CHAPTER XXII. THE WHOLE TRUTH

So Miss Destiny was the criminal after all, and her confession alone revealed what had taken place in Anne Caldershaw's back room, shortly before I had arrived in my motor car to search for adventure. Inspector Dredge came to The Lodge that same evening to relate all that had taken place, and to inform us how he had come to Burwain. The little woman's body was found broken in pieces on the outskirts of Tarhaven, and small wonder, considering the terrible height from which she had fallen. We did not hear until the next day what Weston thought, as his airship proved to be unmanageable, and drifted over toward the island of Grain, where he managed to descend. There he remained for the night, and came back by train to Burwain in the afternoon of the ensuing day. But neither Gertrude nor I troubled about Weston's failure or absence. We were far too much taken up with the story told by Inspector Dredge.

"As you were so much connected with the matter, Mr. Vance," said the stern-faced man, when he appeared at four o'clock in the drawing-room of The Lodge, "it is only fair that you should know the truth."

"I also am connected with the matter, Mr. Inspector," said Gertrude, "for I----"

He interrupted her with a grave bow. "I know what you would say, miss. You were in the back room, and left your cloak there, which was afterwards worn by Joseph Striver when he escaped in Mr. Vance's motor car. No blame attaches to you, miss, and I quite understand that you did not care to incriminate yourself by coming to explain to me. Yet, if you had done so," he ended, with rebukeful emphasis, "we might have arrived earlier at the truth."

"Who told you all this?" I asked curiously.

"Striver himself--by letter, that is," said Dredge, bringing out some papers from the pocket of his overcoat. "He is an accomplice after the fact. Miss Destiny, who actually committed the crime is dead, and her body--or what remains of it--lies at Tarhaven waiting the inquest, which will be held to-morrow. But Joseph will be searched for and arrested, as he knew the truth all along."

"Why did he not tell it?" asked Gertrude anxiously.

"I think you are to blame, Miss, or rather your sweet looks, Miss. Striver wished to use what he had learned in order to marry you."

"But what did he learn?" I asked, while Gertrude blushed at the complimentary tone of the officer.

"I am coming to that," said Dredge calmly, "all in good time, Mr. Vance. Two days ago I received a letter from Joseph Striver. It stated that he was sailing from a certain port to some foreign land, which he refused to name."

"Where is the letter written from?"

"There is no address given, Mr. Vance, but the postmark is that of London. It was posted at the General Post Office, so Striver has covered up his tracks very carefully. By this time he is doubtless on the high seas, and it will be difficult to trace him."

"Well?" I demanded impatiently, "and what did he say in his letter?"

Dredge took out an epistle--written on foolscap, as had been the one to me--and spread it out on the table. "There is no need to read it," he said gravely, "as I know the contents by heart."

"Yes; go on." Gertrude and myself were all attention.

"Striver writes that he came to see his aunt, knowing that Miss Monk was due for a visit. He was informed of this fact by Miss Destiny. Striver went up to the bedroom, while his aunt talked to Miss Monk who then arrived. Afterwards, Walter Monk entered the shop, and his daughter--you Miss," said the Inspector with a dry nod, "departed by the back door."

"I did not wish to meet my father," said Gertrude in low tones.

"So I understand from Striver's letter," said Dredge still dryly. "Well then, it appears that Mr. Monk also knew of his daughter's visit to Mrs. Caldershaw through Miss Destiny----"

"But why should she have told everyone that I was going?" asked Gertrude in an indignant voice.

"Can't you guess, Miss?" asked Dredge pityingly. "Miss Destiny went over to Mootley with the intention of murdering the woman."

"For what reason," I asked, anxious to be fully satisfied.

The Inspector heaved a sigh at my apparent stupidity. "You, Miss," he said to Gertrude, "had told Miss Destiny of your discovery of the diary and of your intention to ask Mrs. Caldershaw for the cipher. Your aunt, Miss, then guessed from sundry remarks that Mrs. Caldershaw had let fall, that the cipher was contained in the false eye worn by the woman. Miss Destiny determined to get that eye even at the cost of murder, and so told several people of your proposed visit, so that she might throw the blame on them."

"Do you mean to say," questioned Gertrude horrified, "that my aunt deliberately intended to have me accused of murder?"

"You, or Striver, or your father," assented Dredge coolly, "she had to save her own skin somehow you see, Miss, but to continue, Striver was wakened from sleep by a quarrel between Mrs. Caldershaw and Mr. Monk, as he waited the cipher, which she refused to give up----"

"Did he know that it was hidden in the eye?" I interrupted.

"I don't think so. He did not say so, from what Striver overheard. But he could not get what he wanted, and therefore went away, and walked back to Murchester as he had come. He called himself"--Dredge referred to the letter--"Mr. Wentworth Marr."

"Yes, yes, we know that," I said hastily.

"It seems to me, Mr. Vance, that you know much which you have not told me."

"I had my reasons, and very good ones," said I stiffly.

"No reasons should prevent your helping the police in the execution of their duty," said Dredge, with an official air. "However, as things have turned out for the best, we can let that pass. When Mr. Monk departed," he continued, taking up the thread of his narrative, "Striver told his aunt that he wanted to sleep, and returned to the bedroom. There he really did fall asleep, but before doing so he heard the voice of Miss Destiny."

"But she did not arrive until after the murder," I exclaimed.

"She arrived long before, as you will read in her confession," said Dredge grimly. "Let me proceed in due order, if you please. Striver stole down the stairs, as he was anxious to learn what Miss Destiny had to say to his aunt. He heard her ask for the cipher. Mrs. Caldershaw refused to give it up, saying she had it hidden in her false left eye, which would never leave her head until she was dead."

"Ah!" said Gertrude, "so that is how Aunt Julia learned about the eye."

"I think she knew it before," replied Dredge with a shrug. "However, when Striver learned about the eye, he retreated to the bedroom and threw himself on the bed to think how he could get it. Then he fell asleep. When he awoke it was quite dark and----"

"We know the rest," I interposed quickly; "he came downstairs and found his aunt dead. Then he heard me coming, and managed to lock me in and escape with my car."

Dredge nodded, glancing meanwhile at the letter. "Yes, Mr. Vance, it is as you say. Of course Striver knew that Miss Destiny had murdered his aunt, so when she returned to Burwain he taxed her with the crime. She denied it and tried to throw the blame on her niece and on Mr. Monk. But Striver threatened to tell the police, and the woman confessed. She said that she would find the money and give half to Striver: also that she would aid him to marry Miss Monk."

"The idea!" cried Gertrude angrily; "as if she could."

"She hoped to force you, by implicating you in the murder. For that reason, according to Striver, she left the eye on the table in this drawing-room."

"What!" I started to my feet. "Was it Miss Destiny who----?"

"Herself," said Dredge coolly. "She talked to Striver in the garden, then went to the window--that one yonder," said Dredge, pointing to the middle French window--"and placed the eye on the table, hoping that you, Miss, would find it. Then she trusted that you would not be able to account for its possession and would be accused of the crime."

"What a wicked woman; oh, what a wicked woman!"

"I think she was, Miss. However, she has paid for her wickedness by a most terrible death; if you had seen the body"--He stopped and, iron-nerved as he was, shuddered. After a pause he continued: "When Miss Destiny placed the eye on the table she went back to talk to Striver, and you, Mr. Vance, found them together."

"Yes, I did. But why did Striver go to the window. Did he know?"

"I can't be sure. Since he loved Miss Monk, I don't think he would have lent himself to such a wicked plot even to marry her. But he did go and secure the eye. Then he----"

"Used it to frighten Mr. Monk, who afterwards destroyed it. Go on."

Dredge shrugged his shoulders. "It seems to me that there is little chance of my telling you anything you don't know," he said, folding up the letter and replacing it in his breast pocket. "And that is all Striver has to say. I got out a warrant on the confession which he enclosed, and came here this morning. With two policemen I called at Miss Destiny's house, which was pointed out to me. She was away, and the girl Lucinda tried to escape to give her mistress warning."

"Did Lucinda know the truth?"

"Yes; she drove her mistress on that evening." Dredge stopped and waved his hands. "You'll hear that in the confession."

"Whose confession?"

"Miss Destiny's. Striver did not trust her, and moreover was fearful lest he should be accused of the deed. He swore to tell the police and give evidence against her unless she wrote out clearly what had occurred and signed it. Forced to do so, she did as she was bid, and Striver held this confession over her head so as to compel her to do his bidding. Lucinda would have warned her mistress, but--guessing that Miss Destiny would witness the trial flight of the airship--I took the girl with me and went to Mr. Weston's yard. You heard how she gave voice and saw how the mistress escaped. So"--he wiped his face with a shiver--"that is ended. God have mercy on the black soul of that woman."

"Amen to that," I said, while Gertrude wept silently. "But Striver seems to have behaved like a scoundrel."

"Never mind, Cyrus, he has made amends," whispered Gertrude through her tears--tears of which Miss Destiny was unworthy.

"Here," said Dredge, spreading out another document, "is the confession of Julia Destiny, signed by her in the presence of Striver. I need not read it," he added, folding up the precious paper and putting it away, "as I can give you a hasty précis of the contents. My time is short," he glanced at his watch, "I have to catch a train in an hour at Tarhaven. I must be brief."

"Yes, go on, and make the telling as short as you can," I said anxiously, "for Miss Monk cannot bear much more."

While I fondled Gertrude's hand within my own, the Inspector related what Miss Destiny had written. The wicked little woman had intended to get the eye, even if she had to kill Anne Caldershaw to force it out of the woman's head. She had arranged to bring Striver, Gertrude, and Walter Monk to Mootley so as to implicate them, if possible, and save herself from being accused of murder. She therefore arranged with Lucinda, who was bound body and soul to her service, to drive over early to Mootley on the second day of her journey thither. Lucinda, with the trap, remained behind a hedge near Murchester, and Miss Destiny, evading notice, crept through the fields to the corner shop. Striver was up stairs, but she did not know that, as Mrs. Caldershaw said nothing. But she learned that Gertrude had been, and saw the white cloak left behind in the kitchen, along with one of the blue glass-headed pins. She also learned that Monk had paid a visit, so she was quite prepared to fasten the blame of her contemplated deed on anyone of them.

"Oh, what a devil!" I murmured at this point of Dredge's narrative.

"Indeed you may so," he said, somewhat moved, for the recital was really terrible. "Well, then, while seated in the back kitchen Miss Destiny, failing to get the eye from Mrs. Caldershaw, watched her chance to murder her. She took up the blue glass-headed pin, which she knew belonged to Miss here----"

"She gave it to me herself," said Gertrude in a choked voice.

"Of course," Dredge nodded, "and so was certain that when used the blame would fall on you. Now how she managed exactly to kill Mrs. Caldershaw she does not say," went on the Inspector, wrinkling his brow in perplexity. "I think myself she playfully touched Mrs. Caldershaw every now and then with the pin to emphasize what she was saying. Certainly Mrs. Caldershaw would suspect nothing, until Miss Destiny, placing the pin directly over the heart, drove it home with a sudden thrust. The woman fell----"

"Dead! dead!" wailed Gertrude.

"Not quite dead," said the precise Dredge: "she was bleeding from internal hemorrhage, for she lived for sometime afterwards. Striver found her still alive--"

"And so did I," I interposed: "I heard her last moan."

"She bled inwardly to death," said Dredge, rising and buttoning his coat. "I must go now, if you will excuse me."

"But the rest of the confession. How did she get the eye?" I asked.

"Pulled it out of Mrs. Caldershaw's head," said the Inspector brutally "she then escaped by the back door and went along a path leading through the wood of elms. She knew of that, having been to Mrs. Caldershaw's before."

"Mrs. Caldershaw told me how to go by that path," said Gertrude.

"One question before you go, Mr. Inspector," said I, following him to the door: "If Miss Destiny had the eye for so long in her possession, why did she not discover the secret?"

"She could not read the cipher."

"Strange. It is not a particularly difficult one."

"Have you read it?" asked Dredge. "Striver said that he had sent a drawing of it to you."

"Yes; we discovered the hiding-place of the jewels and found it empty. Now I wonder if Miss Destiny did read the cipher and steal the jewels."

"She says she did not, and----" Here Dredge looked again at his watch. "I really have no time to say more: you must excuse me," and he hurried away rapidly.

I turned to Gertrude when we heard the door close behind him. "Well," said I, with a half smile, "now that the truth has been discovered we can marry."

She sobbed. "Oh, Cyrus, can you marry the niece of a murderess?"

"I would marry you, if you committed the crime yourself," I said, kissing her fondly.

And marry her I did two months later. Owing to the terrible death of Miss Destiny the story of her crime was not made public. There was some talk of Lucinda being brought in as an accomplice after the fact, but as she apparently was a half-witted creature she was left alone. She confessed, however, that after committing the crime Miss Destiny had rejoined her, and then the two had driven later to Mootley to meet Striver--who Miss Destiny thought was a woman--driving my motor car. I have often wondered since at the extraordinary nerve displayed by Miss Destiny on that fatal evening. She arrived fresh from the commission of a brutal crime and played her part as a startled lady admirably. All the time we were talking in Giles' house she had the eye in her pocket and knew the whole truth of the affair. I was amazed at the strength of character displayed by the frail little creature. It was extraordinary that avarice should have driven her to so desperate a course. But having taken it, she had managed wonderfully. But for the unguessed-of presence of Striver in the house her wickedness would never have been discovered. She was buried in Tarhaven, in an unhonoured grave, and Gertrude and I strove to forget her and her crimes as speedily as possible.

Lucinda vanished when she found that the police intended to leave her alone, and I never learned what became of her. Striver also had disappeared, and we did not hear that he had been caught, although I believe Dredge made several attempts to find out his whereabouts, but without success. But of one person we did hear. That was Mr. Walter Monk, or as he still continued to call himself, Mr. Wentworth Marr.

On the night before my marriage to Gertrude I was with her at The Lodge, and Cannington, who had come down to be my best man, was also present. He was in great spirits, and had been much impressed by the story of Miss Destiny's wickedness, which I had told him in detail.

"Adventures are to the adventurous," said he gravely. "You certainly found a very good one, with a happy termination," and he glanced at Gertrude.

"It was strange," I remarked musingly, "that you should have made that quotation as being by Wentworth Marr."

"Yes. And at the time when we did not know who Wentworth Marr was."

"Don't speak of him," cried Gertrude with a shudder. "Oh, dear me, I never would have believed that my father would act so wickedly."

"Oh, I don't think he acted so very wickedly," said Cannington generously, and to set her at her ease; "he changed his name legally enough, and was a wealthy man, as we know. All he did was to suppress--for obvious reasons--the fact that he possessed so charming a daughter."

"Well, it doesn't matter now," I broke in impatiently, for every mention of her father brought sorrow to Gertrude's face. "Monk or Marr, or whatever he chooses to call himself, is over the seas, and won't come back. Gertrude to-morrow takes my name and my good fortune. Also Mabel is to marry Dicky in three months, so that ends everything."

"Except Dicky's desire to conquer the air," said Cannington, smiling. "He is awfully cut up over the failure of his last attempt. He wants to begin and build another vessel straight away. But Mab swears she will not marry him if he doesn't promise to leave airships alone for at least twelve months after she becomes his wife."

"That," said I gravely, "will give Dicky time to invent something worth talking about. I thought his airship was rotten myself. It failed in every point. Much better for him to keep his money and not waste it."

"Oh, Mab will see to that," said Cannington lightly. "But see, Miss Monk wishes to speak to you, Vance. What's up?"

"Cyrus," said Gertrude quietly, and producing a letter, "and you, Lord Cannington, I received this," she tapped the letter, "from my father by this morning's post."

"Oh, my sainted aunt!" cried Cannington vivaciously, "what's it about. But perhaps," he rose to his feet, "you don't want to tell me. I'll go to the smoking-room while you talk to Vance here."

Gertrude put out a detaining hand. "No, don't go, Lord Cannington. I know that Cyrus has no secrets from you. I wish both of you to hear what became of the diamonds which caused all the trouble."

"I believe that Striver has them," I said firmly.

"I believe that Miss Destiny got them," said Cannington, nodding.

"You are both wrong," replied Gertrude with strange composure, "my father possessed the diamonds."

"Your father! Never!" we exclaimed, quite amazed by the speech.

"My father," went on Gertrude with a firmness of which I had not deemed her capable, considering what she had come through, "found a copy of the drawing on the silver piece in Mrs. Caldershaw's false eye amongst the papers of his brother shortly after Uncle Gabriel's death. He soon discovered the secret, which I wonder Aunt Julia did not find out, so easy did it appear to be."

"She was less clever than wicked," I said quickly. "Does your father tell you that in the letter, Gertrude?"

"Yes," she said, with a heavy sigh. "He heard from his lawyers, to whom I gave notice that I was to marry you, Cyrus, and he writes," she shivered, "to send me his blessing."

"Oh, Lord!" This was from Cannington, who apologized.

"You need not make excuses to me," said Gertrude, rather bitterly, "for indeed, as you do, Lord Cannington I wonder at the man. He robbed me of my fortune; he allowed me to get into trouble; he scarcely gave me enough to live on. Yet all the time," her voice rose indignantly, "he was using my money as Wentworth Marr. What do you think of such a man?"

Cannington's fist clenched itself, and I bit my lip to prevent an oath. If Monk had been there, I fear he would have had a sorry time between us. And Gertrude, whose affections had been cast aside by her tricky father, was an indignant as we were. "Then the Australian cousin----" I began.

She cut me short. "There never was any Australian cousin, nor any legal change of name. You can read here what he says," and she passed me the letter.

I read that amazing document, which revealed the depths of Walter Monk's heart. He did not appear to be ashamed of himself, but confessed that he had found the diamonds, and had lived on the sale of them, with a most appalling jocularity. He seemed to exult in his cleverness, and declared that he had done his daughter no wrong, since the money coming from the sale of the jewels rightfully belonged to him.

Then came another odd trait in the man's character. He still, he said, had much of the fifty thousand pounds in his possession and therefore did not wish to keep the income left by Gabriel. "If my brother," wrote Mr. Monk, "had given me the diamonds, and you the income, all would have been well and I should not have been forced to stoop to concealment which my soul abhors."

"Good Lord!" muttered Cannington again, "what a man!"

Therefore, as I continued to read, Mr. Monk had made a gift of deed to his dear daughter of the house and grounds, and also of the five hundred a year. He never intended to return to England, he said, as he had an opportunity of marrying the daughter of a wealthy Chicago merchant. He ended his letter--and a remarkable human document it was--by wishing Gertrude and myself all happiness, and bidding the girl remember how kindly her father had behaved in thus settling her for life. Finally, in a postscript, he asked his darling child to remember him in her prayers.

This last piece of impudence was too much for both Cannington and myself. We burst into peals of laughter, and then felt ashamed when Gertrude rose suddenly and left the room. I followed hastily.

"My own," I caught her as she was springing up the stairs, "forgive us both. We didn't mean it. But the letter----?"

"Yes, yes, I know." By this time she was sobbing on my breast. "But oh, Cyrus, to think that I should be the daughter of such a man."

"Never mind. It is said in Scripture that a woman shall leave her father and mother and cling to her husband. To-morrow you will be Mrs. Vance, and enter upon a life of unclouded happiness."

"Oh, I hope so, I hope so," she murmured, "but the past has been so dreadful that I am afraid of the future."

"You need not be," I said stoutly. "I am by your side now to defend you. All things connected with the Mootley murder are at an end. Miss Destiny is dead; your father will probably marry his Chicago heiress and remain for ever in the States. Striver has vanished with Lucinda, and neither of them will ever be heard of again. And best of all, the eye has been destroyed."

"Best of all," whispered Gertrude, clinging to me fondly, "we are together, my darling, never to part."

"Never! never! never!" and I kissed her once, twice and again.

"I can't go back to the drawing-room," said Gertrude, "let me retire, and take the boy back to the inn. To-morrow, when Mabel comes down to be my bridesmaid, we shall see one another again."

"Never to part any more!"

She sped up the stairs, and I took Cannington, still almost suffocated with laughter, to the inn. "Did you ever read such a letter, Vance?" he asked me. "I am sorry I laughed, but the cheek, the damned coolness----"

"Never mind," I said, taking his arm; "I'm glad for Gertrude's sake that she has got the money. We'll repair the house and live in it, and be happy for evermore."

"I'm sure you deserve to be," said the boy thoughtfully. "Well, I can only say one thing, which I said when this romance of yours began."

"Don't say it, confound you!"

"Yes, I shall. Adventures are to the adventurous. There!"

I laughed from sheer light-heartedness. I could not help it, so strange did it seem that my love story should end where it had begun, in the quotation of the saying.


THE END