"Oh, no. Another kind of death is in store for him. He is in prison for the murder of a gentleman unknown to the law, but known to us as Leonard Paget, to many others as M. Felix."
I repressed the indignant words that rose to my lips. Dr. Peterssen smiled and continued: "It is a remarkable complication. A man is found dead in Deering Woods, shot through the heart. This man is Leonard Paget, alias M. Felix. There is found upon his person nothing that can lead to his identity. The murder is perpetrated at a distance from London, and no one suspects there can be any connection between the murdered man and the M. Felix who so mysteriously disappeared from the purlieus of Soho. The last whose suspicions are likely to be roused are Emilia Paget--I am courteous enough, you see, to call her by her right name--and her friends. Wrapped up in their own concerns, a murder so remote has no interest for them. And murders are common. They occur all over the country. The housekeeper who attended upon M. Felix would be able to identify him, but what should bring her into this part of the world? So far, you must acknowledge, I have managed fairly well, and if it had not been for your meddling I should be safe. Curse you! But I am even with you now."
"I do not expect you to answer me," I said, "but how is it that the unfortunate gentleman whom you and your confederate have so sorely oppressed has to answer for a crime which you perpetrated?"
"Why should I not answer you? What passes in this grave will never be known, and I can afford to be magnanimous. The fool you pity was found near the body, in possession of the pistol with which the deed was done. Give me credit for that little manœuvre."
"Does he not declare his innocence?"
"He declares nothing. The small spark of reason which was left to him is extinguished, and he utters no word. His silence, his vacant looks, are proofs of guilt. They will make short work with him. He will be committed for trial; the assizes are near, and he will be tried and condemned. No living persons but ourselves can establish his innocence. If you were free you could accomplish it, but you never will be free. Fret your heart out. It will be a pleasure to me to witness your sufferings."
"Retribution will fall upon you," I said. "Your presence here convinces me that you are yourself in danger."
"I should be if I walked abroad, but I have disappeared. In this charming retreat I propose to hide till Gerald Paget is done for. Then, the interest of the affair at an end, I can provide for my own safety. Meanwhile, I can manage, at odd times, to purchase food enough to keep things going. Already I have in stock a few tins of preserved provisions, a supply of biscuits, some bread, spirits to warm me, tobacco to cheer me--to be smoked only at nights. Trust me for neglecting no precautions. It is not a life a gentleman would choose, but I am driven to it--by you." He filled his pipe and lit it.
"Is it night now?" I said.
"It is night now. I am fond of society; that is the reason I spare you for the present. When you have served my turn I will rid myself of you."