On arriving he found that the detective expected him, and went to his room. Bawdsey was still in a disturbed state, as he was most anxious to get down the country and to help Lola out of her difficulty. He received Brendon irritably and in silence. George saw that the man was all nerves, and did not resent his sharp greeting. He sat down and opened the conversation.
"You are going down to see Lola?" he asked.
"Of course. I am much worried over her. She may get into serious trouble over this freak."
"Well, why not tell the judge she is insane at times? Then she will get off lightly."
"Would that be true?" asked the detective, struck by the idea.
"As true as most things. She really is not accountable for her actions when she gets into these frenzies, and in such a one she must have been to attempt the burglary."
"Poor soul, I wonder how she is now?"
"Oh, she is not troubled much. Her spirits are as good as usual. She hardly seems to realize the enormity of her offense."
"How do you know?" asked Bawdsey with a stare.
"Because I saw her last night."
"You saw her?"
"I did. After I left you I took the train to Wargrove and had an interview with her."
"You might have told me, Mr. Brendon," said Bawdsey, in a wounded tone.
"Where would have been the use of that? I can manage my own business, I hope."
"Considering how I love her, it is my business also."
George shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you see, Bawdsey, it was your intention to see Lola first. I guessed as much, so I stole a march on you."
Bawdsey fenced. "I don't see how you can say that."
"I can. You know that Lola was in this house on the night the woman died."
"I presume so, since she got the confession, and she must have secured it to know where your parents were married."
"Well, then, knowing that, you wished to get that confession."
"Yes, I did," said the detective, "and why not? I desired to know if Mrs. Jersey said anything about the San Remo crime in it."
"I can tell you that. She did. I have the confession."
Bawdsey bounded from his chair. "Where is it?" he asked.
"In my rooms, locked away."
"I do call that a shame," grumbled Bawdsey. "You might have trusted me; Mr. Brendon?"
"Might I? Would you have trusted me?"
"I do; you know I do."
"To such an extent as suits yourself. But would you have shown me that confession had it come into your possession?"
"You are not showing it to me," said Bawdsey, evasively.
"That is not an answer. But I'll show you the confession whenever you like. Come, now, would you have shown it to me?"
"Since you have read it, why ask me that question?" snapped the detective. "You know----"
"Yes, I know that you would have burnt the confession. I know that to have a paper in existence which sets forth that Mr. Bawdsey's true name is George Rates is not to your liking."
"I never did anything to disgrace that name, Mr. Brendon."
"That is between yourself and your conscience," replied George, coolly, "and has nothing to do with me. You are George Rates?"
Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders. "There is no use denying it," he said; "you have my wife's handwriting."
"Was Mrs. Jersey really your wife?"
"She was. We married soon after we left San Remo. She was hard up or she would not have married me."
"And you went to the States?"
"We did. There I took the name of Jersey, and tried a variety of things, none of which came to any good. Then I left Eliza."
"Why did you do that?"
"Because she was a devil," said Bawdsey, his face lighting up. "I tried all the means in my power to make her happy, but she was always quarreling and nagging, and lamenting that she had not married that Vane--your father, Mr. Brendon."
"Did she tell you about the murder?"
"It wasn't a murder," protested Bawdsey. "No, she did not tell me, but from a hint or two she dropped about getting money from Mr. Ireland I guessed that he had something to do with it. I came across to England and I saw him. He told me the whole story."
"Did you get money from him?"
"I did not. I am an honest man, although you do not seem to think so. I left all that blackmailing to my wife. She came over to get money out of Ireland. He simply said that he would tell the whole truth and would call the woman Velez as a witness about the dagger."
"But that woman is dead?"
"Oh, no, she isn't," said Bawdsey, coolly. "Lola told me that she was alive and still in San Remo. She could have made things very hot for my wife. But failing Ireland, my wife--Mrs. Jersey we will call her--had another string to her bow. She heard how Lord Derrington denied the marriage, and how you were living with your grandfather Lockwood. She went to Derrington and----"
"I know the rest. And you came to live in this house."
"Not at the time. I went back to the States, but as I could do nothing there I returned to England. Then I took up the private-inquiry business and called myself Bawdsey. I came to see my wife. She would not let me call myself her husband, and, as I had no great liking for her, I agreed. I was in this house for a few weeks and then I got my own diggings. I saw as little of Mrs. Jersey as was possible."
"Why was that?"
"Well, sir," replied Bawdsey, frankly, "I didn't hold with the annuity she was getting."
"In a word, you disapproved of the blackmail?"
"That's a good, useful word, sir," said Bawdsey, easily. "Yes, I did. I never would take a penny from her, and when I lived here during the few weeks I paid my board. Yes, sir, I'm an honest man."
George stretched out his hand and shook that of Bawdsey heartily. "I am convinced you are, Bawdsey, and I apologize for my suspicions. But in some ways--eh?"
"I didn't act very straight, you mean. Well, sir, when one deals with a criminal case one can't be too careful. I have had to tell lies, sir. And I say, Mr. Brendon," cried the detective, with a burst of confidence, "I would not have shown you that agreement. I guessed that Eliza would state who I was, and I didn't wish you to think that I was connected with her."
"Why not?"
"Well, sir, I fancied, seeing what you know, that you might suspect me of killing her."
"No, Bawdsey. As you have acted so fairly all through, I am convinced that you are innocent on that score. But why did you say that the San Remo crime was connected with the death of Mrs. Jersey?"
Bawdsey opened his eyes. "Can't you see, sir? The stiletto."
"Oh, you mean that the weapon used by Lola was the same one as my father was killed with?"
"Certainly, Mr. Brendon. It belonged to Se?ora Velez, the mother. She gave it to Lola, for I saw it in her rooms, before the death of Mrs. Jersey, and I recognized it from the description given by my wife."
"But there are dozens of stilettoes like that one. Lord Derrington showed it to me."
"Yes, that's true enough. But you see, from what my wife told me, I knew that she had got the dagger from the woman Velez. It wasn't hard to see, when I dropped across a similar weapon in the room of a woman also called Velez, that it was the same. Now you see how it is that Lola knew so much about the death of your father, and how she and I came to talk of the matter."
"How did you drop on the subject in the first place?"
"The name was enough for me. I saw Lola, and I fell in love with her, as you know. Then I remembered the name Velez and got an introduction to her. One thing led to another until I knew the whole story, and she admitted that the stiletto was the one with which Mr. Vane had been killed."
George thought for a few minutes. "Tell me, Bawdsey," he said at length, "did you suspect Lola of committing the crime?"
"Yes, I did," admitted Bawdsey, frankly; "you see she has a devil of a temper. I never knew that she had gone to see Mrs. Jersey on that night, although I might have guessed it because of the way she tried to learn the whereabouts of the house."
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