CHAPTER IV.
[OLIVIA'S EVIDENCE.]
Here was no doubt that Felix intended to continue passing himself off as Francis. For how long I was uncertain; perhaps for the rest of his natural life, or until he made Olivia his wife. In this latter event he could reveal the fraud with impunity and revert to his own identity. I could not help thinking that he had been informed beforehand of the death of his brother, else he would not have dared to keep up his imposture with a possible revelation so near at hand. Even assuming such ignorance, I had now told him of the death myself, and so strengthened his position. I regretted that I had not been more cautious.
I was curious to see whom he would bring forward as a witness to his identity. Scarcely Olivia, as if she once had a suspicion of the truth she would never rest until all was cleared up to her satisfaction. I hardly thought Felix would run such a risk, the more so as his story of losing the pearl ring could not stand against my assertion that it was on the finger of the dead man. If he still persisted in declaring himself to be Francis, I determined that he should ride with me to the Fen Inn and there see the corpse of the man whose name he had so shamelessly assumed. That would surely settle the matter.
Felix was bolder than I gave him credit for, as his witness proved to be none other than Olivia Bellin. She entered the room with assumed lightness, but her face was anxious and she glanced every now and then at Felix, as though to seek his aid and countenance. He, as was natural, wore a haggard expression. His nerves were tensioned up to the highest pitch, a matter of small wonderment, seeing that his life's happiness depended upon this interview.
"What is this strange story you bring, Mr. Denham?" asked Olivia, greeting me coldly. In our best days we were never overfriendly.
"Has not Mr. Briarfield told you?"
"I have not had the time," interposed Felix quickly; "beyond a few hints of the truth she knows nothing."
"Not even that you are Felix Briarfield?"
"Felix!" repeated Miss Bellin in surprise. "But you are making a mistake, Mr. Denham; this is Francis."
"So he says!"
"You see, Olivia," said Briarfield, addressing Miss Bellin, "Denham insists upon taking me for my brother Felix."
"How absurd! I assure you, Mr. Denham, that Felix is in Paris. I only received a letter from him this morning."
"Impossible!" said I, taken aback by the authority of her tone.
"It is quite true," she continued hurriedly. "Excuse me for a moment, and I shall fetch the letter. You must believe the evidence of your own eyes."
When she left the room, Felix turned toward me with a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
"Are you convinced?" he asked mockingly.
"No; I am puzzled."
"In what way?"
"To think how you managed to get that letter sent on from Paris without being there yourself."
"Against stupidity the gods themselves fight in vain," quoth Felix, shrugging his shoulders. "I assure you that my brother Felix is in Paris. Miss Bellin is about to produce a letter received from him only this morning, and yet you insist that I am not myself, and that he whom I pretend to be is dead. You are mad."
"Here is the letter," said Miss Bellin, entering at this moment. "You see it bears the date of yesterday, He is at present staying at the Hôtel des Étrangers, Rue de St. Honoré, but talks of going to Italy."
I examined the letter closely. It was genuine enough; of that there was no doubt, as it bore the French and English postmarks. I quite believed that it was written by Felix, but also that it had been forwarded from Paris by an emissary of the young man in order to keep up the needful deception. Certainly Felix had a marked talent for intrigue.
"If Felix Briarfield is in Paris," said I, handing back the letter to Olivia, "who was it I met at the Fen Inn last night?"
"The Fen Inn!" replied Olivia, with a puzzled look; "why, no one lives there now, Mr. Denham. It is in ruins, and has been empty for over two years."
"Nevertheless, it was tenanted last night, and I slept there. Also I met Francis Briarfield at the same place."
"Francis was not out of the house last night," declared Olivia decisively.
"Quite true," he replied. "I went to bed early with a bad headache."
"It was not you I met at the inn last night, but your brother Francis."
"How can you persist in so foolish a story?" said Olivia angrily. "This is Francis, and Felix is in Paris. You could not have met either of them at the Fen Inn last night, and, indeed, I can't believe that you slept there at all!"
"I did, Miss Bellin, and there I met Francis."
"If you did, where is he now? Why not clear up the mystery by bringing him here with you?"
"Because he is dead!"
"Dead!" she echoed, catching the arm of Felix. "Dead! Who is dead?"
"Francis Briarfield."
"He is mad," she said to Felix in a low tone, her face white with fear.
"Upon my word, I am beginning to think so myself," I said, losing my temper; "but I declare on my oath that I speak the truth. There is only one way of solving the riddle. Come out with me to the Fen Inn, and look on the face of the dead man I say is Francis Briarfield. A single glance will give the lie to the assertion of this man who pretends to be your lover!"
Felix looked at Olivia, she at him. It seemed to me that they grew a shade paler. I wondered whether any guilty bond existed between them, as certainly they seemed to understand one another very well. Olivia appeared anxious to protect Felix from harm. Either she really believed him to be Francis, or had taken her heart from one brother and given it to the other. It was she who spoke first in and throughout the interview; the woman played a more daring game than did the man. Her attitude puzzled me, and for the moment I was quite in the dark as to what were her real thoughts regarding my story and that of the pseudo Francis.
"We cannot go to-night," she said, with some hesitation, "but tomorrow morning, if you like, we will ride out to the inn."
I glanced at my watch.
"It is now five o'clock," said I; "and will be light up to nine or thereabouts. There is plenty of time for us to ride to the Fen Inn, and I think it advisable to do so at once."
"Why not to-morrow morning?" objected Felix.
"Great Heavens, Briarfield! have you no natural affection? Don't I tell you that your brother is lying dead there? Can't you understand the necessity of attending to so serious a matter without delay? If you have no affection, you might at least have decency."
"I decline to believe that my brother is dead," said Briarfield coolly; "that letter shown to you by Olivia proves that he was in Paris yesterday. He could not have come over so quickly, and, besides, would have no reason to go to the Fen Inn."
"Of course, if you insist upon assuming your brother's name, I can say nothing, but I know the truth, and had it from the lips of Francis."
"What do you mean?" asked Olivia.
"I mean that Francis returned from Chili a few days ago and went to the Fen Inn by appointment in order to hear the explanation of Felix."
"What explanation?"
"The reason of Felix passing himself off as Francis."
"You are utterly mistaken, Mr. Denham. I swear that this is Francis, the man to whom I am engaged!"
"Can you wish for stronger proof?" asked Felix, with the marked intention of insulting me.
I paid no attention to his sneer, but turned round to Miss Bellin, and asked a pertinent question.
"Where is the pearl ring you gave Francis, Miss Bellin?"
"The pearl ring!" she said, much agitated. "Yes, I did give Francis a pearl ring, but he lost it. Did you not lose it, Francis?" she added, turning toward her lover.
"Two months ago."
"Well, Miss Bellin," said I deliberately, "if you come out with me to the Fen Inn, I will show you the pearl ring on the finger of the dead man."
"It cannot be--it is impossible," she murmured, clasping her hands together in great distress. "I am utterly bewildered by your talk. Francis returned from Chili three months ago, and my mother consented to our engagement."
"It was not Francis who returned," I asserted doggedly, "but Felix--Felix, who pretends to be in Paris."
"But this letter!"
"Bah! That was written here by Briarfield, and forwarded to a friend in Paris to be posted back to you."
"Liar!" cried Felix, dashing forward with clenched fists; "if you don't retract that statement, I'll----"
"For pity's sake be quiet," entreated Olivia, throwing herself between us. "Do not bring my mother here. Francis, you do not know the harm you are doing. Mr. Denham," she added, turning to me as he suddenly stepped back, "do you say this gentleman is Felix?"
"I do! Most decidedly.
"I tell you, sir, it is not so. This is my affianced lover, Francis. Great Heavens! could a woman make a mistake in so serious a matter?"
"I believe the resemblance between the brothers would deceive anyone."
"Let us settle the question by going to the Fen Inn," said Felix sharply. "I'll wager that there we find neither landlord nor anyone."
"You don't believe me," said I quickly.
"I do not, sir. I believe you have dreamed all this rubbish. I am here--I, Francis Briarfield; Felix, my brother, is in Paris; and as to your cock and bull story of a murder at the Fen Inn, I don't believe a word of it."
"Very well, Briarfield," I said, picking up my hat. "You have chosen your course, I will now choose mine. Hitherto I have kept the affair quiet for your sake and for that of Miss Bellin. Now I will place the matter in the hands of the authorities, and wash my hands of the whole affair."
"Do what you think fit," retorted Briarfield fiercely, and turned his back on me. Stung by his contemptuous manner, I walked smartly toward the door, but was stopped on the threshold by Miss Bellin.
"It is no use your going to see the police, Mr. Denham," she said anxiously. "I assure you it will only get you into trouble. Your story is too wild to believe. They will say you are mad."
"I'll take the risk of that. I am not yet so mad as not to believe the evidence of my own eyes. Let me pass, Miss Bellin."
"Stay!" she said in a peremptory tone. "Let me speak a moment with Francis."
I bowed my head in token of acquiescence, and she glided back to where Felix was looking out of the window. For a few minutes they spoke together in low, hurried voices. She seemed to be entreating and he refusing. At length he evidently yielded to her prayers, for he sank into a chair with a gesture of despair, and she returned to my side.
"I don't wish you to get into trouble, Mr. Denham," she said coldly, "nor do I wish you to use my name, as you assuredly will do in making your report to the police. I believe this story of yours to be an hallucination, and, in order to convince you of it, am willing to ride out to the Fen Inn to-morrow with you and Francis. When we arrive there, I assure you we shall see nothing."
"I am certain you'll see more than you bargain for," said I dryly. "I would rather you went there tonight."
"I cannot. My mother would not allow me to go. Be a little considerate, Mr. Denham."
I saw the justice of this reasoning, and forebore to press the point. After all, so long as they went the time did not much matter.
"Then let it be to-morrow morning," I said coldly, "at ten o'clock. I will be at your park gates. If you and Briarfield are not there, I go at once to the police office and give information concerning the murder of Francis."