<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></SPAN>CHAPTER XV</h2>
<h3>RHODA AND THE CLOAK</h3>
<p>The one servant of Mrs. Bensusan was a girl of
seventeen, who had a local fame in the neighbourhood
on account of her sharp tongue and many precocious
qualities. No one knew who her parents
were, or where the fat landlady had picked her up;
but she had been in the Jersey Street house some
ten years, and had been educated and—in a manner—adopted
by its mistress, although Mrs. Bensusan
always gave her cronies to understand that Rhoda
was simply and solely the domestic of the establishment.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, for one of her humble position,
she had a wonderful power over her stout employer,
the power of a strong mind over a weak one,
and in spite of her youth it was well known that
Rhoda managed the domestic economy of the house.
Mrs. Bensusan was the sovereign, Rhoda the prime
minister.</p>
<p>This position she had earned by dint of her own
sharpness in dealing with the world. And the local
tradesmen were afraid of Rhoda. "Mrs. Bensusan's
devil," they called her, and never dared to
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</SPAN></span>give short weight, or charge extra prices, or pass
off damaged goods as new, when Rhoda was the
purchaser. On the contrary, No. 9 Jersey Street
was supplied with everything of the best, promptly
and civilly, at ordinary market rates; for neither
butcher, nor baker, nor candlestick maker, was daring
enough to risk Rhoda's tongue raging like a
prairie fire over their shortcomings. Several landladies,
knowing Rhoda's value, had tried to entice
her from Mrs. Bensusan by offers of higher wages
and better quarters, but the girl refused to leave
her stout mistress, and so continued quite a fixture
of the lodgings. Even in the city, Rhoda had been
spoken of by clerks who had lived in Jersey Street,
and so had more than a local reputation for originality.</p>
<p>This celebrated handmaid was as lean as her
mistress was stout. Her hair was magnificent in
quality and quantity, but, alas! was of the unpopular
tint called red; not auburn, or copper hued, or
the famous Titian color, but a blazing, fiery red,
which made it look like a comic wig. Her face
was pale and freckled, her eyes black—in strange
contrast to her hair, and her mouth large, but garnished
with an excellent set of white teeth.</p>
<p>Rhoda was not neat in her attire, perhaps not
having arrived at the age of coquetry, for she wore
a dingy grey dress much too short for her, a pair of
carpet slippers which had been left by a departed
lodger, and usually went about with her sleeves
tucked up, and a resolute look on her sharp face.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</SPAN></span>Such was the appearance of Mrs. Bensusan's devil,
who entered to forbid her mistress confiding in
Lucian.</p>
<p>"Oh, Rhoda!" groaned Mrs. Bensusan. "You
bad gal! I believe as you've 'ad your ear to the
keyhole."</p>
<p>"I 'ave!" retorted Rhoda defiantly. "It's been
there for five minutes, and good it is for you, mum,
as I ain't above listening. What do you mean, sir,"
she cried, turning on Lucian like a fierce sparrow,
"by coming 'ere to frighten two lone females, and
her as innocent as a spring chicken?"</p>
<p>"Oh!" said Lucian, looking at her composedly,
"so you are the celebrated Rhoda? I've heard of
you."</p>
<p>"Not much good, then, sir, if Miss Greeb was
talking," rejoined the red-haired girl, with a sniff.
"Oh, I know her."</p>
<p>"Rhoda! Rhoda!" bleated her mistress, "do 'old
your tongue! I tell you this gentleman's a police."</p>
<p>"He ain't!" said the undaunted Rhoda. "He's
in the law. Oh, I knows him!'</p>
<p>"Ain't the law the police, you foolish gal?"</p>
<p>"Of course it—" began Rhoda, when Lucian,
who thought that she had displayed quite sufficient
eccentricity, cut her short with a quick gesture.</p>
<p>"See here, my girl," he said sharply, "you must
not behave in this fashion. I have reason to believe
that the assassin of Mr. Vrain entered the house
through the premises of your mistress."</p>
<p>"Lawks, what a 'orrible idear!" shrieked Mrs.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</SPAN></span>Bensusan. "Good 'eavens, Rhoda, did you see the
murdering villain?"</p>
<p>"Me? No! I never sawr nothing, mum," replied
Rhoda doggedly.</p>
<p>Lucian, watching the girl's face, and the uneasy
expression in her eyes, felt convinced she was not
telling the truth. It was no use forcing her to
speak, as he saw very plainly that Rhoda was one
of those obstinate people whom severity only hardened.
Much more could be done with her by kindness,
and Denzil adopted this—to him—more congenial
course.</p>
<p>"If Rhoda is bound by any promise, Mrs. Bensusan,
I do not wish her to speak," he said indifferently,
"but in the interests of justice I am sure
you will not refuse to answer my questions."</p>
<p>"Lord, sir! I know nothing!" whimpered the
terrified landlady.</p>
<p>"Will you answer a few questions?" asked Denzil
persuasively.</p>
<p>Mrs. Bensusan glanced in a scared manner at
Rhoda, who, meanwhile, had been standing in a
sullen and hesitating attitude. When she thought
herself unobserved, she stole swift glances at the
visitor, trying evidently to read his character by
observation of his face and manner. It would seem
that her scrutiny was favourable, for before Mrs.
Bensusan could answer Lucian's question she asked
him one herself.</p>
<p>"What do you want to know, sir?"</p>
<p>"I want to know all about Mr. Wrent."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"Because I fancy he has something to do with
this crime."</p>
<p>"Lord!" groaned Mrs. Bensusan. "'Ave I waited
on a murderer?"</p>
<p>"I don't say he is a murderer, Mrs. Bensusan,
but he knows something likely to put us on the track
of the criminal."</p>
<p>"What makes ye take up the case?" demanded
Rhoda sharply.</p>
<p>"Because I know that Mr. Wrent came to board
in this house shortly after Mr. Vrain occupied No.
13," replied Denzil.</p>
<p>"Who says he did?"</p>
<p>"Miss Greeb, my landlady, and she also told
me that he left here two days after the murder."</p>
<p>"That's as true as true!" cried Mrs. Bensusan,
"ain't it, Rhoda? We lost him 'cause he said he
couldn't abide living near a house where a crime
had been committed."</p>
<p>"Well, then," continued Lucian, seeing that
Rhoda, without speaking, continued to watch him,
"the coincidence of Mr. Wrent's stay with that of
Mr. Vrain's strikes me as peculiar."</p>
<p>"You are a sharp one, you are!" said Rhoda,
with an approving nod. "Look here, Mr. Denzil,
would you break a promise?"</p>
<p>"That depends upon what the promise was."</p>
<p>"It was one I made to hold my tongue."</p>
<p>"About what?"</p>
<p>"Several things," said the girl shortly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Have they to do with this crime?" asked Lucian
eagerly.</p>
<p>"I don't know. I can't say," said Rhoda; then
suddenly her face grew black. "I tell you what,
sir, I hate Mr. Wrent!" she declared.</p>
<p>"Oh, Rhoda!" cried Mrs. Bensusan. "After
the lovely cloak he gave you!"</p>
<p>The red-haired girl looked contemptuously at
her mistress; then, without a word, darted out of
the room. Before Lucian could conjecture the reason
of her strange conduct, or Mrs. Bensusan could
get her breath again—a very difficult operation
for her—Rhoda was back with a blue cloth cloak,
lined with rabbit skins, hanging over her arm. This
she threw down at the feet of Lucian, and stamped
on it savagely with the carpet slippers.</p>
<p>"There's his present!" she cried angrily, "but
I wish I could dance on him the same way! I wish—I
wish I could hang him!"</p>
<p>"Can you?" demanded Lucian swiftly, taking
her in the moment of wrath, when she seemed disposed
to speak.</p>
<p>"No!" said Rhoda shortly. "I can't!"</p>
<p>"Do you think he killed Mr. Vrain?"</p>
<p>"No, I don't!"</p>
<p>"Do you know who did?"</p>
<p>"Blest if I do!"</p>
<p>"Does Mr. Wrent?" asked Denzil meaningly.</p>
<p>The girl wet her finger and went through a childish
game. "That's wet," she said; then wiping the
finger on her dingy skirt, "that's dry. Cut my
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</SPAN></span>throat if I tell a lie. Ask me something easier, Mr.
Denzil."</p>
<p>"I don't understand you," said Lucian, quite puzzled.</p>
<p>"Rhoda! Rhoda! 'Ave you gone crazy?" wailed
Mrs. Bensusan.</p>
<p>"Look here," said the girl, taking no notice of
her mistress, "do you want to know about Mr.
Wrent?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I do."</p>
<p>"And about that side passage as you talked of
to the missis?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Then I'll answer yer questions, sir. You'll know
all I know."</p>
<p>"Very good," said Lucian, with an approving
smile, "now you are talking like a sensible girl."</p>
<p>"Rhoda! You ain't going to talk bad of Mr.
Wrent?"</p>
<p>"It ain't bad, and it ain't good," replied Rhoda.
"It's betwixt and between."</p>
<p>"Well, I must 'ear all. I don't want the character
of the 'ouse took away," said Mrs. Bensusan,
with an attempt at firmness.</p>
<p>"That's all right," rejoined Rhoda reassuringly,
"you can jine in yerself when y' like. Fire away,
Mr. Denzil."</p>
<p>"Who is Mr. Wrent?" asked Lucian, going
straight to the point.</p>
<p>"I don't know," replied Rhoda; and henceforth
the examination proceeded as though the girl were
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</SPAN></span>in the witness-box and Lucian counsel for the prosecution.</p>
<p>Q. When did he come to Jersey Street?</p>
<p>A. At the end of July, last year.</p>
<p>Q. When did he go away?</p>
<p>A. The morning after Boxing Day.</p>
<p>Q. Can you describe his appearance?</p>
<p>A. He was of the middle height, with a fresh
complexion, white hair, and a white beard growing
all over his face. He was untidy about his clothes,
and kept a good deal to his own room among a lot
of books. I don't think he was quite right in his
head.</p>
<p>Q. Did he pay his rent regularly?</p>
<p>A. Yes, except when he was away. He would
go away for a week at a time.</p>
<p>Q. Was he in this house on Christmas Eve?</p>
<p>A. Yes, sir. He came back two days before
Christmas.</p>
<p>Q. Where had he been?</p>
<p>A. I don't know; he did not say.</p>
<p>Q. Did he have any visitors?</p>
<p>A. He did. A tall, dark man and a lady.</p>
<p>Q. What was the lady like?</p>
<p>A. A little woman; I never saw her face, as she
always kept her veil down.</p>
<p>Q. What kind of a veil did she wear?</p>
<p>A. A black gauze veil with velvet spots.</p>
<p>Q. Did she come often to see Mr. Wrent?</p>
<p>A. Yes. Four or five times.</p>
<p>Q. When did she call last?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>A. On Christmas Eve.</p>
<p>Q. At what hour?</p>
<p>A. She came at seven, and went away at eight.
I know that because she had supper with Mr.
Wrent.</p>
<p>Q. Did she leave the house?</p>
<p>A. Yes. I let her out myself.</p>
<p>Q. Did you ever hear any conversation between
them?</p>
<p>A. No. Mr. Wrent took care of that. I never
got any chance of listening at keyholes with him.
He was a sharp one, for all his craziness.</p>
<p>Q. What was the male visitor like?</p>
<p>A. He was tall and dark, with a black moustache.</p>
<p>Q. Do you think he was a foreigner?</p>
<p>A. I don't know. I never heard him speak. Mr.
Wrent let him out, as usual.</p>
<p>Q. When did he visit Mr. Wrent last?</p>
<p>A. On Christmas Eve. He came with the lady.</p>
<p>Q. Did he stay to supper also?</p>
<p>A. No. He went away at half-past seven. Mr.
Wrent let him out, as usual.</p>
<p>Q. Did he go away altogether?</p>
<p>A. I—I—I am not sure! (here the witness hesitated).</p>
<p>Q. Why did Mr. Wrent give you the cloak?</p>
<p>A. To make me hold my tongue about the dark
man.</p>
<p>Q. Why?</p>
<p>A. Because I saw him in the back yard.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Q. On what night?</p>
<p>A. On the night of Christmas Eve, about half-past
eight.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</SPAN></span></p>
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