A Coin of Edward VII Part 33

"Did you hear of our meeting?"

"Certainly. Anne told me of it directly she came back. Oh, I have heard all about you, Mr. Ware. My niece confessed that you loved her, and from Morley I heard that you defended her."

"Did Morley know that Anne was here?"

"Certainly not. At the outset of our acquaintance he informed me that he believed her to be guilty. I resolved to say nothing, lest he might tell the police."

"Why did you not tell him that she was innocent?" asked Giles hotly.

The man looked grave and smoothed his shaven chin--a habit with him when perplexed. "Because I could not do so without telling an untruth," he said coldly.

Giles started to his feet, blazing with anger. "What!" he cried, "can you sit there and tell me that your own niece killed that poor girl?"

"I have reason to believe that she did," replied Franklin.

"She told me she was innocent," began Ware.

Franklin interrupted. "She loves you too well to say otherwise. But she is--guilty."

"I would not believe that if she told me herself."

"Sit down, Mr. Ware," said Franklin, after a pause. "I'll explain exactly how the confession came about."

Giles took his seat again, and eyed his host pale but defiant. "It is no use your saying anything against Anne. She is innocent."

"Mr. Ware, I believed that when she first came to me. I hate my brother because he is a bad man; but I liked his niece, and when she came to me for shelter I took her in, notwithstanding the enormity of the crime which she was accused of having committed."

"It gained you your fortune," said Ware bitterly.

"I would rather have been without a fortune gained at such a price,"

answered Franklin coldly; "but I really believed Anne guiltless. She defended her father, but I fancied, since she had helped him to escape, that he had killed the poor girl."

"And he did," cried Giles. "I am sure he did."

"He had no motive."

"Oh yes, to get the money--the five thousand a year."

"You forget. By Miss Kent's death that came to me."

"Your brother would have found means to get it. I believe he will find means yet."

"I don't understand you. Will you explain?"

Franklin seemed fairly puzzled by Giles' remarks, so the young man set forth the theory he had formed about the murder. At first Mr. Franklin smiled satirically; but after a time his face became grave, and he seemed agitated. When Giles ended he walked the room in a state of subdued irritation.

"What have I done to be so troubled with such a relative as Walter?" he said aloud. "I believe you are right, Mr. Ware. He may attempt my life to get the money; and as we are rather like one another in appearance he may be able to pa.s.s himself off as me. Why, there was a woman here who called herself Mrs. Benker. She insisted that I was called Wilson, under which name she knew my brother Walter. So you must see how easily he could impose on every one. I am dark and clean-shaven; he is red-haired and bearded. But a razor and a pot of black dye would soon put that to rights. Yes, he might attempt my murder. But do not let us saddle him with a crime of which he is guiltless. Anne killed the girl. I a.s.sure you this is the truth."

"I don't believe it," cried Giles fiercely.

"Nevertheless"--Franklin paused and then came forward swiftly to place a sympathetic hand on the young man's shoulder--"I heard her say so myself. She confessed to me that she had met you, and seemed much agitated. Then she ran out of this room to another. Fearing she was ill, I followed, and found her on her knees praying. She said aloud that she had deceived you, stating that she could not bear to lose your love by proclaiming herself a murderess."

"No, no; I won't listen." Giles closed his ears.

"Be a man, Mr. Ware. Anne is ill now. She confessed the truth to me, and then fled to her bedroom. This morning she was very ill, as my daughter Portia a.s.sured me. Portia is out of the house. If you will come with me, you will hear the truth from Anne herself. She is so ill that she will not try to deceive you now. But if she does confess, you must promise not to give her up to the police. She is suffering agonies, poor child!"

"I'll come at once," said Giles bravely, starting to his feet. And it was brave of him, for he dreaded the truth. "If she confesses this, I'll go away and never see her again. The police--ah, you needn't think I would give her up to the police. But if she is guilty (and I can't believe such a thing of her) I'll tear her out of my heart. But it's impossible, impossible!"

Franklin looked at him with a pitying smile as he hid his face in his hands. Then he touched him on the shoulder and led the way along a pa.s.sage towards the back part of the house. At a door at the end he paused. "The room is rather dark. You won't see her clearly," he said, "but you will know her by her voice."

"I would know her anyway," cried Giles fiercely, and tormented beyond endurance.

Franklin gave him another glance, as though asking him to brace himself for the ordeal, and then opened the door. He showed small mercy in announcing Ware's coming. "Anne, here is Mr. Ware come to see you. Tell him the truth."

The room was not very large, and was enveloped in a semi-gloom. The blind was pulled down, and the curtains were drawn. The bed was near the window, and on it lay Anne in a white dress. She was lying on the bed with a rug thrown over her feet. When she heard the name of Giles she uttered a cry. "Keep him away!" she said harshly. "Keep him away! Don't let him come!"

"Anne! Anne!" cried Giles, coming forward, his mouth dry, his hands clenched. "Do not tell me that you killed Daisy."

There was a groan and silence, but Anne--so far as he could see--buried her face in the pillow. It was Franklin who spoke. "Anne, you must tell the truth once and for all."

"No, no," she cried, "Giles would despise me."

"Anne," he cried in agony, "did you kill her?"

"Yes," came the m.u.f.fled voice from the bed. "I found her at the grave.

My father was not there. He had missed her in the darkness and the snow.

She taunted me. I had the stiletto, which I took from the library, and I killed her. It was my father who saved me. Oh, go away, Giles, go away!"

But Giles did not go. He rose to his feet and stepped towards the window. In a second he had the blind up and the curtains drawn apart.

The light poured into the room to reveal--not Anne Denham, but the girl Portia Franklin.

CHAPTER XIX

THE CLUE LEADS TO LONDON

It was indeed Portia. Seeing that she was discovered, she sprang from the bed and faced Giles with a sullen, defiant look on her freckled face. Still standing in the strong light which poured in through the window, Ware looked at the girl satirically.

"You are a very clever mimic, Miss Franklin," said he, "but you rather forgot yourself in that last speech. Anne is of too sensitive a nature to have explained herself with such a wealth of detail."

"You were deceived at first," grumbled Portia, rocking herself.

"Only for a moment," replied Giles. "And now I should like to know the meaning of this masquerade?"

"I also," cried Franklin, in his turn. He was staring at his daughter with a look of profound amazement. "Where is Anne, you wretched girl?"