"I see you are astonished," said Link, with a nod; "so was I.
Of all folk, I least suspected that imp of a girl.
The truth would never have been known, had she not confessed at the last moment; for even now I cannot see, on the face of it, any evidence—save her own confession—to inculpate her in the matter.
So you see, Mr. Denzil, the mystery of this man's death, which we have been so anxious to solve, has not been explained by you, or discovered by me, but has been brought to light by chance, which, after all, is the great detective. You may well look astonished," repeated the man slowly; "I am—immensely."
"Let me hear the confession, Link!"
"Wait one moment.
I'll tell you how it came to be made, and then I'll relate the story in my own fashion, as the way in which the confession is written is too muddled for you to understand clearly.
Still, it shows plainly enough that Clyne, for all our suspicions, is innocent."
"And Rhoda, the sharp servant girl, guilty," said Lucian, reflectively. "I never should have thought that she was involved in the matter.
How the deuce did she come to confess?"
"Well," said Link, clearing his throat as a preliminary to his narrative, "it seems that Mr. Bensusan, in a fit of philanthropy, picked up this wretched girl in the country.
She belonged to some gypsies, but as her parents were dead, and the child a burden, the tribe were glad to get rid of her.
Rhoda Stanley—that is her full name—was taken to London by Mrs. Bensusan, who tried to civilise her."
"I don't think she succeeded very well, Link.
Rhoda, with her cunning ways and roaming about at night, was always a savage at heart.
In spite of what Clyne says in his confession, I believe she took a delight in turning No. 13 into a haunted house with her shrieking and her flitting candles.
How she must have enjoyed herself when she heard the talk about the ghost!"
"I have no doubt she did, Mr. Denzil, but even those delights wearied her, and she longed to get back to the free gypsy life.
When she found—through you, sir—that the police wanted to know too much about Clear's death, she left Mrs. Bensusan in the lurch, and tramped off down to the New Forest, where she picked up again with her tribe."
"How did her mistress take her desertion?"
"Very much to heart, as she had treated the young savage very kindly, and ought to have received more gratitude.
Perhaps when she hears how her adopted child wandered about at night, and ended by killing Clear, she will be glad she is dead and buried.
Yet, I don't know. Women are wonderfully soft-hearted, and certainly Rhoda is thought no end of by that fat woman."
"Well! well!" said Lucian, impatient of this digression. "So Rhoda went back to her tribe?"
"Yes, sir; and as she was sharp, clever, and, moreover, came with some money which she had stolen from Mrs. Bensusan—for she added theft to ingratitude—she was received with open arms.
With her gypsy cousins she went about in the true gypsy style, but, not being hardened to the outdoor life in wet weather, she fell ill."
"Civilisation made her delicate, I suppose," said Denzil grimly.
"Exactly; she was not fit for the tent life after having lived for so long under a comfortable roof.
She fell ill with inflammation of the lungs, and in a wonderfully short space of time she died."
"When did she confess her crime?"
"I'm coming to that, sir. When she was dying she sent two gypsies to the nearest magistrate—who happened to be the vicar of the parish in which the tribe were then encamped—and asked him to see her on a matter of life and death.
The vicar came at once, and when he became aware that Rhoda was the girl wanted in the Vrain case—for he had read all about her in the papers—he became very interested.
He took down the confession of the wretched girl, had it signed by two witnesses and Rhoda herself, and sent it up to Scotland Yard."
"And this confession——"
"Here it is," said Link, pointing to the manuscript on the table; "but it is too long to read, so I shall just tell you briefly what Rhoda confessed, and how she committed the crime."
"Go on!
I am most anxious to hear, Link!"
"Well, Mr. Denzil, you know that Rhoda was in the habit of visiting No. 13 by night and amusing herself by wandering about the empty rooms, although I don't know what pleasure she found in doing so.
It seems that when Clear became the tenant of the house, Rhoda was very angry, as his presence interfered with her midnight capers.
However, on seeing his rooms—for Clear found her one night, and took her in to show them to her—she was filled with admiration, and with true gypsy instinct wanted to steal some of the ornaments.
She tried to pocket a silver paper-knife on that very night Clear was so hospitable to her, but she was not sharp enough, and the man saw the theft.
In a rage at her dishonesty he turned her out of the room, and swore that he would thrash her if she came into his presence again."
"Did the threat keep Rhoda away?"
"Not it.
I am sure you saw enough of that wildcat to know nothing would frighten her.
She certainly did not thrust herself personally on Clear, but whenever his back was turned she took to stealing things out of his room, when he was foolish enough to leave the door open.
Clear was much enraged, and complained to Clyne—known to Rhoda as Wrent—who in his turn read the girl a sharp lecture. "But having shown Clyne the cellarway into the house, Miss Rhoda knew too much, and laughed in Clyne's face.
He did not dare to make her thefts public, or complain to Mrs. Bensusan, lest Rhoda should tell of the connection between him and the tenant of the Silent House, who passed under the name of Berwin.
Therefore, he told Clear to keep his sitting-room door locked."
"A wise precaution, with that imp about," said Lucian. "I hope Clear was sensible enough to adopt it."