The next day Dora altered her demeanour towards Joad. Hitherto she had been cold and unapproachable; now she sought his society with smiles, and quite bewildered the poor man with kindness. If Joad, who was naturally very crafty, had not been in love, he would have mistrusted this sudden transformation and been on his guard. As it was, in the then state of his feelings, he ascribed Dora's changed behaviour to a desire to be on better terms with one who was bound, owing to the terms of the will, to come into contact daily with her. In this belief he reciprocated her advances, and vied with her in amiability.
On her part, Mrs. Tice viewed the comedy with displeasure. Nevertheless, she made no attempt to interfere. Although she was unwilling to be an active party in revealing the truth to Dora, yet she was by no means displeased that the girl should learn it from a third person. Dora was deeply in love with Allen; and the sooner she realized that there could be no union between them, the better it would be. To come to such an understanding, it was necessary that she should learn the secret. When she was possessed of such knowledge, the housekeeper was satisfied that, even if Dr. Scott did desire the match, Dora would refuse her consent thereto. Therefore Mrs. Tice preferred being spectator to actor. For some days Dora pursued her amiable tactics, and Joad fell deep and deeper in love. He was well aware, in his own heart, that this girl, young enough to be his granddaughter, would never consent to be his wife; but for all that, he put no restraint upon his feelings. Moreover, he had a weapon in his hand which he hoped to use with effect. In spite of his belief that Dora might not accept him voluntarily, he fancied that he could force her into the match by making use of the weapon aforesaid. But it was not to be brought into active service save as a last resource.
Meanwhile the comedy of May and December, of Methuselah in Arcady, of "An Old Man's Darling," went gaily on. Joad paid more attention to his dress, he drank less brandy, and talked more affably. Instead of burying himself in the library, he was to be found haunting the steps of Dora. He loved her very shadow, and was never tired of gazing at her face. She seemed to him to be the most beautiful, the most wonderful, the most gracious woman in the world; and he gloated over her charms like an old satyr. Crafty, astute and worldly as he was, he fell prostrate at her feet, a debased Merlin entangled in the wiles of an artificial Vivien.
Dora played her part bravely; but at times it was too much for her, and she would leave the house to scour the country on her bicycle. Joad was too old and shaky to accompany her, and she was thus relieved in some measure from his senile adoration. But, however near she approached to Canterbury, she never entered the town or sought out Allen.
"No," she said to herself, when unusually impelled to make the visit; "first I shall learn the truth. Once in possession of Allen's secret, of the name of Mr. Edermont's assassin, and I shall know how to act; till then I shall remain absent."
But, with all her diplomacy, it was not so easy to gain the confidence of Joad. The least hint at Mr. Edermont's past, and he withdrew into himself. He evaded her most dexterous inquiries; and when she pressed him hard, assumed the character of a dull, stupid old man who knew nothing about the matter. Yet he was not unwilling to discuss the details of the murder and subsequent robbery, although he professed himself unable to account for either. By acting thus, he ignored the question of Edermont's secret enemy.
But one day Dora succeeded in forcing him into plain speaking; but the revelation made was one she was far from expecting. The beginning of the whole matter lay in the fact that she discovered Joad in the library the worse for drink. It was not that he was confused or maudlin, for the man's brain and speech were both clear. But he was filled with Dutch courage, which made him more audacious than usual. Dora reproved him for his vice.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, drinking so much brandy, Mr. Joad!" she said severely.
"I have not touched brandy for weeks!" said Joad, lying glibly, after the fashion of habitual drunkards.
Dora looked at him in contempt, and pointed out a tall mirror, before which they were both standing. It reflected her own tall, straight form, and also the figure of the disreputable old sinner.
"Can you see your face and deny it?" she said in a tone of rebuke. "Your eyes are red, your clothes are awry, your----"
"Leave me to bear the burden of my own sins," said Joad sullenly; "if I take brandy, I don't ask you to pay for it."
"But you are a gentleman, a scholar," persisted Dora, sorry for the wretched old creature; "you should be above such low vices."
"We cannot be above the depths to which we have fallen, Miss Carew. My life has been one long failure, so it is scarcely to be wondered at that I fly to drink for consolation. Few men have been so hardly treated as I have been."
"Yet Mr. Edermont helped you."
"No doubt," retorted Joad viciously; "but he would not have stretched out a finger to save me if I had not forced him to."
"You forced Mr. Edermont to----?"
"I forced him to nothing," interrupted Joad, seeing that he had gone too far. "It is only my way of speaking. Don't mind the ramblings of a foolish old failure."
Dora looked at him silently. His eyes were filled with tears, and, ashamed of betraying his emotion, he turned away to busy himself with dusting a book. In the few words which he had let slip Dora saw that he had possessed some power over the dead man which had won him house and home. That power she believed was connected with the lifelong misery of Edermont, and with the fact of his murder. The idea made her take an unexpected step. Seizing the astonished Joad by the arm, she whirled him round, so as to look straight into his eyes.
"Did you kill Mr. Edermont?" she asked abruptly. Joad looked at her in amazement, and sneered in her face.
"O Lord! Have you got that idea into your head?" said he contemptuously. "No, Miss Carew, I did not kill Mr. Edermont. One does not readily kill the goose with the golden eggs. By Julian's death I have lost a protector--almost a home. Do you take me for a fool?"
"I take you for a man who knows more than he says," said Dora tartly.
"Then I am wise. I keep my own counsel until the time comes for me to speak."
"I do not understand you."
"You will some day," retorted Joad with a leer, "and that sooner than you expect. I wonder at your accusing me of this crime," he continued in an injured tone. "By your own evidence the murder took place at one o'clock, and at that time I was talking to Mr. Pride in my cottage. I wonder at your talking like this, Miss Carew."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Joad," said Dora ceremoniously. "I know that you proved an alibi. There is one thing about you that I admire," she added, after a pause.
Joad's eyes glittered like stars as he turned an admiring glance in the direction of the young girl, and bent forward eagerly.
"What is that?" he demanded.
"You do not care for money."
"No," said Joad, after a pause; "I do not care particularly for money. As long as I have a roof, a crust, and my books, I am satisfied. My wants are simple. But why," he continued, looking at her in a puzzled way, "why do you make such a remark?"
"Because you refuse to pocket fifty thousand pounds."
"You allude to the reward. My dear lady, I cannot gain that."
"I am not so sure of your inability to do so," said Dora coolly. "With your knowledge of Mr. Edermont's past life, you must know who it was he feared. If you know the name of that person, you know who killed him. With that knowledge, why not apply for the fifty thousand pounds?"
"I am not so omniscient as you think, Miss Carew. But we will suppose, for the sake of argument, that I have such knowledge: what would it benefit me to gain this fortune?"
"You could do good with it."
"Could I gain your love?"
Dora turned away with a flushed face, feeling the delicacy of the position.
"You must not talk to me like that, Mr. Joad," she said with great dignity.
"Why not? I love you."
"Then you ought to be ashamed to say so. I am the affianced wife of another man."
"Allen Scott?"
"Yes," said Dora with emphasis, "Dr. Allen Scott.
"Bah! Why should you think of him? Has he stood by you in this trouble? Not he! He left you to fight the matter out by yourself. Besides, there are reasons why you should not marry him."
Dora's heart beat rapidly. Was she about to learn the truth? Had her rebuff brought about the desired result, and would this old man reveal what so long had been hidden? She believed that such was the case, and could scarcely manage, so intense was her excitement, to ask the necessary question to lure him on to a full confession. However, by an effort of will she managed to keep her voice fairly steady.
"Are there any special reasons that you know of?"
"Several!" snarled Joad, rubbing his hands together, with an evil glitter in his eyes.
"I should be glad to hear them," she said in the tone of an empress.
"I dare say you would; but I don't intend to tell you what they are."
"Why not?" demanded Dora, trying to hide her disappointment at this unlooked-for result.
"Because I don't choose to speak until it is my pleasure to do so," said Joad insolently. "Oh, I can see what you are up to, Miss Carew. You are trying to force the truth out of me for purposes of your own. But you shan't--shan't--shan't!"
The old creature stamped with rage, and his face grew so red in his excitement that Dora really thought he was about to have a fit. She looked at him in astonishment, while he strove to control his anger and assume a dignified demeanour. Such conduct was not to be tolerated, and Dora walked towards the door of the library.
"I shall return when you know how to conduct yourself," she said coldly.
Before she could open the door the delinquent shuffled after her, in a state of childish repentance. "Do not go, do not go!" he cried piteously. "I am very sorry; indeed, I am very sorry."
"Then why do you talk such nonsense?" said Dora, seeing that she had gained an advantage. "Do you think I want to know your secrets, you foolish old man?"
"Yes, yes; I am a foolish old man," he repeated, catching up her words eagerly; "but do not be angry with me. I love you. Oh, Dora, dear, sweet Dora, I love you!" and whining in this fashion the old man fell on his knees.
"Rise, Mr. Joad! Do not be foolish. Get up at once--I insist!"
"Not until you promise to be my wife. I love you. I am old, but my heart is young. Listen, listen!" he continued, glancing round. "If you want money, I can get fifty thousand pounds. I know who killed Julian!"
Dora tore her dress from his grasp in horror. "You know who killed Mr. Edermont!"
"Yes; I will tell the name; I will gain the fortune; I will give it to you. Only consent to be my wife."
"Your wife!" cried Dora, shrinking back with visible repugnance.
"Ah, I know that I am old," said Joad piteously, "but reflect. There is much to be gained by you. I cannot live long; you would soon be my widow. I would leave you all the money; and think how rich you would be!"
"I wouldn't marry you if you offered me millions!" said Dora with contempt. "I love one man only, and him only shall I marry."
Joad rose in a fury. "Don't tell me his name!" he shrieked; "I know it. Allen--that miserable wretch! But you shall never marry him--never!"
"How can you prevent our marriage?"
"By telling the truth--by gaining the fortune!" He stepped forward and seized her wrist. "I hold the life of your lover in the hollow of my hand!"
"What do you mean?" panted Dora. "Explain!"
"You wish to know my secrets. Well, I shall tell you one--one only--that will make your heart sore and your face white. Who killed Julian? Who came here in the dead of night and struck his foul blow? Who but Allen Scott--Allen Scott, the murderer! Curse him!"
This, then, was the weapon which Joad had reserved to strike his last blow. By denouncing Scott he hoped to win a fortune; but by keeping silent for Dora's sake he thought he could force her to marry him. In either case he stood to win. With his indifference to money, he preferred the girl to the fifty thousand pounds. It only remained for her to accept his hand, in order to save her lover from death on the gallows. But as yet this was doubtful. Certainly the bolt had been shot; but would the bolt fall? He waited.
With fixed eyes and bloodless face, Dora retreated slowly backwards. At length she reached the wall, and leant against it, overcome with mingled feelings of terror and astonishment. Joad, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, stood looking at her, with a doubtful smile on his pale lips. Seeing that she did not speak, he repeated his accusation in a different form. He was now calmer.
"Your lover is the murderer of your guardian," said he, watching the effect of each word.
Something in the malice of his tones brought back the courage to Dora's heart with a rush. She flushed up bravely, and stepped forward boldly. Joad did not move, and she came close to him--so close that he could feel her breath on his withered cheek. For a final taunt he spoke again.
"A murderer--that fine young man--your lover! Just think of it!"
"You lie!" She brought out the words coldly, and without the least display of passion. Knowing Scott as she did, the charge was so monstrous that she could hardly forbear from breaking into hysterical laughter. As it was, she controlled herself admirably, and merely repeated her words. "You lie, Mr. Joad," she said steadily. "Your accusation springs from malice. You cannot substantiate your lie."
Without wasting time in asseverations, Joad simply raised his finger to emphasize his words. He related without preamble the grounds upon which he based his accusation.
"Listen," he said, in his rich, deep voice; "you remember that day on which you brought Scott to see Julian. Very good. As you know, they had a serious quarrel. You heard yourself that Julian called out for protection. Scott wished to kill him at that moment."
"But why--why?" she stammered, making a vague gesture with her hand.
"Ah! you ask me more than I can tell. I was not present during the conversation, you know. However, I can guess what took place. I refuse to tell all, but this much I dare speak. Julian cast certain reflections on the dead parents of Scott; he mentioned something which took place twenty and more years ago."
"At Christchurch?" she murmured.
He looked surprised.
"I don't know who told you so much," he said brusquely, "but I admit that your information is correct. At Christchurch, Miss Carew, an episode took place which was not creditable to Dr. Scott's parents."
"Had the episode to do with Mr. Edermont?"
"I cannot tell you. I am speaking of my grounds for suspecting your lover. What passed before matters nothing. Suffice it for you to understand that Julian quarrelled with Scott, and he was afraid lest the young man should murder him. You heard his cry for help."
"Well?" said Dora, seeing that he paused.
"Well," replied Joad, with a suave smile, "hedidmurder him."
"No; I do not believe it. Where are your proofs?"
Joad darted an imperious glance at her shrinking form.
"I am about to produce my proofs," he declared calmly. "On the night of the second of August I left here at nine o'clock. You assisted Julian to lock the gates behind me, if I remember. I went to my cottage and had my supper. Afterwards I waited for Mr. Pride, who had promised to look in on his return from Canterbury. Ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock struck, and still Pride did not come. I thought that he had arranged to stay all night in Canterbury, but shortly after twelve I went out on to the road to see if he was coming. I did not see him; I did see Dr. Scott."
"Allen?" cried Dora disbelievingly.
"Himself. He was coming down the road on a bicycle."
"How could you recognise him in the dark?"
"The moon was up. I recognised him in the moonlight."
"Did he see you?"
"No; I was standing in the shadow. I was astonished to see him near the Red House at midnight, and I watched him. He passed the gates, and got off his bicycle at the end of the wall. Then he turned down the side path which leads to the postern gate. I waited to see if he would return, but as he did not I was about to follow him, when Pride arrived. Unwilling to say anything about what I had seen, lest it should compromise your lover, I took Pride into my house, and there I got talking to him till after two o'clock. In the interest of our conversation, I quite forgot Scott and his visit. But the next morning"--he looked at her in a crafty way--"I heard of the murder, and I found the postern gate open."
"And--and what inference do you draw from all this?" murmured Dora, with white lips.
"I infer that Scott called to see Julian with reference to their previous quarrel, perhaps to demand proofs as to the episode of Christchurch. I believe that he climbed the wall and entered the house through the glass door of the drawing-room, which Julian had not locked. I have no doubt that he found Julian in his study, that Julian told him the story of the episode was locked up in the bureau. No doubt Scott insisted upon having the papers which revealed the dishonour of his parents placed in his hands. Julian would naturally refuse. Then the quarrel would recommence, and the end of it would be--well," added Joad, with a shrug, "you know the rest. Julian was killed, and the bureau robbed of that paper. What further proof can you desire that Dr. Scott murdered your guardian?"
Dora heard this story with a suffocating feeling in her throat. She felt as though a net were being thrown round Allen, as though he would be tangled in its meshes. It was true that he had returned from London on the night of the murder; but she could not understand why he should have visited the Red House at midnight. Then she remembered that Allen had gone to town on business connected with that terrible conversation with Edermont. What if he had learnt that Edermont had spoken the truth regarding the dishonour of his parents, and had returned to revenge himself on the old man? These thoughts occurred to her with lightning rapidity; but in the end they all gave place to one. She must save him at any cost; to do so she must close Joad's mouth.
"Why did you not speak of this before?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"I wished to tell you first. You know that I love you. I wish you to be my wife. If you marry me, Scott will be safe. If not----"
"If not, what would you do?"
"My duty," said he solemnly.
The situation was frightful. Dora felt that she must scream, if only to relieve the tension of her nerves. If Joad denounced Allen, the doctor would be arrested; and what defence could he make, what explanation could he give, for coming to the Red House on the night, at the very time, of the committal of the crime? She said nothing, trying to collect her thoughts, while Joad blinked at her through his half-shut eyes.
"And, after all, you couldn't marry him," he declared suddenly; "he is guilty."
"That has yet to be proved," said Dora faintly. "I cannot believe that Allen committed so horrible a crime. His motive----"
"His motive will be found in the papers he stole," said Joad brutally. "But come--your answer. Consent to be my wife, or I go to the police this evening."
"You--you must give me time," she stammered.
Joad nodded.
"That is only fair," he said gravely. "I will give you a week. If you do not promise by that time, well--your lover goes to the scaffold."
How Dora got out of the library and climbed the stairs to her own room she did not know. There was a humming in her ears, and the place seemed to go round and round. With an access of despair she threw herself on the bed, and tried to face the situation. Allen was innocent, she was certain, although no proofs of such innocence presented themselves at the moment. But, on the face of it, his conduct appeared to be suspicious. What was he doing at the Red House at midnight? Why had he come there by stealth? If Joad denounced him, Dora could see no hope of saving his life. Still, she could protect him by becoming the wife of this disreputable Silenus, whom she loathed with all her soul. But he held Allen's life in his hand, and the poor young fellow was doomed unless he could make some defence.
Defence! She sat up suddenly and thought. She had not yet heard Allen's side of the question. Perhaps he could explain himself, and give a reasonable excuse for his presence in the study at so untoward an hour. She remembered that Edermont had written asking Allen to call and see him. Might he not have appointed the conference for midnight, and have left the postern gate and the glass door open so that Allen could enter without attracting attention? All this was feasible enough, and might be put forward in his defence. But on second thoughts Dora gave way to despair. Even so straightforward a tale would be against the presumption of his innocence.
Assuming that he had been in the study at the appointed hour, how could he prove himself guiltless? The fact of the previous quarrel was known to herself and Joad. Nothing was more likely than that they might have continued their dispute. Perhaps Edermont might have threatened Allen with his pistol, and to protect himself Scott might have torn the knobkerrie from the wall. But had he struck the blow? Had he---- Dora closed her eyes with a faint cry, to shut out the vision of horror which that thought conjured into existence.
Without doubt Allen had been present in the study at the time of the murder. Joad saw him after twelve o'clock. Dora knew that the crime had been committed a minute or so before one. It was just possible that Allen had left the house before that time. But who could prove that he had so departed? Dora rose from her bed, and paced to and fro, distracted by a hundred thoughts that swarmed in her head like hiving bees.
"The murder was committed before one o'clock," she said aloud. "I can prove that. The striking of the clock came almost on top of that cry for help. Could Allen have gone away before then? He must have done. I cannot believe that he would murder an inoffensive old man. No provocation would make him commit so brutal a crime. He is cool and collected; he is not passionate and impulsive. No, no, no! Allen is innocent! He left my guardian alive and well. Allen went--but who remained?"
Had two people been present? Dora remembered that Edermont had written other letters at the same time as that to Allen. Perhaps he had invited a third person to be present at that midnight conference. If so, when Allen departed, the third person might have remained to kill Edermont and rifle the desk. If such were the case, Allen must know the name of that third person. Why, then, did he not denounce that person to the police?--not so much for the gaining of fifty thousand pounds as to accomplish an act of justice. Why was he silent? Why did he not speak out in his own defence? Dora could not but acknowledge in her own heart that the circumstantial evidence was strong against her lover.
"Oh, I can't stay here thinking--thinking!" she cried fiercely; "it will drive me mad. I shall go to Canterbury and see Allen. He must speak out now, if only to defend himself from Joad. A week--a week--seven days--and his life and my happiness to be saved in that short space of time. I must think; I must act. Oh, Allen, Allen!"
She glanced at her watch. It was close on four o'clock. If she rode into Canterbury at once, she might find Allen at home. He usually came in between four and five to have tea. No one was likely to be present, so she would have him all to herself. At once she made up her mind, and without a word to Joad or to Mrs. Tice she went out of the house. In a few minutes she was spinning along the highroad as fast as her machine could go.
Dora was right in her surmise. Allen was at home, and at tea. She went straight into the dining-room and saw him at the table. He looked up with an air of astonishment at her appearance; and, noting his pale and startled face, Dora felt a pang. Was he guilty after all, or was the terror visible in his face merely the result of her sudden entrance? Without a word, she shut the door sharply, and took a seat by the side of the table. Allen welcomed her with an air of constraint. He offered her a cup of tea and a plate of cake. Dora pushed them both away in a state of fierce excitement, leant her arms on the table, and looked at him steadily. He stared at her in surprise, marvelling at her strange behaviour.
"Allen," she said abruptly, "what were you doing at the Red House on the night of the murder?"
The young man turned even paler than before, dropped the plates he was holding, and fell into his chair as though he had been shot.
"Who--who says I was there?" he stammered.
"Mr. Joad--he accuses you."
"Accuses--acc----"--he could hardly get the words out--"accuses me--of what?"
"Of murdering Mr. Edermont. Allen, don't look at me like that. It is not true?"
"Dora," said Allen, shaking as with palsy, "I--I--I am--I am innocent. I--I swear--I'm innocent!"
Dora made no reply. In spite of his asseverations of innocence, she saw that he felt himself in a trap. His pallid face, his wild eyes, his trembling hands--all these signs hinted at a realization of his helpless position. Week by week since that fatal conversation he had grown thinner and more haggard. He was the shadow of the comely lover who had met her by the wayside when she had taken him to see Edermont. He looked round the room, as though searching for some means of escape. One would have thought that the officers of the law were already at the door, and that he was guilty. Dora knew that this was not the case, but could not be sure until she heard his explanation. Suddenly he threw up his hands with a gesture of despair.
"I was mad on that night," he said in a hoarse tone.
Dora drew back with a gasp. Was he about to confess to the crime and allege temporary insanity by way of excuse? A violent trembling seized all her limbs, and she was obliged to lean against the table while waiting for his next words.
"You say Joad saw me?" he asked, looking at her. "Joad can denounce me?"
"No," she murmured, "he will not denounce you."
"But why should he show me such mercy?" cried Allen with haggard surprise. "He admires you; he is jealous of me. To get rid of me he would willingly place a noose round my neck."
"That is true, Allen. But--you are safe from him. He--he has asked me to be his wife."
"Ah!" said he, jealously seizing her hands. "And you--you---- No!" He abruptly tossed her hands away. "You could never bring yourself to marry that wretch, even for fifty thousand pounds."
"He does not wish for that money," said Dora, with a calmness which surprised herself; "he wants me."
"Like his insolence! Of course you told him that such a thing was impossible!"
Dora raised her eyes to his with a look of pain.
"How could I?" she said slowly. "He saw you at the Red House on that night."
"Dora"--Allen again seized her hands--"you are sacrificing yourself to save me?"
"I can do no less, Allen. I love you. Ah!" she cried, with a burst of tears, "you will never know how I love you. I have suffered from your cruelty, your desertion, from your strange silence, but I still love you, as I have always done. As I cannot be your wife and make you happy, I can still marry this man and save you from the consequences of your crime."
"Dora! You do not believe that I am guilty?"
"No, Allen, no; still, I cannot understand. You have refused me your confidence; you say you were mad on that night. Morally speaking, you are innocent, I am certain. But still, in a moment of anger----"
"I swear that I did not touch him!" cried Allen violently. "I admit that I was at the Red House on that night. He asked me to come."
"I guessed that. Joad posted a letter to you."
"Yes, yes. Wait!" He ran into the next room, wherein his desk was standing, and in two minutes he returned with a paper. "This is his letter. You see, Edermont asked me to come at midnight to the Red House--to enter by the postern gate, which he left open for my admittance."
"He wished to add something to the conversation of the week before," said Dora, reading the letter. "But, my poor Allen, this letter rather condemns than saves you. It shows conclusively that you had an appointment at the Red House at midnight. And Mr. Edermont was killed at one o'clock."
"I don't know at what hour he was killed," rejoined Allen, taking back the letter with a gloomy air. "As I told you, I was mad on that night. I lost all idea of time. Whether I was in his study at twelve or one I cannot say, but when I did enter I saw him dead."
"Allen!" Dora uttered a cry of horror. "You saw him dead?"
"He was lying on the floor near the bureau," said Scott, speaking rapidly. "I see him now in my mind's eye--a limp heap, with his white hair dappled with blood. The Zulu club, torn from the savage weapons which decorated the walls, lay near him; his pistol was on the other side. He was dead--dead! Ah God, dead!"
During this recital Dora had sunk into a chair, overcome by the vehemence of his words. Allen strode to and fro, swinging his long arms, with a look of horror on his worn, white face. He pressed his hands to his eyes, as if to shut out the scene which his too vivid fancy had painted. Half swooning, Dora uttered a sob, and the next moment Allen was on his knees beside her, covering her hands with passionate and burning kisses.
"My queen! my saint!" he said hurriedly; "and you would sacrifice yourself for me. You would marry this drunkard, this parasite, this vile reptile, to save me from danger! No, Dora. No, I have been weak and foolish, but I am not guilty--I swear that I am not guilty. You shall not shield me at the cost of your own ruin. Oh, if I could only tell you all! But I dare not, I dare not!"
Carried away by his passion, angered at the sense of his weakness, he could have kissed her feet. But Dora placed her hand on his forehead and reasoned calmly with him. He was not to be saved by giving way to such whirlwinds of passion and despair. The prospect was terrible, but they must both face it boldly. Allen was innocent. He said so, and she believed him. That was everything. If he were not guilty, they might find a way out of the trap into which he had stumbled. To do so, she must know exactly what took place on that fatal night, and to this end she addressed her frenzied lover.
"Allen," she said gravely, "this is not the way to save yourself from arrest, or me from a disgraceful marriage. I have obtained a week's time from Joad to think matters over. In seven days we can do a great deal, and we may see a way out of this terrible situation. Sit down beside me, and tell me exactly what you did on that night."
"I shall not sit down beside you, Dora. I shall remain here at your feet. Ah, Heaven! to think of that cruel bar which prevents our marriage! You should know all, but I have not the courage to tell you."
"Keep silent on that point," said Dora soothingly. "What I want to know now is the story of that night. You returned from London on the second, did you not?"
"Yes," he replied in a tired voice. "In that conversation I had with Edermont he made certain statements which I could not believe. He said I could verify them in London, and told me how and where I could do so. I could not rest until I knew the truth, therefore I caught the express at Selling and went to town. Alas, alas! I found that he had spoken only too truly, and that you could never be my wife."
Repressing the curiosity which devoured her to learn the terrible secret of which he spoke, Dora smoothed his hair gently, and asked him to relate what had taken place on his return from this mysterious errand. He obeyed her like a child.
"When I came home," he said with thoughtful deliberation, "I found that letter I showed you awaiting me. Edermont asked me to see him in his study at midnight on the second of the month. But how he knew that I should return on that day I cannot guess."
"I can explain," said Dora quietly. "You wrote and told me when you would return, and I showed the letter to my guardian."
"Why did you do that, Dora--especially when you knew about our quarrel?"
"I wished to point out to Mr. Edermont that you had gone to London," replied Dora, "and, if possible, induce him to explain your reason for going there."
"Ah, he knew my reason well enough," said Allen with a frown; "but I suppose he refused to tell you what it was?"
"Naturally. He refused to tell me anything. But now you know how Mr. Edermont learnt the date of your return, and appointed that midnight meeting for the date. Go on, Allen."
"I was pleased to get his invitation," continued Allen, picking up the thread of his story, "as I fancied he might confess something further, likely to ameliorate the distressing situation in which I was placed by his previous revelation. I determined, therefore, to obey the summons, but as it yet wanted three hours till midnight the thought of the delay worked me into a fever of anxiety. The hopes, the fears, the vague terrors which beset me drove me nearly wild. I declare, Dora, that I was like a madman. A hundred ideas came into my head as to how I might do away with the effect of Edermont's secret and regain you. But one and all were dismissed, and I felt more helpless than ever. Only one man could put matters right, and that was the man who put them wrong; so there was nothing left for it but to wait until I saw him at midnight."
"Had you any idea that a third person might be present at your meeting?"
"No. As you see, there is no mention of a third person in the letter, nor did I see a third person in the study--only the dead man's corpse." "Ugh!"--Allen shuddered--"I shall never forget that horrible sight."
"It was gruesome enough in the morning," said Dora with a shiver, "so it must have been doubly horrifying at night. Well, did you remain indoors until you went to the Red House?"
"No. I could not rest; I could not bear the confinement. I felt that I must be up and doing, so, in sheer despair, I went out on my bicycle. Where I went I do not know. The night was as bright as day with the rays of the moon, and I had sufficient sense to guide the machine rightly, while running blindly along, not knowing or caring whither I was going. I went up hill and down dale along those weary roads, until I wore myself out. Physically exhausted, for I must have been riding at nearly top speed for hours, I turned in the direction of Chillum. At what time I got there I do not know."
"You had your watch with you?"
"Yes; but in my then perturbed state of mind it never struck me to look at it."
"Mr. Joad said he saw you pass his cottage shortly before twelve o'clock."
"It might have been," said Allen indifferently; "but to my mind it was nearer one o'clock. Indeed, it must have been, for, according to your showing, the murder was committed about that time, and when I entered the study I found Edermont dead."
"Dead! Poor soul!" cried Dora, clasping her hands.
"The postern-gate was open," continued Allen rapidly, "also the side-door of that deserted drawing-room. This did not surprise me, as I had been led to expect from the letter that the way would be clear for me to enter. When I went into the study I was struck with horror at the sight. A candle, wasted nearly to the socket, was burning on the bureau. The desk itself was hacked and smashed, and the drawers forced open, as you saw it in the morning. Hundreds of letters and papers were scattered about, some on the bureau itself, others on the floor, and in the midst of all this disorder lay the ghastly dead body, terrible to look at in the pale glimmer of the expiring candle. The pistol was on one side, the knobkerrie on the other, and the dead man, with his face and head beaten and disfigured, lay between."
"Did you hear anyone, or see anyone?"
"I heard nothing, I saw nothing. The door leading to the hall was closed, and there was no sign of the assassin. I saw in a flash the terrible position in which I was placed. I had quarrelled with Edermont, and here I was, in his private room at midnight, standing beside his dead body. I might be accused of the murder, and condemned on circumstantial evidence--for, on the face of it, I could make no defence. As I looked with horror on the scene, with these thoughts in my mind, the candle flamed up in one expiring flash, then died out in a blue flicker. I was alone in the darkness with the dead man; and, seized with a sudden panic--surely excusable under the circumstances--I turned and fled rapidly. In two minutes I was on my bicycle, running full speed for Canterbury. That is all I know, Dora."
Dora considered for a few moments after he had finished.
"You are sure that there was nobody else in the Red House on that night?" she asked, after a pause.
Allen hesitated.
"I did not intend to speak," he murmured; "but for my own sake I must tell you all. When I was coming into Chillum I met a woman going towards Canterbury on a bicycle."
"A woman, Allen! And at midnight--alone! Who was she?"
"At the time I passed her I did not know," said the doctor, rising; "but on my return journey, when I had left the house after the murder, I met her again, by the railway bridge. She was wheeling her machine down the hill, and called out to me to help her. The tyre of her back wheel was punctured. I got off at once, notwithstanding my anxiety to get home, and, with the aid of guttapercha, I soon mended the tiny hole. Then we rode on together until our roads parted."
"Do you know who she was?" asked Dora for a second time.
"Yes," said Allen quietly. "I recognised her at once." He produced a brooch from his waistcoat pocket. "I found this in Edermont's study, where it had no doubt been dropped by her."
"How do you know?"
"By putting two and two together. Look at the brooch."
Dora did so. It was a slender bar of pale gold, to which two letters formed of small pearls were attached. She uttered an exclamation of astonishment as she read them out. "L.B.," she said; "that stands for----"
"For Laura Burville," finished Allen quickly. "Exactly. Laura Burville was the woman I met coming from Chillum. And, by the evidence of the brooch, Laura Burville was the woman who was in Edermont's study on the midnight of the second of August."
So the long-expected had happened at last, and the inevitable woman appeared on the scene. Dora was hardly astonished to hear of Lady Burville's connection with the crime. She had always believed that, sooner or later, the name of this woman would come into the matter. Nevertheless, it was terrible that she should have killed the wretched man with whom, in some mysterious fashion, she had been associated twenty years before. With the pearl-lettered brooch in her hand, Dora considered the position in which she was placed, the discovery she had made.
"Do you think that Lady Burville really did kill him, Allen?" she asked in a hesitating voice.
"Who can say?" answered Scott wearily. "I should be loath to accuse her on insufficient evidence. But look at the matter as it stands. Lady Burville fainted at the sight of Edermont; she asked me questions as to his whereabouts. On the night of the murder she visits him, as is proved by the finding of that brooch in the study. Immediately after passing her on the road I enter the house, to find Edermont dead. So far as we know, no one else was in the house on that night; so the inference must be drawn that this woman murdered your guardian. Yes," said Allen thoughtfully, "I think there is a strong case to be made out against Lady Burville."
"But her motive, Allen?" expostulated Dora. "She would not commit so terrible a crime without a motive."
"I cannot guess her motive, Dora. I am as ignorant of Lady Burville's connection with the dead man as--as--you are."
"But, Allen," said Dora, hesitating, "was not her name mentioned by Mr. Edermont during that conversation?"
"Yes. He asked me where she was staying, but he gave me no information about her. She has nothing to do with the bar to our marriage. At least, I do not think so."
"Then you are not certain?"
"No," said Allen in a low voice; "I cannot say that I am certain."
Dora looked at him impatiently, and a sigh escaped her. Evidently he was determined to give her no clue to the unravelling of these enigmas, and what she discovered she would discover unaided. Nevertheless, she did not lose heart, but took up the burden which he had laid down.
"Why did you not tell me this before, Allen?"
"How could I?" he said vehemently. "By visiting the Red House on that night I was in a dangerous position. If my movements had been known, I might have not only lost what little practice I have, but have been in danger of arrest. Even now I may be called upon to exonerate myself should this man Joad speak."
"Joad will not speak," said Dora quietly; "at all events, not for a week. As I said before, a great deal may be done in seven days. You must let me take away this brooch."
Allen looked at her with an air of astonishment.
"Why do you wish to take away the brooch?" he asked.
"I'll answer that question later on. Lady Burville is not now at Hernwood Hall?"
"I believe not," replied Scott. "She returned to London, I think, shortly after the discovery of the murder of Edermont. To my mind, her sudden departure seems suspicious."
"On the face of it, I agree with you that it does," assented Dora. "But from what I have heard of the medical evidence, I doubt if Lady Burville killed Edermont--the murder was so brutal."
"You are right there. The assassin must have had brutal instincts and a strong physique. Now, Lady Burville is small and delicate, not the sort of woman capable of using that heavy knobkerrie, or striking so terrible a blow. But then, Dora," added Allen, with a puzzled air, "if Lady Burville is innocent, who is guilty? There can't have been anyone else in the house on that night."
"Why not? Mr. Edermont wrote letters to other people besides yourself."
"Do you know the names of the persons to whom he wrote?"
"No," replied Dora promptly; "he was careful to post the letters himself."
"But, Dora," expostulated Allen, "why should Edermont convene a meeting of so many people at such a late hour?"
"I cannot guess. The explanation may be contained in the stolen manuscript. All my guardian's actions were wrapped up in mystery, and there may be more people connected with this matter than we dream of. But this is not the point. Can I take away this brooch?"
"As you please," said Allen indifferently; "except to exonerate myself in your eyes, I would not have betrayed Lady Burville, murderess as I believe her to be."
"You would win fifty thousand pounds by doing so."
"Blood money!" said Scott angrily. "No, Dora; I do not wish to build up my fortunes in that way, on the ruin of others. I do not say, should Joad denounce me, that I would keep silent. One must save one's own neck if possible; but otherwise I say nothing, I do nothing. All things thought about, or done, cannot gain me your hand; the rest may go."
"Well, my dear Allen," said Dora, pocketing the brooch, "you refuse to tell me this secret, and I have promised not to press you. But if I can't marry you, at least I can save you."
"By becoming Joad's wife?"
"No; by seeing Lady Burville."
He looked at her in surprise.
"My dear Dora," said he after a pause, "you have no reasonable excuse for seeking an interview with Lady Burville."
"You have just given me an excellent excuse, Allen--the pearl brooch."
"But Lady Burville will know that I have betrayed her."
"No doubt. But I will show her that you have done so to save your own life."
Allen thought.
"What do you intend to do?" he asked abruptly.
"Force Lady Burville to confess her share in these mysteries."
"She will not do that," said Scott, shaking his head. "On the surface she is a frivolous little creature, but from what I saw of her I am inclined to believe that such frivolity conceals a strong will."
"No doubt, Allen. She must be a clever and merciless woman to plan and carry out so dexterous a crime. I do not see why you should save her life at the expense of your own. Leave me to deal with her, and I'll force her to speak."
"Would you have her arrested for the crime?"
"If Joad denounces you, I shall denounce her," said Dora quietly; "but there may be no necessity for such an extreme course. Wait until I see her."
"But you do not know where to find her."
"Oh, I can get her address from her late host, Sir Harry Hernwood."
And with this decision Dora took her leave. Here one may pause to reflect on the difference between these characters--a difference accentuated the more by the circumstances in which they found themselves entangled. It cannot be denied that Dora bore herself the better of the two. Shrewd, cool and determined, she saw her way to a definite end, and strove steadily towards its attainment. Allen, on the other hand, was dilatory and wavering. Knowing of a bar to his marriage, he should have informed the girl what this bar was, and have left her to judge of its insuperability. But this is exactly what he shrank from doing. He preferred to wait the turn of events, to refrain from action, until it was forced upon him. No; Allen Scott was not an heroic character. Dora knew this, despite her preference for him above all other men. Indeed, as is the way with good women, she loved him all the better for such weakness. However, as matters now were arranged, Allen sulked like a modern Achilles in his tent, and Dora went forth to take action.
With characteristic decision, she had determined upon her future course. To get the address of Lady Burville from Sir Harry, to call on Lady Burville in town, and to learn all she could of the events of the night from Lady Burville before leaving her house--this was the programme sketched out and adhered to by Dora Carew. As a first step towards the accomplishment of her purpose, she turned off the main road and took that which led to Hernwood Hall. She reached it before half-past six--an awkward hour for a call--and on inquiring for Sir Harry she was shown into the drawing-room. Here she was saluted by the man she came to see, and to whom she apologized for the lateness of her visit.
"You must excuse me, Sir Harry," said Dora calmly. "I am Miss Carew, of the Red House, and I leave for London to-morrow by an early train. Hence my calling on you at so late an hour. If you would be so kind as to give me the address of Lady Burville, I should esteem it a favour."
This abrupt speech was hardly a graceful one under the circumstances; but Dora was so taken up with the intrigue in which she found herself involved that she paid no attention to necessary social observances. Sir Harry, a dapper little man, mincing and polite, was not at all indisposed to grant this request, especially to so handsome a woman.
"Charmed to oblige you, Miss Carew," said he in a gallant fashion; "but--you will pardon me--may I ask why you wish for this address?"
"Certainly," replied Dora, prepared for the question; "I have picked up a pearl brooch on the road"--she was afraid to state the actual finding-place--"which I have reason to believe belongs to Lady Burville. I wish to return it to her in person."
"May I see the brooch, Miss Carew?"
"Certainly."
She handed it to him in silence. Sir Harry examined it, noted the initials, and returned it with a polite bow and the required information.
"The address of Lady Burville," said he amiably, "is No. 22, Jersey Place, Mayfair. I am sure she will be greatly obliged to you for returning her brooch, which I recognise as one she usually wore. No doubt she dropped it on the road when out on her bicycle. But if it would save you trouble, Miss Carew, I should be happy to forward it myself."
"There is no necessity, thank you," replied Dora, rising to take her leave. "I am going up to town to-morrow, in any event, so I can easily return it myself. Good evening, Sir Harry. I thank you for your good nature in seeing me at this hour, and your kindness in giving me the address."
"Pray do not mention it, my dear Miss Carew. I am delighted to be of service to you."
During this conversation Sir Harry had discreetly refrained from remarking on the tragic end of Julian Edermont. He knew that Miss Carew was the ward of the dead man; but, afraid of a scene, and detesting trouble, he judged it wiser to ignore the fact. In the same way he gave the address of Lady Burville at once, as he was anxious to rid himself of his visitor. Sir Harry Hernwood, in a word, was a fool; and for that reason Dora was successful in her mission. A wiser man would have withheld the address of his late guest until better assured of the errand of the inquirer.
Dora thought of all these things as she rode homewards, and congratulated herself that Sir Harry had proved so foolish and weak. She had the address of Lady Burville, and could obtain the interview she sought. Now it remained to force the woman into confession of the crime by means of the pearl brooch. It would be difficult for Lady Burville to explain its presence in the study without inculpating herself in the murder.
"Mrs. Tice," said Dora that night when Joad had departed, "I am going to town to-morrow."
"Very good, Miss Carew," said the housekeeper placidly. "Will you return in the evening?"
"Probably. If I do not, I shall send you a wire. But I want you to conceal from Mr. Joad that I have gone to London."
"I shall not tell him, Miss Carew, if you do not wish him to know. But why, if I may be so bold?"
"Oh," said Dora, with a peculiar look, "I'll tell you that when I return."
"You will tell me on your return?" repeated Mrs. Tice, looking shrewdly at her companion. "I hope nothing is wrong, miss?"
"Everything is wrong. I am endeavouring to put everything right."
"That will be difficult, my dear young lady, in your present state of ignorance. You do not know all."
Dora laughed.
"I know more than you give me credit for, Mrs. Tice. Allen has told me something."
The ruddy face of the housekeeper blanched suddenly.
"Not--not--the secret?" she stammered.
"Not the secret you know of," replied Dora. "I am still ignorant of the bar to our marriage."
"Then what has Mr. Allen told you?" asked Mrs. Tice, reassured on this point.
"Ah, that's my secret. If you will not confide in me, I do not see why I should confide in you."
"Mr. Allen could have said nothing very dreadful," was Mrs. Tice's reply; "we had a talk together on the evening he returned from London, and he told me everything then."
"No doubt," said Dora, who was pleased to stimulate the housekeeper's curiosity, "but he did not tell you some things, for the simple reason that 'some things' had not happened. Remember, Mrs. Tice, the night of Allen's return was the night of the murder."
"The murder!" repeated Mrs. Tice in a scared tone.
"Yes. Allen did not tell you what he knew about that," said Dora, and left the room.