A search was being made for the fugitives in every place but the right one. The railings of the square were high, so that it never occurred to any one that the culprits might have escaped that way. They had got off somehow. In the opinion of most of the people there they had stopped the motor and started it again on its headlong course, after which they had mingled with the crowd.
Gradually Lytton Avenue grew quiet again. Leona Lalage stood up so that the light of a lamp outside showed her up in a ghastly fashion. She had lost her fair wig somewhere, her face was all cut and bleeding, her left ankle was painfully sprained.
"Do I look very dreadful?" she asked.
"Your face is all cut about," Balmayne growled. "I should think that you will not be able to show up in society for some time to come."
Leona Lalage thought little about that. She had about her those who were skilful in the way of paint and powder. An artist in face treatment would remove all traces of those cuts in a short time. What she was most anxious to do now was to find herself at home. Those nerves were coming back again.
"Let us get in," she said hoarsely. "A cold bath, to say nothing of a deep, deep drink. I want brandy, a lot of brandy, and soda water. Is the coast clear?"
The coast was clear apparently, and the two culprits crept out. They reached the house at length and tried the door. It was fast! The Countess shook her hands passionately.
"Where's the sense in making that noise?" Balmayne growled. "Why didn't you bring your latchkey as I suggested, instead of leaving the front door open? Some zealous policeman found it open and rang the servants up."
"We must try the back gate," Leona suggested.
They crept round there unseen by dint of this and that doorway, but there was no luck that night. The little gate was fast. Hetty had seen to that. She had made up her mind to know what time the Countess returned, together with all other information possible.
"You'll have to knock them up," said Balmayne, between his teeth. "It will take time and it will be dangerous. But there's nothing else for it that I can see. Say you have had a spill out of a cab or something of that kind. When you have bustled them off upstairs again I'll sneak into the house. I could do with a cigarette and a brandy and soda quite as much as you can."
It was hard work to make anybody hear, especially as a watchful policeman might come along at any moment. But presently a light gleamed behind the stained glass of the front door, and then Hetty's face came into sight. She looked heavy and sleepy, a white wrap was about her shoulders.
But her stare of amazement was quite unaffected. She it was who had locked the front door with the full determination of only opening at her will. But she had not expected to see a figure like this.
"I--I was nearly asleep," she stammered, "when I heard the bell. And the moment I heard it I came down. Why--why--oh, what has happened?"
There was no acting here--at least not for the moment. Hetty's gentle heart was touched by the physical wreck before her. Here was a woman in distress who wanted the aid and assistance of a sister.
"Let me look at you," she said, tenderly. "Let me get water and some towels."
But the Countess thrust her fiercely aside.
"I can do all that for myself presently," she said. "I--I was lured on a fool's errand, and I have had a narrow escape of my life. Don't ask any questions yet. Go to the sideboard and get me brandy; there are some syphons of soda water there. Give me a lot, fill the glass; more brandy."
The soda water hissed and bubbled in the long glass. Leona raised it to her lips and drained it to the last drop. A little splash of colour crept into her scarred cheek, she drew a long, shuddering sigh.
But Hetty's curious eyes were upon her. Surely some further information was needed of this midnight adventure! And just for the moment Leona Lalage could think of nothing that sounded like the truth. She would have to appeal to Hetty and throw herself on her kindly feeling.
"I am going to my room now," she said. "I feel better. Hetty, I have done a foolish thing tonight. I--I did it for the sake of another. It was a plot to rob and perhaps murder me, but I didn't know it. Promise me on your honour that you will never speak of this to a soul."
The promise thrilled on Hetty's lips. But might not this be all part of the conspiracy by which her lover's good name had terribly suffered? Perhaps later on, her testimony on this head might be all important.
There was a faint moaning cry in the doorway, a tiny white figure stood there. Mamie had been awakened by the ringing of the bell, she had missed Hetty, and had come down in her childish way to see what was the matter.
"Oh, mother," she cried. "What is the matter? What have they been doing to you?"
She advanced rubbing her terrified eyes, but Hetty barred the way, and caught the little one up in her arms.
"It is nothing, darling," she said as she kissed the white lips. "Mother has been masquerading, it is a part of her dress. You must come to bed with me at once; there is a terrible draught here. Come along."
Hetty swept out of the room and up the stairs, glad to escape without giving the word that would have sealed her lips. Tomorrow Bruce should know all of this. She slipped into her bedroom and locked the door. She was longing for the time when she could get away from this horrible house. She was staying for Gordon's sake. But how much longer would she be called upon for the sacrifice?
Meanwhile Balmayne had crept in downstairs. He crossed over and helped himself liberally to brandy. He took a second glass, and a third. But there came none of the glow of courage to his heart.
"What's to be done now?" he asked.
Leona made no reply. Her eyes were fixed moodily on space.
With a white oblong sheet of paper in his pocket with the signature of the chief magistrate at Bow Street, Prout went down jauntily to call upon Lawrence. The latter looked at him smilingly.
"You are going to arrest Countess Lalage?" he asked.
"Well, I don't know anything about that," Prout said, taken aback. "But I've certainly got a warrant for the arrest of Leona Lalage. Mr. Lawrence, I've solved the problem of the blacklead I found in the Corner House."
"That's clever. How did you manage it?"
"Well, fortune was kind to me. I couldn't think what that blacklead was doing there."
"I could have told you. I knew that as far back ago as the first inquest on Leon Lalage. Our friend the Countess has a fast motor. It was so fast that she could be in two places at once. But it became necessary to disguise the motor--the black motor that Miss Lawrence and the newspaper man saw. It must be a disguise that would come off easily. What better than blacklead, that could be removed from the bright parts with a damp rag and restored with a touch? The black motor came to grief last night, I see."
"Ah! you read that in the paper, sir. And, of course, you knew all about the attempt on the life of Mr. Charlton by the fair Spaniard. Well, she was seen to escape in that motor, and near the scene of the smash we found the wig. The manufacturer of the car has been seen and he is prepared to swear whom he sold it to. Therefore, knowing what we do I took the liberty of swearing an information before Sir John at Bow Street, and I've got the warrant for the arrest of Leona Lalage in my pocket. We shall get her on one charge if we fail in another."
"You can't fail," said Lawrence quietly. "When I come to give evidence the character of my friend Dr. Bruce will be restored beyond question. By the way, I have not heard how Mr. Charlton is today."
Prout remarked that Charlton was better. Fortunately no great damage had been done. He was suffering from some loss of blood, but in a day or two the patient would be able to give evidence. There would be enough sensation for the papers tomorrow.
The detective went calmly on his way to Lytton Avenue. The Countess was not down yet, but if the caller would send up his business it should be attended to. Prout was firm, but his business was for the private ear of the lady of the house alone, and he would wait her good pleasure. He was quite easy in his mind, seeing that he was not alone, but accompanied by two officers in plain clothes, one being stationed in the front of the house and the other at the rear.
It was Hetty who came back with the second message that the Countess would see her visitor presently in her dressing-room. The girl started as she recognized the features of the detective.
"Is there anything wrong?" she asked.
Prout gave his information in a low voice. He could trust Hetty, and besides, she might have some valuable information to impart.
"Did you see anything queer last night, Miss?" he asked.
Hetty hesitated. It seemed hardly fair. And yet so much might depend upon her speaking. Nothing could save the Countess from arrest now. Rapidly, but clearly, she told Prout all that there was to tell.
"That clenches it," he said. "Now where did they hide themselves?"
A bell rang somewhere overhead, and Prout was summoned by a tall footman, who sniffed at him suspiciously as he led the way upstairs. In a magnificent wrap Leona Lalage sat. There was a cup of coffee before her. In a flash she saw exactly what had happened. Her hand did not shake now, the cigarette between her lips was steady. She had known that sooner or later this blow must fall.
It was only in a very strong light that traces of last night's adventures could be seen on her face. Just a little sigh of passionate regret escaped her, and then she was her own calm smiling self again.
"I fancy I have seen you before," she said. "Are you not the detective who has the Corner House mystery in hand?"
Prout admitted that such was the case.
"I am not here about that," he said, "at least, not for the present. I am afraid I have some bad news for you. I am speaking to the lady who is known to people generally as Countess Lalage."
"I am Countess Lalage," was the calm reply.
"As you like, madame," Prout said indifferently. "I have a warrant for the arrest of Leona Lalage on a charge of attempted murder. I can't say any more at present, and it will be as well for you to say as little as possible."
The Countess bowed; not for an instant did she change colour.
"I'll dress at once," she said. "My bedroom door is locked, so this is the only way I can escape. Get out something dark for me to wear, Hannah."
She called thus to her maid inside. With a smile she intimated to Prout that she might keep him a little time waiting. It did not matter how long seeing that he had his bird fast in the toils.
A quarter of an hour passed, and then a trim maid with dark short hair, and in the smart starched style peculiar to good servants, appeared. She gave one glance of indifference at Prout, and then passed down the stairs. From his window he could see the very neat figure crossing the square.
Time passed and he grew impatient. He coughed as he looked into the bedroom. Then he said something strong under his breath. Nobody was there. The opposite door was locked, but the bird had flown.
With a disturbed face Prout passed into the street. The men were still there.
"See anybody leave the house?" Prout asked.
"Nobody but a servant, and a pretty one," the other said.
"Then you be after her as soon as possible," Prout groaned. "We're done, Smithers. That smart lady's-maid was Countess Lalage!"
There was a good deal of whispering and talking in corners and under the trees at Longmere House. A fussy little man with an eyeglass seemed to have a great deal to say. Lady Longmere laughed somewhat scornfully as she watched him. A great pile of strawberries were on her plate.
"I have a great many faults," the pretty American heiress said, "but scandal never was one of them. Look at that little wretch of a Mosley Harcourt. Nobody likes him, and nobody is free from his poisonous tongue, but he goes everywhere because he has the very latest gossip."
Hetty nodded absently; in society parlance Lady Longmere had taken Hetty up. Since the night of the card party at Lytton Avenue, when her ladyship had foresworn cards for good and all, she had seen a good deal of Hetty. And she was one of the few who stuck loyally to Bruce.
"Here's your young man," she said presently. "He didn't want to come, but I made a special journey and persuaded him. Never hide yourself at times like this."
"Gordon is very sensitive," said Hetty. "That's the kind of thing that hurts."
She clutched at the handle of her sunshade passionately as a society leader responded to Bruce's uplifted hat by a cold stare.
"And Gordon saved that woman's life," Hetty said. "He sat up all one night with her and part of the second. It's very hard, Lady Longmere."
Lady Longmere replied generally that it would benefit Bruce in the long run. Lady Rockingham came up and said it was very hot. After his rebuff Bruce stood by as if unconscious of Lady Rockingham's presence.
"Surely your ladyship knows Dr. Bruce!" Hetty said with a vivid splash of colour on either cheek "A little time ago I understood that Dr. Bruce----"
"Dr. Bruce perfectly understands," Lady Rockingham said coldly.
"But you evidently don't," Hetty said coolly. "I was going to give your ladyship a little information. I fancy you were present at Lytton Avenue the night of the card party when those mysterious notes were produced. It was never known exactly who paid them over to Mr. Isidore, but I know now. They came from Countess Lalage; indeed, she admitted as much to my uncle, Mr. Lawrence."
Bruce drew Hetty gently away. The girl was sore and angry, and might be betrayed into saying something that she would be sorry for afterwards. After all, it did not matter much so long as they had one another.
The grounds were large and secluded; there were plenty of spots there for lovers. They might have been far away in the country.
"I have been talking to Lawrence," Bruce said. "My dear little girl, I have only learnt lately what you have endured for me. If these people had found you out they would most certainly have murdered you."
Hetty smiled lightly. She had her own reward. It would be mainly due to her that her lover's good name would be cleared.
"But it makes my blood boil to see you treated in that way by that woman," she cried, "especially after what you did for her. I long to tell her who the real culprit was, and that in a few days a woman in whose house she had been would be arrested for the crime."
"I'm glad you didn't," Bruce smiled. "What a sensation those good people will have presently! And most of them have been on intimate terms with our Countess. My darling, I shall never be easy in my mind till you are out of that house."
"And I shall never go till I can make some arrangements for Mamie," Hetty said. "Of course the secret cannot be kept much longer, and then I suppose everything will be seized by the creditors. But even the servants are in the dark as yet."
Bruce nodded moodily. He seemed to have something on his mind that he could not throw off. The cloud lifted a little under Hetty's blandishments; it was impossible to sit looking into those clear eyes and be wholly unhappy.
"You have some trouble," Hetty said anxiously.
"I have," Gordon said, "but I shan't tell it to you today. Let us talk of something else. Let us forget the world for ourselves."
A band was playing somewhere; there were voices pitched high close by; then came the clear laugh of Lady Longmere.
"Say, what a comedy!" she said. "What does it matter? It will be something to say afterwards that we knew the woman."
"I can't believe it," said Lady Rockingham. "Mr. Harcourt, are you quite clear and certain of your facts? Who told you?"
"Shouldn't dare to speak thus of the fascinating Lalage," Harcourt, the little man with the eyeglass, drawled. "Should be afraid of a knife in my back, or something horribly Corsican of that kind. Can't tell you any more except I know the police had a warrant for her arrest, and that she's bolted."
"And she's got a diamond star of mine worth a thousand pounds!" Lady Rockingham screamed. "A stone was missing, and she offered to have it replaced for me out of her stock of loose diamonds. I made a friend of that woman, a vulgar adventuress, who steals brooches and the like."
"Be a lesson to us all," Harcourt said sapiently, "for at least a month. And then we shall run after the next flashy adventurer who comes along. Give me the money, and I'll put any gutter flower-girl in society, and at the top of all in a month. It's only a question of cash."
The speaker passed on. Hetty seemed amused about something.
"So the story has leaked out," she said. "But it has its funny side. Fancy Leona Lalage getting Lady Rockingham's star like that! It was the sort of cynical thing she would have enjoyed."
Bruce held up his hand for silence.
"What are the boys saying in Piccadilly?" he asked.
The cries came nearer; a familiar name was mentioned.
"Latest society scandal!" came the shrill voices. "Latest society sensation! Flight of the Countess Lalage!"
The story flashed like lightning from one end of London to the other. Leona Lalage had been an important personage. Her face was familiar to the society paper window; no report of a great function was complete without a description of her dress. She was a constant source of "copy" to the paragraphists; her dinners and her parties were things to imitate and envy. And now the crash had come.
It was the sensation of the hour. Every penny paper had a portrait of sorts of Leona Lalage. The wildest rumours were afloat. As far as anybody knew for the present, the Countess was not at home, and the servants could give no clue as to her whereabouts.
Tomorrow a whole hoard of tradesmen would be down upon Lytton Avenue, but for the present Hetty was left in peace. Mamie was very far from well, flushed and feverish, so that at eleven o'clock she decided to call in Bruce. She rang the bell, but no servant appeared. She rang again, and went down presently into the basement to investigate.
There was no sign of a servant to be seen anywhere. They had all packed up their boxes, and fled, as rats quit a sinking ship.
Hetty was alone in the house. At any rate there was the telephone. Dr. Bruce was out, they told her, but expected in shortly, when he should have the message. It was not nice to be alone in so large a house with a sick child, but Hetty had no fear. All the horrors and all the tragedies had gone with the Countess. It was quite late when Bruce arrived. He asked no questions, as Hetty let him in herself. And Hetty said nothing of the fact that she had been deserted. It would only make Gordon uneasy, and she was certain that she could manage alone.
"Of course you can, darling," Bruce said fondly. "If ever there was a born nurse you are one. I don't like the look of the child at all. She ought to be got away from here to the seaside. Fresh air and salt water is what she wants."
The child lay between waking and sleeping. Her cry was for water.
"Not too much water," said Bruce. "A little now, and some fresh cold water later on. I shall give her a few of those drops I prescribed for her last week. Four now, and four in an hour's time. But be very careful as to the dose."
Hetty produced the little phial marked "poison," and examined the label. She had administered the medicine before, usually she kept it locked up. As she poured out the drops she had a curious sensation that she was being watched. Her hand shook so that she had to try again before she was satisfied.
"Are you nervous tonight?" Bruce asked.
"Not more than usual," said Hetty. "Once I get away from this house I shall be all right, and that looks as if it won't be long."
Bruce lingered as if loth to depart. The house seemed wonderfully silent. Bruce went down the stairs presently, accompanied by Hetty.
"Good night, my darling," he said, as he kissed her fondly. "You'll be compelled to leave here tomorrow, and I only hope the child will be better. Thank goodness, Gilbert Lawrence will be only too glad to have you."
Hetty fastened the door carefully. Now that she was alone she was feeling more horribly nervous than ever. She locked most of the downstairs doors, and it was only sheer self-contempt that prevented her from fastening her bedroom door. It required a deal of courage to sleep in a large, empty house.
Mamie had half-dropped asleep, but she opened her eyes again as Hetty entered.
"You have been so long," she said, pitifully, "so very long. And why didn't you come when I heard you standing by the door."
"I wasn't standing by the door," Hetty said, quietly.
"But indeed you were. I called out and you said 'Hush' very quietly. Then I heard the rustle of your dress as you went down the stairs."
Hetty murmured something to the effect that she had forgotten. There was no reason to contradict and argue over a child's fancies. Mamie murmured again.
"Take the drops first," Hetty suggested.
Mamie declined fretfully. She wanted water, and that on the table was quite warm. With a patient smile Hetty went downstairs to get more. Mamie drank thirstily. Hetty picked up the little bottle to pour out the drops.
By sheer habit she looked at the label. It was the same, and not the same. Hetty stifled a cry of surprise. She had made no mistake before--of that she was certain. Then what could possibly have happened? Somebody had crept into the room in her absence and changed the bottles!
There could be no doubt about that. The label had the same chemist's name on it, with the red caution of "Poison" underneath. The girl put the bottle to her nostrils and noticed the difference in the smell.
The discovery turned her sick and faint. That any one should deliberately try and take an innocent life like this filled her with loathing.
Mamie had dropped into what looked like a sound sleep. Hetty lay on the bed with the light out. She had the switch to her hand, she could lie there with the chance that the fiend who had done this thing would come back. More than one person in the house had known that that medicine was an experiment. If Mamie died it would do Bruce incalculable harm. And she herself might suffer. A thousand horrors rose out of the darkness and mocked at Hetty.
She lay there waiting patiently. Soon it seemed to her that somebody was in the room. She could hear breathing that was not her own, and the creep, creep of drapery. There was a faint rattle on the stand where the medicine stood, so faint that it would not have been heard by any but strained ears.
Hetty could stand it no longer. Her fingers went out to the electric switch, there was a sudden snap, and the room was bathed in light. There was a startling cry from a woman who stood just under the light with a bottle in her hand--the real bottle, as Hetty could see quite plainly.
"Now I have got you, murderess!" Hetty cried.
The woman reached up a long white hand, and taking the bulb of the swinging electric light in her grasp desperately, crushed it to pieces. Then there was swift darkness again and the rush of flying feet.
If there was a dark mystery any longer it was confined to the Corner House now. Hetty was not likely to see any more of Lytton Avenue. It was fortunate for her that Mamie was so much better in the morning, for as soon as the business of the day had commenced there was a rush of people to Lytton Avenue.
They poured in thick and fast till the law intervened in the person of a posse of officials who represented the Sheriff of London, and then Hetty was permitted to pack up her belongings and those of the child and depart. Gilbert Lawrence received them with open arms. Bruce was there, pleased enough to get Hetty from the house where she had suffered so much. But there was a white despairing look that caused Hetty to forget her own troubles.
The white look did not even vanish when Hetty spoke of her previous night's adventure.
"It was part of a plot to ruin us both," Bruce said moodily. "I should have been charged with criminal carelessness, which is fatal to a doctor, and you would have been guilty of administering an overdose. That woman, we know who she was, changed the bottles once and would have changed them again, in fact that is why she returned--the Countess."
"Oh, no," Hetty cried. "She never could have done that. Her own child, Bruce? Fancy a mother sacrificing the life of her own child to gratify a vengeance! I could not think as badly of her as that."
Bruce smiled wearily.
"Are you quite sure," he asked, "that Mamie is her own child?"
Hetty had no reply for the moment. That idea had never occurred to her before. Certainly she had never looked upon the Countess as a model mother; indeed, she had never seen her display what might be called natural affection.
"We shall probably never know," she said after a pause. "But as to your own trouble, Gordon, dear Gordon, why don't you confide in me?"
The appeal in the thrilling tender voice touched him. He took the slim figure in his arms and kissed the red lips.
"It's ruin," he said simply, "nothing else. A little time ago it looked to me as if all my ambitions were to be realised. And then this crushing misfortune comes upon me. My practice falls away, and I could not get my money in. Of course I can't dun patients like mine. It didn't matter till lately, because the guineas I got from consultations were keeping me going. But these morning callers call no more. I was pressed here and there, and I borrowed money."
"Not from those people who advertise, Gordon?"
"I am afraid I was as foolish as that," Bruce said, with a faint smile. "That sort of people seem to know when one is under the weather. And there was one very plausible fellow who sent me a confidential letter. I fell into the trap, and if I can't find £500 tomorrow I am ruined."
Hetty turned pale. But no word of reproach passed her lips. It was no time for that. And she knew by repute the kind of creditor that Gordon had. She merely asked the name of the obdurate creditor.
"I shall find some way out of it," she said. "Now go back to your work. Courage, dearest."
She kissed him tenderly, and pushed him from the room. Already she had made up her mind exactly what to do. Mamie must sit down and be good till teatime, after which she should go in the park and feed the swans. Half an hour later and Hetty was calling upon Izaac Isidore to ask his advice.
Isidore received his visitor warmly. He had taken a great fancy in his calm way to the pretty, plucky girl who had played so fine a part in the elucidation of a great mystery and a cruel wrong. He listened to what Hetty had to say.
"I thought you would find a way out," she suggested.
"Well, so I can," Isidore smiled. "I am not going to offer to lend that young man money, because that would wound his pride. Besides, there will be no occasion. Now, can you let me know the name of Bruce's creditor."
Hetty gave the desired information. There was a peculiar smile on the face of her companion.
"I fancy I can see my way to settle this business," he said. "In my early days I saw a deal of the shady side of finance--as a lad I was in the office of one of the very worst of them. I know all about this fellow. He is going to climb down, he is going to take a reasonable rate of interest, and he is going to give your lover time. You can make your mind easy about that."
And Isidore pulled at his cigar thoughtfully. He seemed so strong and confident that Hetty was strangely comforted.
"I thought I could rely upon you," she said gratefully. "Mr. Isidore, you have taken a great load from my mind."
Isidore finished his cigar, after which he took a frugal omnibus to the City, getting down in the neighbourhood of Cheapside. He found himself presently in a dingy office off Ironmonger Lane, and face to face with a fat, oily man, who recognized him with a mixture of admiration and apprehension.
"It's about that business of Dr. Gordon Bruce," Isidore said curtly. "Now, my friend Wolffman, you know me and I know you. I don't want to ruin you body and bones, but I shall do so unless you listen to reason. You are going to write to Dr. Bruce, and tell him the matter shall stand over for the present----"
"But my principal!" gasped Wolffman. "The lady who is paying me----"
"To ruin Dr. Bruce," Isidore said, as coolly as if a great light had not suddenly broken in upon him. "So your friend is in London?"
Wolffman wriggled uneasily. He wanted to lie badly, but with those eyes upon him he could not do so.
"She was yesterday," he stammered.
"Ah, then, you must dissemble with her. Tell her any lie you like so long as you let Dr. Bruce alone. I guessed there was some scheme on hand when I heard that you had written to the Doctor. Goodbye, Wolffman, and recollect that your ruin or otherwise depends upon yourself."
Isidore went out smiling blandly. He had made a great discovery.
"The Countess again," he murmured. "She's in this, as I thought. And so she is still in London, after all. How interested Prout will be!"
Prout was not surprised to receive the information that his quarry was still in London; indeed, he would have been astonished to know the contrary. Every port and every outgoing vessel had been carefully watched. Still, the woman had accomplices somewhere. It was absurd to believe that in the simple guise of a maid she could have found a hiding place where she would be safe from the grip of the law.
"Find Balmayne, and you'll find her," Prout said. "If we get on the track this week we shall catch her, if not, she may get away. Vigilance is bound to be relaxed sooner or later. That is why delay is on the side of the prisoner."
"And if she does get away?" Isidore asked.
"Then she will go to some of her earlier haunts on the Continent," said Prout. "They always do. We can count upon that with absolute certainty."
"And you know all about her early haunts?"
Prout confessed that up to the present he had but the sketchiest idea of the past of the brilliant adventuress who called herself Countess Lalage. He was just a little piqued that he should have been so easily gulled, especially as the case was exciting so ominous an amount of public attention. From all parts of the Continent stories were coming in telling of this and that swindled capitalist. The woman had flaunted for years with the money she had obtained by fraud. It was calculated that besides her debts she had got away with nearly a million of money.
It seemed incredible, but there it was, and there it will be again so long as human cupidity and human greed exist. Maitrank was the only man who was silent over his losses. He had been a fool, but the money was gone, and there was no reason why he should betray his folly aloud to the world.
"I think I'll go down to Holloway and see René Lalage," Prout said thoughtfully. "I dare say I shall be able to advise him to tell me something as to the past of the Countess. If only he were not secure, that woman would have to look to herself. He believes that the woman betrayed and murdered his brother, and he is a Corsican. Give him a few hours' start, and the law would be rid of Leona Lalage."
In his cell at Holloway René Lalage was disposed to be communicative. He spat furiously, his dark eyes gleamed at the mention of the woman.
"She was bad, utterly bad from a child," he said. "She was a distant connexion of the family. As a girl she set us all aflame with her beauty. She was the vainest and most cruel girl in the village. If she could rob another girl of her lover she was happy, and happier still in flinging him aside after. She was delighted when she could breed a quarrel between two friends and get them to fight.
"Why she married Leon I cannot say. Perhaps it was because he bullied her. But Leon was no saint, and he drank, and he got into gaol, and Leona left him. For a long time we did not hear what had become of her. Then I saw her in Paris at a circus. A little time later and she was mixed up in politics in Rome. But she got steadily on, living in a more luxurious way till I lost sight of her altogether.
"We heard afterwards that she had gone through a form of marriage with a great nobleman, and that she was living in much splendour in England. But we know better. Leon and I had spent our little fortune long ago and sold the farm. After that we had to live by our wits, as you are aware, Signor Prout.
"Then we both drifted to England, neither of us knowing where the other was. I met Leon quite by accident. He said he had found his wife, and that she seemed to be rolling in money. She managed to lure him to the Corner House, where she kept him prisoner. But he got some money from her, and part of that he promised me. I never got it, as you know, and you can guess the reason why.
"Leon was in the way; he had to be got rid of. If it had to be murder, why that woman would never have hesitated. We shall find out that it was done some way. And if ever I get out of this I will track her day by day and hour by hour. I will lure her into some quiet place, and then I shall plunge my knife into her as she plunged hers into my brother as he lay helpless. I tell you this, policeman as you are, because I am reckless, and there is blood in my eyes. Once I am free, my vengeance shall be complete. You may hang me, but you can't deprive me of that."
He spoke furiously under his breath, with the veins standing out on his forehead. He seemed to have almost forgotten the presence of Prout. The next moment he was quiet and smiling again, but Prout was not deceived. Once that man was free he would never go back on his word.
On the whole, the interview produced nothing of importance. Nor was Lawrence subsequently able to deduce anything from it.
"The fellow told you really nothing," he said thoughtfully, "at least, nothing that we can put to any practical use. He has his own vengeance to gratify, and therefore he is not in the least anxious to assist the law."
"He knew more than he would tell," said Prout.
"Of course he did. I shouldn't wonder if he knew where that woman is hiding. I am still of opinion that if you can find Balmayne you can find the chief culprit. If you come to me tomorrow evening I may manage to hammer out something, but my brain is addled for the present. I have a theory of my own, but it sounds a little too cold at present."
Prout dutifully returned the following evening, but Lawrence had nothing fresh to offer. He still clung to his new theory, but it was not sufficiently developed for practical use. And he didn't want to be laughed at, he said.
"I never laugh at your suggestions," Prout replied.
"Well, you're not going to have the chance over this now," said Lawrence. "If I had my own way----what a row those newsboys are making!"
There were yelling in the street below. As they passed their raucous cries uprose so that from the babel some sense could be made--
"The Corner House Mystery! Startling Developments! René Lalage's Escape From Holloway! A Warder Seriously Injured! The Culprit Succeeds In Getting Clear Away!"
There was the sound of a faint scratching as if a mouse was working somewhere. The warder in the courtyard pronounced it to be a mouse and passed on. Then a figure, almost invisible in the gloom, crept along the top of the wall and dropped feet foremost into the street. It was nothing but luck that stood René Lalage in such good stead all along. A crumbling bit of plaster, some repairs going on in the gallery overhead, a ladder and a couple of gimlets left about by one of the carpenters engaged on the job.
Well, he was free. He did not hesitate for a moment. He darted swiftly down the road with the air of a man who knows exactly what he is doing and where he wants to go. The man had not been convicted yet, therefore he had the advantage of wearing his own clothes.
Using the tramline was a bit of a risk, but Lalage took it. He wanted to be on familiar ground before his escape had been discovered. He had one object steadily in view, and after that was done he cared nothing. He came at length to a dismal looking road leading off Waterloo Bridge. Before what seemed an empty house he paused and knocked. A feeble gleam filtered in the fanlight and the door opened.
The man behind staggered back and muttered something that sounded like admiration. René Lalage stepped inside and shut the door.
"The others have not come yet," he said coolly. "I had arranged for the ceremony to take place without me. I was being detained elsewhere. But behold I am here to take my vengeance in my own hands. When the others come they will be surprised to see their leader again, Beppo."
The man addressed as Beppo nodded and grinned. There was nothing prepossessing about him. He looked the kind of man to avoid on a dark night. He led the way to a back room furnished only with a long table and a few chairs. Presently there was another knock at the door, and four men came in.
Picturesque, cut-throat-looking ruffians that might have come straight from the stage of the Surrey Theatre. These men were pleased to call themselves conspirators. But no patriotic business brought them here tonight.
Evidently René Lalage passed as leader of them. They greeted him with shouts of approval and many strange manifestations of pleasure. One by one they produced tobacco and cigarette papers until the room was dim with smoke.
"You got my letter, Luigi?" Lalage asked. The man addressed as Luigi nodded.
"Good!" Lalage went on. "That letter was written in gaol. It looked so innocent that the people there passed it. They did not know that every letter had a meaning. It seemed all about my defence. You acted on that letter?"
"I did," Luigi growled, "I saw Antonio at once. It was not long before he was on the track. Your man will be here tonight."
They smoked on for some little time idly. These men were prepared for most things, but they preferred idleness and tobacco to anything else. It was only Lalage who was restless and uneasy. As the time passed he glanced impatiently at the door. Then there came another knock without.
Beppo crept to the door. He came back presently followed by two men. The latter one was dressed in superior fashion to the rest. With a yell Lalage flew across the room and turned the key in the lock.
"Enter, Signor Luigo Balmayne," he cried mockingly. "Signor, I have the honour to wish you a very good evening. You are most welcome."
Balmayne promptly collapsed into the chair that Beppo had put for him. He glanced in a white and agitated way round the room. There was not a friendly face to be seen anywhere. Given immunity from protection, and not one man there would have refused to cut his throat for a handful of coppers.
There was no avenue of escape. The man's life was in danger, and he knew it. With mocking politeness Lalage tendered him a cigarette. He pushed it aside; he could not have smoked for untold money. There was a great lump in his throat now, a wild beating of his heart.
"You know me?" Lalage said. "We have met before. It was you who betrayed me to the police at Ravenna. In the dock there I swore to be revenged upon you. And I am a man of my word."
Balmayne tried to say something, but failed.
"I had two years for that," Lalage went on, "two weary years which is an agony to a restless man like myself. You betrayed me, because I was in your way, and so that you could keep the spoil to yourself. You were poorer and less prosperous in those days than you seem to be now. You are rich."
"I am as poor as yourself," Balmayne contrived to say.
"Ah! That is good hearing. You came here tonight expecting to see Ghetti. But we took the liberty of using Ghetti's name. It is only by the merest accident that I am here tonight to carry out this work. My good friends here would have done it for me otherwise. But I was fortunate enough to escape from the gaol yonder, and here I am."
Balmayne glanced miserably about him. He was not listening at all. He was calculating the chances of escape, of the fate that lay before him. Had this thing taken place in Corsica he would have been in no doubt for a moment. All these men were joined together by blood ties or something of that kind, and insult to one was an insult to another.
They had lured him there, and he had come with his eyes open. He cursed his folly. But then he had been hiding, and his money was gone. It seemed like a wonderful slice of luck to find Ghetti in London. And behold there was no Ghetti at all, only this trap and the knowledge that his time was come.
"Well?" Lalage burst out, furiously. "Why don't you speak; what have you got to say before I put the knife into your heart?"
Balmayne grovelled helplessly. There were tears in his eyes. The man could plot and intrigue, he could make the weapons for others, but he had no heart for them himself. He was an abject coward without feeling for anyone but himself. He would have left his nearest to starve or die without a prick of conscience, but he was nervous for himself. And he read his sentence in Lalage's eyes.
"Get up!" the latter cried. "Why do you grovel there? Faugh! you sicken me. Is there no spark of manhood in you at all? You are going to die."
An approving chorus followed from the others.
"You hear that?" Lalage went on. "You are going to die. Your life has been given over to me to do as I please with. There is one way to save your delicate skin, one way to freedom if you choose to take it."
Balmayne rose from the floor. Something like hope crept into his haggard eyes.
"It shall be done," he said hoarsely. "Speak."
"Ah, I knew you would listen to reason; I knew there was nothing so vile and degraded that you would not do to save yourself. Answer me the question, then. Tell me at once where I can find Leona Lalage?"
Balmayne started. Not that he desired to show any courage and refuse. He knew why, none better, Lalage wanted to see his brother's wife. And he would have betrayed her to save himself without the smallest hesitation.
It would mean the loss of all his plans, it would mean hiding in poverty in England instead of something like luxury on the Continent, but he did not hesitate. Leona Lalage would never have acted like that.
"I will show you where she is," he said hoarsely.
"Of course you will," Lalage laughed. "Heaven be praised you are no countryman of mine? Oh you dog, you gutter cur, you slimy reptile, to betray a mere woman like this! And not even to make a good fight of it. But whilst I revile you and try to get the blood into your white cowardly cheeks it is good that you should obey. I spare your life because it will not be for long."
Balmayne sat there without a word. He had no feeling, no sense of shame.
"I am going to take this man with me," said Lalage as he rose. "He is known to you all, and you have marked him well. In his way he will betray us if he can. He will not go to the police, because they may ask awkward questions, and as like as not there is a warrant out for his arrest also. But he is a man of many ideas. If anything happens to me, repeat it to the Brotherhood at the headquarters. After that I would not give a week for the life of this Balmayne."
Balmayne nodded and turned. He knew only too well what that threat meant. So far as he could see there was no way out of it whatever. He had come to the end of his resources. If he could only get away from this!
"Goodnight, comrades," said Lalage. "I shall return presently. Come on, dog, follow at the heels of your master."
Lalage struck out boldly into the street followed by Balmayne. There was only one thing uppermost in his mind, one great project that filled his untutored brain. A great wrong had been done, and he was to right it by blood. There was no crime about this, it had been the custom of his race for centuries.
His own kin had been done to death, and he was going to avenge the murder. To this end he had caused Balmayne to be lured from his hiding place by those who knew how to bait the trap for the rascal. Once Balmayne was in his power he would be compelled to speak. And the night was very dark.
Balmayne slunk by the side of his companion. He longed to cry aloud that here was a man who had escaped from gaol, to have him bound hand and foot, and to feel that he was out of the way for the present. He wanted to go to the nearest policeman and tell him all this.
But then the police would want to know too much, and he did not feel that he himself was anything like out of the wood. Again, there was the Brotherhood. That it was no idle threat on the part of Lalage, Balmayne knew only too well. Once he betrayed the latter his life was not worth a week's purchase.
"Are we getting near the spot?" Lalage asked.
"We are getting very near now," Balmayne croaked.
They had come to a better part of the town. They paused at length before Lytton Avenue. The house of many festivities was dark and dismantled. There was no sign of life or movement there.
"A good idea," Lalage muttered. "An excellent doubling of the tracks. May I guess that you are going to meet Leona Lalage here tonight?"
Balmayne nodded. He spoke so low that the other hardly caught the words.
"Here is the latchkey," he said. "There are several of them. There is no caretaker in the place as yet. Go in, you have no further need of me."
Lalage entered gently. He stood in the pitchy darkness for some time. He could not hear a sound. Presently his patience was rewarded. There was the click of a key in the door and something swished by him.
Lalage thrust out his arm and grasped a silken shoulder.
"Not a cry," he whispered, hoarsely. "I don't know the house and you do. I am going to hold on to you, and you are going to guide me to a back room where we can turn on the electric light in safety. And recollect that I have two hands, and that there is a long knife in the other one."
The woman moved on without further sound or protest. She came at length to a room at the back of the house, and fumbled along the wall. There was a click, and the place was flooded with brilliant light.
Leona Lalage fell back with a faint cry. Just for a moment she covered her eyes with her hands. Lalage stood like a statue. He smiled, but there was nothing of mirth in it.
"René Lalage!" Leona said. "You have come here to kill me!"
"If there is one thing that is likely to come between you and Bruce," said Lawrence, as he struggled into his overcoat, "it is your devotion to that child, Hetty. There is nothing the matter with her at all. She is merely suffering from strawberries. I had an idea to work this afternoon, contrary to my usual custom, and I soothed Mamie with strawberries. Blame me as you like, but there it is."
Hetty laughed. It was past eleven, and Lawrence was going down to his club for an hour. The little girl had been a bit more fretful than usual.
"I'm so sorry for the poor child," she said.
"And so am I. You've done as much for her as if she were your own, but all the same I should not be sorry if somebody claimed her. I've never had the slightest doubt that she is no relation to the Countess at all."
"Then why should a woman like that encumber herself----"
"My dear child, I don't look upon it in that light at all. The child gave our picturesque friend a certain distinction--'My husband is dead, and this is my only child,' and all that sort of thing. It pays in society."
With which cynical remark Lawrence lighted a cigarette and departed. From above the fretful voice of Mamie called to her dear Hetty. In sooth, the child was running a great risk of being spoilt.
"What is it, darling?" Hetty said. "What can I do for you?"
Mamie was thirsty. She scornfully refused a suggestion of soda-water; nothing would content her but a certain fruit salt that came from a certain place some way off. She was quite sure that she could not do without it, and that unless the salt was forthcoming she would have a dreadful headache in the morning.
"All right," Hetty said cheerfully. "I'll go and get it for you."
There was the best part of a mile to go; it was getting very late, but Hetty had not been out all day, so that she enjoyed the walk. She made her way back along the darkness of Alton Square. Most of the houses were dark, and nobody was to be seen.
From a little way off came the sound of rapid footsteps. The step grew swifter, and there was the sound of another behind. As if by magic a half score of people seemed to spring from under the trees against the square yonder.
It all seemed like a dream to Hetty after, a confused mist out of which came two struggling figures, there was the flash of a knife, and Hetty, heedless of danger, darted forward with an idea of interfering.
The cry that rose to her lips was stifled, a firm hand grasped her arm, another was laid tightly over her mouth.
"You must say and do nothing," a hoarse voice whispered. "It is a fair quarrel and a fair punishment. Accept my deepest apologies for handling a lady so roughly, but I am but the creature of circumstance."
Hetty's heart was beating violently. The struggle seemed interminable, but in reality it was a mere matter of seconds. Then one figure fell to the ground and lay there rigid and motionless. It was too dark to see more than the outline of the tragedy, and almost before it had begun it had dissolved away, leaving only that ominously still figure lying prone in the roadway.
Hetty's antagonist had vanished also. He had gone clean out of sight before Hetty realised that she was free. Then she called loudly for help. A policeman came from somewhere, and Hetty was pouring out her tale.
"Seems pretty bad," said the policeman gruffly, as he flashed his lantern down on the white still face. "This here's a job for the ambulance."
He whistled again and again, and presently the ambulance came trotting up. It was only when the body was raised that Hetty recognized the white still face. With a thrill it came to her that she was looking at Balmayne.
She was conscious of no feeling of astonishment. At every turn she seemed to be brought into contact with the central figures of the Corner House tragedy. A sudden inspiration came to her.
"As it happens, I know the gentleman," she said. "When I was governess to the Countess Lalage's little girl he frequently came to the house. I am a niece of Mr. Gilbert Lawrence, the novelist, who lives close by. There is a room to spare in his house, and this looks like a bad case. If you will follow me----"
The sergeant in charge of the ambulance had no objection to make. A little later and Balmayne was stripped and in bed. A doctor who had been summoned shook his head as he made his diagnosis of the wound.
"Critical," he said. "There has been a great loss of blood, too. It is all a matter of constitution now. Till I can send a nurse in----"
Hetty nodded. She perfectly understood. And Bruce had often told her that she was one of the best nurses he had ever met. There was nothing to do for the moment beyond watching over the patient to see that no change occurred.
Hetty sat there all alone for some time wondering. It looked as if fate was playing into her hands. If the man lying at the point of death could only speak, if he could only be induced to do so.
Balmayne opened his eyes and looked languidly about him. It was quite evident that he had not the slightest idea what had happened.
"Where am I?" he murmured, faintly.
Hetty explained in a few words. The patient was not to talk. He was to lie there and try to sleep again. If he did so and obeyed instructions, before long he would be out and well again.
A queer smile played over the listener's face.
"Till next time," he said. "It's all over with me. The pitcher has gone too often to the well, and it has got broken at last. And I deserved all I got--there is no question whatever about that."
"You are not to say another word," Hetty said sternly.
"All right. Only that you are an angel of goodness. If I could only tell you----"
He lay back exhausted and closed his eyes again.
There was no chance for Balmayne from the first. He was perfectly conscious all the time; he was to have anything that he required. He was absolutely cynical and callous as to the future. He had always played the coward's part all his life, and now, strangely enough, when he came to die he showed the greatest indifference.
He smiled into the face of the man whose good name he might have cleared, but he gave no sign. So hard and callous a nature was impervious to kindness. Anybody who did a kind action for its own sake was a fool in Balmayne's eyes.
There was only one that he cared to see, and that was Hetty. In a curious way the girl's goodness and purity appealed strongly to him. As to his future he cared nothing. He wanted to know if anything had been seen of Leona Lalage, and when Hetty replied to the contrary he seemed to be greatly astonished.
"You are sure she has not been near Lytton Avenue?" he asked.
Hetty was quite sure of that. Only that day the magnificent decorations of No. 1, Lytton Avenue, had been sold on the premises, and nobody could have been there besides those who were interested in the sale.
"Strange thing," said Balmayne to himself. "A most remarkable thing! Miss Lawrence, will you do a favour for me. I would not trust anybody else. But if you will give me your promise I shall be easy. There is only one thing I have done that I really am sorry for, and you can set it right for me."
"I will do anything I can to make your mind easy," Hetty said.
"Ah, you are a good girl. If I had seen more like you I should have been a better man. But I was brought up in a hard school. It's about Mamie. Did it ever strike you that the child was no relation to Leona Lalage?"
"My uncle has always said so," Hetty replied.
"And he is perfectly right. That wonderful man always is right. Mamie is the only child of a sister of mine who lives in Florence. I wanted her once to impoverish herself to help me in one of my schemes, and she refused. By way of revenge I had her child stolen. That is some four years ago. She never knew I had a hand in it; she deems Mamie to be dead. When I am gone I want you to write to my sister and tell her what I am saying. Only you must get the address."
"Only tell me," Hetty exclaimed. "Poor woman! What is the address?"
"I cannot tell you from memory. But I am going to ask you to find the address. You know the little bedroom I used to occupy at the top of the Lytton Avenue house. There is a cupboard in the corner, and the board next the fireplace comes up. In the recess you will find a little box full of papers. On one paper is my sister's address. The other papers I will ask you to burn unread."
"If I could get into the house," Hetty said, "I would cheerfully do what you ask."
"That is quite easy. I have a latchkey in my waistcoat pocket. You have only to go and get the papers, and nobody will be any the wiser. I felt quite sure you would do this thing for me."
Balmayne murmured something more and closed his eyes. When the nurse came up to him an hour later he was dead. He had passed away quietly in his sleep. How he came by his death, and who his assailants were nobody knew. There were many dark passages in that dark life known only to itself and its Maker.
It was a few days later before Hetty thought of her promise to Balmayne. It was a fine bright afternoon with a strong sunshine, so that even the deserted house in Lytton Avenue looked almost cheerful. With a feeling that she might have been taken for a burglar or a house-breaker, Hetty let herself in.
Everything was gone, even to the electric fittings. The place was dismantled and dirty, the floors grimy with the tramp of many feet. A door closed with a sullen bang, and Hetty started.
"How dreadful it all looks!" she murmured. "I hope I shall never see it again. Some houses seem to be given over to misery and crime. Now to find those papers."
The little room was at the top facing the blank windows of the Corner House. Hetty had no difficulty in finding the box, and a very brief search showed the address she was looking for. The box she emptied in the grate and set fire to the contents with a match she had brought for the purpose.
She watched the flames die away, and turned to go. As she did so she looked out for a moment at the Corner House. The sun was shining strongly on the grimy windows. It seemed as if somebody was moving inside. Hetty was certain that she could see a shadowy form there.
She waited just for a moment in eager expectation. There was the form again, and then the spurt and flare of gas. What would anybody want gas for at this time of the day? The question was answered immediately, for a hand went over the gas flame holding something that looked like a kettle to the flame. Then the hand disappeared and nothing more was to be seen, despite Hetty's patience.
She pondered over this discovery as she went home. It might mean a lot, it might mean a very little. It was more than possible that Mr. Charlton had left a caretaker in possession of the house with a view to avoiding further incursions upon his possessions. If so, that casual way of boiling a kettle was quite the course a caretaker would adopt.
All the same, Hetty decided to speak of her discovery to Lawrence. He was busy at his desk when she returned. He looked up quickly, for there was an expression on Hetty's face that told of some discovery.
"I have been to Lytton Avenue," she said, "to get that address I told you of. And then I made a discovery. Uncle, how long has there been a caretaker on those premises, who boils a kettle by the ingenious expedient of holding it over the gas until it is hot enough?"