Guilty Bonds

Before the detectives could obey the orders of the inspector, he had placed the revolver to his forehead.

The plated barrel flashed in the light only for an instant – then there was a loud explosion.

The officers recoiled, startled by its suddenness; for it all took place so rapidly that for the moment they apparently did not comprehend his intention.

As the pistol fell from the unhappy man’s grasp he uttered a loud moan, staggered, and then wheeled slowly round, as if on a pivot. His bloodshot eyes caught sight of Boris, and frightful convulsions of every feature proclaimed his terror. He did not utter another cry but fell forward to the floor where he quivered for a few moments in death agony.

It was an awful tableau; the last act of a terrible game that had for its stakes riches, or the grave.

Boris, with livid face, was resting his right hand against the wall, while he pressed his left to his breast as if to stay the beating of his heart. He watched the dying struggles of his wife’s murderer, seeming fascinated by the frightful spectacle.

There was an awful silence.

Amid this terrible scene Vera regained consciousness. Struggling to her feet she walked with uneven steps towards us. All at once her face assumed a look of inexpressible horror, as she gazed down upon the body of the murderer, and gradually realised the truth.

“It is he! And he tried to kill me! It all seems like some horrible dream,” she gasped, clutching my arm and uttering a low cry of horror.

“Come; Vera,” I whispered, softly, “the mystery is solved. The guilty one has received the wages of his sin.”

She did not reply, but, with a deep-drawn sigh, as if a great weight had been lifted from her mind, she leaned heavily upon my arm and left the chamber of death.

Boris followed.

His thirst for vengeance had been satisfied.

Chapter Thirty Six

Conclusion

A sultry autumn day had passed; the freshening twilight had faded, and the moon and evening star were in the sky as Vera and I sat together on the terrace at Elveham. Already the lights of the village began to twinkle in the distance; the tops of the trees in the Dene were gleaming in the moonlight like a silver sea, a night bird warbled sweetly, and the little brook babbled on with lulling music.

My heart drank in the tranquillity of the scene, as in the listlessness of after dinner I smoked the sleep-inviting cigar.

A month had elapsed since the tragic dénouement of the strange drama, but Vera’s nerves had been so unstrung that I had scarcely referred to the terrible occurrence since.

We had just dined with Boris and Bob Nugent, who had arrived as our guests that day. During the meal Vera had spoken of the scene at the hotel – not without some hesitation, however – and now we were alone she again alluded to it.

“Do you remember, Frank, it was on a similar night to this, that you saw, over there in the Dene, what your jealous eyes distorted into a meeting of lovers?”

“Yes, dearest; I do remember it. Boris being the man I saw leave the house in Bedford Place, I believed him to be the murderer,” I replied.

“Boris; the murderer!” cried my wife in surprise. “Ah! I understand, dear, what agony of mind such a discovery must have caused you. It was all my fault – everything,” she added, with regret.

“The mystification was not intentional, Vera,” I said, tenderly, encircling her slim waist with my arm. “But do not let us speak of it again.”

“Frank,” she exclaimed suddenly, as she placed her hand upon my shoulder tenderly, looking into my eyes, “Boris has yet something to tell you. Ah! here they come; you must hear it now.”

My two guests had emerged from the dining-room and were strolling leisurely towards us in full enjoyment of their goddess Nicotine.

My wife called them, and they came and seated themselves beside us.

“Now, Boris,” she said, “we have all met, and you can explain to Frank that complication you did not acquaint him with on the night of his acquittal.”

“What more can there be?” I asked, in unfeigned astonishment.

“Simply this: The villain meant to kill you?” Boris replied calmly.

“To kill me?”

“Yes. You remember discovering portions of a seal upon your writing-table?”

“Perfectly. It was on the morning I left for London.”

“Exactly. Had you remained here, you would have been murdered, and the seal, which was in readiness, affixed upon you. When you left, he followed, his purpose being to kill you when a fitting opportunity presented itself. Luckily events so conspired as to frustrate his evil design.”

“Is this really true?” I exclaimed, in amazement.

“Yes. You will now understand why I shadowed you so closely. It was in order that no harm should befall you.”

“But my arrest – ” I said, utterly bewildered at this fresh feature the mystery presented – a plot against my own life.

“The villain suddenly altered his tactics, presumably because he would be running too great a risk by killing you. He therefore returned here, placed the seals and other articles among your possessions, and afterwards gave information to the police which led to your committal.”

“What could have been the motive of all this?”

I asked, my astonishment increasing at such revelations. “We were friends; I had done him no wrong.”

“The motive was a sufficiently strong one; that of obtaining your fortune.”

“How?”

“Cannot you see the depths of the plot? He was aware you had made a will leaving everything to Vera, therefore, if you died, she would possess the estate. In that case he hoped to marry her, and failing this, his father could give information which would secure her conviction and exile as one implicated in the attempts against the Czar. In either case he would obtain the money. You were the only obstacle, and when once removed, all would have been easy.”

“By fortuitous circumstances he did not succeed,” Vera said, kissing me fondly.

“No. He was a clever rogue, I can assure you. But he was unaware that I was in England watching his movements,” remarked Boris.

“What of his father?” I asked.

“He also has obtained what he richly deserves. Having been detected in assisting in the manufacture of bombs in Zurich, immediately on his return after giving evidence against you, he was convicted and sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment.”

“Serve the old scoundrel right!” declared Bob, in a tone of satisfaction. “It seems to me, Frank, old fellow, you owe your life to our newly-discovered friend.”

“Yes, that is true,” I admitted. “It is a debt I can never repay.”

“Don’t talk of it,” said Boris, tossing away his cigar-end. “My only desire has been to secure the happiness of my sister and yourself.”

“There is nothing to fear in that respect,” I said, laughing. “The dark clouds and terrible ordeals that overshadowed the first few months after our marriage have now passed, and brighter days, full of hope and enjoyment, have dawned. Our future lives will be devoid of sorrow, and there shall be no element of mistrust again to part us.”