MR. BENSON FORMS A PLAN
“You went to see Dr. Laidlaw!” Mr. Benson repeated. “Why?”
Lady Evenden seemed almost as if she had expected and prepared for the
question; for, a hard light came into her eyes and her chin set
determinedly.
“Mr. Benson,” she said, “I once told you that nothing on earth will
make me divulge certain things that concern only Dr. Laidlaw and
myself. It is sufficient for me to tell you that occasionally I have
to see Dr. Laidlaw. I saw him that fatal night in the Prior’s Tower.
My visit to him, and his visit to the tower, had not the remotest
connection with the murder, any more than it would have any connection
with your murder, supposing that you were found dead outside this
room, and it were proved that I had received Dr. Laidlaw here.”
“In view of my earlier experiences to-night, my dear lady,” said the
old lawyer dryly, “I can scarcely congratulate you on the happiness of
your simile. The little rat-faced scoundrel made two attempts on my
life to-night.”
“He did not, Mr. Benson.” Lady Evenden spoke with quiet conviction.
“My dear lady, are you in possession of your senses? Do you infer that
I imagined his presence in my bedroom and imagined this crack on the
head the murdering little hound gave me, and that he aimed another
with a stick when he thought I was lying on the ground?”
“He did not come to your room to do you any harm at all,” said Lady
Evenden.
“Why did he come at all? Just to have a friendly little chat?” asked
Mr. Benson facetiously.
“He came to try to recover certain papers.” The lady frowned.
Mr. Benson stared at her in mingled astonishment and horror.
“Did you know he was coming?” he asked in tones as sharp as the crack
of a whip. She saw what was moving in his mind, shivered slightly, and
answered:
“Oh, Mr. Benson, if you could only understand. No, of course I did not
know he was coming. I would not dream of doing anything to hurt you,
my best friend. I want you to clearly understand that my association
with Dr. Laidlaw is a perfectly innocent one. He is necessary to me
for certain reasons. What those reasons are I cannot divulge. It must
be sufficient for me to tell you that should evil--I am sure it would
be unmerited evil--come upon Dr. Laidlaw, then that day I should
probably suffer horrors beyond compare--horrors that would make death
preferable, and I should take death in preference.”
There was great earnestness in the agitated face as she spoke, but Mr.
Benson remained hard.
“You must tell me at once what he is holding over you,” he said. “I
must insist upon that. If you say that you did not know he was coming
to my room to-night, how do you know he came to recover papers?”
“Because he told me so--since,” she replied, biting her lip.
“You’ve seen him since?” asked the lawyer. “God bless my soul! Where?”
“Oh, does all this questioning really matter?” she asked wearily. “I
saw him in the Prior’s Room.”
“How?” Mr. Benson asked. “By assignation?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I told you it is necessary for me to see him on
certain occasions.”
“This is absolutely the most terrible state of affairs I have ever
heard of in my life,” declared the lawyer. “Your son awaits his trial
for murder, and you, his mother, shield Dr. Laidlaw, who bled your
late husband white by blackmail for seven years, and is bleeding you!”
“Whatever do you mean?” Lady Evenden’s great eyes opened wide. “Dr.
Laidlaw merely acted as an inquiry agent for my husband, and made
certain visits to Russia because he knew the language so well.”
“Who told you that?” Mr. Benson asked.
“My late husband,” she replied at once. “And Dr. Laidlaw confirmed
it.”
“Then answer me this, my dear lady,” said the lawyer. “Why should the
little hound be so particular about recovering certain papers, not
even stopping at murder to get them? Listen to me. I saw murder in
that man’s eyes to-night, and if I hadn’t rattled him by staring at
him, and, later, by fighting him, then I should have followed your
stepson----”
“Dr. Laidlaw did not kill my stepson,” she interrupted.
“Who did then?” Benson snapped back immediately.
“I do not know--none of us knows,” replied Lady Evenden.
“Who are ‘none of us’?” asked Mr. Benson.
“I mean neither Dr. Laidlaw, myself, the police, you, nor anyone
else,” she replied.
“Who was the other woman in the tower besides you and your companion?”
he asked, reminded that he had not had a reply to his previous
question.
A puzzled look came into the eyes of Lady Evenden. “My companion?” she
asked. “And another woman?” She looked at him for a moment in doubt;
then, with suspicion, she asked, “Have you been employing my companion
to spy upon me?”
“Don’t add stupidity to your stubbornness, for heaven’s sake,” the
lawyer said impatiently. “Certainly not. Now listen to me. On the
night of Sir John’s murder, there were three women in that tower. One
was you, one was your companion, and what I want to know is, who was
the other?”
“But, Mr. Benson, you frighten me. Do you really mean what you are
saying?”
Lady Evenden could not possibly be acting, the lawyer decided. Her
agitation was far too real for that.
“Jill Kilby in the Prior’s Tower? Another woman? Who was the other
woman, and what did she want?”
“That is what I am trying to find out, of course,” said the lawyer.
“When we get an explanation of all these various things, then we shall
have the secret of the murder.”
“Tell me”--Lady Evenden made a great effort to remain calm, but her
agitation was betrayed by her dilated eyes and the continual movement
of her hands,--“what was Jill Kilby doing there?”
“I suppose she felt it her duty to keep near you. She was certainly
instructed to be very careful that you got into no danger during the
time of your terrible collapse following Sir Michael’s death,” he
replied.
“My God!” she exclaimed. “What did she see?”
“That I do not know,” replied Mr. Benson gravely. “This much I do
know, that if it is necessary I am going to put her on the witness
stand, and you on the witness stand, and that little blackmailing
doctor in the dock--to save your son.”
“You must not dream of doing anything of the sort.” Now she made no
attempt to disguise her perturbation. She rose from her seat and threw
herself down on her knees at the old lawyer’s feet, clasped his hand
with both hers, and pleaded, “You know nothing of what you are doing!
Oh! for pity’s sake, don’t do that! I am innocent of any wrong, Mr.
Benson. Dr. Laidlaw is not the blackmailer you think----”
“Yes, he is,” Mr. Benson snapped. “He blackmailed Sir Michael for
seven years. I have absolute proof of it in Sir Michael’s handwriting,
and all the bank evidence complete.”
“Well, I can’t believe it.” Mr. Benson made an impatient movement and
gave vent to an expression of exasperation. “In any case,” she went
on, “I know it is terrible, Mr. Benson; I can’t see why he blackmailed
my husband--he has money without that, and I understood he got a good
income from my husband for his inquiry work. But that has nothing to
do with my terrible position now. Listen, Mr. Benson. The moment
anything happens to Dr. Laidlaw, I die. He has been the very best
friend in some respects. Certainly I should have been dead without
him--dead or worse. I cannot and will not have any complication in
this matter for Dr. Laidlaw.”
At the end of her excitedly-spoken sentences Lady Evenden completely
collapsed, bent her face down on the old lawyer’s knees, and
sobbed--great, bitter sobs that shook her whole frame. Mr. Benson was
deeply moved. He did not attempt to speak to her, but bent forward,
laid one hand upon her shoulder, and, with the other, gently patted
her head. The hardness had quite gone out of his eyes, and there was a
look of infinite pity there, as he bent over the woman who had at last
broken down under the deluge of troubles and fearful buffetings of
erratic fate.
There were pity and tenderness reflected in the fine old face of the
lawyer, but there was no despair. Indeed, behind the emotions, that
were at present predominantly represented, there was an indefinable
power, also, expressed. Mentally he was a giant among men, this
veteran lawyer, and even while he patted his fair client’s bowed head,
and the pity of it all surged over his heart like a tidal wave, yet
all the while his mind was working--and working at lightning speed.
After a time she ceased her heart-breaking sobs and looked up.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I simply----”
“Not another word, my child,” ordered the lawyer. “Now just obey me.
I’ll not distress you by talking about Laidlaw to-night. You get back
to bed, and, before you go, take a good stiff glass of brandy; it’ll
do you good. Whatever you do, don’t worry. I’ll manage everything all
right. Only, my dear, whatever the consequence may seem to be to you,
take my word for it that you’d probably be a happier woman if you came
and told me everything.”
Lady Evenden was about to speak, when he overrode her interruption.
“No, no--not to-night. I’m not going to worry you any more now. Don’t
come to any decision to-night at all. Just don’t worry. Good night, my
dear lady.”
“Good night, my dear friend,” she said. “Oh! what shall I do about
Jill----”
“Nothing,” he answered, “nothing at all. Don’t mention a word about
that--just forget it.” With a gentle smile and an old-world kiss of
the fair hand, the chivalrous old man left the boudoir and returned
along the corridor to the main staircase on his way to the library.
There he found a little note from Wilfred to say that he would keep
the appointment on the following day--later that day it was, really,
for the hands of the clock pointed to ten minutes past four--and that
he had nothing further to say that night.
“Well,” said Mr. Benson to himself, “you’ve had an exciting night for
an old man. You’d better get yourself a drop of that excellent old
whisky and see what that does. Aye, that’s better,” he said, after
drinking some of the old liquor. “That’s better. That’s the thing too.
The whole key lies in that little doctor. If he’s arrested he might
possibly do harm. I doubt it myself, but he might. Yet he is the key,
and he must be turned in the lock, so to speak. Yes, I’ll do it. A bit
hot, perhaps, for nowadays, but I’ll do it. I’ll kidnap the little
devil, that’s what I’ll do, and take him to that old farm,
Swinerigmire. The house is empty, and I’ll get Joe Litt to act as his
jailer, and if necessary we can have a quiet little bit of gentle
torture--The little worm! Now, let’s go to bed.”
Mumbling away to himself in his quaint manner when alone, the
venerable old fellow made his way to his room and lay down again. Just
before his eyes closed he might have been heard mumbling a little
disconnectedly, “Just the same, Alice--just the same. You’ve been gone
nearly sixty years but you’re just the same. You shouldn’t have gone,
Alice--night before our wedding day--too lonely, Alice. Yes--yes--soon
now, Alice--a little more work to do--then----”
* * * * * * * *
Mr. Benson awoke in the morning, like a giant, refreshed, and ate a
hearty breakfast, discarded his head bandage, and set about the day’s
work. He communicated with the superintendent of the Norwich police
and learnt that there were to be no applications for additional
evidence. The Crown case as presented in the police court would be
submitted at the assize court, and that only.
He read a long letter from Sir Courtney Caldecott’s clerk commenting
on the defense brief, to which he replied. He telephoned to his
office, and listened to the acting senior partner as he posted his
chief in all the various ramifications of the work of that important
office. Then he went round to the stables and asked for a hunter to be
saddled.
“They’re a bit fresh, sir,” said the head groom a little dubiously.
“You see, we haven’t been giving them much exercise lately.”
Mr. Benson stared at him incredulously for a moment. Then, with
indignation which made the groom tremble, he asked:
“Are you suggesting that Chris Benson can’t manage any damned thing on
four legs--or two either, if it comes to that?” he added truculently.
“Saddle something that can take a fence or two. One with a bit of
blood about it, my lad!”
“’Mazing old gentleman, that,” muttered the groom as Mr. Benson left.
“Shouldn’t like to get into his black books. Only good jumper in the
stable is Prince--an’ he’s a devil, he is. Well, if the poor old
gentleman breaks his skull open, I got witnesses to prove he asked for
a good jumper with a bit of blood about him.”
Mr. Benson meanwhile got Roberto to rake him out a pair of riding
breeches and leggings to fit. And presently the lawyer appeared in the
hall wearing his morning coat and vest above the riding breeches and
leggings. He might have stepped right out of the sixties, with his
drab, flat-topped hat and old-fashioned stock.
Prince, a great black colt of sixteen hands, was led round by the head
groom, who seemed to have difficulty in controlling him. His mouth
frothed in his excitement, and there was a dangerous white gleam in
his rolling eyes. As Mr. Benson surveyed him, he smiled. Prince was a
goodly sight to a lover of horses.
The lawyer bent his leg and the groom took it. With surprising speed,
the old man sprang into the saddle; and, before Prince could do any
further “showing off,” he found his rider to be a person with a light
but firm hand, and, if necessary, a resolute spur. Prince decided to
behave himself.
It was some time later that horse and rider approached an apparently
deserted farm in the midst of poor, derelict fen land. A tall man,
uncouth in appearance, but with big, honest eyes, came out.
“This is a sight for sore eyes, Mr. Benson,” he greeted the lawyer
with a laugh. “I’ve seen you like this many a time when I was a lad,
but never for the last thirty years, I’ll warrant.”
“There’s work to be done, Joe,” said the lawyer. “How many lads can
you get in the next six hours--trusty and tight-mouthed?”
“Is it a poachin’ round-up?” asked Joe Litt, for that was the name of
the man.
“No, it’s worse. But I’m backing it. How many?” the lawyer snapped.
“Three do?” asked the man.
“Ample,” agreed Mr. Benson, dismounting. “We’ll have a talk about it.
Got an apple for this youngster?”
Joe Litt smiled and went back to the half-ruined house. When he
returned he had two apples in his hand. Joe led Prince off to the
stable. For an hour the lawyer and Joe were in close consultation.
Then, at the end of that time, Prince was brought out again and the
lawyer mounted.
“That’ll be all right, sir,” promised Joe Litt. “The four of us’ll be
at the library window at nine o’clock.”