The Green Mummy
Constable Painter camped, so to speak, in the drawing-room, keeping
guard over the scene of the crime, and had placed the Chinese screen
against the broken window to keep out the cold. In the bedroom Jane and
Dr. Robinson looked after the dying woman. And dying she was, according
to the young physician, for he did not think she would live much longer.
Round the lonely cottage the sea-mist drifted white and thick, and the
darkness deepened, until--as the saying goes--it could have been cut
with a knife. Never was there so eerie and weary and sinister a vigil.
Towards four o'clock Hope fell into a doze, while resting in an
arm-chair; but he was suddenly aroused from this by an exclamation from
Sir Frank, who had remained wide awake, smoking cigar after cigar. In a
moment the artist was on his feet, alert and quick-brained.
“What is it?”
Random made for the dining-room door rapidly.
“I thought I heard Painter call out,” he declared, and hastily sought
the parlor, followed by Hope.
The room was empty, but the screen before the broken window had been
thrown down, and they could see Painter's bulky form immediately
outside.
“What the deuce is the matter?” demanded Random, entering. “Did you call
out, Painter. I fancied I heard something.”
The constable came in again.
“I did call out, sir,” he confessed. “I was half asleep in that chair,
when I suddenly became wide awake, and believed I saw a face looking at
me round the corner of the screen. I jumped up, calling for you, sir,
and upset the screen.”
“Well? well?” demanded Sir Frank impatiently, and seeing that the man
hesitated.
“I saw no one, sir. All the same, I had an idea, and I have still, that
a man came through the window and peered at me from behind the screen.”
“The man who attacked Mrs. Jasher?”
“I can't say, sir. But there was someone. At any rate he's gone again,
if he really did come, and there is no chance of finding him. It's like
pea-soup outside.”
Hope and Random simultaneously stepped through the window, but could not
see an inch before them, so thick was the sea-fog and so dense was the
darkness. Returning, they replaced the screen, and, telling Painter
to be more on the alert, went back shivering to the fire in the
dining-room. When they were seated again, Archie put a question.
“Do you think that policeman was dreaming?” he asked meditatively.
“No,” replied Random sharply. “I believe that the man who assaulted Mrs.
Jasher is hanging about, and ventured back into the room, relying on the
fog as a means of escape, should he be spotted.”
“But the man wouldn't be such a fool as to return into danger.”
“Not unless he wanted something very badly,” said Random significantly.
Hope let the cigarette he was lighting fall.
“What do you mean?”
“I may be wrong, of course. But it is my impression that there is
something in the parlor which this man wants, and for which he tried
to murder Mrs. Jasher. We interrupted him, and he was forced to flee.
Hidden in the fog, he is lurking about to see if he can't obtain what he
has risked his neck to secure.”
“What can it be?” murmured Archie, struck by the feasibility of this
theory.
“Perhaps the second emerald,” remarked Sir Frank grimly.
“What! You don't think that--”
“I don't think anything. I am too tired to think at all. However,
Painter will keep his eyes open, and in the morning we can search the
room. The man has been in the house twice to get what he wanted. He
won't risk another attempt, now that he is aware we are on the alert.
I'm going to try and get forty winks. You keep watch, as you have had
your sleep.”
Hope was quite agreeable, but just as Random composed himself to uneasy
slumber, Jane, haggard and red-eyed, came hastily into the dining-room.
“If you please, gentlemen, the doctor wants you to come and see
mistress. She is sensible, and--”
The two waited to hear no more, but went hastily but softly into the
room wherein lay the dying woman. Robinson sat by the bedside, holding
his patient's hand and feeling her pulse. He placed his finger on his
lips as the men entered gently, and at the same moment Mrs. Jasher's
voice, weak from exhaustion, sounded through the room, which was
dimly illuminated by one candle. The newcomers halted in obedience to
Robinson's signal.
“Who is there?” asked Mrs. Jasher weakly, for, in spite of the care
exercised, she had evidently heard the footsteps.
“Mr. Hope and Sir Frank Random,” whispered the doctor, speaking into the
dying woman's ear. “They came in time to save you.”
“In time to see me die,” she murmured; “and I can't die, unless I tell
the truth. I am glad Random is there; he is a kind-hearted boy, and
treated me better than he need have done. I--oh--some brandy--brandy.”
Robinson gave her some in a spoon.
“Now lie quietly and do not attempt to speak,” he commanded. “You need
all your strength.”
“I do--to tell that which I wish to tell,” gasped Mrs. Jasher, trying
to raise herself. “Sir Frank! Sir Frank!” Her voice sounded hoarse and
weak.
“Yes, Mrs. Jasher,” said the young man, coming softly to the bedside.
She thrust out a weak hand and clutched him.
“You must be my father-confessor, and hear all. You got the emerald?”
“What!” Random recoiled in astonishment, “Did you--”
“Yes, I sent it to you as a wedding present. I was sorry and I was
afraid; and I--I--” She paused again, gasping.
The doctor intervened and gave her more brandy.
“You must not talk,” he insisted severely, “or I shall turn Sir Frank
and Mr. Hope out of the room.”
“No! no! Give me more brandy--more--more.” and when the doctor placed a
tumbler to her lips, she drank so greedily that he had to take the glass
away lest she should do herself harm. But the ardent spirit put new life
into her, and with a superhuman effort she suddenly reared herself in
the bed.
“Come here, Hope--come here, Random,” she said in a much stronger voice.
“I have much to tell you. Yes, I took the emerald after dark and threw
it into the sentry box when the man wasn't looking. I escaped your spy,
Random, and I escaped the notice of the sentry. I walked like a cat, and
like a cat I can see in the dark. I am glad you have got the emerald.”
“Where did you get it?” asked Random quietly.
“That's a long story. I don't know that I have the strength to tell it.
I have written it out.”
“You have written it out?” said Hope quickly, and drawing near.
“Yes. Jane thought that I was writing letters, but I was writing out the
whole story of the murder. You were good to me, Random, you dear boy,
and on the impulse of the moment I took the emerald to you. I was sorry
when I got back, but it was too late then to repent, as I did not dare
to go near the Fort again. Your spy who watched might have discovered me
the second time. I then thought that I would write out the story of the
murder, so as to exonerate myself.”
“Then you are not guilty of Bolton's death?” asked Sir Frank, puzzled,
for her confession was somewhat incoherent.
“No. I did not strangle him. But I know who did. I have written it all
down. I was just finishing when I heard the tapping at the window. I
let him in and he tried to get the confession, for I told him what I had
done.”
“Who did you tell?” asked Hope, much excited.
Mrs. Jasher took no notice.
“The confession is lying on my desk--all the sheets of paper are loose.
I had no time to bind them together, for he came in. He wanted the
emerald, and the confession. I told him that I had given the emerald to
you, Random, and that I had confessed all in writing. Then he went mad
and flew at me with a dreadful knife. He knocked over the candles and
the lamp. Everything went out and all was darkness, and I lay crying for
help, with that devil stabbing--stabbing--ah--”
“Who, in heaven's name, is the man?” demanded Random, standing up in his
eagerness. But Mrs. Jasher had fallen back in a faint, and Robinson was
again supplying her with brandy.
“You had better leave the room, you two,” he said, “or I can't be
answerable for her life.”
“I must stay and learn the truth,” said Random determinedly, “and you,
Hope, go into the parlor and find that confession. It is on the desk, as
she said, all loose sheets. No doubt it was the confession which the man
she refers to tried to secure when he came back the second time. He may
make another attempt, or Painter may go to sleep. Hurry! hurry!”
Archie needed no second telling, as he realized what hung on the
securing of the confession. He stole swiftly out of the room, closing
the door after him. Faint as was the sound, Mrs. Jasher heard it and
opened her eyes.
“Do not go, Random,” she said faintly. “I have yet much to say, although
the confession will tell you all. I am half sorry I wrote it out--at
least I was--and perhaps should have burnt it had I not met with this
accident.”
“Accident!” echoed Sir Frank scornfully. “Murder you mean.”
The sinister word galvanized the dying woman in sudden strong life, and
she reared herself again on the bed.
“Murder! Yes, it is murder,” she cried loudly. “He killed Sidney Bolton
to get the emeralds, and he killed me to make me close my mouth.”
“Who stabbed you? Speak! speak!” cried Random anxiously.
“Cockatoo. He is guilty of my death and Bolton's,” and she fell back,
dead.
CHAPTER XXV. THE MILLS OF GOD
In the cold gray hours of the morning, Hope and his friend left the
cottage wherein such a tragedy had taken place. The dead woman was lying
stiff and white on her bed under a winding sheet, which had already been
strewn with many-hued chrysanthemums taken from the pink parlor by the
weeping Jane. The wretched woman who had led so stormy and unhappy a
life had at least one sincere mourner, for she had always been kind to
the servant, who formed her entire domestic staff, and Jane would not
hear a word said against the dead. Not that anyone did say anything; for
Random and Hope kept the contents of the confession to themselves. There
would be time enough for Mrs. Jasher's reputation to be smirched when
those same contents were made public.
When the poor woman died, Random left the doctor and the servant to look
after the corpse, and went into the parlor. Here he met Hope with the
confession in his hand. Luckily, Painter was not in the room at the
moment, else he would have prevented the artist from taking away the
same. Hope--as directed by Mrs. Jasher--had found the confession,
written on many sheets, lying on the desk. It broke off abruptly towards
the end, and was not signed. Apparently at this point Mrs. Jasher had
been interrupted--as she had said--by the tapping of Cockatoo at the
window. Probably she had admitted him at once, and on her refusal to
give him the emerald, and on her confessing what she had written, he had
overturned the lights for the purpose of murdering her. Only too well
had the Kanaka succeeded in his wickedness.
Archie slipped the confession into his pocket before the policeman
returned, and then left the cottage with Random and the doctor, since
nothing else could now be done. It was between seven and eight, and the
chilly dawn was breaking, but the sea-mist still lay heavily over the
marshes, as though it were the winding sheet of the dead. Robinson went
to his own house to get his trap and drive into Jessum, there to catch
the train and ferry to Pierside. It was necessary that Inspector Date
should be informed of this new tragedy without delay, and as Constable
Painter was engaged in watching the cottage, there was no messenger
available but Dr. Robinson. Random indeed offered to send a soldier,
or to afford Robinson the use of the Fort telephone, but the doctor
preferred to see Date personally, so as to detail exactly what had