It said a great deal for Audrey's presence of mind that she lay quietly where she was, and did not at once leap from her bed to denounce Eddy Vail. But the girl, although she appeared delicate, and was inexperienced, had a commonsense way of looking at things, which helped her greatly in this emergency. She rapidly reviewed the situation, and saw that it would be wiser, for the present, to hold her tongue. When she laid the matter before Ralph, it would be time enough to consider what was the best course to pursue. It was necessary to obtain further proofs of Vail's guilt, as for the moment it rested merely on the statement of Badoura. And if Badoura changed her mind and became reconciled to Eddy, she might deny that she had made any remark about the clock. Finally, seeing that she was indebted to her aunt for a night's lodging, if for nothing else, Audrey did not wish to make trouble in the Pink Shop. Already the murder had given the place a bad name, and if there was any more scandal Madame Coralie's business would be ruined entirely.
But Audrey could rest no more, and when she heard Madame Coralie go into the still-room to talk with her scampish husband she quietly rose and closed the bedroom door. Then she dressed rapidly, and soon came out, looking much her usual self, although she was decidedly pale. Her aunt was still talking to Eddy, and had just handed him a letter. The scampish husband looked more pretty and dandified than ever, and threw a glance of leering admiration at the charming newcomer. When Audrey remembered that Badoura accused him of strangling her mother, she could scarcely address him politely. Yet she was forced to do so for the sake of appearance, as Madame Coralie introduced her to him.
"Miss Branwin, this is my husband, Mr. Edmund Vail."
"I hope you are well, Miss Branwin," said Mr. Vail, politely, and bowed in a most deferential manner. He even held out his hand, but Audrey declined to see it--she could not bring herself to greet him in this way.
"I am quite well, Mr. Vail," she said coldly, "thanks to a good night's rest."
"You are stopping here, Miss Branwin?"
"Mind your own business, Eddy!" snapped Madame Coralie, shortly. "You have nothing to do with my customers. Miss Branwin is stopping here for treatment, so say no more about it. Take that letter to Sir Joseph Branwin at once."
Audrey started, and looked at her aunt. "To my father?"
"Yes," said Madame Coralie, arranging her yashmak. "I have written to Sir Joseph asking him to send your boxes here, as your treatment will take some time."
"But will my father send my boxes?" asked Audrey, nervously.
Madame Coralie gave her a warning glance, as Eddy's cherubic face was alive with curiosity. "Of course he will, Miss Branwin," said the proprietress of the Pink Shop, easily. "He knows that ladies cannot do without at least a dozen frocks. Never fear," she nodded encouragingly, "I shall send you back to Camden Hill as plump as a partridge."
"If I may be permitted a remark," said Eddy, impudently, "Miss Branwin does not require figure treatment. She is--perfection," and he grinned.
"Eddy, you can go," said Madame Coralie, quietly, and pointed imperatively to the door. "Lose no time."
"Au revoir, Miss Branwin," said the rogue, and walked out of the still-room as delicately as Agag before his execution.
"What a horrid man!" said Audrey, involuntarily, then coloured when aware of her remark. "I beg your pardon, Aunt Flora, I forgot he is your husband."
"I never can forget it," said Madame Coralie, calmly; "and you are quite right, my dear. Eddy is a horrid young man, conceited and impudent, whose one idea in life is to hunt women and spend money. That's two ideas, though, isn't it, my dear?" ended Madame Coralie, with a grim look in her eyes. "Oh! what a fool I was to marry him."
"Perhaps he will improve, Aunt Flora, and I am sure he ought to be grateful to you for keeping him the way you do."
"My dear child, gratitude and Eddy Vail are far apart. He's a rogue and I'm a fool, so we are well matched. Don't let us talk any more about him. I have sent a letter to your father saying you are staying with me, and asking him to send on your boxes."
"Did you mention if you knew why I came to you, aunt?"
"Yes, I did, and I signed myself Flora Arkwright."
"Why not Flora Vail?"
"Because Joseph does not know me by that name; but he knows who Flora Arkwright is," said Madame Coralie, still grimly. "And he will certainly send on your boxes, my dear, as he has been waiting for a chance to get rid of you."
Audrey looked pained. "Why should he desire to get rid of me? I am sure I have always tried to be a daughter to him."
"He doesn't want a daughter, but another wife. You were an obstacle in the way of his marrying Rosy Pearl, and, as he could not induce you to marry Lord Anvers, he seized the opportunity of your making that rash visit to Mr. Shawe to turn you out of house and home. But he shall make you an allowance, Audrey"--Madame Coralie's eyes flashed--"I'll see to that."
"He will not unless he is forced to," rejoined the girl, mournfully.
"Then he shall be forced, my dear. I can manage him."
"In what way, Aunt Flora?"
"Never mind. I know things about Joseph Branwin which he would not like the world to become aware of."
It was on the tip of Audrey's tongue to ask if the things in question had to do with Sir Joseph's presence in the house on the night of the murder; but her aunt gave her no time to speak.
"There's a gentleman waiting in the lane to see you," she said abruptly.
Audrey ran to the window. "Ralph!" she said quickly and joyfully.
"Yes. He has come in spite of my prohibition, silly fellow that he is. I don't want your stay here to be talked about. However, as he will not go away unless he sees you, I think, my dear, you had better go to him and ask if he will take you out to breakfast. There's a very good restaurant in the High Street. I can't give you the meals to which you have been accustomed, my dear girl."
Audrey took her hand, and Madame Coralie quivered at the gentle touch. "You have taken me in when I had no home," said the girl, tenderly, "and I shall never forget it, Aunt Flora. I wish you would remove that horrid yashmak and let me kiss you."
Madame Coralie drew aside the dark veil, and allowed Audrey to press a kiss on her mouth. Then she dropped the yashmak again over the disfiguring birthmark, and turned away in silence to busy herself with some tiny boxes containing ointments. "You had better go, dear," she said at length, in a low voice, "Mr. Shawe is waiting."
Audrey wondered why her aunt should be so moved by a simple caress; but guessing that she did not wish to converse at the moment quietly left the room, and ran down the stairs. As she passed through the shop the quartette of assistants, who were busy in various ways, looked up with bright smiles. One and all, enlightened by Badoura, had seen the lover pacing the lane, and sympathised with Audrey's haste. The girl blushed and laughed as she left the shop, and ran across the narrow roadway holding out her hands.
"My dear--my darling!" said Ralph, tenderly, and Audrey saw how lean and anxious his face looked. "I have been worrying about you all the night."
"You needn't have," said Audrey, as they walked down the lane. "I have been all right, and the sleep has done me a lot of good. But you can worry about me now, Ralph, because I am dreadfully hungry, and want my breakfast."
"What!" Shawe was rather indignant. "Hasn't Madame Coralie given you food?"
Audrey shook her head. "She suggested that I should breakfast with you, since you refused to go away without seeing me. I could have got food in the house had I chosen. But, Ralph"--she put her arm in his confidentially--"I agreed to see you because I have much to say."
"What is it? Any new discovery?"
"Yes, and a very important one. But I can't talk until I have eaten. Remember, dear, I have had nothing in the way of food since dinner last night, and I have undergone a great deal."
"You poor darling!" cried Ralph, with great compunction. "You shan't say another word until you have had breakfast. I shall have mine also, for, to tell you the truth, Audrey, I could eat nothing this morning. Now that I have seen you my appetite is reviving."
He proved this at the sumptuous meal they ordered at the restaurant in High Street. It was an excellent place with an excellent cook, and the two young people chose exactly the dishes they enjoyed most. In the middle of the meal Audrey laughed, as it struck her as strange that people so troubled as they were could eat and drink so freely.
"No one would think that I was a pauper turned out of house and home by a hard-hearted father," said Audrey, smiling.
"I am glad you see the humour of it," said Ralph, drily.
"Oh, don't be angry, dear. I thank Heaven that I have a gift of humour to enable me to see these troubles in their true light. Aunt Flora has sent for my boxes, and has written to tell my father that I am to stop with her for the time being. She hinted that she could force him to allow me an income."
"How can she force him?" asked Shawe, quickly. "Does she know that he was in the Pink Shop on that night?"
"No; she did not say so, nor did I mention the subject. Besides, papa said in your rooms that although he was in the lane he did not enter the shop."
"I don't see what else you could expect him to say," replied Ralph, with a shrug. "If he was in the shop, he certainly would not incriminate himself by admitting it."
"After all, we have only Parizade's evidence regarding that scent of Harris tweed to go upon," said Audrey, thoughtfully.
"Seeing that your father is so fond of wearing that particular cloth, I must say that the evidence is very strong," retorted Ralph.
"Yet you declared that it would not stand in a court of law."
"Perhaps yes, perhaps no; it is a difficult thing to say, Audrey. However, since you now know what I wrote the anonymous letter to keep from you, there will be no further hesitation on my part in searching for the true assassin. If he proves to be your father I shan't be sorry, seeing how brutally he has behaved to you."
Audrey shook her head. "If I thought that papa was guilty I would ask you to stop searching, and to leave him to the punishment of his conscience."
"He hasn't got one, my dear," said Shawe, scoffingly. "And if he isn't guilty, who is, may I ask?"
"Eddy Vail," said Audrey, without a moment's hesitation.
Ralph pushed back his chair and looked at her in astonishment. The restaurant was almost empty, and they had a corner table entirely to themselves, so they could speak very freely, so long as they kept their voices low. "On what grounds do you make that assertion, Audrey?" he asked sharply.
"I overheard a conversation between Badoura and Eddy Vail this morning."
"Oh, and you learnt enough to make you suspect Vail?"
"I learnt plainly that Vail is guilty, if Badoura is to be believed."
Shawe remained silent through sheer astonishment. "Tell me exactly what you did overhear," he remarked at length.
Miss Branwin thereupon lowered her voice still more, so that no whisper could be overheard by other people, and detailed the words which had passed between Badoura and Madame Coralie's husband. "I saw him afterwards with Aunt Flora," finished Audrey, "as she sent him with the letter to my father. He is a nasty impertinent little man, and wished to converse with me. He even offered me his hand"--she shuddered--"as if I could touch it. Well, Ralph, and what do you think of the matter?"
"Badoura's declaration certainly endorses what you said about the time Madame Coralie came down to see you at the door," remarked Shawe, thoughtfully. "If Eddy Vail came up at five minutes to eight and put the clock back to 7.30, that would account for the twenty-five minutes."
"It was certainly nearly half-past eight before I saw Aunt Flora," said Audrey, quickly.
"Then if she came down immediately after entering the still-room, as was stated at the inquest," said Shawe, "the clock must have been wrong. Eddy Vail himself, Madame Coralie, and Badoura all say that it was five minutes after eight when Madame came down to you. Of course, Eddy putting the clock wrong would account for the extra time."
"But why did he put the clock wrong?" asked Audrey, bewildered.
"Badoura supplies the answer to that question, my dear," said Ralph, grimly. "He wished to provide an alibi. Badoura and Madame Coralie could both swear that he was in the still-room at eight o'clock, when it was really five-and-twenty minutes past eight. He had all that time--seeing that, according to the medical evidence, your mother was murdered at or about eight--to commit the crime. Yes, Eddy Vail may be guilty."
"Then my father is innocent, and was not in the Pink Shop."
"Of course. And going by the evidence of the clock, when Mrs. Mellop saw your father in Walpole Lane your mother had already been dead for some twenty minutes, more or less. Of course"--Ralph looked thoughtful--"he may have killed her, and then have slipped round by the court--the key was in the outer door, remember--to Walpole Lane, guessing that you would call there, and thus he could provide himself with a very good alibi. Did he know that you were going to call for your mother?"
"Yes. I told him when I got home. But I really can't think that he is guilty, Ralph, especially as Badoura accuses Eddy Vail."
"But why should Eddy kill your mother?"
"Because of the diamonds."
"Madame Coralie said that her sister had given those to her. If that is a lie, it makes out Madame Coralie to be an accomplice after the fact. She must have known that her husband had murdered Lady Branwin."
"Oh, dear, it is impossible Aunt Flora can be guilty. She is so good."
Ralph had his own idea of Madame Coralie's goodness; but it was no use communicating the same to the girl, seeing how kind her aunt had been to her. He thought for a few moments, then raised his head.
"In order to learn positively what took place in the house on that night," he said decisively, "we must find another and independent witness."
"Can we?" asked Audrey, faintly, for she was greatly bewildered.
"I think so. Rosy Pearl."
"Oh!" Audrey stared. "But she will know nothing."
"I am not so sure of that. She was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom."
"Probably shewasasleep."
"And it might be that she was awake," said Shawe, quickly. "At all events, it is strange that the woman whom your father desires to marry should be in the house where the obstacle to that marriage met with her death. And on the selfsame night, too," ended Ralph, with a nod.
"What is to be done?" asked Audrey, astonished at this new development.
"This. Say nothing about Badoura's conversation with Eddy Vail and wait patiently until I see Rosy Pearl. I shall do so this very day."
"I wonder if she is guilty?" queried Audrey. But Shawe could not answer this question, which was scarcely to be wondered at.
Ralph did not call on Miss Pearl that day, as he intended to do, for the simple reason that more important business demanded his attention. After returning with Audrey to the Pink Shop he walked away, thinking, with some irritation, over the disagreeable position in which the girl was placed by the callous behaviour of her father. Certainly, as Audrey was supposed to be going in for figure treatment, her stay with Madame Coralie was reasonably accounted for, and Ralph guessed that Sir Joseph would offer this excuse to his friends when they asked after his daughter. There was no doubt that when the old man recovered from the furious rage into which he had fallen when accused of the crime he would think twice before admitting that he had turned Audrey out of doors. Sir Joseph, in spite of his domineering ways, was a coward, so far as social reputation was concerned, and would not risk the finger of scorn being pointed at him. It assuredly would be, when people came to hear of his brutal action.
So far everything was right. But Shawe did not care that the girl he intended to make his wife should remain with Madame Coralie. Even though the woman was Audrey's aunt, and apparently intended to be kind to her niece, Ralph knew that her reputation was none of the best. It would do Audrey harm to remain long at the Pink Shop, especially as, since the murder, it had obtained a most unenviable notoriety. And Madame Coralie--as Shawe learnt through Perry Toat--was looked at askance by the police. Nothing could be said against her, and she had assuredly cleared herself of complicity in connection with Lady Branwin's death, thanks mainly, as Ralph now saw, to the false evidence of the still-room clock. But she was watched nevertheless, and was regarded as a person of doubtful character. Perhaps it was hard on the poor creature that she should be so regarded, for she did her best to conduct her business in a proper way. But that very business was of a decidedly dubious character, and demanded secrecy for obvious reasons. Ladies anxious to renew their youth did not care about their visits to the Pink Shop to be talked about, and this very necessary secrecy lent a doubtful air to Madame Coralie's occupation. On the whole, the young barrister thought that it would be just as well to remove Audrey as soon as possible from that tainted atmosphere.
This could only be done by marriage, as, failing her aunt, Audrey had no friend with whom she could stay. Certainly, there were people who liked her, and would be glad of her company, but an application to any of these meant that awkward questions would be asked. If any woman scented a scandal, she would assuredly be extremely pertinacious until she learnt the whole truth. And as the whole truth involved a confession of Audrey's rash visit to the Temple, and an acknowledgment of her father's drastic behaviour, it was not right to risk such things becoming known. Whereas, if Shawe married the girl quickly it would be looked upon as a runaway match, and Sir Joseph's anger would be accounted for in this way. It was well known that he wished his daughter to marry Lord Anvers, and had refused to permit the barrister to pay his addresses. Therefore, an elopement--for that is what the marriage with Shawe would amount to--would appeal to the romantic nature of Audrey's friends, and every woman would be on her side. The more Ralph thought over the matter, the more he felt that a speedy marriage was the only way in which to adjust the situation.
But this required thought to accomplish. Shawe had a small income, and with economy it would be enough for two until he received larger fees. Already he was a well-known man, and every day he made progress; so there could be no doubt that in the near future he would be well able to support a wife. But at the present moment he could not lay his hands on ready money, which was what he wanted to do. In the ordinary way Audrey would have to live in Kensington parish for three weeks, and so would he, in order to get married. As Ralph wished to remove his future wife from the Pink Shop as speedily as possible, this delay was not to be thought of. There only remained to procure a special licence, and this cost a large sum of money. "I shall go and see my godmother," decided Ralph, after he had turned the question of immediate matrimony over in his mind.
Lady Sanby was the young man's godmother, and had always professed herself to be very fond and proud of him. She had often presented him with a cheque when he was at college, and later when he was studying for the Bar. Indeed, but for Lady Sanby's help Ralph would not have been able to wait for briefs, since his father, the Squire of Bleakleigh, was not wealthy. But the godmother had always behaved generously, and Ralph, therefore, went to her house that same afternoon, instead of visiting Miss Pearl. But before going he wrote to the star of the music-halls, asking her to see him the next morning at eleven o'clock, saying that he had something important to say to her. Having thus arranged matters, the young man went to Dorleigh Crescent to interview Lady Sanby.
She was an ancient dowager, with a merry eye and a great liking for young men, especially if they were handsome and rising. Ralph was both, so Lady Sanby always made a great fuss over him when he called. She went everywhere and knew everyone, and was altogether as gay an old dame as could be found in Mayfair. Also, as she was very rich, her son, the present Lord Sanby, and her daughter-in-law, together with their numerous offspring, paid her the greatest attention. Grannie had money to leave; therefore grannie was regarded as the oracle of the family, and behaved always like a benevolent despot. For no one could deny but what she was a charming old lady, if somewhat sharp in her way of speaking.
"My dear boy," said Lady Sanby, welcoming her godson with effusion, and presenting her withered cheek for a kiss, "what have you been doing all this time? I haven't seen your name in the papers either in connection with your profession. Are you not getting any briefs?"
"Not at present, grannie," said Ralph--for Lady Sanby allowed him to call her by this endearing name, as an acknowledgment of the interest she took in him--"but they will come along all right when I am married."
"Oh!" Lady Sanby shook her old head knowingly, as she knew much of Ralph's love-story. "So you still adore the daughter of that wretched woman who was murdered in the Pink Shop?"
"Yes. And you said you liked Audrey, grannie?"
"So I do; she's a dear girl. But I didn't like her vulgar old mother, though I shouldn't say that now, seeing she is dead. Nor do I like her father. He's a wicked, domineering navvy, and will probably be made a Peer. Those sort of rich labourers always do get Peerages. Well, so you are going to marry?"
"I must if I want to succeed in my profession," said Ralph, quickly. "My head is full of love matters, and I can't think of my clients. Yes, I want to get married in three days, and I have come to you for help."
"Oh, I shall do whatever you want, my dear boy. You are so clever that I look on you as one likely to reflect credit on me. Sanby and his family are all idiots. Well, and how can I assist you?"
"I shall explain. In the first place, I wish to tell you a rather surprising story, about which you must promise to keep silence.
"Oh! my dear lad, I am a well--a very well--for keeping secrets. If I said all I knew I could ruin half the men in London, and all the women. Well?"
Shawe wasted no further talk in introducing his subject, but related all that he knew about the case--from the time Lady Branwin had entered the Pink Shop down to the last words Audrey had told him concerning Badoura's accusation of Eddy Vail. "Now, what do you think?" he asked, when he had finished his long story, and felt vexed that the old lady did not display more astonishment.
"It is a wonderful story," Lady Sanby assured him, coolly, "and truth is always stranger than fiction. But I have had so many surprises in my long life that nothing astonishes me. I am glad you told me, and I can well see that it is a thing one must hold one's tongue about. So vexing; one always has to keep silence about the most wonderful things. Do you think that Sir Joseph Branwin--horrid man!--is guilty?"
"I can't say."
"Perhaps you suspect Eddy Vail?"
"I can't be sure of that either."
"Madame Coralie?"
"No," said Ralph, positively. "I can safely say that I do not suspect her, for she is behaving too well over Audrey's matter."
"That doesn't mean to say she wouldn't commit a crime if it suited her," said Lady Sanby, coolly. "She's not a nice woman, my dear, and the sooner you get that poor girl away from the Pink Shop the better it will be."
"I knew you would say that," said Shawe, quickly, "and for that reason I want you to help me, grannie--to help me and Audrey, that is."
"Of course. I like Audrey; she is a girl of spirit, and will make you a good wife. Well, what do you wish me to do? Ask her here to stay for a time?"
"No, no! Although it is kind of you to suggest it," said Shawe, hurriedly. "But people would talk and ask questions. No. I wish you to lend me one hundred pounds so that I can buy a special licence and marry Audrey at once, and have sufficient cash to take a journey."
"To go on your honeymoon, you mean," said Lady Sanby, humorously. "Well, your idea is a very good one. Marry her at once by special licence, and go away to some quiet place so that she can recover from all these troubles. Then bring her here as your wife, and she can stay with me for a week until you can find a house."
"Dear, dear grannie!"
"Silly, silly grannie, I think. I am a romantic old fool to waste money at my time of life in--"
"It won't be wasted. I shall pay you back."
"No. I shall give you five hundred pounds as a wedding-gift."
"Oh, I can't take that, Lady Sanby."
"Grannie, you foolish boy."
"Well, then, I can't take such a large sum, grannie."
"Don't talk nonsense," said Lady Sanby, going to her desk and producing a cheque-book. "Five hundred pounds won't go very far, seeing that Audrey has been accustomed to millions."
"She won't be accustomed to them any more," said the future bridegroom, in a gloomy tone. "Her father has disowned her."
"Never mind. You marry her, and we'll put matters right between us. There is your cheque." She handed him an oblong slip of paper.
"I really can't take so much."
"Then you won't get less, my dear man. Gracious, haven't I dandled you on my knee and slapped you and stuffed you with cakes and--"
"You have been always good, and that is why I don't like to impose on you."
Lady Sanby laughed grimly. "You needn't be afraid of doing that, Ralph. No one, old or young, ever succeeded in imposing upon me. Now, take your wedding-present and marry Audrey. And, by the way," added the old dame, just as if it was an after-thought, "you had better let me know the time and place. I shall come to the wedding. It will look better for Audrey, and that parvenu father of hers won't dare to say a word when I bestow my approval."
"Grannie, you are an angel," and Ralph, very greatly touched by her kindness, kissed her warmly.
Grannie pushed him away. "Keep your kisses and nice words for Audrey, or she will grow jealous. Now run away. I have heaps to do, and I can't afford to waste my time as a briefless barrister does."
"Briefless," laughed Ralph, who was now, and with very good reason, in excellent spirits. "Well, grannie, I only ask that you will retain me as Counsel in the breach of promise case you are sure to have with one of your numerous admirers!"--a joke which pleased the gay old lady immensely.
Shawe departed, and paid the welcome cheque into his bank. He could now afford to marry Audrey at once, and take her away from all the soiled circumstances of her life. He felt duly grateful to Madame Coralie, but he did not wish Audrey, when she was Mrs. Shawe, to see more of her than was consistent with her being a relation. For the moment he felt inclined to go to Walpole Lane and tell Audrey all about Lady Sanby's offer and her kindness in giving him such a welcome wedding-present; but he knew that Audrey would be disappointed if he had nothing to tell about Miss Pearl, so resolved before he again sought the Pink Shop to see the lady in question.
Miss Pearl wrote and said that she would be pleased to see him at the time he mentioned. Therefore, the next morning, Ralph duly walked to the quiet house in the quiet Bloomsbury Square wherein Miss Pearl had her rooms. A demure maidservant admitted him into the house and conducted him up the wide staircase--it was an old Georgian mansion--to the sitting-room of the lady. When she departed to tell Miss Pearl that her visitor had arrived, the young barrister glanced round the room to see if he could gather from its furnishing what the character of the future Lady Branwin was like. It struck him--oddly enough, considering her profession of dancer and singer--that she was something of a Puritan.
The room was spacious and had a lofty ceiling painted with wreaths of flowers and love-knots of blue ribbon. Under this roof, which suggested gay Pompadour fancies, the room looked cold and drab. The furniture was of a dark wood upholstered in dark green. The windows--two French windows which opened on to an iron balcony--were draped with green curtains, and the carpet was also green, without any pattern. In the centre of the apartment was a prim table on which books were placed at regular intervals. One of these books Shawe found to be thePilgrim's Progress, and another was theChronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. He felt rather astonished as this was not the class of literature he expected Miss Pearl to favour. Then the room was altogether so stiff and formal, and so deadly cold, in spite of its being warm in the open air, that the barrister was puzzled. "I must have been shown into the apartment of some missionary by mistake," was his reflection, and he sat down greatly bewildered. "A woman who dances at a music-hall can't possibly like to live in such a room; but I always heard that she was aggressively respectable."
His reflections were cut short by the stately entrance of the lady he was thinking about. And Miss Pearlwasstately, being a tall and nobly-formed woman, who walked in quite a majestic way. She had large feet, large hands, a large bust, and large limbs--indeed, she was large in every way, and looked more like the Venus of Milo than a modern woman. Her face was pale and grave and clear-cut, and she had a rather severe mouth with compressed lips. To add to her resemblance to the heathen goddess, her hair was smoothed back from her marble forehead and coiled behind in a simple Greek knot. In a calm and graceful way she moved forward, with her large brown unwinking eyes fastened on the bewildered face of the young man. Those eyes almost hypnotised Ralph, for their gaze was so steady, and made him think that after all she was less like Venus than like the ox-eyed Juno.
"You are Mr. Shawe?" she said, in a low, deep contralto voice.
"Yes, Miss Pearl," he stammered; then he observed her well-cut, tailor-made dress, which was simplicity itself, and worn with a linen collar. But it was the material that brought a startled look into his eyes. "You--you wear a--a Harris tweed dress!" he gasped.
Miss Pearl eyed him with grave surprise. "Why should I not?" she asked.
Miss Pearl's question was awkward to answer on the spur of the moment, as may be easily guessed. Ralph had intended to lead gradually up to the object of his visit; but thrown off his guard by the sight of the dress, he had committed himself in a most untimely manner. While thinking of a possible answer which would delay explanations he stared hard at Miss Pearl, trying to guess what kind of a woman she was. From the furnishing of the room, from her looks and severe mode of dress, he took her to be a religious woman of a Puritanic cast, who had abjured the pomps and vanities of the world. Yet she was a music-hall dancer, and that profession did not suit either her surroundings or her appearance.
"I shall explain why I made that remark shortly," said Shawe, evading a direct reply as well as he was able; "and, truth to tell, my errand is not a very pleasant one."
Miss Pearl looked at the card she held in her large white hand, and pondered thoughtfully. "Mr. Ralph Shawe," she said, in her heavy voice. "Ah! yes, I remember now. Perhaps, Mr. Ralph Shawe, I can guess your errand."
"Perhaps you can," muttered Shawe, wondering what she would say.
"Sir Joseph Branwin," pursued the dancer, "told me about you, as an undesirable suitor for the hand of his daughter. Am I right in assuming that you have called to enlist my sympathies?"
"Enlist your sympathies?" repeated the visitor, staring.
"Yes. You want me," continued Miss Pearl, in a ponderously playful manner, "to ask Sir Joseph to permit you to pay your addresses. I shall do so with pleasure, as I have every sympathy with you and Miss Branwin."
Shawe still stared in a dazed way, as this speech completely puzzled him, and--in vulgar parlance--took the wind out of his sails. Here he had come practically to accuse a lady of being connected with the murder of a woman whom she had wished to supplant, and this very lady was now most generously offering her assistance to forward his private aims. Shawe could not quite understand if this was cunning on Rosy Pearl's part or mere stupidity, or perhaps the liberal offer of a generous nature. He noted the careful way in which she spoke and her method of picking out well-sounding words, and mentally observed that she was doing her best to correct a defective education by thinking well before she spoke.
In the meantime Miss Pearl did not hurry him, as she appeared to be a singularly leisurely person. With her large calm eyes gazing amiably at him, her gracious, rounded figure, and whole placid pose, she reminded Ralph of nothing so much as a sacred white cow. But cows can be furious when aroused, and the barrister wondered if she would rise in her majesty like Bellona, the goddess of war, when she learnt the true meaning of his visit. But she must be stupid, he thought, else she would have persisted in learning straight away the meaning of his first enigmatic remark. Yet she accepted his postponement calmly, and was quite ready to wait for an explanation.
"I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness, Miss Pearl," he said quietly; "but I fear your offer of help is too late. Sir Joseph has had a serious quarrel with his daughter."
"A serious quarrel with his daughter?" repeated the woman, slowly, as if trying to get the idea well into her head; then she added, after a pause; "I should like to hear what the quarrel is about."
Ralph did not intend to tell her, and he was sure Branwin would be too much ashamed of himself to give the information. "Well, you know, Miss Pearl, that Sir Joseph wanted his daughter to marry Lord Anvers. She refused him, so Miss Branwin left the house, as her father was so furious with her."
"Miss Branwin has left the house? And where is she staying now?"
"At the Pink Shop," said Shawe, promptly. He was unwilling to name Audrey's temporary abode, but did so, to see what effect the name had on this calm and undemonstrative woman.
It had an effect, indeed, for Miss Pearl's white skin slowly became a vivid crimson, and for the first time during the interview she displayed emotion. Perhaps she was aware of the meaning in Shawe's gaze when he saw this agitation, for she gave an excuse.
"I don't think that the Pink Shop is a proper place for a young lady to stay at," she remarked frigidly.
"Why not? You were there yourself, Miss Pearl."
"I have frequently been there, Mr. Shawe. As an artist I have to take the greatest care of what looks I possess, and I find Madame Coralie invaluable."
"You slept at the Pink Shop on the night Lady Branwin was--"
Miss Pearl displayed more agitation, and--a rare thing for so slow-thinking a woman--interrupted somewhat sharply:
"I admit that I did, but I do not wish it to be known."
"For what reason, Miss Pearl?" asked Ralph, pressing his advantage mercilessly.
"You can guess the reason, Mr. Shawe," she replied, with heavy indignation. "I know what evil minds people have. Sir Joseph is an admirer of mine--quite in a platonic way, you understand."
"Of course," murmured the barrister. "I have heard of your unblemished reputation, Miss Pearl."
"I should think it was unblemished," said the dancer, speaking faster than usual. "My dear mother, who was a consistent Baptist, always warned me when I left home to keep myself unspotted from the world. Circumstances have made me a music-hall dancer, but I have always conducted myself discreetly, and I always shall do so. Not by way of advertisement, Mr. Shawe, but because the principles, instilled by my dear mother, will not permit me to behave in any other way."
"It does you credit, Miss Pearl," murmured Ralph, feeling called upon to say something polite.
Rosy Pearl looked at him like an offended goddess. "I do not know whether you mean to be sarcastic, Mr. Shawe, but let me tell you that sarcasm is out of place. Are you one of those men who do not believe that a woman can be virtuous in the midst of temptation?"
"Not at all, Miss Pearl. There are good women on the stage, and often bad women in Church circles. It is a question of temperament."
"It is a question of doing what is right, Mr. Shawe," said the goddess, with a disdainful look. "I am a dancer, it is true, but no one can say a word against me."
"I don't think anyone has said a word," Ralph ventured to remark.
"If they did," said Miss Pearl, sharply, "I would bring a libel action against them without delay. My solicitors have instructions to take notice of any flippant remark made about me, and to deal with it as it deserves."
"With such precautions you must be, like Cæsar's wife, above suspicion."
"I do not know Mrs. Cæsar," said Rosy Pearl, coldly, and betrayed her lack of educational knowledge in the remark. "I attend to my own business and to nothing else. I daresay you wonder, Mr. Shawe, why, with these sentiments, I am on the music-hall stage?"
"Well," Ralph admitted, more and more puzzled by this simplicity, but unable to tell if it were real or feigned, "I must say that I do wonder."
"It's because I am stupid."
"Stupid?" Shawe stared. He had never heard a woman admit as much before.
"Yes, I am," said Miss Pearl, in her rich, slow voice, and looking more than ever like a sacred white cow. "My parents live in a small Essex village, and have a large family. My father is a carpenter, and my mother, as I told you, a consistent Baptist. Being poor, we--the children, that is--have to work, and when I was eighteen I got a housemaid's place in London. But I could not do the work."
"It is not difficult work," said Shawe, marvelling at this candour.
"No, it is not difficult work," said Miss Pearl, who seemed to have a habit of repeating words, perhaps to fix them in her memory; "but I am stupid, and I was always making mistakes, through forgetting things. I lost place after place because of what was called my lack of intelligence. I had to work in some way, and yet I could not, being too slow and heavy. Then an old gentleman--he was a scholar--said that I resembled a Greek statue. It gave me an idea, as a friend of mine knew a music-hall manager. I went to this manager, and asked him to let me appear in living pictures."
"And he consented?"
"Not at once. He admired me for my looks," said Miss Pearl, with great simplicity, "and he made love to me. They all do, and it is a great nuisance, as I don't like that sort of thing. But this manager became quite friendly when I boxed his ears."
"He must have been an odd manager," said Ralph, thinking that so strong a white arm could hurt considerably.
"Oh, he was like the rest of them," said Miss Pearl, heavily. "However, he declared that he saw possibilities in me, and sent me to someone to be taught. When I mentioned what the scholar had said about my being like a Greek; this man--he was a professor of dancing--got an idea of reviving some Attic dances. He taught me three chants--"
"Songs, you mean."
"No, I do not mean songs. I mean chants, to which I dance. You have seen my performance, have you not, Mr. Shawe?"
"Yes, and a very beautiful performance it is," said Ralph. He recalled the scene, which represented a Greek temple, before which Miss Pearl, in scanty white robes, danced in a slow and graceful manner, chanting--she was right, the word was chanting--stately words to solemn music. Also she danced the Flower Dance of the Anthesterian Festival, which was of a more lively character. "It is a very beautiful performance," repeated Ralph, emphatically.
"I am glad you think so," said Miss Pearl, with a slow, sweet smile. "Those three dances took me a year to learn. I thought I would never master them; but in the end I did. Then I appeared, and was a success. I don't quite like the Greek dress," added the dancer, confidentially, "as it scarcely covers one; but, so long as I am respectable, what does it matter?"
Ralph laughed in a somewhat embarrassed manner. He was beginning to like Miss Pearl, because she was so childlike and unaffected. "I think you look perfectly respectable," he said with a smile.
"I am glad you think so," said Miss Pearl once more. She did not seem to have many ideas. "I get a good salary, and for three years I have been dancing everywhere, so I have saved money, and I am able to help mother. She was shocked at first, being a consistent Baptist; but now she is reconciled to the idea, as she knows that I have never forgotten my early teaching. But my success won't last for ever. I am clever enough to see that, so I intend to marry Sir Joseph Branwin, and I hope to make him a good wife."
"I am sure you will," said Shawe, heartily, and felt as though he were encouraging a child. "You have known him long?"
"For two years. He has always been a good friend to me, although I have invariably kept him at arm's length. But now that his wife is dead he wants to marry me."
"And you say that you will marry him?"
Miss Pearl looked at Shawe very directly. "I think I shall marry him; but, of course, I may not. I have not yet made up my mind."
"But you said just now--"
"Yes, I know what I said, Mr. Shawe. But one can never be sure of anything in this world of trouble. However, it doesn't much matter if I marry him or not, as I have saved a lot of money, and I am quite content to go back to my village and live with my parents. And now, Mr. Shawe, that I have told you all about myself, perhaps you will explain why you wish to see me."
Time was getting on, and Shawe had learnt nothing definite as yet, so he lost no further time, but plunged into the middle of his reason for calling.
"I wish to know if you saw anything when you stayed at the Pink Shop likely to lead you to suspect who is the assassin of Lady Branwin?"
"There," said Miss Pearl, colouring again, "I knew some day that I would be asked that question again."
"Were you asked it before?"
"Yes. Inspector Lanton asked me. He learnt from Madame Coralie that I slept in the upstairs room, and questioned me. Of course, I knew nothing, as I was asleep all the time, and I told him so. I also asked him to keep my name out of the papers, as such publicity would not have been good for me. And now," added Miss Pearl, emphatically, "it would do me positive harm seeing that Sir Joseph wants to marry me. People would say nasty things."
"For instance, that you wished Lady Branwin to die?"
"I daresay," said Miss Pearl, in quite a savage tone for so serene a goddess. "But let them, that's all. I have always my solicitors to look after my reputation. Do you think that?" she asked suddenly.
"No," said Ralph, frankly. "I might have entertained some such suspicion, but after seeing you I do not suspect you in the least. Still"--he paused--"you may know of something."
"Know what, for instance?" asked Miss Pearl, sharply.
Ralph evaded an answer, and asked another question. "Did you wear a Harris tweed dress when you were at the Pink Shop?"
"No, I did not. Why do you ask?"
"Because one of the assistants of Madame Coralie--the blind girl, whose sense of smell is abnormal--scented the peaty fragrance of Harris tweed in the lower passage about the time Lady Branwin was murdered, or, at least, one hour later."
"Oh, indeed," said Miss Pearl, coolly. "Then you think that I wore this dress and went downstairs to murder Lady Branwin so that I could marry--"
"No, no! I don't mean that. I said that Parizade smelt the perfume an hour afterwards. You say that you did not wear the dress; but Sir Joseph always, when in tweeds, prefers the Harris cloth."
"Was he in the house?" asked Miss Pearl, bewildered.
"That is what I wish you to tell me."
"I can't." She rose like an offended goddess. "And if he was, I certainly should not tell you, Mr. Shawe. If Sir Joseph knew that you dared to accuse him of murder--"
"He knows what I have told you, Miss Pearl, and knows also that I do not accuse him directly of murder. But someone wearing Harris tweed was in the lower passage. You deny wearing this dress, and as Sir Joseph is partial to the cloth I conclude that he was lurking in the house. He was certainly seen in the lane by Mrs. Mellop."
"I think," said Miss Pearl, frigidly, "that you had better tell this story to Sir Joseph himself. I cannot assist you. I was asleep in the upstairs room all the evening, and I know nothing, as I told Inspector Lanton. As he is satisfied, I do not see why you should not be."
"Of course, I take your word, but--"
"There is no 'but' about it," interrupted the dancer, imperiously, and Ralph found himself thinking what a beautiful creature she was. "My mother always taught me never to tell a lie. And if you think that I know anything of the crime, Mr. Shawe, I shall prove my sincerity and ignorance by refusing to marry Sir Joseph Branwin. Good-day," and she walked out of the room, in as stately a manner as she had entered.
"I wonder," murmured Ralph, leaving the house, "if she's a born liar, or if she is really and truly telling the truth?"