EMILY DE REUSS TELLS A LIE
A tall, thin man with grave eyes and pale cheeks rose to meet Emily de
Reuss when she entered the sitting-room into which he had been shown.
She regarded him with faint curiosity. She concluded that he had called
upon her with reference to one of her servants. She had a large
household, and it was possible that some of the members of it had fallen
under police supervision. She only regretted that he had not chosen
some other evening.
"The Countess de Reuss, I believe?"
She assented. A nod was quite sufficient.
"I have been instructed to call and ask you a few questions with
reference to your journey from Accreton on February 10th last," he
continued. "I am sorry to trouble you, but from information which we
have received, it seemed possible that you might be able to help us."
She stood quite still, not a muscle in her colourless face twitched or
moved in any way. She showed little of her surprise, none of her
intense and breathless interest. The man looked at her in admiration.
She was politely interested--also acquiescent.
"I remember my journey from Accreton perfectly well," she said. "But I
cannot see that anything in connection with it can possibly be of
interest to Scotland Yard. Perhaps you will be a little more explicit."
The man bowed.
"You had a travelling companion, we are given to understand. A young
man who entered your carriage at the last moment," he added.
"I had a travelling companion, it is true," she admitted slowly. "It is
also true that he entered my carriage at the last moment. But how that
can possibly concern you, I cannot imagine."
"We should like to know his name," the man said.
Emily de Reuss shook her head slowly.
"I really am afraid," she replied, "that I cannot tell you that."
"He was a stranger, then--you did not know him before?" the man asked
quickly.
"On the contrary," she answered, shaking her head, "he was an old
friend."
The man's face fell. Obviously he was disappointed. She toyed with a
bracelet for a moment and then yawned.
"If he was an old friend," Mr. Grey said, "why will you not give me his
name?"
"If you will show me a sufficient reason why I should," she answered, "I
will not hesitate. But you force me to ask you directly, what possible
concern can it be of yours?"
"Your ladyship may remember," he said, "that there was a shocking
accident upon the train?"
She assented with a little shudder.
"Yes, I remember that."
"A man threw himself from the train and was crushed to death. His body
was quite unrecognisable, but from some papers found upon or near him,
it was concluded that his name was Douglas Guest."
"I remember hearing that, too," she agreed.
"Well, there seems to have been plenty of reason for Mr. Douglas Guest
to have committed suicide, as I daresay you know, if ever you read the
papers."
"I never by any chance open an English one," she said.
"Then you probably didn't hear of a murder in a Cumberland village the
night before. No? Well there was one, and the man who was wanted for
it was--Mr. Douglas Guest."
"The man who threw himself from the carriage window?"
"Apparently, yes. We made searching inquiries into the matter, and we
came to the conclusion that Douglas Guest was the man, and that he had
either committed suicide, or been killed in trying to jump from the
train. We were disposed, therefore, to let the matter drop until a few
days ago, when we had a visit from a Miss Strong, who proved to be the
daughter of the old farmer who was murdered. She seemed to have got
hold of an idea that Douglas Guest had by some means foisted his
identity on to the dead man, and was still alive. She absolutely denied
that a part of the clothing which was preserved had ever belonged to
Douglas Guest, and she worked upon 'the chief' to such an extent that he
told me off to see this through."
"I still do not see," she said, "in what way I am concerned in this."
"It was your fellow-passenger, Countess, not yourself, concerning whom
we were curious. We hoped that you might be able to give us some
information. We understood that he joined the train hurriedly. If you
like I will read you a description of Douglas Guest."
Emily de Reuss looked him in the face and shrugged her shoulders.
"My good man," she said, "it is not necessary. I am not in the least
interested in the young man, and when I tell you that I went to the
trouble and expense of engaging a compartment you will perhaps
understand that I should not for a moment have tolerated any intrusion
on the part of a stranger. The gentleman who accompanied me to London
was one of the house party at Maddenham Priory, and an old friend."
The officer closed his notebook with a little sigh and bowed.
"It only remains for me," he said, "to express to your ladyship my
regrets at having troubled you in the matter. Personally, your
statement confirms my own view of the case. The young lady is
excitable, and has been deceived."
Emily de Reuss inclined her head, and touched the knob of an electric
bell. At the door the officer turned back.
"It would perhaps be as well," he said, "if you would favour us with the
name of the gentleman who was your companion."
She hesitated.
"I think it quite unnecessary," she answered. "I have certain reasons,
not perhaps very serious ones, but still worth consideration, for not
publishing it abroad who my companion was. It must be sufficient for
you that he was one of my fellow-guests at Maddenham Priory, and a
friend for whom I can vouch."
The servant was at the door. Mr. Grey bowed.
"As your ladyship wishes, of course," he said.
* * * * *
Emily de Reuss made no immediate movement to rejoin her guest. She was
a woman of nerve and courage, but this had rather taken her breath away.
She had had no time for thought. She had answered as though by
instinct. It was only now that she realised what she had done. She had
lied deliberately, had placed herself, should the truth ever be known,
in an utterly false if not a dangerous position, for the sake of a boy
of whose antecedents she knew nothing, and on whom rested, at any rate,
the shadow of a very ugly suspicion. She had done this, who frankly
owned to an absorbing selfishness, whose conduct of life ever gravitated
from the centre of self. After all, what folly! She had been generous
upon impulse. How ridiculous!
She walked slowly out to where Douglas sat waiting. She came upon him
like a ghost in the dim light, and when the soft rustling of her gown
announced her presence, he started violently, and turned a bloodless
face with twitching lips and eager eyes to hers. The sight of it was a
shock to her. He had been living in fear, then--her falsehoods for his
sake had been necessary.
"Has he gone?" he asked incoherently.
"Yes."
"Was it--about me?"
"Yes."
"You'd better tell me," he begged.
She sat down by his side and glanced around. They were alone and out of
earshot from the windows.
"My visitor," she said, "was a detective--from Scotland Yard. He came
to know if I could give him any information about my fellow--passenger
from Accreton on February 10th."
"Why? Why did he want to know?"
"There was a murder, he said--a Cumberland farmer, and a young man named
Douglas Guest was missing."
"Douglas Guest" he said, hoarsely, "was in that train. He was killed.
It was in the papers."
"So the detective believed," she said, "but a daughter of the murdered
man--"
"Ah!"
"--Has taken up the case and positively refused to identify some of the
clothing belonging to the dead man. There was some talk of a young man,
who answered to the description of Douglas Guest, having forced himself
into my carriage. The man came to ask me about this."
"And you told him--what?"
She adjusted a bracelet carefully, her beautiful eyes fixed upon his
haggard face.
"I told him a lie," she answered. "I told him that my companion was a
fellow-guest at the house where I had been staying."
A little sob of relief broke in his throat. He seized her hand in his
and pressed it to his lips. It seemed to her that the touch was of
fire. She looked at him thoughtfully.
"You are Douglas Guest, then?" she asked, quietly.
"I am," he answered.