Here was a surprise indeed. Prelice knew that Dr. Horace had worked his way up from a humble position, and laid no claims to being of gentle blood. But he had never referred to the existence of a single relative, and the young man had always believed him to be alone in the world. Now it seemed that Agstone was his brother. And when Prelice recollected that Agstone was the same hirsute, red-haired, uncouth animal in appearance, it flashed across his mind that the brothers were twins. The extraordinary thing was that he had not noted the close resemblance before, since he had seen Agstone dead and Horace alive, within the last few hours. But the idea of connecting a common sailor with an eminent scientific man had never entered his mind.
In the cab, on the way to the New Bailey, Horace gruffly gave his companion a few facts to substantiate his statement, but Prelice observed that he said as little as he could.
"My full name is Horace Agstone," explained the doctor bluntly, "but as I got on in life and rose in the world I dropped the last and kept to the first. Steve is my elder brother by one year, and we are the sons of a Suffolk labourer. I had the brains of the family, and in one way and another managed to cultivate those same brains, with the result—no very great one—you see. Steve went to sea, and we did not meet for years and years. When he returned to England with old Lanwin he went down to Suffolk to look up the family. Our parents were dead and buried, but Steve learned my name and address from the vicar. He came to look me up, but as we did not hit it off very well, we considered it best to live our lives apart, as formerly. That's all."
Prelice threw his cigarette out of the cab, and stared at the horse in a meditative way. "Strange that you should be connected with this case also," he remarked dreamily.
The doctor grew red, and looked fierce. "What the devil do you mean by that? I have nothing to do with the case."
"Your brother——"
"I have nothing to do with my brother. He and I were born of the same mother, but beyond that we are—I mean we were, seeing he is dead—nothing to one another. If he chooses to kill people and be killed, that is his affair. No one can connect Steve Agstone with Dr. Horace, save the vicar of Burfield in Suffolk, unless you betray me. Not that I care, mark you, Prelice. I learned that fable of the old man and his ass very early in life, and never trouble about people and their opinions."
"I don't intend to betray you," said Prelice coldly, but flushing all over his freckled face; "you can be brother to Satan for all I care. Moreover, I have given confidence for confidence. If I know about your relation to Agstone, you know about the knife's evidence, which I and Shepworth suppressed."
"Right! Right! Don't get your hair off," said Horace, gripping his companion's knee in a painful manner. "You and I are chums of the Wild, old son, and those of that breed don't go back on one another." He released Prelice's knee, and leaned back, thoughtfully. "Of course, it was a shock for me to learn of Agstone's death."
"Didn't you see it in the morning papers?"
"No. I have more to do than to read riff-raff rubbish. You were the first to inform me. Well!" Horace leaned his arms on the splash-board calmly, "Steve's gone to see father and mother on the Astral Plane. I expect he will quarrel with them as usual. They never got on together."
Prelice suppressed a smile at this odd, unchristian way of viewing death, and nodded. "I quite understand why you don't believe Agstone to be guilty!" he remarked after a pause.
"Meaning that I'm a born fool," retorted Horace genially. "Make no mistake, old son. If Steve were guilty, I should not defend him in any way; but he was too devoted to old Lanwin to murder him. Besides——" The doctor suddenly checked himself. "But that's neither here nor there, my son."
"What isn't?" asked Prelice alertly.
"Never you mind; ask no questions and you'll be told no lies. Here we are at the door of the Temple of Falsehood. Get out."
Prelice alighted with his companion, sorely puzzled to know what this enigmatic remark meant. That Horace knew of something which had to do with the Lanwin case he was perfectly sure; that the something implicated the late Mr. Agstone he was also certain. But Prelice knew his friend sufficiently well to be satisfied that he would not explain, unless it appeared to him needful to do so. All that could be done was to trust blindly to the rugged old sinner, and perhaps he would be able to lead those concerned in the case out of the labyrinth of crime. He certainly appeared to hold a clue.
Dr. Horace, more brusque and domineering than ever, pushed his way into the crowded Court, eliciting comments the reverse of complimentary. Of these, with characteristic cynicism, he took no notice, but secured good places for himself and Prelice. In a few minutes he scribbled a note, and sent it to Cudworth, K.C. The Counsel read it with a puzzled air, glanced at the writer across the crowded Court, and whispered to the usher. Shortly Dr. Horace was requested to go to the lawyer's table, and was soon in deep conversation with the big barrister. While this was taking place Prelice stared at Miss Chent, who looked weary and sad as she sat in the dock. The strain of her perilous position was beginning to tell upon her, which was scarcely to be wondered at. Again her roving eyes caught sight of Prelice, and again she blushed, this time drawing a corresponding signal from him. Apparently the natures of these two were sympathetic.
The case was rapidly drawing to a close, as the witnesses for the prosecution had been examined, and now those for the defence were giving evidence. From a solicitor at his elbow the young man learned that Cudworth had succeeded in proving the destruction of the will in Mona Chent's favour. This had been done by the production of half burnt and minutely torn scraps of paper rescued from the grate in the library. These, pieced together, had revealed the mention of the prisoner's name, and of the ten thousand a year, and of the love and affection felt by the testator for his niece. As the will could not be found, and it was certain that Sir Oliver had framed no new testament, the presumption was that the burnt document was the will in question, and despite all efforts the other side could not prove otherwise. This was assuredly a great point in the prisoner's favour, as had she murdered her uncle she would certainly not have destroyed a deed which made her wealthy.
It was with great surprise that Prelice saw Shepworth placed in the witness-box to give evidence, since he had left him practically imprisoned in his own flat. Possibly Inspector Bruge had received instructions from Scotland Yard, on detailing what had happened in Alexander Mansions, to afford the judge and jury the opportunity of seeing how similar the murders of Agstone and his master were to one another. Shepworth was perfectly cheerful and composed, much more so than he had been on the previous day, so apparently he had no fear that his arrest would lead to his conviction. Indeed, he was so clearly innocent that Prelice expected he would be set free after the inquest proceedings on Agstone's body had taken place. Meanwhile he caught his friend's eye, and smiled, after which he smiled again encouragingly at Mona.
Shepworth's evidence was to the effect that Miss Chent loved her uncle, and would never have harmed him in any way. Sir Oliver, in the course of an occult conversation, had referred to a certain herb—he did not give it any name—which when burned produced trances. Apparently, when prisoner entered the library to make up her quarrel with Sir Oliver, the baronet had been testing the herb, and the fumes had reduced Miss Chent to an unconscious state. Then Shepworth went on to detail his own experience, and narrated the same story as he had told to Prelice, to the two doctors, and to Inspector Bruge. Finally, he mentioned that Agstone had re-entered the dining-room, before returning with the masked lady, holding a knife. As Shepworth, naturally, was not asked if the knife was concealed in his desk, there was no need for him to commit perjury, which he would have been unwilling to do, even to save the girl he loved.
While the barrister was giving his evidence Lord Prelice was called to Cudworth's side, and introduced by Dr. Horace. He learned that the Counsel wished him to appear as a witness and substantiate Shepworth's story, which the young man was perfectly willing to do. It thus happened that when Shepworth retired Cudworth examined Prelice, and heard from him how Shepworth had been found unconscious, and how many people, including Captain Jadby, had seen him in this helpless state. This evidence induced the recall of Jadby, and he reluctantly swore that the barrister was indeed unable to strike the murderous blow which had slain the old sailor.
Both Shepworth and Prelice had given evidence as to the finding of the knife under the table by Inspector Bruge, and that officer himself next appeared to say how he had picked it up. Mrs. Blexey, Madame Marie Eppingrave, and two of the Grange servants were then called to depose that the paper-cutter with the jade handle, found in the flat by Bruge; and produced in Court, was the same that had lain on Sir Oliver's writing-table in the library, wherein the crime had been committed. Thus the jury, and indeed everyone else, believed that Agstone had murdered his master, and then had brought the knife up to Alexander Mansions, presumably to kill Shepworth; but, of course, the question as to who had killed Agstone was not touched upon.
The final witness was Dr. Horace, and he dealt entirely with the questions of the perfumed smoke alluded to by the prisoner and by Shepworth. Producing a grotesque brown root and several stems covered with purple leaves, more or less withered, the doctor deposed that it was a certain plant growing in Easter Island, and nowhere else, so far as he knew. The natives gave it no name, but termed it "The Sacred Herb," and it was used by their priests to induce trances, in which the spirit was supposed to leave the body, and appear before the gods incarnate—so to speak—in the gigantic statues of the island.
Belmain (for the prosecution): "Did you give any portion of this herb to Sir Oliver Lanwin?"
Witness (emphatically): "No! I was acquainted with Sir Oliver in the South Seas, but I never met him in England. We did not get on well together, and were better apart."
Belmain: "Then how did Sir Oliver become possessed of this herb, which, by your own showing, is to be found only in Easter Island?"
Witness: "I cannot say how Sir Oliver got the herb. Of course, he was sailing the South Seas for years, and probably went to Easter Island. If he did, he certainly would have secured a portion of the herb from the native priests, seeing that he took so profound an interest in occult matters."
Belmain: "Then you think that Sir Oliver was experimenting with the herb when prisoner entered the library?"
Witness: "I think it extremely likely, considering the presence of the white smoke, and the tuberose perfume, which is exactly the kind of scent given off by the herb when burnt. The fumes of the herb would choke prisoner in the way she stated, and reduce her to unconsciousness."
Belmain (significantly): "To complete unconsciousness?"
Witness: "I think so, seeing that she was not accustomed to the smoke of the herb. A slight smoke would place anyone in a cataleptic state merely, but a dense smoke would take away all consciousness. It did so apparently in the case of Miss Chent, and although Mr. Shepworth was simply cataleptic at first, the waving of the bronze cup under his nose plunged him into the deeper state."
Belmain: "How did Agstone become possessed of the herb to burn in Alexander Mansions?"
Witness: "I really cannot tell you. Perhaps he went to Easter Island with his master, and got some leaves of the herb; or it might be that, when taking the knife away from the library, he also secured the leaves which were lying on Sir Oliver's desk."
Belmain (quickly): "How do you know the leaves were there?"
Witness (coolly): "I am only surmising. If Lanwin was experimenting with the herb, he must have got out his packet of leaves and roots. I expect, not being used to the herb, he was reduced either to catalepsy or to unconsciousness, and while thus helpless was murdered."
Belmain: "By Steve Agstone?"
Witness: "I am not prepared to say." (Very dryly.)
"A very improper question," rebuked the judge; and Belmain sat down feeling that he had not scored off this rugged witness.
Before Dr. Horace left the witness-box the judge, prompted by the foreman of the jury, requested him to burn some leaves of the herb at once. "But do not reduce us to a state of catalepsy," said the judge, with a smile; "we have to finish our business, you know."
A china plate was brought, and on this Horace gravely laid two or three leaves of the Sacred Herb. On applying a match, a thick curl of pungent white smoke arose, like a summer cloud, and the odour of tuberoses was perceptibly indicated in the heavy atmosphere of the Court. Prelice, who was standing near the witness-box, and so smelt the perfume very strongly, suddenly felt sick, and swiftly pushed his way into the fresh air. He was inclined to faint, being susceptible to odours, and but that a good Samaritan addicted to alcohol had produced a flask of brandy, he would have become unconscious. When quite restored, he thought how very powerful the herb was, when even so slight a breath of the smoke could muddle his senses. No wonder that Miss Chent and Sir Oliver and Shepworth had become unconscious when the full power of the burning purple leaves was poured through the rooms.
Prelice did not feel inclined to re-enter the Court, and sat outside in the vestibule, smoking a cigarette. Here he was joined by Captain Jadby, which rather surprised the young man, as he thought that the sailor's love for Mona Chent would have kept him in the Court. Also, Prelice was surprised when Jadby approached him in quite a friendly way, and with an apology.
"I hope you have forgiven me for my rudeness last night, Lord Prelice," was his ingratiating remark.
"I never gave it another thought," retorted Prelice brusquely. "Pray do not apologise again. You did so last night."
"Thank you," said Jadby, smiling all over his smooth, feline face. "I am glad that you take it in such a spirit. By the way, I never knew that you were acquainted with Dr. Horace."
Prelice stared at this impertinent remark. "Very probably," he said stiffly, "but then you know nothing about me."
"I know that you went to Easter Island, Lord Prelice. I heard of your visit when I went there myself."
"Oh," said Prelice alertly, "then you visited the Island also."
"I have just said so," rejoined Jadby coolly, "but I did not bring away any of the herb, if that is what you mean."
"It isnotwhat I mean," said the other, wondering why Jadby should say such a thing. "I don't accuse you of murdering Sir Oliver, even though you inherit the property."
He was thus pointed and rude to get rid of the smiling man before him, as he felt the same antipathy to Jadby as he would have done to a cat, the one animal which Prelice could not endure. But the sailor was not at all annoyed, or if he was, did not show it. Rather did he smile in a very satisfied way. "Yes, I do inherit the property," he remarked, "and there is a good reason why I should."
"Really," observed Prelice, considering what the reason might be, but unwilling to ask.
"Yes, really," retorted the captain, still smiling; "of course, I am sorry for Miss Chent, but when she marries me all will be well."
"You forget, sir. She marries Mr. Shepworth."
"They are engaged," replied Jadby, with a shrug, "but I do not think that they will ever be married. Mrs. Rover——"
Prelice interrupted imperiously. "What do you mean by mentioning Mrs. Rover's name in this connection?" he demanded, flushing.
"Oh," said Jadby, with his hateful smile, "I understood that you and Mr. Shepworth were intimate friends. Good-day!" And before Prelice could stop him, Captain Jadby had vanished amidst the crowd, leaving, like the wasp he was, a sting behind him.
Prelice frowned. He recollected Shepworth's blush, Lady Sophia's remarks, and now considered Captain Jadby's hint. It would seem that his friend was either in love with Mrs. Dolly Rover or was entangled in some way. If that was the case, he could not possibly love Mona, and if he did not—— Prelice's face grew crimson, and his eyes brightened. Then he shook himself free of the thought. Jadby was implying that Shepworth was behaving dishonourably, and Prelice could not bring himself to believe that such was the case. He had known Ned too long to doubt him. All the same, he felt that an explanation would clear the air, and concluded to ask Shepworth for one as delicately as possible. Upon that explanation would depend his future movements.
Lord Prelice walked up and down the vestibule, musing on Mona, on her perilous position, on Shepworth's possible entanglement with Mrs. Rover, late Miss Constance Newton, and on the enigmatic hints of Dr. Horace dealing with the mysterious cases, in which friendship had involved him. Thus thinking, he lost all note of time, and it was only when a Court official came to turn on the electrics that he became aware of the passing of time. Glancing at his watch, he found that it was several hours since he had left the Court, and he determined to enter again, and hear the speeches of the Counsel for the Defence and Prosecution. But just as he turned in the direction of the Court he heard a cheer, and an excited throng of people poured out. In two minutes Prelice was in possession of the news, and learned that Mona Chent had been acquitted. She was free.
When London was made acquainted with the verdict, the majority of people were satisfied that justice had been done. Miss Chent's behaviour while in the dock, the open sympathy of the Grange servants, the occurrence of the second murder, so similar in all respects to the first, and the evidence of Horace with regard to the anæsthetic properties of the Sacred Herb of Easter Island, went far to enlist the public in favour of the accused girl. Perhaps, also, her youth and brilliant beauty had something to do with the loudly expressed pleasure of those who read in the newspapers that she had been set free.
Of course, there were the usual malcontents, who agreed with no one, and wrote to the journals stating that the verdict was wrong. A communication toThe Daily Telegraphinsisted that Miss Client must have lied, declaring that she fell senseless while unfastening the window for fresh air. If it had been the case Captain Jadby would have found her lying near the window, whereas she was discovered in the armchair near the fire, some distance away. But a supporter of the late prisoner replied to this by pointing out that the murderer of Sir Oliver undoubtedly had picked up the girl while she was insensible, and placed her in the chair. The first correspondent retorted that Sir Oliver was dead, and his murderer conspicuous by his absence, when Miss Chent entered the library, and so could not have shifted her from the floor on to the chair. To this the defending writer wrote that there was no proof of Sir Oliver being dead when Miss Chent entered, as it was apparent that the fumes of the herb had drugged him into insensibility, and therefore the murderer must have entered later to kill the baronet, and remove his niece from the place where she fell, by her own showing, to the chair in which she was discovered by Captain Jadby. And so the war of letter-writing went on; and although Mona was free from the danger of hanging, her character was still stained, in the opinion of some people, with the blood of her uncle.
Prelice was furious when he read this correspondence, but, on the face of it, did not see how he could defend Mona, since he had no evidence to bring forward in her favour. On the testimony of the knife it was generally considered that Agstone had murdered his master, and then had come to Alexander Mansions to kill the barrister. But, of course, both Shepworth and his friend, knowing the true story of how the knife came into Agstone's possession, were by no means certain that the old sailor was guilty. The mystery of Sir Oliver's death was no longer one to the public—as everyone had been misled by the suppression of the evidence dealing with the knife—but it continued to be one to those who had suppressed that same evidence. But of one thing Lord Prelice was certain—namely, that Mona's character would have to be completely cleared by the discovery of the real criminal.
With this idea in his mind, he went next day to Alexander Mansions, and learned—somewhat to his surprise—that Shepworth was within. Inspector Bruge informed him of this at a chance meeting on the stairs, and affably told the constable guarding the door of Number Forty that Lord Prelice was to be admitted to see the prisoner. "Not that he is a prisoner," said Bruge, nodding; "we are merely detaining Mr. Shepworth until the inquest is held on the body of Agstone."
"When does the inquest take place?" asked Prelice, lingering to ask necessary questions.
"To-morrow, at three o'clock in the afternoon, at the Greyhound Hotel, Kensington. Beyond the fact that the jury will bring in a verdict of wilful murder against some person, or persons, unknown, I don't think that we—the police that is, my lord—can give any evidence to indicate the assassin of Agstone."
"Then why accuse Mr. Shepworth?"
"I don't accuse him."
"If you don't, why arrest him?"
"It is best to be on the safe side," said Bruge dryly; "and notwithstanding what Mr. Shepworth may have written to you, my lord, the arrest has not taken place. He is merely detained, pending the inquest."
"And under suspicion?" flashed out Prelice loyally.
The Inspector shrugged his square shoulders. "If you like to put it in that way," he said indifferently.
"But it is absurd to suspect Mr. Shepworth," cried Prelice excitedly; "many people saw him insensible, in the same way that Miss Chent was insensible. If she is guiltless—and a competent jury have acquitted her—Mr. Shepworth also must be innocent. The evidence of Dr. Horace——"
"Quite so, my lord," interrupted Bruge, with rather a bored air; "but all that will be discussed at the inquest. We need not enter into it now, considering we have insufficient premises to go upon."
"If anyone murdered Agstone——"
"Which they certainly did, since no man can stab himself in the back."
"It must have been the lady seen by Mr. Shepworth," finished Prelice.
"Hum! That might have been a hallucination."
"And the moon may be made of cream cheese," retorted Prelice heatedly.
"It may be," assented Bruge gravely; "I know no reason to the contrary, my lord. But this talk leads to nothing, and I am very busy. Go in and see your friend. You will find Dr. Horace with him."
"Dr. Horace?" echoed the young man, staring.
Inspector Bruge nodded. "So you may guess that, when thus permitted to see his friends, Mr. Shepworth is not a legitimate prisoner. By the way," added Bruge formally as he took his leave, "I am delighted that Miss Chent has been acquitted."
"Of course. She is innocent."
"Entirely innocent in my opinion, and very beautiful also. Mr. Shepworth is a lucky man, my lord. Good-day."
The Inspector descended the stairs, leaving Prelice somewhat puzzled. The young man could not quite determine whether Bruge believed Shepworth to be innocent or guilty. At one time he said one thing; again, he hinted at another. However, it was useless to ponder over the enigma; so Prelice entered the flat, after a word or two with the uniformed Cerberus who guarded the door, and was conducted by a somewhat pale parlour-maid to the library. Here he found Dr. Horace, looking more uncivilised than ever, in deep conversation with Ned. The latter sprang up when his friend entered. Shepworth had lost some of his ruddy colour, and his eyes had dark circles under them. Otherwise he appeared to be quite composed, and not at all like a man accused of a serious crime. And in spite of Bruge's protestations, Prelice believed that the Inspector did so accuse him, mentally at all events.
"You are just in time, Prelice," cried Shepworth, grasping the new-comer's hand warmly; "in addition to the mysteries of these murders we have another to solve in the person of our friend here."
"There's no mystery about me," said Horace gruffly. "I merely advise you to leave matters as they stand."
Prelice looked as astonished as Shepworth. "But I say," he cried, "you wanted to take a hand in the game yourself, Horace."
"Ihavetaken a hand," retorted the doctor coolly, "and I have won. My aim was to save Miss Chent from being unjustly convicted; for whomsoever murdered Lanwin, I am convinced that she is innocent. As she is now free, and the prevailing opinion seems to be that Agstone is guilty, why stir up muddy water and waken sleeping dogs?"
"You forget," said Shepworth rather tartly, "that I have to be cleared myself. Bruge says that I am innocent, but the fact that he has practically arrested me proves that he thinks the contrary."
Horace, who was smoking his ungainly German pipe, shook his shaggy head vigorously. "When the inquest takes place, you will be discharged without a stain on your character. That being the case, my advice to you is a speedy marriage with Miss Chent, who is also free. Don't bother your head further about these two murders."
When Horace mentioned marriage with Mona so pointedly Prelice darted a side glance at his chum, bearing in mind the hints of Captain Jadby and Lady Sophia. As he expected, Shepworth coloured and looked confused. "At present I am not rich enough to marry Mona," he said in a halting way; "and by the burning of the will she loses the property."
Horace chuckled silently. "Which goes to Captain Jadby?"
"Yes. The earlier will comes into force now that the latter one has been destroyed."
"In that case," observed Horace, complacently puffing at his pipe, "I should advise her to marry Captain Jadby."
Shepworth, still looking uneasy, went to stare out of the window, and it was Prelice who replied. "I'm hanged if she'll do that."
"Why not?" inquired the doctor, with a keen glance. "Jadby has the money by Shepworth's showing; he isn't bad-looking, and he loves her devotedly. Also, it was Sir Oliver's wish."
"Jadby's a cattish ruffian," cried Prelice warmly, and with a sudden access of colour; "we don't know where he comes from or——"
"From the South Seas, my old son."
"Or who he is," continued Prelice impetuously. "It would be a shame that so delightful a girl should marry a shady buccaneer. Ned, you are engaged to Miss Chent—why don't you speak?"
"There is nothing to say," replied the barrister somewhat coldly. "If Miss Chent will take me, a pauper as I am, I shall only be too charmed to make her my wife."
Prelice raised his eyebrows. A conviction was forcing itself upon him that Ned had no real love for the girl. But if that was the case, why had he become engaged to her; why had he so vigorously defended her of late? Then there was Mrs. Dolly Rover; but Prelice knew nothing about that mysterious lady, as he had not seen her since returning to London. He had half a mind then and there to demand an explanation from Ned; but the presence of Dr. Horace restrained him, and with an afterthought of wisdom, he determined to interview Mrs. Rover herself before coming to an understanding with the barrister.
As it was therefore unnecessary to pursue the subject, and as already Horace was asking him mutely why he should take such an interest in an engaged young lady, Prelice changed the subject by an attack on the doctor himself. "I can't understand why you should wish to abandon the search into these cases when you were so keen yesterday to run the show on your own."
Horace quite understood the slang of the concluding remark. "I merely quoted a proverb about letting sleeping dogs lie," he said coolly.
"Why? Are you afraid for a certain person?" questioned Prelice, meaning Agstone and the listener's relationship with Agstone.
"Oh no," retorted the doctor, quite aware of what Prelice was referring to. "The person you hint at is dead, and everyone believes him guilty of the first murder. It doesn't matter who killed him, as Shepworth here is sure to be acquitted. I don't care a damn one way or the other, as you will respect my confidence."
"What confidence?" asked the barrister suddenly.
"One that I made to Prelice here," said the doctor dryly; then heaving up his squat figure from the armchair, he waddled towards the door. There he paused, and addressed himself to Prelice: "If you go on prying into this matter," he said, with uplifted finger, "you will be very, very sorry, my son."
"What do you mean?"
"Gammon and spinach," said Horace, again enigmatic, and hurled himself out of the room, still smoking his unwieldy pipe. The two young men stared at one another.
"Is he mad?" asked Shepworth.
"Mad like Hamlet, south-sou'west," rejoined the other in a vexed tone; "unless he is in league with that Jadby bounder, whom he knew in the South Seas, I don't know what he means by backing out."
"But surely you don't suspect Jadby?" asked Ned, startled.
"Why not? He was at Mrs. Rover's ball."
"Nonsense. She doesn't know him!"
"Remember the jewel robberies," said Prelice dryly; "a great number of people unknown to host or hostess were at that ball."
"But Jadby!" Shepworth bit his fingers perplexedly. "You can't suspect him? He came and saw me, and then went away. It was a woman whom Agstone brought in. She must have killed Agstone."
Prelice shrugged his shoulders, and sauntered about the room.
"Perhaps!" he remarked carelessly, sauntering about the room. "I certainly have no reason to suspect Jadby, save that he was at the ball."
"How do you know?"
"He was one of the crowd that rushed in to see you insensible, and he wore a domino and mask, as did the rest of them."
"Then how did you spot him?"
"He unmasked."
"That shows his innocence," declared Shepworth quickly, "for if he had come to the ball to slip down and murder Agstone, he would not have revealed himself."
"Hum! Hum! Perhaps not." Prelice threw himself into a chair. "However, I shall keep an eye on Jadby."
"Then you are still searching into the case?"
"Into both cases," corrected the other, lighting a cigar; "I want to learn who killed Lanwin, and who murdered Agstone."
"Out of friendship for me," cried Shepworth, grasping his chum's hand. "You are a brick, Dorry."
Prelice returned the grasp, but blushed a trifle. He knew that love for Mona prompted the desire to search, as much as friendship for the man before him. If he could only understand Shepworth's attitude towards the girl and towards Mrs. Rover! Again it was on the tip of his tongue to ask a leading question, but he suppressed the desire, and kept to his earlier resolution to see the lady in the flat overhead.
"By the way," said Prelice carelessly, "have you seen Miss Chent?"
"No," answered Shepworth rather ruefully. "I wish I could have seen her, but Bruge hurried me away from the Court to keep me as a kind of state prisoner here. However, Mona wrote me a short note thanking me for all I had done, and said that she was going down to Lanwin Grange."
"But if that belongs to Jadby——"
"The will isn't proved yet," interrupted the barrister quickly, "and until it is, Mr. Martaban thinks Mona should stop at the Grange."
"Mr. Martaban?"
"The late Sir Oliver's lawyer—a kind, clever old chap. He has taken Mona down to the Grange; and Mrs. Blexey, who is devoted to her, will look after the poor girl until I am free to visit her."
"You'll go down, of course," said Prelice nervously.
"Oh yes; as soon as the inquest is over and Bruge sets me free. I do not see how I can be arrested. But meanwhile, Dorry, you could do me a great favour?"
Prelice raised his eyes. "What is that?"
"Go down at once to Hythe and see Mona."
"But I don't know her," said Prelice, taken aback, although his face grew hot and his heart bounded at the idea of meeting this adorable girl, with whom he now knew himself to be in love.
"I'll give you a card of introduction. Tell her that I'm all right and will be down as soon as I can."
"All right," assented Prelice, feeling a guilty joy in thus yielding to a delightful temptation. "But the case?"
"That can look after itself until the inquest is over. Then, when I have seen Mona, and her future is settled by Martaban—her living and income and all that I mean—we can look into matters. I am as keen as you are to get at the truth of these two murders, Dorry. We can dispense with Horace."
"I wish I knew exactly why he backed out," muttered Prelice thoughtfully; "it is so unlike Horace to jib."
"Perhaps he has something to do with the matter himself, seeing that he possessed the Sacred Herb," said Shepworth jocularly.
"Nonsense. Horace would kill one man and a dozen men in fair fight, but he's not the chap to stick anyone in the back. By the way, tell me one thing, Ned. This lady, who came in with Agstone, and waved the cup under your nose to make you insensible—she wore a green mask, you said?"
"Yes; and a green domino also."
Prelice nodded. "Did you catch a glimpse of her frock by any chance, or did your senses fail you?"
"They did not fail me too quickly. Ididsee her frock. It was a white dress with thin lines of red running horizontally across it."
"Many lines?" asked Prelice breathlessly.
"It seemed to be ruled like a page of music," said Shepworth. "Why, what is the matter?"
"Matter!" echoed Prelice, who had risen and was dancing round the room like a school-boy. "What you say gives me a clue. I saw that dress at the ball. The lady who wore it was scented with tuberoses——"
"With tuberoses?"
"Or with the Sacred Herb. I must find out who she is."
"How can you?"
"I don't know. I can't say. But if we can find her we may learn if she killed Agstone, and why she did it. That discovery will lead to learning who murdered Lanwin. It is the beginning of the end. Give up the case indeed!" cried Prelice exultantly—"why, it's the only thing that renders life in London bearable."
"But do you think that this lady is guilty?" asked Shepworth doubtfully.
"Of course I do. Otherwise, why should she be scented with the perfume of the Sacred Herb, which has to do with both crimes?"
Shepworth shook his head, unable to answer this question.
Shortly after the reference to the unknown lady, Lord Prelice took a hasty leave. There was nothing more to be said, as matters up to date had been threshed out thoroughly between them. Until the inquest had been held on the body of Agstone, and Shepworth's immediate future was decided, no move could be made towards elucidating the mysteries. Moreover, Prelice was mortally afraid lest Shepworth should alter his mind about making him ambassador to Miss Chent at Hythe. Strong-willed as the young man was, when he chose to exercise that same will he could not deny himself the pleasure of being in Mona's company, if only for ten minutes. Besides, he very much wished to learn if she truly loved Ned, for by this time he felt sure that Ned had no very deep affection for her.
In his hurry to catch a train to Hythe, Prelice quite forgot his determination to see Mrs. Rover, and learn how matters stood between her and the barrister. But the powers that direct the actions of men, and the lives that are made by such actions, brought about a meeting with the lady almost immediately. After shaking hands with the pseudo-prisoner, Prelice left the flat, to find Mrs. Rover arguing vehemently with the constable posted at the outer door. She wished to enter and see Shepworth; the constable, pursuant to strict orders, was trying to point out that his duty lay in stopping her, a point which Mrs. Rover obstinately refused to see.
"I wish to enter," she kept repeating. "It is necessary that I should see Mr. Shepworth, and——"
"Will I do instead?" said Prelice, suddenly appearing at the open door.
"Dorry!" cried Mrs. Rover, giving him the pet name of his youth. "What are you doing here?"
"I am talking to you," said the young man, shaking hands, "but just now I have been chatting with Ned."
"Then why can't I chat with him also?" demanded the lady.
Prelice shrugged his shoulders. "Ned is allowed to see no one, unless Inspector Bruge gives permission."
"What rubbish! Let me go in!" And Mrs. Rover, in a flaming temper, tried to push past the policeman.
"You can't, ma'am," he said firmly and respectfully; adding to the pale parlour-maid, who still lingered, out of sheer curiosity: "Close that door straight away."
"I'll report you," cried Mrs. Rover, when she saw the door practically banged in her angry face.
"All right, ma'am. But dooty is dooty."
"Constance! Constance!" whispered Prelice, touching her arm. "Don't make an exhibition of yourself before the servants. The man is only doing his duty. Come upstairs, and we can have a chat."
"What about?" demanded Mrs. Rover swiftly; and Prelice saw, or thought he saw, a glint of fear in her eyes.
"Well," he answered, smiling, "I have not had an opportunity of talking to you since I returned to town, so it is natural that I should wish for a short conversation."
Mrs. Rover, who apparently was an extremely obstinate woman, paused irresolutely, looking at the stolid policeman with a battle light in her eyes. But the constable met her gaze firmly, so finding that feminine persistence could do nothing in the face of an official barrier, she turned away biting her lip. "Come upstairs, Dorry," she said, beginning to ascend; "I can do nothing with that fool."
Prelice smiled at this Parthian arrow, and slipped a florin into the constable's hand to pacify him for the parting insult. Then he ran up after the lady, and reached her on the next landing. "You ought to be pleased, Constance," he said slyly; "you've had the last word."
"I should like to have had the last half-dozen," she retorted, putting a Yale latch-key into the lock.
"I think that you have even achieved that," replied Prelice dryly. "It is extraordinary that women never will learn that the law is stronger than sheer temper."
"I am not in a temper," snapped Mrs. Rover, sweeping into her flat. "I never was calmer in my life—never, never, never."
"I am quite content to believe that," said her companion acidly; for as Constance Newton, Mrs. Rover had not been noted for imperturbability. It was all the better, in Prelice's opinion, that her temperament should be thus fiery, as he would discover from her rash tongue much that a more cautious and composed woman would withhold. Moreover, Constance and her visitor had been friends for many a long year—witness her calling him Dorry—and she was accustomed to speak frankly to him about her troubles. Had Prelice been in England when the stockbroker was courting the lady, it is doubtful if Constance would ever have become Mrs. Rover. And Prelice strongly suspected that Mr. Rover found Ned Shepworth an inconvenient third in his married state.
"You are looking very well, Constance," said Prelice when the two were seated in the drawing-room, which was more gorgeous than artistic.
"I'm not well then. I'm nearly worried to death."
"So sorry. Tell me all about it."
"I'll do nothing of the sort."
"I beg your pardon. Let us chat about the weather."
"Do you think that I have time to waste in discussing barometers?" She rose, impetuously.
"Don't know, I'm sure," replied Prelice, keeping his temper admirably.
"Well then, I haven't."
"Would it do any good if I gave you a thorough shaking?"
"Yes, it would. If Dolly shook me I should respect him; but he lets me lead him the life of a dog, and doesn't even bark, much less bite."
"I see, you prefer a bull-dog to a poodle."
"Ned isn't a——" Mrs. Rover stopped in the centre of the room, grew red, and could have bitten out her tongue for so incautious a speech. "What rubbish you talk!" she said, trying to smile carelessly.
Prelice looked at her gravely. "I hope you are talking rubbish too."
"I wish I were dead and buried!" whispered Mrs. Rover, and once more sat down to burst into violent tears.
Expert in the handling of the sex, Prelice knew better than to offer a single word of consolation. He lay back in his chair, quietly watching the progress of the storm. Mrs. Rover was going through the usual programme of upset woman. She had raged, now she wept, and would shortly be offering an apology for her conduct on the plea of nerves.
Constance had certainly grown into a handsome woman. When Prelice had left England seven years before she was merely a school-girl, very gawky and very awkward. Now she appeared tall, majestic, and beautiful after the voluptuous style of Juno, Queen of Olympus. Her hair and eyes were dark, her features delicate and regular, and her figure was finely formed, even if a trifle inclined to stoutness, as it assuredly was. Prelice had somewhere seen an old print of Catherine II. of Russia, and it struck him that Mrs. Rover greatly resembled the Empress, although she was undeniably a more lovely woman. It was unfortunate that her face should have been marred by a sullen expression, hinting at a superlatively bad temper. But many people—unobservant as most people are—never noted this defect. They only saw before their ravished eyes a handsome, well-bred, graceful woman, perfectly dressed, and quite able to hold her own in the most exacting society. Yes, Constance had improved greatly. Prelice admitted that, but he wished to find out if she possessed the same beauty of character as of person. From what he had heard and what he had seen, he had grave doubts on this point.
"Pray excuse me," said Mrs. Rover, offering the expected social apology in a faint voice. "I'm rather upset; my nerves are out of order. The season has been trying, and then that horrid ball bowled me over, with its robberies and murders; not to speak of Dolly, who is—who is—— Oh, I don't know what he is."
"Do you think it is good taste to discuss your husband with me?" asked Prelice rather tartly.
"You are the only true friend I have in the world, Dorry."
"Then you have made no acquaintances since I left England seven years ago, Constance?"
"Oh, acquaintances?" she echoed contemptuously, rolling her damp handkerchief into a ball. "I have hundreds of these. But a friend—oh, Dorry, there isn't a single person I'd trust with a shoe-lace."
"He or she would not thank you if you did," replied Prelice, smiling; "a shoe-lace is not good security for anything."
"That's just it," wailed Mrs. Rover, dabbing her red eyes with the handkerchief; "people like one for what they can get out of one. But there isn't a soul to help me—poor me."
"Won't Ned?" asked her companion very deliberately.
Mrs. Rover darted a keen glance at him, and rose to alter the position of her hat in front of the mirror over the fireplace. Prelice knew quite well that she was watching him in the mirror, and carefully smoothed all expression out of his good-humoured face. "Ned!" repeated Mrs. Rover, patting her back hair; "oh yes, Ned, of course. Do you think they will hang him?" she demanded, wheeling round, rather white, and breathing hard.
"Good heavens, no. What put that into your head?"
"He isn't allowed to see me. The arrest——"
"Ned hasn't been arrested. The fact that he was seen insensible by heaps of people proves his innocence. Bruge is simply detaining him as a necessary witness, although I admit that Bruge is taking a somewhat high hand in the matter. Don't bother your head about Ned, Constance. He'll soon be free to marry that girl."
"Mona Chent!" Mrs. Rover clenched her hands, and breathed still harder, while Prelice anxiously watched the effect of his deliberate introduction of the name. "Oh yes." She went off into a meaningless trill of laughter. "She's free, isn't she? Lucky girl, for I quite believe that she killed her uncle."
"Why do you believe that?" demanded Prelice.
"Everyone says so."
"Everyone doesnotsay so. The majority of people think that the verdict is a just one. I do myself."
"Do you know her?"
"No. What has that to do with it?"
"You won't like her when you do know her," said Mrs. Rover spitefully. "She's a horrid girl; I never liked her."
"That's a pity; you won't be able to visit Ned's wife."
"She isn't his wife yet," breathed Mrs. Rover, trying to keep her temper in check; "perhaps she never will be."
"Oh," Prelice spoke with calculated daring and cruelty, "do you then think that Mr. Rover will die?"
"You coward—you——" She broke off. "What do you mean by that?"
"I would rather you explained, Constance."
"I have nothing to explain. Did you come here to insult me?"
"Of course," replied Prelice, rising; "and now that I have done so, I may as well take my leave."
She seized him by the lapels of his coat before he could reach the door. "Don't go, don't go," she panted; "I do so want a friend. I'll tell you all; you shall know everything."
"If it is against your husband, I sha'n't listen."
"You shall! Sit down, and hear what I have to say."
Prelice was a strong young man, but for the moment her feminine strength prevailed, and he found himself forced into his former seat.
"I wouldn't say what I'm going to say to everyone," panted Mrs. Rover, who was very strongly moved, "but, even though we have been apart for so many years, I still regard you as my best friend. You and I were boy and girl together, Dorry—you remember——"
"Ned also," interposed Prelice pointedly.
"Yes! Yes. Of course. I always loved Ned."
"Constance, what are you saying?"
She rose, and beat her hands together. "The truth—the truth! I liked you, Dorry, I always liked you, but I loved Ned, and I shall love him until I die!" She looked like a tragedy queen.
Prelice grew impatient, being a very matter-of-fact young man. "Don't be melodramatic, Constance. Sit down, and explain quietly."
With that wonderful adaptability of women, at which man never ceases to marvel, Mrs. Rover sat down, and composed herself with a violent effort. When next she spoke it was in so cold and icy a tone that Prelice, had his eyes been closed, could have sworn that another person had joined in the dialogue. "You know that my father, the General, was not rich, and that my mother was extravagant. I was the only child, and my parents wished me to make a wealthy marriage, so that their affairs might be put right. That is, my mother wished it, for my father, dear old man, desired me to consult my own heart. I did, and it told me to marry Ned. We were half engaged. My father was willing in spite of his difficulties, but my mother would not consent. Ned was poor, you know; he had only five hundred a year of his own, and has not yet made a success at the Bar. Then Dolly Rover came along." She stopped, and bit her lip, while her hands moved restlessly, as though boxing her husband's ears.
"What about Mr. Rover?" asked Prelice soothingly.
Then the natural woman came out, and she rose in a rage. "I hate Dolly like poison," she cried, pacing up and down the room, twisting her hands together; "he's a horrid, sneaky little cur, who——"
"Don't abuse your husband, Constance," interrupted Prelice impatiently; "it does no good. You married him of your own free will."
"I did nothing of the sort. I married him to save my father from going through the Bankruptcy Court. It would have broken his heart, dear old father, and he would have died. Dolly knew that I hated him, and that I loved Ned. But he demanded his price, like the mean dog that he is. My mother was on his side too, and I could not bear to see my father suffer. I parted with Ned, and married Dolly. That is, I sold myself, on condition that father's debts were paid. I kept to my part of the bargain——"
"And didn't your husband keep to his?"
"No," Mrs. Rover stamped violently; "he paid a portion of the debts; enough to avert bankruptcy merely. But he left father the worry, and of that worry father died. My mother has married again—a rich man—so she is happy. And here am I tied to Dolly—ugh! the name—while my heart is breaking for Ned."
"It is a hard case," said Prelice, sorry for the miserable woman; "still, your self-respect, Constance."
"That is right—preach, preach, preach. So like a man," she mocked. "I have kept my self-respect as you term it. I am a good wife to Dolly, although I detest him. I have never said a word against him to anyone, and I wouldn't to you, but that I must speak or suffocate. I can trust you, Dorry, and you understand how I feel, and what I feel. I love Ned. I want to marry Ned, and here I'm tied to—to——"
Prelice interrupted. "It is hard on you, Constance, I admit," he said, "but you must make the best of it. You say that you lead your husband the life of a dog."
"Of a pet dog, of a poodle. He's so meek and mild and sneaky that I can't respect him. He merely sniggers when I grow angry, and chuckles how he got the best of me over the marriage by not paying all father's debts. Oh, what is the use of talking! I love Ned, and Ned loves me."
Prelice jumped up. "I can't believe that," he declared, growing angry, "for Ned is engaged to Miss Chent. If he loves you, why is he——"
"Don't ask questions," interrupted Mrs. Rover angrily; "or if you must ask them, go to Ned; or better still, to Mona Chent herself."
"What can I ask Miss Chent?" demanded Prelice sharply.
"It's very warm weather," mocked Mrs. Rover, "and I think there will be a thunder-storm."
The young man looked at her, and saw her mouth set obstinately. He knew as well as if she had spoken that there was nothing more to be got out of her for the time being. But what she had said made him all the more determined to see Miss Chent, and learn the truth about the engagement to Shepworth. Meanwhile he took the wind out of Mrs. Rover's sails by falling in with her humour. "It will be a good thing if it does thunder and rain," he remarked, glancing out of the window; "it will clear the air."
Mrs. Rover looked as though she would have struck him, but being unable to parry his thrust, threw herself sulkily on the sofa. Prelice took up hat and gloves to depart, but halted at the door with premeditated craft. A sudden thought had struck him. "Constance," he said in a natural tone, "I am in love."
"Indeed," she said indifferently.
"Yes; with a lady who was at your ball."
The remark made her rouse herself, and she sat up with a look of curiosity. "Who is she?"
"I want you to tell me that. I could not see her face, and very little of her figure, owing to the domino, but she seemed to be so charming when we talked together"—this was a lie to gain information—"that I quite lost my heart."
"It's easy lost," said Mrs. Rover, curling her lip. "The woman may be as ugly as sin under her mask. How was she dressed?"
"In a green mask and domino," Mrs. Rover stiffened, "and with a white dress streaked with lines of red velvet. Why do you laugh?" he asked, for Mrs. Rover was trying to suppress her mirth.
"Why?" she cried, shaking with merriment, "becauseIwore that dress and mask and domino."
"You?" Prelice looked horrified.
"Yes. Why do you look at me like that?"
"You?" Prelice backed to the door in silent horror. He could not trust himself to speak, and finally disappeared, leaving Mrs. Rover petrified with amazement, perhaps with dread.