12: Mr. Busham, Solicitor

LOUNGING in his chair, Zirknitz made this astonishing statement as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Mrs. Moxton looked at Ellis in surprise, and both looked at Rudolph.

"Is this true?" asked Ellis, doubtfully.

"Eh, mon cher, most assuredly. I tell lies only when necessary."

"Rudolph, you must explain how it was you came to be in Dukesfield on that night."

"My dear sister, did I not say I would come for Janet?"

"Yes, and you never kept your promise."

"No," chimed in Ellis. "Polly Horley said the same thing."

Rudolph smiled in a most engaging manner.

"Ah, that excellent Horley! How much she knows of what she knows not. My sister, have I your permission to smoke?"

Mrs. Moxton impatiently nodded an assent. "But I am waiting to hear how you did not come for Janet and yet were in Dukesfield on that night."

With great deliberation, Zirknitz selected a cigarette from his silver case and lighted it before making any reply. Selfish in his every act, he offered none to Ellis---an omission which troubled that gentleman very little. He had no great love for this egotistical butterfly.

"My Laura," said Rudolph, blowing a whiff of smoke, "on that night I was playing cards in the salon of the music-hall, and I won twenty pounds from Edgar. He had not the money, but he gave me an 'I O U.' Then, most furious at his loss, he drank and drank till he was as a wild beast. I was going for Janet, and at the station I saw our Edgar; but to avoid him I went in another carriage. At the station of Dukesfield, I tried to run from him; but he saw me and followed; quelle bêtise. There was trouble, and he wished to fight. So when he went home I saw it was foolish to come for Janet, as Edgar would be raging. I took back another train, and a cab to my rooms in Bloomsbury. Voila, the story!"

"Not all the story!" said Ellis. "You have left out the most important part---about Busham."

"Ah, that dear Busham. When Edgar was angry with me on the platform of the Dukesfield station, I see out of my eye's corner that clever advocate. He was watching our dear Edgar, but did not come near him. I knew him. Oh, yes, I knew his face very well."

"I did not know you were acquainted with him, Rudolph!"

"Best of sisters, I do not tell you all I know, or do. Our Edgar one day took me to see the excellent Busham in his office, where they did fight. Oh, I tell you, monsieur, the good Busham sent us away with a flea in our ears. Edgar spoke of his father, and said that Busham was a rogue wanting the money; so we had trouble, and we left very enraged. So I met Busham, the pig," finished Zirknitz, smiling, "and I do not forget his face."

"He was watching Edgar on the night of his death?"

"Oui da! He thought I saw him not, but I did see him. Ma foi, I have quick eyes, Laura, as you well know. He ran out of the station after Edgar, and I am certain followed to kill him."

"About what time was this?"

"On eleven. I did hear the clock of the station strike when I was enraged with Edgar."

"And Moxton was drunk?" inquired Ellis, anxiously.

"He was straight drunk, for he could walk; and cross-drunk, assuredly, since he wished to fight with me. But I care not for boxing," said Mr. Zirknitz, gracefully. "And I go home to bed before twelve of the clock, like a good little boy. Aha, monsieur, you think I kill Edgar, do you not? Eh bien! You demand of my landlady if I was not in my bed before twelve of the clock. I did not kill our poor Edgar. Why should I when he owes me twenty pounds? Cher Ellis, you are in the wrong box."

"You had better wait until I accuse you before excusing yourself," said Ellis, drily. "But even with this story of Busham having been at Dukesfield, I do not see how you can be certain of his guilt."

"Eh? To me it appears clear. This clever Busham wanted the money of his uncle, and murdered Edgar to get it."

"But, Rudolph, at that time Mr. Busham knew that a second will had been made."

"Most certainly, chère Laura. If no second will had been made, this excellent Busham would not have killed Edgar."

"We can say nothing for certain until we see Busham," said Ellis, after a pause, "but there is one thing probable, Mrs. Moxton. If Busham accuses you in any way we can turn the tables on him."

"You call on Busham, Laura."

"To-morrow. I must see about the will."

"And the money," smiled Rudolph. "Eh, ma sœur, forget not the most important thing."

"To you, perhaps, not to me," replied Mrs. Moxton, with contempt. "My object is to get free of all this trouble."

"Of course. I will help you; eh, most certainly. But ask me not to meet the police. I do not like the police. For if----"

"Monsieur Zirknitz," said Ellis, cutting short this speech, "how came it that your name was indicated on the dead man's arm?"

The Austrian was in no wise discomposed by this remark. "Ah, Laura spoke to me of that. I do not know; I cannot say. But I think, ah, ma foi, I think."

"What do you think, Rudolph?"

"My sister, I quarrelled with your good husband at the Dukesfield Station, and he went away enraged with me. When Busham struck him in the back----"

"You can't be sure of that," interrupted Ellis, impatiently.

"Eh, but I am sure," insisted Zirknitz, politely; "and Edgar, not seeing who stabbed him so cruelly, thought that I did so. Then he wrote on his arm to tell Laura."

"But why in cryptographic signs?"

"That I cannot say. The sign of a lizard was always the good Edgar's little jest on me. For my name is that of a town in my country where there are many lizards. Edgar found it in a book and always jested. Very little jests pleased the good Moxton. But now I must go," said Zirknitz, rising. "I have told you all you wish. My sister, do you desire me to speak more? No! My good doctor, have you a policeman without for my arrest? No! Ah, then I will take my leave. Not adieu, dear friends, but au revoir."

When Zirknitz sauntered out of the room, Mrs. Moxton looked after him with a singular expression. "What do you think of him?" she asked.

"He is clever. It is a great pity he does not put his talents to better use."

"Oh," Mrs. Moxton shrugged her shoulders, "I don't ask you about his character. I know about that well enough. But do you think he is speaking the truth?"

"Yes. He has no reason to tell a lie. I daresay he did see Busham."

"And do you think Mr. Busham is guilty?"

"I can't say. We have not sufficient evidence to go upon."

Mrs. Moxton turned the conversation abruptly. "Did you read the will?"

"Yes. I see that all the money is left to you. I will give you back the document to-morrow. What time do you wish me to call?"

"About eleven o'clock. I have written to Mr. Busham making an appointment for mid-day. I am glad you are coming with me," said the widow, sighing; "it will be a difficult interview."

"That remains to be seen. At any rate, we are not so defenceless as we were before. If Busham accuses you---although I don't see on what grounds he can do so---we can denounce him on the evidence of Zirknitz."

"He will deny that he was at Dukesfield."

"Zirknitz can swear to his presence."

"No doubt, but will Rudolph do so? He is so afraid of the police."

Ellis reflected for a moment. "You are not so candid with me as you might be, Mrs. Moxton," said he, seriously, "therefore you render my task the more difficult. But answer me truly now. Has Zirknitz ever done anything for which he is wanted by the police?"

"Not to my knowledge," replied the widow, frankly, "but he is such a coward, and his life is so open to danger, that the very name of the law terrifies him beyond expression. It is for this reason that I am certain of his innocence, and for the same reason I shielded him by feigning ignorance of the cryptogram. But we can talk of these things later. I am tired now."

In this abrupt way she dismissed Ellis, and he left the house sorely puzzled, his constant state of mind in reference to Mrs. Moxton. If he did marry her he would marry the sphinx. That was clear enough.

Mr. Richard Busham inhabited a dingy set of offices in Esher Lane, adjacent to the Temple. His staff of clerks consisted of two under-fed, overworked creatures, who scribbled in an outer room for dear life at a miserable wage. The inner room, which had two dusty windows looking on to Bosworth Gardens, was occupied by their employer. This apartment was piled all round the walls with black tin boxes with the names of various clients painted on them in white. A brass-wired bookcase contained a few calf-bound volumes of legal lore; there was a large table covered with green baize, two chairs, and--nothing else. A more dreary or barren room can scarcely be conceived, but Mr. Busham being a miser, it suited him well enough. He called himself a lawyer, but he was really a usurer, and gained a handsome income by squeezing extortionate interest out of the needy. If the walls of Busham's private apartment could have spoken they would have protested frequently against the sights they were compelled to witness. The Holy Inquisition tortured people less than did this rat of a lawyer. He ground down his victims to the lowest, he lured them into his spider-web, and rejected them only when he had sucked them dry. His law was a farce, his money-lending a tragedy.

The man himself resembled in looks Fraisier, the rascally lawyer so admirably drawn by Balzac in "Le Cousin Pons." Like Fraisier, Busham was small, sickly-looking and pimpled; his expression was equally as sinister, and his heart as hard---that is if he had a heart, which his clients were inclined to doubt. He scraped and screwed, and swindled, and pinched to collect all the money he could; yet what benefit he thought he would gain from this hoarding it is impossible to say. He never spent it, he lived like a hermit, like a beggar, and gratified his sordid pride with the knowledge that he was becoming a wealthy man. And when he arrived at wealth? What then! Busham never gave this consideration a thought, perhaps because he fancied he would never become as wealthy as he wished to be. Altogether the man was an unwholesome, evil creature, who should, for the good of humanity, have been in gaol. But he was clever enough to keep on the right side of the law he so misinterpreted.

At mid-day Mrs. Moxton and Ellis presented themselves before this engaging being, and looked round the frowsy office with disgust. Another chair had to be brought in from the outer room for the accommodation of the doctor, and when his visitors were seated, Busham welcomed them with a nervous titter, which showed that he was not quite easy in his mind regarding the interview. Indirectly he resented the presence of Ellis.

"Well, Mrs. Moxton," said he in a whistling whisper, his usual voice, "is there a will?"

The widow produced the blue envelope and laid it on the table. "There it is," she said, "it leaves all the property to me."

Busham went green and gasped, "All the property to you!" He snatched up the will and hastily read it over. "I see it does," was his answer; then after a pause he cast an evil look on Mrs. Moxton, and opened a drawer of his desk. Evidently he was about to bring forward his accusation.

"Since you have shown me the will, I have something equally interesting to show you," said he, quietly. "What do you think of this, Mrs. Moxton?" And on the table he laid a bone-handled carving-knife, on the blade of which were dull, dark stains of blood.