The speaker asked the question quite fiercely.
"Because you loved your wife and respected her memory," said Lawrence.
"Correct. You are a man after my own heart, sir. My wife committed suicide because she thought I no longer loved her, and that I had transferred my affections to the woman who acted as her companion.
"That woman was perhaps the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. We never dreamt the depth of her wickedness, that she was a gambler and a forger. But she was. And when the gaol loomed before her she took my wife's jewels to sell and so save herself from exposure.
"But she never got those jewels out of the house. She was found out by a piece of good luck--whether good or bad luck I shall leave you to guess. She had barely time to throw the gems down the well which is in the little courtyard behind the house, and my wife saw it all. The woman was informed that on my return from a journey I should be told everything. She knew that investigation would follow. And what did that fiend of a woman do. She forged a letter from me in which I made the most violent love to her and asked her to fly with me. Mind you, that letter was posted and delivered here. It was very easy to contrive that it should find its way into the hands of my poor wife; it was safe to reckon upon her emotional temperament. She read the letter; she took from a drawer a phial of some sleeping draught, and she poisoned herself."
Charlton paused and wiped his forehead. He spoke quite calmly and collectedly, but the great drops stood on his face.
"I got home sooner than expected, got home in time to find my wife dead and that fatal letter in her hand. The woman who was the cause of all the mischief entered the room just too late to get the letter back. She was off her guard for the instant, and I saw it all in a flash. The part about the jewels I got later from one of the servants who had been afraid to speak before.
"I said nothing--for my dear wife's sake I was silent. You see I could prove nothing. No jury would have got anything out of the fiend who brought this about. The letter I carefully concealed. I took the risk of hanging, and as people blamed me my wife's good name was saved."
"I am afraid I don't follow your reasoning," Bruce said.
"I do," Lawrence observed. "At the time it was quite natural. But it seemed a pity to let that woman get off scot free."
A queer, hard smile came over Charlton's face.
"Nemesis is slow but sure," he said. "My turn will come. That letter is locked up in the safe yonder. Would you like to see it and compare it with my own ordinary handwriting? Oh, that was a wonderful woman!"
Charlton proceeded to open a safe in the wall and took from it two letters.
"There," he exclaimed. "That is the letter, the other sheet is my own handwriting. Did you ever see a more marvellous imitation? There are times when I feel as if I really must have written the letter myself. Look at it, Mr. Lawrence."
Lawrence had pounced upon it eagerly. His lithe little frame was thrilling with excitement. He held his head back as if sniffing at some pungent odour.
"Here's a discovery," he said, excitedly. "Here's a perfect revelation. Mr. Charlton, will you trust me for four and twenty hours with this letter? I've found out something that fairly takes my breath away."
"As you please," Charlton said, indifferently. "All discoveries are the same to me now. But why do you smell that letter?"
"I'm on the scent," Lawrence laughed. "All the same, if I am correct it will be no laughing matter for somebody before long."
The lights were flaring at No. 1 Lytton Avenue, as they seemed to flare almost day and night. The red carpet crossed the pavement; inside the banks of flowers nodded their brilliant heads, there was a rustle of silken drapery and a ripple of laughter from the drawing-room. It was all typical of a life of pleasure.
In one corner was an oblong table, surrounded by an eager, silent group. A bald-headed man with a matted black beard and a great curved nose was taking the place of banker. The great financier Isaac Isidore was as keen over the banknotes here as he was over the millions he gambled in the city.
No servants were present, they had been sent away long ago. Tempting things were set out on a side table, and whoever wanted anything helped himself. The players were so intent upon their game that nothing could be heard beyond their laboured breathing.
They were gambling in earnest, there were hundreds of pounds in notes and gold on the dull green cloth. A handsome youth, who was ruining himself and his estate as speedily as possible, sat easy and collected next to a young society lady, whose husband would have been shot rather than see her in such company. A pretty marchioness, the daughter of an American millionaire, was plunging greedily and losing as steadily. Countess Lalage smiled with perfect equanimity as she saw her own counters vanishing. She pushed over two small notes with a little sigh. She did not look as if they were the last she had in the world, but they were.
The whole brilliant house of cards must topple down soon unless help came from somewhere. Already capitalists in the city were asking questions about the securities they held, the hearts of certain tradesmen were beginning to grow anxious.
"Lend me £500, Lady Longmere," the Countess asked gaily.
"Not a cent," Lady Longmere cried in a high nasal voice. "I guess my luck's just in, and I'm going to make the most of it. I'm £8,000 to the bad, and once I make that up you don't catch me at this game again. If Longmere knew that I had broken my word like this he would kill me."
"Who'll lend me a few hundreds?" Leona Lalage cried with a red spot on her cheeks.
Nobody replied. They were all under her own roof, they had all enjoyed her hospitality times out of mind, but not one of them was prepared to lend her money. And Leona had had a fearful run of luck lately. Out of all those dainty smiling friends of hers seated round that table there was not one who did not hold her I.O.U. for considerable sums of money. She was beginning to be talked about. That very morning in the Park a well-known society leader had ignored her until recognition was forced upon her by sheer audacity.
"No one to help me at all?" she pleaded. Her voice was low, but she shook with passion. The big financier growled out that he would trust her to £50. In two minutes this was gone, and the banker made no further sign.
She must go on, it was absolutely necessary. Audacity would carry her far, but even she had need of ready money. And luck must turn now, if she had a hundred or two she was certain of it. It was madness, to sit there, and watch that golden stream change hands and not share it. She could have risen up and smitten her guests, and turned them furiously out of the house, but she had to sit there and smile. The gambler's fever was upon her, and there was dire necessity for some ready money on the morrow. She rose from the table with a sudden resolution. As she turned, she saw Lawrence looking critically round him.
"You don't play," she said. "What interest is there to you?"
"It is a fine study in human nature," Lawrence replied. "All the evil emotions are here nicely chained up. I like to watch and study for myself. Let me sit down and smoke a cigarette and study."
Leona Lalage flew up into her own room. She was going to do a desperate thing. She had always recognised the fact that at some time or other it might be necessary to disappear suddenly and mysteriously from the brilliant field, and that is not possible even to the cleverest without money. Desperately needy as she had been more than once lately, she had never broken into the little reserve that she kept for emergencies.
"Our hostess has gone to rob a bank," the gentlemanly youth suggested.
"Or to pawn her jewels," Lady Longmere laughed. "Isidore, why didn't you offer to lend her money on her tiara?"
"Because it is probably paste," the banker said, coolly. "Hein, I have seen enough of society women to know something of the value of their gems."
The spiteful little ripple of laughter was hushed as Leona Lalage returned. There was a flush on her face and a glitter in her eyes that Lawrence did not fail to notice. A little sheaf of banknotes fluttered in her hands.
"Give me gold for these," she cried. "Gold, red gold, two hundred sovereigns. Now, we will see whether fortune is still going to spite me."
For an hour they played on steadily with varying fortune. The clocks were striking two as three of the party dropped out, having lost everything. A great pile of gold stood before Leona Lalage, a large pile of notes opposite Lady Longmere. There were only five in the game now, and the banker was losing in a manner that caused the beads to stand out on his bald head. He shovelled out the last of his notes and his remaining gold and shook his head.
"I have gone to my limit," he said. "Gordon, give me a brandy and soda. Would you like to take my place, Lady Longmere?"
The American beauty shook her head and smiled.
"Not I!" she said. "I've got all my season's losings back, and I've done with this kind of thing, right here. I'm very fond of Longmere in my funny way, and I'm not going to deceive him any more. But I shall be afraid to go home with all these notes on me."
"I'll take them off your hands and give you a cheque," said Isidore. "I shall want a lot of notes in the morning."
He scribbled out a cheque, and then, with the custom of his class, went through the whole pile of notes down to the last one. There was a puzzled frown on his face.
"Are they bad?" Lady Longmere asked quizzically?
"It isn't that," said Isidore. "I've got a fine head for figures, and some of the numbers of these notes strike me as familiar. They are identified in my mind with some sensation or tragedy. It seems to me--ah! got it!"
"What is it now you have got?" Leona asked.
"Why, the corner house," Isidore cried. "Forty of these notes form part of the money taken from the body of that poor murdered fellow in the corner house. Here they are--190793 to 190832. Now which of you was it who came here tonight with these particular notes in your pocket?"
The gamblers looked at one another uneasily, but not one word was said.
Despite his vast wealth and the manner in which he was courted and flattered by society, Mr. Isaac Isidore had contrived to remain single. He had only one passion, and that was the making of money by ingenious schemes; in fact, had he not been a capitalist he would have made a wonderfully good novelist, as Lawrence often said. Mystery and intrigue were the very air he breathed, and for recreation he asked for nothing better than a romance by Gaboriau or Du Boisgobey.
He was breakfasting rather later, but quite modestly, in his chambers when Lawrence called on him the next morning. There were a good many points in common between the two men despite their different dispositions.
"Funny thing over those notes last night," said the man of money. "I suppose that is what you came to talk to me about."
"What a luminous mind yours is," Lawrence replied. "That's just why I did come. As you know, I am deeply interested in clearing up the Corner House mystery. I've got nearer to it than anybody imagines. Do you happen to have any idea who came with those particular notes last night?"
"Not the ghost of one," Isidore admitted. "I can read men and minds, but motives are sometimes beyond an amateur like me. Do you know?"
"Yes," said Lawrence, "I do."
"Which means that you are not going to tell me?"
"Not for the present, my boy. Without boasting, I do know, but I could not prove it yet; at least, not to the legal mind. Have you got those notes?"
Isidore intimated that they were in his safe. He took out the whole roll, and asked Lawrence to sort out the particular ones for himself.
"I only want one," Lawrence explained, "and this one will do admirably. I am going to take it away, if you don't mind. You will be able to recognise it by this queer yellow stain. Why didn't you decline to take them last night?"
"Why should I?" Isidore asked coolly. "They came to me through a third party for value received, so that they are quite good. When these notes are presented the bank is bound to cash them. I'd give sixpence to know what is behind that queer, clever, ingenious brain of yours."
Lawrence laughed and departed with the assurance that Isidore should know soon enough. He spent the rest of the morning at the club, and after luncheon took his way gaily in the direction of Lytton Avenue.
The Countess was at home, and glad to see her visitor. The back drawing-room was cool and secluded and opened on to the garden. Leona Lalage lounged back in a deep chair and indicated the cigarettes on a table.
"I have told Saunders not to admit any more visitors," she said. "Positively I shall break down if I don't get a rest soon. Does Mamie make too much noise for you! If so, call to Miss Lawrence."
Mamie and Hetty were playing together in the garden. The child was shouting merrily. Fond of children, Lawrence disclaimed any feeling of annoyance.
"Children and dogs never bore me," he said. "I wish I had a garden like yours. Pleasant perfumes always stimulate the imagination. Did you ever notice how the smell of certain flowers recalls vivid recollections?"
A sudden pallor came over the listener's face, it was gone in an instant, and a deep carmine flush succeeded it.
"Sometimes horrible recollections," she said in a low voice. "A certain flower you love gets mixed up with a tragedy, and you never care for it afterwards."
"Of course, I've noticed that," said Lawrence thoughtfully. "For instance, I once was exceedingly fond of the smell of tuberose, but----"
A little ornament fell from the table by Countess Lalage's side and a cry escaped her. Lawrence looked up in mild surprise.
"Nothing the matter, I hope?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," came the reply. "Only I was so silly as to place the wrong end of my cigarette in my mouth and burnt my lips. What's tuberose?"
Lawrence gave the necessary information. He was a little surprised to hear that his hostess had never heard of the tuberose. Nor, fond of flowers as she seemed, did she appear in the least interested.
"That child's noise makes my head ache," she said.
Lawrence stepped into the garden, Mamie welcomed him eagerly. No books of hers were half so popular as the novelist's impromptu stories.
"Tell me a tale," she demanded, imperiously.
Lawrence complied with resignation. It was all about a beautiful bad woman who guarded a precious treasure locked away in a box covered with paintings of exquisite flowers. Mamie clapped her hands with delight.
"Like mother's Antoinette cabinet in the drawing-room," she said.
"That's it," Lawrence said gravely, but with a glance at Hetty that caused her to flush a little. "And the key is like this one. We'll give it to Hetty, and some time when the wicked woman is out of the way she may get the tiny little phial that is in the cabinet so that we can do all kinds of wonderful things with it."
"Perhaps we could get it now." Hetty smiled.
Mamie clapped her hands again. A significant look passed between the two conspirators. A small key changed hands. Before the story proper was finished Countess Lalage came down the steps into the garden. Admiration was necessary to her, and the idea of a man's preferring Mamie's conversation to hers was absurd.
"How you spoil that child," she said. "Hetty, take her away."
But Lawrence would not hear of anything of the kind. He would like to have his tea out in the garden if Hetty would fetch it for him. Hetty came back presently, and handed the tea to her uncle. He hardly dared to look at her, but a smile on her lips told him she had succeeded. As he left the house presently Hetty followed him out. She nodded significantly.
"What does it all mean?" she asked.
"That you shall know all in good time," Lawrence replied. "It's a pleasure to have you to do anything for one, Hetty. How quickly you took in my parable. It was rather paltry to talk over a child's head like that, but if ever there was a case when the end justifies the means this is one. Of course, you got it?"
"Of course I did. A tiny glass bottle with a tiny glass stopper."
She took it from her pocket and held it out. There were a few drops of amber-hued liquid inside. Hetty would have removed the stopper, but Lawrence grabbed it.
"Don't touch it," he exclaimed, "keep as far from it as possible. There is real danger here if you only knew it. And whatever you do, don't you go near a soul in the house till you have washed your hands with Sanitas or some pungent disinfectant of that kind. You must be very careful about this."
Hetty promised, wondering.
"Where did you get that key from?" she asked.
"Well, I borrowed the original and had a copy made," Lawrence confessed. "You see I was bound to have a copy, as I am going to return the little bottle as soon as I have more or less verified its history. Now I want you to get away after dinner and come as far as my chambers to meet Bruce."
Hetty promised, and went her way homeward. She was sorely puzzled, but on the whole she felt wonderfully bright and happy. The mystery was still as dark as ever, but she had faith in Lawrence. But there was much to be done before one good man's name was cleared.
Not till now did Gordon Bruce fully appreciate the blow that a cruel fate had dealt him. At first he had been confused and bewildered, and a little disposed to doubt the evidence of his senses. There was a vague hope that it was a trick, a mistake that a moment would rectify.
He had not been arrested yet; his own voluntary evidence, backed up so strangely by the evidence of Hetty and the reporter, had staved that off for the present. But really, things were almost as bad. He had his own friends, of course, who were prepared to back him up through thick and thin, but there were others who passed him with a cold bow, or cut him altogether. He had called at one or two houses professionally, where he had been informed that his services would no longer be required. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Bruce met it bravely. Even Hetty did not quite guess what he was suffering.
He was only too glad of any excuse to meet her now. Anything to get away from himself and his own disturbed thoughts. And he had not so very much faith in Lawrence, despite the latter's pretty gift of prophecy. The artistic temperament is always a sanguine one.
Hetty was waiting for him now in Lawrence's study. She looked bright and cheerful so that Bruce kissed her passionately. It would be hard if he could not live up to her courage and devotion.
"My poor boy," she whispered. "My poor boy! But it is not going to last. The truth is bound to come out before long. And then it will be like one of those queer bank panics--only weather the storm, and you will be more sought after than ever."
Bruce forced a smile to his lips.
"If you can be brave so can I," he said. "And perhaps Lawrence will bring off one of his wonderful problems. But one thing I am pretty sure of--it has nothing to do with your employer, Countess Lalage."
Lawrence came in puffing one of his eternal cigarettes. His manner was full of confidence.
"I wanted to have a chat with you two people," he said. "In the first place I have made a startling discovery. Of course you know that the victim of the Corner House tragedy changed £400 for notes at the National Credit Bank. We know that somehow or other half those notes found their way into the possession of our friend Bruce here. Now, did it not strike you as strange that nobody should worry about the other half?"
"Perhaps already disposed of elsewhere?" Hetty suggested.
"Perhaps. Or the poor fellow might have had them in his pocket with the list. But the notes were there, and, as a matter of fact, I have quite recently had them all in my hands."
Bruce's listless manner departed. His respect for Lawrence began to revive again.
"When did you see them?" he asked. "Did Prout----"
"Prout! That estimable man is not likely to help much in a complicated case like this. As a matter of fact I saw those notes in Isaac Isidore's chambers this morning, they had been paid to him in a certain fashionable house where they were gambling heavily last night. Can you guess where the house is?"
Bruce shook his head. Hetty shook her finger at him disapprovingly.
"How slow you are," she said. "Where does anything happen that touches on this case? And I know where there was some heavy gambling going on last night. The incident took place in the drawing-room of No. 1, Lytton Avenue."
"Is that really a fact?" Bruce cried.
"Honestly," said Lawrence; "I was there and saw it. Isidore has a perfect figure memory, and spotted those numbers at once. But unfortunately it was impossible to identify the person who introduced the notes into the room, as there were so many of those bits of paper on the table. But I shall find out. I know what the enemy's next move will be."
"Do enlighten us a little," Hetty pleaded.
"Well, I will. From the very first the mystery has developed exactly on the lines laid down in that skeleton story I told you of. My locale was the corner house, and the plot started there. Did I not forecast all about the Spaniard and the lights going out and everything. It is easy when you know how it is done. Therefore I was quite prepared for the next move."
"But nobody has seen this plot," said Hetty.
"My dear girl, what I have just told you proves the contrary. Much as I owe to coincidence, I am not going to swallow that. Now I have not so much as taken the trouble to look at that synopsis which was pigeonholed in my desk a long time ago. It would be useless to look for it."
"And why?" asked Bruce.
"Because I feel quite sure it isn't there," said Lawrence. "Now take my keys, Hetty. I am pretty methodical, as you know; I always know exactly where to put my hand on everything. Unlock the panel on the left-hand side. Tell me what you can see in the pigeonhole to the right."
Hetty unlocked the desk and searched as desired.
"There is nothing whatever in that pigeonhole," she said.
"As I expected," cried Lawrence. "Stolen! There's a pretty piece of valuable information for you. The person who stole that is at the bottom of the crime. In other words, the key to the future movements of the criminal is in my hands!"
The rose-tinted silken blinds were drawn in the boudoir, the house in Lytton Avenue was hushed, there was a smell of eau-de-cologne on the perfumed air. Society deeply regretted to hear that Countess Lalage was suffering from nervous prostration. Leona Lalage lay there pressing her hands to her head fiercely. It was only latterly that she had suffered from these nerve troubles. Hitherto she had regarded herself as absolutely invincible to anything of the kind.
A queer sort of fainting fit had been followed by a ghastly sense of fear. Intrigue had hitherto been the very air that this woman breathed. Now she was frightened, every ring of the bell sent her heart into her mouth.
She was horribly frightened. If she could only have seen her antagonist it would have been bearable. But she was fighting shadows. Whichever way she turned she found herself checkmated and beaten.
Somebody had found her out. It must be so, because all her plans were anticipated by the terrible antagonist who worked in the dark. Her case was much like that of a despairing criminal who takes one huge sum to conceal the loss of another until the inevitable crash comes.
"If my brain gives way now," she muttered, "if my reason plays me false now even for a day I--but I dare not think of it. Well, what do you want?"
A liveried servant looking into the darkened room murmured that Dr. Bruce had arrived. Bruce came in with his softest professional manner. He was sorry to hear that anything was wrong, he asked a great many pertinent questions.
"You have overdone yourself," he said with his cool hand on the fevered pulse. "Few men could stand the strain of your present life. You must go away at once to some very quiet place and be in the open air all day----"
Leona Lalage laughed aloud. The touch of those cool fingers thrilled her. To go away now, to abandon it all just when----. Ah, the thing was impossible. She might just as well have cast herself off Waterloo Bridge.
"Excuse me," she gasped, "I am a little mad today. My dear boy, I cannot go away, the thing is impossible. If you could only look into my heart--but nobody can do that. Oh, Gordon, Gordon!"
Her voice sank to a thrilling whisper. Bruce touched her hand soothingly. The mere contact of his fingers seemed to madden her.
"Don't do that," she said, in the same strained whisper. "If you only knew how I cared for you, how I love you. There is nothing I would not do for you! I am rich and powerful, and men who know say I am beautiful. Take me away, make me your wife, and you shall never know a moment's pain. Your good name is gone, Gordon--but what does that matter. If----"
She paused as Gordon recoiled from her. His eyes were full of loathing.
"Forget this," he said, sternly. "Put it from your mind, as I shall do. It is a passing madness. My future wife would blush if she could hear you."
The woman's eyes dilated, her bosom heaved. She might have been waking as from a trance. She was fighting passionately for the mastery of herself. It was a short, sharp fight, but it left her trembling from head to foot.
"Forget it," she said, hoarsely. "I--I never meant a word of it. Leave me now. Send me something to soothe these frayed nerves of mine. Only leave me alone."
The door closed quietly behind Bruce. Just for a moment the lace-clad figure lay motionless on the couch. Then she rose and swept up and down the room like a tornado. She had shown her hand, she had betrayed her secret, and the man who had her heart scorned her. She was filled with shame and rage and hate.
"I began to be sorry," she murmured. "My remorse spoilt my rest; I thought that all the world would turn from him, and that he would come to me, and then--Well, the dream is dispelled, for he will never come to me now. They say that a woman who loves at forty is capable of every madness. I was mad just now. And now there is but one thing to live for, I will live for that; ah, yes, I will live for that!"
She sat down quietly for a moment with her hands locked together. That indomitable will was acting on the racked body. She crept upstairs before dinner white and shaky; she came down shimmering in white, and diamonds in her magnificent hair and corsage, smiling, brilliant, as if she had the whole world at her feet. Hetty looked at her with dazed admiration.
"That dreadful headache has gone," the Countess cried. "I am myself again. We will dine quietly together, you and I, and go to hear Melba presently. Come, you can leave Mamie for just one night."
Leona Lalage swept into her box later on with the air of one who feels that she is the centre of all attraction. Society was charmed and gratified, distinguished men dropped into the box on the grand tier, and whispered their congratulations. The brilliant stream of diamonds in her hair was no brighter than the woman's eyes.
The house was fairly full on the fall of the curtain after the first act of the new opera. There was light and life and movement there. And Melba was scoring new triumphs. The curtain fell on the second act amidst a crash of applause and the waving of handkerchiefs. Leona Lelage had an artistic soul, and she was moved.
"Wonderful!" she cried. "Ah, to have a gift like that. To think that the human voice----"
She paused as some one entered the box. A slight dark man, almost a half caste, with black hair and glasses. He was immaculately dressed; his style was quiet, with a touch of humility about it.
"Countess," he said. "I kiss your hand. I have come from Paris to see you. If I could have a word with you alone----"
"Louis," the Countess cried, "ah, this is good of you! We will have a little chat in the foyer. Hetty, will you keep guard till I return."
Her smile was light and pleasant. But it faded to a white mask once she and her companion were outside the box.
"Quick," she whispered. "Quick. Has the blow fallen?"
"A blow," said the other. "That is a poor word. It is absolute destruction."
One quick gasp, a deadly pallor of the face ghastly behind the artificial colouring, and the woman was herself again. She led the way to a secluded seat where they could talk without the chance of being overheard.
"Now tell me about it, Louis," she said.
"Madame, there is but little to tell. You are indebted to that Paris firm for nearly a hundred thousand pounds. They call themselves financial agents, but they are moneylenders of the hardest type. Maitrank is as hard as your diamonds. And he has found you out, Countess."
"Found me out! Why, only yesterday I had a letter from him consenting to a further advance on the property at San Salvator. And after all is said and done, there is a property at San Salvator. On that I have borrowed----"
"Nearly half a million from first to last. I ought to know, for it was I who added those fresh papers to the original deeds and forged those reports of the prosperity of the mine. Maitrank seemed quite satisfied till yesterday. Then he made a great discovery. It was an unfortunate discovery and a cruel piece of luck for you."
"Go on, man. I am all impatience."
"I am coming to the point fast enough. You know Lefevre of Lyons?"
"Of course. Did we not raise money on the San Salvator property from him also? That was nearly a hundred thousand pounds."
"Quite so," Louis Balmayne said coolly, "for I also manipulated those papers. The romance of the mine and the way it came into your possession fascinated Lefevre. He lent you money at a great rate of interest, but he lent it. On him comes the misfortune. Lefevre has been speculating and burnt his fingers badly. He wanted money badly. He comes to Paris to borrow it from Maitrank----"
The Countess smote her fan on her gloves passionately.
"You need not tell me any more," she whispered hoarsely. "He offered the San Salvator as security to Maitrank, and the murder is out."
"Precisely. But not quite in the way you imagine. Directly Maitrank saw those deeds he knew exactly what had happened. But that wonderful man did not betray himself. His confidential secretary told me that he never turned a hair. He simply regretted that he had no spare capital; he got a warrant for your arrest, and he will be in London tomorrow morning."
"Ah! If I could only lay my hands on a good sum, Louis! Then I might induce Maitrank to wait. For the sake of his own pocket he would keep the secret. He will do nothing so long as he can recover part of his own property."
"You are a wonderful woman," Balmayne said admiringly. "You have guessed it. As to the money, it is to your hand. The coast is clear now, the incumbrance is out of the way. We have only to act at once."
"And where is the money you speak so casually about?"
"The means of safety, madame, seem to me to dangle at the end of a rope."
The woman's eyes gave a flash of triumph.
"Ah!" she exclaimed. "I had forgotten that. In the press of other things it had been swept out of my mind. A professional acrobat like yourself should make light of a task like that. The way is all clear for the experiment. But when?"
"What better time could we have than tonight?"
"Tonight. Impossible. There are matters to be got ready. My absence at this hour would attract attention. If I could only be in two places at once!"
"So you can," Balmayne said coolly. "I have taken the liberty to borrow the only machine in London that permits you to do that seemingly impossible feat. Put that long cloak over your dress and come with me. It is not your cloak, but it does not matter. I pledge my word that you shall be back here at the end of an hour--long before the performance is over. Come."
There was no further hesitation. This was an adventure after the woman's own heart. With the purloined cloak covering her from head to foot she passed down the steps and into the roadway. Nobody noticed her, for the spectacle was not a very uncommon one. Under the shadow of the portico a little way off stood a motor, watched by a nightbird who would have done anything for a few coppers.
"I like this," Leona Lalage exclaimed, "it braces the nerves. If those people in New York only do as they promise I shall be free yet. A little courage and I shall pluck safety from the Corner House yet."
The motor passed along swiftly in the darkness. Inside the opera house many people noticed that Countess Lalage's box was only tenanted through the second act of the new opera by a very pretty girl in white, with no ornaments in her hair. Hetty, on the other hand noticed nothing at all but the stage; she had actually forgotten that her employer was not there. The opera was a rare treat to her, and she revelled in music.
There was a veritable scene of triumph at the end of the third act, and whilst the curtain was raised for the second time Countess Lalage and her companion returned. They strolled into the box with the calm air of people quite accustomed to this sort of thing; they might have been merely flirting outside.
"Twelve o'clock," Balmayne whispered; "not a minute later. On this occasion the longest way round will be the shortest way home."
The applause was gradually dying down. Hetty, conscious of a figure behind her, moved back. The box door shut and the air grew oppressive. Leona Lalage, still talking earnestly to her companion, motioned Hetty to open it.
She did so just as a telegraph boy came along with one of the orange-coloured envelopes in his hand. He looked at the address and at the number of the box.
"Box 11a, grand tier?" he suggested. "Miss Lawrence?"
"For me," Hetty replied. "What a strange thing!"
The boy passed on whistling under his breath. Outside Hetty opened her message. Her fingers trembled slightly.
"On no account let Countess leave house before midnight," it ran. "When she gets home keep her there till after twelve, at all costs."
Hetty gazed at the strange unsigned message with the feeling that she was being made the victim of some foolish joke. But who would play her a silly prank like that? Perhaps Gordon had had something to do with it.
At any rate, she must act. If it turned out to be a hoax she could apologise afterwards. But, on the other hand, it might be a matter of life and death; it might affect her lover's honour. It was a good thing that Hetty had been fortunate to handle the telegram where she could be secluded from the sharp eyes of her employer. Otherwise she would assuredly have betrayed herself. She tore the telegram into tiny fragments and pushed them under the edge of one of the mats. It was far better to be cautious.
She had herself well in hand when she stepped back into the box again. At any hazard she was going to carry out the instructions to the very letter. And she had a fairly good excuse ready to her hand. If Mamie was no better when she got home she would use that as a lever.
The performance came to an end at length. The dapper, smiling little Balmayne handed them both into the carriage and then went off smoking a cigarette like any honest gentleman whose conscience is at peace. Once home Hetty flew up to her little patient. She seemed to be restless and disturbed.
"Dr. Bruce has been, miss," nurse remarked. "He says Miss Mamie is not to be left alone. The Countess was to be told that."
Hetty was deeply interested. Was this another mere coincidence or was Bruce acting here like a puppet in the hands of the mysterious person who seemed to be pulling the strings in the drama? Anyway, it strengthened her hands.
There was a light supper in the dining-room. Countess Lalage talked fitfully, from time to time glancing at the clock. The gilt hands were striding on towards a quarter to twelve.
"I'm going to make a late call?" Leona Lalage said suddenly.
"I should like you to see Mamie first," said Hetty. She spoke coolly enough, but her heart was beating furiously. "She is not at all well tonight. Dr. Bruce has been here, and says she is not to be left alone. A mother's care----"
The Countess laughed lightly. Her mood seemed friendly.
"Very well," she said, "I'll come up for a moment. I'm not going far, and I shall not be a long time away. If there is a crisis in the case----"
"Mamie is far worse than you imagine," Hetty said coldly. "Your own constitution is so magnificent that you cannot understand weakness in others. If Mamie were mine I should be in grave anxiety about her."
Leona Lalage laughed again. Once more she glanced at the clock.
"Come along then," she said gaily. "I know I am a bad mother."
The child looked flushed and ill, her hand was hot, and she groaned in her sleep. The Countess bent and kissed her carelessly. She moved to her own room and Hetty followed. There was just a touch of hauteur in the manner of the Countess as she intimated that she had nothing further to say.
"Perhaps I have something to say to you," Hetty said between her teeth.
The hour had come to show her pluck and courage, and Hetty was not going to flinch. It wanted ten minutes to twelve by the clock on the dressing-table.
"You are forgetting yourself," the Countess said coldly. "Leave the room."
"When I have finished," Hetty replied. "You heard Dr. Bruce's message. He said that child should not be left. You may urge that I am sufficient, but there is a time for a mother's care. If I had my way you should not go."
It all sounded sorry nonsense in Hetty's ears, but she was playing her part, and merely talking against the clock. With blazing eyes the Countess advanced, but Hetty did not flinch.
"Stand aside," she said furiously, "and let me pass. If it was not for the child and the love she has for you I should dismiss you on the spot. Now go."
"I shall not go," Hetty cried. She was surprised at the ease with which she was working herself up into a genuine passion. "Nor shall you pass. You shall stay here as long as I please. Ring the bell and have me put out."
Sheer astonishment got the better of Leona Lalage's rage. That Hetty above all people should turn upon her like this was amazing. She looked again at the clock, which pointed to four minutes to twelve.
"You are disturbed and hysterical tonight," she said. "Go and lie down. I am a strong woman and if you provoke me too far----"
"You shall not go," Hetty gasped. "I say you shall not go. Nothing less than physical power will induce me to yield."
The anger of the other woman blazed out again magnificently. At the back of her mind was a haunting fear that Hetty was acting a part. It was absolutely imperative that she should leave the house at once. How if Hetty had discovered this and was taking this course to prevent her keeping her appointment?
The mere suggestion added flame to her anger. She caught Hetty by the arm and dragged her from the door. There was a crash and a tear as the dress sleeve parted, the quick rattle of a key in the lock, and a defiant smile from Hetty.
"I may be mad," she gasped, "but there is method in it. I may not----"
A deadly faintness came over her, she staggered to a chair and fell into it. As she did so the great clock on the landing boomed the hour of midnight.
Nothing mattered now, the thing was done, the victory accomplished. In a vague kind of way Hetty heard the cry of rage and disappointment uttered by her companion, she felt the key snatched with cruel force from her hand, there was a whirl of draperies and footsteps flying down the stairs.
Hetty dragged herself to her feet. She was utterly exhausted with her fight, but there was the fierce triumph of knowing that she had won. She had played her part and the rest of it was in cleverer hands than her own.
Meanwhile the Countess was tugging with impatient fingers at the hasp of the drawing-room windows. There was murder in her heart.
"The little Jezebel," she muttered. "Was it madness, or what? At last!"
The window flew open and she raced down the garden like a hare.
Mr. Garrett Charlton sat in Lawrence's chamber the same evening impatiently waiting for him in response to a telegram. It was already long past eleven, and the visitor was thinking of departing, when Lawrence came in.
He had evidently hurried fast, for he was out of breath. He signified to his companion to sit down, and lighted a cigarette.
"I couldn't possibly come before," he said. "I've been busy all the evening on this business, and as it was I had to leave a little matter to chance. I fancy that you will not be sorry that I persuaded you to stay in London."
"To me it is the gloomiest place in the world," said Charlton.
"That I can easily understand. But you are still of the same opinion--you still value the good name of your dead wife?"
"I would give all I possess in the world to clear it, Lawrence."
"It shall be done; I pledge you my word that it shall be done. I have the key to this mystery--I have had it from the first. That is why I persuaded you not to go away again, and not to let anybody know you were in London. But we have by no means done with the corner house yet. We are going to spend an hour or so there this very night."
Charlton looked up in quick surprise.
"You and I are going there secretly?" he asked. "Do you mean now?"
"As soon as I have finished this cigarette," Lawrence said, coolly. "We may be too late to see the beginning of the play, but I have faith in my assistant. Now, come along. You have brought your latchkey as I asked you?"
Charlton nodded. He was a man of few words. He said nothing when Lawrence gave him a pair of goloshes to put over his boots, and in silence the two set out for Raven Street. The place was practically deserted as they came to the house, so that to enter without being seen was a matter of no difficulty.
"We are in time," Lawrence whispered, "in good time. I felt sure I could trust the one I picked out to assist me. If I had not been detained I should have been here before. There is not much for us to do."
"Are we waiting for somebody?" Charlton asked.
"That's it. For the present we have to sit here in the passage with the kitchen door open and watch for the faint gleam of light in the courtyard. It is safe to have a light there because there are blank walls on either side. I think, I rather think, that I am going to astonish you presently."
Charlton said nothing, but from the sound of his laboured breathing it was evident that the spirit of adventure was upon him. They sat there for some time with the two doors open, so that they might see through the grimy windows into the courtyard beyond. It was weary work, and the minutes passed slowly.
"I'm not a patient man," Lawrence muttered, "but I could manage with a cigarette. Under the circumstances, perhaps I had better not."
Charlton's heavy breathing ceased for a moment.
"I have good sight," he said. "And unless I am greatly mistaken I saw a figure cross the dim light given by yonder window. There it is again."
It was like a shadow and quite as noiseless. Lawrence pressed the slide of his repeater. The rapid little pulse beat twelve and then stopped.
"Between midnight and a quarter past," he muttered. "That's about the time. We had better creep a little closer to the window. That's one advantage of being in a house in the dark--you can see everything that is going on outside without being spotted by anybody. Come along and see what you shall see."
They reached the kitchen window and looked out. There was a figure there, and what looked like another one in the background. A lantern stood on the flags; the first figure pitched something on the ground that looked like a coil of rope.
"What on earth is that?" Charlton asked.
"A rope," Lawrence replied. "Can't you guess what that rope is for?"
"I am afraid I am utterly in the dark, Lawrence," said Charlton.
"Are you? There is a well in that courtyard. And if perchance anything valuable got into that well, I should say that a rope would be the best way of getting it out. Now do you understand."
Charlton nodded. It had been his whim and mood after the tragic death of his wife to leave those fatal jewels where that wicked woman had dropped them. So far as he was concerned the cause of all the trouble might be at the bottom of the sea. They were gone, and only he and another person knew the secret of their hiding place. That she might come back and try to regain them he never troubled himself about. Even if it had occurred to him, he would not have moved in the matter.
"That fiend probably told some accomplice," he said.
Lawrence chuckled. He could see further than his companion. He could see the figure of a woman dressed in foreign fashion with a shawl over her head. She had long fair hair. Her back was to the window all this time.
"The Spaniard with the mantilla," Lawrence whispered, "the evil genius of the house. We shall see something more presently. Not that we are going to interfere. On the whole, I rather want these people to get the jewels."
Charlton said nothing. He was deeply interested. The man outside raised the lantern, and the dim light fell upon the ghastly outline of Charlton's white set face as he pressed against the panes. At the same instant the woman chanced to glance in the same direction.
Charlton gripped Lawrence's arm with convulsive force.
"Man," he said sternly, "that fiend of a woman was my dead wife's late companion."
page124"Charlton's white set face as he pressed against the panes."--Page 124
Just as she was, with her lace and silks and long flowing train, Leona Lalage raced down the garden. With a bitter little smile she wondered what her Society friends would say if they could see her at this moment. The thorns of a rose bush caught a drooping mass of frippery and tore it away, but the woman paid no heed. Her dressmaker's bill need never be paid.
She came at length breathless with running to the end of the garden. A little green gate led to the lane which divided Lytton Avenue from the corner house. It was absolutely quiet there. Leona Lalage could catch just the faintest humming noise, then a glaring white eye flamed out.
Behind it was a black motor and the form of Balmayne.
"Never can trust a woman as to time," he growled. There was not the faintest shadow of politeness in his manner now. "Didn't I say twelve sharp?"
"I was detained," the Countess gasped. "After all, what are a few minutes?"
"Everything. Maitrank reaches Charing Cross in a little over half an hour, and it is absolutely imperative that I should see the arrival and find out where he stays. I suppose you can see that?"
The Countess had no more to say. She held out her hand silently. She tore all her long train of lace and silk away as if it had been rags, she buttoned a cloak over her dress; a blonde wig and lace shawl over her head completed the disguise.
"Come along," she said. "I've got the key of the courtyard. Not that we are in the least likely to find anything there?"
"And why not?" Balmayne growled. "Stranger things have happened. I know a poor man at this minute who owns one of the richest gold mines in the world. He won't work it because when the gold was found he quarrelled with his partner on the spot and killed him. That's a fact."
"I'd get it out of him," Leona said between her teeth. "I'd like to bind him and torture him bit by bit until he yelled out the truth. Well, Charlton was always a strange man, and the jewels may be there yet. That is one of the reasons why I took up my abode in Lytton Avenue."
"One of the reasons," Balmayne said sardonically.
"Never mind that, we know too much about one another to say much. I'll open the door whilst you push the motor in. Quiet as the grave."
It was very quiet and still there when once the gates were closed. Balmayne took one of the lamps from the motor and extinguished the other. In the centre of the place was the well, partially covered over by a flat stone. There was a windlass, but no rope. Balmayne produced one. Very carefully he fitted it to the windlass. His dark eyes gleamed and dilated.
Quickly he lowered the rope till the bulge of it showed that the bottom was reached. He wound up the rope again, and as he did so a grunt of satisfaction escaped him. It was far better than he had expected.
"Here's a piece of rare good luck," he exclaimed. "Why, the well is dry."
"I always heard that there was only a foot or two of water in there," the Countess said. "It was never used in my time--people don't care to drink well water in London. Still, it is a slice of luck, as you say."
"Got to get down there all the same," Balmayne grunted. "I'll make a loop in the rope and put my foot in it. You used to be pretty strong at one time. I suppose you can manage to let me down safely?"
Leona smiled with contempt as she surveyed the slim figure before her. She was always proud of her strength. She bared her beautiful white arm and showed the strong sinews and muscles under the skin.
"You need not be afraid," she said. "If I couldn't--ah!"
She broke off, her voice rose to a scream. She grew whiter far than the linen about her shoulders. Balmayne laid his hand on her mouth in an instant.
"Fool," he exclaimed, hoarsely. "Do you want to bring the police upon me?"
Leona pointed to the window, against which Charlton's face had been pressed a moment before. The dimness of it, the stern accusing eyes made up a picture so grim, so ghostly, that the woman's heart turned to water within her. The fear of yesterday took the strength out of her limbs.
"The face," she gasped, "the face of Charlton. At the window. It was just for an instant, and seemed to read my soul. Can't you see it?"
Balmayne could see nothing, and said so bluntly. As a matter of fact, the face was gone. But the terror of the Countess still remained.
"Of course, there was no face there," Balmayne flared out. "That's the worst of doing this kind of thing with a woman--one never knows when she's going to have an attack of nerves. The idea of Charlton standing at the window and knowing what we are going to do is too good. Pull yourself together."
The trembling fit passed away, the woman was herself again. All the same, Balmayne was not without misgiving as he put his foot in the loop. But the crank of the windlass turned steadily and smoothly, the stone walls slid by, and presently the adventurer stood at the bottom of the well. There was no water, nothing but a slight dampness underfoot.
A moment later and Balmayne was up again. Leona Lalage looked at him enquiringly. He had no breath to speak. With gleaming eyes Balmayne held two rusty old cases over his head. Leona grasped the motor lamp, and Balmayne forced back the clasps of the cases.
"Got them," he croaked, "What do you think of this, my noble Countess?"
A stream of living fire, a ripple of all the colours of the rainbow. Balmayne shut the cases as if jealous of the eyes of the night.
"Saved," he said. "Take these and hide them, take the rope and hide that. I must be off to Charing Cross like the wind. This is, perhaps, the best night's work I have had in my experience. Now begone." A moment later and the courtyard was deserted.
"No you don't," said Lawrence coolly. "Of course, it would be a very dramatic finish to the night's adventure, but I can't permit it. Go easy."
Charlton gave up the struggle. Those jewels, the cause of all his misfortunes, had lain there at the bottom of the well where he had intended them to stay. He hated the very mention of them. Had not diamonds inspired some of the most awful crimes since crime began?
They should stay there for all time, those stones with the blood upon them, but now, when they were being carried off by the woman who had robbed him of all that life holds dear, Charlton's passion flared out.
He would have followed those people and demanded them. But Lawrence held him back until his passion was spent. He yielded suddenly.
"After all it matters little," he said.
"It matters a great deal," Lawrence replied. "You want your jewels back----"
"My dear sir, the first beggar in the street can have them for all I care."
"Well, you don't want those people to get them. Neither will they for long. It is all part of my little scheme. If you had dashed out just now you would certainly have caused a great sensation, and there would have been a great gap in the dazzling ranks of fashion, but you would have ruined my plans."
"But will those people be punished eventually?"
"Of course they will. But there are viler crimes than the theft of diamonds. There is the conspiracy to rob a good man of his good name, to make the lives of that man and the girl he is going to marry dark for the sake of a passing caprice. I tell you this has been done, and a murder has been committed in the doing of it. And I am going to get to the bottom of the foul tangle."
It was not the usual voice of Gilbert Lawrence that spoke. There was a dogged grimness about him that would have surprised his friends. "Let us light the gas and smoke here for a time," he said. "There is not the slightest chance of those people coming back, and there are no windows overlooking this one. I have a good deal to say to you."
Charlton made no objection. He was evidently in the company of a man who knew quite well what he was doing.
"I will be guided entirely by you," he said. "You tell me that that vile woman will be punished, and I believe you. Strange that she should be mixed up with the lives of people you care for also. You must have been sure of your ground to let her escape you tonight."
Lawrence flicked the ash from his cigarette.
"I am," he said. "See, I am familiar with her plot before she carried it out. As I told you before, the whole thing is founded on a novel of mine which has yet to be published. How she got the thing is a mystery. But she has got it. It could not possibly have been a coincidence."
"If you know where she lives----" Charlton began.
"My dear sir, I know who she is. From the very moment that Bruce told his strange story I felt pretty certain that the Spanish business was a disguise."
"But it is no disguise. My wife's companion was a Spanish blonde."
"Then during the time that woman was in your house she wore a wig. You may make yourself pretty clear on that point. The creature you saw tonight in the courtyard has no doubt passed at different times under many names, but to the world she is at present known as Countess Lalage."
"I have heard of her. But she is very rich."
"So most people think. To my mind she is a brilliant adventuress. With beauty and brains and audacity a woman like that never need want for money. Of course, the crash will come sooner or later, but meanwhile she is having a good time. But you are going to see my patience rewarded. A murder has been committed here, and that woman knows all about it. Out of that murder came the terrible charge that hangs over my friend Bruce, and she knows all about that. I know all about it, too, but knowing and proving are two very different things. It is a fight in the dark between us, but I am going to win at the finish."
"You wouldn't force her to confess?"
"Not a woman like that. Get her back to the wall and she will be dangerous. Bless the man, if she knew I was her antagonist she would not hesitate to ask me to dinner and poison me over one of her excellent dishes. When I strike I must strike her down to the ground. My lines are laid pretty carefully, and she is going into them one by one. She walked into one of them tonight."
"Did you know that she was coming here?"
"My dear sir, I was the means of letting her know the jewels were still in the well. She is very hard up for money--I found that out at her house the other night--and that is why I waited here this evening. She is playing out my story, you see. And she has gone off for the present with your diamonds."
"Which will be a powerful weapon in her hands."
Lawrence laughed silently. He seemed to be intensely amused about something. He took a flat brown paper parcel from his pocket.
"You saw those people go off with the diamonds," he said. "You saw those gems flash and dazzle in the light of the lamp. I am going to give you a surprise now, and the surprise of our predatory friends will come later on. Your wife's gems were three rows of diamonds and a collar of the same set plain in silver."
"How did you know that?" Charlton asked.
Lawrence proceeded to unpack his parcel. Inside were two cases which he opened and exposed in the light of the flaming gas.
"Will you have the goodness to look at these," he asked.
Charlton did so. There was a blank surprise on his face.
"I should like to know what you make of them," said Lawrence.
"Amazing!" Charlton cried. "Why, these are my wife's diamonds, the real stones beyond doubt."