“Do you know anything of Jason Waldron’s murder?” asked Aymer, impatiently.
“I do; you have yourself told me. I had my suspicions—almost certainty—before, but I could not see the motive; now I see the motive—poor, miserable Odo!”
“Odo! what has Odo to do with it? Do go on; I am wild.”
“Very well. Odo Lechester murdered your friend Jason Waldron!”
“But Odo Lechester is in a lunatic asylum, incurable.”
“Odo Lechester was in this very asylum, but he escaped nearly a year ago. He escaped by permission.”
“I am in the dark—explain.”
“By permission, directed to destroy Jason Waldron. He had homicidal tendencies, you know.”
“Homicidal tendencies!—escaped! Stay a minute, let me think. I remember now. Oh! what a fool I have been. Why, I saw the description of him posted up against the police station in Stirmingham, during the election; it was partly destroyed—evidently an old bill. I see—I see. But why should Odo Lechester kill Jason?”
“He was instructed to do so. Your dear friend Theodore, who so kindly offered you a secretaryship at seven hundred and fifty pounds a year, told him to do so.”
“Why—how—how could he—”
“Work on Odo’s mind? Easily enough. Poor Odo—he is a beast, born in the shape of a man: it is not his fault—he is not responsible. Odo is a tinker and a whistler; he is at home among the gypsies and the woods, playing on his tin whistle, mending pots and kettles. His three great passions are tinkering, dogs, and—liberty. Theodore simply assured him that it was Waldron who was the cause of his confinement. Jason dead, Odo would be forever free. Shall I add one more word? If Jason’s daughter were also dead, Odo would be still safer in his freedom.”
“Good God! he may be killing her now. Let me out—help me.”
“Silence! Be quiet. She is safe—your cries will ruin all. She is safe in this very building.”
“Impossible—I can’t believe it; it is all a blind. I must go to Belthrop; I must see Broughton. Good God, how weak I am!”
He fell exhausted back into his chair.
“How foolish of you!” said Fulk, gently. “But I can understand it. Now, I will tell you how I learnt all this. It was very simple. When I found that there was no escape through your room, I tried the other wall. I removed the clock from the bracket, and bored a small hole. Frequently I had to stop, because I heard voices. I found the next room to mine was one of Theodore’s own private apartments: it is the sitting-room, in fact. Beyond it is his laboratory. I should like to know what is in that laboratory: if we escape, I will know. He and Marese used to meet here and converse. I heard them; I listened. I tell you I heard things that would make your flesh creep. Are you better?”
“Yes; oh, that I was stronger! There is wine on the table. Do you think I might drink it safely?”
“Certainly not; but you had better pretend that you have. Pour some behind the grate; get rid of it somehow, or they will put the poison in your food. Well, I heard things about a certain ship, the Lucca.”
“The Lucca—she was found a derelict.”
“Yes, I know; I could tell you how she became a derelict. But Odo. Well, I heard them discuss that plan. He was to be instructed, and then allowed to escape. He did escape. I only wish I was strong, and could climb like him. What he did, you know. If he is still at large, I will wager a hundred pounds I find him. I know his old haunts. But I could not understand the object of—of—I see now. Waldron was the descendant of Arthur Sibbold. Are you superstitious? No. Well, I am—a little. In this case, now, does it not seem as if the blood of old Will Baskette, shot at the cider barrel, had revenged itself from generation to generation? Stirmingham was, as it were, founded with blood. Your poor friend Jason was a descendant of the murderer Sibbold, who shot the thief; and here is a Baskette continuing the vendetta.”
“For God’s sake, tell me how to escape.”
“I will. But is it not Fate? Look at the chain of events—‘circumstances’ they are called now: the ancients called them Fate, Sophocles called them Necessity. But you are eager about escaping. Hush—they are coming!”
The picture dropped; Aymer looked down at his book. Davidson entered, and asked him how he felt. He replied better, and asked if Miss Waldron was in the asylum?
Davidson smiled. “Still on that, sir? I tell you honestly that no such person is here.”
He looked Aymer in the face, and Aymer believed him. Davidson lit the gas, left several newspapers and books, and retired. So soon as his steps had died away, the picture was lifted again.
“I told you so,” said Aymer; “she is not here. He evidently spoke the truth.”
“He did so—so far as he knew. But this is an immense building; and you forget—you were not brought here at first—there is a residence, as they call it, detached. Davidson’s duties never take him there, unless specially sent for.”
“Well, well; let me escape, that is all.”
“You have looked out of window; you have seen the courtyard—the wall. You know that beyond the wall is the canal: all that is plain in your mind?”
“It is. First, we must get across the courtyard, then we must climb the wall, then descend and swim the canal.”
“Ah,” said Fulk, “I cannot swim.”
“I can,” said Aymer; “I learnt in the sea.” He remembered his few bright months of wandering before he had met Violet.
“I am glad of it, though I had provided for that. The bladders that would have supported you, can carry our dry clothes to change.”
“The bladders—have you got some to float you?”
“I have; but, first of all, the courtyard and the wall. We
