A RECOGNITION
If Mrs. Ward expected to startle Derrington into a confession she was
never more mistaken in her calculations. Lord Derrington had not moved
in diplomatic circles all his life without knowing how to guard
against the display of emotion. With an utterly expressionless face he
looked at the stiletto. It was a slender steel blade with a silver
handle of Renaissance workmanship, evidently a valuable and curious
relic of the Middle Ages. It might have been made by Cellini himself
and have been worn by Cesare Borgia. But Derrington stared at it as
though he knew nothing about it.
"Well," said Mrs. Ward, sharply, and rather disappointed he did not
grovel on the instant, "what do you say?"
Derrington looked at her in rather a humorous manner. "What do you
want me to say?" he asked. "Confess that I killed Mrs. Jersey and then
brought this weapon carefully home in my pocket for you to discover
and use against me?"
"That is a subterfuge," said Mrs. Ward. "You did not expect to find me
waiting for you, and you never meant that dagger to be discovered,
Lord Derrington."
"I certainly never did," he assented heartily. "I cannot imagine how
you came to know more than I did."
"What do you mean?" asked the little woman, sharply.
"Well, you see," said Lord Derrington, quietly, "this is a very clever
bit of business on your part, but so far as I am concerned it has
nothing to do with me. I never saw that weapon before."
"Oh, that's rubbish!" said Mrs. Ward with a mirthless laugh. "I found
it in the pocket of your fur coat on the very----"
"You say you found it there," said Derrington, meaningly.
"Do you deny that it was in the pocket?"
"Certainly. Had it been in the pocket I should have known it was
there. But it was not in the pocket."
Mrs. Ward stared. "You are very brazen," she said; "you knew it was
there all the time."
"In the pocket?" asked Derrington, politely and perfectly calm.
Mrs. Ward hesitated. Then she faced him defiantly. "I am so sure of my
ground," she declared, "that I don't mind saying it wasn't exactly in
the pocket. There was a hole in the pocket and the dagger had slipped
down into the lining between the inside fur and the outer cloth. It
lay sideways, and what with its position and the heavy fur----"
"I could not have known it was there," finished Derrington, balancing
a paper-cutter on his forefinger. "You have found a mare's nest, my
dear Mrs. Ward, and if this is your trump card I am sorry to say it
won't take the trick you wish to secure. I did not know that this--"
he touched the stiletto--"was in the lining of my fur coat."
"Then it was, and Mrs. Jersey was stabbed with it."
"Isn't that taking a great deal for granted?" said Derrington, with
raised brows. "Mrs. Jersey, according to the doctor, if I recall the
report of the inquest rightly, was certainly stabbed with a weapon
similar to this. But why do you say this is the one?"
"Because I believe you were in the house on that night."
"Which house? Be explicit, please."
Mrs. Ward was growing angry at this calm defiance. "In the house in
Amelia Square. You went there to prevent that Brendon creature from
making Mrs. Jersey confess."
Lord Derrington laughed. "You would not make a good lawyer," said he.
"By your own showing I did not know that Brendon was to be at Mrs.
Jersey's on that night."
"I certainly came to tell you," said Mrs. Ward, feeling that she had
missed a point, "but you could easily have heard it elsewhere."
"Who from? Brendon did not advertise in the papers that he was
stopping with Mrs. Jersey on the night in question."
"Then Mr. Train----"
"I met Mr. Train for the first time at your house the other night."
"Dorothy told you," said Mrs. Ward, determined not to surrender any
advantage she might have gained.
"You can ask your daughter and she will tell you that I had not seen
her all that week. Is there any one else, Mrs. Ward?"
The little woman rose to her feet with an artificial laugh and shook
out perfume from her silken skirts. "You are very clever and
obstinate, Lord Derrington, but how will you explain this--" she
pointed to the stiletto--"to the authorities?"
"There will be no need for me to do that," said Derrington, and took
up the weapon. Mrs. Ward stretched out her hand.
"My property, if you please, Lord Derrington."
The old gentleman opened a drawer, dropped the weapon into it, and
closed the drawer with a snap. "It's locked now," he said coolly. "I
shall take charge of this."
"How dare you? I insist----"
"Oh, dear, no! You insist on nothing." Lord Derrington rose, looking
like a giant as he towered over the little woman. "My dear Mrs. Ward,"
said he, quietly, but in his deepest tones, "I have been very patient
with you, but this thing must end. You must promise to hold your
tongue about Brendon and----"
"And about you, I suppose," she sneered.
"About me?" Derrington's tone expressed surprise. "What have you to
hold your tongue about as regards me?"
Mrs. Ward stamped, though as a rule she was not given to betraying
violent emotion. "Oh, it's too ridiculous!" she said furiously. "I can
say to the police how I found the stiletto in your coat, I suppose."
"I should advise you not to talk to any one about a thing which exists
only in your imagination."
"The stiletto----"
"What are you talking of, Mrs. Ward?"
"It's in that drawer." She pointed to the table.
"Oh, dear, no, it isn't," said Derrington, blandly; "there is no
stiletto, there never was one. We have had a nice talk--shall we say
about chiffons?" In spite of her rage at being outwitted Mrs. Ward
gave a hollow laugh at the thought of Lord Derrington discussing
chiffons. "A nice talk, I say, and now we must part."
"Not before I have had my say," said Mrs. Ward, savagely. "I see
perfectly well that I have been foolish to let that stiletto get into
your hands. But I thought I was dealing with a man of honor."
"Ah, Mrs. Ward, few of us can aspire to your high principles!"
The sneer infuriated her. "You can deny the stiletto if you like to
the public, but you dare not do so to me."
"Why not? For the sake of argument we will admit the existence of the
weapon. You come here with it in your hand and state that you found it
in my coat--in the lining of the coat."
"And I did--I did--you know I did."
"Indeed, I know nothing of the sort. I deny that the stiletto was ever
in pocket or in lining. I did not see you take it out."
"I waited till you were out of the room before I examined the coat."
"Of course, but by doing so you have defeated your own object. Had you
produced the weapon from the coat and showed it to me at the very
moment, your accusation might have held water. As it is, the thing is
simply ridiculous. You come here, you accuse me of a crime----"
"I did not accuse you," said Mrs. Ward, beginning to find that
Derrington was too much even for her. "I believe Brendon killed the
woman--oh, yes! You went to the house and you saw him. He and Mrs.
Jersey had words, as she would not confess, and Brendon killed her
with the stiletto. Then you came in, and to save him you put the
dagger into your pocket, sent him up to bed, and promised to hold your
tongue, and----"
Derrington laughed. "You have a most vivid imagination, Mrs. Ward," he
said, with a shrug; "but, as it happens, you are talking nonsense. I
was not at Amelia Square that evening, but at my club, as any member
then present can assure you. I can prove what is called an alibi, Mrs.
Ward, which means that I can account for every moment of my time, from
the minute I left this house to the minute I returned to find you
here. As to the stiletto you say you took out of my pocket, that is
rubbish. On the whole, I think you had better hold your tongue."
"If I go to the police they will open that drawer."
"Oh, no! An Englishman's house is his castle, you know, and a man in
my position cannot be treated in the way you suggest with impunity.
Moreover, Mrs. Ward, there is ample time to destroy the stiletto."
"Which you will do," she said, recovering her composure, now that she
found it was useless to protest.
"No. I wouldn't even mind showing it to the police and saying how you
brought it here with an accusation. If the police can prove that this
is the weapon with which Mrs. Jersey was stabbed, and if you and the
police can prove that the stiletto was in my pocket on the night of
the murder, then you and the police--" Derrington made an ironical
bow--"are extremely clever."
"Oh, very well," said Mrs. Ward, realizing her defeat, "I shall say
nothing about you. But Brendon----"
"You will hold your tongue about him also. I quite understand how you
proposed to hold this stiletto, and the tale of its being discovered
in my pocket, over me. If I did not consent to the marriage of Miss
Ward and Walter--eh?"
"I must do the best for my child."
"Even going so far as threats. Well, I have too high a respect for
Miss Ward to ask her to marry such a worm as Walter. She would do
better to take Brendon."
"She shan't marry him."
"Why do you hate the man so?" asked Derrington, looking into her eyes.
"I know he is a strong man, and for the money's sake you do not want
him to be your son-in-law. But even this does not account for your
hatred. Why do you hate him?"
"I have nothing to say," retorted Mrs. Ward, who had flushed and paled
alternately during this speech. "Please see me to the door."
Derrington walked to the door and opened it with a bow. "Willingly. I
think we understand one another."
"I think we do," said Mrs. Ward, with an artificial laugh. "You do
credit to your reputation, Lord Derrington."
"Praise from Mrs. Ward is praise, indeed," said the ironical old
gentleman as he descended the stairs side by side with the woman who
could have found it in her heart to kill him. "I am sorry to ask you
to leave me so soon, as our conversation was most enjoyable. But I
have to see a certain Mr. Ireland----"
"Is that Brendon's guardian?" asked Mrs. Ward, coming to a sudden stop
in the hall.
"His former guardian," corrected Derrington. "How do you come to know
of him, Mrs. Ward?"
"I think Dorothy mentioned the name," she said in rather a faltering
tone. "Dear me, how my face burns! I wish I had a veil."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Ward, but the late Lady Derrington's veils are not
modern enough for you."
"What nonsense!" said Mrs. Ward, who appeared flurried. "Please tell
your man to call a cab. I sent away the carriage."
"Let me send you home in mine."
"No! No, I want to go at once," and she approached the door quickly.
"When did you say Mr. Ireland was coming?"
Derrington glanced at his watch. "He is due now," he said, and looked
at her, wondering why she asked the question.
Mrs. Ward's face was turned away. She was dressed in furs and carried
a muff. When the door was opened by the footman a gentleman appeared
on the threshold. Mrs. Ward lifted her muff to her face, but not
before the stranger had caught sight of her face and had uttered an
ejaculation of surprise. "You!" he said, stepping forward.
"What do you mean?" said Mrs. Ward, with her face still hidden. "Lord
Derrington, this friend of yours is making a mistake. Tell that man to
be quick calling a cab." And she moved past the stranger.
"Pardon," he said politely, "but I wish to speak with you."
Derrington bent his bushy brows. "Let the lady pass," he said; "who
are you, sir, to stop the egress of my guests?"
"My name is Rodger Ireland," said the stranger, quietly, "and I have
been looking for that lady for over thirty years."
"What does the man mean?" asked Mrs. Ward, haughtily, but looking
disturbed.
"Lord Derrington," said Ireland, "I think if you will permit this lady
and me to have a talk----"
"There seems to be some mistake," said Derrington. "Mrs. Ward, will
you not wait until we rectify it?"
"No. The man is mad. Let me pass, sir. There is the cab."
She would have stepped out but Ireland again placed his bulky form in
her way. It was all done so tactfully that the footman on the pavement
did not notice anything unusual. The man was waiting by the cab to
assist Mrs. Ward in. But Ireland would not let her pass.
"Lord Derrington," he said softly, lest the footman should overhear,
"this is the lady who was with your son when he was murdered."
Derrington was not easily startled, but he turned suddenly white. Mrs.
Ward shrank back into the hall. Now that the truth was told she seemed
to recover from her fears and to regain all her tact. "I shall not
want the cab at present," she said to the footman. "Tell the man to
wait. Lord Derrington, if you do not wish these private affairs to be
discussed in the presence of the servants we had better return to the
library."
Lord Derrington could only stare, being confounded at her coolness. He
was much moved by the unexpected mention of his dead son, and without
a word went up the stairs again, while Mrs. Ward followed, and Ireland
came at her heels. She looked as though she were a prisoner between
two guards.
When they found themselves in the library Derrington closed the door
and went to his seat. He looked much older, having aged in a most
extraordinary manner under the shock of Ireland's information. Mrs.
Ward was perfectly cool, and resumed her former seat. As to Ireland,
he let himself carefully down into the most capacious armchair he
could find. Mrs. Ward opened the conversation at once.
"You say you saw me at San Remo?" she asked.
"I did," replied Ireland, in his heavy voice. "I was there at the time
Mr. Percy Vane was murdered--" Derrington groaned--"and I was at the
masked ball where----"
"The Veglioni," said Mrs. Ward. "Well, you were there. You say you saw
me?"
"In a blue domino."
"There were plenty of blue dominoes at that ball--at least I should
think there were."
"Yes, but you wore a sprig of yellow holly. That was why I recognized
you when you were masked."
"How did you know it was I?"
"Because early in the evening you went into a box. I was there talking
to the Marchesa Beltrami, to whom the box belonged. You removed your
mask and I had ample opportunity to observe you."
"What reason had you to observe me?" asked Mrs. Ward, just as though
she were counsel examining a witness.
"Well," said Ireland, smoothing his face, "you see I knew Mr. Vane
very well. He married a woman of whom I was fond." Derrington shifted
restlessly in his chair. "Do not be afraid, Lord Derrington, I do not
intend to talk of Rosina Lockwood----"
"You are talking to me at present," said Mrs. Ward, sharply. "You can
talk to Lord Derrington later."
"I rather think, ma'am," said Ireland, "that Lord Derrington will want
to talk to you."
"At present I say nothing," was his lordship's reply, and he watched
the two faces before him with close attention.
"You saw me unmask in a certain box," said Mrs. Ward, quickly. "Do you
mean to say that after all these years--over thirty years--that you
recognize me again? I was a girl then; I am a--a----" She was about to
say old woman, as being more emphatic with the adjective, but her
vanity made her swallow the word. "I am a woman now."
"Quite so. But you have a mole on your forehead just above the left
eyebrow. I knew you by that; and then I have a splendid memory for
faces, and yours--" Ireland bowed gallantly--"is too beautiful to
forget easily."
Mrs. Ward shrugged her shoulders. She did not want compliments, but
she wished very much to get out of the trouble in which she found
herself involved. "It's a most remarkable memory," she said.
"It is, madam," assented Ireland; "my memory was always considered
remarkable. And the fact is that I was thinking of the murder almost
at the moment I entered the hall. Consequently your face was in my
mind's eye. That made the chance of recognizing you more sure. Had I
not been thinking of old days I might not have guessed so readily who
you were."
"Why were you thinking of the murder, then?" asked Derrington.
"Well, my lord, you sent for me to speak with me about George--" Mrs.
Ward gave a short laugh, and Derrington smiled--"so I was naturally
thinking of George; such a thought led to my thinking of his parents,
and finally I remembered the circumstance of your son's death, as I
thought you might wish to talk of it, and therefore desired to get my
memory in order. In this way did I recognize the lady."
"This is all very well," said Mrs. Ward. "You say you recognize me,
Mr. Ireland. Is that your name?"
"It is, but your memory is not so good as mine. We met only once."
Derrington was not so sure if Mrs. Ward's memory was not good, for he
remembered how she had tried to get away before the arrival of
Ireland. "Go on! Go on!" he said irritably. "I wish to know the
worst."
"The worst is that I am supposed to have killed Percy Vane," said Mrs.
Ward, coolly. "So you accuse me of that?" she asked Ireland.
"By no means. But you were at that ball----"
"I was. In a blue domino with a sprig of holly at my breast."
"And you were with Mr. Vane?"
"No, I was not!"
"You went out with Mr. Vane."
"I did not. It was my sister."
"Your sister!" said Derrington. "Hah!" and he relapsed into silence.
Mrs. Ward shot a suspicious look at him, but his inscrutable face
betrayed nothing.
"I remember," said Ireland, in a slow, prosy way, "that there were two
Miss Howards at San Remo--at the Hotel d'Angleterre. They were with
their father, General Howard. I never met them, but Mr. Vane went
frequently to call at the house."
"He did," said Mrs. Ward, "if by house you mean the hotel. The fact
is, my sister Jenny was in love with Captain Vane----"
"I heard it was you," said Ireland, distrustfully.
"It was my sister," said Mrs. Ward, coldly. "We thought Mr. Vane would
marry her, but he certainly showed no signs of proposing. I suppose he
was too fond of his dead wife," and she shot a sneering look at Lord
Derrington, who winced.
"Don't say a word against Rosina Lockwood," said Ireland, quickly.
"You see what he calls her," said Mrs. Ward to Derrington. "There was
no marriage."
"Ma'am!" cried Ireland, rising.
"Oh, never mind," replied Mrs. Ward, waving her hand. "There is no
need for you to lose your temper, my good man. I am not going to speak
of the woman----"
"She was an angel."
"And a woman--that's the generic name for the sex. However, it was my
sister Jenny who loved Percy Vane. She would go to the ball, and
persuaded me to go with her. We slipped out of the hotel and went
without a chaperon. Our father would have been shocked had he known,
but it was merely the escapade of two schoolgirls. I went with a
friend, and Jenny looked about for Mr. Vane. We agreed to meet after
an hour and go home. As there were other blue dominoes at the ball we
each wore--" and Mrs. Ward repeated the word to emphasize the
fact--"_each_ a sprig of yellow holly. I went to a box to have supper
with a certain cousin of mine and my sister then departed with Mr.
Vane."
"Why did she leave the ballroom?" asked Derrington.
"Because Mr. Vane was shocked. He recognized her voice and made her
unmask. He insisted on taking her home first, and then intended to
return for me, as he could not find me at the moment. They went out
together, Mr. Ireland, and that is the last I saw of Mr. Vane."
"What was the last your sister saw of him?"
"She was at the hotel and in our bedroom when I returned, which I did
after looking vainly for her. She said that Mr. Vane had escorted her
to the hotel and had left her at the gate at her earnest request, as
Jenny was so afraid lest my father should hear of our escapade. She
said good-night to Mr. Vane and then went to her room. When we heard
of the murder next morning she became very ill and my father took her
away. But she always declared to me that she did not know who murdered
Percy Vane."
"Did your father ever know that she was in Vane's company on that
night?" asked Ireland.
"Never! We kept our folly a profound secret from him."
"Did any one else know?"
"You did," said Mrs. Ward sharply; "and Mr. Vane did, and a servant at
the hotel--an English servant who attended to us. In fact, it was she
who procured the yellow holly by which Jenny and I were to identify
one another."
"What was her name?" asked Derrington, quickly, and raising himself in
his chair with eagerness to hear the answer.
"Eliza Stokes."
"Ah! I thought so. Mrs. Jersey?"
"Yes, Mrs. Jersey. And now, Lord Derrington, you know how I come to
take such an interest in the death of that woman."
"Yes. But I cannot understand how you came to know that Mrs. Jersey
was Eliza Stokes."
"That's my business," flashed out Mrs. Ward. "Or why," pursued
Derrington, unmoved, "why you sent her the yellow holly?"
"Because I was not quite positive if she really was Eliza Stokes. I
thought that the yellow holly, being connected in her mind with the
death of Mr. Vane, would make her betray herself."
"It did in a way--but to Brendon. He would not have told you."
"He would doubtless have told Dorothy, and she would have told me."
Ireland, in his thoughtful, ponderous way, turned this matter over in
his own mind. "Where is your sister now?" he asked.
Mrs. Ward replied with some reserve. "I can't tell you that. She went
out of her mind for a time after the murder of Mr. Vane, and after she
came out of the asylum we were all afraid to live with her. My father
put her under some one's charge, and when he died she was allowed an
annuity. Her guardian died and my sister vanished. We made no attempt
to find her, and it was supposed that she had put an end to herself."
Ireland looked at Derrington. "Did you ever meet Miss Jenny Howard, my
lord?" he asked.
"No," said Derrington, "but I have known Mrs. Ward for many, many
years."
"Quite twenty," said Mrs. Ward, with an artificial laugh. "We grow
old. No, Mr. Ireland, Lord Derrington never met my sister. Why you ask
I cannot conceive!"
"Because Lord Derrington is under a wrong impression. He has met your
sister, and in this very room."
"I beg your pardon," began Derrington. "I----"
Ireland cut him short. "She called to see you here about the renewal
of the Amelia Square lease."
"Miss Bull?" said his lordship. "I thought there was something
familiar about her face. So Miss Bull is Mrs. Ward's sister?"
"She told me so herself," was Ireland's reply.