Chapter XL: Contains a Grave Charge

There was a movement at the door and Little entered.

His face was full of blank surprise when, on looking around, he recognised Whitlock, Daisy, and myself.

He wore a shabby grey tweed suit, was unshaven, and his appearance was entirely unlike his usual dapper self. Like most constant travellers and thorough-going cosmopolitans, he always--even if he had only just come off a long journey--was well-shaven, clean, and the pink of tidiness. Long journeys, or constant vigilance, induce in most people habits of personal untidiness. But not so in the hardened traveller. He can do a sixty-hour journey and look as fresh and clean at the end of it as if he had only run down to Brighton. Therefore Julian's haggard, neglected look took me by surprise. Certainly the expression of apprehension upon his face was sufficient to cause the gravest suspicion to arise within the mind of myself, his very best friend.

"Ah!" cried the girl I loved so dearly. "Ask this man the truth. Compel him to tell it to you."

"The truth of what?" he gasped, looking round at us each in turn. "What does this mean?"

Stonor spoke.

"It means, Little, that I am arrested for the assassination of Louise Lorimer at Barnes!"

"You!" laughed his friend. "How absurd!" Turning to Whitlock, he said, "Perhaps the movements of Mr Stonor and myself have appeared suspicious, but the truth is we have been investigating the affair on our own account. I know you've watched us. I saw both you and Keene in Cromer, and I feared that you might believe we were the guilty parties, acting in co-operation. But I think I can point out to you facts that will probably astonish you. I'm a journalist, as you know--correspondent of a paper which has the reputation of printing a picture of the real life of to-day. The hypercritical call it sensationalism, but it is really the human interest of our everyday life, omitting the dry-as-dust mock literature which papers like _The Globe_ still put forward. Keene and I believe in being alive and giving the public facts up to date. He has investigated this case on behalf of the paper, while I started out entirely on my own accord. And, I may add, I have made certain discoveries."

"Have you discovered the actual assassin?" I asked, fixing my eyes upon his.

"Yes, Victor," he said, in a low, distinct voice; "I have."

"And who is he?" I demanded.

"The truth regarding the affair is a long story," was Julian's reply. "Stonor can tell you better than myself."

Daisy laughed sarcastically. Her air was that of one acquainted with the truth; and yet Julian's words had caused her to listen with interest, and to wonder. I knew that Julian was antagonistic towards her, but I little dreamed the truth. The scene at that moment was full of tension, a dramatic episode the recollection of which I shall surely carry with me to the grave.

My well-beloved had alleged the crime of murder against the man who was my dearest and best friend! What could I do? What could I say?

"I am under arrest," Stonor said. "Therefore I will say nothing."

There was a pause.

"Look here, Mr Whitlock," said Julian, facing my friend boldly; "this situation is absurd. I tell you frankly that Stonor never harmed the girl. His wife committed suicide after the murder, and it was in his own interest to elucidate the truth. He and I have been engaged in making inquiries ever since the day following the tragedy."

Whitlock looked at him for several moments. Then he said--

"This statement of yours is interesting. And all the more so for one single reason."

"And what's that?"

"Because there is an allegation against you that you are the actual assassin!"

Little burst into laughter.

"Come, Whitlock," he said, "let us speak seriously. Are you actually in earnest?"

"Ask Miss Marvin."

He turned to Daisy. Their eyes met, and I saw in his a strange look of quick inquiry.

"I have said all I have to say," she exclaimed, perfectly cool and perfectly frankly.

"And that," explained Whitlock, "is that you, Mr Little, killed Louise Lorimer."

Julian pursed his lips. It needed no second glance to show him that his position was one of danger and of difficulty. The girl, against whom he had, for the past couple of years, been so antagonistic, had apparently had her revenge, for she had alleged against him the crime of murder.

"So you have said this?" he asked her at last. "You!"

"I have," was her bold reply, "and I repeat it. Mr Stonor is innocent. It is you who are guilty."

"And I suppose both you, Mr Whitlock, and you, Keene, suspect me--eh?" he said, with a bitter smile. "Well, I admit that my movements have been extremely suspicious. But our actions were imperative, and at least we now have one satisfaction."

"And what, pray, is that?" I inquired.

"That we have solved the mystery--Stonor and I. We know how the whole extraordinary affair was conducted, and who actually killed poor Louise!"

"Who is the guilty person?" Whitlock asked.

Little glanced across at Daisy, who stood at my side, and said in a mysterious manner--

"When we are alone I will answer your question. It was neither Stonor nor myself."

"Then you know the whole story of the crime," I said anxiously. "Explain it to us."

"I know a good deal," he replied, "even though I may not know every detail--not having been present myself."

"Yes. Tell us," urged Whitlock.

"With Stonor's permission," he said, glancing inquiringly at his friend.

"I have no objection," the other answered. "For the sooner the affair is cleared up and the real criminal arrested the better. This arrest of myself is absurd. Better be frank and explain the whole affair."

"Very well," said Julian Little, "I will." Then, turning to us, he said: "There are very many curious features of the case, I admit; but, Stonor's mouth being closed, I will explain briefly all I know concerning the tragedy. Some few months ago, while in Constantinople as special correspondent of the _Herald_, I discovered Stonor living there with his wife--the woman who afterwards committed suicide at Barnes. He had been there for nearly a year, endeavouring to obtain a concession for a monopoly to supply the Sultan's capital with electric light, and had already got hold of one or two good things which he had sold in London. He placed an ingenious project before me--a project whereby we might both make a big fortune at one _coup_. Briefly explained, it was this. Germany is now making a railway towards the Persian Gulf. Of this line a very long section is completed, but, as the line is a menace to our interests in the East, our Embassy had put pressure upon the Sultan and induced him to withdraw his _irade_, so that the line could not be extended farther than the point it had already reached. In consequence of this the shares in what had been a most prosperous company with a huge future before it had gone down to nothing, for the stopping of the line half-way across a desert had put an end to all hope of financial success. Now, from one of his friends at the Yildiz--a son of the Grand Vizier, I believe--Stonor knew that Germany was trying to secretly influence the Sultan to revoke his decision. Therefore he suggested that if we obtained early knowledge of the Sultan's reply we might, with the assistance of a capitalist whom we knew in Berlin, buy up the majority of the shares in the company before the truth leaked out, and thus make a huge _coup_."

"By Jove!" I exclaimed in surprise. "Go on."

"Well, there was only one way in which we could obtain premature news of His Majesty's decision, and that was by intercepting and reading the secret despatch sent from the German Ambassador to the Porte to Prince von Bülow. The latter was in England, staying for some weeks with some friends near Portsmouth. From the secret police in Constantinople Stonor obtained a copy of the telegraphic cipher of the German Foreign Office, which had been abstracted from the German Embassy a year before, copied, and returned to its place. With this in our possession we proceeded to complete our plans; first, in Berlin, with our financial friend--who, at a given signal, could place his hands on the majority of the shares--and then in London, where we took possession of the empty house at Barnes, close to the trunk telegraph lines to Portsmouth, which, with the aid of a telegraph engineer, whom we paid well, we successfully tapped, so that we could read every message before it reached the German Chancellor."

"But what of Louise Lorimer?" Daisy asked, still full of suspicion.

"I was about to tell you of her," Julian went on. "We wanted a female telegraph-clerk, and Stonor, fortunately, knew Louise Lorimer, who was at that time engaged at the post-office at Sydenham. She came to us, and for six weeks, night and day, that wire was watched to see if the despatch from Constantinople, which would mean fortune for us all, came over it. I went to the house, it was true. Indeed, I often went surreptitiously, for I chanced to be in England a good deal at that time. Stonor's wife had been a telegraph-clerk before her marriage, therefore she and Louise took it in turns to watch and sleep. It was a weird business--that constant alertness in the empty house--I can assure you. And then," he added, pausing--"and then came the astounding news of poor Louise's death, and the unaccountable suicide of Mrs Stonor. Only Stonor himself and I knew the identity of the lady who had taken her own life, and it was to our interests to keep the affair a mystery. Instead of a huge fortune, as we anticipated, our ingenious plot had only resulted in a tragedy! And ever since that day Stonor and I have been seeking to elucidate the mystery of who killed poor Louise."

"The movements of both of you were highly suspicious, to say the least," Whitlock remarked, surprised at the story.

"I quite admit that. Indeed, when we knew that you had found us at Cromer, Stonor anticipated arrest."

"And I was not mistaken," laughed the man who had hit upon that ingenious method of making a fortune.

"You will recollect several curious Press messages during your investigations," Little said, addressing me. "They were sent by me, so as to put you off the scent of ourselves, and at the same time to lead you to a knowledge of the actual assassin."

"By you!" I gasped, recollecting that I had at the time judged them to be the work of a professional journalist.

"Yes. The box in the garden of the house at Barnes Stonor had buried himself, while the pointing out of the house wherein he had lived as Elkington was done in order to give you a clue to the young girl's identity. We had already established, without a shadow of doubt, who had committed the murder."

"And whom, pray, do you allege committed the crime?" asked Whitlock, deeply in earnest.

"My friend and whilom partner, Stonor, is under arrest," answered Little, with a smile. "Until he is free I shall not speak."

"Then, in that case, I release him," said Whitlock, utterly amazed at the extraordinary narrative.

"And I hope, Inspector Whitlock, you will arrest the guilty man, who stands there before you!" Daisy exclaimed, pointing straight at Little, who merely shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly.

"Come," said Whitlock, "explain all you know, and give me the names of any witnesses you may have."

"If I may see you for one moment alone, outside in the hall, I will tell you something," he said.

Acting upon his suggestion Whitlock went out at once with him, and for a few moments they conversed together in an undertone.

When the inspector returned I saw that his countenance had altered. There was a look of self-satisfaction upon his face, for he at last knew the truth.

At that moment we heard the front door close, as some one left the house, and then Whitlock said--

"I think, gentlemen, that for the next half hour we may postpone the discussion of the matter. I have sent a sergeant for an important witness, whose presence here will greatly assist us," whereupon the tension grew less, and Stonor, producing a box of cigars and some whisky and soda, offered us generous hospitality.

As if by general consent not a word was spoken regarding the tragedy. Only Daisy was silent and thoughtful. She still seemed full of suspicion of the man who was my friend.

The moments seemed as hours as we waited for the arrival of the person whose name Whitlock would not tell us. He evidently intended to spring some surprise upon one or other of us. It was a habit of his to proceed quickly, coolly, and then suddenly produce his trump-card. And this trump-card had apparently been furnished by Julian Little.