When Mr. Flexen reached the Castle Wilkins took him to a bedroom in the
west wing. He found that his portmanteau had arrived, had been unpacked,
and that his dress clothes were laid out ready for him on the bed.
As he dressed he cudgelled his brains for the reason why Lady
Loudwater and Colonel Grey had lied. Then an idea came to him: were
they lying to shield the unknown woman with whom Lord Loudwater had
had that violent quarrel? The longer he considered this hypothesis the
more possible it grew.
He must find that unknown woman, and at once. Possibly Mr. Carrington, as
Lord Loudwater's legal adviser, would be able to put him on her track.
He came to dinner, still perplexed, to find Mr. Manley waiting to
bear him company. They talked for a while about public affairs and
the weather.
Then Mr. Flexen said: "Was Lord Loudwater the kind of man to confide in
his lawyers?"
"Not if he could help it," said Mr. Manley with conviction.
Mr. Flexen hoped that Lord Loudwater had not been able to help confiding
in his lawyers about this unknown woman.
Then he said: "By the way, do you know Colonel Grey?"
"Oh, yes. He was here a lot up to a little while ago. Then he had a row,
the inevitable row, with Lord Loudwater, and he hasn't been here since.
He dropped on to Lord Loudwater for bullying Lady Loudwater, and he
didn't drop on him lightly either. Hell, I fancy, was what he gave him."
"Yes; I gathered that something of the kind had taken place. What kind of
a man is the Colonel?" said Mr. Flexen carelessly.
"The best man in the world not to have a row with. He's a cold terror,"
said Mr. Manley, in a tone of enthusiastic conviction. "He always seems
rather cooler than a cucumber. But my belief is that that coolness is
just the mask of really violent emotions. I saw them working once. I came
in on the end of his row with Loudwater--just the end of it--my goodness!
From my point of view, the dramatist's, you know, he's the most
interesting person in the county--bar Lady Loudwater, of course."
"I should never have thought him a terror," said Mr. Flexen, in a tone of
somewhat incredulous surprise. "I had a talk with him this evening about
Lord Loudwater's death, and he seemed to me to be a pleasant enough
fellow and an excellent soldier. I take it that he's very keen on his
career in the Army?"
"Not a bit of it. The war is merely a side issue with him," said Mr.
Manley in an assured tone. "I know from what he told me himself. We were
talking over our experiences."
"But, hang it all! he's a V. C.!" cried Mr. Flexen.
"Yes, he's a V. C. all right. But that's because he's one of those men
who have the knack of taking an interest in everything they turn their
hands to, and doing it well. But his two passions are Chinese art and
women," said Mr. Manley.
"Women?" said Mr. Flexen. "He didn't strike me as being that kind of man
at all. He seemed a quite simple, straightforward soldier."
"Simplicity and a passion for Chinese art don't go together--at least,
not what is usually called simplicity," said Mr. Manley dryly. "A friend
of mine, who knows all about him, told me that he had had more really
serious love affairs than any other man in London. He seems to be one of
those men who fall in love hard every time they fall in love. He said
that it was one of the mysteries of the polite world how he had kept out
of the Divorce Court."
"Sounds an odd type," said Mr. Flexen, storing up the information, and
marking how little it agreed with his own observation of Colonel Grey.
"And you say that Lady Loudwater is interesting too?"
"Oh, come! Are you pumping me or merely pulling my leg?" said Mr. Manley.
"Surely you can see that Lady Loudwater is pure Italian Renaissance. She
is one of those subtle, mysterious creatures that Leonardo and Luini were
always painting, compact of emotion."
"It's so long since I was at Balliol, and then I was doing Indian Civil
work--the languages, you know. I've forgotten all I knew about the
Renaissance in Italy, and I don't look at many pictures. All the same, I
think you're wrong--your dramatic imagination, you know. My own idea is
that Lady Loudwater, at any rate, is a quite simple creature."
"It isn't mine," said Mr. Manley firmly. "She's a great deal too
intelligent to be simple, and she comes of far too intelligent a family."
"What family?" said Mr. Flexen.
"She's a Quainton, with Italian blood in her veins."
"The deuce she is!" cried Mr. Flexen, and half a dozen stories of the
Quaintons rose in his mind.
He must amend his impressions of Lady Loudwater.
"And she has a keener sense of humour than any woman I ever came across,"
said Mr. Manley, driving his contention home.
"Has she?" said Mr. Flexen.
There was a pause. Then Mr. Manley said in a musing tone: "Do you suppose
that Colonel Grey finds her simple?"
"What? You don't think that there is really anything serious between
them?" said Mr. Flexen quickly.
"No, not really serious--at any rate, on Colonel Grey's part. You can
hardly expect a man, recovering very slowly from three bad wounds and
still crocked up, to fall in love, can you? Especially a man who, when he
does fall in love, falls in love with the violence with which Grey is
charged," said Mr. Manley.
"There is that," said Mr. Flexen. "But that wouldn't prevent Lady
Loudwater from falling in love with Colonel Grey. And after the way her
husband treated her, she must have needed something in the way of
affection--badly."
"It's no good a woman falling in love with a man unless he falls in love
with her," said Mr. Manley, in the tone of a philosopher. "Besides, women
don't fall in love with men who are so feeble from illness as the Colonel
seems to be. How can there be the attraction? She might, of course, want
to mother him very keenly. But that's quite a different thing." He
paused, then added in a tone of some anxiety: "I say, you're not trying
to mix her up with the murder--if it was a murder?"
"I'm not trying to mix anybody up in it," said Mr. Flexen slowly. "But I
don't mind telling you that it is growing quite a pretty problem, and to
solve a problem you must have every factor in it. You see that the
strong point about both Lady Loudwater and Colonel Grey is, on your own
showing, that they are uncommonly clever; and only stupid people commit
murder--except, of course, once in a blue moon."
"But what about these gangs of criminals we sometimes read about, with
extraordinarily clever men at the head of them? Don't they exist?" said
Mr. Manley, in a tone of surprise.
"They exist; but they don't commit murders--not in Europe, at any rate,"
said Mr. Flexen. "In the East and in the United States it's different
perhaps. Murder is always as much of a blunder as a crime. It makes
people so keen after the criminal. No: no really intelligent criminal
commits murder."
"Of course, that's true," said Mr. Manley readily. He paused, then added
in a thoughtful tone: "I wonder whether the war has weakened our
conception of the sanctity of human life?"
"I shouldn't wonder," said Mr. Flexen; and their talk drifted into a
discussion of generalities.
He was glad that he was staying at the Castle. His talk with Mr. Manley
had been illuminating.
Olivia dined in her sitting-room, and with a poor appetite. Away from
Grey, she had fallen back into her anxiety and fearfulness. Wilkins was
waiting on her, an insensible block of a fellow; but even he perceived
that she was very little aware of what she was eating, and now and again
paused, and in some worrying train of thought forgot that she was
dining at all.
After dinner, however, her mood changed. The fearfulness and anxiety at
times vanished from her face, and a pleasant, eager expectancy took
their place.
At a quarter to nine she took a dark wrap from her wardrobe, went quietly
down the stairs, and slipped out of the side door, across the east lawn,
and into the path through the shrubbery, unseen. Grey had suggested that
he should come to the Castle after dinner to spend the evening with her;
but they had decided that it would be wiser to meet in the pavilion.
There would be talk if he spent the evening with her so soon after her
husband's death, with his body still unburied in the house. This was the
only mention they made of him all the time they spent together. Besides,
both of them found the pavilion in the wood a far more delightful
meeting-place than the Castle. In the pavilion they felt that they were
out of the world.
Grey, too anxious and restless to await her at the pavilion, had come
down the wood and into the end of the path through the shrubbery. It
startled her to come upon him so suddenly. But when they came out of the
shrubbery into the moonlit aisle of the wood, the fearfulness and
anxiety and restlessness had vanished utterly from their faces; both of
them were smiling.
They walked slowly, saying little, touching now and again as they
swayed in their walk along the turf. It seemed wiser not to light the
candles in the pavilion. The moonlight, shining through the high
windows, gave them light enough to see one another's eyes. It was all
they needed. The time passed quickly in the ineffable confidences of
lovers. They had a hundred things to tell one another, a hundred things
to ask one another, in their effort to attain that oneness which is the
aim of all true love. But in their joy in being together, in the joy of
both of them, there was a feverishness, a sense that it was a menaced
joy which must needs be brief. Again they were striving to wring the
most out of the hour which was so swiftly passing. At times the sense of
danger which hung over them was so strong, that they clung to one
another like frightened children in the dark.
Though Mr. Flexen had at the time shown himself somewhat unbelieving in
the matter of Mr. Manley's conclusions about the character and
temperament of Grey and Olivia, the impression they had made on him grew
stronger. He was too good a judge of men not to perceive that the budding
dramatist had the intelligent imagination which makes for real
shrewdness, and he was not disposed to underrate the value of the
imagination in forming judgments of men and women. Probably Colonel Grey
was a man of less intensity of emotion than Mr. Manley had declared, and
Lady Loudwater less subtile and intelligent. But, after making these
reductions, he had here possible actors in a drama of passion; and though
it was his experience that money, not passion, is the most frequent
motive of murder, he must take the probability of Lord Loudwater's murder
being a crime of passion into account, though, of course, the violent
Hutchings, threatened with ruin, would undoubtedly benefit from a
monetary point of view by the murder. At the same time, Hutchings had
just had an interview, which had gone better probably than he had
expected, with an uncommonly pretty girl.
Mr. Carrington arrived soon after breakfast next morning, and Mr. Flexen
at once discussed the matter of the inquest with him and the Coroner. He
found the lawyer chiefly eager to have as little scandal as possible, and
the Coroner took his cue from the lawyer. This suited Mr. Flexen
admirably. He had no wish to show his hand so early. He foresaw that if
the story of William Roper were told, and the story of Lord Loudwater's
quarrel with Colonel Grey at the "Cart and Horses," there would be a
painful scandal. The majority of the people of the neighbourhood would at
once believe and declare that Lady Loudwater, or Colonel Grey, or both,
had murdered Lord Loudwater. Such a scandal would in no way serve his
purpose. It might rather hamper him. Pressure might be put on him which
might force him to take steps before the time was ripe for them.
There was no difficulty in their having exactly the kind of inquest they
wanted, for it was wholly in the hands of Mr. Flexen and the Coroner.
After careful discussion they decided to limit it to Dr. Thornhill's
evidence, and that of the servants with regard to the dead nobleman's
mood on the night of his death. Mr. Carrington urged strongly that full
prominence should be given to the fact that the wound might have been
self-inflicted, and the Coroner promised that this should be done.
When the Coroner had left them the lawyer said to Mr. Flexen: "In the
case of a man like the late Lord Loudwater, you can't be too careful, you
know. Really, it would be better if the jury brought in a verdict of
suicide. A suicide in a family is always better than a murder."
"H'm! You could hardly expect me to rest content with such a verdict,"
said Mr. Flexen. "Not, I mean, on the evidence."
"Oh, no; I shouldn't," said Mr. Carrington. "All I want to avoid is a lot
of quite unnecessary painful scandal, which won't lead to anything of use
to you, about innocent people connected with my late client. You won't
act without something pretty definite to go upon, while the
scandalmongers will talk on no grounds at all. Lord Loudwater was a queer
customer, and goodness knows what will come to light, for, of course,
you'll investigate the affair thoroughly."
The inquest accordingly was conducted on these lines. Only Dr. Thornhill,
Wilkins and Holloway were called as witnesses; and the Coroner directed
the jury to bring in a verdict to the effect that Lord Loudwater had died
of a knife-wound, and that there was no evidence to show whether it was
self-inflicted or not.
But in this he failed. The jury, muddle-headed, obstinate country folk,
had made up their minds that Lord Loudwater was the kind of man to be
murdered, and that, therefore, he had been murdered. They brought in
the verdict that Lord Loudwater had been murdered by some person or
persons unknown.
Mr. Flexen, Mr. Carrington and the Coroner were annoyed, but they had had
too wide an experience of juries to be surprised.
"This will let loose a horde of reporters on us," said Mr. Carrington
very gloomily.
"It will," said Mr. Flexen. "The pet sleuths of the _Wire_ and the
_Planet_ will leave London in about an hour."
"Well, they'll have to be dealt with," said Mr. Carrington.
"Oh, they're all right. I probably know them. I'll get them to work with
me. They must be treated very nicely," said Mr. Flexen cheerfully.
"They're always a confounded nuisance," said Mr. Carrington, frowning.
"Not if they're kindly treated. Indeed, I shall very likely find them
really useful," said Mr. Flexen. "But you might give the servants a
hint to be careful of what they say. The hint will come best from you,
and be much more effective than if it came from any one else. You
represent the family."
"I'll see about it," said Mr. Carrington, and he went to Olivia's boudoir
to confer with her about the invitations to the funeral.
Mr. Flexen was, indeed, little disturbed by the prospect of the coming of
the newspaper men. A popular member of the chief literary and
journalistic club in London, he would probably know them, or they would
know of him; and he would find them ready enough to work with him.
Besides, even if they discovered that the quarrel between Colonel Grey
and Lord Loudwater had its origin in Lady Loudwater, in the present state
of mind of the country, they would have to move very cautiously indeed in
the case of a V.C.
He did not, indeed, think it likely that they would discover the cause of
the quarrel for some time--possibly not before their papers had tired of
the business and sent them on other errands. Mrs. Turnbull only knew of
Lord Loudwater's threat to hound Colonel Grey out of the Army; she did
not know the reason of his fury and his threat. Elizabeth Twitcher would
certainly hold her tongue about Lord Loudwater's subsequent quarrel with
Lady Loudwater, and his accusations and threats; Mrs. Carruthers was even
more unlikely to tell of it. It was unlikely that William Roper would
come within the ken of the newspaper men. No one could tell them that he
was the great repository of facts in the case, and Mr. Flexen believed
that he had given him good cause to keep his mouth shut till he called on
him to open it.
Taking one thing with another, he thought it more than likely that the
newspaper men would not hinder him in his purpose of dealing with the
affair in his own way.
On the other hand, they might very well be used to help him discover the
unknown woman who had had the furious quarrel with Lord Loudwater at
about eleven o'clock. Indeed, he regarded the information about that
quarrel as a sop to be thrown to them. She afforded just the element of
melodrama in the case which would be most grateful to their different
newspapers, and provide them with plenty of the kind of headlines which
best sold them. It was certain that James Hutchings would also occupy
their attention. The fact that he had been discharged with contumely and
threats, that he had departed uttering violent threats against the dead
man, and that he had returned to visit Elizabeth Twitcher late that
night, were doubtless being discussed by the whole neighbourhood.
However, only himself and William Roper knew, at present, that James
Hutchings had come and gone by the library window, had actually passed
twice within a few feet of his sleeping, or dead, master. That fact,
also, Mr. Flexen proposed to keep to himself till he saw reason to
divulge it. His next business must be to question Hutchings.
It was quite likely that there lay the solution of the mystery.