In White Raiment

There was an old rusted lock of Florentine workmanship upon it, and the leather was worm-eaten and tattered.

“This contains the secret of the vayana,” she went on, opening the ponderous volume before me upon the table. “I discovered that the poison was the only one impossible of detection, and then it occurred to me to prepare it, and with it strike revenge. Well, although I had been in London a dozen times in search of the man I had once loved, I came again and settled down here, determined to spare no effort to discover him. Through four whole years I sought him diligently, when at last I was successful. I discovered who and what he was.”

“Who was he?” I inquired.

“The man you know as Major Tattersett. His real name is Ashwicke.”

“Tattersett?” gasped Beryl. “And he is your husband?”

“Most certainly,” she responded. “I watched him diligently for more than twelve months, and discovered that his career had been a most extraordinary one, and that he was in association with a man named Graham – who sometimes also called himself Ashwicke – and who was one of the most expert and ingenious forgers ever known. Graham was a continental swindler whom the police had for years been endeavouring to arrest, while the man who was my husband was known in criminal circles as ‘The Major.’ Their operations in England, Belgium, and America were on a most extensive-scale, and in the past eight years or so they have amassed a large fortune, and have succeeded in entering a very respectable circle of society. While keeping watch upon my husband’s movements, I found that he, one evening a few months ago, went down to Hounslow, and, unobserved by him, I travelled by the same train. I followed him to Whitton, and watched him meet clandestinely a lady who was one of the guests.”

“It was myself?” Beryl exclaimed, standing utterly dumbfounded by these revelations.

“Yes,” the woman went on. “I was present at your meeting, although not sufficiently near to overhear your conversation. By your manner, however, I felt confident that you were lovers, and then a fiendish suggestion – one that I now deeply regret – occurred to me, namely to kill you both by secret means. With that object I went to the small rustic bridge by the lake – over which I knew you must pass on your return to the house, both of you having crossed it on your way there – and upon the hand-rail I placed the poison I had prepared. I knew that if you placed your hand upon the rail the poison would at once be absorbed through the skin, and must prove fatal. My calculations were, however, incorrect, for an innocent man fell victim. Colonel Chetwode came down that path, and, unconsciously grasping the rail, received the sting of death, while you and your companion returned by a circuitous route, and did not therefore discover him.”

“And is that really the true story of the Colonel’s death?” I asked blankly.

“Yes,” she answered, her chin upon her breast. “You may denounce me. I am a murderess – a murderess?”

There was a long and awkward pause.

“And can you tell us nothing of our mysterious union and its motive?” I asked her.

“Nothing,” she responded, shaking her head. “I would tell you all, if I knew, for you, like myself, have fallen victims in the hands of Tattersett and Graham – only they themselves know the truth. After the tragedy at Whitton I traced Beryl Wynd to Gloucester Square, and, still believing her to have supplanted me in my husband’s affections, called there in the guise of a dressmaker, and while your wife was absent from the room managed to write a reply to a fictitious message I had brought her from Graham. I placed the liquid upon the porcelain handle of the door on the inside, so that a person on entering would experience no ill effect, but on pulling open the door to leave would receive the full strength of the deadly vayana. This again proved ineffectual; therefore ascertaining that Graham intended to visit Atworth, I entered there and placed the terrible alkaloid on certain objects in your wife’s room – upon her waist-belt, and in the room that had been occupied by him on his previous visit, but which proved to be then occupied by yourself.”

“And that accounts for the mysterious attacks which we both experienced!” I observed, amazed at her confession.

“Yes,” she replied; “I intended to commit murder. I was unaware that Beryl was your wife, and I have committed an error which I shall regret through all my life, I can only ask your forgiveness – if you really can forgive.”

“I have not yet learnt the whole facts – the motive of our marriage,” I answered. “Can you direct us to either of the men?”

She paused. Then at last answered, “Graham, or the man you know as Ashwicke, is here in this house; he called upon me by appointment this afternoon. If you so desire, I will tell my servant to ask him in.”

“But before doing so,” cried Beryl, excitedly, “let me first explain my own position! I, too, am not altogether blameless. The story of my parentage, as I have given it to you, Richard, is a fictitious one. I never knew my parents. My earliest recollections were of the Convent of the Sacré Coeur at Brunoy, near Paris, where I spent fourteen years, having as companion, during the latter seven years, Nora Findlay, the daughter of a Scotch ironmaster. Of my own parents the Sisters declared they knew nothing, and as I grew up they constantly tried to persuade me to take the veil. Nora, my best friend, left the convent, returned to England, and two years afterwards married Sir Henry, whereupon she generously offered me a place in her house as companion. She is no relation, but, knowing my susceptibilities, and in order that I should not be looked upon as a paid companion, she gave out that we were cousins – hence I was accepted as such everywhere.

“With Nora I had a pleasant, careless life, until about two years ago I met the Major, unknown to Nora, and afterwards became on friendly terms with a young man, an officer in the guards, who was his friend. Tattersett won a large sum from him at cards; and then I saw, to my dismay, that he had been attracted only by the mild flirtation I had carried on with him, and that he had played in order to please me. The Major increased my dismay by telling me that this young man was the son of a certain woman who was his bitterest enemy – the Italian woman called La Gioia – and that she would seek a terrible revenge upon us both. This was to frighten me. My life having been spent in the convent, I knew very little of the ways of the world, yet I soon saw sufficient of both to know that Tattersett was an expert forger, and that his accomplice Graham was a clever continental thief whom the police had long been wanting. How I called at the house in Queen’s-gate Gardens, and afterwards lost control over my own actions, I have already explained. The motive of our marriage is an absolute enigma.”

She stood before me white-faced and rigid.

“It is fortunate that Graham is here. Shall we seek the truth from him?” I asked.

“Yes,” she responded. “Demand from him the reason of our mysterious union.”

La Gioia touched the bell, gave an order to the servant, and, after a few moments of dead silence, Graham stood in the doorway.

Chapter Thirty One

Conclusion

“You!” gasped the man, halting quickly in alarm.

“Yes,” I said. “Enter, Mr Graham; we wish to speak with you.”

“You’ve betrayed me – curse you!” he cried, turning upon La Gioia. “You’ve told them the truth?”

The colour had died from his face, and he looked as grey and aged as on the first occasion when we had met and he had tempted me.

“We desire the truth from your own lips,” I said determinedly. “I am not here without precautions. The house is surrounded by police, and they will enter at a sign from me if you refuse an explanation – the truth, mind. If you lie you will both be arrested.”

“I know nothing,” he declared, his countenance dark and sullen.

He made a slight instinctive movement towards his pocket, and I knew that a revolver was there.

“You know the reason of our marriage,” I said quickly. “What was it?”

“Speak!” urged La Gioia. “You can only save yourself by telling the truth.”

“Save myself!” he cried in a tone of defiance. “You wish to force me to confession – you and this woman! You’ve acted cleverly. When she invited me here, this afternoon, I did not dream that she had outwitted me.”

The woman had, however, made the appointment in ignorance of our intentions, therefore she must have had some other motive. But he was entrapped, and saw no way of escape.

“I have worked diligently all these months, and have solved the mystery of what you really are,” I said.

“Then that’s sufficient for you, I suppose;” and his thin lips snapped together.

“No, it is not sufficient. To attempt to conceal anything further is useless. I desire from you a statement of the whole truth.”

“And condemn myself?”

“You will not condemn yourself if you are perfectly frank with us,” I assured him.

There was a long silence. His small eyes darted an evil look at La Gioia, who stood near him, erect and triumphant. Suddenly he answered, in a tone hard and unnatural —

“If you know all, as you declare, there is little need to say much about my own association with Tattersett. Of the latter the police are well aware that he is one of the most expert forgers in Europe. It was he and I who obtained thirty thousand pounds from the Crédit Lyonnais in Bordeaux, and who, among other little matters of business, tricked Parr’s for twenty thousand. At Scotland Yard they have all along suspected us, but have never obtained sufficient evidence to justify arrest. We took very good care of that, for after ten years’ partnership we were not likely to blunder.” He spoke braggingly, for all thieves seem proud of the extent of their frauds.

“But you want to know about your marriage, eh?” he went on. “Well, to tell the truth, it happened like this. The Major, who had dabbled in the byways of chemistry as a toxicologist, held the secret of a certain most deadly poison – one that was used by the ancients a thousand years ago – and conceived by its means a gigantic plan of defrauding life insurance companies. About that time he accidentally met Miss Wynd, and cultivated her acquaintance because, being extremely handsome, she would be useful as a decoy. The secret marriage was accomplished, but just as the elaborate plan was to be put into operation he made an astounding discovery.”

“What was the reason of the marriage?” I inquired breathlessly.

He paused in hesitation.

“Because it was essential that, in close association with us, we should have a doctor of reputation, able to assist when necessary, and give death-certificates for production to the various life insurance companies. You were known to us by repute as a clever but impecunious man, therefore it was decided that you should become our accomplice. With that object Tattersett, accompanied by a young woman, whom he paid to represent herself as Beryl Wynd, went to Doctors’ Commons, and petitioned for a special licence. Possession was obtained of the house in Queen’s-gate Gardens which I had occupied two years previously under the name of Ashwicke – for we used each other’s names just as circumstances required – paying the caretaker a ten-pound note; and, when all was in readiness, you were called and bribed to marry Beryl, who was already there, rendered helpless with unbalanced brain by the deadly vayana. I posed, as you will remember, as Wyndham Wynd, father of the young lady, and, after the marriage, in order to entrap you into becoming our accomplice, tempted you to take her life. You refused, therefore you also fell a victim to a cigarette steeped in a decoction of curare, handed you by the Major, and were sent out of the country, it being our intention, on your return, to threaten you with being a party to a fraudulent marriage, and thus compel you to become our accomplice.”

“But this paper which I found beneath her pillow?” And I took from my pocket the sheet of paper with the name of La Gioia upon it.

“It is a note I sent her, on the day before her visit to Queen’s-gate Gardens, in order to induce her to come and consult with me. She had evidently carried it in her pocket.”

“And this photograph?” I asked, showing him the picture I had found concealed in the Colonel’s study.