THE WOLF IS UNCHAINED.
Prout was not surprised to receive the information that his quarry was
still in London; indeed, he would have been astonished to know the
contrary. Every port and every outgoing vessel had been carefully
watched. Still, the woman had accomplices somewhere. It was absurd to
believe that in the simple guise of a maid she could have found a
hiding place where she would be safe from the grip of the law.
"Find Balmayne, and you'll find her," Prout said. "If we get on the
track this week we shall catch her, if not, she may get away.
Vigilance is bound to be relaxed sooner or later. That is why delay is
on the side of the prisoner."
"And if she does get away?" Isidore asked.
"Then she will go to some of her earlier haunts on the Continent,"
said Prout. "They always do. We can count upon that with absolute
certainty."
"And you know all about her early haunts?"
Prout confessed that up to the present he had but the sketchiest idea
of the past of the brilliant adventuress who called herself Countess
Lalage. He was just a little piqued that he should have been so easily
gulled, especially as the case was exciting so ominous an amount of
public attention. From all parts of the Continent stories were coming
in telling of this and that swindled capitalist. The woman had
flaunted for years with the money she had obtained by fraud. It was
calculated that besides her debts she had got away with nearly a
million of money.
It seemed incredible, but there it was, and there it will be again so
long as human cupidity and human greed exist. Maitrank was the only
man who was silent over his losses. He had been a fool, but the money
was gone, and there was no reason why he should betray his folly aloud
to the world.
"I think I'll go down to Holloway and see René Lalage," Prout said
thoughtfully. "I dare say I shall be able to advise him to tell me
something as to the past of the Countess. If only he were not secure,
that woman would have to look to herself. He believes that the woman
betrayed and murdered his brother, and he is a Corsican. Give him a
few hours' start, and the law would be rid of Leona Lalage."
In his cell at Holloway René Lalage was disposed to be communicative.
He spat furiously, his dark eyes gleamed at the mention of the woman.
"She was bad, utterly bad from a child," he said. "She was a distant
connexion of the family. As a girl she set us all aflame with her
beauty. She was the vainest and most cruel girl in the village. If she
could rob another girl of her lover she was happy, and happier still
in flinging him aside after. She was delighted when she could breed a
quarrel between two friends and get them to fight.
"Why she married Leon I cannot say. Perhaps it was because he bullied
her. But Leon was no saint, and he drank, and he got into gaol, and
Leona left him. For a long time we did not hear what had become of
her. Then I saw her in Paris at a circus. A little time later and she
was mixed up in politics in Rome. But she got steadily on, living in a
more luxurious way till I lost sight of her altogether.
"We heard afterwards that she had gone through a form of marriage with
a great nobleman, and that she was living in much splendour in
England. But we know better. Leon and I had spent our little fortune
long ago and sold the farm. After that we had to live by our wits, as
you are aware, Signor Prout.
"Then we both drifted to England, neither of us knowing where the
other was. I met Leon quite by accident. He said he had found his
wife, and that she seemed to be rolling in money. She managed to lure
him to the Corner House, where she kept him prisoner. But he got some
money from her, and part of that he promised me. I never got it, as
you know, and you can guess the reason why.
"Leon was in the way; he had to be got rid of. If it had to be murder,
why that woman would never have hesitated. We shall find out that it
was done some way. And if ever I get out of this I will track her day
by day and hour by hour. I will lure her into some quiet place, and
then I shall plunge my knife into her as she plunged hers into my
brother as he lay helpless. I tell you this, policeman as you are,
because I am reckless, and there is blood in my eyes. Once I am free,
my vengeance shall be complete. You may hang me, but you can't deprive
me of that."
He spoke furiously under his breath, with the veins standing out on
his forehead. He seemed to have almost forgotten the presence of
Prout. The next moment he was quiet and smiling again, but Prout was
not deceived. Once that man was free he would never go back on his
word.
On the whole, the interview produced nothing of importance. Nor was
Lawrence subsequently able to deduce anything from it.
"The fellow told you really nothing," he said thoughtfully, "at least,
nothing that we can put to any practical use. He has his own vengeance
to gratify, and therefore he is not in the least anxious to assist the
law."
"He knew more than he would tell," said Prout.
"Of course he did. I shouldn't wonder if he knew where that woman is
hiding. I am still of opinion that if you can find Balmayne you can
find the chief culprit. If you come to me tomorrow evening I may
manage to hammer out something, but my brain is addled for the
present. I have a theory of my own, but it sounds a little too cold at
present."
Prout dutifully returned the following evening, but Lawrence had
nothing fresh to offer. He still clung to his new theory, but it was
not sufficiently developed for practical use. And he didn't want to be
laughed at, he said.
"I never laugh at your suggestions," Prout replied.
"Well, you're not going to have the chance over this now," said
Lawrence. "If I had my own way----what a row those newsboys are
making!"
There were yelling in the street below. As they passed their raucous
cries uprose so that from the babel some sense could be made--
"The Corner House Mystery!
Startling Developments!
René Lalage's Escape From Holloway!
A Warder Seriously Injured!
The Culprit Succeeds In Getting Clear Away!"