: Tracked by a Tattoo: A Mystery by Hume Fergus - Detective and mystery stories; London (England) Fiction; Murder Investigation Fiction

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grew into a fine, young gentleman, though wild, very wild."

After which speech, Mrs. Prisom, exclaiming that it was close on ten o'clock, left the room; and Fanks sat meditating over the strange history he had heard, far into the night. Already he saw a connecting link between the story of Madaline Garry and the tragedy of Tooley's Alley.

The outcome of Fanks' midnight meditations, was that he resolved to devote himself entirely to following the clue afforded by Mrs. Prisom's story of the tattooed cross. The dead father had chosen the symbol of St Catherine's martyrdom for some unknown purpose; the murdered son had perished while the same emblem was being tattooed on his arm. For some reason he had wished to be marked in such a way, and the murderer had taken advantage of the wish to inoculate the blood of his victim with a deadly poison. If then, Fanks could learn the significance of the cross, he might be able to fathom the mystery of the death. The question he asked himself was, whether he could find out the truth concerning the cross in the study of the late Sir Francis.

The warning which the dead man had given to Mrs. Prisom, seemed strange to the detective. That it was dictated by fear of Madaline Garry, he felt sure; but as she had passed away, and had foregone her vengeance it would seem that the warning was useless. Nevertheless, Fanks resolved to see the desk referred to by Mrs. Prisom, and to search for the evidence hinted at by Sir Francis. Also, for reasons of his own, which the reader may guess, he wired to Hersham at the Fairview vicarage, to seek an explanation from his father relative to the cross tattooed on his arm. The tale of the Reverend Hersham might show why the special symbol of Sir Francis was figuring on the skin of a young man who had nothing to do with the Fellengers and their mad freaks. After concluding the first part of his scheme by despatching this letter, Fanks proceeded to the second, and walked to Mere Hall to see the desk referred to by Mrs. Prisom. Garth had refused to accompany the detective to the Hall; and gave his reason for such refusal. "It is no good my going," he said, "I don't wish to see my cousin; and if, as you think, he knows that I am here, there is no longer any reason why I should stay in Damington. I shall go up to town by the midday train, and leave you to find out if he has anything to do with the crime."

"Well, as I know all you know, and a great deal more besides, I don't think it is necessary for you to stay," said Fanks, dryly. "I'll follow up the clue afforded by the malice of Mrs. Jerusalem. Return to town by all means, and if you want anything to do, just join Crate in watching the Red Star Hotel in which Mrs. Boazoph lies ill."

This Garth promised readily enough, much to the amusement of Fanks, as the latter was simply throwing him into the society of Crate in order to afford that person a chance of learning the connection--if any--of Garth with the crime. He was assured in his own mind that Garth was innocent, but he was willing to afford Crate some innocent amusement, by setting him to find the mare's nest of his own imagination. When Garth, therefore, departed, Fanks smiled in his own quiet way; and went off to solve the more difficult riddle which awaited him at Mere Hall.

When he was nearing the Hall, a woman stepped out of a gap in the hedge almost in front of him. She was dressed in a black silk dress with lavender coloured shawl over her shoulders; and she wore also a bonnet of grey velvet made Quaker fashion, and close fitting over the ears. But it was not at her dress that Fanks looked; he was staring at the most malignant countenance he ever saw in his life. She was pale and thin-lipped; her hair and eyes and eyebrows were of a light, sandy hue; and she had a stealthy, observant way with her, which made Fanks mistrust her on the instant. Like an apparition she arose from the ground; and laid one thin hand on his breast to detain him.

"One moment, Mr. Fanks," she said, in a perfectly unemotional voice. "You must speak to me before you go to Mere Hall."

"Why must I?" demanded Fanks, with a stare, "and how is it you know my name?"

"Mr. Garth told me your name and your errand."

"Oh!" cried Fanks, remembering Garth's excuse for retiring to bed on the previous night. "So you are Mrs. Jerusalem?"

"That is my name; and I wish to tell you--"

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