CHAPTER XXVII. MEG PROVES USEFUL.

The next day was Sunday, and Caprice, quite worn-out with the excitement of the week and the strain of the performances of "Faust Upset," was lying in bed. The burlesque had become a great success, but the papers, with their usual kindly generosity towards authors, declared that it was due not so much to the intrinsic merit of the work, as to the wonderfully clever acting of Caprice. Last night, however, she had acted badly, going through her part with mechanical precision, but without that dash which usually characterised her performance. The worry of this murder case, anxiety for the future of her child, and pity for the unfortunate young man now in prison, had all wrought on her nerves, so that she felt overcome with extreme lassitude, and lay supinely in bed, with half-closed eyes, incapable of the slightest exertion.

From this state of tranquillity she was aroused by the entrance of Eugénie, who was also looking pale and worn. She had learned all about the tracing of the five-pound note to Ezra, and had now come to tell Kitty about it.

The room was in a kind of semi-darkness, as all the blinds had been pulled down to keep out the dazzling sunlight, and the atmosphere was permeated by the smell of some pungent scent which Kitty had been using to bathe her aching head. Eugénie came straight to the bed, and bent over it, on which Kitty opened her eyes and smiled faintly.

"Oh, is it you, Miss Rainsford?" she said drowsily. "I did not expect you to-day."

"No!" replied Eugénie. "I came to tell you all about that five-pound note; but I'm sorry to find you so ill."

"I'm worn-out," said Kitty fretfully. "All the worry and trouble of my earlier years are beginning to tell on me, and the anxiety of this case is the climax. I believe I'll die soon, and I don't much care, for I have your promise about the child."

"You have!--my solemn promise."

"Thank you. I don't mind when I die. My life has been a very unhappy one. I've had more than my share of sorrow, and now I would like to go to sleep, and slumber on--on for ever."

She finished the sentence in a sleepy tone, then suddenly recollecting why Eugénie had come down, she opened her eyes wide, and spoke briskly.

"Well, what about this five-pound note? To whom did it originally belong?"

"I'd better go through the whole history," said Eugénie slowly. "I received it from you."

"Exactly," interrupted Caprice, raising herself on her elbow; "and I got it from Mortimer. Who gave it to him?"

"Mr. Malton, for a gambling debt."

"Malton," repeated Kitty vivaciously. "Why, is he--did they--"

"Suspect him of the murder. No; because he says he got the note from Ezra Lazarus, and he cannot tell from whom he received it."

Kitty was wide awake by this time, and sitting up in bed, pushed the fair curls off her forehead.

"But, my dear," she said rapidly, "surely they don't suspect that poor young man of murdering his father?"

"Not exactly suspect him," observed Eugénie; "but, you see, Mr. Lazarus cannot account for the possession of that particular note, so that makes things look bad against him."

"I don't see why," said Caprice impatiently. "I'm sure I couldn't account for every individual five-pound note I receive--it's absurd;--is that all the case they have against him?"

"I think so; but Mr. Naball says--"

"Says!" interrupted Kitty impatiently; "Naball's a fool. I often heard what a clever detective he was, but I'm afraid I can't see it. He's mismanaged the whole of this case shamefully. Why he suspects every one all round on the slightest suspicion: first he thought it was me, because I was at Lazarus's place on that night; then he swore it was Villiers, because he found the knife Meg gave Mr. Stewart; then poor Mr. Stewart is arrested simply because he cannot prove an alibi. I daresay, when he found Malton had the note, he suspected him, and now, I'll be bound, he has firmly settled in his own mind that Ezra Lazarus killed his own father--pish! My dear, I tell you again Naball's a fool."

"That may be," observed the other woman bitterly; "but he's a fool on whose folly Keith's life depends."

"Not a bit of it," said Caprice cheerfully; "we'll find some way to save him yet. The only evidence against him is that knife, and I don't believe it was in his possession at the Bon-Bon Theatre."

"Why not?"

"Because no one could have taken it out of his overcoat pocket there. I took the coat downstairs by mistake, but I'm sure I never abstracted the knife. Ezra Lazarus took it back, and I'll swear, in spite of Mr. Naball, he didn't take it. It's not likely Mortimer would go fiddling in another man's pockets, so I believe the knife was taken from the coat pocket, without his knowledge, at the club."

"But who took it, and how?" asked Eugénie, with great interest.

"My dear," replied Kitty, with a shrug, "how do I know. Perhaps, after receiving back the knife from Fenton, and putting it in his pocket, he hung his coat up again; in that case, anyone who saw him put the knife away could have stolen it."

"But who would do so?"

"That's what our clever Naball ought to find out," said Caprice, with a disdainful smile, "only he's such an idiot. I tell you whom I suspect--mind you, it's only suspicion--and yet appearances are quite as black against him as any one else."

"Who is it?"

"Malton."

"Malton!" repeated Eugénie, starting up.

"None other," said Kitty coolly. "He was at the club, and I know was hard up for money. His wife came to me one day, and told me he had embezzled a lot of money at his office. Then, after the crime, she came to me, and thanked me for paying it. I never did so. Fenton said he did, but I doubt it, as there isn't much of the philanthropist about him, so the only one who could have replaced the money was Malton himself. How? Well, easily enough. He was at the club--saw Keith's knife, and, knowing he was Lazarus's clerk, the idea flashed across his mind of murdering the old man with the knife, and dropping it about, so as to throw suspicion on Stewart. So, by some means, I don't know how, he obtains the knife before Stewart leaves the club, commits the crime, gets the money, circulates the notes, and when taxed with the possession of a marked one, says he got it from Ezra Lazarus--very weak, my dear, very weak indeed. Ezra says he paid him some money, so naturally doesn't know each individual note; so such a thing favours Mr. Malton's little plan. So there you are, my dear. I've made up a complete case against Malton, and quite as feasible as any of Naball's theories. Upon my word," said Kitty gaily, "I ought to have been a detective."

Eugénie was walking to and fro hurriedly.

"If this is so, he ought to be arrested," she said quickly.

"Then go and tell Naball, my dear," said Kitty in a mocking voice. "He'll arrest any one on suspicion. I wonder half the population of Melbourne aren't in jail, charged with the murder. Oh, Naball's a brilliant man! He says the man who committed the murder stole my diamonds--pish!"

"And you say Keith stole them," said Eugénie reproachfully, "therefore--"

"Therefore the lesser crime includes the greater," finished Kitty coolly. "No, my dear, I don't believe he is a murderer; but as to the diamonds, what am I to think after what Meg told me?"

"Meg! Meg!" said that young person, dancing into the room, holding a disreputable doll in her arms, "mumsey want Meg?"

"Yes," said Kitty, as Meg came to the bedside.

"Come up here, dear, and tell mumsey how you are."

"Meg is quite well, and so is Meg's daughter," holding out the doll for Kitty to kiss; "but, mumsey, why is the lady so sad?"

Eugénie, who had remained silent since Kitty's speech, now came forward and kissed the child.

"I'm not sad, dear," she said quietly, taking her seat by the bed, "only I want Meg to tell me something."

Meg nodded.

"A fairy tale?" she asked sedately.

Kitty laughed, though she looked anxious.

"No, my dear, not a fairy tale," she said, smoothing the child's hair; "mumsey wants you to tell the story of the man who got out of the window."

"My Mr. Keith," said Meg at once.

Kitty glanced at Eugénie, who sat with bowed head, gazing steadfastly at her hands.

"You see," she observed with a sigh, "the child says it was Mr. Keith."

Miss Rainsford re-echoed the sigh, then looked at Meg.

"Meg, dear," she said in her soft, persuasive voice, "come here, dear, and sit on my knee."

Meg, nothing loth, scrambled down off the bed, and soon established herself on Eugénie's lap, where she sat shaking her auburn curls. Kitty glanced affectionately at the serious little face, and picked up her doll, which was lying on the counterpane.

"Now, Meg," she said gaily, "you tell Miss Rainsford the story of the man and the window. I'll play with this."

"Meg's daughter," observed Meg reprovingly.

"Yes, Meg's daughter," repeated Kitty with a smile.

"Come, Meg," said Eugénie, smoothing the child's hair, "tell me all about the man."

"It was my Mr. Keith, you know," began Meg, resting her cheek against Eugénie's breast, "He took me upstairs--'cause I was so sleepy--an' he put me to bed, an' then I sleeped right off."

"And how long did you sleep, dear?" asked Eugénie.

"Oh, a minute," said Meg, "just a minute; then I didn't feel sleepy, and opened my eyes wide--quite wide--as wide as this," lifting up her face in confirmation, "and Mr. Keith, he was getting out of the window."

"How do you know it was Mr. Keith?" asked Eugénie quickly,

"'Cause he put me in bed," said Meg wisely, "and he was there all the time."

"He didn't speak to you when he was near the window?"

"No; he got out, and tumbled. I laughed when he tumbled," finished Meg triumphantly; "then I sleeped again, right off."

Eugénie put the girl down off her knee, and turned to Kitty.

"I believe Keith did put the child to bed," she said quietly, "but I think she must have slept for some time, and that the man she saw getting out of the window was some one else; of course, being awakened by the noise, she would only think she had slept a minute."

"A minute, a minute," repeated Meg, who had climbed back on to the bed, and was jumping the doll up and down.

"But who could the second man have been?" asked Kitty, perplexed.

"You know Naball's theory that the man who stole the diamonds committed the murder," said Eugénie. "You think Malton is guilty of the murder, why not of the robbery also? He was present at the supper-party, and knew where the jewels were kept."

Kitty drew her brows together and was about to speak, when Meg held up her doll for inspection.

"Look at the locket," she said triumphantly; "it's like Bliggings's locket--all gold."

Kitty smiled, and touched the so-called locket, which was in reality part of a gold sleeve-link, and was tied round the neck of the doll with a bit of cotton.

"Who gave you this?" she said. "Bliggings?"

"No; Meg found it herself, here, after the man had got out of the window."

Eugénie gave a cry, and started up, but Kitty in a moment had seized the doll, and wrenched off the gold link which Meg called the locket.

"When did you find this, Meg?" she asked the child in a tone of suppressed excitement.

"After the man went out of the window," said Meg proudly.

"In the dark?" asked her mother.

"No, when Meg was dressed, and the sun was shining," said Meg, trying to get back the locket.

"Wait a moment, dear," said Kitty, pushing the child away.

"Miss Rainsford, do you know what this link means?"

"I half guess," faltered Eugénie, clasping her hands.

"Then you guess right," cried Kitty, raising herself on her elbow. "It means that the man who stole the jewels dropped this link, and I know who he is, because I gave it to him myself."

"Keith?" said Eugénie faintly.

"Keith!" repeated Caprice in a tone of scorn. "No; not Keith, whom I have suspected wrongfully all these months, but my very good friend, Hiram J. Fenton."

"Fenton!" echoed Eugénie in surprise.

"Yes; he must have committed the crime," said Kitty in anger, grinding her teeth. "The coward, he knew I suspected Keith, and let another man bear the stigma of his crime. I spared Keith when I thought him guilty, because he saved my child's life; but I'll not spare Fenton now I know he is a thief."

"What will you do?" asked Eugénie quickly.

"What will I do!" cried Caprice, with a devilish light shining in her beautiful eyes. "I'll put him in prison--ring the bell for pen, ink, and paper--I'll write him to come down here to-night to see me; and when he comes, I'll have Naball waiting to arrest him."

"But Keith?" faltered Eugénie.

"As for Keith," said Caprice, throwing herself back in the bed, "I'm sure he'll soon be free, for it's my belief that Fenton stole the diamonds, but was too cowardly to commit a murder. No; he did not do it himself, but he got some one else to do it."

"And that some one?" cried Eugénie.

"Is Evan Malton," said Caprice solemnly.