Three days after that terrible night, five men were seated in the study of Dr. Japix talking over the series of strange events which began with the death of Sebastian Melstane by poison, and ended with the death of Florry Marson by fire. These five men were:
Dr. Jacob Japix, M.D.; Mr. Octavius Fanks, detective; Roger Axton, Esq., gentleman; Jackson Spolger, Esq., manufacturer; Monsieur Jules Guinaud, chemist's assistant.
It was about midday; the world outside was white with snow, the sky was heavy with sombre clouds, and these five men, actors in the drama known as the Jarlchester Mystery, had met together in order to explain their several shares in the same.
Octavius Fanks had described the manner in which he had first become involved in the affair, the methods by which he had traced the crime, and the reasons he had had for his several suspicions.
At the conclusion of the detective's speech Roger Axton took up the thread of the story, supplying by oral testimony all the points of which Fanks was ignorant. Having finished his story, Monsieur Judas arose to his feet and revealed all he knew about the case.
"But first, my friends," he said, with venomous malignity, "I give to Monsieur Fanks the congratulations on his talent for foolish fancies. Eh! yes, he is a grand detective, this young man, who thinks all have committed the murder but the real one. Conceive to yourselves, messieurs, the blindness of this monsieur—"
"I admit all your abuse," interrupted Fanks, curtly; "go on with what you have to tell."
"Eh! I enrage this monsieur, me," said Judas, with an insolent laugh. "Bah! I mock myself of his anger. Behold, messieurs, I tell you the little tale of all things. Me, I loved this angel that now is dead; but she her heart gave to the dear Melstane. She returned from the Île de Vight and tells Melstane that her father is poor, and she is to marry this amiable Spolgers. My friend Melstane is enraged, and says: 'I go to your father to tell him I wish you for mine.' But the dear angel is afraid of the hard poverty. She weeps, she entreats, she implores the cruel Melstane to release her, but he refuses with scorn. Myself I heard it all. She speaks to me as her friend. I paint her the pictures of starving, I make her to shrink with fear. Conceive, I implore you, messieurs, how this beautiful one, reared in money, dreads the coldness of the poor. She says: 'He must not drag me to poorness! I am afraid of myself if he does. I am like my mother.' Then, messieurs, I hear from her sweet lips that madame, her dead mother, was mad. The poor angel is afraid she will be mad some day also. Nevertheless, I love her, I wish her for mine. I am the friend of Melstane; but him I love not, because of this dear one. I say: 'My friend Melstane will pull you to the cold, to the street, to the want of bread. Defend yourself, my beautiful. Kill him!'"
"Oh!" cried Roger, in a tone of horror, "you put the idea into her head?"
"Eh! I say she was mad like madame, her mother. I told her of the starvation; oh, but yes, certainly, I did say to her: 'Mademoiselle, if he lives, you will be taken to poorness. Kill him!' What would you, messieurs? I but say to her what myself I would do if in the same way. My suggestion with fear she received, and went weeping away. But again she sees the dear Melstane, and he tells her he will speak to her father. She implores, she kneels, but he is hard stone. I wish to have all the place to myself, so as to love this angel, and to Melstane I say: 'Go thou, my friend, to some town and tell the angel to follow thee. Then you can demand of monsieur the father what you will. He is enchanted, this dear Melstane, and to me speaks with pleasure: 'Eh, but the idea is too beautiful! This I will do, and if the father has any of the money, thou, my friend, will be to me as a brother.' When next he meets the dear child, he tells her of the plan. It is that he is to depart to Jarlcesterre, and there when writes he, she is to come. She says this she will do, but I, messieurs, eh! I smile to myself. In her heart she hates where once she loved. She has fear of the poorness. She says: 'I will myself kill this cruel one, and no one will know of him dying.' Behold, then, on the night before goes the dear Melstane, she comes to the pension. Myself I see her; I wait at the window and behold. She demands from my Sebastian what he has not, and to obtain it he goes from the apartment. Then in the box of pills on the table she places something. What I know not then, but now I am aware, it is the pills of morphia!"