CHAPTER XXXIII

WHAT RHODA HAD TO SAY

Of all the news concerning the truth of Clear's death, this was the last

which Lucian expected to hear. He stood staring at the excited face of

the detective in wide-eyed surprise, and for the moment could not find

his voice.

"It is true, I tell you!" cried Link, sitting down and smoothing out the

paper which he carried. "Rhoda, and none other, killed the man!"

"Are you sure, Link?"

"Of course I am. This," flourishing the paper, "is her dying

confession."

"Her dying confession?" repeated the barrister blankly. "Is she dead,

also?"

"Yes. It is a long story, Mr. Denzil. Sit down, and I'll tell it to you.

As you have had so much to do with the beginning of the case, it is only

fair that you should know the end, and a strange end it is."

Without a word Lucian sat down, feeling quite confused, for in no way

could he guess how Clear had come by his death at the hands of Rhoda. He

had suspected Lydia as guilty of the crime; he had credited Ferruci

with its commission, and he had been certain of the guilt of Clyne,

_alias_ Wrent; but to discover that the red-headed servant was the

culprit entirely bewildered him. She had no motive to kill the man; she

had given evidence freely in the matter, and in all respects had acted

as an innocent person. So this was why she had left Jersey Street? It

was a fear of being arrested for the crime which had driven her into the

wilds. But, as Lucian privately thought, she need not have fled, for--so

far as he could see--beyond the startling announcement of Link, there

was no evidence to connect her with the matter. It was most

extraordinary.

"I see you are astonished," said Link, with a nod; "so was I. Of all

folk, I least suspected that imp of a girl. The truth would never have

been known, had she not confessed at the last moment; for even now I

cannot see, on the face of it, any evidence--save her own confession--to

inculpate her in the matter. So you see, Mr. Denzil, the mystery of this

man's death, which we have been so anxious to solve, has not been

explained by you, or discovered by me, but has been brought to light by

chance, which, after all, is the great detective. You may well look

astonished," repeated the man slowly; "I am--immensely."

"Let me hear the confession, Link!"

"Wait one moment. I'll tell you how it came to be made, and then I'll

relate the story in my own fashion, as the way in which the confession

is written is too muddled for you to understand clearly. Still, it

shows plainly enough that Clyne, for all our suspicions, is innocent."

"And Rhoda, the sharp servant girl, guilty," said Lucian, reflectively.

"I never should have thought that she was involved in the matter. How

the deuce did she come to confess?"

"Well," said Link, clearing his throat as a preliminary to his

narrative, "it seems that Mr. Bensusan, in a fit of philanthropy, picked

up this wretched girl in the country. She belonged to some gypsies, but

as her parents were dead, and the child a burden, the tribe were glad to

get rid of her. Rhoda Stanley--that is her full name--was taken to

London by Mrs. Bensusan, who tried to civilise her."

"I don't think she succeeded very well, Link. Rhoda, with her cunning

ways and roaming about at night, was always a savage at heart. In spite

of what Clyne says in his confession, I believe she took a delight in

turning No. 13 into a haunted house with her shrieking and her flitting

candles. How she must have enjoyed herself when she heard the talk about

the ghost!"

"I have no doubt she did, Mr. Denzil, but even those delights wearied

her, and she longed to get back to the free gypsy life. When she

found--through you, sir--that the police wanted to know too much about

Clear's death, she left Mrs. Bensusan in the lurch, and tramped off down

to the New Forest, where she picked up again with her tribe."

"How did her mistress take her desertion?"

"Very much to heart, as she had treated the young savage very kindly,

and ought to have received more gratitude. Perhaps when she hears how

her adopted child wandered about at night, and ended by killing Clear,

she will be glad she is dead and buried. Yet, I don't know. Women are

wonderfully soft-hearted, and certainly Rhoda is thought no end of by

that fat woman."

"Well! well!" said Lucian, impatient of this digression. "So Rhoda went

back to her tribe?"

"Yes, sir; and as she was sharp, clever, and, moreover, came with some

money which she had stolen from Mrs. Bensusan--for she added theft to

ingratitude--she was received with open arms. With her gypsy cousins she

went about in the true gypsy style, but, not being hardened to the

outdoor life in wet weather, she fell ill."

"Civilisation made her delicate, I suppose," said Denzil grimly.

"Exactly; she was not fit for the tent life after having lived for so

long under a comfortable roof. She fell ill with inflammation of the

lungs, and in a wonderfully short space of time she died."

"When did she confess her crime?"

"I'm coming to that, sir. When she was dying she sent two gypsies to the

nearest magistrate--who happened to be the vicar of the parish in which

the tribe were then encamped--and asked him to see her on a matter of

life and death. The vicar came at once, and when he became aware that

Rhoda was the girl wanted in the Vrain case--for he had read all about

her in the papers--he became very interested. He took down the

confession of the wretched girl, had it signed by two witnesses and

Rhoda herself, and sent it up to Scotland Yard."

"And this confession----"

"Here it is," said Link, pointing to the manuscript on the table; "but

it is too long to read, so I shall just tell you briefly what Rhoda

confessed, and how she committed the crime."

"Go on! I am most anxious to hear, Link!"

"Well, Mr. Denzil, you know that Rhoda was in the habit of visiting No.

13 by night and amusing herself by wandering about the empty rooms,

although I don't know what pleasure she found in doing so. It seems that

when Clear became the tenant of the house, Rhoda was very angry, as his

presence interfered with her midnight capers. However, on seeing his

rooms--for Clear found her one night, and took her in to show them to

her--she was filled with admiration, and with true gypsy instinct wanted

to steal some of the ornaments. She tried to pocket a silver paper-knife

on that very night Clear was so hospitable to her, but she was not sharp

enough, and the man saw the theft. In a rage at her dishonesty he turned

her out of the room, and swore that he would thrash her if she came into

his presence again."

"Did the threat keep Rhoda away?"

"Not it. I am sure you saw enough of that wildcat to know nothing would

frighten her. She certainly did not thrust herself personally on Clear,

but whenever his back was turned she took to stealing things out of his

room, when he was foolish enough to leave the door open. Clear was much

enraged, and complained to Clyne--known to Rhoda as Wrent--who in his

turn read the girl a sharp lecture.

"But having shown Clyne the cellarway into the house, Miss Rhoda knew

too much, and laughed in Clyne's face. He did not dare to make her

thefts public, or complain to Mrs. Bensusan, lest Rhoda should tell of

the connection between him and the tenant of the Silent House, who

passed under the name of Berwin. Therefore, he told Clear to keep his

sitting-room door locked."

"A wise precaution, with that imp about," said Lucian. "I hope Clear was

sensible enough to adopt it."

"Yes, and no. When he was sober he locked the door, and when drunk he

left it open, and Rhoda looted at will. And now comes the more important

part of the confession. You remember that Clyne left the stiletto from

Berwin Manor on Clear's table?"

"Yes, with the amiable intention that the poor devil should kill

himself. He left it on Christmas Eve, too--a pleasant time for a man to

commit suicide!"

"Of course, the intention was horrible!" said Mr. Link, gravely. "Some

people might think such an act incredible; but I have seen so much of

the worst side of human nature that I am not surprised. Clyne was too

cowardly to kill the man himself, so he thought to make Clear his own

executioner by leaving the stiletto in his way. Well, sir, the weapon

proved to be useful in the way it was intended by Clyne, for Clear was

killed with that very weapon."

"And by Rhoda!" said Lucian, nodding. "I see! How did she get hold of

it?"

"By accident. When Wrent--I mean Clyne--and Mrs. Bensusan went to bed on

Christmas Eve, Rhoda thought she would have some of her devil dances in

the haunted house; so she slipped out of bed and into the yard, and

dropped down into the cellar, whence she went up to Clear's rooms."

"Was Clear in bed?"

"No; but he was in his bedroom, and, according to Rhoda, furiously

drunk. You know that Clyne said the man had been drinking all day. On

this night he had left his sitting-room door open, and the lamp burning.

On the table was the silver-handled stiletto, with the ribbon; and when

Rhoda peered into the room to see what she could pick up, she thought

she would like this pretty toy. She stole forward softly and took the

stiletto, but before she could get back to the door, Clear, who had been

watching her, reeled out and rushed at her."

"Did she run away?"

"She couldn't. Clear was between her and the door. She ran round the

room, upsetting everything, for she thought he would kill her in his

drunken rage. Don't you remember, Mr. Denzil, how disorderly the room

was? Well, Clear got Rhoda into a corner, and was going to strike her;

she had the stiletto still in her hand, and held it point outward to

save herself from the blow. She thought when he saw the weapon he would

not dare to come nearer. However, either he did not see the stiletto, or

was too drunk to feel fear, for he stumbled and fell forward, so that

the dagger ran right into his heart. In a moment he fell dead, before he

had time, as Rhoda says, to even utter a cry."

"So it was an accident, after all?" said Lucian.

"Oh, yes, quite an accident," replied Link, "and I can see very plainly

how it took place. Of course, Rhoda was terrified at what she had

done--although she really was not to blame--and leaving the dead man,

ran away with the stiletto. She dropped the ribbon off it near the

cellar door as she was running away, and there Mrs. Kebby found it."

"What did she do with the stiletto?"

"She had it in her room, and when she left Mrs. Bensusan she carried it

with her down the country. In proof of the truth, she gave it to the

vicar who wrote down her confession, and he sent it up with the papers

to Scotland Yard. Queer case, isn't it?"

"Very queer, Link. I thought everybody was guilty but Rhoda."

"Ah!" said the detective, significantly, "it is always the least

suspected person who is guilty. I could have sworn that Clyne was the

man. Now it seems that he is innocent, so instead of hanging he will

only be imprisoned for his share in the conspiracy."

"He may escape that way," said Lucian drily, "but, morally speaking, I

regard him as more guilty than Rhoda."