"What?" I said, starting up and glaring at him. "Under arrest--for what?"
"For murder."
"That"s interesting, at any rate," I exclaimed, half inclined to treat the matter as a joke. "And whom have I murdered, pray?"
"A woman."
"Well," I said, "if you will tell me where and how I was found I may perhaps be able to throw some light on the affair. If not, perhaps you will send for the British Consul, and I"ll make a statement to him."
At first the detective seemed disinclined to tell me anything, but finding the unconcerned manner in which I took the serious charge, he at last told me certain facts that held me utterly dumb with astonishment.
"You were found insensible by some workmen who went to do some repairs in an apartment in a house beyond the Monforte gate--you and the woman.
The knife with which you struck her was lying beside you, and we also have the hatchet with which she struck you on the head in self-defence."
"What!" I gasped, amazed. "Do you allege that I killed the woman?"
"You are guilty until you prove yourself innocent," was the man"s cold reply, regarding me with a keen quick glance in his dark eyes.
"Well, just tell me a little more about it," I urged. "You say that some workmen found me in the same room as the woman, and between us was a knife and a hatchet. Whose house was it?"
"Ah! you are unaware of whose place it was? You broke into it during the absence of the proprietor and took up your quarters there, of course," was the man"s reply. "You are a foreigner--English?"
"I am. And I think before we go any further you"d better send for the Consul and let me put a different complexion upon your story. Your theory is, of course, the natural and only one, if, as you say, a knife and a hatchet have been found. But you have not told me to whom the apartments belonged," I said.
"They were rented by a man named Rondani, manager of the silk factory in the Via della Stella. He, however, locked up the place about a month ago, having been sent by his firm on a commission to Berlin. The other day a builder received the key by post, with orders to enter and effect certain repairs, and when the men went there they discovered you both in the dining-room and at once informed us. At first you were believed to be dead, but as the doctor declared that you were still alive you were brought here and placed under arrest."
"But I"m innocent!" I declared dismayed. "I was attacked from behind in the open street." And then I told him of my midnight vigil, and of the weird scene of which I had been witness. It seemed plain that having been recognised and struck down by the a.s.sa.s.sins they suddenly changed their plans, taking back the body of the young Countess as well as myself, ingeniously placing us in such a position as to make it appear that I was the actual murderer. No doubt they were under the belief that I had died from the effects of the blow.
I expressed anxiety to visit the scene of the a.s.sa.s.sination, to which the man replied--
"By all means. Indeed, we shall be compelled to take you there as soon as you are well enough."
"Let me go now," I urged. "I can drive there all right."
"No--to-morrow," he said.
"What have you found upon the woman?" I inquired.
"Several things--letters in English and other things. They are being translated."
"Letters in English. May I see them?"
"At the trial," he said. "Instead of gloating over your crime as you seem to be doing, would it not be better to try and establish your innocence?" he suggested.
"Why should I? I"m not guilty. Therefore I fear nothing. Only take me to the scene of the crime."
"To-morrow you shall go. I promise you," was his reply, and then he left, one of his a.s.sistants mounting guard over me, in fear, I suppose, that I might try and escape them.
The murder of Lady Stanchester was an appalling _denouement_ of the mystery, and increased it rather than threw any light upon the extraordinary circ.u.mstances. It was evident that she had been deliberately enticed there to her doom, and had I not fortunately followed her, her end would have remained a complete enigma.
The police had discovered certain letters. What, I wondered, did they contain? Would they at last throw any light upon the affair which, when it got into the papers, must startle English society.
At present her name was, of course, unknown, unless perchance any of the envelopes were with the letters. I felt sympathy for my friend George, and wondered how I could prevent her name from being known.
The hours crept slowly on; the day seemed never-ending. The presence of that scrubby-bearded little Italian sitting near me reading a newspaper idly, or gossiping with the men who lay in the neighbouring beds, was particularly irritating.
At last, however, when night came on and my guard was relieved, I slept, for the pain in my head wore me out and exhausted me.
Next day, in accordance with his word, the _delegato_, accompanied by two other police officials, arrived, and feeling sufficiently well I dressed and accompanied them downstairs, where a closed cab was in waiting. After a short drive we turned into the half-finished street so familiar to me, and pulled up before the house over the threshold of which I had seen, carried by the a.s.sa.s.sin, the lifeless body of one of the most admired women in England.
They conducted me up a flight of stairs to a landing at the back, and there entered one of the flats with a key. I noticed that the door had been sealed, for the _delegato_ broke the seal before inserting the key.
Inside, the place was rather barely furnished, the home of a man with small means; but as we walked into the little dining-room the sight that met my eyes was terrible.
Upon the table were the remains of a supper--decaying fruit, half-consumed champagne and an unlit cigar lying on one of the plates.
Places seemed to have been laid, for five, but the cloth had been half torn off in the struggle, and a dish lay upon the ground, smashed.
Upon the floor of painted stone, the usual floor of an Italian house, were great brown patches--pools of blood that had dried up, and into one the corner of the table-cloth had draggled, staining it with a mark of hideous ugliness.
On the ground, just as they had been found, lay a heavy hatchet with blood upon it, the instrument with which my unknown a.s.sailant had struck me down. While at a little distance lay a long very thin knife, with a finely tempered three-edged blade.
To the astonishment of my three guards I took it in my hand and felt its edge. The curious thought occurred to me that with such a weapon, thin and triangular, Hugh Wingfield had been so mysteriously done to death.
"Then this is where they enticed the woman--to an apartment that was not their own, and which they evidently entered by a false key! They invited her to supper, and then--well, they murdered her," I said reflectively. "Where is the body? May I see it?"
The confronting of a murderer with his victim is part of the procedure of the Continental police, therefore the detectives were not adverse in the least to granting my request.
"Certainly," answered the _delegato_. "It is here, in this room, awaiting the official inquiry." With that he opened the door of the small bedroom adjoining, and there, stretched upon the bed, lay the body, covered with a sheet.
I approached it, to take a last look upon the woman whose end had been so terrible, at the same time wondering what evidence the police had secured in those letters found upon her.
"G.o.d!" I cried, when one of the men with a quick movement, and watching my face the while, drew away the sheet and revealed the white dead countenance.
I stood glaring at it, as one transfixed.
"Ah!" exclaimed the _delegato_ in satisfaction. "It is a test that few can withstand. You recognise her as your victim--good!"
I let the fellow condemn me. I allowed him to form what theory he liked, for I was far too surprised and amazed to protest.
The truth was absolutely incredible. At first I could not believe my own eyes.
The dead woman was not Marigold, but another--Marie Lejeune!
CHAPTER THIRTY.
A RAY OF LIGHT.
Surprise held me dumb.