JUDITH'S VAGARIES. HOW SHE BROUGHT SIR ALFRED CHALLIS, INSENSIBLE,
TO ROYD HALL IN A MOTOR. A MESSAGE PER MR. BROWNRIGG TO THE RECTOR.
HOW TO PROBE THE MYSTERY. JUDITH'S RESERVE. PUBLIC IMPATIENCE. THE
CHAUFFEUR'S TESTIMONY
Royd Hall was at its quietest that morning when the young man Samuel
answered the bell from his master's bedroom, and found the Baronet
still in bed, at a few minutes after nine. The old gentleman must have
dozed off again after ringing it, because Samuel had to knock twice
before he said "Come in."
"I thought you rang, sir," said Samuel.
"I did ring. Who was that went away in the motor five minutes ago?"
Samuel was not going to admit that the motor had been gone a full
quarter of an hour. It would have been disrespectful to suggest that
his master had been asleep unawares, so he accepted the five-minute
estimate. "I believe it was Miss Judith, sir; but I couldn't say, to be
certain."
"Just ask. What o'clock is it?"
"It's gone nine, some minutes, sir."
"This coffee's cold ... never mind!... I suppose I went to sleep
again.... Oh, Samuel!..." Samuel, departing, paused. "See that the cold
douche _is_ cold. It was neither one thing nor the other yesterday."
"Sure to be cold, sir, now! Because both the other gentlemen's run it
on." To those acquainted with the heating gear of bathrooms the way
the old supply proves lukewarm, and nothing bracing comes to pass, is
well known. The Baronet referred to it again as he met Samuel returning
on his way to the bath. Was he sure it was cold? Yes, Samuel was; and
that _was_ Miss Judith, he found, that had gone off in the motor, after
breakfasting early in her own room. As witness Mr. Elphinstone and Miss
Judith's maid Tilley.
Sir Murgatroyd never wondered much at anything his family did. He had
a beautiful faith that everything was all right always, and asked
few or no questions. Still, he would wonder a little, tentatively,
at rare intervals. Only he strained at gnats and swallowed camels.
This time he swallowed the camel of Judith's early departure after a
solitary breakfast. That was all right--it was some appointment with
the Duchess, "or something." But he strained at the gnat of her having
left her little attendant behind. He had a superstition that the
absence of any two persons, known to be together, was never a thing to
cause anxiety; but he was liable to fidgeting about any of his family
unaccounted for, if he supposed them to be alone. There may be other
people like him.
It was this superstition that caused Sir Murgatroyd to say to Lady
Arkroyd--through a door between their rooms that he opened on purpose,
having become aware of the departure of her ladyship's maid--"What
has Judith gone out so early for?" To which the reply was: "You must
speak plainer. I can't hear you while you shave." For during shaving
the shaver's attention cannot be fully given to speech, owing to the
interdependence of razor, eye, and jaw in a delicate relation to one
another, to say nothing of the care needed to preserve a soapless mouth.
So Sir Murgatroyd wound up his shave before he spoke again, adding to
his first question the words, "In the motor."
"How do you know she went in the motor?"
"Samuel said so. Besides, I heard it go."
"I suppose I was asleep.... Oh no!--I can't account for Judith's
vagaries. She goes her own way. I suppose she's taken the child with
her--her maid, I mean?"
"Why, no, she hasn't! That's just it...."
"I didn't mean that. I meant that if she hadn't, Cintilla would know."
That is to say, her ladyship washed her hands of any complicity in the
Bart.'s superstition spoken of above. She always, in talking of her
husband, to the Duchess for instance, affected a Spartan stolidity;
saying that no one who did not know him as she did would ever suspect
Murgatroyd of being such an hysterical character.
Nevertheless, she felt curiosity about Judith, and bade Mrs. Cream,
her own lady's-maid, summon Cintilla to give evidence. Only first
she closed the door into her husband's room, not to be open to any
imputation of hysteria. The Baronet accepted his exclusion the more
readily that he had just rung for Samuel. For his relation towards that
young man, who was officially his valet, was that he allowed him to
help him on with his coat as soon as he himself was otherwise complete.
He had to, or Samuel wouldn't have been his valet.
It was nearly a quarter to ten when her ladyship said to her
son-in-law and Mr. Brownrigg, the only guest outside the family, that
we were frightfully late at breakfast. She said it on the long terrace
the breakfast-room opens on, where the two gentlemen had been for some
time wondering whether they were to have any. A peacock shrieked a
condemnation of late breakfast; and the Baronet, appearing last, took
the sins of the congregation on his shoulders. His lateness eclipsed
all previous lateness.
But he must needs make matters worse; for after communications
about Sibyl, and record of her husband's conviction that that young
lady would pay attention to her medical adviser, and not appear at
breakfast, he inquired about Judith's escapade, as a Baronet inquires
when he really wants to know, not as mere passing chat. To which her
ladyship replied, as one whose patience is tried by an inopportune
husband: "There, my dear, Judith is all right if you'll only leave
her alone. I know _all_ about her. She's gone to go somewhere with
Thyringia, and won't be back till I don't know when. Now don't hinder,
and do let's have breakfast.... No, Elphinstone, don't sound the gong
on my account. We's all here. I do hate that banging." For her husband,
the fidget, had suggested absurdly that perhaps Judith was back, and
didn't know breakfast was ready. "Besides, she _had_ breakfasted,
anyhow!" adds her ladyship.
Lord Felixthorpe has a word of illumination for the Baronet, who
acquiesced in the will of a senior officer. It causes him to recur
to the subject again, saying, "Frank says Judith asked for the car
yesterday ..." and to be again extinguished with an impatient, "My
_dear_!--_do_ you suppose I don't know all about it?" from her ladyship.
* * * * *
When that scanty gathering of four persons sat down to breakfast at
the table where last year this story told of so large an assemblage,
Royd Park and mansion alike seemed a haven of serenest peace, sheltered
from impact with the outer world, and unconscious of its turmoil.
Every sound of living creatures was as good as silence--articulate
with its denials of discord. Even the peacock's screech upon the lawn
fell in with the music of the wood-doves in the beech-woods--just a
high staccato note; no more!--and the gobble of a turkey from the
stable-yard, across the big red wall there, was modulated to its place
as an instrument the composer should not use too freely, though full
of spirit. A million undertones of insects; a perspective of scattered
voices afar, each fainter than the last; the sound of the manger-chain
of a horse in the groom's hands--all agreed that whatever that
railway-whistle might mean about the world a league and more away, here
in this sacred enclosure was peace--peace guaranteed by a bygone peace
of vanished years, and a security of entail. Peace without end, Amen!
So much so that when the motor-trumpet was suddenly audible, but
unmistakably, beyond the Park Gate on the road from the village,
each of the four at breakfast looked at some other, and said--there
it was! But they were undisturbed in their minds, and gave various
consideration to Yorkshire ham and filleted plaice and potted beef and
Keiller, and all that one associates with clean damask and steaming
urns. The Baronet only said, with apparent sense of relief: "I thought
she could hardly have gone for the whole day." To which his wife
replied: "Oh, my dear, how funny you are! Don't you know Judith?" And
then they talked current topics of the day--Raisuli and Employer's
Liability.
The motor-trumpet close at hand, and wheels! Now we shall know. But not
so soon that we need leave Morocco for a moment. And Mr. Brownrigg will
take half a cup more coffee.
What is that, Elphinstone? May Mr. Elphinstone speak to her ladyship?
He may; so he does, in an undertone. Her ladyship says, "I'll come,"
and then to Mr. Brownrigg, "The milk's beside you," and follows the
butler from the room. All the three men look at each other. "Something
wrong!" says Lord Felixthorpe. He and the Baronet look the inquiry at
one another, "Ought we not to follow?" and both answer, "Yes!" at once,
aloud. Mr. Brownrigg neglects his coffee and follows, looking concerned
and apprehensive.
There is a lobby between the dining-room and the entrance-hall to the
house, and her ladyship meets them in it, returning. She says to her
husband: "Oh, my dear!--you will have to come, about this." She is
looking ashy white, and when she has spoken sinks down on a wall-seat
in a recess, saying: "Oh dear! Do go out and see." She is quite
overcome by something.
A new identity comes suddenly on Sir Murgatroyd. "See to her, Frank,"
he says. "Is Mrs. Cream there--yes?--See to your mistress, Cream." And
goes out.
The butler is just beyond the lobby, and the firm voice of the Baronet
is audible above his terrified undertone. "_Who_ is it?... Sir Alfred
Challis?... Badly?" The speaker then passes out of hearing, going to
the entrance-hall.
Mrs. Cream has come, and finds that her mistress has not fainted
away, though not far short of it. Her ladyship rallies, saying to
her son-in-law: "Never mind me, Frank!" Whereupon Lord Felixthorpe
says: "You'll excuse me, Brownrigg, but I _must_ see to my wife.
She'll be frightened if I don't." And goes three steps at a time up a
side-staircase, leaving Mr. Brownrigg embarrassed, and feeling in the
way.
* * * * *
When Sir Murgatroyd set foot outside his house, the first thing he saw
was the face of his daughter, still seated in the car, supporting the
head of the man who was with her, but shrinking from it, covered as
it was with some shawl or cloth, in terror. The first words he heard,
above the drumming beat of the stationary car's machinery and the
hysterical excitement of the chauffeur, dismounted from his seat, were
a relief to him. His daughter, at any rate, was uninjured, or only
shaken at the worst. "I am not the least hurt," she said, with perfect
self-command, though in a bewildered, stony way. Her dress was not
soiled or seriously disordered, so she could not have been thrown from
the car.
His hearers at first thought M. Louis incoherent. "C'était la faute
de ce sacré aveugle--qui m'y trouvera à redire--moi? Qu'ai-je pu
faire, moi?--c'est l'arbre du frein qui m'a trompé. J'ai tiré la
manivelle--oui!--et elle m'a trompé. Peste soit de cet aveugle...." And
so on. He was understood by no one.
"Get this man out of the way; he's no use. Where's Bullett?" Thus the
Baronet. "Now, Elphinstone, get that deck-chair--the long one, you
know--look sharp about it!" Elphinstone departed, as Bullett, the model
groom, came running. "The roan, in the dogcart," said his master;
and then: "Yes, my dear, you shall tell me directly." For Judith was
beginning: "It has not been my fault...." She was speaking like a woman
in a dream, or one half waking from one.
Her father only glanced at the white face with the blood on it, then
covered it again. "He might be able to get some brandy down," said he.
He stood with his finger on Challis's pulse till it came, and then
tried to get him to swallow some, but without success. "We must get him
in," he said. "Where's Frank?" Samuel testified that his lordship was
just coming downstairs. The fact was that his lordship, although his
solicitude for his wife had been appreciated, had been told not to be
absurd, but to go away and make himself useful.
He arrived just as the long deck-chair was brought--one such as
one sees on passenger boats for India and China--and assisted in
transporting the man who lay absolutely insensible on it to the room he
had occupied when he had visited the house as a guest--the room where
he missed that postscript of Marianne's, and probably sowed the seeds
of all this mischief. It was easy for three to carry the chair--one on
either side and one behind--so the Baronet left it to his son-in-law
and Elphinstone and Samuel, and went to speak to Bullett, who had just
arrived with the dogcart. On his way, coming from the lobby, he met Mr.
Brownrigg, looking horribly shocked.
"Is it Challis?" said that gentleman. The Baronet nodded.
"It's the author," said he. "Is my wife still there?" He pointed to the
lobby.
"She has gone upstairs to Lady Felixthorpe, I think. Can I be of any
service?"
"A thousand thanks! I don't know of anything.... Yes, I do, though.
My groom is just going to bring the doctor. Will you ride with him
and call at the Rectory?--tell Taylor of this, and get him to come at
once. He and Mr. Challis--Sir Alfred Challis I should say--were great
friends. He'll come."
"I will go with pleasure," said Mr. Brownrigg. He went with pleasure,
evidently. It is, of course, a great satisfaction to be of use in any
painful crisis.
Sir Murgatroyd, as he turned to the entrance-door again, met Judith,
who was accompanied by her little maid, terrified beyond measure, but
behaving well. She gave an inanimate face to her father to kiss, saying
collectedly, but in the same stony way: "There really is no occasion
for anxiety about me. I am perfectly safe. Only don't ask me to talk
about it now." Her father followed her in silence to the door of her
room, when she turned and spoke again, after a visible effort that
failed. "Is he _killed_?" she said, forcing the word out.
"Oh no!--no, no!--no such thing! Stunned--contused--that sort of thing!
I've sent Bullett for Pordage. I should have sent the car, but Monsieur
Louis isn't in a state to manage it. There would have been another
accident.... What?"
"Tell them--mamma and Sibyl--not to disturb me. I will tell you
after.... No! When the doctor has seen him, tell my little maid here.
She will bring me word." And then Judith, whose beauty had lost nothing
by the shock she has sustained--if anything, the reverse--vanishes
into her room, and her father hears the key in the lock turned
significantly. In the old Baronet's look now, roused as he is from his
easy-going homeliness, and with a certain resolve growing on him, one
sees that that beauty is not inherited from her mother alone. He goes
straight to the room where the injured man lies, still insensible and
motionless, still with a low pulse that neither gains nor loses. The
doctor cannot be very long, if Bullett finds him at home. His practice
is to remain at home in the morning.
* * * * *
"Do you know anything of all this?" Sir Murgatroyd asks the question of
his wife and younger daughter in the bedroom of the latter, where he
has found them, white and frightened--talking in a nervous undertone,
but quickly, and as folk talk who can tell things.
"She _has_ been seeing him. Sibyl says so."
"Seeing Challis?"
"Of course. But she hasn't spoken of him to me for a month--quite a
month." This was her ladyship.
"I told you it would be no use, _madre_," says Sibyl. "But you wouldn't
listen to me."
"My dear--how unreasonable you are! How was it possible for your father
and me to allow it to go on? You may say what you like, but he is a
married man...."
"All I say is, you made matters worse."
"Never mind that now!" said the Baronet. "What I want to hear is--how
did Sib know this was going on?"
Sibyl is quite clear on that point. "Judith met him in the Park the day
before we came, last month. Old Mrs. Inskip saw them together, behaving
like a couple of--like _lovers_." Her tone is one of reprobation and
disgust. She goes on to tell how she had interviewed the centenarian on
the subject, and been fully enlightened.
"That is all at an end now, anyhow." So says the Baronet, but when his
wife says "Why?" he does not answer, but goes on as to another point
reflectively. "Judith must have met him on her way to Thanes.... Where
did he join her--this morning, I mean?"
Both ladies strike a new clue. "Was she going to Thanes at all?" And
Sibyl adds: "I don't believe she was."
"You said you _knew_ she was, Therèse," says Sir Murgatroyd, addressing
his wife by her name--a thing that always means, with him, a definite
attitude of some sort. She is on her mettle directly, for expostulation
or defence.
"My dear, I never said anything of the sort. She talked yesterday of
going to-day, and, of course, I _supposed_ she had. That little girl of
hers only said she said she might not be back to lunch." Her ladyship
exonerates herself at some length, denying what she had said plainly an
hour before at breakfast.
Her husband treats the point as an open one, to avoid indefinite
discussion of it. "I see," he says. "It was only your inference. I
wonder if that crazy French chap has come to his senses. It's no use
my talking to him. I can't understand three words he says." Then, at
Sibyl's suggestion, he went away to his son-in-law, who was still with
the injured man, to get him to interview the bewildered chauffeur, and
see what could be made of his testimony. During Lord Felixthorpe's
absence he remained by Challis, still perfectly insensible on the
bed, but apparently only stunned, like a man in a deep sleep. He
breathed regularly, and though his pulse dragged a little, it was quite
steady. Sir Murgatroyd felt only moderate uneasiness about him. He had
himself been thrown from his horse in the hunting-field, and remained
insensible till next day.
Lord Felixthorpe returned. The chauffeur's account of the thing, now
that his mind was more settled, was that, in order to avoid a collision
with a man in the road, he had swerved at a sharp corner. Challis
started to his feet at the moment, and was thrown over the edge of the
car, falling on his head in the road. "Mademoiselle"--so ran M. Louis'
testimony--"était terriblement épouvantée, mais elle ne s'est pas
évanouie," Lord Felixthorpe translated, for the benefit of the Baronet.
"Alors," said M. Louis, "nous avons soulevé le corps, nous deux, dans
l'automobile, et Mademoiselle m'a crié--en avant, vite, vite! Et moi,
j'ai retourné vite, vite! Qu'est ce qu'on aurait voulu de plus?"
Questioned as to where Challis had got into the car, he replied--at the
Park Gate; as to what he understood its destination to be, that he did
not know anything except that it was about forty miles off, but that
Monsieur had a map with the route marked; as to when Miss Arkroyd had
requisitioned the car, that she had spoken about it to him overnight.
Milord had instructed him that it would not be required during
the day, as he himself should _monter à cheval_, and Miladi would
remain at home. It was to be at Mademoiselle's disposal, or Miladi
Arkroyd's. "Effectivement," said he, in an injured tone, "j'ai suivi
mes renseignements, et je ne suis pas à blâmer." His lordship had then
explained to him that he need not be so touchy; no one was blaming him.
There was another point. Who was the man who caused the car to swerve,
and was he hurt? Monsieur Louis replied with the Frenchest of shrugs,
"Mais je ne sais pas! Comment voulez-vous que je sache?--quelque
vagabond--quelque mendiant!" He turned the conversation to the damage
done to a tyre.
Had Lord Felixthorpe heard the chauffeur's words on his first arrival,
a suspicion he now felt that M. Louis was keeping something back would
have been greatly strengthened. Sir Murgatroyd may have noticed the
discrepancy, but he said nothing at the time. His only remark was, "We
shall know more of this soon."
Presently Lord Felixthorpe said: "It certainly does occur to me that my
sister-in-law would be able to contribute some valuable information,
and I do not understand that she is any the worse for this mishap,
fright apart. Why should we not...?" He stopped short; for his
father-in-law had touched him with his finger, saying only, "Frank!"
The manner of it made him end with, "Why--do you know anything?"
"When was that Bill to go into Committee--the Deceased Wife's
Sister--you know?"
"What's to-day? Saturday? It was yesterday, Friday. Why?... Do you
suppose...?"
"It may have something to do with this--mind you, I only say _may_
have!... I suppose the _Times_ has come?"
"I'll see." He went out and spoke to Elphinstone over the great
staircase, and returned. "I've told him to bring the papers here."
"Yes--here we are!" said the Baronet, five minutes after, controlling
an outspread sheet of last night's Debates. He went on, reading
scrapwise: "'Lord Shaftesbury moved amendment to remove from Bill
retrospective character ... very indistinctly heard in gallery ...
no real hardship would be inflicted by amendment ... persons who had
contracted these marriages fully conscious of legal consequences
involved' ... hm-hum!" and so on. "Where's the end of it? ... oh--here!
'Amendment withdrawn.' Yes, Frank, that may have something to do with
it--may have a great deal!"
"I'm not sure that I follow. Has it to do with...?" He dropped his
voice, and looked towards the motionless figure on the bed.
"Of course it has ... _he_ won't hear--you needn't be uneasy. I was
just like that.... Well!--we'll talk outside if you like.... Yes, look
at this, Frank: Prorogation is next Wednesday, when this Bill will
receive the Royal Assent, and become law. Until next Wednesday at
midday, or thereabouts, Challis's wife isn't his wife, and any woman
he marries on Monday or Tuesday is. He couldn't even be convicted of
bigamy unless his first marriage was held legal, and that would be
rather discourteous to the Royal Assent on Wednesday. _Now_ do you see?"
"Surely you never can imagine...."
"Well!"
"Surely you never can imagine that Sir Challis and Ju were going to
make a runaway match of it, to outwit the action of this Bill...."
"I can only see this," says the Baronet: "that if they did not do so,
they were losing the only chance they had left of making an honourable
match of any sort or kind. Isn't that the doctor?"
It is the footstep of the roan, unmistakable, and the wheels of the
dogcart, at speed. It is poor little Lizarann's friend, Dr. Sidrophel.
But all his old look has left him--a look as though he was born to
be amused, and found his patients diverting--as he comes quickly to
Challis's room, meeting the two gentlemen on the way, to whom he speaks
very little. He nods once or twice, in reply to a brief abstract of the
accident, saying only, "Let's have a look at him!" He finds time to say
that the Rector could not come, but would come later. There was a good
deal to be done. The Baronet did not seem to understand this.
The household has fought shy of touching an insensible patient, pending
a doctor on the way, especially as there is no visible hæmorrhage. The
blood from a cut on the temple was not renewed when the face was wiped
with a sponge on his first arrival at the house. The doctor makes a
very rapid examination. "You wish him to remain here, Sir Murgatroyd?"
he says.
"To remain here? Of course I do."
"Then I must have his clothes off first. The cut's nothing on the
forehead. That can wait."
The coat must be sacrificed, but it can't be helped. Slit up the
sleeves, and off with it! Better than jarring him about in his present
state. Once wardrobe-saving is discarded, it is easy work to get the
author in trim for a careful overhauling. No bones broken, is the
verdict. All the worse! His head took most of his weight, and bore the
shock. A broken knee-joint might have spared his brain. As it is, Dr.
Pordage seems to think the net volumes may come slower in the future.
Besides, you never can tell at first about the spine in cases of this
sort.
For the present, concession must be made to treatment. It never does to
do absolutely nothing. So let's have mustard and hot water to the feet,
and ammonia to the nostrils, and try to get a little brandy down his
throat. But quiet is _the_ thing. Presently, all that seems feasible
has been done, and quiet is to have its opportunity. Still, quite
insensible!
Ought not Mrs. Challis, or Lady Challis, whichever she is, to be
communicated with? The question is a joint-stock one in which Lady
Arkroyd and Sibyl have shares, having come into conference. Of course,
they were not on terms--her ladyship says this--but is that our concern?
"I shouldn't put it on that, Lady Arkroyd," says the doctor. "He'll
probably be conscious in a few hours. Better not alarm her needlessly.
If he continues unconscious for twenty-four hours ... why, then we
might think about it. But I don't suppose him to be in any danger." The
speaker's serious manner, unlike himself, seemed out of keeping with
his light estimate of Challis's danger.
"We haven't got her address, so we can't, and there's no use talking
about it. Unless Judith knows. Only it seems she's not to be got at."
This is Sibyl, not without asperity.
"How _is_ Miss Arkroyd?" says the doctor, whose emphasis on the verb
means, "I am conscious that I ought to have asked before, and my doing
it now is rather a formality." Lady Arkroyd testifies that Judith
is in her room lying down, but was all right when she spoke to her
through the door--oh yes!--she seemed perfectly right, but had locked
herself in, and wanted to be quiet. The Baronet says, to his wife only,
"Perhaps we had better leave her alone, Therèse." And Therèse replies,
"Oh, I'm sure _I_ don't want to meddle with her." Impatience with Miss
Arkroyd is in the air. She is credited with being the underlying cause
of all this disturbance.
There is a surprise in the bush for her father; only half-informed, so
far. For the doctor, departing, pauses and says gravely, hesitatingly:
"I believe--but I don't know--that the inquest will be on Monday, or
Tuesday."
"_The_ inquest!--Why inquest? _What_ inquest?" The Baronet is
absolutely in the dark about everything but Challis's mishap. His wife,
better informed by the groom during the doctor's visit to his patient,
touches him on the arm, saying, "My dear, Dr. Pordage is referring to
the man ..." and falters.
"There was a man killed," says Sibyl abruptly. "We supposed you knew."
"A man killed! Good God! I knew nothing. What man?"
Sibyl's husband overhears, and comes quickly. "What is that about a man
killed?" he says. He also is completely taken aback.
Then Lady Arkroyd says again. "We thought you knew." And the doctor
follows, saying collectedly, "Jim Coupland, the man at the Abbey Well,
was struck by the motor-car and killed. The Rector found him lying dead
in the road. That is why Mr. Taylor did not accompany me. He will be
here shortly, and will tell you more than I can."
Sir Murgatroyd gazes from one to the other, shocked and speechless.
Lord Felixthorpe, nearly as much concerned, says below his breath,
"That miscreant Rossier never said a word to me of this." But he is
preoccupied and ill-at-ease about his wife, who will be none the
better just now for upsets and tragic surprises. He persuades her to
go back to the quiet of her room, in spite of her protests that he is
nonsensical, saying as he goes away with her, "We'll have that French
scoundrel up when I come back. I won't be three minutes." But he was
a little longer, and when he returned, the doctor, who was wanted
elsewhere, was on his way back. He found his father-in-law alone in
the library, sitting with his head on his hand, as though completely
oppressed and stunned with what he had heard. "Oh, Frank," said the
old gentleman, "this is horrible!" He had made sure that the patient
upstairs was properly looked to, and had sat down to rest and be quiet
until Athelstan Taylor's arrival. But the chauffeur might be sent for.
* * * * *
A female servant, told off to mount guard over the patient, and report
any change or movement, had been at her post about a quarter of an
hour, when Miss Arkroyd opened the door and came into the room. "Don't
go, Hetty," was all she said. She looked as white--so Hetty reported
afterwards--as the clean wristband that young woman made use of in
illustration. Also, her hair was all coming down. She stood at the
bedside maybe a minute, maybe two--Hetty couldn't say--then touched
the inanimate hand on the coverlid. "Oh no; she never took hold," said
Hetty. "Touched and drew back like!" Then she turned to the girl and
said, "Have _you_ heard what the doctor said?" rather as if she took
scanty information for granted. "But, of course, I could tell her all
right," said Hetty, who had been taking notice. "Only she didn't any
more than just stop to hear, but went. My word!--she _was_ looking bad."
She must have slipped back quietly into her room after this, taking
the young girl Cintilla with her. For when her mother, an hour later,
after consultation as to the wisdom of the step, went to her door to
try again for admission, it was opened by Cintilla, and Judith's voice
said, "Oh yes, come in; I want to hear what the doctor said." But her
speech was so composed as scarcely to comply with the show of feeling
the circumstances demanded, even if the runaway match idea was not a
well-grounded one.
M. Rossier did not make a good figure when summoned to appear in the
library. He bristled and stood on his defence at once, instead of
making, as requested, a simple statement of his version of the facts.
Perhaps Sir Murgatroyd would have done more wisely not to remind a
witness under examination that he himself was a Justice of the Peace;
it tended to invest him with the character of a _Juge d'Instruction_,
and M. Louis with that of "the accused." The latter was as strange
to the idea of waiting for a proof of guilt as the former to that of
demanding a proof of innocence.
Oh yes!--there was a man in the road--what did M. Louis know? He came
from a _sentier_ by the roadside. But, said his master, speaking
French _de rigueur_, as English was not understood, "Cet homme
était au mi-chemin," meaning in the middle of the road. M. Louis
misunderstood, or pretended to. "J'avais passé le mi-chemin," said he,
meaning, apparently, half-way to the village. Then he tried to assist
by speaking English. "He wass bloke ze hackross," and then finished
naturally with, "Que diable allait il faire au milieu de la rue?"
"Ou--avez--vous--vu--dernièrement--cet homme?" said the Baronet, a
loud word at a time, to make sure of reaching that strange organism, a
foreigner's brain. M. Louis understood, anyhow.
"A peine l'ai-je vu! Je n'ai fait que jeter un coup d'oeil, et pst!--il
est disparu. Je ne l'ai pas cru blessé. Pour moi, il n'a pas souffert
la moindre égratignure. Que voulez-vous? On ne peut pas avoir l'oeil
à tout!" But his speech was not absolutely consistent, for he added,
"Pourquoi diable ne put-il s'abriter sous la haie?" He evidently
thought the road belonged to the motor interest, and that the world
ought to run for the nearest sheltered corner at the sound of his horn.
Lord Felixthorpe endeavoured to impress him with the advisability of
telling the truth, as a mere matter of policy. There would be a case
to go to a Jury, unless the inquest decided that Jim Coupland had
died by the Visitation of Providence. But M. Louis might feel secure
of fair treatment; and, unless he had sinned grossly, need be under
no apprehension of serious consequences to himself. As the chauffeur
knew he _had_ sinned grossly, in not slacking speed at the curve, his
apprehensions continued. But he seemed convinced, when he went away,
that it might be wisest to say the least possible for the present.
"We must look out sharp," said Sir Murgatroyd, "and make sure the
Coroner's Jury is fairly chosen. I can't have any leniency shown to
County Families, Frank. I'm inclined now towards seeing what I can make
of Judith. I see no use putting it off.... By-the-bye, Frank, what did
that story-telling Mossoo mean by talking about a blind man--avoogle's
blind, isn't it?--and then saying he hardly saw Jim?... what?..."
"I didn't hear him say anything about a blind man."
"No, no--before you came--when he first came back. He said 'avoogle.'"
"I expect he knows all about it. See what Judith has to say!"
Sir Murgatroyd didn't seem at all in a hurry for his interview with his
daughter. He hung about, finishing topics up. He dropped his voice to
say, "Poor Jim! Taylor said he was just expecting his little girl back.
And now she'll come back and find him lying dead."
"Ah--the nice little girl, Lizarann. Yes--I had forgotten Lizarann.
Poor little woman!" For remember it was this young swell who had made
Lizarann's acquaintance near two years since, in Tallack Street. Do you
recollect?--when William Rufus called him Scipio.