The company of Edwin was very welcome to Claudia, as she now had an outlet for her grief. She could talk freely to him and receive the comfort which she very greatly needed, although even his consoling words did not entirely quieten her. Like the girl, Craver could not bring himself to believe that the buccaneer was guilty. There seemed nothing for it but to see the man and question him closely.
Claudia therefore determined to journey to London, not only to interview her father, but also to see Mrs. Vence. Edwin's suggestion that the old housekeeper should be questioned struck the girl as remarkably sensible. Mrs. Vence had been in the house when the crime took place, and although she had given evidence with apparent frankness at the inquest, it was just possible that she might have withheld certain facts. If forced to speak she might say something or suggest something likely to throw more light on the darkness which environed the tragedy. She resolved to see the housekeeper first and her father afterwards. What with Mrs. Vence's story and the pirate's explanation the truth might come to light.
The difficulty was to find Mis. Vence, who had disappeared into the unknown immediately after the inquest. Since leaving Hedgerton, so far as was known, she had given no sign of her existence, and Claudia wondered how the address of the old creature could be found. Finally, she resolved to ask Mrs. Mellin when that good lady came with the washing to the Rectory.
Mrs. Mellin had never seen Mrs. Vence, as Neddy had always taken the clean linen to Maranatha and had conducted the business between the housekeeper and the laundress. But Mrs. Mellin might have learnt something from Neddy, who was always very inquisitive regarding other people's affairs. It was possible that Mrs. Vence had mentioned her destination to the boy in which case he would certainly have repeated the information to his mother. Therefore she waited for the coming of the washerwoman to carry out her scheme.
For over a week Edwin remained in Hedgerton, and daily flew the aeroplane over land and sea, much to the delight of the parishioners. The spectacle attracted man, woman, and child so greatly that there was little work done in the village during these exciting days. They talked of northing else, and the faces were always turned skyward to see the aeroplane skimming and rising and sinking and falling, and generally disporting itself into space. The Rector and his wife, seeing what command their son had over his machine, lost much of their dread of an accident. It was mainly for this reason that the young man brought tie aeroplane to Hedgerton, and gave daily exhibitions of his skill. Once his parents became used to aviation, he guessed that they would not worry over his ascents at Hendon.
Claudia, of, course, never believed that any accident would befall her lover and did not need any proof that he was a competent pilot. It was firmly fixed in her mind that Edwin was destined to save her father, to cut the claws of Lady Wyke, and to marry her. Nothing would happen to him likely to prevent his carrying out this programme, as she felt convinced. Therefore, she saw Edwin soar without feeling the slightest anxiety, and even offered to accompany him. But this her lover would not agree to. His nerves were not strong enough to permit his carrying in the perilous machine all that he valued on earth. So Claudia remained on the ground and Edwin skimmed the clouds, both resting content in the knowledge that everything was alright, or would be right in future.
Lady Wyke had not come to see the arrival of Craver because business had taken her to, London. When she returned, a note inviting the young man to Maranatha arrived at the Rectory, Claudia did not wish Edwin to go, but the visit was paid all the same, as Craver thought it was just as well to try and learn what Lady Wyke intended to do. Claudia's interview must have enraged her, and it was possible that she had gone to London to take steps likely to make immediately public things best kept private. After some discussion Miss Lemby saw that it was best Edwin should have the interview, and accordingly, she gave him permission. So Edwin sought Maranatha towards the end of the week; and Claudia, during his absence, questioned Mrs. Mellin.
The washerwoman arrived on her usual day, and Claudia managed to attend to the sorting of the clean linen herself. As there was no time to be lost and the kitchen was empty for the time being, Claudia put a point-blank question. "Do you know where Mrs. Vence is to be found?" she-asked abruptly.
Mrs. Mellin stared. "Lor' bless my soul, miss, 'ow should I know?"
"I thought Mrs. Vence might have told you where she was going when she left Hedgerton."
"Well, she never did, miss. I didn't 'ave much truck with Mrs. Vence, for Neddy took the washing to the 'ouse and brought it back again. Never did I set eyes on that ole woman, 'cept I saw 'er in the distance at the inquest. An' may I be so bold, miss, as to know why you was so wishful to find 'er?"
Claudia was quite prepared for this leading question, and saw no reason for making a secret of her intentions. "Well, you know, Mrs. Mellin, I was engaged to marry Sir Hector, when it appeared that his wife was already--I mean, still in existence."
"An' a good thing she turned up, miss," said Mrs. Mellin, with dignity, "else a wicked case of bigamy would 'ave bin in the papers, my sister Laura not bein' a lamb to lie down quiet-like.
"Well, then," pursued Claudia, when she was allowed to speak, "I naturally feel that the assassin of Sir Hector should be captured and punished. It struck me that Mrs. Vence may know."
"Lor' bless me, miss, she said all she could say at the inquest."
"Ah, but did she? That is what I wish to find out, Mrs. Mellin. However if you don't know her address--"
"I really don't, miss," interrupted the washerwoman; "but Laura might know."
"Lady Wyke?"
"My sister, miss. Lor to think as I should be connected with the gentry. Long may they live in the land. Not as Laura's proud, she 'avin' proved otherwise by comin' to me, who am 'er own born relative, an' taking Neddy in 'and. Yuss, miss. Laura might know, as she 'unted up Mrs. Vence arter the inquest to 'ear what she'd to say concernin' the tragidy. It ain t much use you seein' Mrs. Vence, miss, if I may be so bold as to say so. Laura didn't find nothin' to 'elp catch the gory villain who bolted on the bike, so I don't expect as you'll git anythin' out of 'er."
"All the same if you can get the address I should be glad."
"I'll try my hardest, miss, Heaven bless, you," said Mrs. Mellin, and this particular conversation ended with the entrance of the Rector's wife, to whom the washerwoman dropped a curtsey. Claudia, having done the best she could, went away to attend to other work, leaving Mrs. Craver to count the washing and hear the news. There was much to be done upstairs, as spring-cleaning was in progress, so Claudia worked like a Trojan, both to help her prospective mother-in-law and the aching of her own heart. While working and giving her attention to every-day things, she could not worry, and managed to pass the time profitably, and tolerably easily until Edwin returned. She heard his step in the hall immediately he opened the front door and flew down swiftly, all agog for news.
"Well? Well?" she asked, I anxiously, and drawing him into the sitting-room.
Edwin put his arm round her waist and looked at her queerly. "I am coming in for a fortune," he observed, in an abrupt manner.
Claudia stared. "What do you mean? Sit down and explain."
Edwin sat down and did as he was told. "Lady Wyke is furious at you, and wants to make you suffer for shaking her as you did. She told me that she never did believe me guilty, and only said so to annoy you and to trap me into marriage. She thought that I would give in, and make her my wife rather than face the worst."
"Well, she found out when I saw her that she was mistaken," said Claudia, tartly. "Yes, she did, and now has gone on a new tack. She doesn't intend to force me into marriage, because she cannot. But she went to London the other day to make a will in my favour. Yes, you may stare, Claudia, but Lady Wyke told me that if she dies I got five thousand a year. The will is made, signed, and witnessed, and Mr. Sandal holds it."
"Pouf!" said Claudia, contemptuously. "Mr. Sandal knows that the will is wastepaper. I wonder Lady Wyke thinks you are such a fool as to be taken in with that bluff."
"Is it bluff!" asked Edwin, looking puzzled. "How?"
"Why, don't you know that a will made before marriage is null and void if the marriage takes place?"
"No. I never knew that. Few people do know it, I fancy."
"Lady Wyke believed that you were ignorant, and so has simply been trying to bluff you into marriage with her. She has made the will to bribe you; but she knows that if you marry her the will becomes wastepaper. See?"
"I see. Anyhow, whether the will is destroyed by her or not, I don't intend to marry her. Therefore, unless she alters the will, it stands in my favour. Not that I want the money, Claudia."
"Nor I," said the girl. "However, you made Lady Wyke understand that you would remain true to me?"
"Yes. And she made me understand that she was heartbroken, and had done what she could to help me by making this ridiculous will. And she won't proceed about my affair, as she sees that by so doing she will be no closer to her goal. For the time being she intends to remain quiet, in the hope that this business will soften me."
"But you told her it wouldn't?"
"I did. Only she won't believe me. However, Lady Wyke is safe for the time being, so meanwhile we can see your father and Mrs. Vence, and get at the truth of the matter. As to the will, we needn't think anything more about it."
Claudia agreed with this, and wondered that so clever a woman as Lady Wyke was should act foolishly. Then she related the conversation with Mrs. Mellin to Edwin, and hopefully said that the address of Mrs. Vence would surely be forthcoming.
Edwin demurred. "Not if Lady Wyke has to give it," he said. "She ii not such a fool as to let you find out anything from Mrs. Vence likely to spoil her game."
But the young man proved to be a false prophet, for Mrs. Mellin arrived on that same evening with the address. It appeared that Mrs. Vence was living in a Pimlico lodging-house, and for the time being was out of work. Possessed of this information, Claudia arranged to go to London next day with her lover.
Next morning Edwin fixed a sidecar to his motor-bicycle, and ran Claudia into Redleigh in time to catch the ten-thirty London express. In an hour and a-half they arrived in town. Then Edwin went to Tenby Mansions at Earl's Court to prepare Lemby for his daughter's visit, and Claudia took an Underground train for Victoria, in order to seek Mrs. Vence in Pimlico. Craver wished to come also, but Claudia insisted that he should look after her father. It was necessary that she should see him as soon as possible, and as the buccaneer was here, there, and everywhere, she urged that Edwin would find him and watch him and hold him at home. With this agreement the young people parted, Claudia promising to be at the flat at three o clock, or a trifle later.
There was no difficulty in finding the whereabouts of Mrs. Vence, as the very dingy lodging-house she lived in was not far from Victoria. A slatternly woman with a suspicious eye admitted grudgingly that Mrs. Vence was indoors, and, after some arguing, conducted the visitor into a dirty bedroom on the third floor. Here sat Mrs. Vence near the window, coughing and sneezing and groaning and moaning. Her ancient face was more withered and brown and seamed with wrinkles than formerly, and on the whole she looked very old and worn and disagreeable. With a shawl round her head, and a little table covered with medicine bottles at her elbow, the old woman sat with her back to the window, shivering with ague and whimpering with pain. Claudia's stately beauty seemed to annoy her, for she snarled when her visitor sat down, and they were left alone by the slatternly landlady.
"I don't want fine ladies to come and see me, drat you," grumbled the old creature, crossly. "I'm ill with inflewinzy, I am, and I do hope as you'll get it."
Claudia smiled at this amiable wish, and apologised. "I am sorry you are ill, Mrs. Vence. But I have called--"
"About gitting me to look arter your house?" interrupted Mrs. Vence. "Well, then, I can't, me being that ill as never was."
"No. Don't you know my name? I gave it to the landlady. Lemby is--"
"Ho!" Mrs. Vance coughed and stared and grunted after her scrutiny. "So you're his daughter, are you?"
"I am the daughter of Mr. Oliver Lemby, if you mean that," said Claudia, with dignity, "and I have called to----"
"Ho!" Mrs. Vence coughed and for the third time. "I know why you've called, my lady. And it 'ud hev been better if you didn't hev called."
"Why?" Claudia was startled.
"'Cause I thought as every think was dead and done with about that murder. I hev 'ad it on my nerves day and night, wondering if I should speak or not."
"Speak?" The girl rose and turned white with emotion. "My father----"
"Yuss," said Mrs. Vence with relish, "your dear par murdered him sure enough."
"That's a lie," said Claudia, calmly, and without rising.
Mrs. Vence spluttered and shook with wrath, in her rage it seemed as though she were about to rise up and denounce her visitor. But a fit of coughing prevented her, and by the time it was over she felt too weak to scold. "It's the truth," she muttered sulkily, and took a wineglassful of medicine.
"Prove it!"
Claudia, who had entered the room anxious and perturbed, was now quite calm in asking questions.
Mrs. Vence was patently surprised to see how quietly the girl took the dreadful charge. "You don't seem much upset!" she croaked. "I thought you loved that par of yours, as a gel should."
"I do love my father," was Miss Lemby's steady reply, "and for that reason I decline to believe what you say."
"Then why come here to worrit me?" gasped the old woman, crossly. "Ain't I got enuff to put up with at my age without silly gels coming to tell me as I'm a liar. I can't say nothin' else."
"You can; you must. My father explained his movements at the inquest, and his testimony was accepted as exonerating him. And let me remind you. Mrs. Vence, that at the inquest you brought no charge against him."
"'Cause I warn't certain," retorted the old woman, promptly. "'Twas a nasty case, and I didn't want to be mixed up in it more'n I could help. I said as little as I could, and afterwards, when that Lady Wyke come and see me----
"Did she come and see you?" interposed Claudia, anxiously.
"Don't I say she did, cuss you?" growled Mrs. Vence hoarsely. "Of course she come and see me, to arsk if I know'd of anything likely to show who killed her old man. I told her what I told you, and she said as I'd better keep silent till she wanted me."
"She intended to accuse my father, then?"
"Yus. I s'pose so, when she was ready. And I thinks," added Mrs. Vence, with a dry cough, "as she's gitting ready; for she's arsked me down to Hedgerton at the end of the week--four days off, that is, miss."
"Are you going?"
"How can I say. If the inflewenzy lets me. I may. It means money in my pocket, and, not having a sitivation for months, I want money."
"What have you to say?" demanded Claudia, sternly.
"Say? The truth!" snarled Mrs. Vence, crossly. "And don't arsk me to say anything else, I beg, my mother having bin a Baptist and perticler proper."
"What is the truth?" "Well, your par was in the droring-room with the barnit when he come, and I crep up to listen to what they was saying, as I don't hold with folk heving secrets fro' me. I had my eye and my ear at the keyhole time and time about."
"What did you hear? What did you see?"
"I heard my master explaining as he couldn't marry you 'cause he was married already. Then your par guv a screech and swore awful. I peeped in at the keyhole, and saw him take out a clasp-knife and run at the old man. The barnit, he just laughed and waited, so your par didn't know what to do. Then at that moment come the ring at the door. I tumbled down the stairs and let in that gent as bolted on the bike later."
"Do you know who he was?" asked Claudia, anxiously.
"No, I didn't, him being muffled up," growled Mrs. Vence.
"What happened then?" asked Claudia, quickly.
"What I said at the inquest. Sir Hector, he took the new gent into his study, and told me to bring cake and wine in a quarter of an hour. I said I was in the kitchen, but," said Mrs. Vence, with a leer, "I wasn't there the whole time. Oh, no, bless you. I wanted to see what it all meant!"
"And you listened?"
"I listened and looked," retorted the housekeeper, shamelessly. "My master and the new gent talked about some will, and then the barnit took the gent into the dining-room to show him some papers. Then," said Mrs. Vence, earnestly, "I saw that par of yours coming down the stairs; with the clasp-knife open in his hand, looking savage-like. I was so feared that I ran back to the kitchen just as I heard Sir Hector returning to the study. Then I comes in with the cake and wine some time later, and found my master lying dead on the rug, and the gent as bolted on the bike bending over him."
"And my father?" faltered Claudia, with a sinking heart. "Oh, he got back up the stairs, and didn't come down until that there postman and the police came. Clever, he was. But he didn't know as I'd seen him coming down to stick the old man. You know, miss, how the post come, and how the gent opened the door?"
"Yes, yes; I know." Claudia rose with an effort. "All you say sounds reasonable, enough, from your point of view."
"It'll be the same fro' the jury's point of view," snapped Mrs. Vence.
"I don't believe it," cried Miss Lemby in despair. "Whatever you may say, my father is innocent. You didn't see him strike the blow."
"But he comed down the stairs with the knife," grinned the housekeeper. "Oh, he did it right enuff--your par, I mean. I believe that boy saw it, too."
"What boy? Do you mean Neddy Mellin?"
"Yus. He was in the house--in the kitchen with me."
"But he said he came with the washing later."
"Then he's a liar," said Mrs. Vence, morosely. "He come earlier, and was keeping me company in the kitchen. An imp, he is; not as you knows him, miss."
"I know him very well," said Claudia, secretly glad to hear that the boy had been on the scene, as his evidence would be valuable. "He is a great friend of mine. I shall see him and make him tell me everything."
"He won't; he won't," said Mrs. Vence, hurriedly, and appeared to be somewhat discomposed, as if she feared she had let out too much.
"Oh, yes, he will, Mrs. Vence. I saw him the other day, and he half-promised to tell me the truth. I'm going now."
"Pity you ever came," snarled the old woman, restlessly. "You're only bringing your par to the gallers. If you speak to that imp, he'll put a rope round the neck of your par for sure."
"Neddy will do nothing to harm me and mine, as he is fond of me."
"Oh, is he? Then he'll hev to tell lies to save your par."
Claudia hesitated at the door. "I tell you what, Mrs. Vence," she said. "When you come to Maranatha I shall got my father and Mr. Craver to meet you and Lady Wyke and Neddy. Then we can thresh the matter out."
"You'd better bring that Sergeant Purse also," taunted Mrs. Vence, "as he'll be on the spot to gaol that par of yours. Git on; git out. You've worrited me with your cussed nonsense."
Claudia, having executed her purpose, left the woman still coughing, and swiftly ran down the stairs. At the end of the narrow street, and when she emerged into the main thoroughfare, she hailed a taxi. Shortly she was driving towards Earl's Court, anxiously considering what was best to be done. It was a very pale-faced girl who entered the tiny drawing-room in the Tenby Mansions flat. Mr. Oliver Lemby was there stretched at length in his favourite chair, and smoking his big pipe. He looked unkempt and uncivilised, while the room had a neglected look. Claudia felt as though she was entering into the den of a bear, and the growl with which Lemby received her aided the illusion. But that Edwin was sitting in an adjacent chair and was ready to support her, Claudia would probably have burst into tears over this reception. What with the wear and tear of the last week, and the trying interview with Mrs. Vence, her nerves were worn thin. She felt that she could not bear much more strain on them.
"Well, my gal," roared The pirate, "you've making a nice hash of things."
"Don't talk like that to Claudia, Lemby," said Edwin, sternly, as the girl sank exhausted in a chair. "Don't you see she is worn out."
"I shall talk to my own daughter as I please, hang you!"
"No you won't! Claudia is engaged to me, and I shall protect her, let me tell you, Lemby, that your position is not so safe that you can afford to go on in this way."
"My position is as safe as yours," growled the buccaneer.
"That isn't saying much," replied Craver, with a shrug. "I am in a difficult position also. I have explained to you that I was in the house."
"Yes; and I believe you scragged the old man."
"Mrs. Vence says it was you, father," said Claudia, faintly. Lemby rose and dashed his pipe to the ground, opening and shutting his hands in ungovernable rage. "Where is the old wretch?" he shouted. "Only let me got a grip of her and I'll send her to kingdom come."
"Claudia, you are quite faint. Don't say another word for a few minutes, and drink this glass of wine, it will revive you."
"Thank you, Edwin." Claudia willingly accepted the offer and sipped the port, while her father strode up and down the room like a caged beast, cursing and storming, and generally conducting himself like a wild man of the woods. Edwin sat beside Claudia and attended to the girl, occasionally glancing at the buccaneer with a contemptuous smile. The sight of this somewhat calmed Lemby, who became ashamed of his want of self-control. With a final oath he flung himself into his chair and sulkily demanded what was to be done. Since his daughter was still too upset to speak, Edwin spoke for her.
"Let us hear Claudia's report of her interview with Mrs. Vence," he suggested.
The wine did Claudia good, and shortly she felt much more like her ordinary self. Without wasting further time she related tersely what had passed between herself and the housekeeper, Edwin listened attentively without making any remark; but Lemby growled and cursed under his breath the whole time. "Before I left," concluded Claudia, "I suggested that dad and Edwin and I should meet Lady Wyke, Mrs. Vence, and Neddy at Maranatha to come to an understanding. Mrs. Vence goes down to Hedgerton at the end of the week."
"I'll go, too," cried the pirate, rising to again stalk up and down the room. "Do you think that I'm going to have these lies told about me?"
"Are they lies?" asked Edwin, quietly.
Lemby hesitated, "The most part are lies," he said, sulkily.
"And what part is the truth?"
"That about my drawing my knife on Wyke," admitted Lemby, after a pause. "I did get in a rage when Wyke told me that he was already married, and I did take out my knife to frighten him. But I didn't mean a dashed thing, you know, as it ain't my way to kill silly old buffers. 'Sides, he'd pluck, he had, as he stood quite still when I made a run at him, and only laughed."
"So Mrs. Vence said, dad."
"Well, she told the truth for once. I was in a rage, but I couldn't hit a man who stood up to me unarmed. I'm a white man, I am."
"You said at the inquest that Wyke did not explain anything to you in the drawing-room," said Edwin, refusing to endorse Lemby's good opinion of himself. "Yes, I did--and for why? Wyke waited till I cooled down and took the knife from me, still laughing. Then came the ring at the door. He was in a hurry to see you, Craver, I expect, for he blamed well bolted down the stairs and forgot to lay down my knife."
"He took it with him?" gasped Claudia, leaning forward.
"Don't I say he did?" growled her amiable parent. "Yes, he took the knife with him, being in such a hurry. I didn't leave the drawing-room for ever so long, and Mrs. Vence is a liar in saying that I did. I waited until I heard voices, then came down and found that the old man had passed in his cheques. When I saw it was my knife sticking in his blessed old heart I made up my mind to say as little as I could. And that," ended Lemby, turning towards Edwin, "was the reason as I lied about his making explanations in the drawing-room. What else could I do?"
"Nothing," said Craver, promptly; "being innocent, there was no need for you to incriminate yourself. This is the truth, I suppose?"
"Yes it is. Why should I tell lies."
"Well, you did, you know, at the inquest. Anyhow, we have your story and the housekeeper's story. Now we must learn what Neddy Mellin has to say."
"I am sure that the boy knows the truth," said Claudia, positively. "Mrs. Vence admitted that he was in the kitchen all the time. She seemed sorry that she told me so."
"I daresay," remarked Edwin, "she has said too much. Well, Lemby?"
"I'll come down to Hedgerton with you," said the pirate, promptly.
And in this practical way the matter was settled.
All this time Lady Wyke gave no sign of her intentions. After her interview with Craver, when she assured him that a will had been made, in his favour the wily woman remained silent. Perhaps she was waiting for the young man to take the bribe and marry her, trusting to his ignorance of the law concerning wills being rendered null and void by marriage. Perhaps she was waiting for the arrival of Mrs. Vence, in order to collect evidence and send Claudia's father to the gallows. No one could tell what she meant to do.
In spite of the dark clouds by which she was surrounded, Claudia felt happier when she returned to Hedgerton Rectory. Her father was with her, and Edwin also; so, protected in this way, she somehow felt safe. Assured by Lemby that he was guiltless, and believing implicitly that he had spoken the truth, Claudia felt convinced that Lady Wyke would not be able to ruin him. Doubtless her father had his faults; and his foolish rage, which had led him to draw his knife on Wyke, had placed him in an awkward position. All the same, it was not to be thought of for one moment that he would be allowed to suffer for a crime, of which he was wholly innocent. And, indeed, as the girl reflected, Lady Wyke could not herself be positive of his guilt, or she would long ago have had him arrested. Much of the truth had come to light concerning the Hedgerton tragedy; but more had to come before the assassin of Wyke could be placed in the dock. Since her father was innocent and Edwin was innocent, Claudia could not think who was guilty. In the railway carriage, when on the way to Redleigh, she asked Edwin's opinion.
"H'm!" said the young man when thus appealed to. "It is difficult to say, my dear girl. The truth may be found in Lady Wyke's past life."
"What do you mean, Edwin?"
"Well, you see, Lady Wyke knew that her husband had made a will in her favour, for when she called on Sandal to say that she was alive, and to stop the marriage with you, she made sure that there was no new will. Now let us suppose that she learnt Wyke's intention of leaving the money to me, so that I could marry you, is it not likely that she would try and stop him making the new will?"
"Yes," said Lemby, from his corner of the compartment, "it blamed well is. Do you mean to say, Craver, that Lady Wyke murdered the man herself?"
"No. Because, so far as we know, she did not come down to Hedgerton until after the murder. If she had, her sister, Mrs. Mellin, would have recognised her. But Lady Wyke might have hired someone to stab Sir Hector."
"Pigs might fly," said the pirate, disbelievingly and vulgarly. "Why. beyond yourself and myself, there was no one in the house at the time."
"Neddy was in the house," suggested Claudia.
"Pouf!" said her father, contemptuously. "You don't mean to say that such a small boy struck so vigorous a blow."
"No, I don't. But Neddy might know if a third person came to Maranatha on that night."
"I wonder if Mrs. Vence killed the man herself?" murmured Edwin, thoughtfully.
"Of course not!" cried Claudia, quickly. "She had every reason to keep Sir Hector alive, seeing that she had lost a good situation by his death."
"Well, I give it up in despair. What do you think, Lemby?"
"I don't think at all," growled the big man, truculently. "It's a dashed mystery, it is. If your theory is correct, and Lady Wyke hired someone to stab the old man so that he mightn't make a new will, the cove must have sneaked in by the back door."
"If he did Neddy will know, because he was in the kitchen long before the crime was committed," said Miss Lemby. "Mrs. Vence admitted as much."
"If Neddy saw any third person enter in that way, Mrs. Vence saw him too," declared Edwin, positively, "for she was in the kitchen also."
"Not all the time, Edwin. She was running about the house listening, and looking through keyholes, as I told you."
"It is a mystery," sighed the young man, after a pause. "All we can do is to wait for the arrival of Neddy and Mrs. Vence."
"Mrs. Vence will be down on Saturday and Neddy on Sunday," said Claudia. "You know he sings at the Tit-Bits Music Hall this week."
"He hasn't made his appearance yet," growled Lemby. "Since you spoke of the brat I have looked at the newspapers for his appearance. Anyhow, whether he comes or not I'm going to see Lady Wyke."
"What for?"
"To ask her to many me," said Lemby, coolly.
"She won't," said Craver with a stare of astonishment. "You are the most hopeful man in the world if you think so, Lemby."
"It's cheek as does it, Craver. Anyhow, I'm going to have a shot at it. She can but say no."
"It strikes me, Lemby," said the young man, drily, "that she'll say much more." By the time the conversation reached this point, the train was slowing down alongside the Redleigh platform. Edwin got his motorcycle out of the luggage-room where he had stowed it, and, placing Claudia in the sidecar, whirled off to Hedgerton. Lemby engaged the same trap as he had formerly taken when paying his visit to Wyke, and hoisted his portmanteau on to the seat beside Sankey. He did not intend to go to the rectory, as knew that he would feel uncomfortable in the company of two such precise people as the Rector and his wife. Therefore he ordered Sankey to drive to the Jack Ashore Inn, where he had talked with Sergeant Purse.
Claudia and Edwin were welcomed back joyfully to the Rectory, for the old couple had missed them sorely. Mrs. Craver, being the soul of hospitality, was vexed to hear that the girl's father had gone to the inn instead of coming to the Rectory. She was anxious to make his acquaintance and see at close quarters what he was like. Of course, she had beheld him afar off when the inquest was taking place; but she naturally desired to talk to him and examine him and learn all about him. She little guessed that Claudia was relieved at her father's decision to go to the Jack Ashore. The girl had an uneasy feeling that prim Mrs. Craver would not approve of the tyrant. It was with some uneasiness that she waited for the call Lemby proposed to pay, for the purpose of making acquaintance with the Rector and his wife. But he never came, either to dinner nor after dinner. Although Claudia was relieved in one way, she was annoyed in another, as she did not wish Mrs. Craver to think that her father was entirely devoid of manners.
The fact is that Lemby quite intended to go to the Rectory for his meal and to meet his prospective relatives. But after he had settled himself at the inn, he began to think that it would be just as well to get the interview over. There was no doubt about it that Lady Wyke was in a position to make things hot for him if she used the evidence of Mrs. Vence, so that the buccaneer thought that he would close her mouth by requesting her hand in marriage. It was ridiculous to think for one moment that she would prefer a battered old pirate such as he was to a smart and handsome young fellow like Craver. But Lemby had always made his way by sheer audacity, and he hoped to storm Lady Wyke into submission. In this truculent frame of mind he set out for Maranatha shortly after six o'clock.
When he sent in his card Lady Wyke received him at once, and he looked upon this reception as a good omen. He little knew that the little woman wished to learn the plans of her enemies, and had received him so blandly with the object of pumping him. For the purpose of conquest, and to show that he knew what civilisation was, Lemby had arrayed himself in evening dress. He looked a fine, handsome man, when he entered the big drawing-room, and the mellow light of the lamps took years off his life, as they did off the life of Lady Wyke. She came forward with a smile to greet him, looking remarkably attractive and well preserved in a gorgeous dinner-gown of crimson and black.
"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Lemby," she said, graciously. "We have not met for ever so long, although we have had much correspondence."
"I reckon," said the pirate, coolly, "that the correspondence wasn't over-satisfactory to me."
"Ah, but you must make allowances for a woman's whims," said Lady Wyke, with equal coolness. "I read between the lines, you know."
"Then you must guess why I have called."
"Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don t. Anyhow, Mr. Lemby, as you are here, you may as well have dinner with me."
"I thought you'd ask me," said the buccaneer, with has ineffable audacity, "so I got tidied up on purpose."
"So clever of you," said his hostess, with a queer smile, and rang the bell to order that another knife and fork should be placed on the table.
The two chatted about this matter and that. They discussed the news in the daily papers, they talked about various other experiences in America and in the South Seas, and touched upon every subject save on that which was nearest to their hearts. Both wished to break the ice and converse about the murder, but neither would speak first on so serious a subject. By the time the dinner-gong thundered both were quite friendly yet got quite watchful. It, seemed as though the good-fellowship of the meal was necessary to break down the reserve between them. But the moment had not yet come.
"Give me your arm, Mr. Lemby," said Lady Wyke, languidly graceful, and showing nothing of the vicious cat who had fought with the man's daughter. "I'm sure you must be hungry."
"I live on love," said the pirate, gruffly, and, as he thought, gallantly. "You must be hungry, then, as there is nothing for you to eat of that nature."
Lemby turned aside the arrow with a laugh, and shortly found himself seated at a beautifully-decorated table, to eat a delicately-cooked dinner. He did full justice to the admirable dishes and to the very excellent wine, while Lady Wyke ate little and amused him with desultory conversation. All the time she was watching him, wondering why he had called and what he was trying to do. So far she could not fathom his motives; but when champagne had loosened his tongue and tobacco had soothed his nerves--if he had any--she hoped to learn all she desired to learn. But during dinner she purposely kept off the subject of the murder, and it was only when they returned to the scented drawing-room that she spoke. Then the pirate, in a comfortable armchair, sipped his coffee and smoked an excellent cigar, while his hostess trifled with a cigarette and began to talk sense for the first time during the evening.
"Well, Mr. Lemby," she said, resolutely, "let us get to business."
"What business?" asked the buccaneer, wilfully dense.
"That about which we correspond," said Lady Wyke, promptly. "You said that you would assist me to learn who murdered my husband so I presume you have come to tell me something about your discoveries."
"I haven't made any you don't know anything about," said Lemby, incoherently.
"What do I know?"
"You dashed well know that Craver was the man who sloped on the postman's bike on that night. You tried to rope him into the business, hut failed."
"For the time being I have failed, Mr. Lemby; but I may rope him in, as you put it, later. Well, and what else do I know?"
"You know that Mrs. Vence is a liar."
"Oh, do I?" Lady Wyke raised her eyebrows.
"Yes. Claudia saw Mrs. Vence the other day--yesterday, in fact, and she said----"
"Mrs. Vence or Claudia? Do be accurate."
"The old woman," growled Lemby, who did not like to be interrupted. "She said as how I came down the stairs with my knife and murdered Wyke."
"Well, the knife with which the crime was committed is yours, you know."
"Who says so? How do you know?"
"Mrs. Vence says so. She told me."
"Then she's a liar."
Lady Wyke shrugged her shoulders. "You'll have to make a stronger defence than that Mr. Lemby. We may as well be plain with one another. I have asked Mrs. Vence to come down here, and she will be in this house on Friday evening. I shan't be here to receive her, unfortunately, as I have to go to London to get that will of mine destroyed."
"What will?"
"One I made in favour of Mr. Craver."
"He told me," nodded Lemby. "Silly business, seeing that a marriage makes it so much waste paper."
"Oh, Mr. Craver has found that out, has he?" said Lady Wyke calmly. "I thought he wasn't clever enough. Yes, it was a false move on my part, and I'm going to tear up the will. It's of no use now. I only made it to try and get Mr. Craver to marry me. Well, then, I'm going up on Friday for that purpose, and will return on Saturday evening. But you must not see Mrs. Vence in the meantime, and I shall leave word that she is not to see you. When I return, then, in my presence, you can meet her and defend yourself."
"It's all dashed rot!" cried Lemby, with disgust. "I never killed the man, nor did Craver."
"Then who did?"
"Might have been Mrs. Vence."
"Rubbish! It was her interest to keep him alive. She lost a good situation by my husband's death remember."
"It might have been Neddy. He was in the house all the time."
"So Mrs. Vence says. But a boy like that--pooh!"
"Might have been yourself."
Lady Wyke laughed. "I was in London at the time, and can prove that I was. I don't think, however, that I'll be called upon to defend myself."
"Why not?" said Lemby, significantly. "I might suggest that to Purse----"
"And you will unless I agree to marry you," finished the woman, coolly.
"That's right smart of you," Lemby assured her. "I came here to ask you to marry me. Craver won't have you; he set on Claudia."
"I haven't lost all hope yet of getting him," said Lady Wyke through her clenched teeth, and looked at the man in a lowering way.
"Shucks! There's no chance there. Marry me."
"No. But I'll make a bargain with you."
"What is it?"
"If Edwin will not marry me he must be hanged. Help me to hang him, and I'll become your wife."
Lemby was quite unmoved by this villainous proposal. "No, ma'am, that wouldn't be dealing square. I must think of my gal, you know. Try another man for the job. I'm no saint, but I draw the line at your suggestion."
"I shall try no other man," cried Lady Wyke, standing up and smiling strangely; "and, indeed, I need no assistance. I can prove Mr. Craver's guilt. Mrs. Vence is coming down, Neddy is coming down, and I have him in a trap. If Mr. Craver is not in gaol by Monday afternoon----"
"Well, ma'am?" Questioned the pirate, roughly, and bending forward.
"I'll marry you when and where you like."
"It's a bargain," said Lemby, gruffly; "and I'll twist your neck if you break it."