"Dear Mrs. Pavely,"I found the enclosed on my arrival at the Bank this morning. It may be important, so I send it on at once."And let me take this opportunity, dear Madam, of assuring you of my very sincere sympathy. I, too, have known during the last few days what it was to feel that hope deferred maketh the heart sick."Yours respectfully,"David Privet."
"Dear Mrs. Pavely,
"I found the enclosed on my arrival at the Bank this morning. It may be important, so I send it on at once.
"And let me take this opportunity, dear Madam, of assuring you of my very sincere sympathy. I, too, have known during the last few days what it was to feel that hope deferred maketh the heart sick.
"Yours respectfully,
"David Privet."
She turned, with only languid interest, to the envelope. The address was typewritten:—
Mrs. G. Pavely,c/o Messrs. Pavely & Co.,Bankers,Pewsbury.
It was marked "Private," "Immediate," but that, as Laura well knew, meant very little. A certainnumber of times, perhaps half a dozen times in all, during her married life, some unfortunate, humble client of her husband's had written to her a personal appeal. Each of these letters had been of a painful and disagreeable nature, often couched in pitiful, eloquent terms, and Godfrey had not allowed her to answer any one of them save in the most formal, cold way.
This typewritten envelope looked as if it might have come from some distressed tradesman. So she opened the envelope reluctantly, not taking heed, as a different type of woman would have done, to the postmark on it. Indeed, without thinking of what she was doing, she threw the envelope mechanically into the burning fire, and then opened out the large sheet of thin paper.
But, as she looked down at the lines of typewriting, she stiffened into instant, palpitating, horrified attention, for this is what she saw there:
"Madame,—It is with the deepest regret that I acquaint you with the fact that your esteemed husband, Mr. Godfrey Pavely, of Messrs. Pavely & Co., Bankers, of Pewsbury, Wiltshire, is dead."If you will instruct the police to go to Duke House, Piccadilly, and proceed to Room 18 on the top floor—the only office which is at present let—they will find there Mr. Pavely's body."I am connected with important business interests in Portugal, and for some time I have been in business relations with Mr. Pavely. This fact you will easily confirm by searching among his papers. I am also, of course, well known at Duke House, for Ihave had an office there for a considerable number of weeks."The tragedy—for a tragedy it is from my point of view as well as from that of Mr. Pavely's unfortunate family—fell out in this wise."Mr. Pavely came to see me (by appointment) on the Thursday before last. There was a pistol lying on my desk. I foolishly took it up and began playing with it. I was standing just behind Mr. Pavely when suddenly the trigger went off, and to my intense horror the unfortunate man received the charge. I thought—I hoped—that he was only wounded, but all too soon I saw that he was undoubtedly dead—dead by my hand."I at first intended, and perhaps I should have been wise in carrying out my first intention, to call in the police—but very urgent business was requiring my presence in Lisbon. Also I remembered that I had no one who could, in England, vouch for my respectability, though you will be further able to judge of the truth of my story by going to the Mayfair Hotel, where I have sometimes stayed, and by making inquiries of the agent from whom I took the office in Duke House."My relations with Mr. Pavely were slight, but entirely friendly, even cordial, and what has happened is a very terrible misfortune for me."I came to England in order to raise a loan for a big and important business enterprise. Some French banking friends introduced me to Mr. Pavely, and I soon entered on good relations with him. Our business was on the point of completion, and in asense mutually agreeable to us, when what I may style our fatal interview took place."Yours with respectful sympathy,"Fernando Apra."
"Madame,—It is with the deepest regret that I acquaint you with the fact that your esteemed husband, Mr. Godfrey Pavely, of Messrs. Pavely & Co., Bankers, of Pewsbury, Wiltshire, is dead.
"If you will instruct the police to go to Duke House, Piccadilly, and proceed to Room 18 on the top floor—the only office which is at present let—they will find there Mr. Pavely's body.
"I am connected with important business interests in Portugal, and for some time I have been in business relations with Mr. Pavely. This fact you will easily confirm by searching among his papers. I am also, of course, well known at Duke House, for Ihave had an office there for a considerable number of weeks.
"The tragedy—for a tragedy it is from my point of view as well as from that of Mr. Pavely's unfortunate family—fell out in this wise.
"Mr. Pavely came to see me (by appointment) on the Thursday before last. There was a pistol lying on my desk. I foolishly took it up and began playing with it. I was standing just behind Mr. Pavely when suddenly the trigger went off, and to my intense horror the unfortunate man received the charge. I thought—I hoped—that he was only wounded, but all too soon I saw that he was undoubtedly dead—dead by my hand.
"I at first intended, and perhaps I should have been wise in carrying out my first intention, to call in the police—but very urgent business was requiring my presence in Lisbon. Also I remembered that I had no one who could, in England, vouch for my respectability, though you will be further able to judge of the truth of my story by going to the Mayfair Hotel, where I have sometimes stayed, and by making inquiries of the agent from whom I took the office in Duke House.
"My relations with Mr. Pavely were slight, but entirely friendly, even cordial, and what has happened is a very terrible misfortune for me.
"I came to England in order to raise a loan for a big and important business enterprise. Some French banking friends introduced me to Mr. Pavely, and I soon entered on good relations with him. Our business was on the point of completion, and in asense mutually agreeable to us, when what I may style our fatal interview took place.
"Yours with respectful sympathy,
"Fernando Apra."
Laura sat down on the sofa. For the first time in her life she felt faint and giddy, and during the few moments that followed the reading of the extraordinary letter she still held in her hand, it was, oddly enough, her peculiar physical state which most absorbed her astonished and anguished mind.
Then her brain gradually cleared. Godfrey—dead? The thought was horrible—horrible! It made her feel like a murderess. She remembered, with a sensation of terrible self-rebuke and shame, the feeling of almost hatred she had so often allowed herself to feel for her husband.
And then, before she had had time to gather her mind together sufficiently to face the immediate problem as to how she was to deal with this sinister letter, the door again opened, and Katty Winslow came into the room.
Katty looked ill as well as worried. There were dark circles round her eyes.
"Laura! Whatever is the matter? Have you heard anything? Have you news of Godfrey?"
"I have just had this. Oh, Katty, prepare for bad news!"
But Katty hardly heard the words. She snatched the tough, thin sheet of paper out of Laura's hand, and going across to the window she began reading, her back turned to Laura and the room.
For what seemed a long time she said nothing.Then, at last, she moved slowly round. "Well," she said stonily, "what are you going to do about it? If I were you, Laura, I shouldn't let that stupid Pewsbury inspector see this letter. I should go straight up to London with it." She glanced at the clock. "We've time to take the 11.20 train—if you hurry!"
She felt as if she would like to shake Laura—Laura, standing helplessly there, looking at her, mute anguish—yes, real anguish, in her deep, luminous blue eyes.
"If I were you," repeated Katty in a hoarse, urgent tone, "I should go straight with this letter to Scotland Yard. It's much too serious to fiddle about with here! We want to know at once whether what this man says is true or false—and that's the only way you can find out."
"Then you wouldn't tell anybody here?" asked Laura uncertainly.
"No. If I were you I shouldn't tell any one but the London police. It may be a stupid, cruel hoax."
Deep in her heart Katty had at once believed the awful, incredible story contained in the letter she still held in her hand, for she, of course, was familiar with the name of Fernando Apra, and knew that the man's account of himself was substantially true.
But even so, she hoped against hope that it was, as she had just said, a stupid, cruel hoax—the work perchance of some spiteful clerk of this Portuguese company promoter, with whose schemes both she and Godfrey had been so taken—so, so fascinated.
"Of course I'll go to town with you," she said rapidly. "Let's go upnow, and dress at once. I'll order the car."
There was a kind of driving power in Katty. Her face was now very pale, as if all the pretty colour was drained out of it. But she was quite calm, quite collected. She seemed to feel none of the bewildered oppression which Laura felt, but that, so the other reminded herself, was natural. Katty, after all, was not Godfrey's wife, or—or was it widow?
The two went upstairs, and Katty came in and helped Laura to dress. "It will only make a fuss and delay if you ring for your maid." She even found, and insisted on Laura putting on, a big warm fur coat which she had not yet had out this winter.
"You'd better just tell the servants here that you think there may be a clue. It's no good making too great a mystery. They can send on some message of the sort to the Bank; also, if you like, to Mrs. Tropenell."
A few moments later Laura found herself in the car, and the two were being driven quickly to Pewsbury station.
"Shall I wire to Oliver Tropenell that we are coming?" asked Katty suddenly.
And Laura answered, dully, "No. He's in York to-day. They've found out that Godfrey went to York during that week we know he was in London. I only heard of that this morning, or I would have told you."
Laura will never forget that journey to London, that long, strange, unreal journey, so filled with a sort of terror, as well as pain. Somehow she could not bring herself to believe that Godfrey was dead.
When they were about half-way there, Katty suddenly exclaimed, "Let me look at that letter again!"And then, when Laura had taken it out of her bag, she asked, "Where's the envelope? The envelope's very important, you know!"
Laura looked at her helplessly. "I don't know. I can't remember. I've a sort of an idea that I threw the envelope into the fire."
"Oh, Laura! What a very, very foolish thing to do! Don't you see there must have been a postmark on the envelope? Can't you remember anything about it? What was the handwriting like?"
Again she felt she would like to shake Laura.
"The address was typewritten—I do remember that. I thought—I don't know what I thought—I can't remember now what I did think. It looked like a circular, or a bill. But it was marked 'Urgent and Confidential'—or something to that effect."
On their arrival in London a piece of good fortune befell Laura Pavely. Lord St. Amant had been in the same train, and when he saw her on the platform he at once put himself at her disposal. "Scotland Yard? I'll take you there myself. But Sir Angus Kinross would be out just now. It's no good going there till half-past two—at the earliest. I hope you'll both honour me by coming to luncheon in my rooms."
Reached by an arch set between two houses in St. James's Street, and unknown to the majority of the people who daily come and go through that historic thoroughfare, is a tiny square—perhaps the smallest open space in London—formed by eight to ten eighteenth-century houses. But for the lowness of the houses, this curious little spot might be a bit of old Paris, a backwater of the Temple quarter, beyondthe Louvre and the Hôtel de Ville, which only those tourists who have a passion either for Madame de Sévigné or for the young Victor Hugo ever penetrate.
It was there that Lord St. Amant, some forty years back, when he was still quite a young man, had found a set of four panelled rooms exactly to his liking. And through the many vicissitudes which had befallen the funny little square, he had always contrived to preserve these rooms, though at last, in order to do so, he had had to become the leaseholder of the house of which they formed a part. But he kept the fact of this ownership to himself and to his lawyers, and it was through the latter that the other rooms—the ground floor and the top floor—were let to various quiet, humble folk. His lawyers also, had found for him the intelligent couple who acted as his caretakers, and who managed to make him extremely comfortable during the comparatively short periods he spent in London each year.
Although his club was within a minute's walk, Lord St. Amant, very soon after his first occupancy of these rooms, had so arranged matters that, when he chose to order it, a cold luncheon or dinner could be sent in at a quarter of an hour's notice. And to-day the arrangement, of which he very rarely availed himself, stood him in good stead.
There are a certain number of people who go through life instinctively taking every chance of advancement or of useful friendship offered to them. Such a person was Katty Winslow.
Even in the midst of her real sorrow and distress,she did not lose sight of the fact that Lord St. Amant, with whom her acquaintance up to the present had been so slight as to be negligible, might prove a very useful friend in what now looked like her immediately dreary future. She was well aware that he was probably, nay, almost certainly, prejudiced against her, for she and Mrs. Tropenell had never been on cordial terms; but she set herself, even now, with this terrible thing which she feared, nay, felt almost sure, was true, filling up the whole background of her mind, to destroy that prejudice. To a certain extent she succeeded, during the few minutes, the precious ten minutes, she secured practically alone with her host, in compassing her wish.
Laura sat down, in the attractive, if rather dark, sitting-room into which Lord St. Amant had shown her, and, blind to everything about her, she was now staring into the fire, oppressed, stunned, by the terrible thing which perchance lay before her.
Lining the panelled walls, which were painted a deep yellow tint, hung a series of curious old colour-prints of London, and, on the writing-table—itself, as Katty's quick eyes had at once realised, a singularly fine piece of eighteenth-century English lacquer—were two portraits. The one was a miniature of a lady in the stiff yet becoming costume of early Victorian days—probably Lord St. Amant's mother; and the other was a spirited sketch of a girl in an old-fashioned riding habit—certainly Mrs. Tropenell forty years ago.
Katty had remained standing, and soon she wandered over to the open door of the room where, with noiseless celerity, the table was being laid for luncheon.It was from there that she almost imperceptibly beckoned to her host. With some prejudice and a good deal of curiosity, he followed her, and together they went over to the deep embrasured window overlooking the tiny square.
There, looking up earnestly into Lord St. Amant's shrewd, kindly face, she said in a low voice: "I want to ask you, Lord St. Amant, to do me a kindness—" she waited a moment, "a true kindness! I want you to arrange that I go to this place, to Duke House, with whoever goes there to find out if the news contained in that horrible letter is true!"
And as he looked extremely surprised, she hurried on, with a little catch in her voice, "Godfrey Pavely was my dear—my very dear, friend. When we were quite young people, when I was living with my father in Pewsbury——"
"I remember your father," said Lord St. Amant, in a softened, kindly tone, and his mind suddenly evoked the personality of the broken-down, not very reputable gentleman to whom the surrounding gentry had taken pains to be kind.
"In those days," went on Katty rather breathlessly, "Godfrey and I fell in love and became engaged. But his people were furious, and as a result—well, he was made to go to Paris for a year, and the whole thing came to an end. Later, after I had divorced my husband, when I was living at Rosedean, it—it——"
She stopped, and tears—the first tears she had shed this terrible morning—came into her eyes.
"I quite understand—you mean that it all began again?"
Lord St. Amant, hardened man of the world though he was, felt moved, really moved by those hurried, whispered confidences, and by the bright tears which were now welling up in his guest's brown eyes.
Katty nodded. "He was unhappy with Laura—Laura had never cared for him, and lately she, Laura——" Again she broke off what she was saying, and reddened deeply.
"Yes?" said Lord St. Amant interrogatively. He felt suddenly on his guard. Was Mrs. Winslow going to bring in Oliver Tropenell? But her next words at once relieved and excessively surprised him.
"You know all about the Beath affair?"
And it was his turn to nod gravely.
"Well, there was something of the same kind thought of—between Godfrey and myself. If—if Laura could have been brought to consent, then I think I may say, Lord St. Amant, that Godfrey hoped, that I hoped——"
Once more she broke off short, only to begin again a moment later: "But I want you to understand—please,pleasebelieve me—that neither he nor I was treacherous to Laura. You can't be treacherous to a person who doesn't care, can you? I've only told you all this to show you that I have a right to want to know whether Godfrey is alive or—or dead."
And then Lord St. Amant asked a question that rather startled Katty—and put her, in her turn, on her guard. He glanced down at the letter, that extraordinary typewritten letter, which Laura had handed to him.
"Have you any reason to suppose that GodfreyPavely was really associated in business with this mysterious man?" he asked.
Looking down into her upturned face he saw a queer little quiver wave across her mouth, that most revealing feature of the face. But she eluded the question. "I did not know much of Godfrey's business interests. He was always very secret about such things."
"She certainly knows there is such a man as Fernando Apra!" he said to himself, but aloud he observed kindly: "I presume Mr. Pavely wrote to you during the early days of his stay in London?"
Katty hesitated. "Yes," she said at last, "I did have a letter from him. But it was only about some business he was doing for me. I was not at Rosedean, Lord St. Amant. I was away on a visit—on two visits."
And then Katty flushed—flushed very deeply.
He quickly withdrew his gaze from her now downcast face, and—came to a quite wrong conclusion. "I see," he said lightly, "you were away yourself, and probably moving about?"
"Yes—yes, I was," she eagerly agreed.
She was feeling a little more comfortable now. Katty knew the great value of truth, though she sometimes, nay generally, behaved as if truth were of no value at all.
In a sense Lord St. Amant had known Katty from her childhood—known her, that is, in the way in which the great magnate of a country neighbourhood, if a friendly, human kind of individual, knows every man, woman and child within a certain radius of his home. He was of course well aware of Mrs. Tropenell'sprejudice against Katty, and, without exactly sharing it, he did not look at her with the kindly, indulgent eyes with which most members of his sex regarded the pretty, unfortunate, innocentdivorcée, to whom Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey Pavely had been so truly kind.
But now, as the upshot of Katty's murmured confidences, her present host certainly acquired a new interest in, and a new sympathy for, Mrs. Winslow. Of course she had not deceived him as completely as she believed herself to have done, for he felt certain that she knew more of Godfrey Pavely's movements, during the early days of his stay in London a fortnight ago, than she admitted. He was also quite convinced that they had met secretly during their joint absence from home.
But Lord St. Amant would have felt a hypocrite indeed had he on that account thought any the worse of Katty Winslow. He told himself that after all the poor little woman did not owe himallthe truth! If Godfrey Pavely had indeed come to his death in this extraordinary, accidental way, then Katty, whatever Mrs. Tropenell might feel, was much to be pitied; nice women, even so broad-minded a woman as was his own, close friend, are apt to be hard on a woman who is not perhaps quite—nice!
It was therefore with a good deal of curiosity that he watched his two guests while they ate the luncheon prepared for them.
Laura practically took nothing at all. She tried to swallow a little of the delicious, perfectly cooked cold chicken and mousse-au-jambon, but in the end she only managed to drink the whole of the largeglass of water her host poured out for her. Katty, on the other hand, made a good meal, and took her full share of a half-bottle of champagne. As a result she looked, when luncheon was over, more like her usual, pretty, alert self than she had looked yet. Laura grew paler and paler, and at last Lord St. Amant, with kindly authority, insisted on her taking a cup of coffee, and a tiny liqueur glassful of brandy poured into it French fashion.
"I'm afraid," he said feelingly, "that you have a very painful ordeal in front of you, my dear. You won't make it any better by going without food."
But she gazed at him as if she had not understood the purport of his words.
SIR ANGUS KINROSS, Chief Commissioner of Police, stood gazing down, with a look of frowning perplexity, at the sheet of typewritten paper he held in his hand.
For what seemed a very long time to the other three people now present in the big light room overlooking the Embankment, he remained silent. But at last he exclaimed, "I think it very probable that this is a hoax—a stupid, cruel hoax!" And, as no one spoke, he added slowly, "Whether it be so or not can soon be ascertained."
He saw a look of almost convulsive relief flash over Laura Pavely's face. It was Laura who attracted Sir Angus in the little group of people which now stood before him. He knew that it was this beautiful, tragic-looking young woman who had insisted, against his strongly expressed wish and judgment, on offering the reward which had already brought a swarm of semi-lunatics and adventurers into the case. As for the other woman there, he only looked upon her as a friend of Mrs. Pavely.
Ladies in the painful position of Mrs. Pavely generally bring a sister, or a close female friend, with them to Scotland Yard.
Sir Angus was keenly interested in this business of the country banker's disappearance, more interested than he had been in any other matter of the kind for a long time. He had all the threads of theaffair very clearly set out in his shrewd, powerful mind, and only that morning he had learnt something which he believed none of the three people now standing before him—Mrs. Pavely, Mrs. Winslow, and Lord St. Amant—knew, or were likely ever to know, except, of course, if certain eventualities made the fact important.
Sir Angus had just learnt that Godfrey Pavely had spent some hours of a day he had passed at York in the company of a woman, and both he and the very able man he had put in charge of the case, had made up their minds that here, at last, was the real clue to the banker's disappearance. Godfrey Pavely, so they argued at "The Yard," was certainly alive, and either on the Continent, or hidden snugly in some English or Scottish country town—not alone.
As so often happens, the fact that Mr. Pavely had been in York with a lady had come to light in a very simple way. When the fact of the well-known country banker's disappearance had been announced in the Press, the manager of the Yorkshire branch of a London bank had written to Scotland Yard, and stated that on a certain afternoon about a fortnight ago—he could not remember the exact day, unfortunately—he had seen Mr. Godfrey Pavely, of Pewsbury, in the company of a lady whom he, the bank manager, had naturally supposed to be Mrs. Pavely. He had looked at the banker with a good deal of interest, owing to the fact that he and Mr. Pavely had for a while worked in the same bank in Paris about fifteen years ago.
He had not met the couple face to face, he had seen them pass by from the window of his privateroom at the bank. He could swear to Mr. Pavely, but he had not paid any special attention to the lady—for one thing, she had had her veil down, and he, feeling sure that she was Mrs. Pavely, had not troubled to observe her very particularly.
Sir Angus had sent some one down to York to see this gentleman, but nothing of further value had been elicited, excepting, yes, that the lady had struck him as being young and attractive.
So it was that the extraordinary typewritten letter received by Mrs. Pavely that morning very much upset the calculations and the theories of Sir Angus and of his staff.
With frowning brow he sat down at his table and touched the electric bell which lay concealed close to his hand.
"Ask Mr. Dowden to come to me," and a minute later Mr. Dowden came in.
"I want to know anything you can tell me about Duke House, if indeed there is such a place as Duke House in Piccadilly. I can't remember the name."
But at once the other answered: "It's that big new building they've erected on the site of St. Andrews House. It fell in to the Crown on the death of the Duke of St. Andrews, and an American syndicate bought the site. Duke House, as they call it, was only opened last October. The lower storeys are big bachelor flats, and the top half of the building contains offices. Mr. Biddle, the American millionaire, has taken the first floor, but he hasn't settled in yet, and I don't think any of the offices have been let at all. They are asking very big rents, and theyare justified, as it's one of the finest sites in the West End."
"I want you to get through to the porter of Duke House. Find out for me whether they have got an office let to a man—a Portuguese merchant I take him to be, of the name of Fernando Apra." He spelt out the name. "If you have any difficulty in getting the information, just go up there yourself in a taxi, and find out. But I'd like you to go back into your own rooms and try by telephone first."
There followed a long, painful ten minutes, during which Sir Angus, though as a rule he was a man of few words, tried to while away the time by explaining to the three people who were there why he thought it unlikely that the letter was genuine.
"You'd be amazed," he said, "to know the number of letters we receive purporting to contain important information which turn out to be false in every particular. There must be a whole breed of individuals who spend their time in writing annoying, futile letters, which, even if signed, are very seldom signed by the writer's real name. Some of those people are actuated by vulgar, stupid spite; others are hypnotised by the thought of a reward. And then, again, such letters are often written by people who have a grudge against the police, or, even more often, by some one who has a grudge against some ordinary person who has, maybe, done them a bad turn, or to whom they have done a bad turn! In the last few days we've had innumerable letters, from all over the kingdom, concerning Mr. Pavely's disappearance. It is just possible that this man"—he looked down again at the sheet of typewritten paper—"has an office in DukeHouse, but I think it very unlikely that Mr. Godfrey Pavely was even acquainted with him——"
The door opened.
"Yes, sir, the party in question has got an office there right enough, but he hasn't been at Duke House for some time—some three weeks, the porter said. He took the office late in October, and for a time he was there, on and off, a good deal. The porter don't quite know what his business is, but as far as he knows he gives him a good character. His office is right at the very top of the house, the only one let on that floor."
An unpleasant little trickle of doubt came over Sir Angus's mind. When he had first read the typewritten letter, he had doubted very much if there was such a building in existence as Duke House, Piccadilly. Then, after he had heard that the place was there, after, as a matter of fact, it had been recalled to his memory by his subordinate, he had fallen back on the belief that there would be no person of the name of Fernando Apra to be found in Duke House.
He now fell back on a third position. Doubtless this extraordinary letter had been written by some enemy of the man Apra who wished to cause him the unpleasantness of a visit from the police.
After a few moments' thought Sir Angus Kinross proposed something which none of the three people there knew to be a most surprising departure from his usual rule.
"What would you say, Lord St. Amant, if you and I were to go up there now, to Duke House—accompanied, of course, by two of my men? That, at any rate, would put an end to Mrs. Pavely's suspense.If she doesn't mind doing so, Mrs. Pavely and her friend can wait here, in my private room."
To Lord St. Amant the proposal seemed a most natural one. "I think that's a very good idea!" he exclaimed, and then he saw Katty's eyes fixed imploringly on his face.
Why, of course——!
He beckoned to Sir Angus, and the two men walked over to the big window overlooking the Embankment. "If it would not be greatly out of order," he muttered, "I think it might be a good thing if Mrs. Winslow—that is Mrs. Pavely's friend—were to go with us to Duke House. She might be useful—she has known Mr. Godfrey Pavely all her life."
Sir Angus looked very much surprised. "Of course she could come," he said hesitatingly. "Mrs. Winslow? I didn't realise that this lady is Mrs. Winslow. Didn't I see a letter written to her by Mr. Godfrey Pavely? She has some odd Christian name—if it's the person I have in my mind."
"Her Christian name is Katty," said Lord St. Amant quickly.
"Yes, that was it—'My dear Katty.' I remember now. It was a letter about an investment, written on the 30th of December, if I'm not mistaken. Certainly she can come with us. I have my car downstairs—she could drive in my car, and wait in it while we make the investigation."
The two came back to where the ladies were sitting, silently waiting.
"I have suggested to Sir Angus that it might be useful if Mrs. Winslow came with us—and you too, my dear Laura, if you desire to do so, of course."
But Laura shook her head, and an expression of horror came into her face. "Oh no," she exclaimed. "I would much rather stay here!"
Katty had already got up, and was drawing on the gloves she had taken off. She felt strung up, fearfully excited—and very, very grateful to Lord St. Amant.
She was quite unaware that for the first time the Commissioner of Police was looking at her with attention.
There were two entrances to Duke House, the one giving access to the four spacious flats, of which so far only one had been let, while the other simply consisted of a porter's lodge and a lift shooting straight up to the offices which were above the flats.
And now, within ten minutes of their leaving Scotland Yard, they were all standing just within the second door, filling up the small space in front of the lift, for Mrs. Winslow at the last moment had begged to be allowed to get out of the car. "I don't feel as if Icouldsit there—waiting," she had exclaimed, and after a moment's hesitation Sir Angus allowed the plea.
Lord St. Amant noticed with interest that the Police Commissioner took no part in the preliminary proceedings. He left everything to the elder of the two men he had brought with him. Still, he lent a very attentive ear to what his subordinate was saying to the porter, and to the porter's answers.
"I expect that it was you who answered the telephone message I sent half an hour ago, eh?"
"Yes, of course I did—you mean about Mr. Aprahere? Well, I told you then everything there is to say about him. He's a foreigner, of course—but a very pleasant-mannered gentleman. He took an office on the second day we was open. For a while he was here a good bit most days, and quite a number of people came to see him on business. Then he went abroad, I fancy I heard him say, and his office was shut up. He wouldn't let any one go in, not even to clean it, unless he was there. He explained as how his business was very secret—something to do with a Concession. He was nervous lest other folk should get hold of the idea."
"When was he here last?"
"Well, it's difficult for me to remember such a thing as that—I can't be sure that I could say he was here within the last fortnight, or perhaps ten days ago. Two or three people have called to see him. One gentleman came by appointment—I do remember that, because he'd been several times, and mostly this Mr. Apra was in to see him. But I don't see what call you have to ask me all these questions?"
The Scotland Yard man bent forward and said something in a low voice, and the porter exclaimed, with an air of astonishment, "What? You don't mean to say the gentleman's 'wanted'?"
Then the detective said something else in a joking way, and the porter shook his head. "I haven't got a key! He had another lock put on. Lots of business gentlemen do that." And then he asked anxiously, "D'you see any objection to my telephoning to Messrs. Drew & Co.—they're the agents, you know? 'Twould make me more comfortable in my own mind, because then I shouldn't get blamed—whatever happened.They'd send some one along in about five minutes—they've got a West End office."
The Scotland Yard official looked round for instructions from Sir Angus, and the latter imperceptibly nodded.
"All right—we'll wait five minutes. I've brought some tools along."
"Tools?" The porter stared at him.
"Sometimes, you know, we do find it necessary to burst open a door!"
The five minutes—it was barely more—seemed the longest time Katty had ever spent in waiting.
Lord St. Amant took pity on her obvious unease and anxiety. He walked out with her to the street, and they paced quickly up and down in the cold, wintry air.
"Do you think we shall find anything?" she murmured at last.
He answered gravely, "I confess that the whole thing looks very queer to me. I haven't lived to my time of life without becoming aware that amazing, astounding thingsdohappen. Perhaps I am over-influenced by the fact that years and years ago, when I was a boy, a school-fellow of mine, of whom I was very fond, did shoot himself accidentally with a pistol. He was staying with us, and he had gone on in front of me into the gun-room—and I—I went in and found him lying on the ground—dead."
"How horrible!" murmured Katty. "How very horrible!" and her face blanched.
As they turned yet once more, a taxi drove quickly up to the door of Duke Mansion, and a young, clean-shaven man jumped out.
Instinctively he addressed himself to Sir Angus Kinross: "About this tenant of ours—Mr. Fernando Apra? To the best of my belief he is a perfectly respectable man. He gave a very good reference, that of a big Paris banker, and with us, at any rate, he was quite frank about his business. He has obtained a gambling concession from this new Portuguese Government, and he came to London to try and raise money for the building of a Casino, and so on. He's an optimistic chap, and his notion is to create a kind of Portuguese Monte Carlo. He told us quite frankly that he didn't intend to keep the office going here for more than six months, or possibly a year, and we arranged that he should be able to surrender his three years' lease—we don't let these rooms under a three years' agreement—on the payment of a rather substantial fine. I think the porter is sure to have a key which will admit you into his room—I understand you want to get into his office?"
And then, at last, Sir Angus answered, rather drily, "The porter cannot admit us to the office, for this Mr. Fernando Apra has had a second lock fitted. It seems he never allowed any one access to the room—unless he happened to be there himself."
"Well, he had plans there—plans of this Concession, and he was very secretive, as are so many foreigners. Still, he impressed both me and my father more favourably than do most foreigners we come across. As a matter of fact, we twice lunched with him at the Berkeley. He is a man with a tremendous flow of good spirits—speaking English very well, though of course with a foreign accent. Has he got into any trouble?" he looked curiously at the gentleman standingbefore him. He was not aware of Sir Angus Kinross's identity, but he knew that he was from Scotland Yard.
"We shall know more about that when we have forced open the door of his office. I presume you would like to be present?"
And the young man nodded. A grave, uneasy expression came over his face; he wondered if he had said too much of his pleasant client, and that client's private affairs."
THEY went up the lift in two parties: Sir Angus Kinross, the house agent, and the two men from Scotland Yard; then Lord St. Amant and Katty Winslow alone.
As they were going up, he said kindly, "Are you sure you are wise in doing this? I fear—I fear the worst, Mrs. Winslow!"
With dry lips she muttered, "Yes, so do I. But I would rather come all the same. I'll wait outside the door."
Poor Katty! She was telling herself that it was surely impossible—impossiblethat Godfrey Pavely should be dead.
Though his vitality had always been low, he had been intensely individual. His self-importance, his egoism, his lack of interest in anything but himself, Katty, and the little world where he played so important a part—all that had made him a forceful personality, especially to this woman who had possessed whatever he had had of heart and passionate feeling. She had felt of late as if he were indeed part of the warp and woof of her life, and deep in her scheming mind had grown a kind of superstitious belief that sooner or later their lives would become one.
The thought that he might be lying dead in this great new building filled her with a sort of sick horror. There seemed something at once so futile and so hideously cruel about so stupid an accident as that described in the Portuguese financier's letter.
They stepped out on to a top landing, from which branched off several narrow corridors. The agent led the way down one of these. "Room No. 18? This must be it—thisisit! Look, there are the two keyholes!"
The younger and the brawnier of the two plainclothes detectives came forward. "If you'll just stand aside, gentlemen, for a minute or two, we'll soon get this door open. It's quite an easy matter."
He opened his unobtrusive-looking, comparatively small bag. There was a sound of wrenching wood and metal, and then the door swung backwards into the room together with a thick green velvet curtain fixed along the top of the door on a hinged rod.
A flood of wintry sunshine, thrown by the blinking now setting sun of a London January afternoon, streamed into the dark passage, and Sir Angus Kinross strode forward into the room, Lord St. Amant immediately behind him.
Katty shrank back and then placed herself by the wall of the passage. She put her hand over her eyes, as if to shut out a dreadful sight, yet all there was to see was an open door through which came a shaft of pallid wintry afternoon light.
For a space of perhaps thirty seconds, Sir Angus's trained eyes and mind took in what he supposed to be every detail of the oblong room overlooking the now bare tree tops of the Green Park. He noted that the office furniture was extremely good—first-rate of its kind. Also that the most prominent thing in the room was an American roll-top desk of an exceptionally large size.
Placed at right angles right across the office, this desk concealed nearly half the room.
In the corner behind the door was a coat stand, on which there hung a heavy, fur-lined coat, and a silk hat. On the floor was a thick carpet. The only unbroken space of wall was covered by a huge diagram map of what looked like a piece of sea shore.
One peculiar fact also attracted the attention of the Commissioner of Police. Both the windows overlooking the Park were wide open, fixed securely back as far as they would go: and on the window seats, comfortably, nay luxuriously, padded, and upholstered in green velvet, there now lay a thick layer of grime, the effect of the fog and rain of the last fortnight. As they stood within the door, in spite of those widely opened windows, there gradually stole on the senses of the four men there, a very curious odour, an odour which struck each of them as horribly significant.
Yet another thing Sir Angus noted in that quick, initial glance; this was that the blind of the narrow window which gave on to the street side of Duke House was drawn down, casting one half of the room in deep shadow.
He turned, and addressing Lord St. Amant in a very low voice, almost in a whisper, he said: "I think we shall find what we have come to seek over there, behind that desk."
Walking forward, he edged round by the side of the big piece of walnut wood furniture.
Then he started back, and exclaimed under his breath, "Good God! How horrible!"
He had thought to see a body lying at full lengthon the carpet, but what he did see, sitting upright at the desk, was a stark, immobile figure, of which the head, partly blown away, was sunk forward on the breast....
Great care had been taken to wedge the dead man securely back in the arm-chair, and a cursory glance, in the dim light in which that part of the room was cast, would have given an impression of sleep, not of death.
He beckoned to Lord St. Amant. "Come over here," he whispered, "you needn't go any nearer. Do you recognise that as being the body of Godfrey Pavely?"
And Lord St. Amant, hastening forward, stared with a mixture of curiosity and horror at the still figure, and answered, "Yes. I—I think there's no doubt about it's being Pavely."
"Perhaps you'd better go and tell Mrs. Winslow. Get her away as quick as you can. I must telephone at once for one of our doctors."
Lord St. Amant turned without a word, and made his way through the still open door into the queer, rather dark passage.
Katty's face was still full of the strain and anguish of suspense, but she knew the truth by now. Had nothing been found, some one would have come rushing out at once to tell her so. Three or four minutes had elapsed since she had heard the sudden hush, the ominous silence, which had fallen over them all, in there.
Her lips formed the words: "Then—they've found him?"
And Lord St. Amant nodded gravely. "It looks as if that Portuguese chap had told the simple truth."
"The moment that I read the letter this morning Iknewthat it was true," she muttered. Then, "I suppose I'd better go away now? They don't want me here."
She began walking towards the lift, and Lord St. Amant, following, felt very sorry for her. "Look here," he said earnestly, "I'm sure you don't wish to go straight back to poor Laura Pavely? Why should you? 'Twould only rack you. I suppose——" He stopped a moment, and she looked up at him questioningly.
"Yes, Lord St. Amant—what is it you suppose?"
Katty spoke in a cold, hard voice—all her small affectations had fallen away from her.
"I suppose," he said, "that Laura knew very little of your friendship with poor Godfrey Pavely?"
And she answered, again in that hard, cold voice, "Yes, Laura did know, I think, almost everything there was to know. She didn't care—she didn't mind. Laura has no feeling."
As he made no reply to that, she went on, rather breathlessly, and with sudden passion, "You think that I'm unfair—you think that Laura really cares because she looked so shocked and miserable this morning? But that's just what she was—shocked, nothing else. What is a piece of terrible,terriblebad luck for me, is good—very good luck for Laura!"
There was such concentrated bitterness in her tone that Lord St. Amant felt repelled—repelled as well as sorry.
But all he said was: "Would you like to go back to my rooms for an hour or two? They're quite near here."
"No, I'd rather face Laura now, at once. After all,I shall have to see her some time. I'm bound to be her nearest neighbour for a while, at any rate."
Late that same night the awful news was broken to Mrs. Tropenell by her son. He had sent a message saying he would be down by the last train, and she had sat up for him, knowing nothing, yet aware that something had happened that morning which had sent Laura and Katty hurrying up to town.
Perhaps because the news he told was so unexpected, so strange, and to them both of such vital moment, the few minutes which followed Oliver's return remained stamped, as if branded with white hot iron, on the tablets of Mrs. Tropenell's memory.
When she heard his firm, hurried footsteps outside, she ran to let him in, and at once, as he came into the house, he said in a harsh, cold voice: "Godfrey Pavely is dead, mother. A foreigner with whom he had entered into business relations shot him by accident. The man wrote to Laura a confession of what he had done. She got the letter this morning, took it up to London to the police—the best thing she could do—and Pavely's body was found at the place indicated, a business office."
As Oliver spoke, in quick, jerky sentences, he was taking off his greatcoat, and hanging up his hat.
She waited till he had done, and then only said: "I've got a little supper ready for you, darling. I sent the servants off to bed, so I'm alone downstairs."
Oliver sighed, a long, tired sigh of relief—relief that his mother had asked no tiresome, supplementary questions. And she saw the look of strain, and of desperatefatigue, smooth itself away, as he followed her into their peaceful dining-room.
She sat with him, and so far commanded her nerves as to remain silent while he ate with a kind of hungry eagerness which astonished her.
He turned to her at last, and for the first time smiled a rather wry smile. "I was very hungry! This is my first meal to-day, and I seem to have lived in the train. I was up at York—we thought there was a clue there. I think I told you that over the telephone? Then I came back."
She broke in gently, "To be met with this awful news, Oliver?"
He looked at her rather strangely, and nodded.
"Have you seen Laura?" she ventured.
"Yes, just for a moment. But, mother? She's horribly unhappy. I—I expected her to be glad."
"Oliver!"
There was a tone of horror, more, of reprobation, in Mrs. Tropenell's low voice.
Oliver Tropenell was staring straight before him. "Surely one would have expected her to be glad that the suspense was over? And now I ask myself——" and indeed he looked as if he was speaking to himself and not to her—"if it would have been better for Laura if that—that fellow had been left to rot there till he had been discovered, two months, three months, perchance four months hence."
"My dear," she said painfully, "what do you mean exactly? I don't understand."
"Pavely's body was found in an empty office, and if the man who shot him hadn't written to Laura—well,of course the body would have remained there till it had occurred to some one to force open the door of the room, and that might not have happened for months."
"I'm very glad that Laura was told now," said Mrs. Tropenell firmly. "The suspense was telling on her far more than I should have expected it to do. Katty, too, became a very difficult element in the situation. I don't think there's much doubt that poor Katty was very fond of Godfrey."
He muttered: "Mean little loves, mean little lives, mean little souls—they were well matched!"
Then he got up.
"Well, mother, I must be off to bed now, as I have to get up early and go into Pewsbury. Laura, who's staying on in town, asked me to come down and tell those whom it concerned, the truth. She wants you to tell Alice. I said I thought you'd have the child here for a while."
"Certainly I will. She's been here all to-day, poor little girl."
"Do you really think she's to be pitied, mother?"
She hesitated, but his stern face compelled an answer.
"I don't think that Godfrey would have got on with Alice later on—when she grew to woman's estate. But now, yes, I do think the child's to be deeply pitied. It will be a painful, a terrible memory—that her father died like that."
"I can't see it! A quiet, merciful death, mother—one that many a man might envy." He waited a few moments, then went on: "Of course there will be aninquest, and I fear Laura will almost certainly have to give evidence, in order to prove the receipt of that—that peculiar letter."
"Have you got a copy of the letter?" asked Mrs. Tropenell rather eagerly.
Her son shook his head. "No, the police took possession of it. But I've seen it of course."
They were both standing up now. He went to the door, and held it open for her. And then, with his eyes bent on her face, he asked her a question which perhaps was not as strange as it sounded, between those two who were so much to one another, and who thought they understood each other so well.
"Mother," he said slowly, "I want to ask you a question.... How long in England does an unloving widow mourn?"
"A decent woman, under normal conditions, mourns at least a year," she answered, and a little colour came into her face. Then, out of her great love for him, she forced herself to add, "But that does not bar out a measure of friendship, Oliver. Give Laura time to become accustomed to the new conditions of her life."
"How long, mother?"
"Give her till next Christmas, my dear."
"I will."
He put his arms round her. "Mother!" he exclaimed, "I love you the better for my loving Laura. Do you realise that?"
"I will believe it if you tell me so, Oliver."
He strode off, hastened up the staircase without looking round again, and she, waiting below, covered her face with her hands. A terrible sense of lonelinessswept over and engulfed her; for the first time there was added a pang of regret that she had not joined her life to that of the affectionate hedonist who had been her true, devoted friend for so long.
AND so, in this at once amazing and simple way was solved the mystery of Godfrey Pavely's disappearance.
Inquiries made by the police soon elicited the fact that the Portuguese financier had told the truth as regarded his business in England, for a considerable number of persons voluntarily came forward to confirm the account the man had given of himself in his strange letter.
During his sojourn at the Mayfair Hotel, the now mysterious Fernando Apra had impressed those who came in contact with him pleasantly rather than otherwise. It was also remembered there that one morning, about three weeks ago, he had come in looking agitated and distressed, and that he had confided to the manager of the hotel that an accident of a very extraordinary nature had occurred to him. But there his confidences had stopped—he had not said what it was that had happened to him. A day or two later, he had gone away, explaining that his business in England was concluded.
Laura stayed up in town till the inquest, and so, rather to Laura's surprise, did Katty Winslow.
As is always the case when there is anything of the nature of a mystery, the inquest was largely attended by the ordinary public. But no sensational evidence was tendered, though person after person went into the witness-box to prove that they had come incontact with Fernando Apra, and that under a seal of secrecy he had informed them of his gambling concession and of the scheme for developing what he believed would be a hugely profitable undertaking. In fact, he had spoken to more than one man of business of a possible two hundred per cent. profit.
It also became clear, for the first time, why Mr. Pavely had gone to York. A gentleman who bore the aristocratic name of Greville Howard, and who was in too poor a state of health to come up to the inquest, volunteered the information that Fernando Apra had come to see him, Greville Howard, with an introduction from Mr. Godfrey Pavely. Further, that he, Mr. Howard, having gone into the matter of the proposed gambling concession, had suggested that the three should meet and have a chat over the business. As a result, a rather odd thing had happened. Mr. Apra did not accept the invitation, but Mr. Pavely, whom he had known for some years, had come to see him, and they had discussed the project. Then he, Greville Howard, had heard nothing more till he had seen in a daily paper a casual allusion to the fact of Mr. Godfrey Pavely's disappearance!
But, though so much was cleared up, two rather important questions remained unanswered. There was no proof, through any of the shipping companies, that Fernando Apra had left England under his own name. Also, while there were apparently several men of that same rather common name in Lisbon, the Portuguese police seemed unable to give any clue as to this particular man's identity. But a plausible explanation of this was to be found in the fact that Portugal had lately changed her form of government.
Though the mystery was now in no sense any longer a mystery, a rather peculiar verdict was returned. The foreman of the jury, a tiresome, self-opinionated man, declared that he and his fellow jurymen were not really satisfied as to how Godfrey Pavely had come by his death, and they added a strong rider to their verdict, expressing an earnest hope that every effort would be made to find Fernando Apra.
The inquest lasted two days, and as Laura insisted on being present the whole time, the ordeal for her was severe. She was, however, supported by the companionship and presence of Mrs. Tropenell, who had come up on purpose to be with her.
After having put Mrs. Tropenell and Laura in a carriage, Lord St. Amant and Sir Angus Kinross walked away from the building where the inquest had been held. For a while neither man said anything.
Then, suddenly, Lord St. Amant exclaimed: "I don't know whatyouthink about it, but in spite of all we have heard, I can't help having a suspicion that that man Fernando Apra's story is a bit too thin. I take it that he and Pavely may have had a quarrel—it's even possible that this Portuguese fellow may have wanted to get Pavely out of this exceedingly profitable business. But no man, least of all a man accustomed to carrying firearms, would play about with a pistol quite close to the back of another man's head!"
"I've known stranger things than that happen," said Sir Angus slowly. "But in any case this Portuguese fellow is an uncommonly clever chap. He's clean covered up his tracks."
He hesitated a moment—and then added "I can tellyou one queer thing, St. Amant. This man Pavely's pockets were very thoroughly gone through by whoever shot him. One side of his coat had the lining ripped open."
"Yet quite a good bit of money was found on him," observed Lord St. Amant.
"Whoever went through his pockets wasn't looking for money." Sir Angus spoke significantly.
He went on: "Though it was implied to-day that no papers or letters were discovered on the body, there was, as a matter of fact, an envelope found in an inner pocket. It was one of those inner pockets which some men have put into the inner lining of a waistcoat, the kind of pocket which is practically impossible to find—especially if you're in a hurry, and don't suspect its existence."
Lord St. Amant's curiosity was sharply aroused. He ventured a question: "And the contents of the envelope?"
"Well, between ourselves, the contents of the envelope astonished me very much. The envelope, stamped with the name of Pavely's Bank, contained two rather scurrilous anonymous letters. To me, the curious thing consisted in the fact that Pavely had thought it worth while to keep them. I should have destroyed them at once in his place."
"Do they throw any light on the mystery?"
"No, of course not, or they would have been produced in evidence to-day. But still, one never can tell. Of course we are keeping them." He added significantly, "They were not letters I should have cared to hand back to Mr. Pavely's widow."
And then the Commissioner of Police added somethingwhich very much surprised his companion: "By the way, talking of Mr. Pavely's widow, I do earnestly beg you to try and dissuade Mrs. Pavely from continuing that thousand pounds reward."
"Surely the reward has lapsed now? The only person entitled to it would be this man, Fernando Apra himself."
"Ah, but Mrs. Pavely—or so Mr. Tropenell tells me—is quite determined to keep the offer of the reward open. Whereas before the discovery of Mr. Pavely's body the reward was offered for any information leading to his discovery dead or alive, that same sum is now to be offered to any one who can bring us into communication with this Portuguese fellow himself. I'm bound to say that Mr. Tropenell saw at once all the inconvenience of such a course, and he has done his best to dissuade Mrs. Pavely. But she's quite set on it! I fancy she's been persuaded to go on with it by Mrs. Winslow."
"Ah!" said Lord St. Amant. "I can't say that that surprises me. Mrs. Winslow——"
Then he stopped short, and the other looked quickly round at him, and exclaimed: "I wish you'd tell me a little more than I've been able to find out about this Mrs. Winslow. What exactly was her position in the Pavelyménage?"
Lord St. Amant hesitated. He felt bound to stand up for poor Katty. So, "Only that she and poor Godfrey Pavely were very old friends—friends from childhood," he answered slowly. "And since the time she divorced her husband Mrs. Winslow has lived close to The Chase—in fact, she was their tenant."
"Then Mrs. Winslow was Pavely's rather than Mrs. Pavely's friend?"
"Yes—if you care to put it that way."
"I've very little doubt—in fact I feel quite sure, St. Amant, that Mrs. Winslow knows a great deal more about the whole affair than she has chosen to reveal. When she and I talked the whole thing over, I brought her to admit that shehadheard something of this secret business arrangement between Pavely and Fernando Apra. But if she was speaking the truth—and I think she was—there was a reason for her having been told. She was herself investing a small sum in the concern."
"The devil she was!" Lord St. Amant was very much surprised.
"Yes, and on Pavely's advice, of course. I take it that he was on more confidential terms with this lady than he was with his own wife?"
The other nodded, reluctantly. "Well, you must know by this time almost as well as I did that the Pavelys were not on very—well, happy terms, together!"
Sir Angus went on: "D'you remember something I told you concerning Mr. Pavely's day at York? Even before we knew all you have heard to-day, we felt quite convinced that he'd gone down there to see the old rascal who calls himself Greville Howard. But some further information about that journey to York is in our possession."
Lord St. Amant again nodded. There came a rather uneasy look over his face. He thought he knew the nature of the further confidence which was about to be made to him. He had never had any doubt inhis own mind that Godfrey Pavely had not gone alone to Yorkshire.
"We feel quite certain that Mrs. Winslow was with Pavely in York. He was seen there, in the company of a lady, by a business acquaintance. We've ascertained that Mrs. Winslow went, on that same day, to stay with some rather well-known people in the neighbourhood. Mind you, I'm not for a moment suggesting that there was anything wrong."
"I wonder," said Lord St. Amant suddenly, "why Mrs. Winslow still desires the reward to be offered."
"I think I can tell you why."
The Commissioner of Police looked straight into the other man's eyes. "Mrs. Winslow wishes this reward to be offered because she has vague hopes of earning it herself."
Lord St. Amant uttered an exclamation of extreme astonishment.
The other smiled. "Yes—queer, isn't it? But, mind you, that's by no means an uncommon trait in the type of woman to which Mrs. Winslow belongs. Their motives are almost always mixed. They're subtle little devils for the most part, St. Amant. Mrs. Winslow was quite sufficiently fond of this unfortunate man to wish to avenge his death, and she also would be very glad suddenly to receive an addition to her fortune—which is, I understand, very small—of even a thousand pounds."
He added, in a graver tone: "It seems to me that the one chance we have of influencing Mrs. Pavely is through you. And then again, the mere fact that you are one of her trustees may make a difference.Would you not have it in your power topreventher continuing this reward?"
Lord St. Amant shook his head very decidedly. "No, I should not feel justified in doing that, even if I had the power. As a matter of fact, she has a certain amount of money at her own absolute disposal. I may tell you that I did my best to dissuade her from offering the reward when she first made up her mind to do so—you will remember when I mean?"
As Lord St. Amant made his way back to his own rooms, the rooms where he knew Mrs. Tropenell and Laura Pavely were now waiting for him, his mind was in a whirl of surprise and conjecture.
Katty Winslow acting the part of amateur detective? What an extraordinary notion! Somehow it was one which would never have crossed his mind. That, no doubt, was the real reason why she had been so determined to attend the inquest. But she had not sat with Mrs. Pavely, Mrs. Tropenell, and himself. She had chosen a place in a kind of little gallery behind the jurymen, and by her side, through the whole proceedings, had sat, with his arms folded, Oliver Tropenell.
Tropenell, since the discovery of Godfrey Pavely's body, had kept himself very much apart from the others. He had gone down to Pewsbury, and had broken the sad news to Mr. Privet—this by Laura's direct request and desire. But he had not shown even the discreet interest Lord St. Amant would have expected him to show in the newly-made widow and her affairs, and there was something enigmatic and reserved in his attitude.
One thing he had done. He had made a great effort to prevent Laura Pavely's being put into the witness-box. He had discovered that she shrank with a kind of agonised horror from the ordeal, and he had begged Lord St. Amant to join him in trying to spare her. But of course their efforts had been of no avail. Laura, in one sense, was the principal witness. But for her receipt of the letter, the body of her husband might not have been discovered for weeks, maybe for months. Fernando Apra would only have had to send a further instalment of rent, with the proviso that his room should not be entered till he returned, for the mystery to remain a mystery for at any rate a long time.
The funeral of Godfrey Pavely was to take place the next day in the old Parish Church of Pewsbury, where the Pavely family had a vault. The arrangements had all been left to Mr. Privet, and the only time Lord St. Amant had seen Oliver Tropenell smile since the awful discovery had been made, had been in this connection.
"I'm very glad we thought of it," he said, "I mean that Mrs. Pavely and myself thought of it. Poor old Privet! He was one of the very few people in the world who was ever really attached to Godfrey Pavely. And the fact that all the arrangements have been left to him is a great consolation, not to say pleasure, to the poor old fellow."