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ONE or two people knew that at one
time Lady Molly Robertson-Kirk had been engaged to Captain
Hubert de Mazareen, who was now convict No. 97, undergoing a
life sentence for the murder of Mr. Steadman, a solicitor of
Carlisle, in the Elkhorn Woods in April, 1904. Few, on the
other hand, knew of the secret marriage solemnized on that
never-to- The husband of my dear lady, the man whom she
loved with all the strength of her romantic and passionate
nature, was duly tried and convicted of murder. Condemned to
be hanged, he was reprieved, and his sentence commuted to
penal servitude for life.
The question of Sir Jeremiah's estate became
a complicated one, for his last will and testament was never
signed, and the former one, dated 1902, bequeathed
everything he possessed unconditionally to his beloved
grandson Hubert.
After much legal argument, which it is
useless to recapitulate here, it was agreed between the
parties, and ratified in court, that the deceased
gentleman's vast wealth should be disposed of as if he had
died intestate. One-half of it, therefore, went to Captain
Hubert de Mazareen, grandson, and the other half to Philip
Baddock, the son. The latter bought Appledore Castle and
resided there, whilst his nephew became No. 97 in Dartmoor
Prison.
Captain Hubert had served two years of his
sentence when he made that daring and successful escape
which caused so much sensation at the time. He managed to
reach Appledore, where he was discovered by Mr. Philip
Baddock, who gave him food and shelter and got everything
ready for the safe conveyance of his unfortunate nephew to
Liverpool and thence to a port of safety in South America.
You remember how he was thwarted in this
laudable attempt by Lady Molly herself, who communicated
with the police and gave up convict No. 97 into the hands of
the authorities once more.
Of course, public outcry was loud against my
dear lady's action. Sense of duty was all very well, so
people argued, but no one could forget that at one time
Captain Hubert de Mazareen and Lady Molly Robertson-Kirk had
actually been engaged to be married, and it seemed
positively monstrous for a woman to be so pitiless towards
the man whom she must at one time have loved.
You see how little people understood my dear
lady's motives. Some went so far as to say that she had only
contemplated marriage with Captain Hubert de Mazareen
because he was then, presumably, the heir to Sir Jeremiah's
fortune; now--continued the gossips--she was equally ready
to marry Mr. Philip Baddock, who at any rate was the happy
possessor of one-half of the deceased gentleman's wealth.
Certainly Lady Molly's conduct at this time
helped to foster this idea. Finding that even the chief was
inclined to give her the cold shoulder, she shut up our flat
in Maida Vale and took up her residence at the little house
which she owned in Kirk, and from the windows of which she
had a splendid view of stately Appledore Castle nestling
among the trees on the hillside.
I was with her, of course, and Mr. Philip
Baddock was a frequent visitor at the house. There could be
no doubt that he admired her greatly, and that she accepted
his attentions with a fair amount of graciousness. The
county fought shy of her. Her former engagement to Captain
de Mazareen was well known, and her treachery to him was
severely censured.
Living almost in isolation in the village,
her whole soul seemed wrapped in thoughts of how to unravel
the mystery of the death of Mr. Steadman. Captain de
Mazareen had sworn in his defence that the solicitor, after
starting to walk through the Elkhorn woods with him, had
feared that the tramp over rough ground would be too much
for him, and hat almost immediately turned back in order to
regain the road. But the chauffeur, George Taylor, who was
busy with the broken-down car some two hundred yards up the
road, never saw Mr. Steadman again, whilst Captain de
Mazareen arrived at the gates of Appledore Castle alone.
Here he was met by Mr. Philip Baddock, who informed ~him
that Sir Jeremiah had breathed his last an hour before.
No one at the Castle recollected seeing a
stick in Captain Hubert's hand when he arrived, whilst there
were several witnesses who swore that he carried one at
Appledore Station when he started to walk with her ladyship.
The stick was found close to the body of the solicitor; and
the solicitor, when he met with his terrible death, had in
his pocket the draft of a will which meant disinheritance to
Captain de Mazareen.
Here was the awful problem which Lady Molly~
had to face and to solve it she persisted in believing that
the man whom she loved, and whom she had married at the
moment when she knew that proofs of guilt were dead against
him, was indeed innocent
WE had spent all the morning
shopping in Carlisle, and in the afternoon we called on Mr.
Fuelling, of the firm of Fuelling, Steadman & Co.,
solicitors.
Lady Molly had some business to arrange in
connexion with the purchase of an additional blt of land to
round off her little garden at Kirk.
Mr. Fuelling was courteous, but distinctly
stiff, in his manner towards the lady who was
"connected with the police," more especially
when--her business being transacted--she seemed inclined to
tarry in the busy solicitor's office, and to lead
conversation round to the subject of the murder of Mr.
Steadman.
"Five years have gone by since
then," said Mr. Fuelling curtly in response to a remark
from Lady Molly. "I prefer not to revive unpleasant
memories."
"You, of course, believed Captain de
Mazareen guilty?" retorted my dear lady imperturbably.
"There were circumstances----"
rejoined the solicitor, "and--and, of course, I hardly
knew the unfortunate young man. Messrs. Truscott &
Truscott used to be the family solicitors."
"Yes. It seemed curious that when Sir
Jeremiah wished to make his will he sent for you, rather
than for his accustomed lawyer," mused Lady Molly.
"Sir Jeremiah did not send for me,"
replied Mr. Fuelling with some acerbity, "he sent for
my junior, Mr. Steadman."
"Perhaps Mr. Steadman was a great friend
of his."
"Not at all. Not at all. Mr. Steadman
was a new arrival in Carlisle, and had never seen Sir
Jeremiah before the day when he was sent for and, in a brief
interview, drafted the will which, alas! proved to be the
primary cause of my unfortunate partner's death."
"You cannot draft a will in a brief
interview, Mr. Fuelling," remarked Lady Molly lightly.
"Mr. Steadman did so," retorted Mr.
Fuelling curtly. "Though Sir Jeremiah's mind was as
clear as a crystal, he was very feeble, and the interview
had to take place in a darkened room. That was the only time
my young partner saw Sir Jeremiah. Twenty-four hours later
they were both dead."
"Oh!" commented my dear lady with
sudden indifference. "Well, I won't detain you, Mr.
Fuelling. Good afternoon."
A few moments later, having parted from the
worthy old solicitor, we were out in the street once more.
"The darkened room is my first ray of
light," quoth Lady Molly with a smile at her own
paradoxical remark.
When we reached home later that afternoon we
were met at the garden gate by Mr. Felkin, Mr. Philip
Baddock's friend and agent, who lived with him at Appledore
Castle.
Mr. Felkin was a curious personality; very
taciturn in manner but a man of considerable education. He
was the son of a country parson, and at the time of his
father's death he had been studying for the medical
profession. Finding himself unable to pursue his studies for
lack of means, and being left entirely destitute, he had
been forced to earn his living by taking up the less exalted
calling of male nurse. It seems that he had met Mr. Philip
Baddock on the Continent some years ago, and the two young
men had somehow drifted into close acquaintanceship. When
the late Sir Jeremiah required a personal
nurse- Here Mr. Felkin remained, even after the old
gentleman's death. He was nominally called Mr. Baddock's
agent, but really did very little work. He was very fond of
shooting and of riding, and spent his life in the pursuit of
these sports, and he always had plenty of money to spend.
But everyone voted him a disagreeable bear,
and the only one who ever succeeded in making him smile was
Lady Molly, who always showed an unaccountable liking for
the uncouth creature. Even now, when he extended a somewhat
grimy hand and murmured a clumsy apology at his intrusion,
she greeted him with effusiveness and insisted on his coming
into the house.
We all turned to walk along the little drive
when Mr. Baddock's car came whizzing round the corner of the
road from the village. He pulled up at our gate, and the
next moment had joined us in the drive.
There was a very black look in his eyes as
they wandered restlessly from my dear lady's face to that of
his friend. Lady Molly's hand was even then resting on Mr.
Felkin's coat sleeve; she had been in the act of leading him
herself towards the house, and did not withdraw her hand
when Mr. Baddock appeared.
"Burton has just called about those
estimates, Felkin," said the latter somewhat roughly;
"he is waiting at the Castle. You had better take the
car--I can walk home later on."
"Oh! how disappointing!" exclaimed
Lady Molly, with what looked uncommonly like a pout. "I
was going to have such a cosy chat with Mr. Felkin--all
about horses and dogs. Couldn't you see that tiresome
Burton, Mr. Baddock?" she added ingenuously.
I don't think that Mr. Baddock actually
swore, but I am sure he was very near doing so.
"Burton can wait," said Mr. Felkin
curtly.
"No, he cannot," retorted Philip
Baddock, whose face was a frowning mirror of uncontrolled
jealousy; "take the car, Felkin, and go at once."
For a moment it seemed as if Felkin would
refuse to obey. The two men stood looking at each other,
measuring one another's power of will and strength of
passion. Hate and jealousy were clearly written in each pair
of glowering eyes. Philip Baddock looked defiant, and Felkin
taciturn and sulky.
Close to them stood my dear lady. Her
beautiful eyes literally glowed with triumph. That these two
men loved her, each in his own curious, uncontrolled way, I,
her friend and confidante, knew very well I had seen, and
often puzzled over, the feminine attacks which she had made
on the susceptibilities of that morose lout Felkin. It had
taken her nearly two years to bring him to her feet. During
that time she had alternately rendered him happy with her
smiles and half mad with her coquetries, whilst Philip
Baddock's love for her was fanned by his ever-growing
jealousy.
I remember that I often thought her game a
cruel one. She was one of those women whom few men could
resist; if she really desired to conquer she invariably
succeeded, and her victory over Felkin seemed to me as
purposeless as it was unkind. After all, she was the lawful
wife of Captain de Mazareen, and to rouse hatred between two
friends for the sake of her love, when that love was not
hers to give, seemed unworthy of her. At this moment, when I
could read deadly hatred in the faces of these two men, her
cooing laugh grated unpleasantly on my ear.
"Never mind, Mr. Felkin," she said,
turning her luminious eyes on him. "Since you have so
hard a taskmaster, you must do your duty now. But," she
added, throwing a strange, defiant look at Mr. Baddock,
"I shall be at home this evening; come and have our
cosy chat after dinner."
She gave him her hand, and he took it with a
certain clumsy gallantry and raised it to his lips. I
thought that Philip Baddock would strike his friend with his
open hand. The veins on his temples were swollen like dark
cords, and I don't think that I ever saw such an evil look
in anyone's eyes before.
Strangely enough, the moment Mr. Felkin's
back was turned my dear lady seemed to set herself the task
of soothing the violent passions which she had wilfully
aroused in the other man. She invited him to come into the
house, and, some ten minutes later, I heard her singing to
him. When, later on, I went into the boudoir to join them at
tea, she was sitting on the music stool whilst he half bent
over her, half knelt at her feet; her hands were clasped in
her lap, and his fingers were closed over hers.
He did not attempt to leave her side when he
saw me entering the room. In fact, he wore a triumphant air
of possession, and paid her those attentions which only an
accepted lover would dare to offer.
He left soon after tea, and she accompanied
him to the door. She gave him her hand to kiss, and I, who
stood at some little distance in the shadow, thought that he
would take her in his arms, so yielding and gracious did she
seem. But some look or gesture on her part must have checked
him, for he turned and walked quickly down the drive.
Lady Molly stood in the doorway gazing out
towards the sunset. I, in my humble mind, wondered once
again what was the purport of this cruel game.
HALF an hour later she called to me,
asked for her hat, told me to put on mine and to come out
for a stroll.
As so often happened, she led the way towards
the Elkhorn woods, which, in spite, or perhaps because, of
the painful memories they evoked, was a very favourite walk
of hers.
As a rule the wood, especially that portion
of it where the unfortunate solicitor had been murdered, was
deserted after sunset. The villagers declared that Mr.
Steadman's ghost haunted the clearing, and that the cry of
the murdered man, as he was being foully struck from behind,
could be distinctly heard echoing through the trees.
Needless to say these superstitious fancies
never disturbed Lady Molly. She liked to wander over the
ground where was committed that mysterious crime which had
sent to ignominy worse than death the man she loved so
passionately. It seemed as if she meant to wrench its secret
from the silent ground, from the leafy undergrowth, from the
furtive inhabitants of the glades.
The sun had gone down behind the hills; the
wood was dark and still. We strolled up as far as the first
clearing, where a plain granite stone, put up by Mr. Philip
Baddock, marked the spot where Mr. Steadman had been
murdered.
We sat down on it to rest. My dear lady's
mood was a silent one; I did not dare to disturb it, and,
for a while, only the gentle "hush--sh--sh" of the
leaves, stirred by the evening breeze, broke the peaceful
stillness of the glade.
Then we heard a murmur of voices, deep-toned
and low. We could not hear the words spoken, though we both
strained our ears, and presently Lady Molly arose and
cautiously made her way among the trees in the direction
whence the voices came, I following as closely as I could.
We had not gone far when we recognized the
voices and heard the words that were said. I paused,
distinctly frightened, whilst my dear lady whispered a
warning "Hush!"
Never in all my life had I heard so much
hatred, such vengeful malignity expressed in the intonation
of the human voice as I did in the half-dozen words which
now struck my ear.
"You will give her up, or----"
It was Mr. Felkin who spoke. I recognized his
raucous delivery, but I could not distinguish either of the
two men in the gloom.
"Or what?" queried the other, in a
voice which trembled with either rage or fear--perhaps with
both.
"You will give her up," repeated
Felkin sullenly. "I tell you that it is an
impossibility--do you understand?--an impossibility for me
to stand by and see her wedded to you, or to any other man
for the matter of that. But that is neither here nor
there," he added after a slight pause. "It is with
you I have to deal now. You shan't have her--you shan't--I
won't allow it, even if I have to----"
He paused again. I cannot describe the
extraordinary effect this rough voice coming out of the
darkness had upon my nerves. I had edged up to Lady Molly,
and had succeeded in getting hold of her hand. It was like
ice, and she herself was as rigid as that piece of granite
on which we had been sitting.
"You seem bubbling over with covert
threats," interposed Philip Baddock, with what was
obviously a sneer; "what are the extreme measures to
which you will resort if I do not give up the lady whom I
love with my whole heart, and who has honoured me to-day by
accepting my hand in marriage?"
"That is a lie!" ejaculated Felkin.
"What is a lie?" queried the other
quietly.
"She has not accepted you--and you know
it. You are trying to keep me away from her--arrogating
rights which you do not possess. Give her up, man, give her
up. It will be best for you. She will listen to me--I can
win her all right--but you must stand aside for me this
time. Take the word of a desperate man for it, Baddock. It
will be best for you to give her up."
Silence reigned in the wood for a few
moments, and then we heard Philip Baddock's voice again, but
he seemed to speak more calmly, almost indifferently, as I
thought.
"Are you going now?" he asked.
"Won't you come in to dinner?"
"No," replied Felkin, "I don't
want any dinner, and I have an appointment for
afterwards."
"Don't let us part ill friends,
Felkin," continued Philip Baddock in conciliatory
tones. "Do you know that, personally, my feeling is
that no woman on earth is worth a serious quarrel between
two old friends, such as we have been."
"I'm glad you think so," rejoined
the other dryly. "S'long."
The cracking of twigs on the moss-covered
ground indicated that the two men had parted and were going
their several ways.
With infinite caution~ and holding my hand
tightly in hers, my dear lady made her way along the narrow
path which led us out of the wood.
Once in the road we walked rapidly, and soon
reached our garden gate. Lady Molly had not spoken a word
during all that time, and no one knew better than I did how
to respect her silence.
During dinner she tried to talk of
indifferent subjects, and never once alluded to the two men
whom she had thus wilfully pitted one against the other.
That her calm was only on the surface, however, I realized
from the fact that every sound on the gravel path outside
caused her to start. She was, of course, expecting the visit
of Mr. Felkin.
At eight o'clock he came. It was obvious that
he had spent the past hour in wandering about in the woods.
He looked untidy and unkempt. My dear lady greeted him very
coldly, and when he tried to kiss her hand she withdrew it
abruptly.
Our drawing-room was a double one, divided by
portiere curtains. Lady Molly led the way into.the front
room, followed by Mr. Felkin. Then she drew the curtains
together, leaving me standing behind them. I concluded that
she wished me to stay there and to listen, conscious of the
fact that Felkin, in his agitated mood, would be quite
oblivious of my presence.
I almost pitied the poor man, for to me--the
listener--it was at once apparent that my dear lady had only
bidden him come to-night in order to torture him. For about
a year she had been playing with him as a cat does with a
mouse; encouraging him at times with sweet words and smiles,
repelling him at others with coldness not unmixed with
coquetry. But to-night her coldness was unalloyed; her voice
was trenchant, her attitude almost one of contempt.
I missed the beginning of their conversation,
for the curtains were thick and I did not like to go too
near, but soon Mr. Felkin's voice was raised. It was harsh
and uncompromising.
"I suppose that I am only good enough
for a summer's flirtation?" he said sullenly, "but
not to marry, eh? The owner of Appledore Castle, the
millionaire, Mr. Baddock, is more in your line----"
"It certainly would be a more suitable
match for me," rejoined Lady Molly coolly.
"He told me that you had formally
accepted him," said the man with enforced calm;
"is that true?"
"Partly," she replied.
"But you won't marry him!"
The exclamation seemed to come straight from
a heart brimful of passion, of love, of hate, and of
revenge. The voice had the same intonation in it which had
rung an hour ago in the dark Elkhorn woods.
"I may do," came in quiet accents
from my dear lady.
"You won't marry him," repeated
Felkin roughly.
"Who shall prevent me?" retorted
Lady Molly with a low, sarcastic laugh.
"I will."
"You?" she said contemptuously.
"I told him an hour ago that he must
give you up I tell you now that you shall not be Philip
Baddock's wife."
"Oh!" she interposed. And I could
almost see the disdainful shrug of her shoulders, the flash
of contempt in her expressive eyes.
No doubt it maddened him to see her so cool,
so indifferent, when he had thought that he could win her. I
do believe that the poor wretch loved her. She was always
beautiful, but never more so than to-night, when she had
obviously determined finally to dismiss him.
"If you marry Philip Baddock," he
now said in a voice which quivered with uncontrolled
passion, "then within six months of your wedding-day
you will be a widow, for your husband will have ended his
life on the gallows."
"You are mad!" she retorted calmly.
"That is as it may be," he replied.
"I warned him to-night, and he seems inclined to heed
my warning; but he won't stand aside if you beckon to him.
Therefore, if you love him, take my warning. I may not be
able to get you, but I swear to you that Philip Baddock
shan't either. I'll see him hanged first," he added
with gruesome significance.
"And do you think that you can force me
to do your bidding by such paltry threats?" she
retorted.
"Paltry threats? Ask Philip Baddock if
my threats are paltry. He knows full well that in my room at
Appledore Castle, safe from thievish fingers, lie the proofs
that he killed Alexander Steadman in the Elkhorn woods. Oh!
I wouldn't help him in his nefarious deeds until he placed
himself in my hands. He had to take my terms or leave the
thing alone altogether, for he could not work without me. My
wants are few, and he has treated and paid me well. Now we
are rivals, and I'll destroy him before I'll let him gloat
over me.
"Do you know how we worked it? Sir
Jeremiah would not disinherit his grandson--he steadily
refused to make a will in Philip Baddock's favour But when
he was practically dying we sent for Alexander Steadman--a
newcomer, who had never seen Sir Jeremiah before--and I
impersonated the old gentleman for the occasion. Yes,
I!" he repeated with a coarse laugh, "I was Sir
Jeremiah for the space of half an hour, and I think that I
played the part splendidly. I dictated the terms of a new
will. Young Steadman never suspected the fraud for a single
instant. We had darkened the room for the comedy, you see,
and Mr. Steadman was destined by Baddock and myself never to
set eyes on the real Sir Jeremiah.
"After the interview Baddock sent for
Captain de Mazareen; this was all part of his plan and mine.
We engineered it all, and we knew that Sir Jeremiah could
only last a few hours. We sent for Steadman again, and I
myself scattered a few dozen sharp nails among the loose
stones in the road where the motor-car was intended to break
down, thus forcing the solicitor to walk through the woods.
Captain de Mazareen's appearance on the scene at that
particular moment was an unrehearsed effect which nearly
upset all our plans, for had Mr. Steadman stuck to him that
night, instead of turning back, he would probably be alive
now, and Baddock and I would be doing time somewhere for
attempted fraud. We should have been done, at any rate.
"Well! you know what happened. Mr.
Steadman was killed. Baddock killed him, and then ran
straight back to the house, just in time to greet Captain de
Mazareen, who evidently had loitered on his way. But it was
I who thought of the stick, as an additional precaution to
avert suspicion from ourselves. Captain de Mazareen was
carrying one, and left it in the hall at the Castle. I cut
my own hand and stained the stick with it, then polished and
cleaned it up, and later, during the night, deposited it in
the near neighbourhood of the murdered body. Ingenious,
wasn't it? I am a clever beggar, you see. Because I was
cleverer than Baddock he could not do without me, and
because he could not do without me I made him write and sign
a request to me to help him to manufacture a bogus will and
then to murder the solicitor who had drawn it up. And I have
hidden that precious document in the wing of Appledore
Castle which I inhabit; the exact spot is known only to
myself. Baddock has often tried to find out, but all he
knows is that these things are in that particular wing of
the house. I have the document, and the draft of the will
taken out of Mr. Steadman's pocket, and the short bludgeon
with which he was killed--it is still stained with
blood--and the rags with which I cleaned the stick. I swear
that I will never make use of these things against Philip
Baddock unless he drives me to it, and if you make use of
what I have just told you I'll swear that I have lied. No
one can find the proofs which I hold. But on the day you
marry Baddock I'll put them in the hands of the
police."
There was silence in the room. I could almost
hear the beating of my own heart, so horrified, so appalled
was I at the horrible tale which the man had just told to my
dear lady.
The villainy of the whole scheme was so
terrible, and at the same time so cunning, that it seemed
inconceivable that human brain could have engendered it.
Vaguely in my dull mind I wondered if Lady Molly would have
to commit bigamy before she could wrench from this
evildoer's hands the proofs that would set her own husband
free from his martyrdom.
What she said I did not hear, what he meant
to retort I never knew, for at that moment my attention was
attracted by the sound of running footsteps on the gravel,
followed by a loud knock at our front door. Instinctively I
ran to open it. Our old gardener was standing there hatless
and breathless.
"Appledore Castle, miss," he
stammered, "it's on fire. I thought you would like to
know."
Before I had time to reply I heard a loud
oath uttered close behind me, and the next moment Felkin
dashed out of the drawing-room into the hall.
"Is there a bicycle here that I can
take?" he shouted to the gardener.
"Yes, sir," replied the old man;
"my son has one. Just in that shed, sir, on your
left."
In fewer seconds than it takes to relate
Felkin had rushed to the shed, dragged out the bicycle,
mounted it, and I think that within two minutes of hearing
the awful news he was bowling along the road, and was soon
out of sight.
ONE wing of the stately mansion was
ablaze when, a quarter of an hour later, my dear lady and I
arrived upon the scene. We had come on our bicycles not long
after Mr. Felkin.
At the very moment that the weird spectacle
burst fully upon our gaze a loud cry of horror had just
risen from the hundred or so people who stood watching the
terrible conflagration, whilst the local fire brigade,
assisted by Mr. Baddock's men, were working with the
hydrants. That cry found echo in our own throats as we saw a
man clambering, with the rapidity of a monkey, up a long
ladder which had been propped up against a second floor
window of the flaming portion of the building. The red glow
illumined the large, shaggy head of Felkin, throwing for a
moment into bold relief his hooked nose and straggly beard.
For the space of three seconds perhaps he stood thus, out-
lined against what looked like a glowing furnace behind him,
and the next instant he had disappeared beyond the window
embrasure.
"This is madness!" came in loud
accents from out the crowd in the foreground, and before one
fully realized whence that voice had come, Mr. Philip
Baddock was in his turn seen clambering up that awful
ladder. A dozen pairs of hands reached him just in time to
drag him back from the perilous ascent. He fought to free
himself, but the firemen were determined and soon succeeded
in bringing him back to level ground, whilst two of them,
helmeted and well-equipped, took his place upon the ladder.
The foremost had hardly reached the level of
the first story when Felkin's figure once more appeared in
the window embrasure above. He was staggering like a man
drunk or fainting, his shaggy hair and beard were blown
about his head by the terrible draught caused by the flames,
and he waved his arms over his head, giving the impression
to those below, who gazed horrified, that he was either
possessed or dying. In one hand he held what looked like a
great long bundle.
We could see him now put one leg forward,
obviously gathering strength to climb the somewhat high
window ledge. With a shout of encouragement the two firemen
scrambled up with squirrel-like agility, and the cry of
"They're coming! they're coming! Hold on, Felkin!"
rose from a hundred excited throats.
The unfortunate man made another effort. We
could see his face clearly now in the almost blinding glow
which surrounded him. It was distorted with fear and also
with agony.
He gave one raucous cry, which I do believe
will echo in my ears as long as I live, and with a super-
human effort he hurled the bundle which he held out of the
window.
At that same moment there was a terrific
hissing, followed by a loud crash. The floor beneath the
feet of the unfortunate man must have given way, for he
disappeared suddenly in a sea of flames.
The bundle which he had hurled down had
struck the foremost fireman on the head. He lost his hold,
and as he fell he dragged his unfortunate comrade down with
him. The others ran to the rescue of their comrades. I don't
think they were seriously hurt, but what happened directly
after among the crowd, the firemen, or the burning building,
I cannot tell you. I only know that at the moment when
Felkin's figure was, for the second time, seen in the frame
of the glowing window, Lady Molly seized my hand and dragged
me forward through the crowd.
Her husband's life was hanging in the
balance, just as much as that of the miserable wretch who
was courting a horrible death for the sake of those proofs
which--as it was proved afterwards--Philip Baddock tried to
destroy by such drastic means.
The excitement round the ladder, the fall of
the two firemen, the crashing in of the floor and the
gruesome disappearance of Felkin caused so much excitement
in the crowd that the bundle which the unfortunate man had
thrown remained unheeded for the moment. But Philip Baddock
reached the spot where it fell thirty seconds after Lady
Molly did. She had already picked it up, when he said
harshly:
"Give me that. It is mine. Felkin risked
his life to save it for me."
Inspector Etty, however, stood close by, and
before Philip Baddock realized what Lady Molly meant to do,
she had turned quickly and placed the bundle in the
inspector's hands.
"You know me, Etty, don't you?" she
said "Oh, yes, my lady!" he replied.
"Then take the utmost care of this
bundle. It contains proofs of one of the most dastardly
crimes ever committed in this country."
No other words could have aroused the
enthusiasm and caution of Etty in the same manner.
After that Philip Baddock might protest,
might rage, storm, or try to bribe, but the proofs of his
guilt and Captain de Mazareen's innocence were safe in the
hands of the police, and bound to come to light at last.
But, as a matter of fact, Baddock neither
stormed nor pleaded. When Lady Molly turned to him once more
he had disappeared.
You know the rest, of course. It occurred too
recently to be recounted. Philip Baddock was found the next
morning with a bullet through his head, lying on the granite
stone which, with cruel hypocrisy, he himself had erected in
memory of Mr. Steadman whom he had so foully murdered.
The unfortunate Felkin had not lied when he
said that the proofs which he held of Baddock's guilt were
conclusive and deadly.
Captain de Mazareen obtained His Majesty's
gracious pardon after five years of martyrdom which he had
borne with heroic fortitude.
I was not present when Lady Molly was once
more united to the man who so ardently worshipped and
trusted her, and to whose love, innocence, and cause she had
remained so sublimely loyal throughout the past few years.
She has given up her connexion with the
police. The reason for it has gone with the return of her
happiness, over which I--her ever |
(End.)
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