13: Mrs. Moxton's Surrender

THE widow turned pale when she saw the knife, and, unable to speak, looked at Ellis. The doctor understood that pleading glance and at once threw himself into the breach. "Where did you get this?" he asked Busham, sharply.

The lawyer, scenting an enemy, looked mistrustfully at the speaker out of his rat's eyes. "Your pardon, sir, who are you?" he demanded, with a kind of snarl in his voice.

"I am Dr. Ellis, who examined the body of Moxton. I am also the friend of Mrs. Moxton, and I came here to assist in this interview."

"And suppose I refuse to allow you to assist?"

"In that case, I shall know how to account for your possession of that knife."

Busham gave a kind of screech, and threw himself halfway across the table, shaking with anger. "You dare to insinuate that I killed my cousin?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Why not; you were with your cousin on that night."

"It is a lie!"

"It is the truth!" cried Mrs. Moxton, finding her voice. "Rudolph saw you following Edgar from the station."

"And who is Rudolph?"

"Monsieur Zirknitz, my brother."

"Another of your shady gang. I dare you to----"

"Speak more civilly," interrupted Ellis, starting up, "or I shall twist that lean neck of yours."

At once the innate cowardice of Busham became apparent. Shaking and white, he dropped back into his chair, terrified at the doctor's angry look and menace. Yet, withal, he could not curb his venomous tongue.

"Violence," he gasped. "You do well, Mrs. Moxton, to bring your bully here."

"What! You will have it!" cried Ellis, angrily.

Busham flung himself out of his chair, and shot up one of the dirty windows. "Another step and I call the police," he whispered.

"Do so, and I shall give you in charge."

"Me in charge, and for what?"

"For killing Moxton. You were with him shortly before his death."

With a scared look Busham drew down the window and returned to his desk. "I am safe from your violence I hope?" he said, looking apprehensively at Ellis.

"So long as you are civil to Mrs. Moxton I won't touch you," replied the doctor, coolly, and in his turn sat down.

"He! he!" laughed Busham, nervously rubbing his hands, "it will be as well to conduct this interview quietly."

"I think so," observed Mrs. Moxton, with an expressive glance at the knife, "for your own sake."

"Say rather for yours, Mrs. Moxton."

"What do you mean?"

"He! he! that will take some time to explain. If you would rather be alone with me----"

"Alone with you," repeated the widow, in tones of disgust. "I would rather be alone with a serpent. Dr. Ellis shall stay----at my particular request."

"Dr. Ellis has no intention of leaving," remarked that gentleman, and folding his arms relapsed into a grim but observant silence.

Busham, with a vexed air, scratched his chin with one lean finger. "As you please," said he, with apparent carelessness, "but he will not think much of you when I tell all."

"You know nothing about that," retorted Mrs. Moxton, very pale, but in a steady voice, "and I have come here to learn all. Of what do you accuse me?"

"All in good time, dear lady," said Busham, harshly. "This knife was found by me in your garden, on the morning I called to see you after the murder."

"Are you sure you did not find it there on the previous night?" asked the widow, sneering.

"I was not in the garden on that night."

"Neither was the assassin," interposed Ellis, quickly. "Moxton was stabbed as he stepped in at the gate."

"Or as he turned to close it," retorted Busham, smartly.

Mrs. Moxton held her handkerchief to her mouth and shivered, but with her eyes on Busham's mean face nodded to him to continue. The man, seeing that she had a vague terror of his threats, did so with a chuckle. "Since you know that I was at Dukesfield on that night," he went on, "I admit it. Why should I not? I am innocent and can prove as much. So Monsieur Zirknitz saw me? H'm! I know that scamp; no one better. He called here one day with my cousin to extort money on the plea that I had undue influence over my uncle, but I soon turned the rascals out, I can tell you. I am a dangerous man when roused." Mr. Busham chuckled, and repeated the phrase with relish. "A dangerous man."

"Oh, I daresay," said Mrs. Moxton, with a contemptuous air, which accorded ill with her pale face and uneasy manner. "Dangerous as a fox, or a stoat, or a weasel may be. You belong to the vermin tribe, you do."

"Go on with your story, man," directed Ellis, curtly.

"Civil, civil, oh, very civil," snapped Busham, "but I'll teach you both manners before I'm done with you. At Dukesfield was I? Yes, I was. He! he! do you know what I saw there, Mrs. Moxton? You don't. Well then, I'll tell you, and take this for my fee."

"The will!" gasped Mrs. Moxton, as Busham clawed the document. "I thought that was what you wanted."

"Leave that will alone," growled Ellis, scowling.

Mr. Busham immediately pushed the paper away. "It will come back to me soon," said he, nodding. "Oh, I know, I know."

"What the deuce do you know? Speak out, can't you?"

"Softly, Dr. Ellis, softly, all in good time. Maybe you won't be so pleased with my knowledge when you are possessed of it."

"I am the best judge of that; go on. You were at Dukesfield on the night of August 16th?"

"Yes, I was," cried Busham, with sudden energy. "I received intelligence of my uncle's death, and knowing that a new will had been made, that Edgar was the heir, I wished to inform him of the good news. From that scamp, Zirknitz, I learnt that Edgar went night after night to the Merryman Music-Hall in Soho, so I sought out that place in the hope of seeing him. I did see him," sneered Busham, "and, as usual, he was drunk---not in a fit state to talk business. When he left the hall to go home I followed his cab in another, thinking that the fresh air would sober him. But at Charing Cross underground station he had two more drinks, and, more intoxicated than ever, stumbled into a carriage. I went into another, thinking it best to see him home lest he might come to harm."

"You were very solicitous for the safety of one who had robbed you of a fortune," said Ellis, with a cynical look.

"That's just it," cried Busham, slapping the table with the open palm of his hand, "he was to get the money, and I wished to gain his good will, and take what pickings I could. Half a loaf is better than none, isn't it? If Edgar had lived I would have got the money---somehow. Even you, Mrs. Moxton, would not have prevented that."

"Even I," repeated the widow, bitterly. "Heaven help me, I would have been the last person to prevent your robbery. I never had any influence over Edgar. Go on, Mr. Busham. Did you succeed in ingratiating yourself with my husband by announcing the good news of his father's death?"

"No, I didn't," snarled the lawyer. "I saw him quarrel with Zirknitz on the platform of the Dukesfield station, and then I watched him leave."

"Not only watched him, but followed him," said Ellis.

"Yes, I wanted to see how he would get home. I tried to speak to him, but being drunk he swore at me, and struck out with his cane. Seeing that there was no good to be got out of him in his then state, and that it would be useless to tell him the news, I resolved to defer the appointment until the morning, when I hoped to find him sober and repentant. He went away. I did not follow, but remained for some time talking to a policeman. Then I missed my train, and as I had to get home, made up my mind to take a cab."

"An unusual expense for you," jeered Mrs. Moxton.

"Oh, I wouldn't have taken the cab if I could have walked," said Busham, naïvely, "but I was not strong enough to do so. All the cabs at the station had carried away the theatre people, and I went down the road to the cab-rank in the middle of Dukesfield. There was one cab there. But just as I turned the corner a woman came running down the road and jumped into it. She was crying, and trembling and wringing her hands. I saw her face in the light. It was you, Mrs. Moxton."

"One moment," said the widow, as Ellis was about to contradict this preposterous statement. "I never saw you until after the death of my husband, and you never saw me. How, then, did you recognise me?"

"Oh, that was easy. Edgar gave me your picture."

"I should not have thought that Edgar was sufficiently friendly with you to do that."

"He was when I lent him money," said Busham, quietly.

"Why did you lend him money?"

"Because several times he called on me and threatened to see his father. I did not want him to do that lest he should be forgiven, so I lent him money on condition that he did not go. Uncertain of what his reception would be, he took my bribe and stayed away. On one of those occasions he showed me your photograph, Mrs. Moxton."

"Edgar was forgiven after all," said the widow, ignoring this last remark.

"Yes, but the forgiveness did not do him much good. He! he!"

"Mr. Busham!" burst out Ellis, who could no longer be restrained. "You did not see Mrs. Moxton enter a cab on that night. The lady was her sister."

"I know about the sister," said Busham. "The twin-sister. Zirknitz told me."

"Are you friendly with Zirknitz?" asked Ellis, with unconcealed surprise.

"Very!" retorted the lawyer, with an ugly grin. "I lend him money."

"Lend money to a scamp like that, whom you hate, who will never repay you?"

Busham scratched his chin. "Oh, as to that," said he, "I know what I am about, you may be sure. So it was your sister, Mrs. Moxton? Bless me, how like she is to you; a twin, of course? I see. Why was she crying and flying?"

"She may have cried because we quarrelled on that night," said the widow, in an agitated tone; "but she was not flying. She merely went home."

"To thirty-two Geneva Square, Pimlico? I know! I know!"

"How do you know?"

"Because I picked up another cab and followed her!"

"Why did you do that?"

"I thought she was you, and wished to know where you were going at that hour of the night. Your sister going home? Ah, that explains it."

"So far, so good, Mr. Busham," said Ellis, weary of this talk; "but what about the knife?"

"I called next morning at Myrtle Villa, after hearing of the murder. I searched the garden for traces of the criminal, and found that knife hidden behind some laurel bushes."

"It was not hidden," cried Mrs. Moxton. "It was thrown there by Edgar."

"Ah! you acknowledge that the knife is your property," said Busham.

"Why should I deny it? That knife is ours. It was tossed into the garden by Edgar."

"And this is rust on it, no doubt," said the lawyer, touching the stains. "Not blood, then, Mrs. Moxton?"

The widow rose with an agitated face, and, snatching up the will, thrust it into Busham's hand. "Take it, and say no more," she said harshly.

"Mrs. Moxton! The will!" cried Ellis, jumping up.

"Let him destroy it! Let him take and keep the money!"

"Thank you; and in return I will hold my tongue. If you like you can take the knife," said Busham.

Mrs. Moxton picked it up, thrust it into the pocket of her cloak, and, without a glance at the amazed doctor, left the room. As she did so Busham stepped across to the grate in which a starved fire was burning and deliberately placed the will on the coals. Before Ellis could prevent it, the document was ablaze, and shortly nothing remained but black tinder.

"Now," snapped Busham, pointing to the door, "you can follow her."