis, and posed as the lover of Miss Bellin."

"But I saw him in Paris," said I, again clinging to that undeniable
fact.

"I know you did, but the pretended Francis of Marshminster, and the
real Felix of Paris, are one and the same person."

"You mean that he followed me over?" I cried, suddenly enlightened.

"Precisely, and suborned the manager of the Hôtel des Étrangers."

"But why should he do that?"

"Can't you see?" said Merrick impatiently. "Felix wants to put a stop
to your following up this case. From your story it is quite probable
that he killed his brother through Strent. The whole circumstances of
that Lone Inn are very suspicious. Your unforeseen arrival that night
complicated matters. You saw how unwilling they were to admit you. Had
you not arrived, Francis would have vanished from the world, and none
would have been a bit the wiser. But when you came to Bellin Hall,
Felix saw a new source of danger, not only to his character, but to
his life. He asked for a night's grace. During that night he went
himself to the Fen Inn, and hid the corpse in some boghole."

"Impossible!"

"I'll stake my life that it is so," said Merrick calmly. "Make
inquiries as to the movements of Felix Briarfield on that night, and
I'll lay anything you'll find he went to the Fen Inn."

"That, then," said I, "was the reason he was so ready to go there next
morning with me."

"Exactly! He knew well, thanks to his forethought, that there was no
evidence there to convict him of a crime, and he could still keep up
his imposture. So far all was in his favor, but your obstinacy raised
a new danger. You said you would go to Paris and satisfy yourself of
the existence of Felix. Now, then, you remained two days in London.

"Yes; I was not quite sure whether it was worth while carrying on the
matter."

"It was a pity you wasted so much time," said Merrick, "for Felix took
advantage of your negligence to slip over to Paris, and lay a trap for
you. In plain words, he disappeared from Marshminster as Francis, and
reappeared in Paris as Felix."

"He might have done so! But don't you think I would have guessed the
identity of the one with the other?"

"How could you," said the doctor, "when the twins are alike in every
respect? And, moreover, you firmly believed Olivia Bellin's lover was
in Marshminster."

"But if I go down at once to Marshminster, I'll detect the absence of
Felix, and so guess what has taken place."

"If you go down to Marshminster, you'll find Felix back again in his
old place."

"Then Paris?" I queried uneasily. I was beginning to see I had been
duped.

"You forget Mr. Felix of Paris has gone to Italy and left no address.
It's all safe there, and, as he said he was going to the East for six
months or so, there will be plenty of time for the pretended Francis
to marry Olivia."

"You don't believe that Felix of Paris has gone to Italy or the East?"

"Of course not! I believe he arranged all these matters to baffle your
prying, and then calmly returned to Marshminster."

"But the manager of the hotel?"

"He is in the pay of Felix. You'll get nothing out of him. Now, I am
certain that is the explanation. Are you not surprised at its
simplicity?"

"Yes, I am! It is astonishing I never thought of it before."

"Columbus and his egg once again," said Merrick grimly. "Well, what
are you going to do next?"

"To drive to Marshminster, and find out the movements of Felix on the
night after the murder."

"Quite so; but first satisfy yourself on the subject of Francis."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"What day of the month were you at the Fen Inn?" continued Merrick.

"On the 10th of June."

"Good! Francis there told you that he had just arrived from Chili.
Now, find out what boat he came by, look up his name in the passenger
list, and ascertain the date on which the true Francis arrived in
England. That point established, you can prove the false Francis to be
an impostor."

"An excellent idea," said I, starting to my feet. "I'll see about it
at once."

"And mind," said Merrick, raising his forefinger, "I expect to be kept
fully advised of the case."

"Never fear, doctor. You are excellent at solving puzzles. When I find
another nut, I'll bring it to you to crack."

"Do! I take a great interest in this sort of cases. I ought to have
been a lawyer instead of a doctor."

"I'm thankful for my own sake you are the latter," said I, shaking his
hand. "Good-by, doctor; I am greatly obliged for the kind interest you
have taken in this case."

"Pure selfishness, I assure you," replied Merrick; and so I took my
leave.

Before searching the shipping lists I sent two telegrams--one to the
manager of the Hôtel des Étrangers, asking if Mr. Felix Briarfield was
still there; the other to my aunt Jane, inquiring whether Mr. Francis
Briarfield was in Marshminster. This business having been dispatched,
I took a hansom to the City, and saw a merchant of my acquaintance. He
was an old friend, and willing to oblige me in every way.

"Chambers," said I, when in his office, "I want to find out a ship
that arrived in London from Chili during the present month."

"During June," said Chambers. "Well, there's no difficulty about that.
What is her name?"

"That is one of the things I wish to find out; also the names of the
passengers."

"Come with me to the Jerusalem," said Chambers, picking up his hat;
"you'll find there her name and agents. Go to the agents and they will
supply you with a list of the passengers. What's up now?"

"Nothing particular," I answered carelessly. "I have reason to believe
a friend of mine returned from South America this month, and I want to
make certain."

"Well, if he came under his own name, you'll have no difficulty in
doing so. Here's the Jerusalem!"

This, it is well known, is a shipping club for the convenience of
merchants. It tells them all about ingoing and outgoing vessels, gives
information regarding cargoes, and, in fact, supplies all kinds of
knowledge useful to those who have argosies afloat. Chambers was well
acquainted with the mode of procedure, so I let him do all the work.
It was now the 16th of June, and, as Francis had informed me he had
arrived during the month, there was not much difficulty in finding
what I wanted.

"Here you are," said Chambers, beckoning to me; "only one ship this
month from Chili--a steamer, the _Copiapo_. Arrived on the 6th of
June. Dane & Paxton, 45 Devereux Lane."

I copied this down in my notebook, refused Chambers' hospitable
invitation to luncheon, and went off at once to Devereux Lane. Here I
had no difficulty in seeing the passenger list of the _Copiapo_, and
one of the first names I set my eyes on was "Francis Briarfield."

"This puts the matter beyond all doubt," said I, making a note of
this; "if Francis Briarfield did not arrive in London till the 6th of
this month, he cannot be the man now bearing his name at Bellin Hall."

I was now perfectly satisfied that Merrick's idea was correct. In
order to confuse and throw me off the scent Felix had followed me to
Paris, and appeared _in propria persona_. But for the doctor's
suggestion of the shipping list I should not have been able to prove
this, but now I held incontrovertible evidence in my hands to prove
that Felix was trading on the marvelous resemblance between his
brother and himself. Francis had arrived in England on the 6th of
June, he had met me at the Fen Inn on the 10th, and had there been
foully done to death by his brother through a third party. But I was
now on the trail and hoped to run to earth both the unnatural brother
and his vile tool. I felt like the hero of some wild romance.

On returning to my rooms in Duke Street I wrote off at once to
Merrick, telling him of my success in proving the identity of Francis
with the man who had been slain at the lone inn. It now remained for
me to go down to Marshminster and there make inquiries as to the
movements of Felix on the night in question. I felt confident that I
could pursue such a search without hindrance, as he would be quite
satisfied that I would now rest after the Paris episode. No man in his
senses would search for a dead man when that man had been conclusively
proved to be alive. So Felix doubtless thought, and rejoiced in his
cleverness in thus putting an end to my inquiries. But mark how
ironical is Fate. Felix advised me to consult a doctor about my
hallucination, as he chose to call it. I took that advice and saw
Merrick. Merrick had nullified all his plans by solving the riddle
with which Felix was trying to baffle me.

It was hard on Felix to thus be the means of pointing the way to his
own destruction. But, then, Fate is so ironical.

That afternoon I received answers to my telegrams. The first, from
Paris, stated that Mr. Felix Briarfield had started for Italy; the
second, from Marshminster, informed me that Francis Briarfield was
staying at Bellin Hall.

"No," said I, on reading these telegrams, "Felix Briarfield did not
leave Paris for Italy, but for Marshminster, and Francis Briarfield,
poor soul, is not at Bellin Hall, but lying in the Essex marshes."

That night at five o'clock I left for Marshminster.




CHAPTER VIII.
A CLEW TO THE MYSTERY.


The drama of "The Prodigal Son" was enacted over again when I returned
to Marshminster. My aunts had greatly resented my sudden departure to
Paris, and announced that this time intended to keep me them for some
weeks. I had no objection to this arrangement, as I anticipated a long
and laborious task in ferreting out evidence against Felix. The first
thing to be done was to learn all that had taken place in my absence,
and the information was ably supplied by Aunt Jane, seconded by her
sister. I inquired about Briarfield and his fiancée.

"Bellin Hall is to be shut up next week," said Aunt Jane; "the Bellins
are going to town, and with them Mr. Briarfield.

"I wonder they stayed here so long when the season was on in London,"
said Aunt Sophia, "but it was all that foolish Mrs. Bellin. She chose
to consider herself ill, and so insisted upon remaining here. Now she
can't resist the attractions of town life any longer, and goes next
week."

"She has to arrange about the wedding, Sophia. You know it takes place
in July. I wonder if Mr. Felix Briarfield will be back in time to be
best man."

"That I can safely say is impossible," said I dryly.

"But why?" exclaimed both the old ladies, scenting news.

"Well, he has gone to Italy, and from there goes to the East," I
answered, unwilling to tell the truth. "I don't see how he can return
in time for the wedding if it takes place in July."

My female relatives looked significantly at one another.

"What did I tell you, Sophia?" said Aunt Jane in a tone of subdued
triumph.

"Yes, sister, you were right," sighed Sophia, shaking her head. "Poor
young man. I thought myself he loved Olivia."

"Who loved Olivia?" I asked sharply.

"Felix Briarfield," said Aunt Jane; "when his brother went to America,
he was always with her, and no doubt loved her dearly. I can scarcely
wonder at that, as she is so beautiful a girl. But he behaved very
well, and when Francis came back, went to the Continent."

"He was unable to bear the sight of his brother's happiness," said
Aunt Sophia sentimentally; "poor, poor young man! I have no doubt his
heart is broken. He actually left Marshminster before his brother
arrived from America, so as to spare himself the painful sight of
their happiness."

I saw by this conversation that my surmise was correct. Felix had
fallen in love with Olivia while his brother was in America, and,
selfishly determined not to give her up, had devised the idea of
passing himself off as Francis. With this in his mind he had gone to
Paris, and pretended to stay there; then reappeared at Marshminster as
Francis, alleging an earlier return from Chili as an excuse. When
Francis really returned, Felix asked him to be at the Fen Inn, so as
to rid himself of his brother before he could see Olivia. Whether he
intended to kill Francis or to merely explain matters I could not
tell, but at all events Francis had been murdered, and I firmly
believed that Felix was morally guilty of the crime. The suppression
of the letters, the substitution of himself as Francis, and the
dexterous manner in which he had rid himself of the corpse (according
to Merrick's theory), all showed me that I had a dangerous and
reckless man to deal with. But after the clever way in which he had
baffled me in Paris by resuming his name I was prepared for any
villainy at his hands. He had committed himself so far that he could
not draw back, and was compelled to follow crime by crime in order to
bolster up his position.

He was going to town with the evident intention of evading me.
Doubtless he thought that, deceived by the episode at the Hôtel des
Étrangers, I had quite abandoned all idea of meddling in the affair.
But for Merrick I should certainly have done so. Now that Merrick saw
the matter in the same light as I did, I was determined to go on, but
resolved to give no hint of this to Felix. When he left Marshminster,
I could pursue my inquiries at leisure. Already I had been too rash in
revealing my intentions, for had I not mentioned my journey to Paris,
Felix would not have been put on his guard and baffled me so adroitly.

I had at least gained one important piece of information, which in
itself was sufficient to break off the match. The passenger list of
the _Copiapo_ proved conclusively that Francis had not reached England
before the 6th of June, and this shown to Olivia would show that Felix
was passing himself off as her lover. With such proof I could stop the
marriage immediately, but preferred to wait until I gained further
evidence implicating him in the murder of his brother. I believed
Merrick's theory to be true, and quite expected to find that Felix had
ridden out to the Fen Inn for the purpose of hiding his brother's body
in one of the bogholes.

"By the way," I asked Aunt Jane, as we parted for the night, "how does
Miss Bellin look? Like a happy bride! eh?"

"By no means," replied my aunt solemnly; "she looks ill and miserable.
But that I know this marriage with Francis is a love match, I should
say she disliked the idea of becoming his wife."

"No doubt," thought I, "no doubt. Olivia mistrusts Felix already."

I said good-night to my elderly relative, and went off to bed. Instead
of turning in I lighted my pipe and leaned out of the window, thinking
deeply. Could it be possible that Olivia had discovered the imposture?
If so, why did she tamely submit to marry a man whom she must know was
guilty of his brother's and her lover's death? Moreover, if she were
assured of this, she must also have condoned the deception at the
Hôtel des Étrangers. Her conduct seemed strange, yet I could not bring
myself to believe that she knew the truth. If she did, she was as bad
as Felix.

"She must think he is really Francis, and that Felix is in Paris," I
thought. "Surely she would not willingly go to the altar with a man
whom she knows to be a villain. No! He has thrown dust in her eyes,
and made her believe what he pleases. I must save the poor girl from
such a fate. Perhaps, in spite of outward semblance, she instinctively
feels that Felix is not Francis. Women have their instincts. I know of
no other reason why she should look pale and ill."

My cogitations were cut short by Aunt Jane knocking at the door and
telling me not to waste the candles. I was used to these little
idiosyncrasies of my aunts, so I answered that I was going to bed, and
put out the light at once, but the rest of the night was passed in a
wakeful state. Truly, I had a bad attack of detective fever!

For the next few days I kept very quiet, as I was unwilling to rouse
the suspicions of Felix. At length, my aunts, who entertained no
suspicion of my designs, informed me that he had gone to London with
Mrs. and Miss Bellin. The coast now being clear, I ventured out and
began to work out my carefully-laid plans.

In the first place I went to Bob Fundy to hire a horse. It was my
intention to ride out to the Fen Inn and thoroughly examine the rooms,
as I fancied Felix might have hidden the corpse in the house. From
Fundy I gained a piece of unexpected information.

"Want to ride to the Fen Inn, sir," said he, scratching his head.
"Why, whatever's come over that old ruin? Everyone seems to be going
there."

"What do you mean, Fundy?"

"First Mr. Briarfield, and now you," said Fundy. "Blessed if I can
understand it. Though, to be sure, he rode there at night, and you go
in the daytime."

"Did Mr. Briarfield go to the Fen Inn at night?" I asked, seeing I was
on the eve of learning something important. I had not forgotten
Merrick's theory.

"That he did, sir. He rode there two nights over a week ago."

"Curious," said I, with assumed carelessness; "it is not an attractive
place. I dare say he only rode a little way out of the town."

"No, sir," said Fundy decisively, "he went to the Fen Inn! He told me
so himself, as I noticed the horse was so done up. Look here," added
Fundy, opening his day-book, "see, on the 10th of June he had a horse,
and on the 11th. Both at night, and did not return till midnight."

I mounted my horse and rode away, thinking deeply. If Felix had gone
to the Fen Inn on the 10th, then I felt sure that he had actually
murdered his brother. Hitherto I had believed Strent was the guilty
party, but now, thanks to the evidence of Fundy, I saw that Felix had
committed the crime. He had also ridden to the inn again on the 11th
in order to conceal the body. Merrick's theory was thus proved to be
correct. Link by link I was putting the chain together. I had proved
that Francis had not arrived in England till the 6th of June, and so
made certain of the identity of Felix. I had discovered that Felix was
at the inn on the fatal night, and also that he had concealed the
body. Now I wished to discover how the murder was committed.

The Fen Inn was quite deserted, and as evil-looking as ever. In spite
of my searching I discovered no signs of the dead body of my friend.
The clothes which I had seen folded on the chair beside the bed were
also gone, and there was not the slightest thing left to excite
suspicion.

"He must have hidden the body in the marshes," I thought, after a vain
search; "I'll see if he has left a trail."

Struck by the feasibility of this idea, I went out at the front door
and examined the ground. It was moist and muddy, owing to the
incessant percolation of marshy water. The path leading from
Marshminster was marked confusedly with horses' hoofs, so it was quite
useless to look for a trail in that direction. Looking from the door
of the inn, the path trended to the right; but on the left, where
there was no path, I noticed hoof marks, also that the lush grass was
trodden down.

"Here is the trail," said I, mounting my horse; "he took the body to
the left."

Following the trail carefully,--and it was plainly discernible, owing
to the dampness of the ground,--I rode straight out for some
considerable distance. The spongy marsh jetted black water under the
feet of the horse, and it seemed as though I were in danger of being
bogged. Nevertheless, as the trail still continued in front of me, I
followed it. Where Felix could go I could follow. He had evidently
placed the body of his brother across his saddle and ridden with it in
this direction; I wondered at the nerve of the scoundrel.

Unexpectedly the trail turned off at right angles, and led toward a
broad pond of water, slimy and sullen in appearance. On the verge of
this the track ceased, and then I knew that I saw before me the tomb
of Francis Briarfield. Into those black waters the murderer had hurled
his victim, and doubtless if the pool were dragged the body would be
found. This I determined to do before taking further steps in the
matter.

"Then, Mr. Felix Briarfield," said I, riding back to the inn, "then we
will see how much your astuteness will avail you."

It was late in the afternoon when I got back to the inn, and the cold
vapors of the marsh made me shiver. As I am subject to rheumatism, I
was afraid of future sufferings, so, having some brandy in my flask, I
determined to light a fire for the purpose of heating water, and
comforting myself with a hot drink. There was plenty of fuel about,
and I had matches in my pocket. I began to rake the dead ashes out of
the dining-room grate, when I disturbed an oblong piece of flint which
rattled on to the earth. All ideas of lighting a fire were forgotten
as I stood with that in my hand. It was an arrowhead. I handled it
gingerly, for I knew well that it was steeped in poison, and that with
this Francis had been murdered.

I saw at once what had taken place. Felix had arrived, and had gone up
to his brother's room. Holding the flint with the razorlike edge
outward, he had shaken hands with his brother, and so wounded him. A
quarrel had ensued, but Francis, not thinking he was poisoned, never
dreamed of his danger. Then he had fallen dead, and Felix, placing the
body on the bed, had returned to the dining room, and flung the
poisoned arrowhead into the fire. The most astounding thing was that I
had not been awakened by the outcry of Francis, but I suppose I was
quite worn out by my walk and in too deep a sleep. Nevertheless, it
was strange that I had heard neither the arrival of Felix nor the
struggle which must have taken place. Possibly I had been drugged.

With this damning piece of evidence in my pocket, wrapped up in
paper,--for I feared the poison myself,--I rode back to Marshminster,
wondering how Felix had hit upon such a terribly ingenious fashion of
removing his brother. So far as I knew he had not traveled much, and
would not be likely to have any savage weapons in his possession; yet
he could not have owned a flint arrowhead in the ordinary run of
things. This puzzled me greatly.

I returned the horse to Fundy without making any remarks, and,
thoroughly tired out, went early to rest, still puzzling over that
arrowhead. Before dawn I solved the mystery. In the entrance hall of
the Bellins' house a perfect armory of savage weapons were arrayed
against the wall. There were clubs, arrows, bows, mats, and grinning
heathen gods. Doubtless Felix, knowing the arrows to be poisoned, had
taken the flint head of one in order to put his brother to death. As
early as I could I went to Bellin Hall to satisfy myself on this
point.

The Hall was a show place, as it possessed a fine picture gallery, so
I had but little difficulty in gaining admission from the woman in
charge. Requesting permission to examine the warriorlike implements
patterned against the hall wall, I narrowly observed the arrows. It
was as I thought--one of the arrows was missing, and Felix had stolen
it in order to kill his brother! I did not take much interest in the
pictures after such a discovery, and the talk of the housekeeper fell
unheeded on my ears. Finally I gave her a sovereign, and left the
house, impatient to be alone and think over my discoveries.

I had now sufficient evidence to prove that Felix had killed Francis,
and quite sufficient to warrant my having him arrested. If the pool
were dragged, the body would be found, with the ragged wound of the
flint arrowhead on the right hand. I could prove the finding of the
arrowhead in the ashes, and how it had been taken from Bellin Hall.
Fundy could give evidence to Felix having taken a horse to the Fen Inn
on the 10th, and also on the 11th. And, altogether, the evidence
against Felix was clearly sufficient to hang him. Still, I did nothing
rashly, and before taking further proceedings returned to London to
consult Merrick. His advice, I knew, would be judicious.




CHAPTER IX.
ANOTHER SURPRISE.


Dr. Merrick was delighted to see me again so speedily, and assured me
that he had thought of nothing else but the Lone Inn crime. The
peculiar circumstances of the case fascinated him greatly. "Decidedly
I should be a detective," he said laughingly. "I have been inventing
all kinds of theories in connection with this matter. By the way, my
idea of searching the shipping list was a good one."

"Excellent. You received my letter?"

"I did, with much pleasure. So Francis did not arrive in England until
the 6th of June?"

"No! Therefore it was Francis whom I met at the Fen Inn, who was
killed by his brother, and it is Felix who now passes himself off to
Olivia Bellin as Francis."

"Does she not guess the imposture?"

"No! So far as I can see she firmly believes Felix to be Francis. You
were also right about the hiding of the corpse."

"You don't say so!" cried Merrick, highly delighted; "did Felix ride
out to the Fen Inn and hide the body as I surmised?"

"He did! I have the evidence of the livery-stable keeper to prove that
he hired a horse on the 11th and did not return till midnight."

"During which time he disposed of his brother's body."

"Precisely! I tracked his horse's hoof marks to the pool wherein I am
convinced the body lies hidden."

"Egad! You are a wonderful man, Denham! Did you have the pool dragged
for the body?"

"Not yet. I wish to tell you all my discoveries before doing so."

"Many thanks. I am so interested in this case that it is a great
pleasure for me to follow it step by step."

"I wish no thanks from you, Merrick," said I heartily. "It is rather
the other way, as your reasonings have led me to these important
discoveries: First, that Felix was in Paris; second, that Francis did
not arrive from Chili till this month; and third, that Felix himself
hid the corpse. By myself I should never have discovered so much. But
I have made one most famous discovery."

"Yes! And that is?"

"I know how the crime was committed and by whom."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Merrick, in much excitement. "Have you
seen Strent?"

"No; it was not Strent who killed Francis Briarfield."

"You don't mean to say it was Rose Strent?"

"No; it was Felix himself."

Merrick uttered an ejaculation of surprise, and remained silent for a
few minutes.

"But you said yourself that Felix never came to the inn on that
night," he objected.

"So I thought, but it appears that I was mistaken. Fundy, the
livery-stable keeper, told me that. Felix hired a horse from him on
the 10th and 11th of June. On both occasions he did not return till
midnight. Now, Francis was murdered on the 10th, and his corpse
disappeared on the 11th. Felix is therefore responsible for both the
murder and the concealment of the body."

"That is purely circumstantial evidence."

I laid down the arrowhead on the table.

"This is proof positive," I said triumphantly. "With that piece of
flint Francis was killed."

"Really?" said Merrick skeptically, picking up the arrowhead. "With
such a clumsy instrument he must have bungled the job considerably."

"Not at all. That arrowhead is steeped in virulent poison."

"The deuce!" cried Merrick, dropping it hastily. "Why did you not warn
me of its danger? I might have cut myself and gone the same way as
poor Francis Briarfield. How do you know the murder was so executed?"

"I told you about the discolored wound in the palm of the right hand?"

Merrick nodded.

"Well," I continued, "that was the cause of death, as there was
neither scratch nor violence on any other part of the body. I picked
up that arrowhead in the fireplace of the dining room of the Fen Inn,
where it had doubtless been thrown by Felix after the committal of the
crime."

"Where did he get the arrowhead?"

"That is just what puzzled me for a long time. Fortunately, I
remembered that the entrance to Bellin Hall was decked with a perfect
armory of savage weapons. I made an excuse of looking at the picture
gallery, and so gained admission to the Hall."

"Did you find anything likely to confirm your suspicions?"

"Yes! I found that an arrow had been removed from the wall."

"How could you tell that?"

"Because the weapons were arranged in patterns, and one of the
patterns was incomplete. Moreover, on comparing that arrowhead with
those on the wall I found it was precisely similar in appearance."

"Humph," said Merrick thoughtfully, "there is only one deduction to be
taken from all this. Felix stole the arrowhead, and, knowing it to be
poisoned, rode off to the Fen Inn to kill his brother. He is a clever
scoundrel."

"Very clever indeed," I answered dryly; "but for you, Merrick, he
would have baffled me altogether."

"I think you have him this time," said Merrick, laughing. "Now, what
do you intend to do next?"

"Have the pool dragged for the body and Felix Briarfield arrested."

"Before doing so it would be advisable to find Rose Strent or her
father."

"Why so?"

"Because they only can give positive evidence as to the committal of
the crime. Failing them, Felix may slip through your fingers."

"They won't show up or give evidence for their own sake."

"In that case they must be found and forced into confession," said the
doctor quickly. "And what about Felix and Miss Bellin?"

"They are now in town--Mrs. and Miss Bellin in Swansea Square, and
Felix at his chambers in Jermyn Street."

"I wonder if Felix is still in communication with Rose Strent?"
queried Merrick, half to himself.

"It's not impossible! Whatever Rose Strent was or is, she is not a
waiting maid. I believe some guilty bond unites the pair, and that
Rose assisted Felix in his scoundrelly schemes out of pure love."

"Hardly," responded Merrick thoughtfully. "If Rose loved Felix, she
would not assist him to marry Olivia, and by removing Francis she
certainly did so."

"How would it do to see Felix at his chambers and bully him into
confession?"

"You won't manage that--the man is too clever."

"He can't do much against the proofs in my possession."

"He'll deny anything!"

"At all events I'll try, Merrick. This evening I'll call on Felix and
swear that I am going to have him arrested for the murder of his
brother. That will bring him to his knees."

"It might and it might not. Better look for Rose Strent."

"If anyone knows where she is to be found, it is Felix. I can't do
better than see him."

"Try it, by all means," said the doctor doubtfully, "but I'm afraid
you won't get much satisfaction out of him. First find Rose Strent,
have the pool dragged and the body found; then, what with the evidence
of Fundy and that arrowhead, you will have no difficulty in getting a
warrant for his arrest. At present Felix will simply order you out of
his rooms."

"I'll run the risk of that," I answered, and shortly afterward took my
departure.

I could not now complain of lack of interest in my life. It took me
all my time to keep the many details of this case in mind. There was
no doubt that I had already solved the mystery and that Felix was
guilty of his brother's death. Yet, as Merrick said, it would be
necessary to find the body and thus establish conclusive proof of the
crime before the murderer could be convicted. When this was done, the
evidence in hand would be sufficient to insure his condemnation. For
my part I believed that he would be driven into a corner and forced to
confess his complicity in the crime.

Firmly convinced of this man's guilt, I was determined he should not
marry Olivia. The crime had been committed for her sake, and, seeing
that he had behaved in so cowardly a fashion, it was a fit retribution
that he should not achieve his purpose. It was no use my warning
Olivia as to the true character of Felix, as she firmly believed him
to be Francis, and would decline to believe my story. Under these
circumstances I judged it advisable to see Felix at his chambers, and
warn him that I knew all. Terrified by the predicament in which he
found himself, he might leave England, and thus Olivia would be saved
from lifelong misery. His punishment for the crime would occur later
on; as, notwithstanding his flight, he could be arrested on the
Continent while extradition treaties were in force.

After dinner I therefore went to call on Felix. His rooms were in
Jermyn Street, and, as mine were just round the corner in Duke Street,
I had not far to go. My visit was paid on the chance of finding him
in, as I did not wish to put him on his guard by notifying my wish for
an interview. As the twins, in spite of constant disagreement,
occupied the same rooms, I could not but wonder at the nerve of Felix
in coming back to the apartments where every familiar object would
remind him of his fratricidal act.

It was just eight o'clock when I reached the door of the chambers. At
the foot of the stairs I found the caretaker ensconced in a glass box
like an insect. To him I addressed myself. He was an old friend of
mine, and rather an oddity in his way.

"Is Mr. Briarfield within?"

"Mr. Francis Briarfield is in his rooms," said the caretaker; "but Mr.
Felix is in Paris."

Of course I guessed that this would be the answer, and secretly
admired the dexterity with which Felix had carried out his plans.
Doubtless in the end when his brother did not return, or rather when
his pretended self did not reappear, he would account for it by an
accident in the Eastern deserts. However, my business was with Felix,
alias Francis, so I made no comment on the caretaker's remark.

"Pray take up my card to Mr. Briarfield," I said. "I want to see him
at once."

"I can't take it up now, sir," said the caretaker civilly. "Mr.
Briarfield is engaged, and gave particular orders that he was not to
be disturbed."

"Ah! but doubtless he is engaged with a friend of mine," I hinted
ambiguously.

"Is the lady a friend of yours, sir?"

A lady! My thoughts at once reverted to Rose Strent; but, then, the
chances were that it might be Olivia.

"Yes, Miss Bellin?"

"That's the young lady, sir, to whom Mr. Briarfield is engaged?" asked
the caretaker, who was a confirmed gossip.

"Yes!"

"It is not her, sir. I know her well by sight, as she has been here
with Mrs. Bellin. It's another lady."

My surmise was right, and I felt confident that while I stood there
Felix was having an interview with his accomplice. I could not disturb
them, yet wished to assure myself of the identity of Rose Strent. When
I found out all about her, there might be a possibility of solving the
mystery.

"Well, no matter," I answered carelessly, stuffing the card back into
my case. "I'll see Mr. Briarfield another time."

"Will you leave your name, sir?"

"No, it doesn't matter. I'll call about nine on the chance of finding
him in."

Having thus baffled the inquiries of the caretaker, I strolled into
the street, and, taking up my station at the corner, kept my eyes on
the door. If Rose Strent was with Felix, she must certainly come out
in a short time. Then I intended to follow her up and speak to her if
I got a chance. Failing Briarfield, I might possibly extort a
confession from the weaker vessel.

In about a quarter of an hour the woman came out. She wore no veil,
and, as it was still fairly light, I had no difficulty in seeing her
face. She passed hurriedly by me in the direction of the Haymarket
without observing me, and I recognized her at a glance. It was, as I
thought, Rose Strent, and none other. In place of the waiting maid's
linen dress she was arrayed in a smart tailor-made costume, and looked
very fashionable indeed. Her face wore a triumphant expression, as
though she had been successful with Felix. I guessed the interview
had been for the purpose of extorting blackmail. With her knowledge of
his secret Felix was certainly at her mercy.

Following her up at some little distance, she went down the Hay-market
and turned into one of the side streets; turned off there into a dirty
little alley, and finally disappeared into a swing door over which was
a lamp inscribed with some letters. I looked up and saw written
thereon "Stage Door."

"An actress!" said I, and went round to the front of the theater to
inspect the play-bill. It was the Frivolity Theater, and they were
playing the burlesque of "As You Don't Like It." Glancing down the
list of characters, I saw that _Orlando_ was played by Miss Rose
Gernon.

"A leading lady," I thought, transfixed with astonishment. "A
burlesque actress, doubtless, in the receipt of a good salary. What in
Heaven's name took her to the Fen Inn?"

This question I was of course unable to answer, but I guessed it had
something to do with love and Felix Briarfield. Leaving the matter
alone for a few moments, I secured a stall, and entered the theater.
When _Orlando_ came on, I was thoroughly satisfied. Rose Strent was
Rose Gernon, and I had seen her play the part of waiting maid at the
Fen Inn on the 10th of June, that fatal night of the murder.




CHAPTER X.
A WOMAN SCORNED.


When I told Dr. Merrick of my good fortune in finding Rose Strent, or,
to use her stage name, Rose Gernon, he was considerably astonished.
The case had taken hold of him so completely that he could think of
nothing else. He had a large practice, and attended fairly well to his
patients, but informed me that he did so in a mechanical fashion, more
or less, as his brain was busy with the Fen Inn mystery. We were now
wonderfully familiar, considering the short period of our
acquaintance, but this was doubtless due to the interest we both took
in the case.

"Upon my word, Denham," said Merrick, rubbing his head irritably, "I
wish you had not come near me with your hallucinations. Instead of
attending to my business I think of nothing but your mysteries. The
sooner we unravel this riddle the better will it be for me. You are an
idle bachelor, so it does not matter much to you, but I am a busy
medical man, and this infernal business worries me greatly. At this
moment I ought to be attending to a patient, instead of which I am
wasting my time with you."

"Shall I go away?"

"No, confound you! I wish to see the end of this affair, or I'll get
no peace of mind. It is too late to remedy the matter, so I must have
my curiosity allayed by learning all the ins and outs of this enigma.
Come, let us begin. You have found Rose Strent?"

"Yes. She is a burlesque actress, and plays at the Frivolity Theater.
Her name in the programme is set down as Rose Gernon, but this is
doubtless her stage name. Rose Strent is her real one."

"I'm not so sure of that," said Merrick sharply. "If she went into
that Fen Inn business with her eyes open, she doubtless took a false
name, so as to baffle inquiry."

"Then what about the landlord, who called himself Edward Strent?"

"Oh, we must find out all about him also. No doubt his name is false
also. Did he look like her father?"

"Well, I can't say that there was much likeness between them. He
looked to me like a valet."

"A valet," muttered Merrick reflectively. "Queer! I wonder if he
really was a valet--valet to Felix."

"In that case he would be with him now."

"It is not impossible. He has Felix in his power, and can stay on just
as he likes. It's my opinion he'll stay till he's pensioned off. Case
of blackmail, I fancy."

"I think Rose Gernon is blackmailing Felix also."

"Quite so. What else can he expect? Or else," added Merrick, looking
straight at me, "it's a case of love and marriage."

"What! Do you think Felix promised to marry Rose if she helped him to
get rid of his brother?"

"I think he might lead her to believe he would do so."

"This is absurd, Merrick," said I sharply. "Felix is in love with
Olivia. The motive of the crime was to gain possession of Olivia's
hand. Rose would not help Felix if she knew that."

"Precisely! If she knew it. But it's my opinion that she does not know
it. I believe Felix gulled her into the belief that he would marry her
if she gave her assistance, but he has not the slightest intention of
keeping his promise."

"And what excuse could he make for wishing to murder his brother?"

"Ah, there you have me! I don't know that. Of course you and I are
aware of the real motive of the crime, but Rose is ignorant of it. She
thinks she knows, no doubt, but I'm certain she has been put off with
a lie."

"But he can't keep the information from her forever. Even if he keeps
quiet, someone is bound to tell her that Felix is engaged to Miss
Bellin."

"There you are wrong," said Merrick with grim jocularity. "Everyone
thinks Francis is engaged to Miss Bellin."

"Yes; but Rose Gernon knows well enough that Francis is dead, and that
the engaged man must be Felix posing as Francis."

"There is some truth in that," admitted the doctor, looking puzzled.
"I suppose he must have kept that fact from her so far, as I don't see
what possible explanation he could give her."

"Always assuming she is in love with him," said I musingly.

"Oh, as to that, I am certain it is so. A woman like Rose Gernon,
drawing a good salary, would not mix herself up in such a dangerous
business merely for money. There is a stronger motive, and that is
love. I'll lay anything," continued Merrick, in sporting phrase--"I'll
lay anything that she is madly in love with the fellow."

"Well, and Olivia, thinking Felix is Francis, loves him madly also. If
these two women come together, there will be trouble for Felix."

"Eureka!" cried the doctor, jumping up excitedly, "the very thing.
When thieves fall out--you know the adage. Let us bring the two women
together, and see the upshot."

"There will simply be a row," said I; "what is the use of that?"

"This," retorted Merrick sharply: "that when Rose finds she has been
betrayed she will reveal all the mystery out of revenge and assure
Olivia that Felix is not Francis."

"That's not a bad idea, Merrick! Also it might occur that Olivia
reveals something in her turn."

"Impossible! She can't possibly know the man's villainy, else she
would not think of marrying him."

"I suppose not, and yet," I added reflectively, "I wouldn't be
surprised if she were cognizant of Felix's movements on the 10th and
11th. She certainly stuck up for him in the most amazing manner at the
first interview."

"Of course she did, because she believes he is Francis. Depend upon
it, Denham, she knows nothing, and if we bring her and Rose together
there will be a revolution and a revelation."

"It's worth trying at all events. But how can it be managed?"

"By working on the natural jealousy of the sex. Tell Olivia that Felix
receives a woman in his rooms every evening."

"Oh, hang it, Merrick," said I, reddening, "it wouldn't be delicate
even to a married woman, let alone a girl."

"Of course I don't mean you to put it to her in that barefaced
manner," said Merrick hastily, "but handle the matter delicately. Wrap
it up in sugar. I leave it to your own judgment. In any case you must
rouse the jealousy of Miss Olivia Bellin, and induce her to come with
you to the chambers of Felix when he is interviewing Rose."

"She wouldn't come without her mother."

"Then bring her mother along with you. This is a serious matter, and
it doesn't do to be squeamish."

"Then do it yourself," said I angrily.

"I!" said he, taken aback. "No! I don't know Miss Bellin. You are the
proper person. Besides, it's better that she should know the truth,
even at the cost of a shock to her delicacy, than be tied to a brute
like Felix, as she certainly will be."

"Not if Rose can help it."

"She can't help it if she doesn't know. And the only way to spoil the
game of Felix is to bring the two women face to face. Their mutual
jealousy will do the rest, and instead of going to the altar Felix
Briarfield will find himself bound for the scaffold."

"True enough! Well, I'll try, Merrick, but it's a job I don't like."

He laughed at my scruples, and tried to show me that I was really
doing Olivia a service in being so plain-spoken, but in spite of all
his arguments I departed from his house in low spirits. I did not
relish the idea of interviewing Olivia on so delicate a subject, yet I
saw it was imperative, and therefore made up my mind to carry through
the business at whatever cost of personal inconvenience to myself.
That is the worst of being an amateur detective: one's feelings are
not under sufficient control.

The next day I called at Swansea Square, and sent up my card to
Olivia. As it so happened, her mother had gone down to Hurlingham with
Felix, and she remained at home on the plea of a headache. She sent
down a message to the effect that she was unwell, and asked me to
excuse her, but I scribbled a few lines on my card asking particularly
to see her. This time the servant returned with the information that
Miss Bellin would see me for a few minutes, and I was shown into the
drawing room. I felt nervous, but, determined to go through with the
matter, managed to screw up my courage. It was a most unpleasant task,
but very necessary if I wanted to attain my object.

When Miss Bellin entered, I could not suppress a start, so changed was
she in outward appearance. As I said before, she was a tall,
well-developed, and very beautiful woman, but now she had grown thin,
and her face wore an anxious expression. I could not help thinking
that she knew something about the tragedy at the Lone Inn, as I could
conjecture no other reason for her ill-health and manifest
discomposure. She came forward with a nervous smile, and greeted me in
a low voice.

"My mother and Mr. Briarfield have gone to Hurlingham," she said,
sitting clown on a lounge near which my chair was placed.

"I am not sorry for that," I answered gravely, "as I wish to see you
alone."

"What is the matter, Mr. Denham? Have you anything very terrible to
tell me?"

"I think it is terrible."

"About Francis?" she demanded anxiously.

"Yes! About Francis!"

"Surely you are not going to begin again about that foolish matter you
spoke of at Marshminster."

"No--it is not about that."

Olivia passed her handkerchief across her lips and gave a sigh of
relief. The expression of her face was so strange that I was more than
ever convinced she suspected the truth.

"I am glad you have given over that mad idea about Francis being
Felix," she said at length. "I cannot conceive what made you take up
so strange a belief. Felix is in Paris."

"I know that, Miss Bellin. I saw him there."

This I said in the hope of startling her, but she did not move a
muscle of her face. Either she was keeping herself well in hand or was
cognizant of the fact that Felix had gone to Paris for the purpose of
deceiving me. If so, she must have known he was not Francis, and also
that my story of the Lone Inn tragedy was true. It was on my tongue to
ask her if she was aware of the terrible truth, but on reflection I
judged it best to let events evolve themselves. Fate could manage
these things better than a mere mortal.

"I knew you would see him there," she said coldly, "but I cannot
conceive why you should desire to convince yourself that I spoke
truly."

"Because, Miss Bellin, I believe that the man who calls himself
Francis is really Felix."

"The same old story," she said impatiently. "You are mad. If you saw
Felix in Paris, you must be convinced that you are making a mistake."

"Well, Miss Bellin, we will waive that point for the present. I will
call the man to whom you are engaged Francis."

"As he is," she interpolated imperiously.

I let the remark pass, and went on with my speech. "You will no doubt
think me highly impertinent, but I wish to warn you against the
so-called Francis Briarfield."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Simply this. While at the Fen Inn I was waited on by a woman who
called herself Rose Strent. That woman is now in town acting at the
Frivolity Theater under the name of Rose Gernon."

"And what have I to do with such a creature?" she asked in a trembling
voice.

"Nothing, but your lover has everything to do with her."

"Mr. Denham!"

We were both on our feet by this time, and she was looking at me with
wrathful eyes. The crisis I so dreaded had come, but it was now too
late to retreat, and there was no help for it but to go on.

"Be angry with me if you like, Miss Bellin," I said, as soon as I was
able, "but it is in your own interest I speak."

"My own interest!"

"Yes! This woman Rose Gernon is in love with Francis B----"

"No! no!" she murmured, her face growing white; "you are making a
mistake."

"It is true," I said doggedly. "She was with him at his chambers
yesterday evening at eight o'clock; she will be there to-morrow
evening at the same time. I learned that fact to-day."

"Did you come here to insult me, sir?" asked Olivia in a voice
tremulous with rage.

"I came here to do you a service, but if you look upon it in the light
of an insult, I may as well take my leave."

"Stop, sir!" she said, placing herself before me; "you shall not leave
the room till I am convinced of the truth of your statement. Why
should Francis meet Rose Gernon?"

"Why should Rose Gernon play the part of a waiting maid at the Fen
Inn?" I retorted.

"How can I tell?"

"To further the schemes of the man who is to marry you, Miss Bellin.
She loves him and he loves her."

"No! I tell you it is impossible. I trust him! I love him! He could
not be such a mean villain."

"I can prove to you that what I say is true."

"Do so and I will believe it. If it is true," she muttered, clenching
her fist--"if it is true, I shall bitterly punish him for the
deception."

"Come with me to-morrow evening at eight o'clock to Briarfield's rooms
in Jermyn Street, and I'll engage you shall see them together."

"If I thought so--but no," she said, breaking off impetuously. "I
cannot come; how can I--how can I?"

"Ask Mrs. Bellin to come with you," I suggested.

"I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

She looked at me strangely for a moment, then walked to the other end
of the room. When she returned, her face was flushed with anger.

"Why do you come here with these infamous tales, sir?" she cried
excitedly. "I do not believe you!"

"Put me to the proof. Come tomorrow evening and you shall see for
yourself."

"You are the enemy of the man I love."

"I am the bitter enemy of the man who pretends to love you, because I
believe he killed his brother."

"Mr. Denham, I could tell--but no, no! I must be silent."

"What do you mean?" I asked eagerly, thinking she was about to reveal
her suspicions.

Olivia thought for a few moments, then put her hand suddenly into
mine.

"I will be with you at a quarter to eight to-morrow, and if it is true
what you say--oh, if it is true----"

"Here is my card," said I, forcing it into her hand. "Wear a veil and
come to my rooms in Duke Street. I will wait you at the door, and we
will go to the chambers of this villain."

"He is no villain."

"I say he is, Miss Bellin, and I'll prove him to be so to-morrow."

"Do it," she said, fixing me with a glance, "and you shall see how
bitterly I shall punish his treachery. Now go, Mr. Denham, and meet me
to-morrow evening as you have arranged."

I bowed and left the room in silence. As I passed through the door I
looked back, and saw she had thrown herself on the couch, crying
bitterly. The sight perplexed me.

"Does she know anything," I thought, "or does she believe Felix is
really Francis? Well, when she and Rose Gernon come face to face, the
truth will be revealed."

The truth was stranger than even I suspected.




CHAPTER XI.
TRANSFORMATION.


My interview with Olivia passed off better than I had expected. If she
had ordered me out of the house, I would only have looked on it as the
just punishment for what must have appeared my impertinent
interference in what did not concern me. The very fact that she
listened so quietly proved that she suspected Felix was masquerading
as her lover. She could only be assured of this by overhearing his
interview with Rose Gernon, and therefore accepted my invitation to go
to the Jermyn Street rooms. If their tenant was Francis, he would
resent the intrusion of Rose, but if Felix, the two confederates would
doubtless talk of their guilty secret.

Thanks to a sovereign judiciously bestowed on the caretaker, I had
discovered that Rose Gernon intended to visit Felix at eight o'clock.
How the caretaker found out I do not know, but in some mysterious way
servants seem to gain all information concerning the doings of their
superiors. It sufficed for me that Rose would be in the rooms of Felix
on this evening, and that Olivia would catch them in a trap. I had no
pity for the guilty pair, but I was genuinely sorry for Olivia. She
little knew the torture she was about to undergo. I did, and almost
regretted that I had interfered in the matter. However, I consoled
myself with the reflection that it was better for her to suffer a few
hours' pain than lifelong misery.

That she agreed to go to Jermyn Street at that hour without a chaperon
proved how desirous she was of learning the truth. Delicately
nurtured, gently bred, she must have felt horrified at the risk she
was running of losing her good name, but, seeing that her life's
happiness depended upon knowing all, she flung etiquette to the winds
and came. When I found her at the foot of the stairs at eight o'clock,
I admired and respected her from the bottom of my heart.

"Am I late?" she asked, touching my hand with trembling fingers.

"Only five minutes," said I, looking at my watch. "I have been waiting
at the head of the stairs for that time. However, we can soon walk
round to Jermyn Street."

"Do you think anyone will know me, Mr. Denham?" said Olivia, taking my
arm. "See, I have on a plain dress, and this veil is a thick one."

"No one will recognize you," I answered soothingly; "nor do I think
you will meet any one of your acquaintances."

"I should have brought my mother, but that I wished her to know
nothing of this treachery. If I find I have been deceived, I shall
break off my engagement with Francis. But you will keep silent about
my visit, will you not, Mr. Denham?"

"No one shall hear a word from me," I answered earnestly. "But keep up
your spirits, Miss Bellin. Even if you find you have been deceived,
there will be some consolation in knowing that it is Felix, and not
Francis."

"You are wrong there," she replied positively; "it is Francis. I have
told you so all along."

I shrugged my shoulders without reply. Evidently nothing could shake
her faith in the man. All I could hope for was that the two
confederates would betray themselves.

"What are you going to do, Mr. Denham?" asked Olivia anxiously.

"We will go up to the rooms of Briarfield," I answered, "and there
overhear their conversation."

"Is that not dishonorable?" she said, shrinking back.

"In most cases it would be," I replied hastily, "but it does not do to
be too particular in this matter. If you break in on them, they may
deny everything. Thinking they are alone, you will hear the truth.
Remember, Miss Bellin, when one deals with a villain, one must beat
him with his own weapons. Depend upon it, it is most necessary that we
should learn all."

"They can speak of nothing that I do not know."

"Are you aware of the truth?" said I, somewhat startled by this
remark.

"I am aware of the truth," she repeated slowly, and before I could
question her she flitted up the stairs. There was no time for me to
ponder over her words, as it was now past eight o'clock, and Rose
Gernon might descend at any time. I therefore spoke a few hasty words
to the caretaker, telling him I wished to see Mr. Briarfield, and
followed her at once. In two minutes we were both standing before the
door of Briarfield's room.

"It is locked," said Olivia faintly.

"Never mind," answered I, producing my latchkey; "this key of mine
opens the door; I was, as you are aware, a great friend of Francis,
and learned some time ago that my key fitted the lock of his rooms. I
have not forgotten the circumstance, so it comes in useful now. See!"

I turned the key and the door opened noiselessly. Motioning to Miss
Bellin to precede me, I followed her quietly and closed the door
behind us. We heard the murmur of voices in the sitting room. She as
well as I knew its whereabouts thoroughly. The door was slightly ajar,
and in front of it stretched a tall screen with fretwork at the top.
Stepping through the open door in a gingerly manner, we placed
ourselves directly behind the screen so that we could both see and
hear without danger of being observed. Thus far our enterprise had
succeeded in the most fortunate manner, and nothing remained for us to
do but to listen to the important conversation now taking place.

Felix, standing with his back against the mantelpiece, looked anxious
and angry, while Rose Gernon, her hands on the table, faced him
fiercely. Evidently the conversation was not progressing in a
satisfactory manner to either.

"No!" she was saying rapidly. "I will accept no money for what I have
done. You know the only reward I claim--your love."

"I cannot give it to you," said Felix doggedly; "you know that as well
as I do."

"Do I?" she cried passionately. "Do you dare to say that to me after
all your vows and protestations? Why did you tell me you loved me if
it was but a lie?"

"I did not tell you so."

"Yes, you did, Felix--you did! I remember the hour, the day, when you
swore that you would make me your wife."

"Keep quiet," I muttered to Olivia, who made an involuntary movement.

"I tell you, Rose, there is some mistake," said Felix angrily.

"You mean-spirited hound!"

"I am a mean-spirited hound," he answered wearily; "no one knows that
better than I do."

"Some women," continued Rose, not heeding his interruption--"some
women would have you killed. I am not a woman of that kind. I'll stay
and marry you."

"Impossible! I am to marry Miss Bellin."

"You promised to give up Miss Bellin if I helped you to see your
brother at the Fen Inn."

"My God!" muttered Olivia, trembling violently.

"Hush!" I whispered; "now we shall hear the truth."

"I have changed my mind," retorted Felix, in answer to the last remark
of Rose.

"That may be, but I have not, Mr. Felix Briarfield. I fulfilled my
promise and went down with Strent to that lonely inn. Your brother
came, and you know that he never left it again. I have fulfilled my
promise. I now require you to fulfill yours and make me your wife."

"I cannot! I cannot!" he said in a faint voice, wiping his brow. "For
Heaven's sake take this money I offer you and leave me."

"I have mixed myself up with crime for your sake, and you offer to put
me off with money. It is useless! Your promise I have, and that
promise I require you to keep, or else----"

"Or else----"

"I'll tell the truth to the police."

"And thus involve yourself in ruin with me."

"I don't care," she said sullenly; "anything would be better than the
torture I am enduring at your hands."

"And what will you tell the police?" asked Felix in an unnatural
voice.

"You know well enough! I shall tell them how you killed your brother."

"It is false!" he said passionately. "I neither saw nor laid a finger
on my brother."

"Indeed! Then if you are innocent who is guilty?"

"I don't know!"

"Did you not come to the Fen Inn on that fatal night when Francis
came?"

"Yes, but I never saw him."

"You saw him, and killed him."

"It is a lie!"

It was neither Felix nor Rose who spoke, but Olivia, who, in spite of
all I could do, broke in on the astonished pair. The man advanced
toward her, but she waved him back.

"I defend you, sir," she said proudly, "because I know that this woman
speaks falsely, but I have also to demand an explanation from you."

Felix paid no attention to the remark, but simply stared at her in a
stupefied manner.

"Olivia!" he said in a low voice, "how did you come here?"

"I brought her, Mr. Felix Briarfield," said I, stepping forward.

"You, Denham! And for what reason?"

I pointed to Rose Gernon, who stood quietly by with a malignant smile
on her face.

"There is the reason," I retorted meaningly, "and Miss Bellin----"

"Miss Bellin will speak for herself," said Olivia in a peremptory
tone.

"Miss Bellin speaks of what she does not understand," interposed Rose
vehemently.

"Because I deny that Francis killed Felix?" questioned Olivia.

"No, because you deny Felix killed Francis."

"What do you mean, Miss Gernon?" I asked rapidly.

"I mean that this man whom Miss Bellin thinks is her lover Francis is
Felix Briarfield, and Felix Briarfield," she continued, "is my lover."

"No!" said Felix hurriedly, "it is not true."

I expected to see Olivia grow angry, but in place of this a bright
smile irradiated her face as she looked at Felix. I could not
conjecture the meaning of her action, and began to grow uneasy. Rose
also looked anything but comfortable; evidently she had met with her
match in Olivia.

"I overheard part of your conversation," said Olivia, addressing her
pointedly.

"Very honorable, I am sure," retorted Rose, with a sneer.

"Honor is thrown away on women like you," answered Olivia scornfully.
"I am glad I listened, for it enables me to protect the man I love
against your arts."

"That is not the man you love," said Rose spitefully; "he lies in the
marshes surrounding the Fen Inn, slain by the hand of his brother."

"That is not true! I swear it is not true!" cried Felix, approaching
nearer to Olivia.

"Be quiet, Francis," she said quickly; "let us hear what she has to
say."

"I have to say that Felix Briarfield loved me," cried Rose angrily;
"he loved me long before he ever saw you, but when you crossed his
path, he wanted to leave me. He impersonated his brother Francis, who
was at that time in America, and you, poor fool, did not discover the
deception."

"You are quite right, I did not," replied Olivia calmly; "go on."

"When his brother Francis came back this month, he thought all would
be discovered, and implored me to save him. He told me of a plan
whereby he intended to decoy his brother to the Fen Inn, on pretext of
explanation. There he intended to kill him."

Olivia made no remark, but placed her hand within that of Felix. I
wondered she could do so, seeing that he was accused by his accomplice
of a hideous crime, and made no denial.

"I went down to the Fen Inn with a man called Strent----"

"That was not his real name," I interrupted.

"How do you know that?" she said sharply.

"Never mind; I know that it is so."

"I decline to tell his real name," said Rose, darting a furious look
at me. "I call him Strent, and by that name you knew him, and knew me
at the Fen Inn."

"I certainly did not expect Rose Strent, waiting maid, to change to
Rose Gernon, actress."

"You are too meddlesome, Mr. Denham," she said coolly, "and would do
better to mind your own business."

"Scarcely, when I have discovered so vile a crime."

"It was he who committed it," said Rose malignantly, pointing to
Felix; "he came to the inn and killed his brother."

"It is a lie!" cried Felix, in despair. "I laid no hand on my brother.
I did not even see him."

"Wait one moment, Miss Gernon, before you make this accusation," said
Olivia. "You say that Felix is your lover?"

"I do."

"And you promised to assist him in removing Francis if he married
you?"

"I did."

"For what reason, when the removal of Francis would enable Felix to
marry me under his false name?"

"He promised not to do so, and I thought if I helped him to kill
Francis I could force him to marry me."

"You love him greatly?"

"I love him better than anyone else in the world."

"I am sorry for that," said Olivia, with a touch of pity, "because
Felix is dead."

"Felix dead!" said Rose incredulously. "Then who is this man?"

"This man is my lover, Francis Briarfield, who returned from Chili on
the 6th of June."




CHAPTER XII.
BACK FROM THE GRAVE.


For the moment I felt but little surprise, as I thought Olivia was but
making the same mistake she had made formerly. Yet when I noted that
she knew the true date of her lover's return, and remarked the strange
expression on the face of Rose, I became instinctively convinced that
she spoke the truth. It was Francis Briarfield who stood before me,
and the dead man was Felix. How the change of personality had taken
place I was unable to guess, but nevertheless felt that it was true.

Rose Gernon, with a look of disappointed rage, was the first to speak.
She stamped her foot, and laughed scornfully.

"This is ridiculous," she said contemptuously; "it was Francis who
died. He----"

"Francis did not die, as you well know," interrupted the young man.
"Felix fell into his own trap, and for safety I assumed his name. I
believe you were aware of this all along."

"How can that be? And if I really did know you were Francis, why did
you not say so?"

"Because I did not wish to betray myself. For aught I know you slew my
brother, and were quite capable of accusing me of his murder."

Rose evaded this question, and, tossing her head with a sneer, moved
toward the door. Before she could reach it I blocked her passage.

"Not yet, Miss Gernon," said I meaningly. "Though we have discovered
Felix to be Francis, we do not know how the former met with his
death."

"I cannot tell you."

"I think you can," said Olivia quickly, "seeing Felix by your own
confession made all arrangements with you."

"And yet Felix is dead," scoffed Rose.

"He fell into his own trap."

"I don't know how he died," she said resolutely. "As regards that, I
am as ignorant as you are, though I believe Francis killed him."

"Ah! You then acknowledge me to be Francis?"
"I acknowledge nothing. Let me pass, Mr. Denham. I have to attend to
my business."

"Not till you tell me where your so-called father, Strent, is to be
found."

"I don't know," she said sullenly.

"Yes, you do," persisted Olivia, "and you shall not leave this room
till you tell all."

"If I do not go to the theater, I shall be ruined."

"That does not matter to us," said Francis mercilessly.

The woman looked at our three faces, and, seeing therein no hope of
mercy, compromised the matter.

"Let me have a night to think over it," she entreated anxiously.

"No," said Francis and Olivia in one breath, "you must tell all now."

"There is no time," she urged; "I am late as it is: I must go."

"Let me speak, Briarfield," I interposed, seeing he was about to
refuse again. "We do not want to make a public scandal of this--as
yet."

Francis consulted Olivia with a look and turned to me.

"You know more about this case than anyone else," he said quietly.
"Miss Bellin and myself are quite prepared to leave the matter in your
hands."

"Very good. Then Miss Gernon can go to her duties. I undertake that
she shall be forthcoming tomorrow. Oh, yes, Miss Gernon," I added
ironically, "I have made all my plans. Knowing you were mixed up in
this case, I engaged a detective to look after you."

"A detective," she said, with a terrified look.

"Yes! One of the smartest detectives of Scotland Yard. Permit me to
escort you to the stage door of the theater and introduce you to this
gentleman. Perform your part tonight, and go home. To-morrow come to
these rooms at noon and tell us all you know. I am not afraid of your
escaping, as my detective will watch you till we see you again."

"Suppose I refuse!" said Rose viciously.

"In that case I'll have you arrested at once as an accessory to the
murder of Felix Briarfield."

"You are too strong for me," she said savagely. "I accept your
conditions. To-morrow I'll come here at twelve o'clock. Can I go now?"

"Certainly! Provided you accept me as your escort."

"As you please," she replied disdainfully. "As for you, Miss Bellin,"
she added, turning toward Olivia, "I wish you joy of your bargain.
That man is Francis Briarfield, sure enough. I knew it all along, and
played on his fears for my own ends. He is a coward, and Felix was
worth a dozen of him. For you, Mr. Briarfield, I have nothing but
contempt."

With this parting shaft she sailed out of the door, closely followed
by me. The detective was waiting on the other side of the street, and
followed us closely. Rose glanced uneasily from side to side, but not
one word would she speak. Nor did I wish her to talk, having quite
enough on my mind for the present. When we arrived at the stage door
of the Frivolity Theater, she halted on the step. In the light shed
from the lamp above I could see her scornful face.

"What I have promised I shall do, Mr. Denham," she said spitefully;
"but to-morrow I can tell you nothing. With all your cleverness as a
spy, you have discovered nothing but a mare's nest."

When she entered the theater, I turned round to the detective, whom I
found at my elbow.

"You know what you have to do?" I said imperatively.

"Yes, sir. I saw her face in the light. You can depend upon me; I
shan't lose sight of her."

"She is to come to Mr. Briarfield's rooms to-morrow at noon."

"That's all right, sir. I'll see she is there."

"Good. Be very careful. She is a clever woman, and would baffle the
devil himself."

"She won't baffle me," said the detective confidently, and so departed
on his mission.

Having thus provided for the safe keeping of Rose Gernon, I returned
to Briarfield's rooms, and found him alone. Miss Bellin had taken her
departure during my absence.

"Where is she?" I asked, glancing round.

"Olivia has gone home," explained Francis. "If she is back before
nine, her mother will never hear of this escapade, so I put her in a
cab and sent her off."

"All the better," said I, taking a seat. "Now that we are alone I wish
to hear the story of your transformation from Francis to Felix."

"I told you I was Francis all along," he said reproachfully.

"Yes; in such a way that I thought you were Felix," I answered
ironically. "You might have trusted me, Briarfield. It would have been
better for us all."

"I have no doubt it would," answered Francis gloomily, "but I was
afraid lest you should think I had killed Felix."

"I knew you were incapable of such a thing."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "Had I known you were so true a
friend, I should have made you my confidant. As it was, when I
remembered my wild threats of killing Felix, I dreaded lest, finding
him dead, you might accuse me of his murder."

"Who killed him?"

"I don't know. When I saw him, he was dead."

"And Strent and Rose?"

"They had left the house."

"What time was this?"

"About six in the morning."

"And I was not up till ten o'clock. You had plenty of time to fly. But
what put it into your head to place the dead body of Felix in your
bed?"

"It's a long story, and I hardly know if you will understand my
motives."

"Yes, I do. You were afraid of being accused of the crime. It was
foolish of you to mistrust me. I would have aided rather than blamed
you."

"I see that now. It was kind of you to try and avenge my death.
Unfortunately, all your industry was dangerous to me, and I had to
baffle it."

"You certainly did so very adroitly. But tell me the story. I am
anxious to know what took place."

Francis was quite unnerved by the late interview, and, before
continuing, poured himself out a glass of brandy. Then, pushing the
bottle toward me, he began his strange narrative without further
preamble.

"When I went to bed that night," he said slowly, "I could not sleep
for ever so long. I kept wondering if your theory could possibly be
true about the treachery of Felix. If it were, I considered how I
should punish my brother. While thus thinking, I fell asleep, and
didn't wake up till close on six o'clock in the morning. All my
troubles came on me with full force, and you know how much worse
things look at that hour than in broad daylight. There was no chance
of further sleep, so I put on my clothes and went downstairs. The
first thing I saw was my brother Felix lying dead on the floor."

"Had you any idea who killed him?"

"Not the slightest. I thought it was either Strent or the girl, so I
went in search of them. They had fled, for I found my horse gone, so
this flight confirmed me in my suspicion. At first I determined to
wake you up and explain all, but, remembering my foolish talk of the
previous night, I thought you might think me guilty of my brother's
death."

"That was a foolish idea."

"Well, put yourself in my place, and you would have thought as I."

"Not a bit of it. I should have had more moral courage."

"I hadn't at that moment. I thought you would denounce me and I would
be hanged, so took steps to secure my own safety. I went outside and
found my brother's horse at the side of the house. Strent and his
daughter had taken mine, and overlooked my brother's in the hurry of
their guilty flight. I saw a means of escape and took it."

"But what about the substitution of yourself for Felix?"

"I did that to throw off the scent. I guessed that your idea was
right, and that Felix was masquerading as I, so thought I might go
back with safety as myself. Felix was far cleverer than I, and it was
certain he had provided some reasons for the absence of his real self
while he passed himself off as me. The whole plot unrolled itself in a
moment before me, and I saw in carrying it through lay my only chance
of safety."

"It would have been far easier to have trusted to my friendship."

"I see that now," said Francis penitently, "but I did not then. I
wanted to leave the house without your waking, so took the body of
Felix softly upstairs, undressed it, and laid it in my bed. Then I
folded up my clothes on the chair beside the bed and dressed myself in
his suit."

"And the pearl ring?"

"I had to part with that so as to carry out the deception, therefore I
slipped it on the finger of the dead man. Then I locked the door of my
bedroom and came downstairs again. In a few minutes I was on my way to
Marshminster."

"How did you get the horse back to Fundy's stables, and what made you
think of going to Bellin Hall?"

"As to the first, I found Fundy's name on the saddle, so knew Felix
had hired the horse. I took it back to the stables, and, owing to my
resemblance to Felix, easily managed to deceive the hostler. Then as
Felix in his letter had told me he was staying at Bellin Hall I went
there."

"Was there any suspicion?"

"None at all! I told a footman I had been out for a morning ride, and
asked him to bring me a brandy and soda to my room; I needed the drink
after all I had gone through, but my principal reason for asking him
was to find out my room."

"How so?"

"Well, I made him carry the tray upstairs in front of me. Of course he
took it to the room of Felix, and thus I gained my point without
exciting suspicion. All the baggage, clothes, etc., of Felix were in
the room. I knew all about them, as I had seen them plenty of times.
Then I dressed in a morning suit and went downstairs to find Olivia."

"Did she guess the truth?"

"Not at first, but she saw there was something wrong, as she kept
referring to events of the previous week about which I knew nothing.
Luckily Mrs. Bellin did not come down to breakfast, so I was able to
tell her all when the servants left the room."

"Had she recognized that Felix was masquerading as you?"

"She had, more or less, but was not quite certain. When I told her all
that had occurred, she believed me at once. In some instinctive way
she knew that I was really her lover. Then we set to work to concert
measures for my safety. Olivia told me Felix was supposed to be in
Paris at the Hôtel des Étrangers and showed me his letters, so it was
decided as wisest to keep up that fiction. She told me all that had
taken place during my absence, and by the time you came I was
thoroughly fitted into the skin of Felix."

"Then I came and insisted you were Felix."

"Yes! You see, I told the truth, and so did Olivia, when I said I was
Francis. But, of course, as I had changed clothes with the dead man,
we saw where you were making your mistake. I never thought you'd take
my death so much to heart."

"Seeing that, Briarfield, you ought to have told me all."

"Olivia suggested as much, but I was afraid. When you asked me to ride
out and see the inn, I asked for a night's grace in order to get rid
of the body. I rode out during the night and threw it into a pool near
the inn."

"I know that pool," said I grimly, "and traced your trail thereto."

"I am afraid I did it badly," said Francis, with a shudder; "it was a
horrible task, yet necessary, as I thought when you saw nobody the
next day you would think it was a dream or a hallucination."

"I did very nearly," I answered gravely. "And what about Paris?"

"Oh, that was very easy. When you said you were going there to look up
Felix, I followed you to London by the same train and crossed over to
Paris at once. At the Hôtel des Étrangers I found Felix had bribed the
manager to send on those letters to Olivia. He, of course, thought I
was Felix and talked quite openly before me. Felix had invented a very
ingenious plot to enlist the manager in his service. What it was I
need not tell you, but I told the manager what I wanted and he did it
well. Of course I paid him lavishly."

"You mean he deceived me by saying you had been six weeks in Paris."

"Yes, and about my going to Italy. Of course when you saw me you
thought I was really Felix, and that you were out of your mind."

"How could I do otherwise when your statements were backed up by the
manager? I did not know what to make of it."

"Well, that's all I have to tell," said Francis, "and a lot of trouble
it has been. I wish I had told you all at first."

"What about Rose Gernon?"

"Oh, she found me out and made believe I was Felix. She wanted to
marry me, as you saw. I had great trouble with her."

"We'll settle her to-morrow," said I grimly. "But now, Francis, who do
you think killed your brother?"

"I can't say! I don't even know how he died."

"He died," said I, "from a wound in the hand inflicted by a poisoned
arrowhead which was taken from Bellin Hall."

"And who wounded him?" demanded Francis, turning pale.

"We'll find that out to-morrow," I answered, "from Rose Strent, alias
Rose Gernon."




CHAPTER XIII.
PERPLEXITY.


After all, it is true that the unexpected always happens. In my
unraveling of the Fen Inn mystery I never for a moment expected to
find that Francis was alive. I was even ignorant that Felix had been
to the inn on that night. He had ridden round the back way of the
house, and, as my room was over the front door, I had not heard his
arrival. Under these circumstances it was easy for me to make the
mistake, and think the dead man was Francis, particularly as I was
misled by the marvelous resemblance between the brothers, and,
moreover, saw the pearl ring on the finger of the corpse. My mistake
was a perfectly excusable one, and I had been confirmed in such
erroneous belief by the adroit fashion in which Francis, for his own
safety, kept up the deception.

Now I knew the truth, that Francis was alive and Felix dead, yet as
regards the name of the man who had committed the crime I was still
quite in the dark. Rose Gernon knew, but it was questionable whether
she would confess, even to save her own skin. Either she or Strent was
the guilty person, as none other was in the inn at that time. Strent
had vanished, but no doubt she knew his whereabouts. The question was
whether she would tell.

"Oh, she'll tell where he is, right enough," said Merrick, to whom I
put this view of the matter, "especially if she is guilty herself."

"You don't think she is the criminal, Merrick?"

"There is no reason why she should not be," he replied
argumentatively. "She had every reason to hate Felix Briarfield. He
had promised to marry her, and was engaged to Olivia. Quite enough
reason there for a jealous woman such as she seems to be."

"But she wanted Felix to kill his brother, so that she might force him
to marry her."

"Yes; but that little arrangement did not come off. My idea is that
she saw Felix when he arrived at the inn, and asked him straight out
if he had arranged to marry Olivia. She would hear of the engagement
while passing through Marshminster on her way to the lone inn. No
doubt Felix lied about the matter, and she lost her temper. It may be
that she did not intend to kill him, but, having the poisoned
arrowhead in her hand, forgot how dangerous it was, and threw herself
on him. He put out his hand to keep her off, and so was wounded. Then
he died, and, terrified at what the consequences might be, she and
Strent left the inn."

"But what about her blackmailing Francis?"

"She guessed what Francis had done, and saw a chance of securing her
aims by putting the murder on to him. He had so compromised himself by
his foolish actions that, of course, he was afraid to denounce her."

"Still, why did she want to marry him? She loved Felix, not Francis."

"It's my opinion she loved neither of them," said Merrick dryly, "and
simply wanted to marry for respectability."

"Do you think she will denounce Strent?"

"She'll denounce anyone to save herself."

"Won't you come and hear her confession, Merrick?"

"Not I. A respectable practitioner like myself has no business to be
mixed up in such criminality. Hitherto I have been the sleeping
partner in this affair, and you have carried through my ideas
excellently well. Continue to do so, and then come and tell me all
about it."

"Very pleasant for you," I grumbled; "but I have all the hard work."

Merrick laughed and pushed me out of the door. He had a dozen patients
waiting, and could spare no more time. He said one last word before I
left.

"Oh, by the way, Denham," said he, lifting a warning forefinger,
"don't you trust that Rose Gernon in the least. I've been making
inquiries about her, and she has a black record--about the worst in
London, I should say."

On my way to Jermyn Street I wondered how he had gained this
information. A specialist of Merrick's standing does not go round
making inquiries about loose characters. Yet I knew he spoke the
truth. His faculty for learning things was marvelous. Decidedly,
Merrick should have been a detective. His opinion about Rose Gernon
coincided with mine. One had only to look in her face to see what she
was.

At Jermyn Street I found Francis, eagerly waiting for my arrival.

"I've sent down to the Marshminster police," said he quickly, "and
instructed them to drag the pool near the Fen Inn."

"I am afraid you'll get into trouble over that, Briarfield."

"I don't care," said Francis doggedly. "I have been a coward too long.
Had I trusted you, and told all, there would not have been this
trouble. If the police arrest me, they can just do so, and I'll leave
it to you to see me through."

"I hope we'll learn the truth from Rose to-day."

"It's possible, but not probable. She'll lie like the devil, whose
daughter she is."

"I'm not too sure of that. If she is guiltless, she'll be only too
anxious to save her own neck. Why should she risk her liberty for the
sake of this man Strent? Who is he?"

"I haven't the least idea."

"Then we'll make Rose tell today--or have her arrested."

"There is not sufficient evidence against her," objected Francis.

"Yes, there is. I'll take the risk of all that. Before Rose Gernon
leaves this room she has to confess the truth. It's your only chance
of safety."

"But you don't believe I killed Felix?"

"I don't, but the police may. You forget how highly suspicious all
your actions have been. Rose knows you have been passing as your
brother, and will be sure to make capital out of it."

"You'll see me through, Denham?" he said, taking my hand.

"You can be sure of that," I answered, shaking it heartily. "I won't
rest till you are safe, and the murderer of your brother is in jail."

"Who killed him, do you think?"

"I don't know, but Rose does, and we'll make her tell!"

We discussed the matter extensively, but neither of us could come to
any conclusion. When the clock struck noon, Rose Gernon, true to her
appointment, walked into the room. Without waiting for an invitation
she sat down in a chair and scowled at me.

"That man of yours is outside," she said savagely; "he's been
following me about everywhere, and watching my house all night.
Perhaps you'll ask him to go away."

"That depends on the result of this conversation. You're not out of
danger yet, Miss Gernon."

"I am not aware that I was ever in danger, Mr. Denham! Are you going
to accuse me of killing Felix?"

"I might even do that unless you tell the truth!"

"Oh!" said she, with a sneer; "is that your game, sir? Then suppose I
do tell the truth, and say you killed Felix?"

"You're quite capable of doing so, but no one would believe so wild a
tale. I had no reason to kill Felix Briarfield."

"Then what motive had I for so doing?"

"That's best known to yourself," I answered tartly, weary of all this
fencing.

"It is waste of time talking like this," interrupted Francis. "You
must be aware, Miss Gernon, that you stand in a very dangerous
position."

"Not more so than you do yourself," she replied, with superb
insolence.

"Pardon me, I think otherwise. By your own confession you went down to
the Fen Inn to assist my brother in getting me out of the way. You
said that last night before two witnesses--Miss Bellin and Mr.
Denham."

"I talked at random," she muttered. "I did not intend that any crime
should be committed."

"Perhaps not. Nevertheless, my brother is dead, and you know how he
died."

"I know the cause of his death, but I do not know who killed him!"

"If you know one thing, you must know the other."

"I do not! When Felix arrived, he showed Strent and I an arrowhead
which he said was poisoned."

"Is this the arrowhead?" I asked, producing it out of a thick piece of
paper.

"Yes; where did you get it?"

"I found it in the ashes of the fireplace where you threw it!"

"That is not true," said Miss Gernon angrily. "I did not throw it into
the fireplace. I never even had it my hand--the idea that it was
poisoned frightened me."

"Pray go on with your story, Miss Gernon."

"I see you don't believe me," she flashed out defiantly, "but I am
telling exactly what took place. Felix said he was going to kill his
brother with the poisoned arrowhead. I told him I would have none of
that sort of thing; that I only consented to play the part of a
waiting maid in order to deceive his brother into a meeting. I said
Francis could marry Miss Bellin, and he was to marry me."

"And after that?"

"He jeered and said he intended to marry Miss Bellin. Then I grew
angry and struck him!"

She was in real earnest, for her mouth was set, and her hands were
clenched. Not a pretty sight by any means. I remembered Merrick's
idea, and conceived that it might be possible the woman before me had
killed the man who flouted her, not intentionally, but in a fit of
blind rage.

"You struck him with the arrowhead?" I hinted.

"No, I didn't! He had laid that down on the table. I struck him with
my open palm, and said if he killed his brother I would denounce him
to the authorities as a murderer; then he would go to the scaffold
instead of the altar with Miss Bellin."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing at first. Then I saw a look pass between him and Strent, and
they seemed to understand one another. Felix said he would return to
Marshminster, and let his brother marry Miss Bellin. I did not then
know he had been passing himself off as you," she added, turning to
Francis; "if I had, I would have guessed he was lying. As it was I
thought he spoke the truth, and kissed him. Then I went to bed."

"And afterward?" said Francis, seeing she paused.

"Well, I never saw Felix again till he was dead."

"In the morning?"

"No. An hour after I left him. Strent knocked at my bedroom door, and
asked me to come down. I guessed by his voice he was afraid, so
dressed hurriedly and came downstairs. Felix was lying dead by the
table. I could not see Strent, and went to look for him. He was out at
the back door mounting Francis' horse. I asked him where he was going,
and he said Felix was dead, and he did not want to stay in order to be
accused of the crime."

"Did he say he had killed him?"

"No; nor had I time to ask him. He went off at a gallop, and left me
alone with the body. I was horribly afraid, as I thought you or
Francis would wake up and accuse me of the crime. Besides, I could not
account for my presence in that house without suspicion. So I put on
my hat and cloak and fled to Marshminster."

"How did you fly?"

"There was a trap and horse in which Strent and I had brought
provisions to the inn. I harnessed the horse and drove back to
Marshminster. There I returned it to the owners, and went back to
London by the early train."

"What became of Strent?"

"I don't know. I have never set eyes on him since."

"Do you think he killed Felix?"

"Yes. I believe they had a row, and he killed him. But he did not
admit it."

Francis and I looked at one another. The whole business was so queer
as to be hardly believable. Nevertheless, we saw Rose Gernon had told
the truth.

"What made you come to me?" asked Francis.

"I thought you had escaped from the inn, and wished to ask you what
had become of your brother's body. Then I saw you wore the clothes of
Felix, and guessed the whole game."

"Particularly as you listened to my theory at the Fen Inn," said I.

"Yes," she answered quickly; "it was your conversation which put the
idea into my head. I saw that Felix had passed himself off as Francis,
and afterward Francis acted the part of Felix."

"You wished to marry me," said Francis, whereat Rose laughed.

"No. I tried that game on to get the whole truth out of you. I wished
you to admit you were Felix, for he had promised to marry me. However,
you did not fall into the trap. And now," she added, standing up, "I
have told you all, may I go?"

I consulted Francis with a look. He consented mutely.

"Yes," I said, also rising, "you may go, but my detective will still
watch you."

"For how long?"

"Till Strent is found."

"You think I know," she said, tossing her head. "You are wrong. Till I
met Strent at Marshminster I never saw him before, nor do I know where
he now is. Take off your bloodhound."

"When Strent is found," I persisted; "not till then."

She looked wrathfully at me, and rushed out of the room.




CHAPTER XIV.
THE HUNTING OF MAN.


We were no nearer the truth than before. Rose Gernon had told us
nothing new comparatively speaking. Certainly she declared herself to
be innocent of the crime, and accused Strent, but if we found Strent,
he might declare himself innocent and accuse her. One or the other of
them must necessarily be guilty, as they alone had seen Felix on that
fatal night. Rose was being closely watched by a detective, so that we
could obtain her evidence at any moment. It now remained for us to
find Strent, and hear his story. Francis believed Strent had killed
his brother. I had my doubts, as I could see no motive for him
committing the crime, whereas Rose, in a fit of blind anger, might
have done so. Merrick's theory as to her guilt was more in accordance
with my belief.

Hitherto we had kept the case from being meddled with by the police,
but now they began to handle the matter. Informed by Francis as to the
whereabouts of the body, they dragged the pool near the Fen Inn, and
recovered the corpse of the unhappy young man. Then the inspector
wrote a peremptory letter to Francis, requesting him to come down and
attend the inquest. There was a note of suspicion in the letter, and
Francis could not very well help obeying the summons. He requested me
to come with him, which I had every intention of doing. We settled the
time of our departure, and before going saw Olivia and Dr. Merrick.
Mrs. Bellin had not been informed of the death of Felix, nor did she
suspect that anything wrong was going on under her very nose. Thanks
to the wonderful resemblance between the twins, she accepted Felix as
Francis and Francis as himself without the slightest suspicion. At
first she had objected to the engagement, but afterward, learning that
Briarfield possessed a good income, consented. To be sure, she would
have been better pleased had Olivia married a title, but, as her
daughter declared she would marry no one but Francis, Mrs. Bellin gave
way with a good grace.

As to Olivia, she was terribly dismayed when she heard Francis was
going to Marshminster, and she dreaded lest he should be accused of
his brother's murder. The actions of Francis had been so very peculiar
that I was afraid to tell them to the inspector, lest he should think
the young man guilty. At the same time it was impossible to keep them
secret, as Francis had thrown the body of his brother into the pool,
and would have to explain to the inspector how it got there. Our only
chance of proving him to be innocent lay in finding Strent, and where
he was to be discovered none of us knew. Merrick's clever brain
discovered a clew to the destination of the fugitive.

"Did you ride to the Fen Inn from Marshminster?" he asked Francis.

"No. Had I come by train to Marshminster, I would have gone to Bellin
Hall, where my brother was staying, and seen him before Olivia."

"It's a pity you did not go there," said Merrick thoughtfully. "All
this trouble might have then been avoided. Well, how did you get to
the Fen Inn?"

"I took the train from London to Starby, hired a horse there, and rode
to the Fen Inn."

"How far is it from Starby to the Fen Inn?"

"About twelve miles."

"And from the Fen Inn to Marshminster?"

"Ten miles."

"Much about a muchness," said Merrick. "Did you tell Strent you had
ridden from Starby?"

"Yes, I had no reason to conceal my movements."

"Quite so. Well, according to Rose Gernon, it was your horse Strent
took to escape."

"It was. I wonder he did not take the horse of Felix."

"For a very simple reason! He knew when the alarm was given that you
and Denham would go to Marshminster; therefore to hide his trail the
better he went back with your horse to Starby."

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure of it. Go to the livery stable at Starby where you hired
your horse, and I am certain you'll find it there, restored by
Strent."

"Well," said I, in no wise satisfied, "suppose we trace him to Starby.
That will be no use. No doubt he took the train there to London."

"Very probably," said Merrick coolly, "and waited there for Rose
Gernon."

"But she has not seen him since he fled from the inn."

"So she says, but it is not true, for all that. When he killed
Felix,--and the evidence seems to point to him as the murderer,--he
told Rose to take the gig and go to Marshminster. Then he rode off to
Starby and rejoined her in London."

"But why should she conceal his movements?"

"Because he knows too much about the crime," said Merrick decisively.
"Either she did it herself and is afraid of his speaking, or he did it
and she wishes to screen him."

"Why should she wish to screen a man who killed her lover?"

"I can't answer all questions," said Merrick irritably, finding
himself at a loss; "all this is pure theory, but I think it is so. I
am certain there is an understanding between Rose and Strent. If that
detective watching Rose only knew Strent, I am certain he would catch
him paying her a visit."

"Why not give the detective a picture of the man?" suggested Francis.

"Why not, indeed!" I retorted derisively; "because we haven't got a
picture."

"I have one at my rooms," said Francis.

"Where did you get it?"

"I drew it while waiting for Felix at the Fen Inn. You know, Denham, I
have some skill in catching expressions and watching faces. The fellow
struck me as such a smug scoundrel that I penciled a caricature of him
while he moved about the dining room. It is not a photograph,
certainly--still, I think it is sufficiently like him."

"Capital!" said the doctor, rubbing his hands. "It's a good thing you
employed your leisure in that way, Mr. Briarfield. It may do you a
great service."

"You think I am in danger?"

"I think you stand in a perilous position," replied the doctor
gravely. "Your very efforts to preserve your secret and baffle Denham
will score against you with the police. And you must tell them all,
seeing you knew where the body was to be found."

"I'll tell them all, and do the best I can," said Francis, turning
pale, "but Rose can prove I was never out of my room."

"No, she can't! Rose went to bed, and for aught she knows you might
have come down and quarreled with your brother afterward. Your only
chance, Mr. Briarfield, of proving your innocence is to find Strent.
If you give that portrait to the detective watching Rose Gernon, I
believe you'll lay hands on him, but it's a mere chance."

"There is another means of identification," said I. "Strent is lame,
so if a lame man calls on Miss Gernon, my detective, aided by the
picture, will know it is Strent."

"Well, go and try my plan," said Merrick, shaking Francis by the hand.
"I hope for your sake, Mr. Briarfield, it will be successful."

When we left the doctor, Francis looked pale and upset. He was just
beginning to realize the predicament in which he stood. I was afraid
myself that when all was known he would be arrested. His own actions
looked black, though I knew they were done out of pure foolishness.
Had he only trusted me at the time, all the trouble would have been
averted. As it was I determined to stand by him to the end.

"Cheer up, Briarfield!" said I, clapping him on his back. "If Merrick
and I solved so much of the mystery, you may be sure we'll find out
the rest."

"It's the newspapers I'm thinking of," he said ruefully; "if all this
foolishness gets into the press, Mrs. Bellin will never let me marry
Olivia."

"I don't think Mrs. Bellin will have much say in the matter," I
answered dryly. "Olivia is not the kind of woman to give up her lover
so easily, particularly when she knows the truth. She'll stick to you,
as I intend to do. As to the press, you forget that the inquest is at
Marshminster, which only possesses a weekly paper. I know the editor,
and can keep all details out of it. Cheer up!"

"Thank you, Denham," said the poor fellow gratefully. "You are the
best friend I have."

"Faith, you didn't think so at Paris, Briarfield. I've no doubt that
there you cursed me by all your gods for a meddlesome fool."

At this he laughed, and began to pick up his spirits. We saw the
detective who was watching Rose Gernon, and gave him the picture drawn
by Francis, with a full description of the man he wanted. Especially
did we lay stress on the lameness, and in the end our detective
promised that he would nail any man answering to our description. I
gave him my address at Marshminster, and told him to wire when he
found out the whereabouts of Strent. I also told him to wire to
Merrick, as the doctor was anxious to know if his theory would prove
correct.

Next day we went down to Marshminster. By permission Francis stayed
with me at Aunt Jane's house, and, learning that he was in trouble,
the two old ladies made much of him. We saw the inspector of police,
who was a friend of mine, and learned that the body of Felix
Briarfield was at the morgue of Marshminster. The inquest was to be
held next morning, and all arrangements had been made. When the
inspector had supplied us with this information, we sat down and told
him the whole story as has been here set forth. He listened with much
astonishment, and expressed himself to that end.

"I never read a novel to touch this," he said, staring at Francis.
"Truth is stranger than fiction, after all. You greatly resemble your
unhappy brother, Mr. Briarfield."

"Is the body much decomposed?" asked I, seeing that Francis remained
silent.

"It's recognizable only," replied the inspector. "You acted very
foolishly in this matter, both of you. Why did you not come and tell
me about it all at once?"

"I was afraid of being accused of killing my brother," said Francis
faintly.

"You've made it ten times worse now," said the inspector dryly. "Had
you wished to damn yourself, you could not have gone to work in a more
pig-headed fashion."

"Are you going to arrest me?"

"No. There is not sufficient evidence against you. Besides, I quite
believe your story. Still," added he, with some hesitation, "you have
to face the coroner to-morrow. He may not believe you so easily as I."

"What do you think is best to be done?" I asked dismally.

"Well, judging from what you have told me, I should think the best
thing would be to find Strent," said the inspector; "he is the only
man to solve the mystery. Failing him, you'd better get Rose Gernon
down. Her evidence may go to prove that Mr. Briarfield was in bed at
the time Felix was in the house."

"I'll wire for her to come down at once," I said, jumping up.

"It will be as well. I'll send a man over to Starby, and find out if
Strent delivered the horse to the livery-stable keeper. I wish to
Heaven, Denham," said the inspector, raging at me, "that you had told
me all about this at first."

"I acted for the best."

"I've no doubt you did," he replied ill-temperedly, "but I hate your
amateur detectives; they simply muddle things. I'd have straightened
out this coil long ago had I taken it in hand."

"I have my doubts of that," said I dryly, and went off to the
telegraph office. There I sent a telegram to Rose Gernon, asking her
to come down by the early train next morning, and also informed the
detective that I wished her to come. I knew quite well she would not
dare to refuse, and, moreover, that my detective would send a man to
watch her, while he waited round her house for the possible appearance
of Strent.

When I got back to the inspector's room, I found that his ill temper
had vanished, and he was doing his best to console Francis.

"I've seen a man in a worse plight than is yours, Mr. Briarfield," he
was saying, when I entered, "and yet he came out all right in the end.
The cause of his predicament was similar."

"What's that?" said Francis, looking up.

"Lack of moral courage. Had you told Denham at the time, and then both
of you had told me, we might have laid our hands on Rose Gernon and
Strent. As it was, you gave them time to make up their plans and get
away."

"Rose hasn't got away," said I grimly. "She's safe enough, and will be
here to-morrow."

"I wish we could say the same about Strent," said the inspector.

"Do you think he is guilty?" asked Francis.

"Upon my word, sir, after all my experience of the law, I am afraid to
say who is guilty and who isn't. That theory of Dr. Merrick's
regarding Rose Gernon is feasible enough. She certainly seems to have
had more motive for killing your brother than had Strent."

"It's my opinion," said I, "that there is a relationship between
Strent and Rose. In such relationship lies the secret of the crime and
her silence."

"Humph! There's something in that," said the inspector. "They might be
man and wife."

"Or brother and sister," suggested Francis.

"Or even lovers," I said, nodding my head. "Jealousy on the part of
Strent might have spurred him on to killing Felix."

These, however, were all theories, and we parted for the night without
coming to any decision as to who was the guilty party. In the morning
I received a telegram from Merrick, and went off with it at once to
the inspector. It ran thus:

"Have secured Strent. Am bringing him down with Rose. Arrive at noon.
Hold over inquest if possible."

"By Jove, sir!" said the inspector, "that man is lost as a doctor. He
ought to be a detective!"




CHAPTER XV.
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE FEN INN.


"You see, I was right," said Merrick, when I met him at the station.

"You have been right in every instance," I answered; "the inspector,
here, quite agrees with me that you should be a detective. Where are
your prisoners?"

"No, no! Not prisoners!" replied Merrick, shocked at the word. "They
are my guests, traveling companions, what you will, but not
prisoners."

"Still, I see my detective attends on them both," said I, as Strent
and Rose Gernon came along the platform.

"It is as well to take all precautions. How is Francis Briarfield?"

"Rather downcast. He is afraid of being arrested for the murder."

"No fear of that," answered Merrick, casting a glance at Strent; "this
gentleman's evidence will exonerate him fully."

Strent, smooth and unctuous as ever, rubbed his hands and bowed, but
Rose Gernon turned her back on him with a gesture of disgust.
Evidently she had not forgiven his hurried departure from the inn.

"What are we waiting for?" she said sharply. "Let us go on to the
inquest. I wish to get it over as soon as possible and return to
town."

We took the hint, and walked along to a room adjoining the morgue,
where the inquest was being held. I introduced Merrick to the
inspector, and after a short conversation they went into the morgue to
examine the body. Not caring to see so ghastly a sight, I remained
outside with Francis. In a quarter of an hour the doctor and the
inspector returned, the former rubbing his hands with a well-pleased
expression, the latter looking somewhat astonished. What had passed in
the morgue I know not, as Merrick refused to gratify my curiosity.

"Wait till you hear the evidence of Strent," he said significantly.

The jury was made up of well-to-do Marshminster tradesmen, who took a
profound interest in the proceedings, as the dead man was the brother
of Miss Bellin's future husband. The Bellins were the great people of
the neighborhood, and the tradesmen hoped to serve the Hall when Mr.
and Mrs. Briarfield settled there. They were, therefore, excessively
polite to Francis, but their frequent marks of attention only drew
from him a bitter smile.

"Would they treat me in this way if they knew all?" he whispered to
me.

"They will never know all," I answered in the same tone.

I had spoken to the inspector, and he in his turn had talked seriously
with the coroner. The latter had been told the whole story, and,
though astonished at the folly of Francis, yet found it in his heart
to be sorry for the young man. He said he would not question Francis
more than was necessary, and we hoped to carry through the inquest
without exposing the underlying romance.

The first witness called was a local doctor, who deposed to having
examined the body of Felix. He gave it as his opinion that the young
man had died of poison, and explained the state of the blood with a
lot of medical technicalities which none of the jury understood. It
was, said the doctor, a case of blood poisoning, and the deceased had
been wounded in the hand by some sharp instrument which had been
steeped in poison.

I came next, and narrated how I had stayed at the Fen Inn on that
night, and had met there Francis Briarfield, who was waiting there for
his brother. Then I told of the discovery of the corpse, and the
finding of the arrowhead in the fireplace. I said nothing about my
tracking the trail to the pool, and if possible we wished that portion
of the evidence to be passed over in silence. Fortunately the jury
were a dull-headed lot, and submitted quietly to the guidance of the
coroner. He only asked questions pertinent to the death without going
too deeply into the subject. At this point I produced the arrowhead.

Francis explained that he had arrived from Chili on the 6th of June
and had gone at once to the Fen Inn at the request of his brother
Felix. His brother had not arrived on that night, and he had gone to
bed. He was unable to say how his brother had come by his tragic end.
Then came the critical point which we wished passed over in silence.

"Did you see your brother at the Fen Inn, Mr. Briarfield?" asked the
coroner.

"I did not see my brother alive," was the evasive answer.

"Perhaps the body had been put in the pool by the murderer," said one
of the jurymen, "in which case Mr. Briarfield would not see him."

"I did not go to the pool on that night," replied Francis, adroitly
evading the remark; "it was later on that I learned my brother's body
was there, and at once gave instructions that the pool was to be
dragged."

At this point Mr. Briarfield was asked to stand down, and the
inspector's evidence was taken. He deposed to the fact that Mr.
Briarfield had instructed him to drag the pool for the body, and that
it was found there.

This piece of evidence quite put the jury off the scent, as if Francis
had placed the body in the pool, he would not have told the inspector
where to find it. The critical point was thus glided gently over, and
the coroner called Rose Gernon. Once the jury knew how the crime had
been committed, they would forget all about the hiding of the body in
the pool, so that the folly of Francis would not be made public.

I must say that Rose Gernon gave her evidence very clearly. She said
she was an intimate friend of Felix Briarfield's, a statement which
rather shocked the moral tradesmen of Marshminster. Felix asked her to
go down to the inn, as he had prepared it for his brother, and wished
to see him there about a family matter.

"But the inn was a ruin," interrupted a juryman.

Miss Gernon said that was very true. Still it was habitable, and Mr.
Felix Briarfield had sent on fuel and provisions. As the former
proprietor had left all the furniture, the rooms were fairly
comfortable. She could not say why Felix did all this, unless it was
that he wanted to see his brother privately.

Such talk was very weak, and the jurymen looked significantly at one
another. They knew the Fen Inn, and could not conceive that anyone
could be so mad as to dwell in it even for a night. It was said to be
haunted, and though such a superstition might be scoffed at, yet not
one of those present would have passed twelve hours of darkness in
that ill-omened place.

"Were you not afraid when you saw the Lone Inn?" asked a juryman.

Rose shrugged her shoulders and laughed contemptuously.

"I am afraid of nothing," she said coolly; "there are no such things
as ghosts. Besides, I had my brother with me."

"Your brother!"

"Yes, Edward Strent."

The inspector gave a low whistle, and, catching my eye, nodded
significantly. He remembered what I had said on the previous night,
and now agreed with my theory that the secret of the committal of the
crime lay in the relationship existing between Rose and Strent. They
were, it appeared, brother and sister. I saw all kinds of
possibilities now that such a tie was made clear. Meanwhile Rose
proceeded with her evidence.

"Mr. Felix Briarfield came to the inn," she said, "after his brother
had gone to rest. I saw and spoke with him, and afterward went to bed
myself. I understood that he was going to stay all night and see his
brother in the morning."

"Was he alone in the room when you left him?"

"No; he was with Strent. An hour or so after I retired Strent came to
my door and asked me to go downstairs. I did so, and found Felix lying
dead on the floor. My brother had left the room, and on going; out at
the back of the house I found him mounting the horse of Mr. Francis
Briarfield. I asked him what had happened, and he just said Felix was
dead, and advised me to fly lest I should be accused of the murder."

"That, I suppose, was also the reason of his flight?"

"So he told me when I saw him in London, but he then declared himself
innocent of the crime. I was afraid I would be accused of the crime,
so took the horse and gig in which we had come to the Fen Inn, and
drove to Marshminster. From there I returned to London.

"Why did you not give the alarm?"

"I was afraid of being accused of the murder."

Here the inspector whispered something in the ear of the coroner. He
nodded, and again spoke to Rose Gernon.

"Why did you not tell Mr. Denham where to find Strent when he was
apparently guilty?"

"Strent is my brother," said Rose quietly, "and as he told me he was
innocent, I did not wish him to be arrested for the crime. But that he
visited me yesterday, and was seen by the men set to watch me, he
would never have been caught."

Her examination lasted some considerable time, but the coroner did not
succeed in eliciting anything new from her. She persistently held to
the same story, so in despair the examiner desisted, and she was told
to stand down. In her place Edward Strent was called, and then for me
began the most interesting part of the case. I knew all that had been
said hitherto, but I did not know how the crime had been committed,
and waited to hear what Strent had to say. I quite believed him to be
guilty, yet hardly thought he would accuse himself of the crime.

He first corroborated the story of Rose as to going to the inn, and
narrated all that had occurred up to the time when he was left alone
in the room with Felix.

"When I found myself alone with Briarfield," he proceeded, "I had a
quarrel with him."

"About what?"

"About my sister. He had promised to marry her, yet, as I well knew,
was paying attentions to Miss Bellin."

"But Miss Bellin was engaged to his brother," remarked a juryman.

"I know that. It was about Miss Bellin he wished to see his brother. I
insisted that he should marry my sister, and he refused. We had hot
words. He was on one side of the table, I on the other. Between us lay
the arrowhead, which he had brought in his pocket."

"Why had he brought the arrowhead there?"

"I don't know," replied Strent, lying with the utmost promptitude. "He
took the arrowhead out of his pocket, said it was poisoned, and laid
it down on the table."

"Do you think he intended to kill his brother because he stood in his
way with Miss Bellin?" asked an inquisitive juryman of a romantic turn
of mind.

"I really don't know, sir," replied Strent, looking the juryman
straight in the face. "He said nothing to me. We were quarreling over
the shabby way in which he had treated my sister, and the arrowhead
was on the table between us."

"What was the position of the arrowhead?" asked the coroner prompted
by Merrick.

"It was leaning against a book which was on the table, and the point
was uppermost. I said to Mr. Briarfield: 'Will you marry my sister?'
and he said: 'No; I'm ---- if I will.' While saying this, he brought
down the open palm of his hand on the arrowhead, and gave a cry of
pain. When he lifted his hand, it had a ragged wound across it from
the thumb to the little finger. I wished to bind it up, but he pushed
me away, crying out he was a dead man. In three minutes he was lying
dead on the floor. I threw the arrowhead into the fireplace, and tried
to revive him, but it was no use. He was dead!"

"And you?"

"I was afraid I would be accused of the death, as Mr. Denham or Mr.
Francis might have heard us quarreling together. I lost my head
altogether, and only thought of flight. I ran up to my sister's room,
and told her Felix was dead. Then I saddled the horse. When she came
to the door, I was mounting. I told her to take the gig and fly to
Marshminster, and that I would explain all in London."

"You fled like a coward!"

"I suppose I did," said the man sullenly, "but I was beside myself
with terror. I rode to Starby, and gave the horse back to the
livery-stable keeper. Then I went to London and saw my sister. She
agreed with me that it was best to keep quiet, so I did not come
forward to give evidence. Had it not been for that detective who
watched my sister, I should not be here now."

This evidence practically ended the inquest. Merrick was called to
prove that the wound in the hand was such a one as might have been
made by the downward stroke of the hand on a sharp point. This
evidence was substantiated by the local practitioner, who had
examined the body with Dr. Merrick. There was no doubt that the affair
had happened as Strent said. Felix Briarfield had slapped his open
hand on the table to emphasize his refusal to marry Rose Gernon.
Unfortunately, it came in contact with the poisoned arrowhead. The
flint had an edge like a razor, and, being steeped in virulent poison,
acted like a snakebite on the unfortunate young man. Felix had not
been murdered, but died by misadventure.

This was the verdict brought in by the jury, and so the whole of this
strange affair came to an end. Thanks to the astuteness of the
inspector, and the delicacy of the coroner, the jury were quite
unaware of what had happened between the death of Felix and the
inquest. The reporters of the Marshminster Gazette merely put in a
short statement of the affair, and in a few days people ceased to take
any interest in the Fen Inn crime. It was a lucky escape for Francis,
but I don't think the lesson was thrown away on him.

Rose Gernon and her brother went back to town the same evening. I
never saw Strent again, but frequently had the pleasure of seeing his
sister performing on the stage. She is now engaged to be married, but
with the knowledge of her actions at the Fen Inn I cannot say I envy
the bridegroom.

After the burial of Felix I went abroad with Francis, whose health was
quite broken down by the strain put on it during the last few weeks.
He returned in six months, and married Olivia. She was told all that
had taken place in the Lone Inn, but kept the information to herself.
Mrs. Bellin never knew that Felix had substituted himself for Francis.
I was best man at the wedding by particular request, and saw the happy
pair start for their honeymoon. I hope they will be happy, and am sure
they deserve to be, seeing through what tribulations they have passed.

"What has become of the Fen Inn?" asked Dr. Merrick, one day, when we
were talking over the case.

"Oh, the Fen Inn is pulled down, I believe," was my reply. "There will
be no more tragedies there."

"A fit end for such a shambles," said Merrick; and I think he was
about right.



THE END.










End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lone Inn, by Fergus Hume

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