As Miss Arnott went to her visitor she had premonitions that more disagreeables were at hand. No one whom she was desirous of seeing would have uttered such a speech as that which Mrs Plummer had repeated. Her premonitions were realised to the full. As she entered the sitting-room, into which the caller had been shown, a big, blowsy, over-dressed woman rose from a chair, whom the girl instantly acknowledged that Mrs Plummer had been perfectly justified in calling an extraordinary person. She was painted, and powdered, and pencilled, and generally got up in a style which made it only too plain what kind of character she was. With a sinking heart Miss Arnott recognised Sarah Stevens, her quondam associate as a model in that costume department of that Regent Street draper's where, once upon a time--it seemed centuries ago--she had earned her daily bread, the woman who had introduced her to Robert Champion, who had urged her to marry him, to whom she owed all the trouble which had come upon her, and whose real character she had learned too late.
She had not expected, as she had asked herself what awaited her now, that it was anything so bad as this.
"You!" she stammered.
"Yes, my dear, me! A nice little surprise for you, isn't it?" The woman advanced towards her with the apparent intention of greeting her with a kiss. Miss Arnott showed by her manner, as much as by the way in which she drew back, that she did not intend to submit to anything of that sort. The visitor was not at all abashed. She continued to smile the hard, mechanical smile of the woman of her class. "You didn't expect to see me, I'll be bound. Perhaps you'd forgotten me, and you thought, perhaps, that I'd forgotten you, but you see I haven't. I've got a very good memory, I have. Well, my love, and how are you? You're not looking so well as I expected; quite peaked, you seem, nothing like so well filled out as you used to be."
"What do you mean by coming here? And by calling yourself Mrs Darcy Sutherland?"
"My dear Vi!"
"Have the goodness not to address me by my Christian name."
"It used to be Vi and Sally in the days gone by. But I suppose circumstances are changed, that sometimes makes a difference. I don't mind, it's all the same to me. I'll call you whatever you choose--Miss Arnott if you like. I'm surprised to find that they all do seem to call you that round here."
"You haven't answered my questions. Why have you come here? And why do you call yourself Mrs Sutherland?"
"As to why I've come here, I'll tell you in half a minute, though there's some who wouldn't ask such a thing of an old friend. Let me get my breath, my love; that rotten old fly shook me all to pieces. As to why I call myself Mrs Sutherland--that does seem an unpleasant remark to make to a lady, let alone an old friend. But I'm not one that's quick to take offence. I call myself Mrs Sutherland because I am Mrs Sutherland. I've married since I saw you last."
"You've married?"
"Yes, why shouldn't I? And, unlike you, I'm not ashamed of my married name, or of my husband's. By the way, my love, you must remember my husband."
"Remember him?"
"Of course you must. He remembers you quite well. He was a friend of your husband's."
"A friend of my husband?"
"Rather. They were pals--thick as thieves. Darcy knew Robert Champion long before you did."
"Darcy?"
"That's my husband's Christian name. You can call him by it if you like, though you don't want me to call you by yours. But then I'm more open-minded, perhaps, than you are, and open-hearted too."
"Be so good as to tell me why you have come here."
The woman took a handkerchief from the bag made of steel beads which was suspended from her waist; opening it out she twiddled it between the white-gloved fingers of either hand. Miss Arnott immediately became conscious of the odour of some strong perfume.
"Can't you guess?"
"I cannot."
"Sure?"
"I am quite sure that I am unable to think of any plausible excuse for your presence in my house. You never were a friend of mine. Nor are you a person whose acquaintance I desire to renew. You are perfectly well aware that I know what kind of character you are. You did me all the harm you could. It was only by the mercy of God that you did not do me more. I do not intend to allow my house to be sullied by your presence one moment longer than I can help."
The girl crossed the room.
"What are you going to do?"
"I am going to ring to have you shown to the door."
"You had better hear first what I've come for, unless you want me to tell you in front of your servants."
"As to that, I am indifferent. If you have anything to say to me say it at once."
"Oh, I'll tell you fast enough, don't you worry. It won't take me long to say it. I can say it in just one sentence. Mrs Champion, I've come to see your husband."
The girl started, perceiving that trouble was threatening from still another quarter. She was conscious that her visitor noticed her start, but in spite of it she could not prevent her pulses throbbing unpleasantly.
"My husband? What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know what I mean well enough, don't try acting the stupid with me. You're not so dull as all that, nor yet so simple; and I'm not if you are. Mrs Champion, I've come to see your husband, Mr Robert Champion, my old friend Bob."
"He's not here, you know he's not here."
"How do I know he's not here? I know he came here."
"How do you know he came here?"
"Because me and my husband met him outside the gate of Wandsworth Prison the Saturday morning he came out of it from doing his sentence. His wife ought to have been there--that's you! but you wasn't! I suppose you were on your couch of rose-leaves and didn't want to be disturbed. Nice idea of a wife's duties you seem to have, and a pretty sort you are to want to look down on me. Poor fellow! he was in sad trouble, without a penny in his pocket, or a chance of getting one, and him with the richest woman in England for his wife. When we told him of the luck you'd had--"
"So it was you who told him, was it?"
"Yes, it was, and I daresay you'd have rather we hadn't; you'd have rather he'd starved and got into trouble again, and rotted out his life in gaol. But Darcy and me were his true friends, if his own wife wasn't. We weren't going to see him hungry in the gutter while you were gorging yourself on the fat of the land. We gave him a good meal, he wanted it, poor chap; nothing but skin and bone he was. We told him all about you, and where you lived, put him inside a new suit of clothes, clothed him in new things from head to foot, we did, so that you shouldn't think he disgraced you by his appearance, and gave him the money to come down here; and he came."
"Well?"
For Mrs Darcy Sutherland had paused.
"Well? You think it's well, do you? Then all I can say is, I don't. Mrs Champion, I've come to see your husband."
"He's not here."
"He's not here? Then where is he?"
"It is sufficient for you to be informed that he's not here."
"Oh, no, it isn't; and don't you think it, my love. It's not sufficient by a long way. He promised to let us hear from him directly he got down here; we've heard nothing from that day to this, and that's some time ago, you know."
"If that is all you have to say I'll ring the bell."
"But it's not all I've got to say. Still, you can ring the bell if you like, it's not my bell. Though, if you take my advice, you'll hear me out before you do."
"Go on."
"Oh, I'll go on, as I told you before, don't you worry, and don't you try to bully me, because I'm not to be bullied, threatening me with your bells! Mrs Champion," the woman repeated the name with a curious gusto, enjoying the discomfort the sound of it occasioned the girl in front of her, "Mr Sutherland and me, we're not rich. Your husband promised to give us back that money we let him have, and since it seems that I can't see him I should like to see the colour of the money."
"That's what you want, is it? I begin to understand. How much was it?"
"Well, we'll say a thousand pounds."
"A thousand pounds!"
"A thousand pounds."
"Do you dare to pretend that you gave him a thousand pounds?"
"I don't pretend anything of the kind. I pretend nothing. What I say is this. If I can see Mr Robert Champion and enjoy the pleasure of a little chat with him I shall be content to receive back the cash we lent him. If I can't do that I want a thousand pounds. Don't you understand, my love?"
Miss Arnott did understand at last. She realised that the purport of this woman's errand was blackmail. When comprehension burst upon her she was silent; she was trying to collect her thoughts, to think--a process which the increasing pressure of "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" made difficult. Mrs Darcy Sutherland observed her obvious discomposure with smiling amusement, as the proverbial child might observe the movements of the fly which it has impaled with a pin.
Miss Arnott was saying to herself, or rather, endeavouring to say to herself--for her distress of mind was blurring her capacity for exact expression--that a thousand pounds was but a trifling sum to her, and that if by the expenditure of such an amount she could free herself from this new peril it would be money well spent. She did not stop to reflect, although, all the while, the idea was vaguely present in her mind that, by yielding to this woman's demand, she would be delivering herself to her body and soul. Her one feeling was the desire to get this woman out of the house without a scene--another scene such as she had had with Wilson, probably a much worse one than that. If she could only be relieved of the odious oppression born of her near neighbourhood, breathe purer air uncontaminated by this creature's presence, if she could only do this for a time it would be something. She would have a chance to look round her, to gather together her forces, her scattered senses. If she could only do that she might be more than a match for Mrs Darcy Sutherland yet. But she must have that chance, she must not have exposure--in its worst form--thrust upon her now, in her present state--she was becoming more and more conscious of shaky nerves--that might be more than she was able to bear. The chance was well worth a thousand pounds, which to her was nothing.
She was all at once seized with an overwhelming longing to take instant advantage of the chance the woman offered her. She resolved to give her what she asked.
"If I let you have what you want will you promise to go away immediately--right away?"
"I'll walk out of this house without speaking a word to a creature in it, or to anyone out of it for the matter of that, and I'll take the next train back to town, if that's what you mean."
"That's what I do mean. If I give you a cheque for a thousand pounds will that do?"
"If you leave it open, and make it payable to bearer, I don't know that I'd mind taking it. I suppose there's money enough at the bank to meet it; and that you won't try to stop its being paid."
"There's plenty of money to meet it, and I certainly shall not try to stop its being paid."
"Then I'll tell you what; you give me all the ready money you have got in the house, and an open cheque to bearer for the balance--that'll be more satisfactory for both parties--then I'll take myself off as fast as you like."
"Very well. I'll go and see what money I've got and I'll bring you a cheque for the rest."
Miss Arnott moved towards the door, intending to perpetrate what was perhaps the worst folly of which she had been guilty yet. Just as she reached the door it opened. Mr Stacey entered, followed by a dark, dapper gentleman--Ernest Gilbert.
Mr Stacey held out both hands to her in the effusive fashion which, when he chose, he could manage very well.
"My dear Miss Arnott, I think I'm unexpected." He was; so unexpected that, in the first flush of her surprise, the girl was oblivious of his outstretched hands. He went on, ignoring her confusion. "But I trust I am not unwelcome because I happen to come unheralded." Looking about him he noticed Mrs Sutherland. "But you are not alone. I hope that our unannounced entrance has not been an intrusion. May I ask you to make me known to your"--something caused him not to use the word which was already on the tip of his tongue--"to this lady."
"This is Mrs Darcy Sutherland."
"Mrs Darcy Sutherland?" In spite of his mellifluous tones there was something in the way in which he repeated the name which hardly suggested a compliment. "And what might Mrs Darcy Sutherland want with you?"
Mrs Sutherland took it upon herself to answer.
"Well, I never! the impudence of that! Who are you, pray? and what business is it of yours?"
The lawyer was blandness itself.
"I beg your pardon. Were you speaking to me?"
"Yes, I was speaking to you, and you know I was." She turned to Miss Arnott. "I think, my dear, it would be better if you were to ask these two gentlemen to leave us alone together till you and I have finished our little business."
"Business?" At the sound of the word Mr Stacey pricked up his ears. He addressed Miss Arnott. "As in all matters of business I have the honour to represent you, don't you think that, perhaps, you had better leave me to deal with this--lady in a matter of business?"
The lady referred to resented the suggestion hotly.
"What next, I wonder? You'll do nothing of the kind, my dear, not if I know it you won't. And as I'm in rather a hurry, perhaps you'll go and do what you said you would."
Mr Stacey put to Miss Arnott a question.
"What was it you said that you would do for this lady?"
Again the lady showed signs of heat.
"I never saw the equal of you for meddling. Don't you go poking your nose into other people's affairs, or you'll be sorry. If you take my advice, my dear, you won't tell him a single thing. I sha'n't, if you won't, you may trust me for that. You'll keep your own business to yourself, especially when it's business of such a very particular kind--interfering old party!"
"If you take my advice, Miss Arnott, and I think you have reason to know that in general my advice is to be trusted, you will tell me in the fewest, and also in the plainest, possible words what this person wants with you. It is evidently something of which she is ashamed, or she would not be so anxious for concealment."
"Don't you call me a person, because I won't have it; and don't you interfere in what's my business, because I won't have that either." The indignant Mrs Darcy Sutherland rose to her feet. "Now, look here, and don't let there be any mistake about it, I'm not going to have this impudent old man humbugging about with me, so don't let anyone think it. So you'll please to understand, Miss Arnott, that if you're going to get what you promised to get, you'd better be quick about it, because I've had about as much as I care to put up with. I'm not going to let any man trample on me, I don't care who he is, especially when I don't know him from Adam."
"Surely there can be no objection to my putting a simple question. What is it you promised to get for this--lady about which she betrays so much anxiety?"
Miss Arnott replied.
"If you don't mind, I'd rather not have any bother. I've had some trouble already."
"I know you have; it is because of that that we are here. Believe me, my dear young lady, you will be quite safe if you trust yourself in my hands."
"I don't want to have any more trouble, so, as it wasn't a sum which was of much consequence to me, I was just going to get some money which Mrs Sutherland wanted when you came in."
"Money?"
"Yes, money!--money she owes me!--so now you know!"
"Do you owe this--lady money?"
"Well, it isn't exactly that I owe it, but money is owing to her, I believe."
"How much?"
"A thousand pounds."
"A thousand pounds! Is it possible that you were thinking of giving this woman a thousand pounds?"
At this point Mrs Darcy Sutherland thought proper to give her passion reins, with results which were hardly becoming.
"Look here, don't you call me a woman, you white-headed old rooster, as if I wasn't a lady! I'm as much a lady as she is, and a good deal more. The next time you give me any more of your sauce, I'll smack your face; I've done it to better men than you before to-day, so don't you say that I didn't warn you!" She turned to Miss Arnott. "As for you--how much longer are you going to be tommy-rotting about? Are you going to give me that thousand pounds, or aren't you? You know what the consequences will be if you don't! Don't you think, in spite of his smooth tongue, that he can save you from them, because he can't, as you shall very soon see. Now, am I going to have that money or not?"
Mr Gilbert, asserting himself for the first time, interfered.
"Stacey, I should like to say a few words to Mrs Darcy Sutherland. Mrs Darcy Sutherland, I believe my name is not unknown to you--Ernest Gilbert."
"Ernest Gilbert?" The woman changed countenance. "Not the Ernest Gilbert?"
"Yes, the Ernest Gilbert. And I see you are the Mrs Darcy Sutherland; thank you very much. I have been favoured with instructions to proceed against a gang of long firm swindlers, the ringleader of whom is a man who calls himself Darcy Sutherland. There's a warrant out for his arrest, but for the moment he's slipped through our fingers. There has been some talk as to whether your name should be included in that warrant; at present, it isn't. When you leave here I'll have you followed. The probability is that you'll make for the man you call your husband. If you do so, we'll have him; if you don't, we'll have you--see?"
On hearing this the woman flung all remnants of decency from her.
"That's the time of day, is it? You think you've got me, do you? Fancy you've only got to snap your fingers and I'm done for? That's where you're wrong, as I'll soon show you. If I'm in a bit of a hole, what about her? Who do you think she is? What do you think she's been doing? I'll tell you if you don't know, and then we shall know where we are!--and she'll know too!--by----! she will!"
Mr Ernest Gilbert glanced round towards Mr Stacey.
"Take Miss Arnott out of the room."
Inside thirty seconds Mr Stacey had whisked the girl out of the room and vanished with her. Mrs Darcy Sutherland, realising the trick which was being played, rushed to the door. But Mr Gilbert was there first; with the key turned, he stood with his back to the door and faced her.
"You get away from in front of that door! What do you mean by turning that key? You open that door and let me out this instant!"
The lawyer's reply did not breathe the spirit of conciliation.
"I'll see you hung first."
"Don't you speak to me like that! Who do you think you're talking to?"
"To you. Now, you foul-mouthed judy, I'm going to take off the gloves to deal with you. I've not had the dregs of the criminal population pass through my hands all these years without knowing how to deal with a woman of your type, as I'm going to show you. What were you going to say to Miss Arnott?--out with it!"
"Never mind what I was going to say to Miss Arnott; I'm going to say nothing to you; don't you think it! Who do you think you're trying to bounce?"
"You're going to say exactly what you would have said if that young lady had remained in the room, or when you do go it will be in the charge of a policeman."
"Oh, shall I? We'll see! Don't you make any mistake!"
"Don't you."
"You must think I'm a simple-minded innocent, to come trying to play your confidence tricks off on me. What do you want me to think I'll be in the charge of a policemen for, I'd like to know?"
"Blackmail."
"Blackmail! What do you mean?"
"You know perfectly well what I mean. You have just been trying to blackmail that girl to the tune of a thousand pounds. No offence more severely punished. I'll have you jugged on one charge, and the blackguard you call your husband on another."
"I wasn't trying to do anything of the sort; don't fancy you can bluff me! I was only telling the truth."
"Makes it worse. Suppose you believed her to have committed murder, and said you'd out with what you knew if she didn't give you a thousand pounds--that would be blackmail in its most heinous form; you'd get a lifer as sure as you're alive. My time's valuable. Which is it going to be--the policeman or what you call the truth?"
"If I do tell you what use will you make of it?"
"No questions answered. Which is it going to be?"
"If I tell you, will you let me go right straight off? No shadowing or anything of that kind?"
"The only promise I'll make is that I won't let you go if you don't. Out with it!"
"You're very hard on a girl! I don't know what I've done to you!"
"No snivelling; put away that evil-smelling rag; I'm going to have that policeman."
He was standing by the bell.
"Don't! I'll tell you!"
"Then tell!"
"I don't know what it is you want me to tell you--I really don't!"
"I want you to tell me what's the pull you've got, or think you've got, over Miss Arnott."
"It's about that chap who was killed in the woods here."
"What about him?"
"He was her husband."
"How do you know?"
"I ought to. He was an old friend of mine, and I was her bridesmaid when she married him."
"Why did she keep him dark?"
"Well, he got into a bit of trouble."
"Go on! out with it all! and don't you stammer!"
"I'm not stammering, and I'm going on as fast as ever I can! I never saw anyone like you. He got into prison, that's what he did, and of course she wasn't proud of it. He only came out the morning of the day he came down here; my husband and me lent him the money to come with, and we want our money back again--we can't afford to lose it."
"I see. His object in coming was blackmail--like yours. Is that all the pull?"
"All! I should think it's enough, considering. But, as it happens, it isn't all."
"What else is there?"
"Why, she killed him."
"How do you know?"
"It stands to reason. Why didn't she let out he was her husband and that she knew all about him? Isn't it plain enough why? Because they met in the woods, and had a bit of a quarrel, and she knifed him, that's why. And she'll swing for it in spite of all her money. And it's because she knows it that she was so willing to give me that thousand pounds. What do you think?"
"You evil-speaking, black-hearted cat! Now I'll have that policeman, and for what you've said to me you shall have a lifer!"
He moved towards the bell.
"Don't! you promised you'd let me go!"
"I promised nothing of the kind, you---! I tell you what I will do. I'll unlock that door and let you through it. You shall have six hours' start, and then I'll have a warrant out for you, and if I catch you I promise I'll do my best to get you penal servitude for life. As we've a shrewd idea of your husband's whereabouts, if you take my advice you'll keep away from him. Now, out you go!"
Unlocking the door he threw it open.
"Six hours mind, honest!"
"Six hours, by my watch. After that, if I can catch you I will, you can bet on it. Take yourself outside this house before I change my mind. You'd better!"
Apparently Mrs Darcy Sutherland was of his opinion; she was out of the house with a swiftness which did credit to her agility. Almost as soon as she had gone Mr Stacey appeared in the doorway of the room she had just quitted.
Mr Stacey put a question to Mr Gilbert.
"Have you got rid of her?"
"Very much so. Stacey, I must see Miss Arnott at once, the sooner the safer. I'm afraid she did it."
"Do you mean that she killed that fellow in Cooper's Spinney? I don't believe a word of it. What's that woman been saying?"
"It's not a question of belief but of fact. I'll tell you afterwards what she's been saying. What we want to do is to get at the truth. I fancy we shall do it if you let me have a few minutes' conversation with your young friend. If she didn't do it I'll do my level best to prevent a hair of her head from being injured, and if she did I may be able to save her. This is one of those cases in which, before I'm able to move, I must know just where I am standing."
"You seem to have an ethical standard of your own."
"A man in my line of business must have. Where's Miss Arnott?"
"I'll take you to her. She's expecting you. I told her you'd like to have a little talk with her. But, mind this, she's anything but well, poor girl! I believe she's been worried half out of her mind."
"I shouldn't wonder."
"I didn't bring you down here to subject her to a hostile cross-examination. I won't let you do it--especially in her present condition."
"When you've finished perhaps you'll take me to her; you don't want her to hang."
"Hang! Gilbert! God forbid! Whatever she may have done she's only a child, and I'm persuaded that at heart she's as innocent as you or me."
"If she isn't more innocent than I am I'm sorry for her. Will you take me to see this paragon of all the feminine virtues?"
"You wear your cynicism like a cloak; it's not such an essential part as you choose to imagine."
Ernest Gilbert smiled as if he would show his teeth.
Mr Stacey led the way to an apartment which was called the red drawing-room, where already that afternoon Miss Arnott had interviewed Hugh Morice and Mrs Forrester. It was a pleasant, well-lighted room, three windows ran up one side of it almost from floor to ceiling. The girl was standing in front of one of these as the two men entered, looking out on to the Italian garden, which was a blaze of sunshine and of flowers. Mr Stacey crossed to her with his somewhat exuberant, old-fashioned courtesy.
"Permit me, my dear young lady, to offer you a chair. I think you will find this a comfortable one. There, how is that?" She had seated herself, at his invitation, in a large, straight-backed armchair covered with a fine brocade, gold on a crimson background, whose age only enhanced its beauty. "As I was telling you just now, I have heard, to my great distress, that several things have happened recently, hereabouts, which could hardly tend to an increase of your comfort."
"No, indeed."
"Part of my information came from my very good friend here, and he will be your very good friend also if you will let him. Let me introduce you to Mr Ernest Gilbert."
In acknowledgment of the introduction the girl inclined her head. Mr Gilbert gave his a perfunctory little shake, as if he had a stiff neck.
"I am glad to meet you, Mr Gilbert. I was sorry to learn from Mr Morice that you have sent me back my money and refused to defend Jim Baker."
Mr Stacey interposed before the other had a chance to answer.
"Quite so, my dear young lady, quite so; we will come to that presently. Mr Gilbert came to see me this morning on that very subject. It is in consequence of certain communications which he then made to me that we are here. You instructed him, from what I understand, to defend this unfortunate man."
"Which he at first consented, and then declined to do."
This time it was Mr Gilbert who interposed, before Mr Stacey was ready with his reply.
"Stacey, if you don't mind, I'll speak. I think it's possible that Miss Arnott and I may understand each other in half a dozen sentences."
Mr Gilbert was leaning over the back of a chair, right in front of her. The girl eyed him steadily. There was a perceptible interval, during which neither spoke, as if each was taking the other's measure. Then the girl smiled, naturally, easily, as if amused by some quality which she discerned either in the lawyer's terrier-like countenance or in the keenness of his scrutiny. It was she who was the first to speak, still with an air of amusement.
"I will try to understand you, and I should like you to understand me. At present I'm afraid you don't."
"I'm beginning to."
"Are you? That's good news."
"Your nerves are strong."
"I've always flattered myself that they weren't weak."
"You like plain speaking."
"I do--that is, when occasion requires."
"This is such an occasion."
"I think it is."
"Then you won't mind my asking you a plain question."
"Not at all."
"Who killed that man in Cooper's Spinney?"
"I don't know."
"You are sure?"
"Quite."
"Are you aware that Jim Baker thinks you killed him?"
"I am."
"And that Hugh Morice thinks so also?"
"I know he did think so; I fancy that now he has his doubts--at least, I hope he has."
"How do you explain the fact of two such very different men being under the same erroneous impression?"
"I can't explain it; I can explain nothing. I don't know if you are aware that until quite recently I thought it was Mr Morice himself who killed that man."
"What made you think that?"
"Two or three things, but as I am now of a different opinion it doesn't matter what they were."
"But it does matter--it matters very much. What made you think that Hugh Morice killed that man?"
The girl turned to Mr Stacey.
"Shall I answer him? It's like this. I don't know where Mr Gilbert's questions may be landing me, and I don't want to have more trouble than I have had already--especially on this particular point."
"My dear young lady, if your own conscience acquits you--and I am sure it does--my strongest advice to you is, tell all you have to tell. The more light we have thrown on the matter the better. I grieve to learn that the finger of scandal has been pointed at you, and that, if we are not very careful, very serious and disagreeable consequences may presently ensue. I implore you to hide nothing from us which may enable us to afford you more than adequate protection from any danger which may threaten. This may prove to be a very grave business."
"I'm not afraid of what may happen to me, not one bit. Pray don't either of you be under any delusion on that point. What I don't want is to have something happen to anyone else because of me." She addressed Mr Gilbert. "What use will you make of any information which I may give you with regard to Mr Morice?"
"If it will relieve your mind, Miss Arnott, and enable you to answer my question, let me inform you that I am sure--whatever you may suppose to the contrary--that Hugh Morice is not the guilty person."
"Why are you sure?"
"First, because I know him; and he's not that kind of man. And second, because in the course of a lengthy interview I had with him I should have perceived something to cause me to suspect his guilt, instead of which I was struck by his conviction of yours."
"Now I also believe he is innocent--but I had reasons for my doubts; better ones than he had for his doubts of me."
"May I ask what those reasons were?"
"I was within a very short distance of where the murder was committed, and though I was not an actual witness, I heard. A moment afterwards I saw Mr Morice come running from--the place where it was done, as if for his life. Then--by the dead man I found the knife with which he had been killed. It was Mr Morice's knife; a few minutes before I had seen him with it in his hand."
"You found Hugh Morice's knife? What did you do with it?"
"It is still in my possession. You see, I thought that he was guilty, and--for reasons of my own--I did not wish to have the fact made public."
"This is a curious tangle into which you have managed to get things between you. Have you any idea of what it is Mrs Darcy Sutherland has just been telling me?"
"I can guess. She has probably told you that the dead man was my husband--Robert Champion."
"Your husband! My dear young lady!"
This was Mr Stacey.
"Yes, my husband, who had that morning been released from gaol." Mr Stacey would, probably, have pursued the subject further, but with a gesture Mr Gilbert prevented him. The girl went on. "Mr Morice knew he was my husband. I thought he had killed him to save me from him; he thought I had done so to save myself. It is a puzzle. There is only one thing that seems clear."
"And that is?"
"That it was a woman who killed my husband."
"I see what you mean. I have been trying to splice the threads. That person who has just been here--Mrs Darcy Sutherland--do you think it possible that she could have been that woman?"
"I should say that it was impossible."
Mr William Granger, of the County Police, was just finishing tea in his official residence when there came a rap at the door leading into the street. Mr Granger was not in the best of tempers. The county policeman has not quite such a rosy time as his urban colleague is apt to suppose. Theoretically he is never off duty; his armlet is never off his sleeve. It is true that he has not so much to do as his city brother in the way of placing law-breakers under lock and key; but then he has to do a deal of walking exercise. For instance, Mr Granger had a twelve-mile beat to go over every day of his life, hot or cold, rain or shine, besides various local perambulations before or after his main round was finished. Not infrequently he walked twenty miles a day, occasionally more.
One would have thought that so much pedestrianism would have kept Mr Granger thin; he himself sincerely wished that it had had that effect. As a matter of fact he was the stoutest man in the village, which was galling. First, because he was conscious that his bulk did not tend to an increase of personal dignity. Second, because, when the inspector came from the neighbouring town, he was apt to make unpleasant remarks about his getting plumper every time he saw him; hinting that it was a very snug and easy billet for which he drew his pay; adding a hope that it was not because he was neglecting his duty that he was putting on weight so fast. Third, because when one is fat walking is apt to result in considerable physical discomfort, and twenty miles on a hot summer's day for a man under five foot ten who turns the scale at seventeen stone!
Mr Granger, who had come back hot and tired, had scarcely flung his helmet into one corner of the room, and his tunic into the other, when his inspector entered. That inspector was fond of paying surprise visits; he surprised Mr Granger very much just then. The policeman had a bad time. His official superior more than hinted that not only had he cut his round unduly short on that particular day, but that he was in the habit of curtailing it, owing to physical incapacity. Then he took him for another little stroll, insisting on his accompanying him to the station and seeing him off in the train which took him back to headquarters, which entailed another walk of a good six miles--three there and three back--along the glaring, dusty road.
By the time Mr Granger was home again he was as bad-tempered a policeman as you would have cared to encounter. Tea, which had been postponed to an unholy hour, did but little to improve either his temper or his spirits. He scarcely opened his mouth except to swallow his food and snap at his wife; and when, just as she was clearing away the tea-things, there came that rap at the door, there proceeded from his lips certain expletives which were very unbecoming to a constable, as his wife was not slow to point out.
"William! what are you saying? I will not have you use such language in my presence. I should like to know what Mr Giles would say if he heard you."
Mr Giles was the inspector with whom Mr Granger had just such an agreeable interview; the allusion was unfortunate.
"Mr Giles be----"
"William!"
"Then you shouldn't exasperate me; you only do it on purpose; as if I hadn't enough to put up with as it is. Don't stand there trying to put me in a bad temper, but just open that door and see who's knocking."
Possibly Mr Granger spoke in louder tones than he supposed, because before his helpmate could reach the door in question it was opened and someone put his head inside.
"All right, Mr Granger, I'm sure that good lady of yours has enough to do without bothering about opening doors; it's only yours very truly."
The newcomer spoke in a tone of voice which suggested complete confidence that he would be welcome; a confidence, however, which was by no means justified by the manner of his reception. The constable stared at him as if he would almost sooner have seen Inspector Giles again.
"You! What brings you here at this time of day? I thought you were in London."
"Ah, that's where you thought wrong. Mrs Granger, what's that you've got there--tea? I'm just about feeling equal to a sup of tea, if it's only what's left at the bottom of the pot."
The speaker was a tall, loose-limbed man with a red face, and hair just turning grey. From his appearance he might have been a grazier, or a farmer, or something to do with cattle; only it happened that he was Mr Thomas Nunn, the detective from London who had been specially detailed for duty in connection with the murder in Cooper's Spinney. As Mr Granger had learned to associate his presence with worries of more kinds than one, it was small wonder--especially in the frame of mind in which he then was--that he did not receive him with open arms. Mr Nunn seemed to notice nothing, not even the doubtful glances with which Mrs Granger looked into her teapot.
"There isn't a drop in here, and I don't know that it will bear more water."
"Put in another half-spoonful and fill it up out of the kettle; anything'll do for me so long as there's plenty of it and it's moist, as you'd know if you saw the inside of my throat. Talk about dust!"
Mr Granger was eyeing him askance.
"You never come down from London. I saw the train come in, and you weren't in it."
"No, I haven't come from London."
"The last train back to London's gone--how are you going to manage?"
"Well, if it does come to the pinch I thought that you might give me a shake-down somewhere."
The policeman glanced at his wife.
"I don't know about that. I ain't been paid for the last time you were here. They don't seem too anxious to pay your bills--your people don't."
"That's their red tape. You'll get your money. This time, however, I'm going to pay for what I have down on the nail."
"What's brought you? You know, Mr Nunn, this ain't an inn. My wife and me don't pretend to find quarters for all the members of the force."
"Of course you don't. But I think you'll be interested when you hear what has brought me. I may be wrong, but I think you will. I've come from Winchester."
"From Winchester?"
Husband and wife both started.
"Yes, from Winchester. I've been to see that chap Baker. By the way, I hear he's a relation of yours."
"Most of the people is related hereabouts, somehow; but he's only distant. He's only a sort of a cousin, and I've never had much truck with him though I ain't saying he's not a relation. What's up with him now?"
"He made a communication to the governor, and the governor made a communication to headquarters, and headquarters made a communication to me. In consequence of that communication I've been paying him a call."
"What's the last thing he's been saying?"
"Well, he's been making a confession."
At this point Mrs Granger--who was lingering with the tea-tray--interposed.
"A confession, Mr Nunn! You don't mean for to tell that after all he owns up 'twas he who killed he man?"
"No, I can't say exactly that I do. It's not that sort of confession he's been making. What he's been confessing is that he knows who did kill him."
"Who was it, Mr Nunn?"
"Supposing, Mrs Granger, you were to get me that sup of tea. If you were to know what my throat felt like you wouldn't expect to get much through it till it had had a good rinsing."
The constable issued his marital orders.
"Now then, Susan, hurry up with that tea for Mr Nunn. What are you standing there gaping for? If you were to know what the dust is like you'd move a little quicker."
Mrs Granger proceeded to hurry. Mr Nunn seated himself comfortably at the table and waited, showing no sign of a desire to continue the conversation till the tea appeared. His host dropped a hint or two, pointing out that to him, in his official capacity, the matter was of capital importance. But Mr Nunn declined to take them. When the tea did appear he showed more reticence than seemed altogether necessary. He was certainly slower in coming to the point than his hearers relished. Mr Granger did his best to prompt him.
"Well, Mr Nunn, now that you've had three cups of tea perhaps you wouldn't mind mentioning what Jim Baker's been saying that's brought you here."
Mr Nunn helped himself to a fourth.
"I'm in rather a difficult position."
"I daresay. It might make it easier perhaps if you were to tell me just what it is."
"I'm not so sure, Granger, I'm not so sure. That relative of yours is a queer fish."
"Maybe I know what sort of a fish he is better than you do, seeing I've known him all my life."
"What I've got to ask myself is--What reliance is to be placed on what he says?"
"Perhaps I might be able to tell you if you were to let me know what he does say."
"Oh, that's the point." Mr Nunn stirred what remained of his fourth cup of tea with a meditative air. "Mr Granger, I don't want to say anything that sounds unfriendly or that's calculated to hurt your feelings, but I'm beginning to be afraid that you've muddled this case."
"Me muddled it! Seeing that you've had the handling of it from the first, if anyone's muddled it, it's you."
"I don't see how you make that out, Mr Granger, seeing that you're on the spot and I'm not."
"What's the good of being on the spot if I'm not allowed to move a finger except by your instructions?"
"Have there been rumours, Mr Granger? and by that I mean rumours which a man who had his professional advancement at heart might have laid his hand on."
"Of course there have been rumours! there's been nothing else but rumours! But every time I mentioned one of them to you all I got was a wigging for my pains."
"That's because the ones you mentioned to me were only will-o'-the-wisps. According to the information I've received the real clues you've let slip through your fingers."
Mr Granger stood up. He was again uncomfortably hot. His manner was hardly deferential.
"Excuse me, Mr Nunn, but if you've come here to lecture me while drinking of my wife's tea, since I've had a long and a hard day's work, perhaps you'll let me go and clean myself and have a bit of rest."
"If there's anything in what Jim Baker says there's plenty for you to do, Mr Granger, before you think of resting."
"What the devil does he say?"
"You needn't swear at me, Mr Granger, thank you all the same. I've come here for the express purpose of telling you what he says."
"Then you're a long time doing it."
"Don't you speak to me like that, Granger, because I won't have it. I conduct the cases which are placed in my hands in my own way, and I don't want no teaching from you. Jim Baker says that although he didn't kill the chap himself he saw him being killed, and who it was that killed him."
"Who does he say it was?"
"Why, the young woman up at Exham Park--Miss Arnott."