CHAPTER LVI. NIGHT IN DEERING WOODS.

I had a twofold object in going to Glasserton. In the first place I wished to see for myself the original record of the marriage in the register book; in the second place I wished to obtain from the registrar's servant, Jane Seebold, a description of the visitor she allowed to remain in the office while her master was absent from the house. It was evident that she had no knowledge of the purpose of the visit which M. Bordier and his son Julian paid to the registrar in the morning; and it was equally evident that the man who bribed her to silence was the man who erased the signature. I had no doubt that it was either M. Felix or Dr. Peterssen, who by this artful trick hoped to pave the way to a doubt of the genuineness of Emilia's marriage with Gerald Paget. The scoundrels had no idea that the copy of the marriage certificate had been found, or that M. Bordier and his son were in the village on the same day as themselves. All that they wished to do was to make some provision for a possible contingency in the future. If, as was very likely, they read the case in the newspaper, they must have been confounded by the conviction that they were hoist with their own petard. Another thing, I was now satisfied that when I left Bob I had started on a true trail, despite the knavish devices of Dr. Peterssen's tool, Crawley.

The walk through Deering Woods was a dreary one, but it would have been much more dreary had it not been for Sophy, who was always entertaining and original, and never more so than on the present occasion. I let her partly into my confidence, and she was delighted to know that she had been the direct means of throwing light on a cruel injustice. We trudged along side by side, the most amicable and agreeable of companions.

"It'll wake aunty tip when she 'ears everything," said Sophy. "She'll think me good for something now."

"You are the best and brightest little girl in my acquaintance, Sophy," I said.

"I didn't take you in, did I?" she asked.

"No, indeed," I replied. "It was a lucky day for me when I first met you."

"Not so lucky for you as for me," she said. "I've got a silver watch."

"It will turn into a gold one by the time you're a woman."

"Will it?" she exclaimed. "Shan't I be proud!"

About half way through the woods I saw the cliffs of which the landlord's daughter had warned me. In the dark they would have been dangerous indeed to one unfamiliar with them. At some time or other there had been a great landslip, which had opened up a chasm of great depth; in parts slight fences had been put up, but there were spaces entirely unprotected, and I was thankful we had been warned of the danger. It was half-past seven by my watch when we reached Glasserton, and I had no difficulty in finding the registrar's house. He was at home when I called, and did not receive me too cordially. He had been upset by the trial, and it was with the greatest difficulty I succeeded in obtaining a glance of the original entry of the marriage. It was only by bribery and threats that I effected my purpose, and I had to use extreme persuasion to induce him to grant me an interview with Jane Seebold. I elicited very little from her in consequence of the state of confusion she was in, but I was satisfied in my own mind that it was M. Felix who had tampered with the book. From her imperfect description of the man I judged that he must in some way have disguised himself for the purpose of the visit, and I was assisted to this conclusion partly by the height of her visitor, who she said was not a tall man. Dr. Peterssen was not less than six feet, and having to decide between him and M. Felix I decided unhesitatingly in favor of the latter. The registrar had been in Glasserton but three or four years, whereas Jane Seebold had been in it all her life, and I learned from her that two of the three witnesses to the marriage, the doctor and the old wagoner, had long been dead. At nine o'clock my inquiries were ended, and Sophy and I started back for the inn.

"Tired, Sophy?" I asked.

"Not a bit," she answered, cheerfully, "I could walk all night."

Still we did not get along so fast as in the early part of the evening; it would have been cruel to take unfair advantage of Sophy's indomitable spirit; the girl would have walked till she dropped, and I had some consideration for her. Therefore it was that we did not reach the middle of Deering Woods till past ten, by which time the moon had risen. When I was not talking to Sophy my mind was occupied by the task upon which I had been engaged. Since my first introduction to the Mystery of M. Felix a great deal had been accomplished. The mystery has been practically solved, although the public were not yet in possession of the facts. Emilia's agony was over, as I believed, for my wildest dreams would not have compassed what was to occur during the next few weeks; she had been fortunate in gaining a champion so noble and generous as M. Bordier, and her daughter's happiness was assured. I could understand now her anxiety as to M. Bordier's silence since his discovery of the copy of the marriage certificate, and I divined his reason for it. With a horror of publicity, and out of regard for her, he did not wish her to become acquainted with his and his son's arrest until he himself informed her of it, and he entertained a hope that the report of the case would not get into the London papers. I also now understood her anxious references to M. Julian's state of health; they bore upon his failing sight, to restore which he and his father had come to London. The young man had been imprudent, but I trusted to Mr. Wordsworth's assurances that he could make a cure of him if Julian would abide by his instructions. I had no doubt, now that Emilia's good name was established, that Julian would submit to the guidance of this eminent oculist, whose heart was as kind as his skill was great.

So far, all was well, but I was not satisfied; I could not consider my task accomplished till I had brought Dr. Peterssen and M. Felix to the bar of justice and restored to Emilia's arms the husband she believed she had lost in Switzerland.

Sophy broke in upon my musings.

"Is there a man in the moon?" she asked.

"They say so," I answered, lightly.

"I see 'is face," said Sophy, "as plain as plain can be."

We were near the fallen cliffs as these words passed between us, and before I had time to utter another my attention was arrested by the sound of a shot.

"What's that?" cried Sophy.

"A gun or pistol fired," I replied, "and not far off."

"I don't mean the firing," said Sophy, "I mean the scream. Didn't yer 'ear it?"

"No, Sophy, no scream reached my ears."

"It reached mine. I can 'ear anything, if it's in the next street."

"Was it after or before the shot?" I asked.

"About the same time, I think. They come both together."

"Let us go and see what it is, if you're not afraid."

"Me afraid," she said contemptuously, and she ran before me in the direction from which the sounds had proceeded. We had not gone fifty yards before we both stopped simultaneously, with an exclamation of horror on our lips. On the ground before us lay the body of a man, pressing his hand to his heart, from which the blood was flowing. He struggled into a sitting posture, and was endeavoring to rise to his feet, when he fell back with a groan, and moved no more.

I rushed to his side and bent over him.

"There has been murder done," I said. "He is dead."

"Yes," said Sophy in a low tone, as she stooped over the body. "He's dead this time, and no mistake.

"Dead this time!" I repeated in wonder.

"Don't yer see who it is?" she asked. "It's Mr. Felix!"

M. Felix! This, then, was the end of the ill-spent life. The evil record was thus suddenly snapped, and the man who was supposed to have died in Gerard Street, Soho, on the night of the 16th of January, lay dead before me in the lonely Deering Woods, his last breath but just drawn.

"Are you sure, Sophy?"

"Ain't you sure?"

"I cannot be. I never saw him in life."

"I can't be mistook. It's Mr. Felix--but oh, ain't it orfle! who could 'ave done it?"

"Who, Sophy? Who but his companion in crime, Dr. Peterssen?"

At this moment, from an unseen hand behind, Sophy was struck to the ground. Her scream of pain was frozen on her lips, and she lay prone before me.

"You infernal villain," I cried, and turned.

The moon was shining brightly, and by its light I saw the form of Dr. Peterssen. In his upraised hands he held a heavy stake. I strove to avoid the blow, and received it on my arm. Before I could recover myself the stake was raised again, and again it descended upon me, this time upon my head. The earth swam round. Again I was struck with savage violence, and as I fell the last thing I saw was the moon with a face in it which smiled upon me in the likeness of Dr. Peterssen.