The Red Window Part 39

"Very plain," said Gore, emphatically. "A regular trap. Go on."

"Afterwards, and shortly before a quarter past ten, there came a ring at the door. Mrs. Gilroy went, and there she found Signor Tolomeo, who asked to see Sir Simon. She took him up the stairs, and left him to speak with Sir Simon. What took place she did not know, but she was sitting below working, and heard the door close. It was just before a quarter to eleven that she heard this."

"About the time I came," muttered Bernard.

Mrs. Gilroy--as appeared from the diary--ran up to see if the master was all right. She found him strangled, and with the handkerchiefs tied over his mouth and round his neck. Then she ran out and found Gore at the door. He had come back again, and Mrs. Gilroy said she accused him. She then stated in her diary that she looked upon Bernard as an accessory after the fact. He had hired Guiseppe Tolomeo to kill his grandfather, and then came to see if the deed had been executed thoroughly. Mrs.

Gilroy ended her diary by stating that she would do her best to get both the Italian and his nephew hanged.

"Very much obliged to her," said Bernard, when Conniston concluded reading, and beginning to walk to and fro. "Well, it seems my uncle is the guilty person, Conniston."

"I don't believe it," said d.i.c.k, firmly. "Mrs. Gilroy is trying to shield her son. I believe he killed him."

"If we could only find Michael," said Bernard, dolefully.

"Ah! Things would soon be put right then," replied Conniston, and neither was aware that the man they wished to see was at that very moment lying in the turret chamber at the Bower, "or even Mrs. Gilroy.

Could we see her, and show her the diary, she might put things straight."

"I believe she left the diary behind on purpose," said Gore, with some ill-humor. "I can't believe that Tolomeo killed Sir Simon."

"What kind of man is he?"

"A very decent chap in his own way. His blood is hot, and he has a temper something like the one I have inherited from my mother, who was Guiseppe's sister. But Tolomeo is not half bad. He has the credit for being a scamp, but I don't think he deserves it."

"Can't you see him and show him the diary?"

"No. I don't know his whereabouts. However, Durham, at my request, has put an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the papers which may bring him to the office, then we can see how much of this story is true. Certainly, Mrs. Gilroy may have seen him at the house on that night."

"What would he go for?"

"To ask my grandfather for money. He was always hard up. Sir Simon hated him, but if Guiseppe was hard up he wouldn't mind that. I daresay Tolomeo did see Sir Simon, and did have a row, as both he and grandfather were hot-blooded. But I don't believe my uncle killed Sir Simon," said Bernard, striking the table.

"Well," drawled Conniston, slipping his precis and the diary itself into an envelope, "I don't see what he had to gain. Tolomeo, from your account of him, would not commit a murder without getting some money from doing it. But the best thing to do, is to take this up to Durham and see what he thinks."

"I'll come too," said Gore, excitedly. "I tell you, d.i.c.k, I'm dead tired of doing nothing. It will be better to do what Miss Berengaria suggests and give myself up."

"Wait a bit," persuaded d.i.c.k. "Let me take this up to Durham, and if he agrees you can be arrested."

Bernard was unwilling to wait, but finally he yielded sullenly to Conniston's arguments. d.i.c.k with the precious parcel went up to town alone, and Bernard did what he could to be patient.

CHAPTER XVIII

TOLOMEO'S STORY

Durham was much excited when he read the account which Conniston had extracted from Mrs. Gilroy's diary. However, he declined to give an opinion until he read the diary itself. He then told d.i.c.k that the discovery had been made in the nick of time.

"The Italian is coming to see me to-morrow," he said, showing a letter.

"I advertised that he would hear of something to his advantage if he called, as Bernard wants to help him. When he comes, you may be sure that I shall get the truth out of him."

"Do you think he's guilty, Mark?"

"It is hard to say," replied Durham, shaking his head. "The whole case is so mixed that one doesn't know who is guilty or innocent."

"Save Bernard," put in Conniston, lighting a cigarette.

"Certainly. However, we may learn something of the truth from----"

"Not Mrs. Gilroy," said Conniston quickly, "unless you have succeeded in finding her."

"No, I have not been so lucky. She has vanished altogether. But Beryl may be able to tell something."

"But he won't."

"I am not so sure of that. We have Jerry in our hands, and that young scamp is in the employment of Beryl. He will have to explain how the boy came to lure Bernard to Crimea Square in time to be accused."

"Why not ask Jerry?"

"Because Jerry would immediately run away. No, I'll wait. Perhaps Michael may speak out. He's ill enough."

"Michael?" echoed Conniston in amazement. "What of him?"

"Oh, the d.i.c.kens!" said Durham in quite an unprofessional way, and stood up to warm himself at the fire in his favorite att.i.tude. "I didn't intend to tell you that."

"Tell me what?"

"That we had caught Michael Gilroy, or Gore, or whatever he chooses to call himself."

"Have you caught him? Well, I'm hanged!"

"I hope he won't be," said Durham, grimly. "I did not catch him myself.

He came one night last week to the Bower to see Miss Malleson."

Conniston jumped up with an exclamation. "That is playing a daring game," he said. "Why, the fellow must know that she would spot him."

Durham pinched his chin and eyed Conniston. "I can't understand what his game is myself," he said slowly. "Of course, so far as looks go, the fellow is the double of Bernard without the distinguishing mark of the mole."

"You have seen him then?"

"Yes. A day or two ago. I asked Miss Plantagenet to pretend that she and Miss Malleson believed him to be Bernard. They have done so with such success that the boy--he is no more, being younger than Bernard--is lying in bed in the turret-room quite under the impression that he has bamboozled the lot of us. Of course," added Durham, looking down, "he may be trusting to his illness to still further increase the likeness to Bernard, which, I may say, is sufficiently startling, and to supply any little differences."

"That's all jolly fine," said d.i.c.k, getting astride of a chair in his excitement, "but Bernard and Alice, being lovers, must have many things in common about which this man can't know anything."

"Quite so. And Miss Malleson knew he wasn't Bernard, seeing that the real man is at your castle. But even without that knowledge I don't think she would long have been deceived. Michael, putting aside his marvellous resemblance, is a common sort of man and not at all well educated. If you can image Bernard as one of the common people, without education and polish, you have Michael."

"What a nerve that Michael must have. How does he carry it off?"