KITTY was not a little excited at the prospect of her trip with Hilda,
though at first her pride had raised a difficulty, and she had begged to
be allowed to pay her own expenses.
“Very well,” Hilda had promptly rejoined, “if you wish to hurt my
brother’s feelings, not to mention mine, I can’t prevent you. Besides,
you will spoil my holiday—”
“But, Hilda, I can’t be always taking—”
“You can have your revenge when the play is making your fortune.”
“I wonder if it will. . . . Anyway, I’m glad Mr. West is going to be
reasonable, aren’t you?”
“Let’s go out and buy things for our holiday,” Hilda had said, rather
hurriedly. “We have no time to waste to-day. It’s a nuisance, but I’m
afraid I shall have to go to the office for an hour to-night, so that I
may leave things in shape.”
“And I must finish that typing before I go to bed. Oh, Hilda, sometimes
I can’t help feeling that it’s all a dream!”
“What—the typing?”
“All the wonderful things that have happened to me lately. Why, it’s not
a month since that horrible time in Dunford. I only wish for one
thing—to hear from Sam, the postman. I can’t understand his not
writing.”
“Possibly, Mr. Hayward, who has gone to Scotland, my brother’s note tells
me, will have news. I am wiring him to take tea with us at Newcastle
to-morrow afternoon.”
“Oh!”
“And, naturally, I want to look my best! So come along to the shops at
once! By the way, we have dinner early to-night—Matilda’s evening at the
picture house.”
* * * * *
It was now shortly after eight. Hilda had not been long gone to the
office, after promising to return by ten and wishing, secretly, that she
had asked Matilda to postpone her outing. But her casual suggestion in
that direction had been scoffed at by Kitty; and to have carried it
further would only have made the girl uncomfortable.
Kitty was too absorbed to feel lonely. Under the shaded electric light
she was making an effort to finish her typing before Hilda’s return. She
was in the best of spirits that youth and health can supply, and she was
looking forward eagerly to the morrow—and, perhaps, the morrow’s
afternoon.
Nevertheless, she did start when a bell in the distance purred suddenly.
“Silly!” she called herself the next moment. It was just the hour for
the postman, and probably he had a packet that would not go into the
letter-box. She went at once to the door.
A thick-set man of middle age, heavily moustached, but not unpleasantly
featured, in dark tweeds and bowler hat, said—
“You are Miss Kitty Carstairs.”
Before she could answer, he was standing beside her and the door was
closed.
“I have something to say to you, Miss Carstairs,” he proceeded in a quiet
voice. “I think you ought to sit down to hear it.”
For some seconds the girl was incapable of speech and action. But her
mind was working, and it perceived that she gained no advantage by
remaining in the confined space of the little passage. In silence she
led the way to the sitting-room.
“Who are you and what do you want with me?” she managed to say, taking
her stand with the table between them. She began to suspect that he was
a messenger from Symington, but there was something “decent” about his
face that reassured her.
His reply was certainly unexpected.
“I am a detective, and I hold a warrant for your arrest. I have to warn
you that anything you may say now may be used against you later.”
Kitty went white, but it was with anger. “Who,” she demanded at last,
“has dared to do such a thing? Who desires my arrest?”
“The warrant is issued at the instance of the Postmaster-General—”
“Ah! . . . I see! I suppose—”
“Miss Carstairs. I warn you again—”
“Does all this mean that I have got to go with you—now—to the police
office?” To herself she was saying: “Don’t be a coward! You’ve nothing
to be afraid of.”
“It is my duty to take you there,” the man answered, “and I hope you will
not make it harder for me than you can help.”
His respectful tone stayed the sinking of her heart.
“Can’t I send a message to a friend?” she asked.
“You might leave a short note. I—I think,” he said almost nervously, “I
can allow you five minutes—not more—to write it and put a few things
together.” He wiped his forehead, though the window was open and the
room cool. “Of course,” he went on quickly, noticing her look of dismay,
“you may not be detained long. No doubt your friends will arrange for
bail. But now—please—I must ask you to make haste.”
“Will you tell me—” she began.
“I can answer no more questions.”
Apparently there was nothing for it but to submit. She sat down,
scribbled the brief note that we have seen, and rose.
“I am going to my room.”
He followed her as far as the outer door, where he mounted guard, as it
were.
Within five minutes she rejoined him, dressed for out of doors, a small
travelling bag in her hand.
“Let me get it over,” she said.
“You are a brave young lady,” he remarked. “Allow me.” He relieved her
of the bag. “A very brave young lady.”
“I’ve done nothing to make me afraid.”
With his fingers on the door handle, he said—
“Will you give me your word to—to come with me quietly?”
Her head went up. “Of course!”
He opened the door and stood aside for her to pass out. Now there was no
doubt about his nervousness; he was paler than she.
She went steadily before him down the narrow wooden stairway. On the
landing he overtook her, and they continued their descent on the broader
stone steps, passing business offices closed for the night.
At the entrance a plain-looking motor brougham was waiting.
“I hope you will remember, Miss Carstairs,” he whispered, “that I used no
harshness.”
“I will—thank you. Have we far to go?”
“It’s a longish drive.”
As they crossed the pavement Kitty thought it strange that no one stared,
then almost laughed at the stupidity of the notion. Why should any one
stare? Truly the man was behaving very nicely.
He opened the door, followed her into the brougham, and closed it with a
bang. The brougham immediately rolled away. The man took the narrow
seat opposite, and she heard him draw a long breath.
She tried to baulk the returning fears. Anger at her uncle assisted her
to some extent. He must have gone quite mad! And then a dreadful
thought struck and almost stunned her spirits. Suppose something had
happened to Sam! Suppose he were—dead! . . .
Time passed ere she recovered her wits and courage. Her aunt knew the
truth, and Kitty could not believe that Rachel Corrie, even for her
brother’s sake, would fall to perjury. And there was Mr. Risk, and
Hilda, and Mr. West, and—Colin! Oh, with such friends, why should she be
afraid? No doubt she was in for a most disagreeable ordeal; but it was
bound to end in her complete triumph. . . . Well, she was having an
adventure, and no mistake! Adventures!—how lightly she had uttered the
word in the past to Colin! How gently he had treated her foolish talk!
Her mind went back to that night in the little wood at Dunford, when she
had let him kiss her. Then his prospects and hers had been simply blank.
Now . . . but what had made her allow him to kiss her?
She came out of a long reflection. Indeed, the destination was evidently
a far one! She had not noticed the course taken by the brougham—not that
she could have recognized any streets other than one or two of the main
west end thoroughfares. It seemed to her now that they must be somewhere
in the suburbs.
“Are we nearly there?” she asked her guardian.
He cleared his throat. “Still a bit to go,” he said, and gave a long,
vague explanation, which she could not follow, as to police districts and
other matters. “My work ends,” he concluded, “when I have handed you
over to the—the chief inspector.”
She thought of asking him what the chief inspector was like, and whether
she would have to go to Scotland, but suddenly she felt too tired to
talk. The reaction had come, and she lay back exhaustedly, with the
tears not far away. She was no longer in a hurry to reach the
destination.
The man drew down the blinds. Soon the speed of the brougham was
increased; it seemed to be travelling over a different sort of road.
There were occasional ruts that suggested the country.
At the end of what seemed a very long, yet too short period, the man
said—
“We are practically there now.” And under his breath he added: “Thank
God!”
The brougham lurched round a corner; presently its pace slackened.
The man drew up the blind on the left, and, the moment the motion ceased,
threw open the door and jumped out, laying her bag on the ground.
“Will you get out, please?” he said. His voice had become husky and
fearful.
She obeyed and looked about her.
“But surely this is not—”
Speech failed as the man, with a whispered “Forgive,” sprang into the
brougham, which immediately started.
“Oh, hell!” groaned the man, “to think I’ve lived to be driven to this
for the sake of twenty pounds!”
Kitty found herself standing on the earthen foot-walk of a badly-lighted
road, in front of an iron gate, open, with a shrub-bordered path leading
to a large, dark house. That was all she had grasped when some one
sprang upon her, a heavy shawl was thrown over her head and face, and—her
senses failed.
* * * * *
She came to herself, lying on a couch in a large room with a low ceiling
which, like the walls, had been whitewashed but lately, for there were
dampish patches here and there. The floor was of stone flags, but its
bareness was partly covered by Turkey rugs. There were no windows,
unless one cared to give the name to a couple of oblong openings
protected by gratings close to the roof. Two electric bulbs, which with
their wires, had evidently been hurriedly installed, depended from the
ceiling; an electric heater glowed in a niche in one of the walls.
Across one of the corners a curtain had been hung on a wire, and being
only partially drawn, permitted a glimpse of a small white bed, a white
dressing-table and a white wash-stand.
Near the centre of the room was a round table covered with a new cloth
and decorated with two pairs of silver flower-vases containing
carnations. A middle-aged woman was engaged in putting the finishing
touches to a meal consisting of a cold chicken, sliced ham, salad, bread
and butter, and so forth, also a small bottle of champagne and a syphon
of lemonade.
Kitty sat up, but was still too dazed to notice the incongruities. She
saw only a woman’s back and the white walls.
“Have they put me in prison?” she asked faintly.
The woman turned a red, expressionless face, and answered—
“Maybe, Miss. But your supper’s ready. Kindly ring if you want
anything.”
“I want to see the—the inspector,” said the girl, still groping in a
mist.
“Yes, Miss. To-morrow, maybe. Your bed’s ready when you want it.”
She went out.
Kitty pressed her palms to her temples, and with eyes closed remained
motionless for several minutes. Then, with a sigh, she took courage to
look about her.
It was well that she had a healthy heart, for at the realization of her
surroundings a weakly one must surely have stopped.