Guilty Bonds

“Ah, that is unfortunate,” exclaimed the judge, disappointedly. “It is impossible to call her in a case of this description.”

At that moment the usher handed Mr Roland a note. He read it hastily, and, raising his hand, said:

“The lady has just arrived in court, and is about to produce important evidence, m’lord.”

The silence was unbroken, save for the frou-frou of Vera’s dress as she advanced towards my counsel, and bent over him, whispering.

Mr Roland was seated close to the dock, and I strained my ears to catch their hurried conversation.

In face of the horrible charge brought against me, the persistency with which it was pursued, and the evidence produced in support of it, I had been so overwhelmed by a sense of fatality that I had almost decided to let things take their course. I knew I was innocent, nevertheless I felt the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of proving it. Now, however, encouraged by this proof of sympathy on the part of Vera, I took heart.

“What will these witnesses prove?” asked Mr Roland, hurriedly.

Vera, whose face was rendered more delicate and touching by the tortures she seemed undergoing, glanced quickly towards me, and replied:

“They will prove my husband’s innocence!”

Counsel uttered an ejaculation of surprise. “Are you certain of this?” he asked.

“Yes. If it were possible that I might be called as a witness I could tell the Court things that would probably astonish it; but I leave everything to the two persons I have brought,” she replied in a tremulous voice.

The jury grew impatient. The excitement was intense.

In a few moments a young and rather showily-attired woman stepped into the box. As she turned towards me I was puzzled to know where I had seen the face before. The features seemed quite familiar, yet I could not recollect.

“You are Jane Maygrove?” asked my counsel.

“Yes.”

“Tell us what you know of the murder of Mrs Inglewood. Relate it in your own way.”

She hesitated for a moment and commenced:

“Before I married I was maid to Mrs Inglewood. Mistress was a very quiet lady, and lived with a cook and myself in Bedford Place. I was in her service about three months, and although she told me she was married – and she wore a wedding-ring – her husband never visited her. Several foreign ladies came to see her on different occasions, but only one gentleman. He also had the appearance of a foreigner but spoke English without an accent. One evening, in the latter part of July, mistress dined alone with this gentleman, and I overheard a conversation which took place in the drawing-room afterwards. I – ”

“Was this gentleman to whom you refer the prisoner?” asked Mr Roland.

“No he was not. On that night I heard the visitor advising mistress to withdraw her money from a company which he said was on the brink of collapsing, and place it in his hands to invest. At first she demurred, and appeared to discredit the rumour that the company was not safe; but, after a long argument, he exacted a promise that she would withdraw the money and hand it over to him in cash on the fifteenth of August, when it was arranged that he should re-invest it for her.”

“And what happened on the latter date?”

“Mistress was at home during the day. A clerk called in the afternoon and handed a small leather bag to her, for which she signed a receipt, after counting the money. When she had finished, I saw her place the bag under the sofa, at the same time leaving a small roll of bank-notes upon the mantelshelf. Previously I had mentioned the matter to my young man, and it was he who prompted me to act in the manner I did. Well, about seven o’clock the gentleman arrived, and shortly afterwards mistress and he went out – to the Café Royal, I believe – to dine, as Mary, our cook, had been dismissed that morning for dishonesty.

“My young man urged me to get possession of the money while they were out, saying that we could then marry, go abroad, and set up in business with it. But my heart failed me, and I could not bring myself to commit the robbery. About ten o’clock a telegram came, and half an hour later mistress and the gentleman returned. When mistress read the telegram she appeared nervous and agitated. They both entered the dining-room, and at first conversed in low tones, but soon appeared to be in altercation. I heard the gentleman say, ‘I shall not leave this house until you let me have the money. I tell you I will not allow you to ruin yourself.’ To which mistress replied that she had changed her mind, and should place the money in the bank instead. At this the foreigner grew furious. Mistress urged him to go, but he would not. Then all was quiet again. She gave me orders to lay supper in the sitting-room upstairs, which I obeyed, she telling me that her husband was coming home after a long journey. I wondered what the master would say to the other gentleman, but discreetly held my tongue. It wasn’t my place to say a word. About eleven o’clock the gentleman departed very reluctantly, and soon after midnight mistress’s husband arrived.

“I opened the door to him. He was a tall, handsome man, who wore a felt hat and long travelling ulster. He greeted mistress very cordially, kissing her with much affection, and then they went upstairs together to supper.

“All the evening I had been hesitating whether or not I should decamp with the money, and while they were sitting at table I was still thinking over the matter. The clock struck two, and roused me. Suddenly I made up my mind to take it, so creeping back to the drawing-room I opened the bag, abstracted the contents, and replaced it again. Just as I was about to leave the room with the money in my hands I heard a footstep on the stairs. I knew it was mistress! I slipped behind the screen, hoping to escape observation. Scarcely had she crossed the threshold when I heard another person following stealthily. It was the foreign gentleman. ‘Have you decided?’ he asked, in a low whisper. ‘Yes,’ she replied, starting at his sudden reappearance; ‘once for all, I tell you I will rid myself of you.’ He appeared mad with anger. He pushed the door to, and placed his back against it. Then he laughed a low, harsh laugh, replying, ‘That’s not so easy, my pretty one: remember our secret bond.’ She turned upon him furiously, crying, ‘Leave this house at once! Do you wish to compromise me besides endeavouring to rob me of my money? Ah! you think I do not know you. We have been friends because it suited my purpose; but if you dare touch that money I will tell what I know! I will give the police the information they seek regarding the Villeneuve affair!’ This speech had a strange effect upon him. ‘Dieu! – she knows,’ he ejaculated, involuntarily. Glaring at her with an expression of murderous hatred, he watched her every movement. ‘Will you hand me over the money?’ he demanded, sternly. ‘No; you shall never have it. Leave this house; and if you remain in England another week I’ll carry my threat into effect. If you fancy you can practise the confidence trick on me you are mistaken – so, go!’

”‘I shall not!’ he replied, fiercely. ‘I will have that money,’ and he bent down in the act of drawing the bag from beneath the sofa. ‘Touch it at your peril!’ she cried, hoarsely. ‘I see you now in your true light; you would rob a woman of her means of existence. God knows you have brought me enough misery already!’ Again he tried to obtain possession of the bag, but once more she frustrated his design. Then they struggled for the mastery. His face was ashen pale, and his fingers gripped her bare arms, leaving great red marks; but she was not to be easily vanquished, and fought like a tigress. ‘To-morrow,’ she said, in a terrible half-whisper, ‘the world shall know who stole the Villeneuve diamonds, and I will rid myself of you forever. I will expose your accursed villainy!’ He grasped her by the wrist and dragged her towards him. ‘You – you say this – to me,’ he hissed, in a frenzy of passion. ‘You have spoken your last words – you – you shall die.’ I saw a knife uplifted in his hand, and he plunged it in my mistress’s breast with a dull, sickening sound. She sank upon the floor, uttering a shrill cry. For a few seconds he bent over her and seemed to be rearranging her dress, then he snatched up the bag, took the roll of notes from the mantelshelf, and thrusting them into his pocket, stole noiselessly out by the back-door. I stood for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. At last I summoned courage to approach my poor mistress, who lay motionless; but just as I was stepping from my hiding-place I heard some one descending the stairs. It was master! He rushed into the room, but stopped suddenly, in horror, as he caught sight of his wife. Bending over her, he was about to lift her, when his eyes caught sight of something, which I suppose was the seal afterwards found. With a loud cry of despair, and uttering words in a foreign language, he kissed her calm white face. ‘I must fly,’ he said, aloud, ‘or I shall be suspected,’ and without another word he also hurried out of the house.

“When he had gone, I placed the money I had stolen in a small hand-bag, and crept out by the front door. A few days later my young man and myself sailed for Australia, and that is all I know of the murder.”

There was a long pause when the voluble witness had concluded her breathless recital.

Chapter Thirty One

By whose Hand?

“This is a most remarkable statement,” observed the judge, regarding the woman keenly. “You swear positively that the prisoner was not the murderer?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then surely you would be able to recognise the man whom you assert stabbed your mistress? Have you seen him since?”

“Never.”

“Don’t tell me his name, but answer me; do you know it?”

“No; my mistress always called him Victor, and told me, whenever he came, to announce him as Monsieur. He, too, always addressed her by her Christian name.”

“Why did you not give information to the police at the time?” asked his lordship.

“Because I should have been prosecuted for robbery,” she replied, confusedly.

“I have only one question, m’lord,” exclaimed counsel for the prosecution, rising. Turning to the witness, he asked: “When was the first occasion upon which you saw the prisoner?”

“Half-an-hour ago.”

“And you positively swear you never saw him before to-day?”

“I do.”

“Witness,” said the judge, “you will give the police a detailed description of the man you saw commit the murder. That will do.”

Mr Roland and Vera were in earnest conversation. He appeared to be dubious about some point upon which she was trying to convince him.

The spectators were eager for the next development of the curious case. They had followed the verbal duel with the same interest as that inspired by a thrilling drama performed by first-class artistes. Several times already applause had almost broken out, and was only suppressed by the dread of the Court being cleared.

“The next witness, m’lord, will be Boris Seroff,” Mr Roland said, glancing hesitatingly at his brief, while Vera retired to a seat where I could not observe her.

“Seroff!” I repeated to myself, “who can he be? Surely he must be a relation of Vera’s; and yet I’ve never heard of him!”

The name was shouted down the corridor outside the Court; then there was a movement among the eager crowd which stood about the door, and a man advanced towards the witness-box.

Instantly I recognised him. It was the murderer!

What fresh intrigue was this?