Clarice did not reply. She wondered why Jerce had walked. He must have seen the dog, who hated him, follow. But, perhaps, because Jane limped--the doctor's own work--he did not think that she was dangerous. And it might be that Jerce intended to kill himself in the open instead of in his Harley Street house. But, be this as it may, Jerce was dead, and Jane had killed him. No doubt she had followed persistently all that long way, and, having been left behind, Jerce had sat down to rest. Clarice could picture the grim yellow-eyed dog stealing up in the dark night to the unsuspecting man, seated on some dripping bench on the Common. She could picture the silent spring, the closing of those long, white teeth on Jerce's fat throat. And then the end, with the dead body lying on the soaking ground, and the dog trailing home, weary but satisfied, with blood-stained jaws. Truly, Jerce had not escaped punishment after all, and the gods had brought home his crime to him in a terrible way.
"Master Ferdy wants to see you, deary," said Mrs. Rebson, after she had expressed her conviction that Jane would be shot, and had mentioned twice her wonder that a limping dog should have caught up with a smart walker. "I am coming down now," said the girl, quietly, and leaving Mrs. Rebson to shake her head over the wickedness of Jane, she went into the breakfast-room, where Ferdy was impatiently waiting for her. "Clarry, have you heard the news?" he asked, shaking a newspaper. "Don't call me that," said Clarice, coldly. "I have done with you, Ferdinand. You are not worthy to be my brother."
"Don't go on like that, Clarice," said the young man, struck to the heart by the stiff way in which she addressed him. "I'm in such trouble. That Osip will tell the police about my having the stamp, and then I'll be arrested."
"You deserve the worst that can befall you, Ferdinand. But Osip----"
"He's arrested, and Barras is dead."
Clarice sat down. How many more tragedies was she to hear of? Ferdy pointed out a sensational heading in the "Daily Planet." "See Jerce--have you heard, Clarry?--has been killed by Jane, and now Osip has killed Barras. Their crimes have come home to them."
"And your crimes ought to come home to you," cried Clarice, feeling sick with Ferdy's egotism. "You are--you are--but I can't say what you are. Your wickedness and weakness are beyond the power of language to express. How did Osip kill Mr. Barras?"
Ferdy grew sulky, and apparently regarded himself as a very ill-used person. "Osip went to Barras' office yesterday to get money out of him, and Barras kicked at the idea. Osip then murdered him, and rifled the safe with keys taken from Barras' pocket. He stamped the Purple Fern on Barras' forehead, and was cutting with the money, when someone came into the room. The alarm was given, and Osip fled down the street with everyone after him. A policeman caught him, and now he is in gaol. And I dare say he'll give me away," lamented Ferdy, selfishly. "So hard on me, just when everything is settled nicely. Prudence has promised to marry me and--"
"Prudence?" cried Clarice, starting to her feet, and throwing down the "Daily Planet" which she was reading. "Does she know what you are?"
"Yes," said Ferdy, sulkily, "and she knows that I am not a bad sort either. Her brother was a murderer, so she says that I'm not so bad as he was; and Mr. Clarke thinks the same. But we don't want to stop in Crumel after we are married. Mr. Clarke says he will come with us to Australia. I think I shall like that," ended Ferdy, musingly. "I hear it's a ripping climate."