CHAPTER III.
[FELIX OR FRANCIS?]
Late in the afternoon I tramped into Marshminster. It was by no means my first visit to that sleepy provincial town. Under the shadow of the cathedral tower dwelt relatives with whom I had aforetime spent school and college holidays. Their house was the goal of my pilgrimage, and a week's rest was to recoup me for the toils of the walking tour. The tragic occurrence at the Fen Inn altered all my plans. With an assassin to be tracked, there was no time for comfortable idleness. Francis Briarfield had been my friend, and I owed it to his memory to avenge his death. It was no easy task I had set myself; I recognized that from the first.
In place, therefore, of seeking the center of the town and my maiden aunt's, I turned off at the outskirts and made for Bellin Hall. According to the story of Francis, his brother was staying with the Bellins, and it was necessary that I should see him at once about the matter. My acquaintance with Mrs. Bellin and her daughter was confined to casual conversation at crowded "at homes" during the season. I had hardly the right to thrust myself on them uninvited, but my business brooked of no delay. The sooner Felix knew the truth the better it would be for him. If he were guilty, I could punish him for his crime by denouncing him at once to the authorities; if innocent, he need lose no time in hunting down those who had slain his brother. Besides, I wished to put Olivia on her guard against the man masquerading as Francis Briarfield. That I intended to do in any case, whether he was innocent or guilty.
Bellin Hall was a grotesque specimen of architecture, built by Jeremiah Bellin, who had made his money out of blacking. It was uncommonly like a factory, but perhaps the deceased Jeremiah liked something to remind him of the origin of his fortune and keep him from thinking his ancestors came over with William the Conqueror. He married the daughter of a baronet, and then took his departure to the next world, leaving his widow well provided for and his daughter an heiress in her own right. Mrs. Bellin was a pretty woman, with no brains and a giggling laugh. Her daughter had the beauty of her mother and the brains of her father, so she was altogether a charming girl. How she could tolerate her silly dolly of a mother I could never understand. Perhaps twenty-three years of constant forbearance had inured her to the trial.
On arriving at the front door I learned that Mr. Briarfield was within, and sent up my card, requesting a private interview. For the present I did not wish to see Olivia, as it was my intention to warn Felix that I was cognizant of his trickery. My theory was proved correct by the following dialogue:
Myself: "Is Mr. Briarfield within?"
Footman: "Yes, sir. Mr. Francis Briarfield has just returned from town."
After which question and answer I was shown into a room. Observe that I said "Mr. Briarfield," and the footman answered "Mr. Francis Briarfield." Now, as I well knew that the man bearing that name was lying dead at the Fen Inn, it was conclusive proof that Felix, to gain the hand of Olivia, was masquerading as his brother. I had just argued this out to my complete satisfaction when Felix made his appearance.
The resemblance between the brothers was extraordinary. I had some difficulty in persuading myself that the man before me was not he whom I had seen dead that morning. The same pale face, dark hair, and jaunty mustache, the same gestures, the same gravity of demeanor, and actually the same tones in the voice. There was not the slightest difference between Felix and Francis; the one duplicated the other. I no longer wondered that Olivia was deceived. Despite my acquaintance with the brothers, I should have been tricked myself. As it was I stared open-mouthed at the young man.
"This is a pleasant surprise, Denham," he said, looking anxiously at me. "I did not know you were in this part of the world."
"Nor was I until yesterday. I am on a walking tour, and last night slept at the Fen Inn."
"The Fen Inn," he repeated, with a slight start; "what took you to that out of the way place?"
"I came by the marshes, and, as I was belated, had to take the shelter that offered."
"But, man alive!" said Felix, raising his eyebrows, "the inn is empty."
This time it was my turn to be astonished. If Felix thought the inn was empty, why did he appoint it as a meeting place for his brother? He either knew too much or too little, so it behooved me to conduct the conversation with the utmost dexterity.
"It was not empty last night, at all events," I retorted, keeping my eyes fixed on his face.
"Indeed! Are gypsies encamped there?" he said coolly.
"Well, not exactly," I answered, emulating his calm; "it was in charge of a man called Strent, and his daughter."
"This is news to me. I was always under the impression that the Fen Inn was quite deserted."
"You have not been near it lately?"
"No! Nobody goes near it. They say it is haunted."
"Pshaw," I answered angrily, "an old wife's tale. And yet," I added, after a moment's thought, "it may well be haunted after what took place there last night."
"This begins to grow interesting," said Felix. "Had you an adventure?"
"Yes! I met with your brother."
"Impossible! My brother Felix is in Paris."
"I am talking of Francis."
"Francis!" he repeated, with a disagreeable smile. "Francis! Well, Denham! I am Francis."
"I think you are making a mistake, Briarfield," said I coldly; "your brother Francis slept at the Fen Inn last night."
"I slept in this house."
"I quite believe that. But you are Felix!"
"Oh!" said Briarfield, bursting into a harsh laugh. "I see you are making the inevitable mistake of mixing me up with my brother. It is pardonable under the circumstances, otherwise I might resent your plain speaking."
The assurance of the man was so complete that I wondered if he knew that his secret was safe by the death of his brother. Such knowledge would account for his complacency. Yet it was quite impossible that he could know of the death, as he certainly had not been to the inn. I knew that from my own knowledge.
"If you are Francis," said I slowly, "you are engaged to Miss Bellin."
"I am," he answered haughtily, "but by what right you----"
"One moment, Mr. Briarfield. Miss Bellin gave her lover Francis a pearl ring. I do not see it on your finger."
He glanced down at his hand and grew confused.
"I lost it," he muttered, "I lost it some time ago."
"That is not true!"
"Do you dare to----"
"I dare anything in connection with what I know to be a fraud. You are passing yourself off as your brother Francis."
"By what right do you make this mad assertion?"
"From what Francis told me last night."
"But I tell you I am Francis," he said savagely. "Don't I know my own name?"
"If you are the man you assert yourself to be, where is the pearl ring?"
"I lost it."
"You did not! You never had it! I saw it on the finger of Francis no later than last night."
"I think you are mad, Denham!" said Felix, white with passion; "or else you must be talking of Felix, who is in Paris."
"That untruth will not serve," I said coldly. "Felix is before me, and Francis is lying dead at the Fen Inn."
"What, Francis dead?" he cried unguardedly.
"Ah! you admit it is Francis!"
"No, I don't," he retorted quickly. "I only re-echoed your words. What do you mean by saying such a thing?"
For answer I rose from my seat and made for the door. The farce wearied me.
"Where are you going, Denham?" he asked, following me up.
"For the police!" I answered, facing him. "Yes, I am determined to find out the mystery of Francis Briarfield's death. You, his brother, decline to help me, so I shall place the matter in the hands of the authorities!"
"Upon my soul, Denham," said Felix, detaining me, "you are either mad or drunk. I declare most solemnly that I am Francis Briarfield. From this story of yours I should think it was my brother Felix who is dead, did I not know he is in Paris."
"A fine story, but it does not impose on me," I answered scoffingly. "Listen to me, Briarfield. Your brother Francis went out to South America some six months ago. Before he went he was engaged to Miss Bellin. The mother would not hear of the marriage, so the engagement was kept quiet. You alone knew of it and took advantage of such knowledge to suppress the letters sent to Miss Bellin through you by Francis, and represent yourself to Olivia as her lover returned three months before his time. You, I quite believe, are supposed to be in Paris, so that you may the more easily carry out the game."
"This is mere raving!"
"It is the truth, and you know it. As Miss Bellin did not answer his letters, Francis thought something was wrong and returned home. Afraid lest he should find out your plot, you asked him to meet you at the Fen Inn, and there either intended to throw yourself on his mercy or--to murder him!"
"Murder him!" he repeated fiercely; "it is false!"
"That will be for the police to determine!"
"But surely, Denham, you don't intend to inform the police?"
"I am going to do so now."
Felix seized me by the arm and dragged me back to my seat. He was now much agitated, but made every effort to restrain his emotion.
"Sit down," he said in a hoarse tone. "You do me wrong, Denham--on my soul you do me wrong. I was engaged! I am engaged to Olivia Bellin; her mother consented to our engagement after I returned to England three months ago. Felix, I believe, is in Paris! I don't know whom you met at the inn last night. It was not I--it could not have been Felix. There was no appointment between us. I am not masquerading as Francis, because I am Francis."
"I don't believe you!"
"You must! I can bring forward witnesses to prove my identity!"
"They may be misled by the resemblance. Remember you and Francis are twins."
"I said before, and I say it again, you are mad!" he cried, roughly casting me off. "Who ever heard of an appointment being made at a ruined inn? No one has lived there for months. Anyone in Marshminster will tell you so."
"Strent and his daughter Rose----"
I began, when he cut me short.
"Who are they? I never heard of them. They are figments of some dream. You went into that ruined inn last night and dreamed all this."
"You don't believe my story?"
"Not one word," said Felix, coolly looking me straight in the face.
"Then I don't believe one word of yours!" I cried, jumping up; "let us place the matter in the hands of the authorities and see who will be believed."
"What are you going to say, Denham?"
"Say! that Francis Briarfield has died in the Fen Inn."
"You won't believe that I am Francis?" he said, evidently making some resolve.
"No, you are Felix!"
"One moment," he said, going to the door; "I shall prove my identity, and in a manner that will admit of no denial."
With that he vanished, and I waited to see what further evidence he would bring forward to back up his imposture.