Lawrence threw up his pen with a cry of delight "You've made a more wonderful discovery than you know," he said. "What a splendid scheme, and how foolish of me not to think of it before. My dear child, you have found the hiding place of Leona Lalage!"
The time had come. Leona Lalage knew it as well as if she had seen the writing on the wall. This man had come for her; she would have no time to make her peace with the world. When he had his say he would drive his knife into her heart, and there would be an end of it.
"I--I thought you were in prison," she gasped.
"Oh, then you knew that I was in England?" René replied. "I have been in prison for some time, otherwise you would have done less mischief. Woman, what has become of my brother--your husband?"
She did not reply for a moment. Her courage was coming back to her, as it always did when the stress of danger was great. Hard-pushed and beaten down as she was, she did not wish to die. She had been crushed flat to earth before, and yet she had recovered.
If she could only gain time! If she could only manage to throw dust in the eyes of this man! She would ask no questions, because that would be only by way of making admissions. She must feel her way in the dark.
And there was no avenue of escape whatever. She was alone with this man in a dark, deserted house. She had come there for a few needed trifles that she had left behind. Nobody had seen either of them enter. Why, it was a very premium upon murder and the lust for revenge!
"Where is my brother?" René repeated doggedly.
"You know very well where your brother is," Leona replied. "He is dead. He died in a house that is very close to here."
"He did not die, woman. He was foully murdered."
"Why should I deny it?" Leona said boldly. "My husband was murdered. He was slain by Dr. Gordon Bruce for the sake of his money."
René sneered. He crossed over to the door. Leona laughed aloud.
"Oh, I have not the slightest idea of trying to escape," she said. "Why should I? I am entirely innocent of the death of your brother."
"You lured him to the Corner House and drugged him. You kept him prisoner."
"I admit it. Leon discovered my whereabouts, and that I was apparently rich and prosperous. He demanded large sums of money. As a matter of fact I was driven to my wits' ends for cash then, and I refused. I had to drug him and detain him to still that fool's tongue of his. He might have done me a grave mischief. Then I had a bit of luck, and I gave Leon four hundred sovereigns. He knew where you could be found; he told me he wanted to send half to you. I allowed him to go so that he could change his gold into notes for the purpose."
"Yes, yes," René said impatiently, "I know all that. Why did you kill him?"
"Why should I have killed him?" was the cool response. "At the rate he was going he would have drunk himself to death in another week."
The rage and lust for vengeance was only smouldering in René's eyes now. It was just possible that he had made a mistake after all.
"But you were in the house," he said, "disguised as a Spanish woman----"
"Of course I was. Leon and myself had come to an understanding. He was going abroad after he had sent you the money. At great risk to myself I passed between here and the Corner House. I had to disguise myself. And when everything was ready Leon got at the brandy bottle again. For some nights he had not slept. When I got to the Corner House late that night Leon was practically dead. Ah, better for me if I had left him to die."
The passionate despair of the tones touched René. It did not seem possible to the man that this woman was acting.
"But I didn't do anything of the kind," Leona resumed. "I had Balmayne to back me up. He played the part of a deaf mute servant for me and fetched Dr. Bruce in the motor car. When Bruce came I departed, at least I left him on the premises. I dared not stay any longer. Half Bruce's story was a clever lie. He only told a portion of it. And it has been proved beyond doubt that the notes Leon intended to send to you were paid by Dr. Bruce to a firm in the Tottenham Court Road for some furniture. I am not romancing; you can see all this in the papers. Every one of those missing notes had Dr. Bruce's signature on the back. How do you get over that?"
René was silent for a moment. The woman's tongue was getting round him. And the practical part of her story was true.
"Now, listen to me," he said hoarsely. "I came here to kill you; I came here to be avenged on my brother's murderer. When you saw me come in you were afraid."
"Because I read your errand in your eyes. But I am not afraid now."
"I don't think you are," René said, with grudging admiration. "Do you know how I got here? We lured Balmayne into a trap under the idea that he was going to meet Ghetti, and I frightened your address out of him. He betrayed you."
The outburst of rage and scorn that René expected was not forthcoming. She smiled.
"Not in the way you mean," she said. "Balmayne has fooled you to save his own skin. He knew I should make my story good and prove my innocence, or he would never have sent you to meet me tonight."
"He had no what you call alternative," René growled.
"Yes, he had. That man is far cleverer than you. You are a child to him in cunning with all your boasted brains. If you kill me tonight you commit a cold-blooded murder. But you are not going to do anything of the kind."
It began to dawn upon René that the speaker was right. But he had another weapon still up his sleeves. His vengeance was not boiling within him as it had been, the red light no longer danced before his eyes.
"Get me food," he said; "they starve you in those places yonder. I have tobacco, but my stomach craves for food. Go and get me food. I'll go and lock the area door so that you may not give way to a desire to take the air. After that you can find me something."
Leona retorted scornfully that she had no desire for flight. But as for the food that René demanded, it was a different matter. Still, Lytton Avenue had always been an extravagant household, and there might be welcome food here that would have been looked upon with disdain a few days ago.
There was nothing in the kitchen, but there were some boxes in the storeroom beyond--a tin or two of sardines and some biscuits. Also in a wine cellar Leona found a flask or two of Chianti.
These she handed up to René, who returned to the dining-room with them. His mood had changed for the moment, but Leona was by no means out of danger yet. He might have been trying her all the time, he might be gloating over his vengeance. If she could only get rid of him, only scare him away.
She looked round as if seeking inspiration. She found it presently in the housekeeper's room. Just in front of her was the glitter and sheen of the telephone. The scheme that she wanted came to her like a flash.
She closed the door of the room softly and gave a call. It was late at night, the exchange was quiet, and the answer came swiftly.
"Give me number--well, I forget the number," she said almost in a whisper. "I want to be put on to the nearest police-station quick."
"Vine Street," came the staccato reply. "Number 107--there you are. You are wanted Vine Street. . . . There you are--speak up."
A hoarse voice wanted to know what was wrong. But it mattered little what noise the speaker made at the other end of the wire so long as the caller spoke under her breath. She proceeded to explain.
"I'm at No. 1, Lytton Avenue," she said, "Countess Lalage's, you know. Yes, I am quite aware of the fact that it is an empty house. But there is a lot of stuff here that is worth fetching. In fact, there is somebody in the dining-room now. Are you going to do anything, or shall I give the alarm?"
The gruff voice suggested diplomacy, and promised immediate assistance. The caller had only to lie low and the desired aid should be on hand immediately. With a sense of pride and exultation Leona Lalage hung up the receiver and made her way to the dining-room.
Unless some unforeseen event took place she had saved her own life. But all the same there was danger. The police would probably get René, but also they might get her, which was a much more serious matter. She softly opened the catch of the back drawing-room window so that she could reach the garden.
René had opened the tin with the point of his knife, and was eating sardines and biscuits in a wolfish way. The Chianti he drank from the bottle.
"That is like a breath of old times," he growled, as he finished the flask. "Let me light a cigarette and then we'll talk again. I am going to try you high, dear lady. I am going to test your story."
The old gleam was coming back to his eyes. Leona drew a deep breath. She had half expected this at the time; there was always the chance that this man knew a great deal more than she imagined. But help must be near her by this time, and she could always prevaricate.
"Pooh, I am not afraid," she said, with easy contempt. "Say on, say on."
"Ah, I am coming to that fast enough," René growled. "You say that you gave my brother four hundred pounds in gold----"
He paused as he saw Leona listening eagerly, not to himself, but to something outside. She was acting perfectly. There was just a suggestion of alarm in her manner that gave the situation.
"Didn't you hear something?" she whispered.
René shook his head. He could hear nothing at all. He said so impatiently. It seemed to him that his companion was playing with him.
"You or I, or both of us, are followed," she said. "Come this way. Peep out of the window without lifting the blind. What do you see?"
A policeman, standing rigidly outside the house, making signs with his hands to somebody. A sound of feet creeping down the area steps, the sudden pop and bang of a door forced in by a lever.
"Look to yourself," Leona cried, "they are here. There is a ladder in the garden that leads out to the roof. Never mind me."
René had no intention of doing anything of the kind. A dim, blue-coated figure stood in the doorway of the dining-room. With one spring René was upon him, and carried him to the floor. There was a groan and a snarl and a snore, and the policeman lay on his back utterly oblivious for the moment.
René Lalage raced up the stairs. The house was not familiar to him, but he quite understood the meaning of what Leona had said about the ladder. As to the woman herself, she was quite at home there. She slipped into the back drawing-room, and thence across the hall into the drawing-room. The window catch was unfastened, as she had looked forward to this way out, and an instant later she was in the cool air. She could hear the shouts and yells in the house; presently she heard the cry of a policeman far overhead. René's means of escape had been discovered, and he was being pursued over the housetops.
"I hope they get him," Leona said between her teeth. "I hope they get him. And may they keep him for the rest of his life."
She hurried down the garden to the green gate. A little way beyond it was a policeman. No escape that way for the present. The garden was all right, but it would be light in two or three hours. There was a yell from the roof, and then a policeman's hoarse roaring, saying that he had "got him." The next time Leona looked out the policeman outside the green gate was gone.
When and where should Leona go now? She was utterly outcast. If it was possible----
"It is possible," she cried aloud. "Fool not to have thought of it before. What better hiding-place could I have than in the Corner House!"
Rene Lalage made his way blindly up to the roof, where he lay breathless under the shadow of a chimney. It was too dark to study any further plan of escape, and too dark for a free dash for liberty. A false step and he might be dashed to the ground. Better be caught and taken back to gaol than that.
He waited for what seemed a long time, but was only a few minutes after all. Then there were voices coming nearer and nearer, one with a hoarse note of triumph as the ladder leading to the roof was found.
"This is the way," another gruff voice said. "He's here for any money."
A police helmet appeared cautiously above the skyline, followed by a bulky body. Then a lane of light played all over the roof. Closer and closer René nestled up in the shadow of the chimney. He was in the centre of the gleaming light now, and presently his figure grew distinct and clear.
"Come out of it, my lad," said the gruff one good-humouredly. "We've got you."
René rolled down the roof to a long ledge that the light had shown him. If he could run along that he could gain the next house, and go a deal further. Then he might slip down another ladder, and so through a sleeping household to safety. He rocked unsteadily over on the ledge with his feet hanging perilously over the parapet; the next instant one of the police officers, at the risk of his neck, was upon him. René would have wriggled for his knife, but he dared not move.
"Come quietly," the officer suggested. "If you want to commit suicide go on acting like that. And if you drag me down that won't save your life."
Lalage saw the beautiful force of the argument. Besides, he was not anxious to die yet. His own bitter regret was that he had not completed his mission. If he had only known that his dalliance with opportunity had proved his own undoing he would have been moved to a deeper and fiercer anger.
"I'll come quietly," he said between his teeth. "Have you got the woman?"
The officer shook his head in a puzzled kind of way. He knew nothing about any woman. Perhaps those below had accounted for her. There were lights all over the house when Lalage was led down with the handcuffs on his wrists.
"Have you got the woman?" he asked again.
Nobody had seen anything of any woman. A light began to dawn upon René.
"I'm coming quietly," he said. "To show my friendly feeling, I don't mind telling you that you have made an important capture. Now, during the last hour have you heard anything of an escape from Holloway?"
The sergeant in charge of the party had heard all about that.
"Party of the name of Lalage?" he said. "What do you know about him?"
The prisoner struck his breast theatrically.
"Simply because I am that distinguished individual," he said. "I tell you that because in any case you must have found that out before long. My liberty comes to me in a way that is likely to prove useful. I came here to take a great revenge. Pah, I may be what you call criminal, but I am not a burglar. I have not sunk to that yet. I came here to see a woman. Have you got her?"
"Seen nothing of a woman," growled the sergeant.
"Oh, then I begin to have still deeper suspicions. How did you know I was here? I was certain that I was never tracked."
"Somebody in the house," the sergeant explained sketchily. "Caretaker or something of that kind, or so we imagined. Call on the telephone."
René broke out into sudden exultation. He saw it all now. He had been lulled into a false position of security, and Leona had slunk away and called for assistance on the telephone. He had not known that there was such a thing in the house. How she must have smiled at him in her sleeves all the time, knowing that his capture was certain, and that she had her own avenue of escape.
"What's this about a woman?" the sergeant asked.
René checked himself. He grew suddenly calm, but the effort threw him into a violent perspiration. Well, his time should come yet.
"Take me back to Holloway," he said, sullenly, "and ask your Prout to see me in the morning. Say it will be worth his while."
Prout came up smiling in the course of the next afternoon. He was disposed to chaff his prisoner in a mild kind of way.
"The experience was worth the money," the latter said. "My friend had arranged everything. I got our dear Balmayne in our clutches within an hour. And I said to him, 'Dog, where is Leona Lalage?' And he professed not to know. But we had means of our own, you understand, to make him speak. And he spoke at last. He told me where to find her. And where do you think it was?"
"Well," Prout said thoughtfully, "seeing that you were traced to Lytton Avenue, I suppose that you found her there?"
"I did. So you see that she has not escaped from London. Perhaps you knew that before you came here. Anyway I have told you. And I'll tell you more if you are not aware of it already. Leona Lalage and the Spanish gipsy of the Corner House are one and the same woman."
Prout nodded. All this was no news to him. Lalage paced up and down the cell fiercely. His eyes were full of sullen fire.
"And she killed my brother," he said. "Oh, yes, there is no doubt about that. If I had not been a fool I should have been avenged last night."
"And spoilt my game," Prout said coolly. "Oh, you are going to have all you need in the way of revenge, but in a legitimate way. Within a few hours London is going to learn the mystery of the Corner House."
Gilbert Lawrence had put away his books and papers with the air of a man who means to take a holiday. He did not seem in the least surprised.
"Are you astonished?" Hetty asked. "Well, no," Lawrence said. "You see, the woman was taken by surprise, she was quite destitute so far as money was concerned at the time, and she must hide somewhere. At the same time we must not forget the cleverness of the woman with whom we are dealing. She would argue to herself that until she could communicate with some or another of her many accomplices there could be no safer hiding-place than the Corner House. The very audacity of it would put everybody off the scent. Charlton hates the place and does not go near it--nobody wants to go near it, in fact. So therefore it seems to me to be a natural thing to do."
Hetty permitted herself the luxury of a smile at Gilbert's expense.
"Then why did not you suggest a search there?" she asked.
"That is a very fair question," Lawrence admitted.
"I put that out of my mind because, as I told you before, the main scheme of the tragedy was taken from my skeleton plot. In that plot the cause of all the mischief goes back to hide in the very spot where the mischief was done. Now, in the course of my diplomacy I had to let the Countess know I had discovered that somebody had used my brain for inspiration. Under the circumstances she might not have carried the thing to the end."
"An additional proof of her clever and wonderfully logical mind," said Hetty.
"On the whole you are doing her no more than justice," said Lawrence. "Still, we do know where she is now, and I am going to see her. If she falls into the hands of Prout now, we shall never get her to speak, and therefore we shall have no end of trouble to clear Bruce's name as it should be cleared. I'll just run round and get Charlton to accompany me. And then for a thrilling interview."
Charlton complied without enthusiasm. In a few days he was going to have everything in the Corner House sold, and subsequently dispose of the property altogether. It was a little after four o'clock that he put his key in the latch, and the two entered. A casual glance did not disclose any marks of occupation, but there were traces of food in the kitchen and some utensils had evidently been used.
"Look at the bottom of those saucepans," said Lawrence. "See how they are smoked; at the same time there is no soot on them. Our quarry has not dared to light a fire by reason of the smoke. It is quite plain that Hetty was not mistaken when she said she saw a hand holding a kettle over the gas. And, by Jove, this kettle is warm still!"
For a long time a search of the house disclosed nothing. Up and down they looked, but no trace of Leona Lalage could be found. Under the tiles of the roof was a small closet, and in a vague kind of way Lawrence poked his stick in there. Something soft yielded to his touch.
"Will you kindly step out?" he suggested politely.
A dirty, grimy figure emerged, as unlike the dashing, brilliant Countess Lalage as could be well imagined. Her face was white and drawn, but nothing could dim the fire and flash of those wonderful dark eyes.
Ill and worn as she was she carried herself upright as if her black dress had been a Paris gown. There was a bitter little smile on her face. She was going to make the best fight she could under the circumstances, but she was beaten. She had come to the end of her resources, and nobody knew it better than herself.
"I expected this," she said. "I knew that it must come sooner or later. I am sorry that I cannot receive you in better fashion. Well, you have hunted me down. What do you propose to do now?"
"To listen to your story," said Lawrence.
"And if I refuse to tell you any story?"
"In that case I shall ask you to listen to mine with what patience you can. I have no desire to be in the least vindictive; it is a matter of indifference to me whether you stand in the dock or not. Personally I would go out of my way to save any woman from that indignity. But if you will have it you must."
"But I do not share these views," said Charlton. "I recognise this woman now, though she no longer wears any disguise. There stands my wife's murderess. I shall never be content till the world knows that."
"I prefer to regard the lady for the present as Countess Lalage," said Lawrence. "But we can find a better place for discussion than this."
He stood aside politely for the woman to pass. She led the way in her imperious fashion as if they had been honoured guests of hers. She carried her dingy dress magnificently. In the drawing-room, Lawrence drew the blinds so that they could see better. The garish light of day shone on Leon Lalage's pale face, and disclosed the deep black lines under her splendid eyes. Only the flick and tremor of her lips betrayed her feelings. With her hands folded in her lap she waited.
"Are you not going to speak first?" Lawrence asked.
"No, I am not," came the slow reply. "Oh, you are a clever man, without doubt, and you have the air of one who holds all the cards. It will be a pleasure for me to listen to what you have to say."
Charlton rose; the woman's coolness and nerve were inflammable to him.
"I cannot stay here," he cried. "That woman maddens me. It brings back all the recollections that I am trying to forget. I shall forget myself----"
Lawrence laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Patience, a little patience," he whispered. "It is not for very long. You will please stay here and see a confession signed."
"My confession!" Leona Lalage cried.
"Even so, Madame. I make no idle boast. Before I leave here the name of an innocent man will be cleared."
Leona Lalage smiled unsteadily. Her lips twitched horribly.
"Go on," she whispered. "Go on, mine enemy."
It was a curious scene, a scene to remember long afterwards. In all Lawrence's imaginative writing he had never constructed anything more striking than this. He was about to hear the story of a strange crime, and it could not be told in a better setting than the Corner House.
The garish sunlight struggled through the grimy panes. Under ordinary conditions the drawing-room was a luxurious one. But the fine dust of years had settled upon pictures and statues and upon the upholstery of the old Empire furniture. As Charlton paced to and fro a gossamer cloud of dust seemed to follow him.
In the centre of it all sat Leona. Lawrence could see now that there were marks and bruises on her face, the result of the autocar accident, which showed out now there was no artist to attend to them.
She sat with her hands folded in her lap grimly, patiently waiting for the novelist to speak. He produced a cigarette.
"You won't mind?" he said.
"I will have one with you," Leona replied. "That will be more comfortable. Now, will you be so good as to proceed?"
"We will go back to the beginning," Lawrence began. "Here is a very beautiful and fascinating woman, living all alone in her wealth. Her talents and her loveliness have taken her into the cream of society."
"Which isn't worth the trouble when you've got it."
"There I perfectly agree with you. But the lady I speak of is bound to lead. Wherever she is and whatever walk of life she finds herself in, she is bound to lead. She flashes out and dazzles London. She lives in a fine house and entertains royally. But there is one thing that puzzles me. Why does the lady reside so far from Park Lane or Belgravia or Mayfair?"
"Lytton Avenue houses are large and they have gardens."
Lawrence smiled as he flicked off the end of his cigarette.
"It is very good of you to assist me in my deductions," he said. "But that does not quite account for everything; in fact, it accounts for nothing. There are finer houses in the localities I speak of, with better gardens. And a lady who pays for nothing has no need to study economy."
Leona laughed outright.
"I have paid for nothing for years," she said. "L'audace, l'audace et toujours l'audace! But for circumstances over which I had no control I might have gone on to my death. But proceed. I am interested."
"Let us hope the story will proceed in grip as it proceeds," Lawrence murmured. "I was interested too. This, I say in effect to myself, is a splendid woman in a halo of mystery. I must study her with a view to a future heroine. I see her in the park where I can study her features. After a time I come to the conclusion that I have taken up a magnificent adventuress."
"Never a truer word in your life," Leona sneered.
"Well, I am glad not to have offended you. Incidentally I am not the less interested because my young relative Hetty Lawrence holds a position of some trust in the house of the heroine of the story. I say to myself that I must know the Countess Lalage. We become quite friends, in fact."
Leona smiled in a queer, strange way.
"Oh, yes," she said slowly. "We were friends. I bear you no malice. But if I had only guessed--well, we should have seen something fresh in the way of obituary notices."
"You would have removed me," Lawrence asked.
"Ay, I should. I should have put you from my path. Make no mistake about that. But it is no use repining over that. Go on."
"Well, I study you. Then I begin to see my way. It was only the kind of idea that would creep into the brain of a novelist who does not scruple to endow even his most intimate friends with ferocious qualities for business purposes. But I allowed myself to think that the reason why you had come to Lytton Avenue was because you were in some way interested in the Corner House. There you have the first faint indication of the shaping of the story.
"Here in the dull and gloomy Corner House, with its dark and gloomy tragedy, cheek by jowl with the hardness and glitter and brilliancy of Lytton Avenue. If my adventurer wants a big dark cupboard to hide things, where can she have a better one than the Corner House! If I bore you----"
"Bore me!" Leona cried. "Never more interested in my life. Subtlety of this kind always appeals to me. Proceed."
"Again, it is a little strange that I have already built a romance round the Corner House before the heroine came along. I told you once that I had known the owner of the Corner House before the tragedy. I had my heroine and I had my plot. A plot of vengeance and wounded pride.
"But stranger still to say, the live heroine, yourself, is more deeply interested than I imagined. We will say that she did a foolish thing. She fell in love with one of her own guests--Dr. Bruce, to be plain."
Leona quivered but said nothing. It was only by a motion of her hand that she signalled Lawrence to proceed.
"Well, this love came--the wild, unreasoning passion of the South. Dr. Bruce was pushed on, his fortune was being rapidly made. Then my heroine makes a discovery in strict accordance with the conditions of the game. Her governess and the doctor are affianced to one another."
"It is always thus in books," Leona said, with a hard smile.
"Inevitably. But you were not in a book, unfortunately. You were flesh and blood and you took your own way. You thought you had been slighted. You made up your mind to get your revenge at any price. All the same, you could not see your way. You wanted a neat plot to get Bruce into trouble, for he had bad taste in not caring for you. You used the simple expedient of stealing mine."
"Just a moment," Leona said eagerly. "Suppose I deny that. How are you going to prove that I did so?"
"I am coming to that," Lawrence said, lighting a fresh cigarette. "As soon as Bruce was in trouble and the plot began to reel off I saw that it was mine. Of course there were large varyings in the details, but the scheme was mine. It was even laid on the same spot as my skeleton story. When I grasped that, I knew quite well that somebody must have stolen my plot."
"But why must it have been me?" Leona asked.
"Well, in the first place, because woman's instinct helped me. My niece said for some time that you were deeply in love with Dr. Bruce and that she feared for him--item the first. Then I recollected telling you some details of my story plot--item the second. I came to the conclusion you had stolen my plot. And you stole it on the very night that I told you the main incidents."
"How did you find that out?" Leona cried, startled off her balance.
"Glad you admit it," Lawrence said calmly. "When I went to look for the synopsis I knew perfectly well that I should not find it. And yet it was there only the day before, as I recollected afterwards. Now, how did you get it? The night in question you were only out of the room a little time, and yet in that little time you contrived to lay your hands on my notes."
"This," Leona murmured, "this is quite thrilling."
"Well, I promise you I shall be more thrilling later on," said Lawrence. "I had to settle that part before I went any further. I tried to recall the conversation. How could you have got into my rooms? Then it came to me like a flash. A journalist who stood by asked me where I carried my latchkey--a joking suggestion that he would steal my plot. I said that it was in the ticket pocket of my overcoat."
"Then I began to understand. You were only a little time from the room. Why did you go from the room? Ostensibly to see Captain Gifford off in his new autocar. Here was a possible solution. I saw Gifford later, and he told me that you had been larking off in his car for twenty minutes--long enough at that time of night to get to my chambers and back easily.
"That is logical, at any rate. But to go further. You borrowed a man's coat to put over your shoulders. And the coat you borrowed was mine with the latchkey in the pocket. That I got from a footman. And when I came to look for my skeleton plot, it was gone. Then I knew where I had to search. Leona Lalage was at the bottom of the Corner House mystery. It was her hand that I had to force. Once that was done the rest was easy."
"So far you have made it quite plain," Leona murmured, "but I fail to see that all the rest was easy."
"Easy to me," said Lawrence, "whose plot had been stolen. Remember it was really I who planned that business of palming the notes on to Bruce."
"Of course, of course," Leona murmured with her hand to her head. "My mind has not been quite so clear for the last few days. Go on."
"Well, a man had been murdered at the Corner House which was not a detail of my plot. I saw that man, and Miss Lawrence had seen him, too. She saw him, you will remember, one night in one of the windows of the Corner House. She saw a struggle go on there. The other man was no doubt Balmayne."
Leona inclined her head as if in consent.
"Afterwards, which is much more to the point, my niece saw Leon Lalage here. I had better call him your husband, because really there is no denying that. The man was in your house in the morning room, and Hetty saw him. After the business of the notes came out and the story of the Spanish gipsy was told, I knew perfectly well what had taken place. You had called Bruce in to your drunken husband by means of your new motor, with Balmayne playing the deaf mute. After Bruce was gone you killed the man with a knife you procured at Rosser's, in Regent Street. I find the knife in the dry well behind the house."
Leona said nothing. There was a queer, strained look, half of admiration, on her face. But she uttered no protest, no denial.
"Now we come to the marvellous evidence against Bruce. There you had stolen my plot, body and boots. Bruce is poor, so was my hero. You find out all about that picture he bought, and Balmayne or somebody--it does not in the least matter who--in the guise of a Dutchman puts Bruce in possession of £200. These notes he places in his pocket.
"Later on he is called to the Corner House, where he is received by the Spanish lady, and then he has to handle a man in the last stage of collapse. The latter part of the plot is your own, and from an artistic point of view, a great improvement on mine. Murder and robbery make a fine combination. You had previously arranged the proceedings, the notes and their numbers--adopted or suggested doubtless by you as a precaution--the letter to René Lalage and all to be found on the body. If you can plant those numbered notes on Bruce, then he is ruined for all time.
"Having gone so far, the rest is easy. And this is where my scheme comes in again. Bruce has to take his coat off. In the guise of the Spanish lady--a slight variation of my mysterious woman--you hang his coat up carefully in a closet for him. You knew that £200 in notes was in that pocket, notes that Bruce had come by quite honestly. The rest is easy."
Leona bent forward to listen. Even Charlton seemed to have forgotten his troubles for the moment. A beam of light illuminated his sombre face.
"Go on," said Leona. "Nothing seems to be concealed from you. Now please tell me what happens next."
"The simplest thing in the world. You took the packet of notes from Bruce's pocket and supplied their place with the forty £5 notes, the numbers of which were sent out in the letter which Leon Lalage had intended for his brother. And when Bruce went away he had that damning evidence in his pocket. And that is how that vile, shameless thing was done."
For the first time Lawrence showed signs of indignation. Cool and logical as he had hitherto been, he could not quite restrain himself in the presence of this woman, who had no shame or remorse, or anything save admiring curiosity.
"Directly Bruce told his story," he went on presently, "I knew exactly what had happened. I knew all about the motor car also. Then it was time for me to act. I was using the house as a kind of trap for you one night when Mr. Charlton appeared. He was good enough to pardon the liberty we had taken and to tell us his story. Then I began to see my way pretty clear. It was I who caused you to be informed about the missing diamonds being still in the well. I had found out that you were in desperate need of money. Isidore let me into that, also through him I got to know Maitrank. You came for the diamonds, but you did not get the real ones, for the simple reason that I had already been down the well and got them for myself. They were simply and plainly set, so that I had no trouble in getting paste imitations.
"So far, so good. Maitrank comes on the scene and asks for his money. You have no money, therefore you give him your diamonds. You try to get them back from him, but you fail in the long run, owing to the courage of a young girl, who has watched the whole proceedings. I have purposely refrained from dwelling upon the valuable aid Miss Lawrence has given us all through."
Leona passed her tongue over her dry lips.
"I wish I had known," she murmured. "Oh, I wish I had known."
"I dare say," said Lawrence, drily, "but you didn't know. There would have been another murder on your soul had it not been for my niece. Maitrank was furious. But he was a valuable ally to me, in fact I calculated on that. By his means I forced a confession from you that it was yourself who paid the rest of those notes to Isidore, and this I can prove out of your own mouth, by the production of that tuberose perfume. You were mad and desperate that night to part with the last of your store."
"How did you know it was the last of my store?" Leona cried.
"Why, it could not logically have been otherwise. Would you have produced those notes above all others if they had not been the last you possessed?"
"True," Leona murmured, "true. You are too strong for me."
"Meanwhile the clouds were gathering around you. Prout finds your husband's brother by a happy chance. Once he has done this, things become easy for us. The more easy they become for us the more desperate they grow for you. Then you decide that you must recover those notes from Isidore. You take out your motor car, so cunningly disguised in blacklead----"
"That is true; but how did you know?"
"From Miss Lawrence's evidence at the first inquest. Also the evidence of the reporter. The car was draped, they said. In places it shone. Those places were where the lead was rubbed off; you could make the car sombre black and brilliantly light at will.
"You used to lock it up in the yard here. We find a fresh cake of blacklead in the scullery, which completely puzzled me for a little time. When I heard about the autocar I knew. But we are getting away from the point. When luck turned against you it did so completely. You got into Isidore's rooms, only to find Mr. Charlton there, who was waiting for him. Again fortune favoured us. Mr. Charlton gave the alarm, and you had to fly. At length the motor was abandoned, and its secret disclosed. You disappeared. Sooner or later I was certain of seeing you again."
"You were. Why? I was quite certain----"
"Because my desperate woman hides by the scene of her crime. I was a little dubious about you because that comes out in my plot. Perhaps you counted upon that, and the fact I should not look for you here, after all. It was a game of subtle cross-purposes. But I did look for you here, and I found you. It is a rather long story that I have had to tell, but it has been necessary. And if I repeated it in a court of law I am afraid it would cause you serious inconvenience."
"It would hang me," Leona cried. "Why should I be afraid to confess it? You have been too strong for me. Every word you have said is true, every step you have taken has been fully justified. I was going to defy you at first, but I am not such a weak and silly fool as that. I have had a clever antagonist who has beaten me all along. I have been criminally careless. If I had taken the trouble I could have evolved as good a plot as one of your own."
"I fancy you could," said Lawrence.
"I am absolutely certain of it. I took you for a dreamer. I argued that if I used this thing you would not be an atom the wiser. People who talk so much about their own work as you do are generally very foolish."
Lawrence looked a little confused for a moment. He knew his own weakness in that respect.
"I have little more to say," he went on. "I have written out a confession for you in a more condensed form than I have explained to you. I thought that you might like to sign it. Not that it much matters whether you do or not."
"The more reason why I should do so," Leona sneered. "If it did really matter, I would see my right arm rotting off before I put a pen to paper. But I have had a most worthy antagonist, and I know the game too well not to play it correctly. Give me a pen and let me finish it."
Lawrence took a fountain pen from his pocket. Without the slightest hesitation and in a good dashing hand Leona Lalage appended her signature. It was a great deal more firm and true than either of the witnessing signatures.
"Now you go and leave me," she cried. "I am sick of the sight of your faces. Give me a chance. Let me have an hour's start."
Charlton spoke for the first time.
"Never," he cried, "there is another name to clear----"
"Which I shall be able to do," Lawrence interrupted.
"And let that woman go? I tell you never. The very stones in the street would cry out at me! You hear that knocking at the door? Go and open it."
Lawrence crossed and opened the street door. Prout stood before him.
"Got a message from Mr. Charlton to follow him here," Prout gasped. "You don't mean to say that you've got her here, sir?"
"Indeed, he has, Mr. Prout," Leona said coolly. "Will you come in? We have been having a pleasant conversation with some pleasing confessions. Have you come for me?"
The woman was smiling now quite freely. All traces of passion and anxiety were gone. She knew the end had come, and she was prepared to accept it without complaint. Prout looked a little awkward as he bowed.
"I shall not slip through your fingers in the same way as before," said Leona. "I flatter myself I did you very neatly when you called upon me in Lytton Avenue. But all the same I am going to escape you."
"It's my duty, madame," Prout began, "to ask you to----"
"Accompany you. Presently, but not quite in the way you imagine. I have made my confession in a way that Mr. Lawrence thoroughly appreciates. It was I who murdered Leon Lalage, my husband, in this house; it was I who palmed those notes off on Dr. Bruce. No reason to tell you why now. And it was I in this very house who robbed my late mistress of her jewels and forged the letter from her husband that caused her to take poison. After that I have no more to say. Gentlemen, I am much obliged by your kind attention, and I say farewell to you, thus."
There was a warning shout from Lawrence, who dashed forward and grasped the speaker by the wrist. But she wrenched herself away from him, and placed the table between them. Prout was looking on in a confused kind of way.
"Close with her," yelled Lawrence, "she's got poison in her hand."
Leona Lalage laughed aloud. She threw back her head, and a few drops from the little bottle were tilted between her teeth. Almost instantly she grew livid.
"Swift and sure," she said, "it's prussic----"
She said no more. The ashy pallor of her skin grew whiter, there was a look of horror, swift as summer lightning, in her splendid eyes. Then she pitched forward, there was a thud and a cloud of dust, and she lay there rigid, motionless.
"Dead," whispered Prout, "dead instantly. It was prussic acid. The whole room reeks of it. Perhaps it was as well to finish it this way. There'll be an inquest now, and the whole business will come out."
They laid the body on a sofa, and the trio left the Corner House. They were very silent as they walked along.
"Some houses are accursed," Charlton said at length. "Mine has been the abode of mystery and crime for years. I shall never enter it again.
"And may this be the last of the evils connected with my house."
page314"Swift and sure," she said,"it's prusic----" --Page 314
"Must attend the inquest, sir," said the practical Prout. "Still, if that was my house, I'd pull it down if I couldn't sell it."
Gordon Bruce was returning from an important consultation when he first heard the news. It was the sensation of the hour. Public attention in the Corner House mystery had never relaxed; on the flight of Countess Lalage it had doubled. Where had she gone, and what was the true solution of the mystery were the only questions asked.
And here it was all out in the lurid light of day. Dramatic arrest of the Countess. The suicide and confession. It was flaring in the evening papers--the boys were yelling at the top of their voices in the street. The din of it filled Bruce's ears. "Confession of the crime." "The confession of the murder." "The mystery of the motor explained." "Dr. Bruce cleared of the cruel charge." It seemed strange to Gordon to hear his name yelled out like this in his own ears. He had a paper thrust into his hands.
He bought one eagerly enough, and stood spellbound on the pavement whilst he read. It was all here, even down to a signed copy of the confession. Lawrence had seen to that. Bruce turned into his club in a dazed kind of way. The smoking-room was full, he was the centre of a group, all of which seemed eager to shake hands. It was all so sudden that Bruce was not himself yet.
He got away at length to his own room. The servants greeted him with smiling faces, the housekeeper was in tears.
"Not that I ever believed it," she said, "Never from the first. And now you'll have the finest practice in London. I'd quite forgot, sir, to say that there is a young lady waiting for you."
There was no need for Lawrence to ask who was waiting for him. He closed the door behind him, and a second later Hetty was in his arms. Then there was a long, clinging caress, and their lips met in the sweetest of embraces. It was a long time before either of them spoke. Hetty's eyes were full of happy tears.
"I shall realise it presently," Bruce said at length. "My darling, I should never have had my good name cleared thus but for you. You are the bravest girl in the world. And all those dangers for me!"
"I was not afraid, dearest," Hetty said. "I thought of you. I knew it would come right. I felt from the first that the truth would come out. And now all those people have gone. Bruce, you will not be sorry for this after----"
The telephone jangled sharply. Bruce listened to the message with a smile.
"The Duchess wants me to see her boy at once," he said. "The Duchess, you know; the one who so annoyed you at Lady Longmere's party."
Hetty clapped her hands joyfully.
"That is a good omen," she said. "They will be all after you now, dear."
Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed with happiness. Bruce looked at her with pride and love in his eyes.
"I dare say," he said. "And it has been a long, trying time. Hetty, we shall be able to get married as I planned. What do you say to July or----"
"You had better," Hetty said demurely--"you had better run away and see to your Duchess."