SEALED LIPS
“Three women there?” Mr. Benson repeated incredulously.
“Three women,” repeated Wilfred gravely.
“Who were they?” asked Mr. Benson after a pause, during which both men
surveyed each other--Wilfred determined to say no more, wishing that
he had not said so much; Mr. Benson, at first astounded then
determined to learn the full facts.
“That I certainly shall not say,” said Wilfred definitely.” But I have
told you so much because it is true, and also to illustrate how
important it is to take no steps that might cause unheard-of trouble
to innocent people.”
“But, forgive me, my lad,” said the old lawyer with decision, “you
have said much too much to leave matters there. The wisest thing you
can do is to tell me the whole of the facts in your possession, and
leave it to my discretion to take such steps as are necessary.”
“I will not, Mr. Benson,” replied Wilfred. “I have very carefully
weighed all the possible consequences of my divulging the facts and
also the possible consequences of my silence. And I can assure you
that I am actuated only by a desire to have ultimate justice done, and
at the same time to save innocent parties the frightful
unpleasantness, to say the least of it, of premature and partial
disclosure.”
“But, my dear chap,” Mr. Benson rejoined, “do you realize quite what
you are doing? You are arrogating to yourself the functions of police,
judge, and jury. Do you realize that a man--in my full conviction an
innocent man--is at present lying in jail, about to take his trial on
the capital charge, and you remain silent, with possession of facts
that must have a very great influence upon the trial that is to open
on Tuesday next, if they do not absolutely clear Frank?”
“I agree that they have an important bearing,” said Wilfred, “but they
do not point to any definite conclusion. Will it be sufficient if I
assure you that, should Frank Gough be endangered, I shall certainly
come to you and place the facts in your hands?”
“But, my dear lad”--the lawyer leaned forward in his chair and looked
very gravely into Wilfred’s troubled face--“don’t you realize that he
is endangered already? Time, in these matters is very precious. I
suppose you mean that if he were convicted you would table the facts
for his appeal?”
Wilfred nodded silently.
“Quite so,” rejoined the lawyer. “In that event you would have no
option; for, it has been my intention for some time to subpœna you,
your observant little friend Miss Kilby, Lady Evenden, and the
murderous little doctor. Don’t forget also, my friend, that I myself
would state that I saw you and the Kilby girl in passages of this
Priory in which, to say the least of it, you had no right to be in, or
even to have knowledge of.
“I tell you quite frankly that your own position might be most
dangerous--everybody’s position is dangerous when the whole atmosphere
is clouded in doubt surrounding a murder. The suppression of germane
information is a terrible thing in a case of this kind.”
“Only too well do I know that you are right,” replied Wilfred. “I take
full responsibility, so far as I am concerned, and I beg you to
believe that it is in the interests of those whom you seek to serve
that I remain silent, even to you. Believe me, if I were to divulge
what I know, another, and probably a perfectly innocent, person might
be arrested--a person who might not survive the ordeal.”
There was a deadly earnestness written on Wilfred’s features which the
lawyer could not but accept as genuine. He, in turn, looked very grave
as he said:
“I cannot resist certain conclusions, my young friend. You have said
that three women were in the Prior’s Tower on the night of the murder.
Now, one of those women obviously was your little friend, the
companion--hence your knowledge. It is equally irresistible to me that
another was Lady Evenden, because of her connection with the little
murdering doctor, and also because of your hints about my trust and my
service to certain interests, and your concluding remark, ‘A person
who might not survive the ordeal.’”
The lawyer leaned back in his chair, folded his hands, and watched his
visitor’s face. Wilfred frowned in embarrassment, opened his mouth to
speak, then closed it again. He looked from the lawyer to the fire and
back again, then, taking a deep breath, he said:
“For good or ill, I cannot help it. I will neither confirm, nor will I
deny, your conclusions. I have decided upon a course of action which I
am persuaded is honest and right. Indeed, the very best thing, the
only thing, under the dreadful circumstances. Please--please, Mr.
Benson--trust me, and do not distress me by pressing me further.”
Mr. Benson crossed to a sideboard and poured himself out a
whisky-and-soda.
“Have a drink?” he asked Wilfred.
“Thank you, yes,” Wilfred replied.
The lawyer did not speak again until Wilfred had taken a little
whisky. Then, reseating himself, he said quietly:
“You ask me to trust you, Dr. Barlow. I do, because I like the look of
you--that’s all. Listen to me. Let us take the position as it is,
quite devoid of likes and dislikes, impressions and prejudices. You
ask me to trust you. The first time I had the pleasure of meeting you,
was in the secret passages of a mansion that you had never even been
bidden to enter. You admit a certain knowledge of a murder, and that,
mark you, when a man lies charged with that murder. You develop that
again by speaking of three women being present in the tower, and two
of those women are my client, Lady Evenden, and your fiancee, my
client’s companion. Tell me now, what is there to base trust upon?
Surely, surely, if my client is to be in any sense involved, it is I
who must know all--no one else.”
“Mr. Benson,” Wilfred replied, “you have put in a few words the whole
position. I fully realize the truth of what you say, and I repeat my
readiness to take the full responsibility of my present silence. More
than that, I know--I am certain--that in the not distant future you
will thank me for adopting the line that I have taken.”
Mr. Benson took another sip of his whisky, gazed thoughtfully into the
fire, then looked up sharply.
“Very well,” he said, “so long as you understand. Now tell me who was
the other woman?”
“I do not know,” replied Wilfred. The lawyer looked at him
incredulously, then, as Wilfred met his gaze, he became persuaded that
this remarkable young doctor, who had managed to involve himself in so
dangerous a predicament, was telling the truth. Nevertheless, the
lawyer determined to press him.
“But surely you would be able to identify her?” he questioned. “You
saw her, didn’t you?”
“I saw her--but at a distance, and in a bad light,” Wilfred replied.
“Then how do you know that it wasn’t one of the others?” questioned
Mr. Benson.
“Because I saw all three at the same time,” said Wilfred.
“Gracious heavens!” exclaimed the old man. “You must tell me more. You
really must. For everybody’s sake you must tell me all--aye, for your
own sake.”
“I shall say no more,” said Wilfred steadfastly.
“Very well,” Mr. Benson rose. “That’s all we can do to-night. Will you
come round to see me to-morrow? That’s right, come and lunch with me
at one o’clock. Remember now--you mustn’t be surprised if I find it
necessary to subpœna you for the trial.”
“You mustn’t do that, Mr. Benson,” Wilfred protested. “You will do
untold harm, if you do.”
“That’s what the murdering little doctor said,” replied the lawyer.
“None of you give me your confidence--and you must take the
consequences. I will use my own judgment. What the devil do you
expect? Do you expect me to fold my arms and let my client swing? Not
likely! Look here, young man, what would you do in my position?”
“Oh, I know how difficult the whole position is,” replied Wilfred,
“and it is with a full realization of that position that I still
decide to maintain silence. I quite agree that you have every right to
be annoyed, Mr. Benson. But again, I assure you that I am doing what I
think is wisest and right. Knowledge that I could give you would only
further embarrass you.”
Silently, the lawyer looked at him for a full minute, then he said:
“I’m going to see Lady Evenden. If that young lynx-eyed girl Trilby,
Kilby, or whatever her name is, is up and awake I’ll send her to you
here, and you and she had better talk matters over. Two heads are
better than one, you know, and I think she might influence you to use
a modicum of sense in this most terrible matter. Dangerous rivers need
an experienced pilot, not a smart amateur.”
Wilfred walked restlessly up and down the room after the lawyer had
left, and then Jill entered.
“Wilfred,” she said, “Isn’t this awful? Poor old Mr. Benson has been
nearly murdered to-night, and I believe it is Dr. Laidlaw who did it.”
“It is, my dear,” Wilfred replied, kissing her. “Did the old chap send
you down?”
“Yes,” Jill replied. “He’s really rather wonderful, you know. Fancy
him struggling, at his age, and holding the little doctor until some
one came.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Wilfred. “What did he say to you before he sent
you down?”
“He said, ‘You go down to the library and knock sense into your John
Willie’s head,’” Jill replied, half-laughing. Then she added
seriously, “We must tell him, you know, Wilfred--we must.”
“We cannot,” Wilfred replied. “The poor old chap is perplexed enough
now. To tell him what we know would only make his head swim, and if we
were to tell the police--why, they would arrest everybody remotely
concerned. No, the position is simply damnable. As I see it, there is
bound to be a certain amount of suffering for some one, and Frank is
best able to bear it. Should he be convicted, then we would have to
table the evidence to clear him on appeal. But, the awful part of that
would be that some one equally innocent would have to undergo the
whole process again. It is terrible. But there is nothing to be done.”
“I still think that we ought to tell Mr. Benson,” Jill persisted. “He
is far more sensible and clever even than you dream of, and he is a
lawyer, you know, used to all these queer things that so perplex us.”
“The full knowledge would do nothing but lay down certain threads in
his defence of Frank that would cause an arrest. You must know whom
they would arrest?”
Jill nodded miserably. “Oh, Wilfred, my dear, why is it so hard to do
right? I hate to think that I am deliberately suppressing something
that might save Frank Gough, more particularly because I hate him so.
It seems an incredibly mean thing to do.”
“But, my dear,” Wilfred protested, “you are not doing this to hurt
Frank, but to save a whole lot of further trouble. I have already
pledged myself to tell Mr. Benson the whole truth if Frank should be
convicted. That would be in ample time for witnesses to be brought up
for the appeal.”
For twenty minutes the lovers talked--Jill wanting to take the lawyer
into their confidence, Wilfred determined not to do so. Meanwhile, Mr.
Benson was admitted to Lady Evenden’s boudoir, and found the mistress
of the Priory seated on a settee, clothed in a satin quilted
dressing-gown. She had a slightly defiant little smile on her face as
the lawyer entered; but she was manifestly nervous.
“I am quite relieved to see you looking so well, my dear Mr. Benson,”
she greeted him. “I was very, very sorry to hear of your distressing
experience.” There was genuine concern in the beautiful face.
Mr. Benson had worn rather a hard look as he entered the room, but he
melted somewhat. However, he asked severely enough:
“Why did you let that man go?”
“I knew you would want to know about that. Naturally you would,” said
Lady Evenden. “That is why I stayed here and asked them to tell you I
wanted to see you.” The lawyer nodded and waited expectantly. She
paused; but he did not speak, so she continued: “Well, I think I told
you before that Dr. Laidlaw is an old friend of mine. The unfortunate
affair in your room to-night is most regrettable; but I am sure that
the doctor could account for it. I know he has my interests at heart
even as you have, and I had to--I simply couldn’t help myself--I had
to release him when I learnt that he had been detained by your
orders.”
She spoke nervously, her words came in jerking delivery. From time to
time, as she spoke, she glanced at her stern-faced adviser. The
growing severity of the old lawyer’s expression increased her
nervousness. She finished lamely, “I knew that you would understand.”
“Understand?” broke out Mr. Benson indignantly. “Understand your
release of the man who attempted to murder me? Understand your release
of the man who murdered your stepson? Understand your release of the
man who systematically had blackmailed your late husband for seven
years? My dear lady, pray set a limit to your estimate of my
understanding. I am completely mystified. So far from understanding,
my visit to you now is to try to obtain a reasonable explanation. Will
you give it to me?”
While he spoke Lady Evenden showed manifest signs of acute distress.
She looked at him from time to time, then looked away as if unable
continually to meet his eyes. Her hands clenched and relaxed, she
moved her position on the settee. Then with a great effort, she
replied:
“I can understand that you must feel annoyed--very annoyed. But, my
dear Mr. Benson, that is no excuse for such extravagant statements as
you have made. Murdered my stepson! Blackmailed my late husband! How
can you say such terrible things?”
“Because I can prove them,” said the lawyer calmly. Lady Evenden
turned paler than ever--and the lawyer had been struck by her pallor
upon entering the room.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“What I say,” responded Mr. Benson. “Look here, Lady Evenden, the time
is rapidly approaching when I shall have to ask myself whether I am
justified in acting for you any longer. I have had the honor to serve
your late husband and his father, and, before my time, my father
served his grandfather. This I tell you to make you understand how I
value my association with this house. But there are things that an
honorable man must value even more than old associations. One thing
you may be sure of, and that is that I will not drop the reins so long
as your son remains in jeopardy. I will see him through, come what
may; but, unless I can be assured of a client’s confidence, I will in
no circumstances act for that client.”
“But, Mr. Benson,” she exclaimed. “I cannot do without you. You cannot
be serious. I must have you to act for me. Oh, Mr. Benson, don’t say
that you are deserting me!”
“I am not deserting you!” said Mr. Benson. “I am saying quite plainly
that I cannot act without the confidence of my clients. Tell me--since
you wish me to continue to act--why did you release that murderer
to-night?”
“He is not a murderer! How can you say that he is a murderer?” she
countered at once.
“How can you say that he is not?” The old man was very stern as he
asked the question, and his gaze was fixed and relentless.
“What do you mean?” Lady Evenden asked with frightened eyes turned up
to the little lawyer.
“Let us finish all this beating about the bush!” Mr. Benson exclaimed
impatiently. “Listen to me. On the night that your stepson was
murdered, Lady Evenden, Dr. Laidlaw was seen by credible witnesses to
visit the Prior’s Tower, and that by means of secret passages which
communicate with the Prior’s Room--the scene of the murder. Now, I
have that information absolutely definitely, beyond a peradventure,
and also I know that you yourself were in the Prior’s Tower that
night. Now, what I require of you is that you tell me what you know of
Dr. Laidlaw’s movements on the night of the murder, what you yourself
were doing in the Prior’s Tower that night, and who was the third
woman present besides yourself and your companion, Miss Kilby?”
The effect of the lawyer’s words was startling to behold. Lady Evenden
showed, to begin with, great agitation, which increased terribly as he
continued; but the old man was remorseless; he went to the root of the
matter, as he had intended to do. As the lawyer continued, however,
surprise, as well as distress, was patent in Lady Evenden’s face. And
the old man felt that she was speaking the truth when she said:
“I don’t in the least know what you are talking about. What on earth
has Miss Kilby to do with the Prior’s Tower, and who is the other
woman?”
“I’ll tell you all that in a moment. Answer me this to begin with.
Lady Evenden, I want to warn you. You were actually seen--actually
seen, mark you--in the Prior’s Tower on the night of the murder. Now
then, what were you doing there? Why did you meet Laidlaw there? What
was Laidlaw doing there?” Mr. Benson could not help but feel sorry for
her--Lady Evenden looked distressed beyond measure. He hoped she would
not faint before she gave him the all-important information.
“Who saw me?” she asked.
“Two credible witnesses,” replied Mr. Benson, “and they will certainly
give evidence at the trial. For the love of heaven, Lady Evenden, why
don’t you take me into your confidence? Tell me, what were you doing
there?”
For several minutes she was silent. She looked at him as a bird might
look at the snarer; then she said quietly, resignedly:
“I went there to meet Dr. Laidlaw.”