Guilty Bonds

He twirled his moustache and appeared to be lost in thought for a few moments. Then he said: “First, let me make a confession. Like my sister, I am – or rather was – a member of a Nihilist Circle. I joined from the same motive of revenge that prompted Vera, and perhaps she has explained how you unwittingly assisted us in our attempt; how, by the treachery of Hertzen, you were arrested; and how by our exertions you escaped.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“But you do not know all. You remember finding the seal in your cell?”

“Ah – the seal?” I cried, excitedly, for the mention of it brought back terrible memories. “What was its meaning?” I demanded.

“By the merest accident you directed my attention to the hieroglyphics on the wall, and the discovery threw a light upon a phase of the mystery that had hitherto been unintelligible. That cell, I found, was the same in which my father was confined before his exile, and it was he who cut that emblem in the stone, with his initials linked with those of the villain who plotted his destruction.”

“And that villain was – ”

“The man you know as Hertzen. Having obtained control of my sister’s fortune, he schemed to entangle her so that he might be instrumental in securing her exile to the mines, and eventually appropriate the money for his own use. He was unaware, however, that my wound in Georgia had not proved fatal. By concealing my identity I contrived to assist Vera and yourself.”

“But the seal! Tell me; what is its meaning?” I asked, in breathless suspense.

“It is the death symbol. The Nihilist law demands that those who accidentally discover our secret, and refuse to take the oath, must die by the hand of the person from whose lips they learn it. To ensure absolute secrecy, so essential in a country like Russia teeming with police spies, the Executive devised a seal to be affixed to the body of the murdered person, thus showing members of our Cause the reason of the crime and deterring them from betraying us.”

“So the seal, about which there has been so much controversy, is a Nihilist emblem,” I said, bewildered.

“Purely. For the most part the persons upon whose bodies the seal has been discovered are those whom it was found necessary to remove for the preservation of our secret. In some cases where we have been betrayed by members of our Circle, lots have been cast among us, the deed has been committed, and the lips of the traitor silenced forever. The crimes have been regarded as the work of a maniac. You will understand that it was to our interest to make them appear so,” he replied, calmly.

“What is the meaning of those strange symbols around the seal which have been the cause of so much comment?” I asked, eagerly, for this extraordinary revelation was even more mystifying than the secrets.

Taking from his breast-pocket a paper upon which was an impression of the seal, similar to that found on the victims, he said, —

“See, the centre, which has proved so puzzling to many, is a representation of the hammer of Thor, the god of thunder. It is symbolical of strength, work, and duty. By the Scandinavians Thor was supposed to be the guardian genius, and representations of his hammer were believed to be charms against every terror. In that sense the organisation has used it. The legend, of which antiquarians have failed to discover the key, is an obsolete Norse rune, the words being, ‘Bith Sithi Gast,’ the equivalent in English to ‘Halt! accursed enemy!’ It is indeed the Seal of Death.”

“Does no one outside the Nihilist Circle know its significance?” I asked, in wonder.

“Not a soul. Remember Vera and I are now no longer members of the organisation. Our oaths are removed, therefore I am able to tell you this.”

“Happily our conspiracy against the Autocrat has been unsuccessful,” broke in Vera, smiling.

“We are not Russians now, but content to be loyal subjects of your Queen.”

“I’m pleased that is so,” I replied, with a sigh of relief; “but there is still one circumstance unexplained.”

“To which do you allude?” Boris asked, plunging his hands into his pockets and leaning against the table opposite me.

I was loth to approach a subject which must be exceedingly painful to him.

“I mean the murder – the tragedy in Bedford Place – ”

“Ah!” he cried, sorrowfully, passing his hand quickly across his forehead, “the remembrance of that terrible night – the white face of my poor dead wife constantly haunts me. But the scoundrel who killed her shall suffer his well-merited punishment,” he added, as he paced the room angrily, muttering some imprecations in Russian.

“Boris dear, calm yourself,” said Vera, persuasively, clutching him by the arm. “Tell Frank everything; he has a right to know.”

“Yes, he has,” replied her brother, turning suddenly towards me. “From the first I knew by whose hand she died, but was unable to act. You will understand, when I say that the villain was a member of our Circle, and that it was believed my wife was removed because she had accidentally discovered that an attempt was to be made at the Winter Palace. Such, however, was the report to the Executive, and the murder was looked upon as a commendable precaution.”

“Did not the Circle know it was your wife?”

“No, I had kept my marriage a secret. The murderer was ignorant of our relationship, otherwise he would not have dared to commit the crime and report it to the Executive.”

“Then you are absolutely certain as to his identity?” I said, breathlessly.

“Yes. At first I could not discover the motive, but since the confession of the servant it is plain he wished to obtain possession of the money, and placed the fatal emblem upon her in order to deceive us and secure our aid in concealing his guilt.”

“You have given the police his name!” exclaimed Vera, anxiously, “quick! tell us who he is.”

“What!” I ejaculated, in surprise, “are you, too, in ignorance of the real culprit?”

“Quite; Boris has refused to disclose his identity,” she said, quietly, in a tone of annoyance.

“No,” replied the Russian, bitterly. “There will be time enough when the police have hunted him down. Hitherto I have been powerless. I dare not denounce him lest he should divulge my connection with the plots, the inevitable result of which would have been my exile to the mines. Now, however, I fear nothing. He has destroyed the only one I loved, and shall suffer the penalty!” he added, fiercely.

“But why not tell us?” I argued. “Surely we may know upon whom rests the guilt?”

“Let the matter remain at present,” he said, petulantly. “When the time arrives I shall be prepared to prove that which will send him to the gallows. Not only did he take my wife’s life, but he also committed a second murder in order to hide the first – ”

“Another?” I cried.

“Yes. Since my poor wife’s maid, Jane Maygrove, returned from Australia and made her confession, I have discovered something even more strange. It seems that Jane had a sister Nell, very similar in feature, and previous to her departure abroad she told this sister all that had happened at Bedford Place on the fatal night. Needless to say, Nell traced the murderer and made excellent use of her information, inasmuch as she levied blackmail upon him to a considerable extent, he, of course, believing her to be the witness of his crime. She had married a man named Grey, and the pair lived upon the money she succeeded in extorting from the murderer. For some time this went on, until one night she was discovered in a court off Drury Lane, stabbed in the neck, and with the seal upon her – ”

“Why, that was the woman who was murdered on the night following my return from Russia!” I remarked, in amazement.

“That is so. Here is her photograph,” and he handed me a faded carte-de-visite, which he took from his pocket.

It was similar to that which had been given me by the man who had died in the garret.

“Jane Maygrove,” he continued, “is none other than the wife of your club-friend, Rivers.”

“Ted Rivers’s wife?” I repeated, incredulously. He replied in the affirmative, adding, “Does not that account for his consternation when you produced a photograph of her twin sister? He believed it to be that of his own wife.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked, my interest in the solution of this extraordinary problem increasing more than ever.

“On the day you left Elveham, after discovering Vera and myself in the Dene, you came to London, and outside the Junior Garrick you were met by an old man named Grey, the husband of Nell Maygrove, were you not?”

“That’s true,” I admitted. “But how came you aware of this?”

“Simply because I followed you,” he replied, laughing. “I had an object in doing so; it was in your own interest, as you will know later.”

“How could your espionage affect me?” I asked, with a sudden feeling of resentment at having been “shadowed.”

“You shall know very soon. On the day to which I refer, you went to Grey’s room. He told you, before he died, how he discovered his murdered wife, and how he had taken the seal from her breast. Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“Your conversation was overheard by the sister of the dead woman, who, until then, was unaware that the significant sign had been found upon her, she being abroad at the time the accounts were published in the newspapers. When she heard Grey’s declaration she at once knew that the man who had killed her sister was the murderer of my wife. Prompted by revenge, she determined to track the villain, and bring him to justice, even at the risk of being prosecuted for theft herself. It was in consequence of this that she materially assisted us by giving evidence in your favour to-day.”