SIR ROSS IS QUITS.
For some little time, however, no opportunity arose, and Mr. Tracy
was, in addition, conscious of a certain diffidence in calling upon a
lady to whom he was utterly unknown, simply with the object of making
a fishing enquiry into the manners and morals of one of her friends.
Melville wrote him a polite note, expressing regret at having missed
him, and privately gave Jervis a wigging for allowing anybody to have
the run of his rooms for a couple of hours. He could not, however,
display great anger, and the effect of what he did say was only to
seal Jervis's lips as to the conversation that had passed between Mr.
Tracy and himself. Moreover, it was so reasonable that Mr. Tracy
should call upon him in the immediate circumstances that Melville
scented no danger, and continued in a peaceful and equable frame of
mind.
It was a disturbing fact that Ralph should not have been acquitted,
but there was, undoubtedly, some compensating advantage to be derived
from it, inasmuch as if the evidence was so strong against him it was
so much the less probable that any would be diverted to the real
criminal, and Melville still consoled himself with the reflection
that his brother would certainly be acquitted next time. Actually,
it worried him scarcely at all, and to his brother's discomfort and
anxiety he was quite callous.
Upon Lavender, on the contrary, the idea of an innocent man being in
such dire peril had an effect quite paralysing. Fear of discovery as
Lady Holt was eclipsed by fear for Ralph, and she would have risked
all, so far as she alone was concerned, if only so she could have set
Ralph free. But Melville acquired an influence over her against
which she was unable to rebel; it was not only the influence exerted
through his own personal magnetism, undeniable as that was; he did
not shrink now from working on her over-wrought nerves to reduce her
to a state of physical and mental prostration, in which he could
mould her entirely to his will. He even conveyed to her an
impression that under desperation he might become dangerous, and more
than once there was a look in his eyes that frightened her. Thus,
under the pressure of these combined emotions--horror of what she had
seen, fear of Melville, apprehension for Ralph, and anxiety about her
own future--Lavender became a wreck. Unable to sleep, she dosed
herself with narcotics to numb her sensibilities, and unused to the
narcotics she grew ill and a shadow of her former self. At night she
lay awake in fear of the silence, and by day she kept awake in fear
of every sound. To the few casual acquaintances who called she was
not at home, although her prolonged solitude was prolonged misery.
Yet she could not make up her mind to do what Melville persistently
advised, and go abroad until the crime and the mystery of Sir
Geoffrey's will ceased to occupy public attention.
Lucille attributed her mistress's illness only to dread of
prosecution for bigamy, and more than once attempted to reassure her.
"If you don't choose to answer the advertisement," she said, "there's
nobody to answer it for you; and as for this reward that's offered
now, you say that nobody but me knows you ever were Sir Geoffrey
Holt's wife. What's two hundred and fifty pounds compared to a home
where a person feels she's liked, besides being well paid and
comfortable? Of course, if you can't trust me, there's no more to be
said."
Then Lavender would protest that she had every confidence in her
maid's devotion, and for a few minutes would be less hysterical; but
the greater evil, of which Lucille had no knowledge, was too great
for the improvement to be maintained, and with each re-action
Lavender's condition grew more deplorable.
As ill-luck would have it, Mr. Tracy made up his mind to call one day
when, Lavender being in rather better spirits, Lucille had gone out
for a couple of hours. In answer to his ring, the door was opened by
the cook who was by no means well versed in the art of admitting or
of getting rid of visitors. She declared, it is true, that Mrs
Sinclair was not at home, but something in the manner of her
declaration induced Mr. Tracy to persist, with the result that he
effected an entrance into the drawing-room, while the woman took his
card upstairs to see if her mistress would make an exception in his
favour and receive him.
Lavender read his name with sickening terror, and the expression on
her face alarmed the cook.
"The gentleman said he was a friend of Mr. Ashley's," she explained
in self-defence "and wanted to see you on business. He wouldn't take
'no' for an answer."
Lavender tried to pull herself together.
"I don't know the man from Adam," she said, "and I feel much too ill
to see anybody on business. Go down and say I am sorry but I can't
see anyone. Tell him I've been ill. Tell him anything you like.
Only get rid of him."
And when the cook went reluctantly downstairs, Lavender stood with
blanched cheeks and beating heart by the window, counting the ticks
of the clock until this awful visitant should go. Hiding behind the
curtains she watched him walk slowly down the path, and some time
after he had disappeared she remained with hands clenched upon the
back of a chair, watching with nervous apprehension in case he should
return and make another attempt to see her. She showed his card to
Lucille on her return.
"It can only mean that he suspects that Mrs. Sinclair and Lady Holt
are one and the same person," she said despairingly. "It is the end
of everything," and her hysterical collapse was pitiful to witness.
That first visit, indeed, marked a point when Lavender's illness
became serious. She refused to see a doctor, and this refusal
Lucille made no great effort to combat, knowing that freedom from
worry and plenty of rest were all that were necessary to restore her
mistress to health, and that although any physician might prescribe
these two remedies, no one could provide them. For the present,
therefore, the faithful woman contented herself with never leaving
Lavender, and with taking control of the establishment in a manner
that was as effective as it was silent and undemonstrative.
When next Mr. Tracy presented himself at The Vale, Lucille received
him.
"Mrs. Sinclair is really very ill," she said, "and unable to see
anybody; but more than that, she told me the other day that she did
not know your name and would not see you on business without knowing
something about it beforehand. If you like to write to her, I
daresay she will make an appointment to see you when she comes back."
"Comes back?" said Mr. Tracy.
"Yes," Lucille replied; "from abroad. She goes to-morrow, if she's
well enough, but she will certainly go this week."
And Mr. Tracy had nothing left but to murmur some polite good wishes
for her complete restoration to health, and go away again.
"The good lady is determined to avoid me," he thought. "Well, it
can't be helped. The clock won't stop for poor Ralph Ashley because
Mrs. Sinclair wants to go abroad, and I am determined to get to the
bottom of all I don't know about the family before it is too late.
Mrs. Sinclair has reasons, either of her own or of Melville Ashley's,
for not wanting to see me. Perhaps her _fiancé_ will be more
accommodating. I will beard the bold Sir Ross in his den."
Without further delay he set about the business. Sir Ross was in the
habit of standing much upon his dignity, and felt inclined at first
to refuse admission to this stranger who presented himself at his
door without any previous advertisement of his coming; but his
curiosity was aroused by the message that the stranger desired to see
him in connection with Melville Ashley. Whether Sir Ross scented a
battle from afar, or whether it was a less heroic form of curiosity,
does not matter much; at all events, he acceded to Mr. Tracy's
request for an audience, and with the proud air of a man who is not
only a millionaire but a patrician, he entered the room where his
visitor was awaiting him. With a magnificent gesture he motioned him
to a seat.
"You are--er?" was his intelligent enquiry.
"I am the family solicitor to the Ashleys and to the late Sir
Geoffrey Holt," said Mr. Tracy, "and I am very anxious to enlist your
help in a matter of considerable delicacy. May I throw myself upon
your mercy, Sir Ross, and beg you to help me, if you can?"
"I shall be glad if I can be of any assistance," said Sir Ross
stiffly, "but I quite fail to see how it is likely that I can be. Is
it in connection with the murder that you think I may be of use? Sir
Geoffrey was--er--one of us."
"Not perhaps directly in connection with the murder," Mr. Tracy
replied, "but there are several things in the story which are
puzzling. What more natural than that I should come to a man of the
world like yourself and say, 'I have no right to trouble you with my
difficulties it is true, but of your charity help me from your
superior knowledge of men and of affairs?'"
Sir Ross concealed his delight with difficulty.
"But why choose me? There are other men of the world whose names, I
should have thought, would have suggested themselves more naturally."
"I had one primary object in venturing to come to you first," Mr.
Tracy answered. "Sir Ross, I am speaking as if in the confessional?"
Sir Ross bowed. "Well, then, I want you to tell me what you know of
Mr. Melville Ashley."
The slowly dawning look of cordiality died again from the little
baronet's face, and his dignity was icy.
"I know--and I desire to know--practically nothing at all about Mr.
Melville Ashley."
Mr. Tracy hastened to explain.
"As I said just now, I throw myself upon your mercy. My visit may
seem an impertinent intrusion, but it is not prompted in any degree
by love or regard for Mr. Melville Ashley." He proceeded to explain
how he had been led to make some enquiries into that individual's
mode of life, and with what result. "You know everybody, Sir Ross.
Is it common knowledge that Mr. Ashley plays high?"
"The first time I ever saw him was at Monte Carlo," Sir Ross replied,
"and on that occasion he took advantage of the _viaticum_ to get
home, so he played, at any rate, until he had nothing left to play
with. Over here I don't know much about him personally, but I could
not afford the points which his set affect."
Mr. Tracy shrugged his shoulders.
"Thanks; that is quite enough for my purpose. The fact is, I was at
a loss to account for various sums of money which have passed through
his hands, and the cards seemed the only possible explanation. I
don't think he drinks or has other vices."
"Gamblers never do drink," said Sir Ross vindictively; "they press
the liquor on the other side. Frankly, Mr. Tracy, I think Mr.
Melville Ashley is the devil incarnate, and I should never be
surprised to hear any villainy of him."
The vigour with which the little man delivered himself of this
outburst surprised the lawyer considerably, but he trimmed with
superlative skill.
"He is one of those curious people who lead several different lives
simultaneously. In my capacity of Sir Geoffrey Holt's executor I
wanted to ascertain why his uncle disinherited him--which he has
done--in order that I might know how far to encourage or restrain his
brother's impulse to make provision for him by deed of gift."
"What's the brother like?" enquired Sir Ross.
"A fine fellow," said Mr. Tracy warmly; "white all through. As
different from Melville as it's possible to imagine."
"Must be," grunted Sir Ross. "If it weren't that you say he's been
cut off without a shilling, I should say that Mr. Melville Ashley
shot his uncle and shifted the suspicion on to his brother by some
vile trickery." He paused a minute, and then in his turn sought the
information which he had failed to obtain elsewhere. "You are the
family lawyer, so you will probably be able to tell me this. What is
the relationship between Mr. Ashley and Mrs. Sinclair?"
"Do you mean the Mrs. Sinclair to whom you are engaged?"
"To whom I was engaged," said Sir Ross, flushing; "that is whom I
mean. I am told there is some relationship by marriage between her
and the Ashleys. What is it precisely?"
"I am not aware of any," said Mr. Tracy, feeling horribly
uncomfortable. "I know they are acquainted."
"I knew Mr. Sinclair intimately," said Sir Ross, "but I never heard
of any relations of his named Ashley; yet when I had occasion to
object to Mr. Melville Ashley's very constant attendance on and very
marked attentions to Mrs. Sinclair, an attempt was made to over-rule
my protest on the ground that they were so closely related by
marriage that my objections were absurd. What is the relationship?"
"Really you embarrass me very much," said Mr. Tracy pathetically.
"If Mr. Ashley alone had alleged it I should have said he was
mistaken, but if the lady corroborated it there must be something in
it, although it is news to me."
"There was so much in it," said Sir Ross, with fine sarcasm, "that I
required the lady to choose between us, and as she declined to give
Mr. Ashley his _congé_ I retired from the apparent rivalry with a
person whom I detest, and my engagement to Mrs. Sinclair is
cancelled."
"Not many women are so unmercenary," Mr. Tracy replied, "and not many
men get such proof of having been loved for themselves alone and not
for their wealth and position."
He meant the remark to be in the nature of an emollient, but it
failed to have that effect.
"I am not sufficiently sentimental to appreciate the value of being
loved for myself alone," Sir Ross responded drily, "if the upshot is
that I am to be jilted for somebody else. The essential thing is
that I, although one of Mr. Sinclair's intimate friends, have never
heard of any relationship between his family and Mr. Ashley's;
neither have you, although you are the solicitor to Mr. Ashley's
family. It merely corroborates my previous impression that the
alleged relationship is all my eye."
He blew out his cheeks, which were purple with just indignation at
the recollection of the affront offered to his intelligence, and
glared fiercely at Mr. Tracy, who represented his hated rival's
house; but Mr. Tracy remained as gentle and unmoved as ever.
"I am unable to explain, Sir Ross. I have never met the lady, nor
indeed heard of her except as your future wife. What is she like?"
Sir Ross looked round the room; the photographs of Lavender, which
once were numerous, had been removed immediately after the rupture of
the engagement, and he had to open a bureau in a corner to find some.
There, however, he found plenty, framed and unframed.
"There she is," he said, and heaved a sigh as he saw the counterfeit
presentment of her superb womanhood.
But Mr. Tracy's forehead was all wrinkled and his eyebrows were drawn
together as he stared at the photographs and tried to fix in his
memory where he had met this woman, and under what cognomen; it must
be long ago, and yet the face was familiar to him. At last his mind
responded to the effort, and putting his hand into his inner pocket
he withdrew a letter-case, and opening it produced the photograph of
the unknown lady which Gwendolen had given to him at Fairbridge. He
laid it on the table by the others, and motioned to Sir Ross to
examine it.
"Yes, that must be an early photograph of Mrs. Sinclair," the baronet
exclaimed. "How do you come by that?"
Mr. Tracy hesitated to disclose the chain of his thoughts. To do so
might cause much pain to the worthy little Scotchman, who, at least,
had been sincere in his affection for this woman, and Mr. Tracy
shrank from doing that. Yet, so much might be at stake!
"It looks like an extraordinary freak of fortune, but of course I may
be wrong. I found that photograph among a lot of papers, and did not
know whose likeness it was. You are sure it is Mrs. Sinclair?"
"Morally certain," said Sir Ross. "What does it all mean?"
"Possibly nothing," Mr. Tracy answered; "possibly a great deal,
including an explanation of that alleged relationship. You can help
me more than I thought, though, perhaps, at the cost of suffering to
yourself. I believe that this is a picture of Sir Geoffrey's widow,
Dame Lavinia Holt. If I am right, it will prove at least that Mr.
Melville Ashley has committed perjury in one important particular,
and it may prove God knows what else."
"What else?" thundered Sir Ross. "That Mrs. Sinclair shot Sir
Geoffrey Holt?"
"The Lord forbid!" said Mr. Tracy very earnestly; "but I have to
rescue an innocent man. Whoever did that murder, it was not Ralph
Ashley, as I mean to make clear before the world. If I can prove
that this"--and he laid his hand upon the portrait found by
Gwendolen--"is a picture of Lady Holt, I can save my man. That done,
I'll gladly leave the rest to God and to the Crown."