“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.”
“To her, to Vera, and to yourself, I owe my present liberty,” I exclaimed deeply moved. “I am indeed grateful to you all for your efforts.”
“You have little to thank me for, dear,” said Vera tenderly. “Fate seemed against me in everything I did.”
“I understand how you must have suffered, dearest, and how circumstances precluded you from telling me the truth. You did your best, and in future I shall trust you implicitly,” I said, while her arm stole gently around my neck, and she looked lovingly into my eyes.
Wringing Boris’s hand heartily, I expressed my gratitude to him, adding, “There is one thing needful to completely solve the enigma – the name of the man who committed the crimes.”
“When I gave the police the information I promised I would not divulge until they made the arrest; otherwise I would tell you,” he replied, with a tantalising smile.
“Do tell us! We must know the whole truth now,” urged Vera earnestly.
“His name – but – hark! – what’s that?” he ejaculated, with bated breath.
We listened. It was the sound of hurrying footsteps in the corridor.
“I must see Mrs Burgoyne at once. Do you hear? Quick! Tell me; which is her room?” a voice shouted excitedly.
“It’s here! first on the left, sir,” was the reply.
A second later the door was flung open without warning.
Chapter Thirty Five
The Vantage-Ground of Truth
Demetrius burst abruptly into the room.
His wild appearance startled us. His face was pale and haggard; his eyes bloodshot, his collar torn, and his coat rent at the shoulder.
He stopped suddenly, stepping back a few paces when he saw Vera was not alone.
“Why, good Heavens! What’s the matter?” I exclaimed, in utter astonishment; for he and I had been the closest friends.
“Matter! Diable! You should know!” he cried, his foreign accent being more pronounced in his excitement.
“No. What is it?” asked Vera, who had risen and was standing close to him. “Are you mad?”
“Yes, imbecile – if you like,” he shouted hoarsely. Pointing to Boris, he added, his face distorted by a look of intense hatred, “That traitor is the cause! He has set the police upon me. They have followed me and are hunting me down. But they shall not arrest me —Sacré– at least not yet!”
“Come; enough of this!” commanded Boris, sternly, advancing and clutching him by the shoulder.
“Hands off, you devil!” he cried fiercely, shaking himself free. “Listen, first, to what I have to say!”
“Now, it’s useless to struggle,” Boris declared firmly. “I shall detain you here and send for the police.”
“No you won’t. Curse you! They are following me now. They saw me enter the hotel. Hark! they’re on the stairs. But I have something – something to say.”
There was a sly, crafty look in his distended eyes.
“Well; what is it?” I asked, at the same time glancing at Vera, and noting that her delicate face was firm-set and pale.