"Accident!" she repeated.
"I notice that you limp slightly."
"Oh, it was a long time ago. I don"t feel anything of it now."
Quarles handed her some cake.
"It is very good of you to come," he went on, "and I hope you are going to let us persuade you to be definite."
She nodded at c.o.c.kran.
"I have told him that I am not sure. I am going to stick to that."
"The fact is, we are especially anxious to solve this mystery," Quarles went on, "and I believe you are the only person who can help us. Now, from certain inquiries which I have been making I have come to the conclusion that Mr. Parrish is not dead."
"Not dead!" the woman exclaimed.
I saw c.o.c.kran look enquiringly at Quarles, but he did not say anything.
The professor had evidently persuaded the inspector to let him carry out this investigation in his own way.
"Of course, a man has been killed," he went on, "but it wasn"t Parrish, I fancy. He lived in Parrish"s chambers; was a lonely man with a hobby, and if the people who saw him about liked to think his name was Parrish, well, it didn"t trouble him. You didn"t happen to know the real Parrish, I suppose?"
"Of course not."
"No, I didn"t expect you would," said Quarles, "but tell me how it was you so promptly recognized the man we are after."
"I am not sure it was the same man."
"But you were when the boy recognized him."
"I say now I am not sure."
"Oh, but you are," returned Quarles. "You could not possibly be mistaken.
From the inner room of Parrish"s chambers you must have watched both the men for the best part of an hour."
A teaspoon clattered in a saucer as the woman sprang to her feet, and I saw she was the woman who had pointed me out to the constable when I had entered Gray"s Inn on the morning after the murder. c.o.c.kran"s face was a study.
"You made a mistake," Quarles went on quietly. "I have worked it all out in my own mind and I daresay there are some details missing. I will tell you how I explain the mystery. Parrish, when in Italy, wronged some one dear to you. You only heard of it afterwards. Personally you did not know Parrish, but you found out what you could about him: that he was connected with the law, that he lived in London, in one of the places where lawyers do live. You determined to come to England for revenge. I do not say you were not justified. I do not know the circ.u.mstances. That was three years ago. An accident--was it the one at Basle, which occurred about that time?--detained you, laid you aside for some months, perhaps.
You had not much money, you had to live, so your arrival in England was delayed. When you got here, you took a post as waitress in Soho. Only in your leisure time could you look for Mr. Parrish. At first, probably, you knew nothing about the London Directory, and when you did, looked for the name in the wrong part of it, and, of course, you would not ask questions of any one. That might implicate you later on. At last you found him; saw the name on the door. Possibly you have been waiting your opportunity for some little time, but the other night it came. Of course, you could not know there was a mistake. You heard Parrish speak of Italy, and when the other man had departed you crept from your hiding place and struck your blow; but you did not kill Parrish. Three years ago he was warned of his danger, and got out of your way. He was warned that you had started for England by Emanuele. Do you know him?"
The woman had stood tense and rigid, listening to this story of the crime; now she collapsed.
"Emanuele!" she cried.
"I see you do know him," Quarles said. "You have my sympathy. It is possible that the man Parrish deserved his fate, only it happens that another has suffered in his place."
"It was my sister he wronged," said the woman.
"Was it fear that some evidence might be found against you which made you point out a man whom you knew was innocent?" said Quarles.
She nodded, still sobbing.
"The rest is for you to manage," said Quarles, turning to the inspector. "I suppose you are not likely to make any further mistakes.
This would all have been cleared up days ago if Wigan had not been taken off the job."
I suppose c.o.c.kran felt a fool, as the professor intended he should.
There was little to be explained when I went to Chelsea later. Quarles"s reconstruction of the crime had showed me the lines along which he had worked. The unopened letter from Rome had set him speculating with a view to proving that the dead man was not Parrish; and whilst I had only considered the change in character, he had had before him the possibility of a separate ident.i.ty.
"Still, I do not understand how you came to suspect the woman," I said.
"Her recognition of you was too prompt to carry conviction under the circ.u.mstances," he answered. "The boy, who is in an office in Gray"s Inn, might have met you together. I have no doubt he did; but since the woman had no business there, and if my theory were right, was concealed in Parrish"s chambers at the time, she could not have seen you, except in the way I explained to her. Poor soul! I feel rather a cur for trapping her, but you were in a tight hole, Wigan, and I had to get you out."
Evidence showing that Parrish was a heartless scoundrel, the jury found extenuating circ.u.mstances for the woman, in spite of the fact that she had murdered an innocent man, so she escaped the extreme penalty. I was glad, although the strict justice of the verdict may be questioned. From Italy, from Emanuele, who was the woman"s cousin, we learnt that when Parrish was in Italy he had a friend with him, an eccentric artist named Langford. We found that an insurance company had an annuity in this name which was not afterwards claimed. This fact, and the officials"
description of the man, left no doubt that the murdered man was Langford.
Emanuele had written two letters, as Quarles had surmised, and the first had caused Parrish to get out of harm"s way. Wishing to keep up his chambers, he allowed Langford to occupy them; had perhaps left him the money to pay the rent, the idea of danger to his friend probably never occurring to him.
Naturally, Langford had not opened his letters, and, being an eccentric and a recluse, had allowed people to call him Parrish without denying the name when it happened that any one had to call him anything.
Since Parrish has never returned, even though the danger is past, it is probable, I think, that he died abroad.
CHAPTER XI
THE STRANGE CASE OF DANIEL HARDIMAN
Not infrequently I am put in charge of cases which are of small importance and might well be left to a less experienced man. I thought the mystery of Daniel Hardiman was such a case. I even went further and imagined that it was given to me because I was a bit under a cloud over the Parrish affair. Quarles jeered at my imagination and was interested from the outset, perhaps because he had had rather more of the Psychological Society than was good for him. Anyway, he traveled north with me to meet the liner _Slavonic_.
On the pa.s.senger list was the name Daniel Hardiman. He had come on board at Montevideo in company with his man, John Bennett, who appeared to be half servant, half companion. They had only a small amount of personal luggage, one trunk each, but several stout packing-cases of various sizes had been stored away in the hold. Hardiman had a first-cla.s.s cabin to himself; his man traveled second-cla.s.s, but spent much of his time in his master"s cabin; indeed, for the first few days of the voyage Hardiman was not seen except at meal times.
It was said amongst the crew--probably the servant had mentioned the fact--that they were returning to England after an absence of many years, during which time they had lived much alone; and amongst the pa.s.sengers it was agreed that there was something curious about the pair. There was speculation upon the promenade deck and in the smoking-room; the gossip was a pleasant interlude in the monotony of a long voyage. At the end of a week, however, Mr. Hardiman no longer stayed in his cabin. At first he paced the deck, thoughtfully, only in the early morning or late in the evening, but later was to be found in a deck-chair, either gazing fixedly at the horizon or interested in the games of the children on board. One st.u.r.dy youngster, when recovering a ball which had rolled to Hardiman"s feet, spoke to him. All the answer he got was a nod of the head, but the boy had broken the ice, and two men afterwards sc.r.a.ped acquaintance with the curious traveler. One was a Mr. Majendie, who was going to England on business; the other Sir Robert Gibbs, a Harley Street specialist, who had broken down with hard work, and was making the round trip for the benefit of his health.
By wireless, when the ship was two days from Liverpool, came the news that Hardiman had been murdered by his man-servant, and it was in consequence of this message that Christopher Quarles and I had gone north to meet the boat on its arrival.
When we went on board the captain gave us the outline of Hardiman"s behavior during the voyage as I have here set it down. Quarles asked him at once whether he thought that all the pa.s.sengers, after landing, could be traced if necessary. The captain seemed to consider this rather a tall order, but thought all those who could possibly have had access to Mr.
Hardiman might be traced.
"It is a pity we cannot forbid any one to land until we like," said the professor.
"There is not so much mystery about it as all that," said the captain, "although it isn"t quite plain sailing. One of our pa.s.sengers, a swell doctor, who examined the body with our ship"s doctor directly after the discovery, will give you the benefit of his opinion, and I am detaining another pa.s.senger, a Mr. Majendie."
"Then there is some doubt as to the servant"s guilt?" I said.
"I don"t think so, but you shall hear the whole story."