"Then how did the house-man enter?"
"By means of a pass-key."
"Where does that other door lead to?" asked Cyril, pointing to a door to his left.
"Into the sitting-room," replied the coroner, throwing it open. "It was here, I am told, that Lady Wilmersley usually spent the morning."
It was a large, pleasant room panelled in white. A few faded pastels of by-gone beauties ornamented the walls. A gilt cage in which slumbered a canary hung in one of the windows. Cyril looked eagerly about him for some traces of its late occupant's personality; but except for a piece of unfinished needlework, lying on a small table near the fireplace, there was nothing to betray the owner's taste or occupations.
"And there is no way out of this room except through the bedroom?"
"None."
"No secret door?"
"No, my lord. Mr. Judson thought of that and has tapped the walls."
"But the windows?"
"These windows as well as those in the bedroom are fitted with heavy iron bars. Look," he said.
"Who was the last person known to have seen Lord Wilmersley alive?"
"Mustapha. He carried coffee into the swimming-bath at a quarter past nine, as was his daily custom."
"And he noticed nothing unusual?"
"Nothing. And he swears that in passing out through the library he heard the bolt click behind him."
"What sort of a person is Mustapha?"
"Lord Wilmersley brought him back with him when he returned from the East. He had the greatest confidence in him," said the vicar.
"Do you know what his fellow-servants think of him," inquired Cyril, addressing the coroner.
"He kept very much to himself. I fancy he is not a favourite, but no one has actually said anything against him."
"Insular prejudice!" cried the vicar. "How few of us are able to overcome our inborn British suspicion of the foreigner!"
"Now will you examine the library?" asked the coroner. "See, here is his lordship's desk. There are the drawers in which the £300 were found, and yet any one could have picked that lock."
"Where does that door lead to?"
"Into Lord Wilmersley's bedroom, the window of which is also provided with iron bars."
"And that room has no exit but this?"
"None, my lord. If the murderer came from outside, he must have got in through one of these windows, which are the only ones in this wing which have no protection, and this one was found ajar—but it may have been used only as an exit, not as an entrance."
Cyril looked out. Even a woman would have no difficulty in jumping to the ground.
"But it couldn't have been a burglar," said the vicar, "for what object could a thief have for destroying a portrait?"
"Destroying what portrait?" inquired Cyril.
"Oh, didn't you know that her ladyship's portrait was found cut into shreds?" said the coroner.
"And a pair of Lady Wilmersley's scissors lay on the floor in front of it," added the vicar.
"Let me see it," cried Cyril.
Going to a corner of the room the vicar pulled aside a velvet curtain behind which hung the wreck of a picture. The canvas was slashed from top to bottom. No trace of the face was left; only a small piece of fair hair was still distinguishable.
Cyril grasped Twombley's arm. Fair! And his mysteriousprotégéewas dark!
"What—what was the colour of Lady Wilmersley's hair?" He almost stuttered with excitement.
"A very pale yellow," replied the coroner.
"Why do you ask?" inquired the detective.
For the convenience of my readers I give a diagram of Lord and Lady Wilmersley's apartments.
"A very pale yellow!" Cyril was dumb-founded.
Every fact, every inference had seemed to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that hisprotégéeand Lady Wilmersley were one and the same person. Was it possible that she could have worn a wig? No, for he remembered that in lifting her veil, he had inadvertently pulled her hair a little and had admired the way it grew on her temples.
"Why does the colour of her ladyship's hair interest you, my lord?" again inquired the detective.
Cyril blushed with confusion as he realised that all three men were watching him with evident astonishment. What a fool he was not to have been able to conceal his surprise! What answer could he give them? However, as it was not his cousin's murderess he was hiding, he felt he had nothing to fear from the detective, so ignoring him he turned to Mr. Twombley and said with a forced laugh:
"I must be losing my mind, for I distinctly remember hearing a friend of mine rave about Lady Wilmersley's dark beauty." Rather a fishy explanation, thought poor Cyril; but really his powers of invention were exhausted. Would it satisfy them?
He glanced sharply at the detective. The latter was no longer looking at him, but was contemplating his watch-chain with absorbed attention.
"Hah, hah! Rather a joke, what?" laughed Twombley. "Never had seen her, I suppose; no one ever did, you know, except out driving."
"It was either a silly joke or my memory is in a bad shape," said Cyril. "Luckily it is a matter of no consequence. What is of vital importance, however," he continued, turning to the detective, "is that her ladyship should be secured immediately. No one is safe while she is still at large."
"It is unfortunate," replied the detective, "that no photograph of her ladyship can be found, but we have telegraphed her description all over the country."
"What is her description, by the way?"
"Here it is, my lord," said Judson, handing Cyril a printed sheet.
"Height, 5 feet 3; weight, about 9 stone 2; hair, very fair, inclined to be wavy; nose, straight; mouth, small; eyes, blue; face, oval," read Cyril. "Well, I suppose that will have to do, but of course that description would fit half the women in England."
"That's the trouble, my lord."
"Mr. Twombley, when you said just now that no one knew her, did you mean that literally?"
"Nobody in the county did; I'm sure of that."
"And you, Mr. James? Is it possible that even you never saw her?"
"I have never spoken to her."
"Then so far as you know, the only person outside the castle she could communicate with was the doctor. What sort of a man is he?"
"What doctor are you speaking of?" inquired the vicar.
"Why, the doctor who had charge of her case, of course," replied Cyril impatiently.
"I never heard of her having a doctor."
"Do you mean to say that Wilmersley kept her in confinement without orders from a physician?"
"No, I suppose not. Of course not. There must have been some one," faltered the vicar a trifle abashed.
"You never, however, inquired by what authority he kept his wife shut up?"
"I never insulted Lord Wilmersley by questioning the wisdom of his conduct or the integrity of his motives, and I repeat that there was undoubtedly some physician in attendance on Lady Wilmersley, only I do not happen to know who he is."
"Well, I must clear this matter up at once. Please ring the bell, Judson."
A minute later the butler appeared.
"Who was her ladyship's physician?" demanded Cyril.
"My lady never 'ad one; leastways not till yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
"Yes, my lord, yesterday afternoon two gentlemen drove up in a fly and one of them says 'is name is Dr. Brown and that 'e was expected, and 'is lordship said as how I was to show them in here, and so I did."
"You think they came to see her ladyship?"
"Yes, my lord, and at dinner her ladyship seemed very much upset. She didn't eat a morsel, though 'is lordship urged 'er ever so."
"But why should a doctor's visit upset her ladyship?"
The butler pursed his lips and looked mysterious. "I can't say, my lord."
"Nonsense, you've some idea in your head. Out with it!"
"Well, my lord, me and Charles, we thought as she was afraid they were going to lock 'er up."
Cyril started slightly.
"Ah! If they had done so long ago!" exclaimed the vicar, clasping his hands.
"But, sir, her ladyship wasn't crazy! They all say so, but it isn't true. Me and Charles 'ave watched 'er at table day in and day out and we're willing to swear that she isn't any more crazy than—than me! Please excuse the liberty, but I never thought 'er ladyship was treated right, I never did."
"Why, you told me yourself that his lordship was devoted to her."
"So 'e was, my lord, so 'e was." The man shuffled uneasily.
"If her ladyship is not insane, why do you think his lordship kept her a prisoner here?"
"Well, my lord, some people 'ave thought that it was jealousy as made him do it."
"That," exclaimed the vicar, "is a vile calumny, which I have done my best to refute."
"So jealousy was the motive generally ascribed to my cousin's treatment of his wife?"
"Not generally, far from it; but I regret to say that there are people who professed to believe it."
"Did her ladyship have a nurse?" asked Cyril, addressing the butler.
"No, my lord, only a maid."
"Mrs. Valdriguez is a very respectable person, my lord."
"Mrs. What?" demanded Cyril.
"Mrs. Valdriguez."
"What a queer name."
"Perhaps, my lord, I don't pronounce it just right. Mrs. Valdriguez is Spanish."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, my lord, she was here first in the time of Lord Wilmersley's mother, and 'is lordship brought 'er back again when he returned from 'is 'oneymoon. Lady Wilmersley never left these rooms without 'aving either 'is lordship, Mustapha, or Valdriguez with 'er."
"Very good, Douglas, you can go now."
"A pretty state of things!" cried Cyril when the door closed behind the butler. "Here in civilised England a poor young creature is kept in confinement with a Spanish woman and a Turk to watch over her, and no one thinks of demanding an investigation! It's monstrous!"
"My boy, you're right. Never liked the man myself—confess it now—but I didn't know anything against him. Pretty difficult to interfere, what? Never occurred to me to do so."
"I am deeply pained by your attitude to your unfortunate cousin, who paid with his life for his devotion to an afflicted woman. I feel it my duty to say that your suspicions are unworthy of you. I must go now; I have some parochial duties to attend to." And with scant ceremony the vicar stalked out of the room.
"It's getting late, I see. Must be off too. Can't be late for dinner—wife, you know. Why don't you come with me—gloomy here—delighted to put you up. Do come," urged Twombley.
"Thanks awfully, not to-night. I'm dead beat. It's awfully good of you to suggest it, though."
"Not at all; sorry you won't come. See you at the inquest," said Twombley as he took his departure followed by the coroner.
Cyril remained where they left him. He was too weary to move. Before him on the desk lay his cousin's blotter. Its white surface still bore the impress of the latter's thick, sprawling handwriting. That chair not so many hours ago had held his unwieldy form. The murdered man's presence seemed to permeate the room. Cyril shuddered involuntarily. The heavy, perfume-laden air stifled him. What was that? He could hear nothing but the tumultuous beating of his own heart. Yet he was sure, warned by some mysterious instinct, that he was not alone. Behind him stood—something. He longed to move, but terror riveted him to the spot. A vision of his cousin's baleful eyes rose before him with horrible vividness. He could feel their vindictive glare scorching him. Was he going mad? Was he a coward? No, he must face the—thing—come what might. Throwing back his head defiantly, he wheeled around—the detective was at his elbow! Cyril gave a gasp of relief and wiped the tell-tale perspiration from his forehead. He had completely forgotten the fellow. What a shocking state his nerves were in!
"Can you spare me a few minutes, my lord?" Whenever the detective spoke, Cyril had the curious impression as of a voice issuing from a fog. So grey, so effaced, so absolutely characterless was the man's exterior! His voice, on the other hand, was excessively individual. There lurked in it a suggestion of assertiveness, of aggressiveness even. Cyril was conscious of a sudden dread of this strong, insistent personality, lying as it were at ambush within that envelope of a body, that envelope which he felt he could never penetrate, which gave no indication whether it concealed a friend or enemy, a saint or villain.
"I shall not detain you long," Judson added, as Cyril did not answer immediately.
"Come into the drawing-room," said Cyril, leading the way there.
Thank God, he could breathe freely once more, thought Cyril, as he flung himself into the comfortable depths of a chintz-covered sofa. How delightfully wholesome and commonplace was this room! The air, a trifle chill, notwithstanding the coal fire burning on the hearth, was like balm to his fevered senses. His very soul felt cleansed and refreshed. He no longer understood the terror which had so lately possessed him. He looked at Judson. How could he ever have dignified this remarkably unremarkable little man with his pompous manner into a mysterious and possibly hostile force. The thing was absurd.
"Sit down, Judson," said Cyril carelessly.
"My lord, am I not right in supposing that I am unknown to you? By reputation, I mean."
"Quite," Cyril candidly acknowledged.
"Ah! I thought so. Let me tell you then, my lord, that I am the receptacle of the secrets of most, if not all, of the aristocracy."
"Indeed!" said Cyril. I'll take good care, he thought, that mine don't swell the number.
"That being the case, it is clear that my reputation for discretion is unassailable. You see the force of that argument, my lord?"
"Certainly," replied Cyril wearily.
"Anything, therefore, which I may discover during the course of this investigation, you may rest assured will be kept absolutely secret." He paused a moment. "You can, therefore, confide in me without fear," continued the detective.
Cyril was surprised and a little startled. What did the man know?
"What makes you think I have anything to confide?" he asked.
"It is quite obvious, my lord, that you are holding something back—something which would explain your attitude towards Lady Wilmersley."
"I don't follow you," replied Cyril, on his guard.
"You have given every one to understand that you have never seen her ladyship. You take up a stranger's cause very warmly, my lord."
"I trust I shall always espouse the cause of every persecuted woman."
"But how are you sure that she was persecuted? Every one praises his lordship's devotion to her. He gave her everything she could wish for except liberty. If she was insane, his conduct deserves great praise."
"But I am sure she is not."
"But you yourself urged me to secure her as soon as possible because you were afraid she might do further harm," Judson reminded him.
"That was before I heard Douglas's testimony. He has seen her daily for three years and swears she is sane."
"And the opinion of an ignorant servant is sufficient to make you condemn his lordship without further proof?"
Cyril moved uneasily.
"If Lady Wilmersley is perfectly sane, it seems to me incredible that she did not manage to escape years ago. A note dropped out of her carriage would have brought the whole countryside to her rescue. Why, she had only to appeal to this very same butler, who is convinced of her sanity, and Lord Wilmersley could not have prevented her from leaving the castle. Public opinion would have protected her."
"That is true," acknowledged Cyril, "but her spirit may have been broken."
"What was there to break it? We hear only of his lordship's almost excessive devotion. No, my lord, I can't help thinking that you are judging both Lord and Lady Wilmersley by facts of which I am ignorant."
Cyril did not know what to answer. He had at first championed Lady Wilmersley because he had believed her to be hisprotégée, but now that it had been proved that she was not, why was he still convinced that she had in some way been a victim of her husband's cruelty? He had to acknowledge that beyond a vague distrust of his cousin he had not only no adequate reason, but no reason at all, for his suspicions.
"You are mistaken," he said at last; "I am withholding nothing that could in any way assist you to unravel this mystery. I confess I neither liked nor trusted my cousin. I had no special reason. It was simply a case of Dr. Fell. I know no more than you do of his treatment of her ladyship. But doesn't the choice of a Turk and a Spaniard as attendants on Lady Wilmersley seem to you open to criticism?"
"Not necessarily, my lord. We trust most those we know best. Lord Wilmersley had spent the greater part of his life with Turks and Spaniards. It therefore seems to me quite natural that when it came to selecting guardians for her ladyship, he should have chosen a man and a woman he had presumably known for some years, whose worth he had proved, whose fidelity he could rely on."
"That sounds plausible," agreed Cyril; "still I can't help thinking it very peculiar, to say the least, that Lady Wilmersley was not under a doctor's care."
"Her ladyship may have been too unbalanced to mingle with people, and yet not in a condition to require medical attention. Such cases are not uncommon."
"True, and yet I have a feeling that Douglas was right, when he assured us that her ladyship is not insane. You discredit his testimony on the ground that he is an ignorant man. But if a man of sound common-sense has the opportunity of observing a woman daily during three years, it seems to me that his opinion cannot be lightly ignored. You never knew my cousin. Well, I did, and as I said before, he was a man who inspired me with the profoundest distrust, although I cannot cite one fact to justify my aversion. I cannot believe that he ever sacrificed himself for any one and am much more inclined to credit Douglas's suggestion that it was jealousy which led him to keep her ladyship in such strict seclusion. But why waste our time in idle conjectures when it is so easy to find out the truth? Those two doctors who saw her yesterday must be found. If they are men of good reputation, of course I shall accept their report as final."
"Very good, my lord, I will at once have an advertisement inserted in all the papers asking them to communicate with us. If that does not fetch them, I shall employ other means of tracing them."
"Has Lady Upton, her ladyship's grandmother, been heard from?"
"She wired this morning asking for further particulars. Mr. Twombley answered her, I believe."
A slight pause ensued during which Judson watched Cyril as if expecting him to speak.
"And you have still nothing to say to me, my lord?" The detective spoke with evident disappointment.
"No, what else should I have to say?" replied Cyril with some surprise.
"That is, of course, for you to judge, my lord." His meaning was unmistakable. Cyril flushed angrily. Was it possible that the man dared to doubt his word? Dared to disbelieve his positive assertion that he knew nothing whatsoever about the murder? The damnable—suddenly he remembered! Remembered the lies he had been so glibly telling all day. Why should any one believe him in future? His ignominy was probably already stamped on his face.
"I have nothing more to say," replied Cyril in a strangely meek voice.
"That being the case, I'd better be off," said Judson, rising slowly from his chair.
"Where are you going now?"
"I can't quite tell, my lord. It is my intention to vanish, so to speak."
"Vanish."
"Yes, my lord. I work best in the dark; but you will hear from me as soon as I have something definite to report."
"I hope you will be successful," said Cyril.
"Thank you; I've never failed so far in anything I have undertaken. I must, however, warn you, my lord, that investigations sometimes lead to conclusions which no one could have foreseen when they were started. I always make a point of reminding my employers of this possibility."
What the devil was the man driving at, thought Cyril; did he suspect him by any chance? That would be really too absurd! The man was an ass.
"I shall never quarrel with you for discovering the truth," said Cyril, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring fiercely down at the little grey man. Then, turning abruptly on his heel he stalked indignantly out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"My lord."
Cyril shook himself reluctantly awake.
"Sorry to disturb you, but this 'as just come," said Peter, holding out a tray on which lay an opened telegram. His expression was so tragic that Cyril started up and seized the message.
It was addressed to Peter Thompkins, Geralton Castle, Newhaven, and read: "Change for the better. Your presence necessary." Signed, "Stuart-Smith."
"Why, that is good news!" cried Cyril greatly relieved. "What are you pulling such a long face for?"
"You call it good news that you haven't got rid of that young woman yet?" exclaimed Peter. "This Stuart-Smith, whoever he may be, who is wiring you to come to 'er, thinks she's your wife, doesn't he? That was bad enough when you were just Mr. Crichton, but now it's just hawful. A Lady Wilmersley can't be hid as a Mrs. Crichton could, begging your pardon. Oh, it'll all come out, so it will, and you'll be 'ad up for bigamy, like as not!" Peter almost groaned.
"Nonsense! As soon as the young lady recovers, she will join her friends and no one will be any the wiser."
Peter shook his head incredulously.
"Well, my lord, let's 'ope so! But what answer am I to send to this telegram? You can't leave the castle now."
"It would certainly be inconvenient," agreed his master.
"If you did, you'd be followed, my lord."
"What do you mean? The police can't be such fools as all that."
"'Tisn't the police, my lord. It's those men from the newspapers. The castle is full of them; they're nosing about heverywhere; there's not one of us as hasn't been pestered with the fellows. It's what you are like, what are you doing, what 'ave you done, and a lot more foolish questions hever since we set foot here yesterday afternoon. And 'we'll pay you well,' they say. Of course, I've not opened my mouth to them, but they're that persistent, they'll follow you to the end of the earth if you should leave the castle unexpectedly."
This was a complication that had not occurred to Cyril, and yet he felt he ought to have foreseen it. What was to be done? He couldn't abandon the girl. Suddenly Stuart-Smith's stern face and uncompromising upper lip rose vividly before him. Even if he wished to do so, the doctor would never allow him to ignore his supposed wife. If he did not answer his summons in person, Smith would certainly put the worst interpretation on his absence. He would argue that only a brute would neglect a wife who was lying seriously ill and the fact that the girl had been flogged could also be remembered against him. Dr. Smith was capable of taking drastic measures to force him into performing what he considered the latter's obvious duty.
Cyril did not know what to do. He had only a choice of evils. If he went, he would surely be followed and the girl's existence and hiding-place discovered. That would be fatal not only to him but to her, for she had feared detection above all things—why, he could not even surmise—he no longer even cared; but he had promised to protect her and meant to do so.
On the other hand, if he did not go, he ran the risk of the doctor's publishing the girl's whereabouts. Still, it was by no means certain he would do so, and if he wrote Smith a diplomatic letter, he might succeed in persuading him that it was best for the girl if he stayed away a day longer. Yes, that was the thing to do. Hastily throwing on a dressing-gown, he sat down at the desk. It was a difficult letter to write and he destroyed many sheets before he was finally satisfied. This was the result of his efforts:
"Dear Dr. Stuart-Smith:"I am infinitely relieved that your patient is better. As you addressed your wire here, I gather that you know of the tragic occurrence, which has kept me from her side. It is impossible for me to leave before the funeral without explaining my mission, and this I am very loath to do, as I am more than ever anxious to keep her malady a secret. Dr. Monet has always believed in the possibility of a cure, and as long as there is a chance of that, I am sure you will agree with me that I ought to make every sacrifice to protect her from gossip. If she did recover and her illness became known, it would greatly handicap her in her new life. Having to stay away from her would be even more distressing to me than it is if I could flatter myself that my presence would have a good effect upon her. I am sure, however, that such would not be the case."I shall return to London late to-morrow afternoon and will telephone you immediately on my arrival."I am sending this by a trustworthy servant, who will bring me your answer. I am most anxious to hear what you think of your patient's condition, mentally as well as physically. I am sure she could not be in better hands."
"Dear Dr. Stuart-Smith:
"I am infinitely relieved that your patient is better. As you addressed your wire here, I gather that you know of the tragic occurrence, which has kept me from her side. It is impossible for me to leave before the funeral without explaining my mission, and this I am very loath to do, as I am more than ever anxious to keep her malady a secret. Dr. Monet has always believed in the possibility of a cure, and as long as there is a chance of that, I am sure you will agree with me that I ought to make every sacrifice to protect her from gossip. If she did recover and her illness became known, it would greatly handicap her in her new life. Having to stay away from her would be even more distressing to me than it is if I could flatter myself that my presence would have a good effect upon her. I am sure, however, that such would not be the case.
"I shall return to London late to-morrow afternoon and will telephone you immediately on my arrival.
"I am sending this by a trustworthy servant, who will bring me your answer. I am most anxious to hear what you think of your patient's condition, mentally as well as physically. I am sure she could not be in better hands."
Then Cyril hesitated. What should he sign himself? Thompkins? No, he wished to inspire confidence; his own name would be better. So with a firm hand he wrote "Wilmersley."
It was the first time he had used his new signature and he heartily wished it had not been appended to such a document.
"Now, Peter," he said, "you must take the next train to London and carry this to Dr. Stuart-Smith. If he is not at the nursing home, telephone to his house and find out where he is. The letter must be delivered as soon as possible and you are to wait for a reply. If the doctor asks you any questions, answer as briefly as possible. In order to avoid comment you had better let it be known that you are going up to town to do some shopping for me. Buy something—anything. I want you also to call at the lodgings and tell them we shall return to-morrow. If you are followed, which I can't believe you will be, this will allay suspicion. Take a taxi and get back as soon as possible. Don't drive directly to the Home. You may mention to the doctor that I am extremely anxious about Mrs. Thompkins."
"Very good, my lord."
"Throw the sheets I have scribbled on into the fire and the blotting paper as well," ordered Cyril.
He felt rather proud of having thought of this detail, but with detectives and pressmen prowling around he must run no risks. It was with a very perturbed mind that Cyril finally went down to breakfast.
"Mrs. Eversley would like to speak to you, my lord, as soon as convenient," said Douglas as his master rose from the table. Cyril fancied he detected a gleam of suppressed excitement in the butler's eye.
"I'll see her at once," Cyril answered.
A stout, respectable-looking woman hesitated in the doorway.
"Come in, Mrs. Eversley," cried Cyril. "I'm glad to see you again. I've never forgotten you or your doughnuts."
The troubled face broke into a pleased smile as the woman dropped a courtesy.
"It's very kind of you to remember them, my lord, very kind indeed, and glad I am to see you again." The smile vanished. "This is a terrible business, my lord."
"Terrible," assented Cyril.
"His poor lordship! Mrs. Valdriguez has said for months and months that something like this was sure to happen some day."
"Do you mean to say that she prophesied that her ladyship would kill his lordship?" exclaimed Cyril.
"Yes, my lord, indeed she did! It made me feel that queer when it really 'appened."
"I should think so. It's most extraordinary."
"But begging your pardon, my lord, there is something special as made me ask to speak to you—something I thought you ought to know immediately."
"What is it?" Cyril had felt that some new trouble was brewing.
"One of the servants has disappeared, my lord."
"Disappeared? How? When?"
"Perhaps I'm making too much of it, but this murder has that upset me that I'm afraid of my own shadow and I says to myself, says I: 'Don't wait; go and tell his lordship at once and he'll know whether it is important or not.'"
"You did perfectly right. But who has disappeared?"
"Priscilla Prentice and perhaps she hasn't disappeared at all. This is how it is: The day before yesterday——"
"The day of the murder?" asked Cyril.
"Yes, my lord. Prentice came to me and asked if she could go to Newhaven to see a cousin she has there. The cousin is ill—leastways so she told me—and she wanted as a great favour to be allowed to spend the night with her, and she promised to come back by the carrier early next morning. It seemed all right, so I gave her permission and off she goes. Then yesterday this dreadful thing happened and Prentice went clean out of my head. I never thought of her again till breakfast this morning when Mr. Douglas says to me: 'Why, wherever is Miss Prentice?' You could 'ave knocked me down with a feather, I was that taken aback! So I says, 'Whatever can 'ave happened to her?'"
"When she heard of the murder, she may have taken fright. She may be waiting to return to the castle till the inquest and funeral are over," suggested Cyril.
"Then she ought at least to have sent word. Besides she should have got back before she could have heard of the murder."
"You had better send to the cousin's and find out if she is there. She may have been taken ill and had nobody to send a message by."
"We none of us know whereabouts this cousin lives, my lord."
"Newhaven is not a large place. It can't be difficult to find her."
"But we don't know her name, my lord."
"That certainly complicates matters. How long has this girl been at the castle?"
"Six months, my lord."
"Who did you get her from?"
"I advertised for her, my lord. Mrs. Valdriguez's eyes are not what they were and so she 'ad to have somebody to do the mending. I must say foreigners sew beautifully, so it was some time before I could get any one whose work suited Mrs. Valdriguez."
"What references did the girl give?"
"It was this way, my lord. She's very young, and this is her first place. But she was excellently recommended by Mr. Vaughan, vicar of Plumtree, who wrote that she was a most respectable girl and that he could vouch for her character. Those are his very words, my lord."
"That certainly sounded satisfactory."
"I'm glad you think so, my lord. So she came. Such a nice young woman she seemed, so 'ard-working and conscientious; one who kept 'erself to 'erself; never a word with the men—never, though she is so pretty."
"Oh, she is pretty, is she?" A faint but horrible suspicion flashed through Cyril's mind.
"Yes, my lord, as pretty as a picture."
"What does she look like?"
"She is tall and slight with dark hair and blue eyes," Mrs. Eversley answered. She was evidently taken aback at her master's interest in a servant's appearance and a certain reserve crept into her voice.
"Could she—would it be possible to mistake her for a lady?" stammered Cyril.
Mrs. Eversley started.
"Well, my lord, it's strange you should ask that, for Douglas, he always has said, 'Mark my words, Miss Prentice isn't what she seems,' and I must say she is very superior, very."
It wasn't, it couldn't be possible, thought Cyril; and yet——
"Did she see much of her ladyship?" he asked.
"Lately, Mrs. Valdriguez, seeing as what she was such a quiet girl, has allowed her to put the things she has mended back into her ladyship's room, and I know her ladyship has spoken to her, but how often she has done so I couldn't really say. Prentice didn't talk much."
"Did she seem much interested in her ladyship?"
"At first very much so. If we were talking about her ladyship, she would always stay and listen. Once, when one of the housemaids 'ad said something about her being crazy, I think, Prentice got quite excited, and when Mrs. Valdriguez had left the room, she said to me, 'I don't believe there is anything the matter with her ladyship; I think it just cruel the way she is kept locked up!' Begging your pardon, my lord, those were her very words. She made me promise not to repeat what she had said—least of all to Mrs. Valdriguez, and I never have, not till this minute."
"Did she ever suggest that she would like to help her ladyship to escape?"
"Why, my lord!" exclaimed Mrs. Eversley, staring at her master in astonishment. "That's just what she did do, just once—oh, you don't think she did it! And yet that's what they're all saying——"
"Is anything missing from her room?" he asked.
"I can't say, my lord; her trunk is locked and she took a small bag with her. But there are things in the drawers and a skirt and a pair of shoes in the wardrobe."
"From the appearance of the room, therefore, you should judge that she intended to return?"
"Ye-es, my lord—and yet I must say, I was surprised to see so few things about, and the skirt and shoes were very shabby."
"I suppose that by this time every one knows the girl is missing?" Cyril asked.
"The upper servants do, and the detective was after me to tell him all about her, but I wouldn't say a word till I had asked what your lordship's wishes are."
"I thought Judson had left the castle?"
"So he has, my lord; this is the man from Scotland Yard. Griggs is his name. He was 'ere before Judson, but he had left the castle before you arrived."
Impossible even to attempt, to keep her disappearance a secret, thought Cyril. After all, perhaps she was not hisprotégée. He was always jumping at erroneous conclusions, and a description is so misleading. On the other hand, the combination of black hair and blue eyes was a most unusual one. Besides, it was already sufficiently remarkable that two young and beautiful women had fled from Newhaven on the same day (beauty being alas such a rarity!), but that three should have done so was well-nigh incredible. But could even the most superior of upper servants possess that air of breeding which was one of the girl's most noticeable attributes. It was, of course, within the bounds of possibility that this maid was well-born and simply forced by poverty into a menial position. One thing was certain—if hisprotégéewas Priscilla Prentice, then this girl, in spite of her humble occupation, was a lady, and consequently more than ever in need of his protection and respect.
Well, assuming that it was Prentice he had rescued, what part had she played in the tragedy? Why had she feared arrest? She must have been present at the murder, but even in that case, why did she not realise that Lady Wilmersley's unbalanced condition would prevent suspicion from falling on any one else? The police had never even thought of her! And where had she hidden her mistress? It was all most mysterious.
Cyril sat weighing thepros and consof one theory after another, completely oblivious of his housekeeper's presence.
Douglas, entering, discreetly interrupted his cogitations:
"The inquest is about to begin, my lord."
On entering the hall Cyril found that a seat on the right hand of the coroner had been reserved for him, but he chose a secluded corner from which he could watch the proceedings unobserved.
On the left of Mr. Tinker sat a tall, imposing-looking man, who, on inquiry, proved to be Inspector Griggs.
The first part of the inquest developed nothing new. It was only when Mustapha stepped forward that Cyril's interest revived and he forgot the problem of hisprotégée'sidentity.
The Turk, with the exception of a red fez, was dressed as a European, but his swarthy skin, large, beak-like nose, and deep, sombre eyes, in which brooded the mystery of the East, proclaimed his nationality.
Cyril tried in vain to form some estimate of the man's character, to probe the depths of those fathomless eyes, but ignorant as he was of the Oriental, he found it impossible to differentiate between Mustapha's racial and individual characteristics. That he was full of infinite possibilities was evident—even his calmness was suggestive of potential passion. A man to be watched, decided Cyril.
Mustapha gave his testimony in a low, clear voice, and although he spoke with a strong foreign accent, his English was purer than that of his fellow servants.
That he had nothing to do with the murder seemed from the first conclusively proved. Several of the servants had seen him enter his room, which adjoined that of the butler, at about half-past nine—that is to say, an hour and a half before Lord Wilmersley's death could, in the doctor's opinion, have taken place—and Douglas on cross—reiterated his conviction that Mustapha could not have left his room without his having heard him do so, as he, Douglas, was a very light sleeper.
In answer to questions from the coroner, Mustapha told how he had entered the late Lord Wilmersley's service some fifteen years previously, at which time his master owned a house on the outskirts of Constantinople. As he dressed as a Mussulman and consorted entirely with the natives, Mustapha did not know that he was a foreigner till his master informed him of the fact just before leaving Turkey.
When questioned as to Lady Wilmersley, he was rather non-committal. No, he had never believed her to be dangerous.—Had she seemed happy? No, she cried often.—Did his lordship ever ill-treat her? Not that he knew of. His lordship was very patient with her tears.—Did he know how she could have obtained a pistol? Yes, there was one concealed on his master's desk. He had discovered that it was missing.—How could a pistol lie concealedona desk? It was hidden inside an ancient steel gauntlet, ostensibly used as a paperweight. Mustapha had found it one day quite accidentally.—Did he tell his lordship of his discovery? No. His master was always afraid of being spied upon.—Why? He did not know.—Did Mustapha know of any enemy of his lordship who was likely to have sought such a revenge? No. His master's enemies were not in England.—Then his lordship had enemies? As all men have, so had he.—But he had no special enemy? An enemy is an enemy, but his master's enemies were not near.—How could he be so sure of that? He would have had word.—How? From whom? From his, Mustapha's friends.—Did his lordship fear his enemies would follow him to England? At first, perhaps, but not lately.—If his lordship's enemies had found him, would they have been likely to kill him? Who can tell? The heart of man is very evil.—But he knew no one who could have done this thing? No one.—Did he believe his mistress had done it? Mustapha hesitated for the first time. "They say so," he finally answered.
"But you, what do you think?" insisted the coroner.
"The ways of women are dark."
"Do you believe her ladyship killed your master—Yes or No?" repeated the coroner impatiently.
"It is not for me to say," replied Mustapha with unruffled dignity.
The coroner, feeling himself rebuked, dismissed the man with a hurried "That will do."
Mrs. Valdriguez was next called.
She was a tall, thin woman between fifty and sixty. Her black hair, freely sprinkled with silver, was drawn into a tight knot at the back of her small head. Her pale, haggard face, with its finely-chiselled nose, thin-lipped mouth, and slightly-retreating chin, was almost beautified by her large, sunken eyes, which still glowed with extraordinary brilliancy. Her black dress was austere in its simplicity and she wore no ornament except a small gold cross suspended on her bosom.
The woman was obviously nervous. She held her hands tightly clasped in front of her, and her lips twitched from time to time. She spoke so low that Cyril had to lean forward to catch her answers, but her English was perfectly fluent. It was chiefly her accent and intonation which betrayed her foreign birth.
"You lived here in the time of the late Lady Wilmersley, did you not?" began the coroner.
"Yes, sir."
"In what capacity?"
"As lady's maid, sir."
"When did you leave here, and why?"
"I left when her ladyship died."
"Did you return to Spain?"
"Yes, sir."
"How did you happen to enter the present Lady Wilmersley's service?"
"Lord Wilmersley sent for me when he was on his wedding journey."
"Had you seen him after you left Geralton?"
"From time to time."
"Do you know whether his lordship had any enemies?"
"Not of late years."
"Then you did know some. Who were they?"
"Those that he had are either dead or have forgiven," Valdriguez answered, and as she did so, she fingered the cross on her breast.
"So that you can think of no one likely to have resorted to such a terrible revenge?"
"No one, sir."
"On the night of the murder you did not assist her ladyship to undress, so I understand?"
"I never did. From the time her ladyship left her room to go to dinner I never saw her again till the following morning."
"And you noticed nothing unusual that evening?"
"I can't say that. Her ladyship was very much excited. She cried and begged me to help her to escape."
A murmur of excitement ran through the hall.
"What did you say to her?"
"I told her that she was his lordship's lawful wife; that she had vowed before God to honour and obey him in all things."
"Had she ever made an attempt to escape?"
"No, sir."
"Did she ever give you any reason for wishing to do so?"
"She told me that his lordship threatened to shut her up in a lunatic asylum, but I assured her he would never do so. He loved her too much."
"You consider that he was very devoted to her?"
The woman closed her eyes for a second.
"He loved her as I have never before known a man love a woman," she answered, with suppressed vehemence.
"Why then did he send for the doctors to commit her to an institution?"
"I do not know."
At this point of the interrogation Cyril scribbled a few words, which he gave to one of the footmen to carry to the coroner. When the latter had read them, he asked:
"Did you consider her ladyship a dangerous lunatic?"
"No, sir."
"Why, then, did you prophesy that she would kill your master?"
The woman trembled slightly and her hand again sought the cross.
"I—I believed Lord Wilmersley's time had come, but I knew not how he would die. I did not know that she would be the instrument—only I feared it."
"Why did you think his lordship's days were numbered?"
"Sir, if I were to tell you my reasons, you would say that they were not reasons. You would call them superstitions and me a foolish old woman. I believe what I believe, and you, what you have been taught. God shall judge. Suffice it, sir, that my reasons for believing that his lordship would die soon are not such as would appeal to your common-sense."
"H'm, well—I confess that signs and omens are not much in my line, but I must really insist upon your giving some explanation as to why you feared that your mistress would murder Lord Wilmersley."
The woman's lips twitched convulsively and her eyes glowed with sombre fire.
"Because—if you will know it—he loved her more than was natural—he loved her more than his God; and the Lord God is a jealous God."
"And this is really your only reason for your extraordinary supposition?"
"For me it is enough," she replied.
"Well, well—very curious indeed!" said the coroner, regarding the woman intently.
He paused for a moment.
"How did you pass the evening of the murder?" he asked.
"In my room. I had a headache and went early to bed."
"I suppose somebody saw you after you left Lady Wilmersley's room who can support your statement?"
"I do not know. I do not remember seeing any one," answered Valdriguez, throwing her head back and looking a little defiantly at Mr. Tinker.
"Ah, really? That is a pity," said the coroner. "However, there is no reason to doubt your word—as yet," he added.
Mrs. Eversley was next called. The coroner questioned her exhaustively as to the missing Priscilla Prentice. He seemed especially anxious to know whether the girl had owned a bicycle. She had not.—Did she know how to ride one? Yes, Mrs. Eversley had seen her try one belonging to the under-housemaid.—Did many of the servants own bicycles? Yes.—Had one of them been taken? She did not know.
On further inquiry, however, it was found that all the machines were accounted for.
It had not occurred to Cyril to speculate as to how, if Prentice had really aided her mistress to escape, she had been able to cover the nine miles which separated the castle from Newhaven. Eighteen miles in one evening on foot! Not perhaps an impossible feat, but very nearly so, especially as on her way back she would have been handicapped by Lady Wilmersley, a delicate woman, quite unaccustomed—at all events during the last three years—to any form of exercise.
It was evident, however, that this difficulty had not escaped the coroner, for all the servants and more especially the gardeners and under-gardeners were asked if they had seen in any of the less-frequented paths traces of a carriage or bicycle. But no one had seen or heard anything suspicious.
The head gardener and his wife, who lived at the Lodge, swore that the tall, iron gates had been locked at half-past nine, and that they had heard no vehicle pass on the highroad during the night.
At this point in the proceedings whispering was audible in the back of the hall. The coroner paused to see what was the matter. A moment later Douglas stepped up to him and said something in a low voice. The coroner nodded.
"Mrs. Willis," he called.
A middle-aged woman, very red in the face, came reluctantly forward.
"Well, Mrs. Willis, I hear you have something to tell me?"
"Indeed no, sir," exclaimed the woman, picking nervously at her gloves. "It is nothing at all. Only when I 'eard you asking about carriages in the night, I says to Mrs. Jones—well, one passed, I know that. Leastways, it didn't exactly pass; it stayed."
"The carriage stayed; where?"
"It wasn't a carriage."
"It wasn't a carriage and it stayed? Can't you explain yourself more clearly, Mrs. Willis? This isn't a conundrum, is it?"
"It was a car, a motor-car," stammered the woman.
"A car! And it stopped? Where?"
"I couldn't say exactly, but not far from our cottage."
"And where is your cottage?"
"On the 'ighroad near the long lane."
"I see." The coroner was obviously excited. "Your husband is one of the gardeners here, isn't he?"
"Yes, sir."
"So there is doubtless a path connecting your cottage with the castle grounds?"
"Yes, sir."
"About how far from your cottage was the car?"
"I didn't see it, sir; I just 'eard it; but it wasn't far, that I know," reiterated the woman.
"Did you hear any one pass through your garden?"
"No, sir."
"Could they have done so without your hearing them?"
"They might."
"Was the car going to or coming from Newhaven?"
"It was coming from Newhaven."
"Then it must have stopped at the foot of the long lane."
"Yes, sir; that's just about where I thought it was."
"Is there a path connecting Long Lane with the highroad?"
"Yes, a narrow one."
"What time was it when you heard the car? Now try and be very accurate."
"I wouldn't like to swear, sir, but I think it was between eleven and twelve."
"Did your husband hear it also?"
"No, sir, 'e was fast asleep, but I wasn't feeling very well, so I had got up thinking I'd make myself a cup of tea, and just then I 'eard a car come whizzing along, and then there was a bang. Oh, says I, they've burst their wheel, that's what they've done, me knowing about cars. I know it takes a bit of mending, a wheel does, so I wasn't surprised when I 'eard no more of them for a time—and I 'ad just about forgotten all about them, so I had, when I 'ears them move off."
"And they did not pass your cottage?"
"No, sir, I'm sure of that."
"Did you hear anything else?"
"Well, sir"—the woman fidgeted uneasily, "I thought—but I shouldn't like to swear to it—not on the Bible—but I fancied I 'eard a cry."
"What sort of a cry? Was it a man or a woman's?"
"I really couldn't say—and perhaps what I 'eard was not a cry at all——"
"Well, well—this is most important. A motor-car that is driven at half-past eleven at night to the foot of a lane which leads nowhere but to the castle grounds, and then returns in the direction it came from—very extraordinary—very. We must look into this," exclaimed the coroner.
And with this the inquest was adjourned.
Dr. Stuart-Smith to Mr. Peter Thompkins, Geralton Castle, Newhaven."Dear Lord Wilmersley:"Lady Wilmersley showed signs of returning consciousness at half-past five yesterday afternoon. I was at once sent for, but when I arrived she had fallen asleep. She woke again at nine o'clock and this time asked where she was. She spoke indistinctly and did not seem to comprehend what the nurse said to her. When I reached the patient, I found her sitting up in bed. Her pulse was irregular; her temperature, subnormal. I am glad to be able to assure you that Lady Wilmersley is at present perfectly rational. She is, however, suffering from hysterical amnesia complicated by aphasia, but I trust this is only a temporary affection. At first she hesitated over the simplest words, but before I left she could talk with tolerable fluency."I asked Lady Wilmersley whether she wished to see you. She has not only forgotten that she has a husband but has no very clear idea as to what a husband is. In fact, she appears to have preserved no precise impression of anything. She did not even remember her own name. When I told it to her, she said it sounded familiar, only that she did not associate it with herself. Of you personally she has no recollection, although I described you as accurately as I could. However, as your name is the only thing she even dimly recalls, I hope that when you see her, you will be able to help her bridge the gulf which separates her from the past."She seemed distressed at her condition, so I told her that she had been ill and that it was not uncommon for convalescents to suffer temporarily from loss of memory. When I left her, she was perfectly calm."She slept well last night, and this morning she has no difficulty in expressing herself, but I do not allow her to talk much as she is still weak."I quite understand the delicacy of your position and sympathise with you most deeply. Although I am anxious to try what effect your presence will have on Lady Wilmersley, the experiment can be safely postponed till to-morrow afternoon."I trust the inquest will clear up the mystery which surrounds the late Lord Wilmersley's death."Believe me,"Sincerely yours,"A. Stuart-Smith."
Dr. Stuart-Smith to Mr. Peter Thompkins, Geralton Castle, Newhaven.
"Dear Lord Wilmersley:
"Lady Wilmersley showed signs of returning consciousness at half-past five yesterday afternoon. I was at once sent for, but when I arrived she had fallen asleep. She woke again at nine o'clock and this time asked where she was. She spoke indistinctly and did not seem to comprehend what the nurse said to her. When I reached the patient, I found her sitting up in bed. Her pulse was irregular; her temperature, subnormal. I am glad to be able to assure you that Lady Wilmersley is at present perfectly rational. She is, however, suffering from hysterical amnesia complicated by aphasia, but I trust this is only a temporary affection. At first she hesitated over the simplest words, but before I left she could talk with tolerable fluency.
"I asked Lady Wilmersley whether she wished to see you. She has not only forgotten that she has a husband but has no very clear idea as to what a husband is. In fact, she appears to have preserved no precise impression of anything. She did not even remember her own name. When I told it to her, she said it sounded familiar, only that she did not associate it with herself. Of you personally she has no recollection, although I described you as accurately as I could. However, as your name is the only thing she even dimly recalls, I hope that when you see her, you will be able to help her bridge the gulf which separates her from the past.
"She seemed distressed at her condition, so I told her that she had been ill and that it was not uncommon for convalescents to suffer temporarily from loss of memory. When I left her, she was perfectly calm.
"She slept well last night, and this morning she has no difficulty in expressing herself, but I do not allow her to talk much as she is still weak.
"I quite understand the delicacy of your position and sympathise with you most deeply. Although I am anxious to try what effect your presence will have on Lady Wilmersley, the experiment can be safely postponed till to-morrow afternoon.
"I trust the inquest will clear up the mystery which surrounds the late Lord Wilmersley's death.
"Believe me,"Sincerely yours,"A. Stuart-Smith."
"Believe me,"Sincerely yours,"A. Stuart-Smith."
Cyril stared at the letter aghast. If the girl herself had forgotten her identity, how could he hope to find out the truth? He did not even dare to instigate a secret inquiry—certainly not till the Geralton mystery had been cleared up. And she believed herself to be his wife! It was too awful!
Cyril passed a sleepless night and the next morning found him still undecided as to what course to pursue. It was, therefore, a pale face and a preoccupied mien that he presented to the inspection of the county, which had assembled in force to attend his cousin's funeral. Never in the memory of man had such an exciting event taken place and the great hall in which the catafalque had been erected was thronged with men of all ages and conditions.
In the state drawing-room Cyril stood and received the condolences and faced the curiosity of the county magnates.
The ordeal was almost over, when the door was again thrown open and the butler announced, "Lady Upton."
Leaning heavily on a gold-headed cane Lady Upton advanced majestically into the room.
A sudden hush succeeded her entrance; every eye was riveted upon her. She seemed, however, superbly indifferent to the curiosity she aroused, and one felt, somehow, that she was not only indifferent but contemptuous.
She was a tall woman, taller, although she stooped a little, than most of the men present. Notwithstanding her great age, she gave the impression of extraordinary vigour. Her face was long and narrow, with a stern, hawk-like nose, a straight, uncompromising mouth, and a protruding chin. Her scanty, white hair was drawn tightly back from her high forehead; a deep furrow separated her bushy, grey eyebrows and gave an added fierceness to her small, steel-coloured eyes. An antiquated bonnet perched perilously on the back of her head; her dress was quite obviously shabby; and yet no one could for a moment have mistaken her for anything but a truly great lady.
Disregarding Cyril's outstretched hand, she deliberately raised her lorgnette and looked at him for a moment in silence.
"Well! You are a Crichton at any rate," she said at last. Having given vent to this ambiguous remark, she waved her glasses, as if to sweep away the rest of the company, and continued: "I wish to speak to you alone."
Her voice was deep and harsh and she made no effort to lower it.
"So this was Anita Wilmersley's grandmother. What an old tartar!" thought Cyril.
"It is almost time for the funeral to start," he said aloud and he tried to convey by his manner that he, at any rate, had no intention of allowing her to ride rough-shod over him.
"I know," she snapped, "so hurry, please. These gentlemen will excuse us."
"Certainly." "Of course." "We will wait in the hall." Cyril heard them murmur and, such was the force of the old lady's personality, that youths and grey beards jostled each other in their anxiety to get out of the room as quickly as possible.
"Get me a chair," commanded Lady Upton. "No, not that one. I want to sit down, not lie down."
With her stick she indicated a high, straight-backed chair, which had been relegated to a corner.
Having seated herself, she took a pair of spectacles out of her reticule and proceeded to wipe them in a most leisurely manner.
Cyril fidgeted impatiently.
Finally, her task completed to her own satisfaction, she adjusted her glasses and crossed her hands over the top of her cane.
"No news of my granddaughter, I suppose," she demanded.
"None, I am sorry to say."
"Anita is a fool, but I am certain—absolutely certain, mind you—that she did not kill that precious husband of hers, though I don't doubt he richly deserved it."
"I am surprised that you of all people should speak of my cousin in that tone," said Cyril and he looked at her meaningly.
"Of course, you believe what every one believes, that I forced Ann into that marriage. Stuff and nonsense! I merely pointed out to her that she could not do better than take him. She had not a penny to her name and after my death would have been left totally unprovided for. I have only my dower, as you know."
"But, how could you have allowed a girl whose mind was affected to marry?"
"Fiddlesticks! You don't believe that nonsense, do you? Newspaper twaddle, that is all that amounts to."
"I beg your pardon, Arthur himself gave out that her condition was such that she was unable to see any one."
"Impossible! He wrote to me quite frequently and never hinted at such a thing."
"Nevertheless I assure you that is the case."
"Then he is a greater blackguard than I took him to be——"
"But did you not know that he kept her practically a prisoner here?"
"Certainly not!"
"And she never complained to you of his treatment of her?"
"I once got a hysterical letter from her begging me to let her come back to me, but as the only reason she gave for wishing to leave her husband was that he was personally distasteful to her, I wrote back that as she had made her bed, she must lie on it."
"And even after that appeal you never made an attempt to see Anita and find out for yourself how Arthur was treating her?"
"I am not accustomed to being cross-questioned, Lord Wilmersley. I am accountable to no one but my God for what I have done or failed to do. I never liked Anita. She takes after her father, whom my daughter married without my consent. When she was left an orphan, I took charge of her and did my duty by her; but I never pretended that I was not glad when she married and, as she did so of her own free-will, I cannot see that her future life was any concern of mine."
Cyril could hardly restrain his indignation. This proud, hard, selfish old woman had evidently never ceased to visit her resentment of her daughter's marriage on the child of that marriage. He could easily picture the loveless and miserable existence poor Anita must have led. Was it surprising that she should have taken the first chance that was offered her of escaping from her grandmother's thraldom? She had probably been too ignorant to realise what sort of a man Arthur Wilmersley really was and too innocent to know what she was pledging herself to.
"I have come here to-day," continued Lady Upton, "because I considered it seemly that my granddaughter's only relative should put in an appearance at the funeral and also because I wanted you to tell me exactly what grounds the police have for suspecting Anita."
Cyril related as succinctly as possible everything which had so far come to light. He, however, carefully omitted to mention his meeting with the girl on the train. As the latter could not be Anita Wilmersley, he felt that he was not called upon to inform Lady Upton of this episode.
"Well!" exclaimed Lady Upton, when he had finished. "All I can say is, that Anita is quite incapable of firing a pistol at any one, even if it were thrust into her hand. You may not believe me, but that is because you don't know her. I do. She hasn't the spirit of a mouse. Unless Arthur had frightened her out of her wits, she would never have screwed up courage to leave him, and it would be just like her to crawl away in the night instead of walking out of the front door like a sensible person. Bah! I have no patience with such a spineless creature! You men, however, consider it an engaging feminine attribute for a woman to have neither character nor sense!" Lady Upton snorted contemptuously and glared at Cyril as if she held him personally responsible for the bad taste of his sex.
As he made no answer to her tirade, she continued after a moment more calmly.
"It seems to me highly improbable that Anita has been murdered; so I want you to engage a decent private detective who will work only for us. We must find her before the police do so. I take it for granted that you will help me in this matter and that you are anxious—although, naturally, not as anxious as I am—to prevent your cousin's widow from being arrested."
"A woman who has been treated by her husband as Arthur seems to have treated Anita, is entitled to every consideration that her husband's family can offer her," replied Cyril. "I am already employing a detective and if he finds Anita I will communicate with you at once."
"Good! Now remember that my granddaughter is perfectly sane; on the other hand, I think it advisable to keep this fact a secret for the present. Circumstantial evidence is so strongly against her that we may have to resort to the plea of insanity to save her neck. That girl has been a thorn in my flesh since the day she was born; but she shall not be hanged, if I can help it," said Lady Upton, shutting her mouth with an audible click.