The clamour ceased. Just for a moment an intense silence followed. Then there came the murmur of voices from without and the crash of splintering wood. Silva cursed himself for his folly. He had been so convinced that Walter had come alone that he had not looked for this. There was no time to be lost. Silva caught Vera as if she had been a feather-weight, and ran with her swiftly up the stairs. It was the work of a moment to unlock a door, thrust her inside, and then fasten the door once more. No sooner was this done than Silva was downstairs again, with his hand on the lock of the back entrance of the house. All this time he could hear the steady splintering of wood as an effort was being made to force one of the drawing-room windows. Silva smiled to himself, for here was the delay which was so essential to him. Once the attackers were in the drawing-room, there would yet be another door to force before they were upon him. He wished with all his heart that he had his revolver with him. But, then, he had not expected so swift a vengeance as this, and he had come down from town without any weapon at all. Still, it was idle to waste time in these regrets, seeing that there was other and stern work before him.
The back entrance of the house was opened at last, and Silva sped back to the dining-room. He half dragged, half carried Walter's unconscious body down the garden path, until he reached a bed of asparagus, where he deposited his burden. Panting with his exertions, he came back again to the house. He wiped the beads of perspiration from his face. He reached eagerly for a glass of wine, but not from the same decanter from which he had helped Walter. Then he sat down coolly enough to smoke a cigarette till the enemy should put in an appearance. A succession of sounds like pistol shots testified to the attack on the drawing-room door, and a moment later the attacking force burst into the dining-room.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," Silva said, with a smile. "But why have you not come in the ordinary way? And now, perhaps, you will be good enough to tell me what you are after?"
"You are wasting our time," Lord Ravenspur said sternly. "We are in search of Miss Vera Rayne, as you know perfectly well. There is not the slightest occasion to lie about it, because I heard her voice just now. Take us to her at once."
"Your lordship's hearing is remarkably good," Silva sneered; "but the scream of one angry woman is so like that of another that I am not prepared to agree with your statement. However, as I appear to be only one to three of you, I suppose you will have your own way and search the house."
"That most assuredly," Venables put in.
"Then I will make no attempt to stop you. I will stay here while you make your search, and perhaps when you have found out that you are mistaken you will apologise to me."
The speaker was perfectly cool and self possessed. With a wave of his hand he intimated that the house was quite at the disposal of the intruders. He sat there with his legs crossed, apparently in the enjoyment of a cigarette; but when once the party had scattered his attitude changed entirely. He darted across the hall and out into the garden. His task was not yet finished. There was a deal to do before he could face his enemies again. He was not a bit downcast, though his plot had partially failed, and though he knew now that before long Vera Rayne would be in the hands of her friends again. All he thirsted for now was a weapon by which he could take the vengeance for which he had panted all these years. Slowly he dragged the unconscious body of his victim in the direction of the little gate leading to the lane.
Meanwhile, Ravenspur and his companions were scattered over the house. Ravenspur called Vera by name, and, to his great joy and relief, he heard her answering cry from behind one of the bedroom doors. He was not surprised to find the door locked. But that did not much matter now. Ravenspur flung himself against the woodwork, and the door gave way with a crash. Then Vera rushed out and threw herself, sobbing hysterically, into his arms.
"Never mind me," she cried. "Save him!"
"Of whom are you speaking?" Ravenspur asked.
"Why, Walter, of course," Vera went on. "I believe that dreadful man poisoned him. He lured Walter into the dining-room and gave him a glass of wine, and when I got there, he . . . Oh, it was too dreadful! Then I broke the window and screamed for assistance, and you came in."
Ravenspur listened uneasily. In the excitement of the moment he had forgotten all about Walter.
"Try and calm yourself," he said. "So much depends upon you now. Tell me all that happened."
"I came down with that man last night," Vera said. "He brought me a letter from my mother. I wanted to come, and I didn't want to come. I think you will be able to understand my feelings. Then two of them drugged me and carried me down here. It has been a dreadful time. I began to hope this morning, when I saw you in the garden, and Walter gave me a kind of sign. I felt quite sure then that you were not far off, and the knowledge gave me courage. I was locked up in a room at the top of the house, but I managed to escape through a trap-door, and I was actually on the landing in the darkness when Walter came. He was taken utterly by surprise by this man Silva, and I am sure that he was terribly knocked about and shaken by a fall that he had had. Then I managed to let Walter know that I was in the house. It was a daring thing to do, and Silva must have seen it, though I did not think so at the moment. After that he got Walter downstairs, under pretence of giving him a glass of wine, and then he poisoned him. Oh, I am so distracted that I hardly know what I am speaking about. It is dreadful to think----"
"I am quite sure you are mistaken," Ravenspur said. "This man Silva has no quarrel with Walter, and when we come to get at the truth you will find that there is no greater mischief than a comparatively harmless drug. But where is Walter? Drugged or not, he certainly was not in the dining-room when we got there just now."
"But he must be," Vera protested. "I saw him lying in an armchair, to all appearances dead."
Ravenspur wasted no time in further argument. He went straight back to the dining-room, but no signs of Walter were to be seen. Silva had disappeared also. A strong draught was blowing from the open back door. Ravenspur began to understand pretty well what had taken place. He turned eagerly to Vera.
"Come along with me," he exclaimed. "We are going into the garden. I shall not be in the least surprised to find that Silva has dragged Walter out there. He would have had plenty of time when we were breaking into the house. I understand he is a man of considerable personal strength. Depend upon it, we shall find him somewhere here. Don't be discouraged."
Vera was doing her best to keep from breaking down altogether. There was something peculiarly horrible in the suggestion that her lover's body was lying out there stark and stiff in the darkness. The fresh breeze blew gratefully on her face. She began to feel a little more like herself again.
"We will get Perks here with his lantern presently," Lord Ravenspur said. "Keep as near to the path as possible. If that fellow happens to have a knife and sees me here, why----"
It was Lord Ravenspur's turn to shudder now, but he kept bravely on. He opened his mouth to speak again, when, suddenly a snarling roar like that of an angry lion broke out, followed by the shrill scream of a human voice, calling in the last extremity of agony. At the dreadful sound, Vera stood still.
"It is Bruno," Lord Ravenspur said hoarsely. "The dog is utterly out of control. He has got hold of that Italian to a certainty. There may be time to save his life yet."
The hoarse yell for assistance rose yet again, this time more feeble than before. It was horrible to stand there in the darkness, looking helplessly around and trying to locate the direction from which the call came. It was horrible, too, to listen to the mumbling and snarling of the dog, just as if he were worrying a bone. Vera clung terrified to Lord Ravenspur. It was in vain that the latter whistled and called to the dog.
"We must have a light here," he said hoarsely. "There is no other way of discovering where the trouble lies. Fool that I was not to think of it before. That man, Perks, has a lantern."
Ravenspur strode back to the house again, and yelled aloud for Perks and his lantern.
"What is wrong?" Venables demanded.
"Oh, you'll see soon enough," Ravenspur said grimly. "For heaven's sake, bring Perks here with the lantern. Unless I am greatly mistaken, our troubles are over as far as the Italian is concerned. Bruno has got hold of him."
They all raced together down the garden path in the direction of the gate. There was no mistaking where the trouble lay, for that mumbling snarl was close at hand now. It seemed to proceed from the foot of a tree. Even Perks, hardened as he was, shuddered and turned pale as the shining disc of the lantern showed a picture so horrible and revolting that Perks staggered back.
"Take the young lady away sir," he said. "This is no place for her. You go back to the house, and leave Lord Ravenspur to carry this poor chap back again. We can't tackle the dog unless there is someone here who knows him."
One glance at the prostrate body, and Venables turned away without further question. Obviously Perks was right, and assuredly it was no place for Vera. Silva lay there on the broad of his back, his arms thrown out, and crouched upon his body was the enormous weight of the dog. The pressure in itself was enough to cause suffocation. But the mischief lay in the terrible gash in the throat where the hound's teeth had met. Bruno crouched there now with evil, bloodshot eyes; a long, deep terrifying growl came steadily and persistently. Perks drew cautiously near.
"Well, if this doesn't beat everything," he said. "Why, there are two bodies. One of them is Mr. Lance."
"That is the cause of all the mischief, as you will see presently," Ravenspur explained. "Never mind about my nephew for a moment. Unless I am greatly mistaken, there is very little the matter with him. But this poor fellow is in a different condition altogether."
As he spoke, Ravenspur stepped forward, and gave Bruno a tremendous blow with a stick which he had pulled from the hedge-side. At the same time he uttered a few words in a harsh tone, and immediately the dog slunk away and crossed the road. His tail was between his legs now, his attitude one of deep dejection.
"I will deal with him presently," Ravenspur went on. "You take the head, and I'll take the feet, and we'll get this poor fellow back to the house again. It is a terrible business altogether, but, mind you, that dog is not very much to blame. As far as I can make out, what has happened is this: Silva managed to drug my nephew, and was getting his body out of the way when he accidentally came in contact with the dog. And if there is one human being more than another to whom Bruno is devoted, that person is my nephew. The dog would scent him at once, and--well, the rest you can imagine."
They conveyed the unconscious body of Silva upstairs, and laid him on a bed. Once Walter had been brought under cover also, there was only one thing to be done, and that was to send for a doctor without delay. It was obvious enough to Ravenspur and his companions that Silva's wounds were exceedingly critical. The throat seemed to be almost bitten away. The man had lost a deal of blood. He lay there absolutely unconscious. His swarthy features were deadly pale. It was impossible to say whether he breathed or not.
"You leave the doctor to me," Perks said. "I know the neighbourhood. I can be back here well within the hour."
The doctor came at length. He shook his head seriously after he had made his examination.
"Oh, of course, recovery is possible," he said; "whilst there is life there is always hope. But if this man pulls round it will be little less than a miracle. How did it happen?"
There was nothing for it but to explain. After all, it would be more or less impossible to avoid the scandal now. But nothing was said as to the real cause of the accident, nor did Ravenspur deem it prudent to ask the doctor's advice as to the best thing to do with Walter.
"Will the poor fellow recover consciousness?" he asked.
"That is quite possible," the doctor replied. "He has a splendid constitution, and possibly may linger on for some days. He can take no direct nourishment, of course. But medical science can do so much now-a-days in the way of injections. I shouldn't be at all surprised if my patient were able to give an account of what has happened. But in all human probability, he will be in his grave before the week is out. And now, will you leave it to me to obtain a nurse, or would you like to send one of your own?"
On the whole, it would be better to leave it to the doctor, Ravenspur thought. An hour or so passed, and the nurse was established in the sick-room. It was now getting towards daylight, but no one thought of rest or sleep. There was nothing for it but to make the best of the extraordinary situation; nothing for it but to remain where they were and explain as well as they could to the servants when they came back in the morning. Vera flung herself down upon a couch in the drawing-room, and closed her eyes. She was tired and worn out, though it seemed to her that sleep was impossible. Nevertheless, when she came to herself again the sunshine was streaming into the room, the birds were singing noisily in the trees outside. On the lawn Ravenspur was walking up and down in grave consultation with Venables. Presently Vera saw Walter join the group. He looked dreadfully white and haggard; his head was bent, and his step was shaky. A thrill of thankfulness passed over her. She had never hoped to see him walk again. As Vera left the drawing-room and crossed the hall, a maidservant looked at her curiously. Vera advanced with a smile.
"I am afraid we have greatly distressed you," she said. "But perhaps you already know exactly what has happened?"
"His lordship explained to me, miss," the girl said timidly. "I understand that my new master is a friend of yours. You were coming down to see him, and a great dog attacked him."
"Yes; that is so," Vera said, relieved to find that she had to make no prevarication. "And now, if you will be so good, you might show me to a bedroom where I can wash."
The maid seemed to anticipate such a request, for she led the way up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. Vera wondered what the maid would have said could she only have looked into the room at the top of the house under the roof. Feeling much fresher and brighter from the touch of cold water, Vera went down and joined the other two in the garden.
"I am glad to see you looking none the worse for your adventure," Ravenspur said. "I have managed to convince the servants that our appearance here is quite natural. One had to tell a few falsehoods, but in the circumstances it was necessary. Still, servants are suspicious creatures, and I don't want their curiosity to go too far. Already they are wondering where the mistress of the house is, so that there is no help for it, and we must have your mother here without delay. Do you happen to know her London address?"
"No; I don't," Vera replied. "I saw her for an hour last night."
"What, down here?" Walter exclaimed.
"Yes; she came here on purpose to see me. She only stayed a little time, because I understood that it was necessary for her to be back in London again. But I would rather not talk about that if you don't mind. You will quite understand why."
Walter murmured something in reply. Then his face brightened.
"You are quite right, uncle," he said. "It is absolutely necessary that the Countess Flavio should be here at once. We can get her address from Mrs. Delahay. If you like I will go up myself."
"Do you feel equal to it?" Vera asked anxiously.
"Oh, I'm all right now," Walter said, "with the exception of a certain shakiness and a splitting headache. It must have been a pretty severe dose that our interesting friend gave me last night. But I don't think there is any occasion to worry about me."
"Then we will have some breakfast, and get up to London at once," Venables said, in his quick, decisive fashion. "We can leave Lord Ravenspur and Miss Rayne here till we come back. I don't think that Lord Ravenspur has anything to fear from his enemy now."
Breakfast was despatched without delay, and immediately Venables and Walter left for London. The house was now quiet and still, for as yet practically nothing was known as to the cause of Silva's action, and public curiosity still slept.
It was some time after luncheon before Vera had a chance of speaking to the nurse, with an inquiry as to how the patient was getting on. The nurse smiled in reply.
"He is slightly better," she explained; "in fact, he is as well as he is likely to be. He has been conscious for the last half hour. He seems to want something, only I can't understand what it is. We may be able to find out when the doctor comes."
It was no difficult matter to find Mrs. Delahay, who, when the late startling developments were laid before her, made no demur in giving her sister's address. Maria Delahay was looking just as pale and haggard as usual. It seemed impossible to rouse her from the state of apathy into which she had fallen. When the two friends were standing on the steps of the hotel they ran against Inspector Dallas.
"Any fresh news?" Walter asked.
"Well, no," Dallas admitted. "I am simply waiting on events at present. If you could only get Mrs. Delahay to be more candid with me it might save her a deal of unpleasantness in the long run."
"Do you mean that she is in danger?" Venables asked.
"I think you can see that for yourself, sir," Dallas replied. "Naturally, I am hesitating as long as possible----"
"Then hesitate a little longer," Walter said. "Quite by accident Lord Ravenspur has stumbled upon a clue which I think will astonish you when you come to know his story. We are going off now to a place called Cannon Green. We shall probably be back by the last train tonight, and I want you to meet us at Waterloo Station. I think you will be well rewarded for your trouble."
Dallas promised, and, like the wise man he was, asked no questions. The two companions proceeded in a cab to Isleworth Road, where they asked to see the mistress of the house. The maid who answered the door was somewhat reticent, but she admitted that her mistress was at home, whereupon Walter and his companion entered without further ceremony. Perhaps their manner impressed the maid, for she came back a moment later saying that her mistress would see the visitors. The Countess entered the drawing-room and glanced with cold displeasure at the intruders.
"What can you possibly want with me?" she demanded.
"Perhaps I had better explain," Walter began. "My name is Lance, and I am a nephew of Lord Ravenspur. Lord Ravenspur has a ward who is called Miss Vera Rayne. In other words, I understand that Miss Rayne is really your daughter."
The Countess's cold face flushed slightly.
"I am not prepared to contradict you," she said.
"My dear madam," Walter said, "this is no time for diplomacy. Rightly or wrongly, my uncle came to Italy eighteen years ago and kidnapped your daughter. You see, I am quite candid, and I hope you will be good enough to be as candid in your replies. My uncle will himself explain why he took this bold step, but I understand that your late husband did not consider you a desirable parent for a child, and he made my uncle promise to remove the child from your influence. Into the morality of that question I am not disposed to go. For nearly eighteen years nothing happened, and my uncle began to regard Vera quite as his own child. Then the truth came out, and some emissary of yours came to England, prepared to go to any length to regain possession of your daughter. I need not say I am alluding to the man called Silva, also known to many people as Valdo, the flying man. This servant of yours made no fewer than three attacks on my uncle's life, none of which, fortunately, was successful. And then, I understand, you came on the scene. I believe you were instrumental in luring your daughter from Lady Kingmar's the night before last, and getting her imprisoned at a place called Cannon Green. One moment, please. I would not deny it, if I were you----"
"I am not going to deny it," the Countess said in a hard, dry voice. "There is no occasion to."
"Ah, well, that being so, we shall get on all the better. Directly we discovered what had happened we set off in pursuit, fortunately aided by a bloodhound of my uncle's, who had followed us to Lady Ringmar's from Park Lane. To make a long story short, we broke into the house, and Miss Rayne is once more under the protection of Lord Ravenspur. But your man, Silva, does not lack resource, and he managed to drug me and drag me out into the garden. Unfortunately for him, the dog was prowling about, and, knowing me and recognising my peril, he made a furious attack upon Silva, with the result that your friend lies in a critical condition and is not expected to live. After what I have told you, I think you will see the necessity of coming down to Cannon Green with us without delay."
During this recital the Countess made no sign. She listened with a calmness and unconcern which moved Walter to anger. After all, whatever Silva's faults might have been, his devotion to his mistress left nothing to be desired. The Countess sat thoughtfully for a few moments before she replied.
"I think I see what you mean," she said presently. "You want as far as possible to avoid a scandal?"
"Well, naturally," Walter said warmly. "In your daughter's interests it is your duty to assist us. If you fall in line with this idea, the general public will be none the wiser. And when you come to know what manner of man it is that your servant has been attempting to murder in absolutely cold blood----"
"Oh, I know what manner of man he is," the Countess cried. "He is the same manner of man as my husband. And a more cold-blooded scoundrel never drew the breath of life. But make no mistake about one thing--I was a party to no violence. All I wanted was to have my child back again, and I hoped that when once this was done, I should be able to induce Silva to forego the vengeance which to him was a part of his religion. You will understand presently why I have appeared to act so strangely. Not but what Lord Ravenspur deserved whatever fate he got at the hands of Silva. Still, we are wasting time in talking like this. I am ready to come with you to Cannon Green at once, more especially because you are right in saying that it is my duty to try and avoid anything in the shape of a scandal. If you will give me five minutes and call a cab, I am absolutely at your service."
It was a little before five when this strangely assorted group reached Cannon Green. The doctor was just coming away, and Walter asked eagerly after the patient.
"Oh, practically he is no better," the medical man explained. "I mean, he isn't going to get well. Just for the present he is buoyed up with a strong stimulant, and is in full possession of his faculties. He seems to want something, but I can't make out what it is. We gave him a sheet of paper and a pencil just now, and he scribbled a word or two, which, being Italian, we could not make out."
"I think I know what he wants," Walter said. "May I suggest, Countess, that you go up to the poor man's bedroom at once?"
Silva's face lighted up as his eyes fell upon his mistress. He pointed to the bandages about his throat. His lips moved, but no sound came from them.
"I know exactly what has happened," the Countess said. "No, pray don't distress yourself. You must not try your strength. You will never get better if you exert yourself."
A melancholy smile came over Silva's face. The expression of his eyes told as plainly as possible that he had no delusions on the score of his recovery. Then he went through the motion of writing with an imaginary pencil upon an invisible paper. Countess Flavio turned impulsively to the nurse.
"Is it quite safe?" she asked. "I don't think the poor fellow will rest till he makes me understand; and you see, being Italian myself, anything he may write----"
"I think it will be a very good thing," the nurse replied.
She came to the bedside with a sheet of paper and a pencil, which she placed in Silva's hand. His unsteady fingers began to trace certain signs on the paper. The marks were feeble and straggling enough, but a little care on the part of the Countess enabled her to make out what the characters represented.
"It is quite plain to me now," she said, looking down into Silva's eager face. "You want me to find the diary, do you not? You mean the Count's diary, which was not produced at the trial?"
Silva nodded feebly. Evidently he was fast lapsing into unconsciousness again. But with an effort he managed to concentrate his mind upon what the Countess was saying.
"The diary is locked up in a little desk in your bedroom," the Countess went on. "I am to find it and give it to Mr. Walter Lance to read. My good Silva, this is most extraordinary! What possible interest could Mr. Lance take in that diary? Are you quite sure that I have not made a mistake?"
Again Silva opened his eyes and nodded almost vigorously.
"Very well," the Countess said reluctantly. "I see you are in earnest. I will get the diary at once, and Mr. Lance shall have it without delay. If there is anything more----"
It was idle to speak to Silva any longer. Just for an instant a smile flickered over his face, and then he was completely lost to the world and his surroundings. Puzzled and mystified, the Countess crept from the room. Silva had made this request on what was practically his dying bed, and he must be obeyed. What good it would do at this moment the Countess was quite at a loss to see. She found the little desk presently and broke it open. Inside lay a small parchment-covered volume with gilt lettering on the outside. With this in her hand the Countess Flavio walked out on to the lawn where Walter was strolling up and down and accosted him.
"This is for you," she said. "I don't know why, but Silva told me to deliver it into your hands, and perhaps when you have read it you will have a different opinion of Vera's mother."
Without waiting for a reply the Countess turned away, and went back into the house again. In the drawing-room Vera was seated, talking earnestly to Lord Ravenspur. There was an awkward pause as the Countess Flavio entered the room. Then Vera rose with a crimson face, and came in the direction of her mother.
"I suppose there is no occasion," she said, "to introduce you to one another, though it is so many years ago--"
"I have never seen Lord Ravenspur before in my life," the Countess said coldly, "and I am quite sure that he has never seen me, either. We are absolute strangers."
"But I thought," Vera stammered, "that Lord Ravenspur and yourself---- Oh, I don't know what I thought."
The girl paused abruptly, conscious that she was saying too much. For some time past she had been hugging what appeared to be a shameful secret to her breast. Her face paled with remorse now when she thought how she had misjudged these two people. But the embarrassment was not all Vera's, for Ravenspur was looking unhappy and uncomfortable. Only the Countess appeared to retain her cold self-possession. For some time no one spoke.
"Sooner or later, I suppose, I shall be entitled to an explanation," the Countess said at length. "It is now eighteen years since I was cruelly deprived of my child. It is just possible that Lord Ravenspur can explain his extraordinary conduct."
"I think I might manage to do that if we were alone," Ravenspur replied. "But, after all, you are Vera's mother, and what I have to say I could not utter in the child's hearing. Oh, I know that sounds like a cowardly remark, but my conscience tells me that I am only doing what is right."
Vera rose as if to go, but Ravenspur stretched out a hand and detained her. There was a determined look in his eyes.
"Not yet," he said; "there will be time for that later on. After dinner, if the Countess will give me the honour of an interview, I may be able to satisfy her that I am not the scoundrel she takes me to be. There are always two sides to a question."
"Yes, where the man is concerned," the Countess said coldly. "Let us hope in this case the same remark will apply to the woman--that is, if you are prepared to admit that Iama woman."
Ravenspur murmured something in reply. It seemed to him only right that mother and daughter should be alone. And, besides, he wanted to think the situation over. He had formed his own opinion of the Countess. He had implicitly believed all that his late friend Flavio had told him about his wife. He had anticipated something quite different to this. The woman was cold and self-contained and haughty, and yet Ravenspur could see nothing in her face to which he could take exception. Flavio had spoken of her as a fiend, a creature who had no title to the name of woman. His pictures had been glowing and full of colour. And now, before a word had been spoken, Ravenspur began to have his doubts. And how like the Countess was to Mrs. Delahay. As Ravenspur paced up and down the lawn, he began to see a little light in dark places. He was still turning the matter over in his mind when Walter and Venables came out of the house.
"Where are you going now?" Ravenspur asked. "What is that thing that you have in your hand?"
"It is a new collar and dog-chain," Walter explained. "It suddenly occurred to Venables just now that we had seen nothing of Bruno all day. I have been whistling for him for half an hour, and though I am almost certain he is hiding somewhere in the bracken on the common, I can't get him to answer the call."
"Probably afraid of a good thrashing for his work last night," Ravenspur murmured. "But you must manage to get hold of him, Walter. It will never do for a big hound like that to be roaming about the common. Those dogs are all right when they are well fed. But if the beast gets really hungry I wouldn't answer for the consequences. Whatever else happens, or whatever is neglected, you must find Bruno, and that at once."
Walter and Venables went off in the direction of the common, and for the next couple of hours sought everywhere for the dog. It seemed to them they could hear him every now and then. Presently Venables caught sight of his lean, dark-brown side as he crouched behind a great thicket of gorse. Walter called softly, and held a biscuit out in the direction of the bush. Then slowly, with his body bent to the ground and his head hung down, the great beast came, and Walter slipped the collar round his neck. He had hardly congratulated himself upon his success when a hollow groan close by attracted his attention. He turned eagerly to Venables. "Oh, yes, I heard it," the latter said with a smile. "Can't you guess who it is? I declare I had absolutely forgotten all about him. Unless I am greatly mistaken, that is our friend Stevens whom Perks tied up so neatly and artistically last night."
It was precisely as Venables had said. Stevens lay there groaning and shivering, quite helpless and almost unable to move. Even after his bonds were cut away it was some time before he had strength to rise. His teeth were chattering with the cold, although the day was quite a warm one. He was a mass of cramps and aches from head to feet. When once his blood began to stir again, he turned an angry face in the direction of his rescuers.
"Oh, you need not laugh," he said. "It is no laughing matter. I'll have the law against you for this, see if I don't."
"We will talk about that presently," said Venables coolly. "In the meantime, you had better come as far as the house and have something to eat. And you will be wise if you say nothing, or know nothing, of what happened last night. Your accomplice, Silva, lies in bed at the point of death, so you have nothing to fear from him. If you had gone straight with us, you would not have fallen into this sorry plight. Have you got any money?"
"I spent it all in coming down last night," Stevens said.
"Oh, well, we'll see you back to town again," Walter replied. "Meanwhile, we have other work to do. We will take you to the house and see that you are properly fed, and then you can kill time as best you can for the evening. You can return by the last train."
It was dark before Stevens reached the station with the few shillings in his pocket necessary to get him back to London again. As he stepped into a third-class carriage he did not realise that Walter and Venables were taking their places at the end of the train. It was just the same at Waterloo Station, where Stevens got out, and a moment later he was being followed by the pair, who had been joined now by Dallas.
"What is the game, gentlemen?" the Inspector asked. "Surely that man is the witness Stevens who gave such startling evidence at the Delahay inquest?"
"That is right enough," Walter said. "We are going to follow him and see where he goes to. Unless I am greatly mistaken, he can give you a great deal more information than he did at the inquest. And now, perhaps, I had better tell you of the discovery which Lord Ravenspur made last night. But, before doing that, I want to know if you missed anything from Mr. Delahay's studio. For instance, did you find a watch on the body?"
"There was no watch," Dallas said, after a moment's thought. "We found a purse in his trousers pocket with some gold in it, but nothing besides. Was he wearing a watch?"
"I am sure if you ask Mrs. Delahay she will tell you so," Walter replied. "He was wearing a watch and chain, and on the chain was an ornament which my uncle had given him. My uncle bought that ornament yesterday from a man who is obviously a receiver of stolen goods, and that ornament was sold to the shady individual in question by John Stevens. In proof of what I say, here it is."
Dallas' eyes gleamed as he took the trinket in his hand. He said no more as he walked thoughtfully by the side of his companions, till at length Stevens turned into a shady street, where he entered a dingy public-house. Without the slightest hesitation Dallas followed. He had quite made up his mind what he was going to do. For the time being, at any rate, the public-house was empty. Stevens was sitting in an armchair behind a partition with a glass in his hand. He started and his face changed colour as his eyes fell upon Dallas. The Inspector's manner was genial enough, but there was a grimness on his face that Stevens did not relish.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he stammered.
"Well, unless I am greatly mistaken, you can do a great deal," Dallas replied. "That matter of the Delahay murder, you know. You remember what you told us at the inquest?"
"Yes, and every word of it was true," Stevens said tremulously. "If it is the last word I ever say, it was true."
"And I believe it," Dallas went on. "The only fault I find in your evidence is that you did not tell us enough. Why didn't you finish your story while you were about it?"
Stevens looked stealthily at his tormentor. He gulped his glass of liquor down hastily, for there was a queer dryness at the back of his throat that almost choked him.
"Come," Dallas said, with a quick and sudden sternness. "Speak out, or it will be all the worse for you. Tell us who it was who murdered Mr. Louis Delahay?"
Stevens stared helplessly at the speaker. He tried to speak, but his jaw dropped. He mumbled something that was quite impossible to understand. But, at the same time, he recognised the peril of his position. There was a ghastly green tinge on his face, his hand trembled. Dallas regarded him pleasantly enough. There was nothing harsh or stern in the detective's manner. His quiet air of assured triumph struck a greater terror into Stevens than any sternness would have done. The shabby little man wriggled about in his seat looking very much like a rat behind the bars of a cage.
"Take your time," Dallas said quietly. "You will find in the long run that it will pay you a great deal better to tell the truth."
"I have always told the truth," Stevens stammered.
"Up to a certain point, yes. But you didn't go far enough. For instance, you might have told the coroner that you saw Mr. Delahay's lady visitor a second time. You might have gone further, and told the court that Mr. Delahay had other visitors long after his first one had gone. You see, that would have helped the police a good deal, and it would have effectually cleared an innocent lady whom we suspected of having a hand in the murder. Now who was it that called at the studio in the early hours of the morning?"
"How should I know?" Stevens said sullenly.
"That, my good man, is for you to say. But you need not answer unless you like. It so happens that you are waiting here for the individual in question this very moment."
The greenish hue crept over Stevens' face again. He could only stare at the speaker with open-mouthed astonishment. Dallas' manner grew a little more stern and curt as he rose from his seat.
"You will stay where you are," he said, "and with these two gentlemen I will go into the next box. I think I can trust you not to betray our presence there. In fact, your safety, to a large extent, depends upon your actions in the next hour or so."
"I have done nothing," Stevens burst out. "I swear I have done nothing. I had no hand in it at all."
"That I quite believe," Dallas replied. "It was afterwards that you began to see your way to make some money out of it. And now let me tell you something. You don't deserve any consideration at my hands, but I am prepared to spare you as far as possible. Oh, I know you will play me false at the first chance. But let me tell you, I know all about your visit to your friend, Perks, of Cannon Green. I know how you disposed of certain stolen goods which, until the night of the murder, were in the possession of Mr. Louis Delahay. After that, I don't think you will deem it prudent to try any of your nonsense with me."
Dallas turned away, and, with his two companions, entered the next box. It was gloomy enough there, so that their presence was not likely to be detected by anyone who came in. Walter turned eagerly to Dallas. His curiosity was aroused now. He wanted to know how it was that the inspector knew so much.
"It was mere conjecture on my part," Dallas said. "Of course, what you told me gave me a great deal of assistance; but I did not begin to see my way quite clearly until we followed Stevens here. The landlord of this public-house has never got into trouble as yet. But we know perfectly well that a good deal of stolen property is disposed of, and when I saw Stevens turn in here, things became plain enough. He was coming to meet his accomplice, and hand over his share of the money which he had obtained from Perks. Before half an hour is over, the real culprit will be here. Please stop talking directly anybody comes in. It will spoil everything if our presence here becomes known."
It was precisely as Dallas had said. Some twenty minutes later a man lounged into the bar and called for something to drink. He seemed to suspect nothing, he appeared to be perfectly at his ease. He whistled some music-hall air merrily. The man was fairly well-dressed. A gaudy cap on the back of his head disclosed a plaster of greasy curls on a peculiarly low and retreating forehead. The stranger might have been a street hawker in his best clothes. Certainly he did not suggest a professional criminal.
He swallowed his drink and strolled towards the fireplace without noticing the three occupants in the recesses of the box. Then he caught sight of Stevens, and took a seat by his side. The conversation was conducted in whispers, but it was possible for the listeners to hear most of what was taking place.
"Well, did you manage it all right?" the newcomer asked.
"Don't trouble about that," Stevens muttered. "But I didn't get half as much as you thought I should. Forty pounds was the price my man offered, and he wouldn't give another penny."
The newcomer growled something incoherent. Then there was a chink of money stealthily passed, followed by a volley of oaths from Stevens' companion.
"The game isn't worth playing," he muttered. "Fancy, twenty quid for a job like that, and the chance of hanging into the bargain. I wish I had never gone there, John. I wish I had never met you that night, when you told me all about the house in Fitzjohn Square. I wake up in the night in a bath of cold sweat when I think of it. Fancy going into what you take to be an empty house, and finding a dead body staring up in your face from the floor! Yes, Itookhis watch and chain all right, but I don't know where I got the pluck from. Took the risk of being strung up for it, bli'me! And me ready to get married, and the date fixed and all! Lord, if I could only see my way to get clear of it all! Twenty quid against a man's life! You go and try it yourself, and see what it's like, my ancient pal. When I recollect as it was you as told me of the broken catch on the studio window, I could bash your face in, I could. I can't forget it. I have tried drink, but that is no use. You can stave it off for an hour or two, and then it comes back worse than ever. And all for the sake of twenty quid!"
Stevens made no reply. He sat there quivering from head to foot, sick with suspense and anxiety, wondering in his mind when Dallas was going to strike. At any other time the ghastly colour of his face would have attracted the attention of his companion, but the other man was occupied with his own thoughts. He was staring moodily into the fireplace.
"Don't talk about it," Stevens managed to say at length. "If you had told me about it at the time, I never should have touched that stuff. But I had got it in my pocket, and I had given my word before ever I had heard of the murder. And how was I to know that there was a chance of Mr. Delahay coming back? If anything happens you will say as much for me, won't you?"
Stevens asked the question with trembling eagerness. He made his request more with a view to impressing Dallas than anything else. But the culprit by his side, apparently, had no idea of the drift of the question, or why it was asked.
"Oh, you have nothing to fear," he said moodily. "At least, it is all right as long as that stuff isn't traced. But what is the use of sitting here jawing like this? Let us go to a music-hall or theatre or something of that kind--anything to get away from one's thoughts. Every now and again----"
The speaker rose to his feet, and Stevens dragged his trembling limbs from the settee. At the same moment, Dallas appeared upon the scene and touched the stranger lightly on the shoulder.
"I hope you know who I am," he said.
The other man heaved a sigh, which sounded almost like relief. Just for a moment all the blood left his face. Then he recovered himself and looked at Dallas steadily.
"Dallas, of Scotland Yard," he said. "Oh, I know you well enough, sir, and I expect you know me."
"Name of Cooney," Dallas said briskly. "Jim Cooney. I arrest you for burglary at the residence of Mr. Louis Delahay, in Fitzjohn Square."
"Yes, that's right enough," Cooney said. "I am not going to complain. Upon my word, I am glad it is over. If you just let me have a cigarette and another drink I'll tell you all about it; and a nice sort of pal you are, Stevens. Oh, I'd give something to have you for five minutes to myself. You sneaking rat!"
"I couldn't help myself," Stevens whined. "Upon my word, I couldn't. Besides, what does it matter? Inspector Dallas knows all about it. He even knew you were coming here tonight, though I swear he never had a single hint from me. Isn't that so, Inspector? Am I telling the truth, or am I a liar?"
"It is perfectly true, Cooney," Dallas explained. "I followed Stevens here, knowing quite well that he was waiting for you."
The assurance seemed to be sufficient, for Cooney asked no further questions. Nor was it for Dallas to explain that, till a few moments ago, he had no idea of the real identity of the man whom Stevens had come to meet. Cooney took a long whiff of his cigarette and pitched the end of it into the fireplace.
"I am quite ready for you now," he said, "and I'll tell you all about it if you like. Oh, I know everything I say will be taken down in evidence against me; but it is little I mind that. I plundered the dead body of Mr. Delahay, all right. He was dead when I got there, and if I didn't tell you so, you overheard enough to jug me half a dozen times. Don't look at me like that Mr. Dallas, sir. Don't think as I had any hand in the murder, sir. May I die if I ain't as innocent of that as a kid."
"Better not say too much," Dallas suggested. "Really, I am not curious to hear. And now, come along. You can have a cab if you like. Perhaps you may come out of this better than you expect--if you are only candid."
"Don't be in a hurry," Cooney pleaded. "I'll tell you everything, sir, I will--straight--everything from start to finish. Sit down and listen to me; and you need not be afraid that I shall try and escape. I don't want to."