“Lord Worth, you may attempt to foist this monstrous story on to me if you please,” Mr. Taverner said. “You will find it hard to prove.”
“I might have found it hard to prove had you not so obligingly abducted Miss Taverner today,” said the Earl. “That error of judgment, my dear sir, has made it so easy for me to prove the rest that I am confident you will not put me to the trouble of offering my proof to a Grand Jury.”
Miss Taverner sank back into her chair. “All those other attempts—you made? But the duel! Ah no, that at least cannot have been your doing!”
“I am sorry to disillusion you, Miss Taverner,” said the Earl implacably, “but that duel was Mr. Bernard Taverner’s first attempt to dispose of Peregrine. The news of it was brought to me by my tiger, who, by a fortunate coincidence, was in the gallery of the Cock-Pit Royal when the quarrel between Peregrine and Farnaby took place. By the way, Miss Taverner, while I have grave doubts of that surgeon’s ability to recognize your cousin, I have a reasonable dependence on his recognizing me.”
She exclaimed: “It was you who stopped the duel? Oh, fool that I was! But you did not tell me! Why did you let me think it was my cousin who had done it?”
“I had several reasons, Miss Taverner, all of them good ones.”
Bernard Taverner lifted a hand to his cravat and mechanically straightened it. He moved across to the empty fireplace and stood by it, leaning his arm on the mantelpiece. An ugly bruise was beginning to disfigure his face; he looked to be very much shaken, but he said with all his customary calmness of manner: “Pray continue! You are blessed with a lively imagination, but I fancy that any jury would require more precise information than this before convicting me of so wild a crime. You accuse me of contriving that duel, but I should be interested to hear what proof you would offer to your Grand Jury.”
“If I could have brought proof to bear you would not be at large to-day, Mr. Taverner.”
Judith was looking at the Earl in wonderment. “When did you suspect that the duel was brought about by my cousin?” she asked.
“Almost immediately. You may perhaps remember bringing me word once of Peregrine’s being got into a bad set of company. You mentioned Farnaby’s name, and it crossed my mind that I had seen Farnaby in your cousin’s, company once or twice. At the time my only suspicion was that there might conceivably be a plot on hand to bleed Peregrine of his fortune at cards. I dealt with that by frightening Peregrine with a threat to send him back to Yorkshire if I found he had contracted debts of honour above what his allowance would cover. I thought also that a discreet inquiry into the state of Mr. Taverner’s finances might not be inopportune. I admit, however, that I was so far from suspecting the truth that I committed the imprudence of sanctioning Peregrine’s betrothal to Miss Harriet Fairford. In doing that I undoubtedly placed him in jeopardy of his life. While Peregrine remained single there was no pressing need to be rid of him. I imagine that before he arranged for the boy’s death your cousin would have made sure of you, had his hand not been forced. The betrothal made it necessary for him to act quickly. Mr. Farnaby was hired to shoot Peregrine in a duel, and might well have succeeded had he chosen a less public spot for the forcing on of that quarrel. Upon learning from my tiger what was intended I set him to discover the surgeon Fitzjohn meant to employ. The rest was simplicity itself.”
Judith pressed her hands to her cheeks. “It is too terrible! too shocking! Ever since that day Peregrine has been in danger!”
“Hardly that,” replied the Earl. “I have had him carefully watched ever since then. I believe Ned Hinkson has never been a favourite with you, Miss Taverner, but you will admit that his prompt action on Finchley Common last year compensated for his lack of skill on the box. He is by profession a pugilist, and although I have reason to believe that my tiger—a somewhat severe critic—doubts his ability to shine in the Ring, I myself feel that, given a patron, he may do very well indeed.”
“Hinkson!” Miss Taverner exclaimed. “Oh, I have been blind indeed!”
“I am aware that an attempt was once made to hold my cousin up on Finchley Common,” Bernard Taverner said contemptuously. “Is that also to be put to my account?”
“I am quite sure that it might be put to your account,” replied the Earl, “but I scarcely think a jury would be interested. But they might be interested in a certain jar of snuff at present in my possession, and still more interested in the effects of that snuff upon the human system.”
Bernard Taverner’s hand closed convulsively on the edge of the mantelpiece. “I fear I am far from understanding you now, my lord,” he said.
“Are you?” said the Earl. “Have you never wondered why that snuff did not seem to affect Peregrine? I concede you a certain amount of forethought in thinking of a means of poisoning your cousin through a medium on which I am known to be an expert; but you might have considered, I should have thought, that while I might certainly be suspected of having put up the snuff, if its being poisoned were ever discovered, there was also a strong probability that I should be the very person to make that discovery. The circumstance of the mixture being heavily scented was enough to make me suspicious. I found the opportunity, while he was staying at my house, to abstract Peregrine’s snuff-box. It was a little difficult to determine the exact proportions of the three sorts used in making the original mixture, but I believe I succeeded fairly well. At all events, Peregrine detected no difference.”
“His illness in your house!” Miss Taverner cried. “That cough! Good God, is this possible?”
“Oh yes,” said the Earl in his matter-of-fact way. “Scented snuffs have long been a means of poisoning people. You may remember, Miss Taverner, that I found an excuse to send Hinkson up to Brook Street while you were at Worth?”
“Yes,” she said. “You wanted the lease of the house.”
“Not at all. I wanted the rest of Peregrine’s snuff. He had told me where the jar was kept, and Hinkson was easily able to find an opportunity to go up to his dressing-room and exchange the jar for another, similar one, that I had given him. Later, when I was in town again, I visited the principal snuff-shops in the whole of London—a wearing task, but one which repaid me. That particular mixture is not a common one; during the month of December only three four-pound jars of it were sold in town. One was bought at Fribourg and Treyer’s by Lord Edward Bentinck; one was sold by Wishart to the Duke of Sussex; and the third was sold by Pontet, in Pall Mall, to a gentleman who paid for it on the spot, and took it away with him, leaving no name. The description of that gentleman with which the shopman was obliging enough to furnish me was exact enough not only to satisfy me, but also to embolden me to suppose that he would have no great difficulty in recognizing his customer again at need. Do you think a jury would be interested in that, Mr. Taverner?”
Bernard Taverner was still clenching the edge of the mantelpiece. A rather ghastly smile parted his lips. “Interested—but not convinced, Lord Worth.”
“Very well,” said the Earl. “We must pass on then to your next and last attempt. I will do you the justice to say that I don’t think it was one you would have made had not the fixed date of Peregrine’s marriage made it imperative for you to get rid of him at once. You were hard-pressed, Mr. Taverner, and a little too desperate to consider whether I might not be taking a hand in the affair. From the moment of Peregrine’s wedding-day being made known you have not made one movement out of your lodgings that has not been at once reported to me. You suspected Hinkson, but Hinkson was not the person who shadowed you. You have had on your heels a far more noted figure, one who must be as well known as I am myself. You have even thrown him a shilling for holding your horse. Don’t you know my tiger when you see him, Mr. Taverner?”