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Weapons of Mystery

<h2 id="id00897" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XII</h2> <h5 id="id00898">A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE</h5> Some one was knocking at the door. "Who's there?" "Tom Temple." I sprang out of bed and let him in. He looked very grave, very worried. Instantly everything flashed through my mind in relation to our terrible meeting of the night before. "It's nine o'clock, Justin." "Yes, Tom, I suppose it must be," I said confusedly; "but I have only just awoke." "I thought I must come; I want to talk with you." "Thank you, Tom; I am glad you have come." "How are you this morning? Is your mind clear?" "Fairly. Why?" "I must have some conversation with you about last night. Everything is confusion. I can explain nothing." "Neither can I." He looked at me keenly and sighed. "Were you with Kaffar last night after he had so abominably insulted you and left the house?" "I do not know." "Do you know where he is now?" "No." "No idea whatever?" "Not the slightest." "Justin, my friend, this looks very strange. Everything is terribly black, terribly suspicious." I tried to tell him all I knew; tried to tell him of my mad passion, and the scenes through which I seemed to go; but I could not. My mind refused to think, my tongue refused to speak, when that was the subject. "I suppose Voltaire has told every one the circumstances of last night?" I said at length. "No." "No one?" "No one that will divulge anything. Every one else thinks that Kaffar has gone back to Egypt, as he said, and especially so as Voltaire has been making arrangements for his luggage to be sent to Cairo." "This is astounding. I do not comprehend in the least; but, tell me, who is this some one to whom you or he has related last night's affair, and why was it done?" "I do not know whether I ought to tell or no, but you are an old friend, and I cannot refuse. After I had come down from here last night, and fancying that every one had retired, for it was quite midnight, I, knowing I was too excited to sleep, made my way to the library. I had just reached the door when I heard voices. I wondered who could be up at that time of the night, but was not left to remain long in doubt." "'Mr. Voltaire,' said a voice, 'you have been out looking for Mr. Blake; have you found him?'" "'Mr. Blake is safe in bed before this, Miss Forrest—probably asleep,' was his reply." "Miss Forrest!" I cried. "Did she go to him?" "Evidently," replied Tom. "Indeed, I found out afterwards that she had been very anxious. She had seen you go out, and watched Voltaire and me, who went in search of you, and would not retire until she knew your whereabouts." "Well, what then?" "I went into the room. I could not stand and play the eavesdropper. Miss Forrest seemed very glad to see me, and said eagerly— "'I came down to ask whether you had found Mr. Blake. I am glad he is safe.' "'And he must remain safe!' cried Voltaire. "'Why?' asked Miss Forrest. "'Miss Forrest,' cried Voltaire, vehemently, 'you have been deprived of your rest to-night in order to know about one who is guilty of what you English people call a foul crime, but which I call a deed that must be avenged.' "'I do not understand you.' "'Ah! Miss Forrest, we Easterns are not like you English people. You are cool and considerate; we are warm and impulsive. Kaffar was not one that could be loved by you cold people; but I loved him. We were more than brothers. I know he was faulty, I know he dared the anger of your English giant, but I did not think it would come to this.' "'Come to what?' she asked eagerly. "'Voltaire,' I said, 'is this quite fair?' "'No, no!' he cried; 'but I am so excited that I can scarcely master myself. I will say no more.' "'Come to what?' repeated Miss Forrest. "'I will not say,' replied Voltaire. 'I will not wound your tender nature; I will not tell you a tale of villainy; I will not cause a ripple on the even stream of your life. Retire to rest, sweet lady, and think that what I have said is a dream.' "'Villainy!' cried she. 'Tell me what it is. Yes, there is villainy, I think. I will be answered! Tell me the truth!' "Even Voltaire was cowed by her words. He stood and looked at her for a minute as if in doubt what to do. Then he burst out passionately— "'Yes, I will answer you. I will tell you now what all the world must know to-morrow. I had hoped to spare your feelings, but the tone of your demand makes me speak.' "'He has no proof for what he is going to say,' I said. "'Proof!' cried Voltaire. 'There is sufficient proof for an English court of law, and that law is terribly hard on murderers.' "'Murderers!' cried Miss Forrest. 'What do you mean?' "'This!' cried Voltaire. 'You saw Kaffar challenge Mr. Blake in the drawing-room?' "'I saw him insult Mr. Blake. I saw that Mr. Blake refrained from crushing him beneath his heel like a reptile. I saw that!' she cried excitedly. "'Just so,' said Voltaire. 'Then Kaffar went out, and Mr. Blake went after him.' "'After him! Where?' "'Mr. Temple and I did not like the look on his face, and we followed him. I traced his footsteps along the high-road for a long while, and then we lost sight of them. We knew not where to go, when Mr. Temple thought he heard voices away in the distance. We went in the direction of the sound, and came to Drearwater Pond.' "'Drearwater Pond? That terrible place to which we rode the other day?' "'The same, gentle lady.' "'And then?' "'When we came there we found Mr. Blake in a reclining position, with a bloody knife in his hand. I recognized it as belonging to Kaffar. I saw something lying on the ground, and, on picking it up, found it to be a scarf which Kaffar had been wearing this very night. It was twisted and soiled, and on it were spots of blood. Footmarks were to be seen on the edge of the deep pond, indicating a struggle; but Kaffar was nowhere to be seen.' "'It cannot be! It cannot be!' said Miss Forrest. 'But what then?' "'I asked Mr. Blake questions. I accused him of many things, but he denied nothing.' "'Denied nothing?' "'Nothing, Miss Forrest. He tacitly admitted everything. I wish I could think otherwise; but oh, I am afraid my friend, my only friend, lies murdered at the bottom of Drearwater Pond, and murdered by Mr. Blake.' "'It cannot be!' cried Miss Forrest. 'Mr. Blake could never, never do so. There is some mistake.' "He took something from his pocket which was wrapped in a handkerchief. He removed this wrapping, and there revealed the knife you held in your hand. "'This blood cries out for vengeance,' he said; 'ay, and it shall be avenged too.' "She gave a scream as if in pain. 'Why, what will you do?' she cried. "'Were I in Egypt, my vengeance would be speedy,' he said, his light eyes glittering; 'but I am debarred from that here. Still, there is a means of vengeance. Your English law is stern. To-morrow the whole country shall shudder because of this dark deed, and to-morrow night that man, Justin Blake, shall sleep in a felon's cell' "'No, no!' she cried. 'Not that. Have mercy.' "'Yes, yes!' he said, his voice husky with passion. 'What mercy did he have upon my friend? I will have vengeance, and my vengeance is just.'" Try as I might, I could not help shuddering at this. A felon's cell! My name mentioned with loathing! 'Twas too horrible. I tried to conquer myself, however, and to tell Tom to go on with his recital. He continued— "'Does any one know of these things besides you two?' she said at length. "'No,' replied Voltaire. 'No one has had a chance of knowing.'" Tom stopped in his recital, as if he would rather not tell what followed. "What next, Tom?" I cried eagerly. "I am thinking whether it is fair to her to tell you, and yet it is right you should know." "What was it, Tom?" She threw herself down on her knees before us, and besought us to keep the matter in our own hearts. "'It is not true!' she cried; 'Mr. Blake would never do such a thing. There is some mistake. Promise me no word shall be uttered as to this. Mr. Kaffar has left, as he said, and gone back to Egypt. Why, then, should such a terrible suspicion be aroused? I will answer for Mr. Blake's innocence.' "'You answer, Miss Forrest?' cried Voltaire. 'Nay, you cannot. I would I could be merciful, but it must not be. My friend's spirit would haunt me from town to town and land to land.' "'Mr. Temple,' she cried to me, 'you will not tell, will you? You will not spread such a deceptive story about?' "'No,' I replied, 'I will not. Like you, I think there must be a mistake. My friend Justin could never do this.' "'There,' she cried to Voltaire; 'there's only you to be silent. Do it for my sake!'" I could not help feeling a great throb of joy in my heart at this. I was sure now that she loved me. I could bear anything after hearing those words. I was happy in spite of the terrible net that was woven around me. "'For your sake,' said Voltaire—'for your sake I could do almost anything. For your sake I could give up home, friends, happiness, life. Yes, I say this, here, in the presence of my friend Temple. I could forego anything for you. I would sacrifice father and mother for you.'" I gave a great start. "Justin, that man trembled like a leaf. His face became ashy pale; his terrible eyes became brighter than ever. "'You ask me much,' he continued. 'You ask me to give up what is now the dearest object of my life—except one. But, ah! I am an Eastern. I am selfish; I cannot sacrifice disinterestedly. There is only one thing for which I can give up my scheme of vengeance.' "'Tell me what it is,' she cried. "'Ah, sweet lady, I dare not tell; and yet I must. It is you. Be my wife, Miss Forrest; let me call you by your name, and I will wipe the blood from this knife, I will destroy every evidence of the dark deed. Justin Blake shall not lie in a prison cell; his name shall not be a synonym for devilry; he shall not be mentioned with loathing.'" "And what then?" I cried. "What was her answer?" "Man, she looked at him with loathing, but he did not see it. "'Be your wife?' she said. "'My wife, Miss Forrest,' he replied. 'Love cannot be greater than mine. I love the very ground on which you walk. Be my wife and I will be your slave. Your every desire shall be granted, and I will give up that which is dear to me.' "'And if I will not?' she said. "'Ah, if you will not! Then—ah, I am an Eastern, and cannot give up everything. If I cannot have love, I must have vengeance.' "'But you have made a mistake. Your friend is alive. It is absurd to think that Mr. Blake is guilty of such a deed.' "He pointed with a trembling hand to the bloody knife. "'I can have no stronger proof than that,' he said, 'and that blood cries out for vengeance now.' "'Oh, I cannot,' she said, 'I cannot.' "'You refuse me?' he said quietly. "'I must, I must,' she cried. 'It cannot be!' "He went to the writing-desk that stood near by, and commenced writing. 'If a poor Eastern cannot have love, he can still have vengeance,' he said. "'What are you writing?' she cried. "'I am writing a letter to the superintendent of the nearest police station, telling him to come with some men to Temple Hall to arrest a murderer.' "'Have you no mercy?' she said. "'Mercy, lady. Only the Great Spirit above knows what I had made up my mind to give up, when I told you the condition on which I would be silent. I loved my friend as Jonathan loved David, and he is dead—murdered by an enemy's hand. Vengeance is one of the sweetest thoughts to an Eastern, and I meant to be avenged. You begged for his life, and I offered it—for your love. I asked you to marry me—me, who would give up everything for you; but you refused. I grieve for you, lady; but since I cannot have love, I must have revenge.' "He went on writing, while Miss Forrest clasped her hands as if in prayer. "I am relating this very badly, Justin. I cannot remember many of the things that were said; I cannot call to mind all the gestures, the tones of voice, or the awful anguish which seemed to possess them both. I can only give you a scrappy account of what passed." I remembered Tom's powers of memory, however, for which he had always been remarkable at school, and I knew that the account he gave me was not far from correct, and I begged him to go on. "At length she turned to him again," continued Tom. "'I am going to show,' she said, 'that I believe Mr. Blake innocent. You asked me for love; that I cannot give you. I do not love you, I never shall love you; but such is my belief in Mr. Blake's innocence that I promise you this: if he is not proved to be guiltless within a year, I will marry you.' "He leapt to his feet, as if to embrace her. "'No,' she said; 'you have not heard all my conditions. Within that year you are not to see me or communicate with me.' "'But,' he cried, 'if Kaffar is dead, if these terrible evidences of murder are real, then in a year—say next Christmas Eve; 'twas on Christmas Eve we first met in England—then you will promise to be my wife?' "'I promise.' "'And your promise shall be irrevocable?' "She turned on him with scorn. 'The promise of a lady is ever irrevocable,' she said. "'Ah!' cried Voltaire, 'love is a stronger passion than vengeance, and my love will win yours.' "'Meanwhile,' she went on without noticing this rhapsody, 'if you breathe one word or utter one sound by which suspicion can fall on Mr. Blake, my promise is forfeited; if you stay here after to-morrow, or attempt to see me within this and next Christmas Eve, my promise is also forfeited.' "'What, am I to leave you at once?' "'At once.' "He left the room immediately after," said Tom, "while, after saying 'Good-night' to me, she too retired to her bedroom." To say that I was astonished at the turn things had taken would not give the slightest idea of my feelings. And yet a great joy filled my heart. The sword of Damocles, which seemed to hang over my head, possessed no terror. "Is that all, Tom?" I said at length. "This morning, as I told you, he arranged for Kaffar's luggage to be sent to Egypt, while he himself is preparing to depart." "Where is he going?" "To London." "And Miss Forrest?" "She, I hope, will stay with us for some time. But, Justin, can you really give no explanation of these things? Surely you must be able to?" "I cannot, Tom. I am hedged in on every side. I'm enslaved, and I cannot tell you how. My life is a mystery, and at times a terror." "But do you know what has become of Kaffar?" "No more than that dog barking in the yard. All is dark to me." Tom left me then, while I, with my poor tired brain, tried to think what to do. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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