In the cold gray hours of the morning, Hope and his friend left the
cottage wherein such a tragedy had taken place. The dead woman was lying
stiff and white on her bed under a winding sheet, which had already been
strewn with many-hued chrysanthemums taken from the pink parlor by the
weeping Jane. The wretched woman who had led so stormy and unhappy a
life had at least one sincere mourner, for she had always been kind to
the servant, who formed her entire domestic staff, and Jane would not
hear a word said against the dead. Not that anyone did say anything; for
Random and Hope kept the contents of the confession to themselves. There
would be time enough for Mrs. Jasher's reputation to be smirched when
those same contents were made public.
When the poor woman died, Random left the doctor and the servant to look
after the corpse, and went into the parlor. Here he met Hope with the
confession in his hand. Luckily, Painter was not in the room at the
moment, else he would have prevented the artist from taking away the
same. Hope--as directed by Mrs. Jasher--had found the confession,
written on many sheets, lying on the desk. It broke off abruptly towards
the end, and was not signed. Apparently at this point Mrs. Jasher had
been interrupted--as she had said--by the tapping of Cockatoo at the
window. Probably she had admitted him at once, and on her refusal to
give him the emerald, and on her confessing what she had written, he had
overturned the lights for the purpose of murdering her. Only too well
had the Kanaka succeeded in his wickedness.
Archie slipped the confession into his pocket before the policeman
returned, and then left the cottage with Random and the doctor, since
nothing else could now be done. It was between seven and eight, and the
chilly dawn was breaking, but the sea-mist still lay heavily over the
marshes, as though it were the winding sheet of the dead. Robinson went
to his own house to get his trap and drive into Jessum, there to catch
the train and ferry to Pierside. It was necessary that Inspector Date
should be informed of this new tragedy without delay, and as Constable
Painter was engaged in watching the cottage, there was no messenger
available but Dr. Robinson. Random indeed offered to send a soldier,
or to afford Robinson the use of the Fort telephone, but the doctor
preferred to see Date personally, so as to detail exactly what had
happened. Perhaps the young medical man had an eye to becoming better
known, for the improvement of his practice; but he certainly seemed
anxious to take a prominent part in the proceedings connected with the
murder of Mrs. Jasher.
When Robinson parted from them, Random and Hope went to the lodgings of
the latter, so as to read over the confession and learn exactly to what
extent Mrs. Jasher had been mixed up in the tragedy of the green mummy.
She had declared herself innocent even on her death-bed, and so far
as the two could judge at this point, she certainly had not actually
strangled Sidney Bolton. But it might be--and it appeared to be more
than probable--that she was an accessory after the fact. But this they
could learn from the confession, and they sat in Hope's quiet little
sitting-room, in which the fire had been just lighted by the artist's
landlady, with the scattered sheets neatly ranged before them.