The Mystery of a Hansom Cab (11 page)

‘I don't see what good that will do,' he answered wearily, as they sat down hand in hand. ‘I have talked about it to Calton till my head aches, and it is no good.'

‘Of course not,' retorted the lawyer sharply, as he also sat down. ‘Nor will it be any good until you come to your senses, and tell us where you were on that night.'

‘I tell you I cannot.'

‘Brian dear,' said Madge, softly, taking his hand, ‘you must tell all—for my sake.'

Fitzgerald sighed—this was the hardest temptation he had yet been subjected to—he felt half inclined to yield, and chance the result—but one look at Madge's pure face, steeled him against doing so. What could his confession bring but sorrow and regret to one whom he loved better than his life.

‘Madge,' he answered, gravely, taking her hand again, ‘you do not know what you ask.'

‘Yes, I do!' she replied quickly. ‘I ask you to save yourself—to prove that you are not guilty of this terrible crime, and not to sacrifice your life for the sake of—of—' Here she stopped, and looked helplessly at Calton, for she had no idea of the reason of Fitzgerald's refusal to speak.

‘For the sake of a woman!' finished Calton, bluntly.

‘A woman!' she faltered, still holding her lover's hand, ‘is—is—is that the reason?'

Brian averted his face.

‘Yes,' he said, in a low, rough voice.

A sharp expression of anguish crossed her pale face, and sinking her head on her hands, she wept bitterly. Brian looked at her in a dogged kind of way, and Calton stared grimly at both of them.

‘Look here,' he said at length to Brian, in an angry voice, ‘if you want my opinion of your conduct I think
you're an infernal scoundrel—begging your pardon, my dear, for the expression. Here is this noble girl, who loves you with her whole heart, and is ready to sacrifice everything for your sake, comes to implore you to save your life, and you coolly turn round, and acknowledge that you love another woman.'

Brian lifted his head haughtily, and his face flushed.

‘You are wrong,' he said, turning round sharply; ‘there is the woman for whose sake I keep silence;' and rising up from the bed, he pointed to Madge as she sobbed bitterly on it.

She lifted up her haggard face, with an air of surprise.

‘For my sake!' she cried, in a startled voice.

‘Oh, he's mad,' said Calton, shrugging his shoulders, ‘I will put in a defence of insanity.'

‘No, I am not mad,' cried Fitzgerald, wildly, as he caught Madge in his arms. ‘My darling! My darling! It is for your sake that I keep silence, and will do so though my life pays the penalty. I could tell you where I was on that night, and save myself; but if I did, you would learn a secret which would curse your life, and I dare not speak—I dare not.'

Madge looked up into his face with a pitiful smile as her tears fell fast.

‘Dearest,' she said, softly, ‘do not think of me, but only of yourself; better that I should endure misery
than that you should die. I do not know what the secret can be, but if the telling of it will save your life, do not hesitate. See,' she cried, falling on her knees, ‘I am at your feet—I implore you by all the love you ever had for me, save yourself, whatever the consequences may be to me.'

‘Madge,' said Fitzgerald, as he raised her in his arms, ‘at one time I might have done so, but now it is too late. There is another and stronger reason for my silence, which I have only found out since my arrest. I know that I am closing up the one way of escape from this charge of murder, of which I am innocent; but as there is a God in heaven, I swear that I will not speak.'

There was a silence in the cell only broken by Madge's convulsive sobs, and even Calton, cynical man of the world though he was, felt his eyes grow wet. Brian led Madge over to him, and placed her in his arms.

‘Take her away,' he said in a broken voice, ‘or I will forget I am a man;' and turning away, he threw himself on his bed, and covered his face with his hands. Calton did not answer him, but summoned the warder, and tried to lead Madge away. But just as they reached the door she broke away from him, and running back flung herself on her lover's breast.

‘My darling! My darling!' she sobbed, kissing him, ‘you shall not die. I will save you in spite of yourself!' and, as if afraid to trust herself any longer, she ran out
of the cell, followed by the barrister.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MADGE MAKES A DISCOVERY

Madge stepped into the cab, and Calton paused a moment to tell the cabman to drive to the railway station, when she stopped him.

‘Tell him to drive to Brian's lodgings in Powlett Street,' she said, laying her hand on Calton's arm.

‘What for?' asked the lawyer, in astonishment.

‘And also to go past the Melbourne Club, as I want to stop there.'

‘What the deuce does she mean?' muttered Calton as he gave the necessary orders, and stepped into the cab.

‘And now,' he asked, looking at his companion, who had let down her veil, while the cab rattled quickly down the street, ‘what do you intend to do?'

She threw back her veil, and he was astonished to see the sudden change which had come over her. There were no tears now, and her eyes were hard and glittering, while her mouth was firmly closed. She looked like a woman who had determined to do a certain thing, and would carry out her intentions at whatever cost.

‘I am going to save Brian in spite of himself,' she said, very distinctly.

‘But how?'

‘Ah, you think that, being a woman, I can do nothing,' she said bitterly. ‘Well, you shall see.'

‘I beg your pardon,' retorted Calton, with a grim smile, ‘my opinion of your sex has always been an excellent one—every lawyer's is; stands to reason that it should be so, seeing that a woman is at the bottom of nine cases out of ten.'

‘The old cry.'

‘Nevertheless a true one,' answered Calton. ‘Ever since the time of Father Adam it has been acknowledged that women influence the world either for good or evil more than men—but this is not the point,' he went on rather impatiently—‘What do you propose to do?'

‘Simply this,' she answered. ‘In the first place, I may tell you that I do not understand Brian's statement, that he keeps silence for my sake, as there are no secrets in my life that can justify him saying so, but the
facts of the case are simply these: Brian on the night in question left our place, at St Kilda, at eleven o'clock. He told me he would call at the club to see if there were any letters for him, and then go straight home.'

‘But he might have said that merely as a blind.'

Madge shook her head.

‘No, I don't think so. I never asked him where he was going, and he told me quite spontaneously. I know Brian's character, and he would not go and tell a deliberate lie, especially when there was no necessity for it. I am quite certain that he intended to do as he said, and go straight home. When he got to the club, he found a letter there, which caused him to alter his mind.'

‘But who did he receive the letter from?'

‘Can't you guess?' she said impatiently. ‘From the person, man, or woman who wanted to see him, and reveal this secret about me whatever it is. He got the letter at his club, and went down Collins Street to meet the writer. At the corner of the Scotch Church, he found Mr Whyte, and on recognising him, left in disgust, and walked down Russell Street to keep his appointment.'

‘Then you don't think he came back.'

‘I am certain he did not, for as Brian told you there are plenty of young men who wear the same kind of coat and hat as he does. Who the second man who got into the cab was, I do not know, but I will swear that it was not Brian.'

‘And you are going to look for that letter?'

‘Yes, in Brian's lodgings.'

‘He might have burnt it.'

‘He might have done a thousand things, but he did not,' she answered. ‘Brian is the most careless man in the world, he would put the letter into his pocket, or throw it into the wastepaper basket, and never think of it again.'

‘In this case, he did, however.'

‘Yes, he thought of the conversation he had with the writer, but not of the letter itself. Depend upon it, we will find it in his desk, or in one of the pockets of the clothes he wore that night.'

‘Then there's another thing,' said Calton, thoughtfully. ‘The letter might have been delivered to him between the Elizabeth Street railway station and the club.'

‘We can soon find out about that,' answered Madge, ‘for Mr Rolleston was with him at that time.'

‘So he was,' answered Calton, ‘and here is Rolleston coming down the street. We'll ask him now.'

The cab was just passing the Burke and Wills monument, and Calton's quick eye had caught a glimpse of Rolleston coming down the street on the left hand side. What first attracted Calton's attention was the glittering appearance of Felix. His well brushed top-hat glittered, his varnished boots glittered, and his diamond rings and scarf-pin glittered, in fact so resplendent was his appearance that he looked like an animated diamond coming along in the blazing
sunshine. The cab drove up to the curbing, and Rolleston stopped short, as Calton sprang out directly in front of him. Madge lay back in the cab and pulled down her veil, not wishing to be recognised by Felix, as she knew that if he did it would soon be all over the town.

‘Hallo! old chap,' said Rolleston, in considerable astonishment. ‘Where did you spring from?'

‘From the cab, of course,' answered Calton, with a laugh.

‘A kind of
deus ex machina
,'
replied Rolleston, attempting a bad pun.

‘Exactly,' said Calton. ‘Look here, Rolleston, do you remember the night of Whyte's murder, you met Fitzgerald at the railway station.'

‘In the train,' corrected Felix.

‘Well, well, no matter, you came up with him to the club.'

‘Yes, and left him there.'

‘Did you notice if he received any message while he was with you?'

‘Any message,' repeated Felix. ‘No, he did not; we were talking together the whole time, and he spoke to no one but me.'

‘Was he in good spirits?'

‘Excellent, made me laugh awfully—but why all this thusness?'

‘Oh, nothing,' answered Calton, getting back into the cab. ‘I wanted a little information from you, I'll explain next time I see you! Goodbye.'

‘But I say,' began Felix, but the cab had already rattled away, so Mr Rolleston turned angrily away.

‘I never saw anything like these lawyers,' he said to himself. ‘Calton's a perfect whirlwind, by Jove.'

Meanwhile Calton was talking to Madge.

‘You were right,' he said, ‘there must have been a message for him at the club, for he got none from the time he left your place.'

‘And what will we do now?' asked Madge, who, having heard all the conversation, did not trouble about questioning the lawyer about it.

‘Find out at the club if any letter was waiting for him on that night,' said Calton, as the cab stopped at the door of the Melbourne Club. ‘Here we are,' and with a hasty word to Madge, he ran up the steps.

He went to the office of the club to find out if any letters had been waiting for Fitzgerald, and found there a waiter with whom he was pretty well acquainted.

‘Look here, Brown,' said the lawyer, ‘do you remember, on that Thursday night, when the hansom cab murder took place, if any letters were waiting here for Mr Fitzgerald?'

‘Well, really, sir,' hesitated Brown, ‘it's so long ago that I almost forget.'

Calton gave him a sovereign.

‘Oh! it's not that, Mr Calton,' said the waiter, pocketing the coin nevertheless. ‘But I really do forget.'

‘Try and remember,' said Calton, shortly.

Brown made a tremendous effort of memory, and at last gave a satisfactory answer.

‘No sir, there were none!'

‘Are you sure?' said Calton, feeling a thrill of disappointment.

‘Quite sure, sir,' replied the other confidently. ‘I went to the letter rack several times that night, and I am sure there was none for Mr Fitzgerald.'

‘Ah! I thought as much,' said Calton, heaving a sigh.

‘Stop,' said Brown, as though struck with a sudden idea, ‘though there was no letter came by post, sir, there was one brought to him on that night.'

‘Ah!' said Calton, turning sharply round. ‘At what time?'

‘Just before twelve o'clock, sir.'

‘Who brought it?'

‘A young woman, sir,' said Brown, in a tone of disgust. ‘A bold thing, beggin' your pardon, sir; and no better than she should be. She bounced in at the door as bold as brass, and sings out, “Is he in?” “Get out,” I says, “or I'll call the perlice.” “Oh, no you won't,” says she, “you'll give him that,” and she shoves a letter into my hands. “Who's him?” I asks. “I dunno,” she answers, “it's written there, and I can't read; give it him at once.” And then she clears out before I could stop her.'

‘And the letter was for Mr Fitzgerald?'

‘Yes, sir! and a precious dirty letter it was, too.'

‘You gave it to him, of course?'

‘I did, sir! he was playing cards, and he put it in his pocket, after having looked at the outside of it, and went on with his game.'

‘Didn't he open it?'

‘Not then, sir! but he did later on, about a quarter to one o'clock. I was in the room, and he opens it and reads it, then he says to himself “What damned impertinence,” and puts it into his pocket.'

‘Was he disturbed?'

‘Well, sir! he looked angry like, and put his coat and hat on, and walked out about five minutes to one.'

‘Ah! and he met Whyte at one,' muttered Calton. ‘There's no doubt of it—the letter was an appointment, and he was going to keep it. What kind of a letter was it?' he asked.

‘Very dirty, sir! in a square envelope, but the paper was good, and so was the writing.'

‘That will do,' said Calton, ‘I am much obliged to you,' and he hurried down to where Madge awaited him in the cab.

‘You were right,' he said to her, when the cab was once more in motion. ‘He got a letter on that night, and went to keep his appointment at the time he met Whyte.'

‘I knew it,' cried Madge, with delight. ‘You see, we will find it in his lodgings.'

‘I hope so,' answered Calton, ‘but we must not be too sanguine—he may have destroyed it.'

‘No, he has not,' she replied. ‘I am convinced it is there.'

‘Well,' answered Calton, looking at her, ‘I won't contradict you, for your feminine instincts have done more to discover the truth than my reasonings, but that is often the case with women—they jump in the dark, where a man would hesitate, and in nine cases out of ten land safely.'

‘Alas! for the tenth,' said Miss Frettlby. ‘She has to be the one exception to prove the rule.'

She had in a great measure recovered her spirits, and seemed confident that she would save her lover. But Mr Calton saw that her nerves were strung up to the highest pitch, and that it was only her strong will that kept her from breaking down altogether.

‘By Jove,' he muttered, in an admiring tone, as he watched her. ‘She's a plucky girl, and Fitzgerald is a lucky man to have a woman like that in love with him.'

They soon arrived at Brian's lodgings, and the door was opened by Mrs Sampson, who looked very disconsolate indeed. The poor cricket had been blaming herself severely for the information she had given to the false insurance agent, and the floods of tears, which she had wept, had apparently had an effect on her physical condition, for she crackled less loudly than usual, though her voice was as shrill as ever.

‘That sich a thing should 'ave 'appened to 'im,' she wailed, in her thin, high voice. ‘An' me that proud of 'im, not 'avin' any family of my own, except one as died, an' went up to 'eaving arter 'is father, which I 'opes as they both are now angels, an' friendly, as 'is nature 'ad not developed in this valley of the shadder to determine 'is feelin's towards 'is father when 'e died, bein' carried off by a chill, caused by the change from 'ot to cold, the weather bein' that contrary.'

They had arrived in Brian's sitting-room by this time, and Madge sank into a chair, while Calton, anxious to begin the search, hinted to Mrs Sampson that she could go.

‘I'm departin' sir,' piped the cricket, with a sad shake of her head, as she opened the door, ‘knowin' as I do as 'e's as innocent as an unborn babe, an' to think of me 'avin' told that 'orrid pusson who 'ad no regard for the truth all about 'im as is now in a cold cell, not as what the weather ain't warm, an' 'e won't want a fire as long as they allows 'im blankets.'

‘What did you tell him?' asked Calton, sharply.

‘Ah! you may well say that,' lamented Mrs Sampson, rolling her dingy handkerchief into a ball and dabbing at her red rimmed eyes, which had quite a bacchanalian look about them, though, poor soul, it was owing to grief, and not to liquor. ‘'Avin' bin beguiled by that serping in light clothes as wanted to know if 'e allays come 'ome afore twelve, which I said
'e was in the 'abit of doin', tho', to be sure, 'e did sometimes use 'is latch key.'

‘The night of the murder for instance?'

‘Oh! don't say that, sir,' said Mrs Sampson, with a terrified crackle. ‘Me bein' weak an' ailin', tho' comin' of a strong family as allays lived to a good age, thro' bein' in the 'abit of wearin' flannels, which my mother's father thought better nor a-spilin' the inside with chemistry.'

‘Clever man, that detective,' murmured Calton to himself. ‘He got out of her by strategy what he never would have done by force. It's a strong piece of evidence against Fitzgerald, but it does not matter much if he can prove an
alibi
.
You'll likely be called as a witness for the prosecution,' he said aloud.

‘Me, sir!' squeaked Mrs Sampson, trembling violently, and thereby producing a subdued rustle, as of wind in the trees. ‘'As I've never bin in the Court, 'cept, the time as father tooked me for a treat, to 'ear a murder, which there's no denyin' is as good as a play. 'E bein' 'ung, 'avin' 'it 'is wife over the 'ead with the poker when she weren't lookin', and a-berryin' 'er corpse in a back garding without even a stone to mark the place, let alone a line from the psalms and a remuneration of 'er virtues.'