Celia went up to the sick-room. She saw at a glance that the Marquess's
condition had improved; he was, of course, still dangerously ill, and
very weak; but his eyes, as they rested on her, were perfectly
intelligent and he smiled slightly as she bent over him. Then she turned
away to Doctor Scott and told him of Mr. Clendon's arrival and desire to
see the Marquess.
"I don't think he can do any harm, if he'll be quiet," said the doctor.
"At any rate, there is not sufficient reason for refusing to show the
paper to the Marquess."
Celia knelt beside the bed and conveyed gently Mr. Clendon's request for
an interview.
"Mr. Clendon?" repeated the Marquess, knitting his brows. "I don't know
him, my dear."
Then, slowly, she showed him the paper; but he could not read the letter
on it and she told him what it was. A flush rose to the white face, and
he nodded once or twice; and it seemed to Celia that the inclination of
the head had in it something more than a consent to receive the visitor,
an indication of some resolution, decision. She went downstairs, and
told Mr. Clendon the Marquess would see him.
The old man rose, with the aid of a stick, and followed her through the
hall; he looked about him, not curiously, but musingly; and he paused
for a second or two before the portrait of the young man in hunting kit,
the Marquess's elder brother; the pause was almost imperceptible, but
Celia, remembering the scene between herself and the Marquess on the
night of his arrival, noticed the pause; but the old man's face conveyed
nothing and was as impassive as usual. She took him to the Marquess's
room. Lord Sutcombe, at sight of his visitor, tried to rise; but fell
back, stretching out his hand, murmuring,
"Wilfred!" Then he looked at the nurse and doctor. "Will you please
leave us alone for a little while. This gentleman is----"
Mr. Clendon laid his hand upon his brother's arm and stopped him.
Celia went downstairs, and found Mr. Jacobs standing before the portrait
of the Marquess's brother.
"Fine picture that, Miss Grant," he said. "He must have been a splendid
fellow: great pity he died. Oh, yes, I know who it is," he went on,
answering the question in Celia's eyes. "I've been making acquaintance
with the family portraits: very fond of pictures; almost as fond as I am
of cattle; but as I shan't be able to afford both, why----!"
At this moment Inspector Brown came hurriedly through the back hall; he
was very hot and wiped the perspiration from his sunburnt face with a
red bandana.
"I've news for you, Mr. Jacobs," he cried, as calmly as he could. "Will
you come into the sitting-room; will you come at once, please: most
important!"
Mr. Jacobs looked at him curiously; then beckoned to Celia.
"You come too, Miss Grant," he said. "You know shorthand--I saw some
scraps of paper in your waste-paper basket. You can take any notes we
want. Splendid thing, shorthand. Wish I could do it. Now then, Mr.
Brown!"--as he closed the door.
"Well, to put it in a word, Mr. Jacobs, _I've got our man_!"
Mr. Jacobs did not start or show any glad surprise, but looked steadily
at Inspector Smith, and at the same time, seemed to be listening; they
could all hear Lord Heyton pacing up and down the hall.
"Mind! I don't take any great credit for it, Mr. Jacobs. It was a fluke:
just a fluke. I caught him red-handed; found him in the wood with the
jewel-case in his hand. Yes, actually in his hand! He must have hidden
it and dug it up."
Mr. Jacobs nodded, but said nothing.
"I've got him in the lock-up," said the Inspector, with an air of
satisfaction which was pardonable in the circumstances. "He went very
quietly--declared his innocence, of course--well, implied it. I've got
notes of what he said. And I searched him."
Mr. Jacobs nodded again, and the Inspector drew from his pocket sundry
articles.
"Not much money on him--there's some loose change and this five-pound
note. Strange to say--a bit curious and suspicious!--he objected
strongly to my taking the note: said that it was worth more than five
pounds to him; in fact, he declared that he wouldn't part with it for
five thousand and begged me to take care of it and let him change it
back for gold." He smiled. Celia flushed hotly, her eyes glowed as they
dwelt on the note, and she stifled an exclamation. She listened with
parted lips, her breath coming fast. "Something in that, eh, Mr. Jacobs?
Then there are some various letters; several of them from a lady in
South America, invoices and letters about engineering. Seems to have
come from abroad. And here's this packet. It's sealed, as you see; and I
didn't care to open it by myself; thought you and I would open it
together. May be important evidence, you know."
Mr. Jacobs took up the packet, turned it over, then placed it on the
table and laid his hand on it.
"Shouldn't be surprised," he said, quietly. "And so you've got him in
the lock-up? What's his name?"
"Well, he calls himself 'Sydney Green': an alias, I dare say."
Mr. Jacobs nodded once more. "Very likely, I should say; very likely.
Well, I congratulate you, Inspector. You've done a good morning's work.
Bit of a fluke, as you say; but you've been on the close watch, haven't
you? And there's something more than luck in this. By the way, you
didn't find the two keys--the key of the safe and the key of the
jewel-box--on him?"
"No," said Mr. Brown, easily. "Of course, he's got rid of those; and, in
another hour or two, he'd have got clear off with the jewel-box. I've
got that locked up in my safe. So far as I can see--of course, you can't
tell--it looks as if the contents had not been disturbed; in fact, as if
we'd recovered all the missing property."
"Splendid!" murmured Mr. Jacobs.
"I suppose you'll go down and see him presently?" said Mr. Brown, almost
showing his impatience and irritation at the detective's phlegmatic
calm. Nothing seemed to move this man.
"Presently," said Mr. Jacobs, blandly. "There's a knock at the door.
Please open it, Miss Grant."
Celia did so. Mrs. Dexter stood there. She seemed very agitated.
"Will you please come upstairs, Miss Grant," she said; "and--and, yes,
you two gentlemen. Something strange, terrible, has happened."
Without a word, Mr. Jacobs signed to Celia to lead the way, placing the
packet in his pocket as she did so, and they followed her up to the
Marquess's room. He was lying back with his eyes closed; the doctor's
hand was on his pulse. Mr. Clendon was seated beside the bed, his hand
on the Marquess's shoulder. Mr. Clendon looked troubled, but was quite
calm.
"The Marquess has sent for you that you may hear something he has
resolved to tell you," he said, in a low voice.
The Marquess opened his eyes and looked round; then they fixed
themselves on Heyton, whom Mrs. Dexter had summoned, and who stood
regarding the group sullenly.
"Yes," said the Marquess, feebly, but quite distinctly. "I want to tell
you that this is my brother"--his hand reached for Mr. Clendon's--"my
elder brother. He is Lord Sutcombe, not I. He disappeared and was
supposed to have died. I knew some months ago that he was alive,
but----"
"Yielding to my earnest entreaty, my command, my brother consented to
conceal the fact," said Mr. Clendon, gravely.
"Yes, but it was wrong, Wilfred; and it was foolish," said the Marquess.
His eyes went to his son. "I am sorry, Percy. I believed that he was
dead; but I should have told you the moment I discovered the truth. Yes,
I see now that it was my duty to have done so."
Heyton had stood staring at the two old men dully; his sodden brain did
not realize at first the importance of the avowal; then the blood rushed
to his face and he stammered:
"What's all this? What's the meaning of this cock-and-bull story? I--I
don't understand. You don't suppose I'm going to cave in, accept this
fairytale? I'm your son--I'm the next in succession----"
"Yes," said the Marquess, with a deep sigh, and a look at his son which
Heyton understood and quailed from. "My brother is not married; you are
his heir--after me."
"I did not say I was not married, Talbot," said Mr. Clendon, almost
inaudibly. "I said that I had no son. But we will not dwell on that. If
I could have had my desire, the truth, my identity, would have been
buried with me."
"No, no," panted the Marquess; "even if you had not come to-day, I
should have told the truth, Wilfred. Would to God I had told it before!"
"Here, but look here!" Heyton broke out, with a kind of impatient
insolence. "This is all very well. This old man comes here, makes a
statement--gets you to make a statement--when, as everybody knows,
you're not in your right mind--Oh, I'm not going to accept it!"
"There are proofs. You know, Wilfred," said the Marquess. "But I can
talk no longer. Leave me with my brother."
They went, the doctor and nurse only remaining: the Marquess's little
strength had been sorely tried, and the doctor was watching him closely.
With a defiant air, Heyton swaggered down the steps. As he reached the
bottom, a hand fell on his shoulder; lightly enough, but Heyton started
and winced.
"Will you give me a minute or two in the sitting-room, my lord?" said
Mr. Jacobs, blandly.
"Eh, what is it?" said Heyton, with an oath. "What do you want? I don't
want to be bothered just now; got plenty of my own affairs on my mind."
But he followed the detective. Mr. Jacobs closed the door and stood, on
one side of the table, looking at Heyton on the other.
"Yes, this has been a most upsetting business for you, my lord," he
said. "You have had, and are having, a most trying time; this is the
kind of thing which will break down the strongest man; and I'm about to
take the liberty of offering you a word of advice." As he spoke, he took
up a Continental Bradshaw which was lying open on the table. "In cases
of your kind, there's nothing like a change of scene and air. You want
to go right away: I mean, a _long_ way.--I've been looking up one or two
places where a man could hide himself--I beg your pardon!--I mean,
seclude himself without fear of interruption or--interference."
Heyton stared at him; and as he stared, with a puzzled frown, his
swollen face grew mottled, livid in places, red in others.
"I don't know what the devil you mean!" he blurted out. "Why should I go
anywhere?"
"For the sake of your health, my lord," said Mr. Jacobs, his innocent
blue eyes fixed on Heyton. "You want a change--and at once; in fact, it
is absolutely imperative." He leant forward across the table, patted the
Bradshaw and dropped his voice as he went on incisively, "You can catch
the night mail from Charing Cross. Book straight through by the
Trans-Siberian, by way of Moscow and Pekin. When you reach Harbin, go
right into the interior. There are mines there--anyhow, you can lose
yourself. You understand, my lord?"
The sweat stood out in great drops on Heyton's face; he tried to meet
the detective's eye with an insolent, indignant stare; but his eyes
wavered and fell and he sank into a chair.
"I--I don't know what you mean?" he stammered thickly.
"But you will go?" inquired Mr. Jacobs. "In fact, I am sure you will."
Cur as he was, Heyton made a last stand; he threw up his head, swore a
vile oath and struck the table.
"I'm hanged if I do!" he said.
"You'll be hanged, if you don't, my lord!" said Mr. Jacobs. Then, after
a pause, he said, with a shrug of the shoulders, "I thought you'd have
been sensible, that you'd have taken my tip without forcing me into
particulars; but if you must have them--well, Lord Heyton, if you are
here to-morrow morning, I shall arrest you for the robbery of the jewels
and the attempted murder of Lord Sutcombe."
Heyton sprang to his feet; then sank back again with a hoarse attempt at
a laugh.
"You must be a fool!"
"Well, one of us is a fool, but it's not me, my lord," said Mr. Jacobs,
imperturbably. "I knew the truth ten minutes after I had examined the
dressing-room. You see, the burglar who understands his business works
in kid gloves; they leave no finger-prints. There were prints on the
door of the safe, inside, on the poker--oh, well, everywhere; because,
you see, when a man's engaged in this kind of work, he's naturally
nervous, his hands are sweaty. And these finger-prints were those of a
gentleman's hands. Do you want me to go on, Lord Heyton?"
Heyton could not speak; his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his
mouth; he felt as if his spine were giving way, as if all his strength
of mind and body were ebbing from him.
"It's--it's ridiculous!" he stammered.
"No, my lord, it's quite simple, quite elementary. There were the
finger-prints, on the safe, on the walls, on the poker. I could read
them quite easily with a magnifying glass; and they never lie. 'Pon my
word, Lord Heyton!" he broke off musingly, his mouth twisting into a
smile, "I'm inclined to think they're the only things in this world one
can rely on. Now, you'll see why I upset the ink over your hand." He
took the two sheets of paper from his pocket and laid them on the table;
and beside them he placed a silver print of the finger-prints in the
room.
Heyton stared at them as if they were live things that could sting him.
"Another thing, my lord," said Mr. Jacobs. "I was in the dressing-room
just after the Marquess recovered consciousness, and heard him charge
you with the robbery. The evidence is quite conclusive. But there is, of
course, what we call collateral proof. I found these two keys under the
bed in your dressing-room. Of course, you intended throwing them in the
lake, when you went down with the jewel-case; but you dropped the keys
and didn't find them; there is always a little hitch like that--_it's
the hitch in the rope_. I know you took the jewel-case the morning you
went down to bathe, because I traced your footprints into the middle of
the wood, where you need not have gone, if you had been going merely for
a bath. I knew I should find the jewel-case just where you stopped; but
I didn't want to discover it. I was waiting for _you_ to go for it,
which you would have done presently. Unfortunately for him, another man
was in the wood that morning and saw you; and _he_ went for the
jewel-case. The Inspector has arrested him, worse luck. I say 'worse
luck,' because now we can't hush up the affair--and, you'll have to
_go_."
Heyton wiped the sweat from his face, his head sank on his breast; he
was in a condition of coma; so stupefied, indeed, that it was only by an
effort he could follow the detective's next words,
"There is only one other person--well, say, two--who suspect you, Lord
Heyton. But she will keep her lips shut. She is your wife--fortunately
for you."
He went to the sideboard, poured out some brandy and pushed the glass
towards the wretched man.
"Drink that, my lord, and pull yourself together," he said, in a
matter-of-fact way. "That's right," as Heyton stretched out a shaking
hand and poured some of the spirit down his throat and some over his
waistcoat. "Now, you'll want some money. Oh, I know! You wanted it badly
or you wouldn't have played this idiotic game. In this bag is some gold.
When you get to Harbin, you will find some more waiting for you. I'll
take it upon myself to arrange all that. Don't take much luggage: just a
change and a tooth-brush. Say you're going to town on business, any
business you can think of that requires your immediate presence. And,
mind! don't stop on the way; go straight through: you'll find the trains
fit in. I won't add, 'Keep your mouth shut'; you'll do that; unless"--he
nodded significantly at the empty glass--"you take too much of that.
That's rather a weakness of yours, Lord Heyton: master it, or it'll
master you. Now, there's no time to lose. I'll order a brougham for you.
Come, pull yourself together. Man!"--his disgust, impatience broke out,
for the first time--"try to think what you're running away from! It's a
long rope, and it'll take you all your time and wits to get beyond its
reach. And think of the risk I'm running; I'm compounding a felony.
I--Harry Jacobs!"
Heyton rose, clutching at the table, chair; his quivering lips opened
and shut; at last he cried hoarsely,
"Damn you!"
"That's all right, my lord," said Mr. Jacobs. "I'm glad I've roused your
spirit. Here, pull yourself together--your face is giving you away.
Upstairs and pack! The carriage will be waiting."
He held open the door; and Heyton, with a glance at him which meant
murder, passed out.
Half an hour later, Celia saw Lord Heyton enter the brougham.
"Is Lord Heyton going away?" she asked, with surprise, as she saw the
footman place a small portmanteau on the box. She hurried into the hall
as she spoke, and it was Mr. Jacobs, who was standing there with Mrs.
Dexter, who answered her.
"Yes, Miss Grant," he said. "Lord Heyton has been called away on most
important business. Most unfortunate! But there was no help for it."
He waited until Mrs. Dexter had gone, then, with his eyes fixed on
Celia's face, he said to her,
"Will you please tell the Marquess that Lord Heyton has gone? And you
might say that his return is quite uncertain; in fact--er--he has gone
abroad."
Celia's ingenuous countenance expressed her surprise, which seemed to
satisfy Mr. Jacobs.
"Now," he said, briskly, "I'm going to see the prisoner, Mr. Sydney
Green." The colour rose to Celia's face; but her eyes met Mr. Jacobs'
steadily. "Have you any message for him, Miss Grant?"
"Yes," said Celia in a low voice and after a pause. "Will you tell him,
please, that I will come to him, if--if I am allowed to do so?"
"You may go and see Mr. Green whenever you please, my dear Miss Grant,"
said Mr. Jacobs. As he turned away, he added, "By the way, perhaps you'd
like to know I'm going to take Mr. Clendon with me. I beg his lordship's
pardon--I mean, the Marquess."
Celia looked bewildered for a moment; then she sighed.
"Yes. I am rather confused. I am glad you are going to take him with
you; very glad."
"So am I," said Mr. Jacobs, with his bland, innocent smile.