LANWIN GRANGE.
In the exercise of his profession, a legitimate detective would have
waited to question Mrs. Rover. Since she had said so much he would
have forced her to say all, in order to get at the truth as speedily
as possible; but Lord Prelice was new to the business, and his
emotions were not entirely under control. On leaving Alexander
Mansions he felt that he was in possession of a most dangerous and
perilous secret, the publication of which would cause even a greater
sensation than that produced by the crimes themselves. The shock of
learning that Mrs. Rover was the woman who had been brought by Agstone
into Number Forty was very great, and quite confused Prelice's usually
strong brain. He did not dare to call again on Shepworth, lest he
should say too much.
It will be seen that Prelice, being an untrained detective, jumped
somewhat hastily to a conclusion. Mrs. Rover had admitted that she
wore the dress, the mask, and the domino which Shepworth had seen on
the unknown lady. But Constance did not know that Ned had so described
her appearance, and, if she had, would probably not have admitted that
she had assumed such a costume at her _bal masque_. But the mere fact
that, even in ignorance of Shepworth's description, she had, as the
saying goes, given herself away, should have proved to Lord Prelice
that she could not be guilty. Had Mrs. Rover entered Number Forty in
Agstone's company, and had she struck the blow, she assuredly would
not have incriminated herself so unthinkingly. Rather would she have
denied that the frock mentioned by Prelice belonged to her.
After the first shock, and while Prelice was in the train going to
Hythe, he began to revise his earlier opinion on the above-mentioned
grounds. His common-sense came to his aid, and told him that, if
guilty, Mrs. Rover would not have confessed even to a half-truth.
Certainly, had she not done so, her maid, knowing what dress her
mistress wore at the ball, might have blurted out the secret; but
then, so far as the world knew, no inquiry would have been made about
the wearer of that especial frock.
Of course, assuming that in a thoughtless moment Mrs. Rover had
foolishly confessed the truth, Prelice could find a motive for her
behaviour in committing the crime. It might be that Agstone wished to
kill Ned, and that Mrs. Rover, to save the life of the man she loved,
had struck down the sailor unawares. Having committed the deed, she
could easily slip back to her own flat, and mingle with the masked
crowd.
But then again, as Prelice further argued, while the train drew near
to the coast, Mrs. Rover must have known that in murdering Agstone she
was not only securing the freedom of Mona Chent, whom she hated, but
also was placing her lover in a dangerous position. Agstone was a
necessary witness for the prosecution, whom Shepworth of all men did
not wish to see placed in the box, so the supposition would be, were
the man found dead in Number Forty, that Shepworth had killed him to
save Mona Chent. As a matter of fact, this is exactly what had taken
place, and in saving Ned from the sailor's knife Mrs. Rover, always
presuming that she was guilty, had simply condemned her lover to a
death on the scaffold. But that Prelice had been clever enough to
admit the crowd of guests, so that all might see the barrister's
helpless position, it is certain that the man would have been
arrested, and probably sentenced to death, since it would have been
extraordinarily difficult for him to clear his character in the face
of circumstances. Therefore on these assumptions, for that they were
and no more, Prelice after much reflection decided that Mrs. Rover was
innocent.
Finally, the young man recollected that a woman dressed as described,
by Ned, and in the costume which Mrs. Rover confessed to wearing, had
passed down the stairs while he was waiting for entrance to Number
Forty and immediately before the discovery of the crime. She could
scarcely have been Mrs. Rover, for as that lady could have easily
proved an _alibi_ by returning to her guests and casually unmasking
at the right moment, it would have been useless for her to leave
the mansions. Of course, the lady--whether Mrs. Rover or a
stranger--certainly might have followed Prelice down to the door,
knowing that he would be certain to discover the tragedy, and might
merely have descended to return to the ballroom overhead when the
young man entered Shepworth's flat. But then, again, the person in
question could not have known that Prelice, masked and unknown, was
going to enter Number Forty, so there would be no reason to track him
there. And to conclude, the murderess--if a woman was guilty--must
have known that Shepworth, being in a cataleptic state, must have seen
and remembered her very peculiar frock.
On the whole, Prelice arrived at certain conclusions, by no means
inimical to Mrs. Rover, by the time he alighted at Hythe Station. He
believed that Constance was innocent for four reasons. Firstly, if
guilty, she would not have confessed to wearing the dress, since such
a confession would necessarily lead to her detection. Secondly, by
killing Agstone she would not only have placed Shepworth in a
dangerous position, but by getting rid of an inconvenient witness
would have enabled Mona to escape possible condemnation. Thirdly, she
would not have followed an unknown man--as Prelice was by reason of
his mask and domino--down the stairs with the intention of seeing what
took place. Fourthly, and lastly, she would not have sought safety in
an incriminating flight--as the similarly dressed woman on the stairs
apparently had--when she would have been much safer in her own
ballroom and amongst her own guests. Only by such a course could she
have provided an _alibi_.
No! Mrs. Rover, in spite of her startling admission, was innocent, and
the sole conclusion that Prelice could arrive at, was the existence of
a double--outwardly at all events. He remembered the extraordinary
ubiquity of the green domino in the red-streaked white dress, and
decided, very naturally, that there was another woman in the field.
But what woman possessed a motive sufficiently strong to urge her to
murder Agstone? As Prelice felt quite worn out with arguing in Mrs.
Rover's defence, he decided to leave the answering of this new
question to the portentous moment, when further evidence might reveal
the identity of the unknown lady. Meanwhile, on arriving at Hythe, he
rested himself at a quiet hotel, and soothed his troubled brain with
an hour's necessary sleep. Later on, after an invigorating bath and an
excellent dinner, he started to walk towards Lanwin Grange.
It was summer, and romance was in the air--at least Prelice scented
its presence by some sixth sense. He was going to see the girl he
loved--the girl with whom he had not, as yet, exchanged a single word.
Therefore, although past the peacock age, he was particularly
attentive to his appearance when assuming his evening clothes. As he
strolled inland along the leafy lanes, through the July warmth of the
twilight, this somewhat premature wooer looked as comely and well
groomed a swain as any damsel, not demanding an Apollo, could desire.
And it was a great proof of Prelice's infatuation that, in looking
forward to meeting Mona, he almost forgot that he was merely the
emissary of the man to whom the girl was engaged. The whole position
was extraordinarily queer. He adored this girl, without being
personally acquainted with her; she was affianced to his best friend;
and yet he could not be certain if that same best friend really loved
the girl herself. Even a Palais Royal farce could offer no more
fantastic complication than this. Prelice felt that, after running
round the wild world in search of the unusual, he had returned to find
Romance sitting on his doorstep.
The way to the family seat of the Lanwins twisted inland and uphill
through deep lanes and umbrageous woods. On emerging high up from the
belt of trees Prelice found himself on a wide, unshaded road, snaking
over bare Downs. For some distance he toiled upward; then the road
mounted a rise to slip down into a cup-shaped hollow brimmed with
cultivated woods. In the midst of these he saw an old grey house,
seemingly prevented from falling to pieces by the ivy which covered
its mouldering walls. From the lips of the hollow stretched the
rolling grassy Downs, dotted with nibbling sheep, grey in the shadows
of the coming night. But it was not yet night, for the sky was filled
with a luminous light, all-pervading, yet emanating from no certain
point. A breathless peace brooded over the vast, treeless uplands, and
an even deeper peace seemed to enwrap the ancient mansion. It appeared
to be the veritable palace of the Sleeping Beauty, set amidst
enchanted woods. And Prelice thrilled with the idea that Beauty
herself, awake and unkissed, awaited some prince in the seclusion of
her faery castle.
Following the road, which here grew somewhat narrower, Lord Prelice
descended into the hollow, passed under the shade of overhanging
trees, and came out into a kind of artificial glade, smooth with
carefully tended lawns and brilliant with flowers. The Grange itself
was somewhat sunken in the ground, entirely level with the lawns, and
looked like part of the woods themselves, so clothed was it with
darkly green ivy. There appeared a weather-worn escutcheon over the
great doorway, and lights gleamed from oriel windows in the east wing.
But to the left Prelice saw the three tall French windows opening on
to a wide terrace which had been referred to at the trial. These
windows appeared quite out of keeping with the Tudor architecture of
the mansion, but the visitor eyed them with great interest. It was
through one of those windows that Agstone and Jadby had looked, to see
the tragedy of Sir Oliver's death. And had that not taken place
Prelice might never have been brought into contact with the most
charming girl in the world. His heart beat loudly as he rang the bell.
Afterwards Lord Prelice never could explain clearly how he had first
come into the presence of his goddess. In a bewildered manner he
waited in the antique hall, after delivering his card to a pompous
footman, and in a bewildered manner was led into a long, low, wide
drawing-room with oriels at the farther end, brilliant with family
crests in stained glass. So far as he could recollect, he did not look
at the cumbersome Georgian furniture, or at the aggressively modern
grand piano, which seemed to be out of place, or at the portraits of
cavaliers and their ladies decking the mellow-hued walls, or even at
the painted ceiling, or the carpet tinted with rainbow colours,
subdued by time to grateful sobriety: he had no eyes save for a tall
slim girl arrayed in a white dress, with a somewhat pale, worn face,
who welcomed him in the sweetest of voices and with the most grateful
of smiles. "I am glad to see Ned's best friend," she said, and her
voice sounded like faery music in the new-comer's ravished ears, "and
to thank him."
"To thank me!" muttered Prelice, staring at the lovely face in the
mellow lamplight.
"I saw you in that terrible Court," she said swiftly, "and the way in
which you looked at me gave me comfort. Other people--my friends, they
call themselves--stared as though I were a wild animal, but you, Lord
Prelice----" She threw out her hands with an eloquent gesture full of
grace. "Ned wrote and told me that you were his friend."
"I am here to be yours also," stuttered Prelice, suppressing a wild
desire to kneel and worship.
"We are friends already. It does not need words to confirm a
friendship offered and accepted mutely and with gratitude."
Prelice felt more bewildered than ever. Here was a girl so entirely
unconventional that she defied the usages of Society, which prescribed
the etiquette for a primary meeting between bachelor and maid. It was
marvellously sweet to be thus greeted; but Prelice must have revealed
his delighted surprise too clearly, for Miss Chent laughed. "I am
afraid that my proffer of unasked-for friendship surprises you," she
said, smilingly; "but, you see, my poor uncle instructed me somewhat
in psychology, and I look at the inner, rather than the outer."
"You said yourself, Miss Chent, that the friendship was asked for in
Court," said Prelice earnestly; "and it was. As Ned's best friend, I
claim to be yours also. I bring a message from Ned."
"You shall deliver it presently," said Mona, turning to a stout,
white-haired gentleman with a genial face who was standing near the
window silently. "Just now you must allow me to introduce Mr.
Martaban, another loyal friend. Also," she waved her hand towards a
spindle-legged Versailles table as the two men shook hands, "you must
have some coffee."
Prelice accepted gratefully, as he would have taken poison from the
hands of this delightful girl, so long as she served it, as she did
the coffee, with her own white hands. Martaban took a cup also, and
resumed the seat from which he had arisen when Prelice entered. Miss
Chent pointed out a chair to her visitor, and herself reclined on a
Louis Treize sofa. Then the three began to talk on immediate and
earthly matters, and Prelice was forced to descend from transcendental
heights. In that room, at that hour, and in the presence of such an
angel, it seemed desperately hard to abandon romance for reality. But
there was no help for it.
"Ned's message?" questioned Mona anxiously.
"He is all right, and will be down as soon as he can get away,"
replied the emissary, delivering the exact words of his friend.
"Then you don't think that he is in danger of being accused of this
second crime?"
"No, no!" interposed Martaban in a genial but authoritative voice. "I
have told you before, and I tell you again, that, under the
circumstances, no one can accuse Mr. Shepworth. And that," added the
solicitor, bowing towards the young man, "is due, my lord, to your
wise action in admitting the crowd to see Mr. Shepworth insensible."
Prelice nodded his thanks. "Ned is perfectly safe," he said quietly.
Mona clasped her hands with a thankful gesture. "I am so glad--I am so
thankful," she whispered softly; "he has been a dear, good friend in
standing by me, when I so sadly needed help."
"Oh!" Prelice was rather indignant. "Seeing that he is something more
than a friend to you, Miss Chent, he could scarcely fail to lay
himself and his life at your feet. It is only what an English
gentleman would do to any lady he respected, much less loved."
Mona coloured, and turned aside her face, rather embarrassed by the
impetuous outbreak of her lover's friend. "Both English gentlemen and
English ladies held aloof when I was in danger," she said simply, "so
you can understand how much I prize the friendship both of Ned, and of
Mr. Martaban here, seeing that they never believed that I was guilty."
"No one could believe that," cried Prelice, still impetuous, and
throwing his usual discretion to the winds; "the moment I set eyes on
your face I knew that you were innocent."
Miss Chent coloured again, and rather retreated from the confidential
attitude she had assumed. Prelice was going ahead too fast, and her
womanly nature, in spite of occult training, was taking alarm. "I must
say that, seeing you did not know me, the belief was somewhat rash,"
she rejoined coldly; "however, I thank you."
"And you will allow me to help you?" asked Prelice eagerly, but
timidly.
"Help Miss Chent," said the lawyer, looking keenly at the young man's
glowing face. "In what way?"
Prelice laid down his cup, crossed his legs, and delivered himself of
his opinion. It was just as well that both Mona and Martaban should
learn of his determination to enter into their lives. "Everyone is
delighted, with few exceptions," he said somewhat incoherently to the
girl, "that you have been acquitted. But some insist that you must be
guilty. Forgive me for inflicting pain," he added rapidly, "but it is
necessary, so that you may entirely understand me. You are safe from
the law, Miss Chent, but, with some idiots, your character is not yet
clear. Also Ned, in spite of the absurdity of the thing, may be
accused of making away with Steve Agstone in your interests. In order
to set everything right it is necessary for us to make certain who
killed your uncle, and who killed the sailor."
"But Agstone killed Sir Oliver," said Martaban quickly; "the evidence
of the paper-cutter, which----"
"Quite so, quite so," interrupted Lord Prelice hurriedly, and skating
quickly over this thin ice, "but we can't prove Agstone's guilt,
beyond all doubt, without further evidence. For Miss Chent's sake, the
truth--whatever it may be--must be made public."
"And what do you think is the truth?" demanded Martaban, puzzled.
Prelice, bearing Mrs. Rover in mind, shuffled again. "I am not
prepared to give an opinion off-hand," he replied politely. "But what
I wish you and Miss Chent to understand is, that Ned Shepworth has
accepted my services towards hunting down the author, or authors, of
this double crime. I wish Miss Chent, if she will, to accept them
also."
"Willingly and with gratitude," said Mona, extending her slim hand.
Prelice contrived to press it in a friendly way, and not kiss it, as
he felt strongly inclined to do, but the effort was great. "Then we
can go ahead," he said easily; "and as I am now admitted to the inner
circle as it were, I should like to know exactly how matters stand.
About you, Miss Chent, for instance. Do you remain here?"
The girl flushed, and glanced, rather embarrassed, at her lawyer.
"Yes!" replied the latter. "Captain Jadby, who undoubtedly inherits,
now that the second will has been destroyed, has made no move towards
assuming possession of his property. Moreover, there are certain legal
formalities to be gone through before he can become the legitimate
master of the Grange. Until everything is straight, I suggest that
Miss Chent remains in her home."
"It is not my home, but Captain Jadby's," answered the girl, colouring
painfully. "I would much rather go away. But," she added piteously,
yet with a proud effort of self-restraint, "I have nowhere to go to.
Uncle Oliver has disinherited me, and my parents died insolvent. If I
leave the Grange I go into the world penniless and alone."
Prelice winced at the picture she drew. "There is always Ned," he
remarked lamely.
Miss Ghent shot a swift glance at his distressed face, and answered
coldly in his own words. "Yes, there is always Ned."
The young man felt more puzzled than ever. Her voice did not sound
like that of a girl in love, and as he had gathered from Constance,
the man Mona was engaged to, had not given her his heart. But if this
was the case--and it was beginning to appear obvious--why had the two
agreed to marry? Prelice did not know what to say, so Miss Chent,
seeing his embarrassment, explained in a somewhat embarrassed fashion
herself.
"Ned is poor," she remarked with deliberate self-control; "he has his
way to make in the world. It would never do for me to burden him with
a pauper wife."
"Two are stronger than one, Miss Chent. There is strength in unity."
"Not in this case," she retorted; and quietly dismissed the subject.
"Will you come to my house, my dear?" said Martaban, who seemed to be
devoted to his luckless client, "my wife will be glad to have you."
"So will Aunt Sophia," interposed Prelice quickly, and struck with a
brilliant idea. "You know my aunt, Miss Chent? Lady Sophia Haken. She
is a friend of yours."
"Save yourself, Mr. Martaban, and Ned, I have had no friend since I
was put on my trial for murder," said Mona in a level voice. "I
decline to trouble any person until my innocence is proved."
"It has been proved at the trial," said Prelice; and Mr. Martaban
echoed the speech.
"Legally, but not socially," she rejoined, rising. "I accept your
services, Lord Prelice. Learn who killed my uncle, and who stabbed
poor Agstone, and earn," she faltered--"and earn my--my gratitude."
Prelice looked disappointed. Yet what else could the girl say?