DALLAS MAKES A DISCOVERY.
"The danger would certainly lie there," Walter said thoughtfully.
"My dear boy, that is just where the danger comes in," Ravenspur
replied. "I haven't the remotest idea whether Vera is like or unlike
her mother, but I fear that she must be, otherwise that man Silva
would never have got on my track, as I have felt quite sure lately
that he has done. Doubtless in some of his wanderings he has seen the
girl, he has recognised the likeness, and made up his mind that he has
found the object of his search at last. You see, he has only to make a
few inquiries amongst the servants, who would tell him that Vera is my
ward, and that, as to the rest, she is more or less of a beautiful
mystery. One can understand now why he should come to my studio and
steal that portrait."
"I think I can see a better theory than that," Walter said. "Wasn't
the portrait exhibited before it came back to the studio again? I seem
to remember something of the kind."
"Of course it was," Ravenspur exclaimed. "I had quite forgotten that.
Silva must have got his inspiration from the picture. I suppose that
is why he made that murderous attack upon Sir James Seton the other
night, taking him, of course, for me. But that is not the first
warning I have had of the impending danger, and I am afraid it won't
be the last."
Walter listened to this desponding view with impatience.
"But, surely, you are not going to take it like this, sir?" he
expostulated. "By greatest good fortune we have discovered who your
mysterious foe is. I think it has been a wonderful slice of luck, and
we ought to take advantage of it. Surely you couldn't do any less than
place the matter in the hands of the police, telling them all that has
happened. At any rate, you can do nothing else. They can drive this
man Silva out of the country. If I may be allowed a suggestion, you
will let Inspector Dallas know without delay. If you don't care to
tell him yourself, let me broach the matter. Indeed, it seems my
imperative duty to do so. If you fell by the hand of this man now I
should feel morally responsible for your death. And, besides, if
anything happens to you, what are we going to do about Vera? She is
not yet of age. She might at any moment be claimed by her mother, who
you say is a perfect fiend. And, besides, though this is a minor
matter, I am deeply attached to Vera myself----"
"Oh, I know, I know," Ravenspur groaned. "The thing is hedged round
with troubles and difficulties. You know why I was against your
marriage with Vera, and how greatly distressed I was when I found
everything out. If there had been nothing in the way, nobody would
have been more delighted at a match like that than myself. But you see
the danger, though you little know how deep and far-reaching those
Corsican vengeances are. How do I know that if you marry Vera you
would not be marked down for the same fate as myself?"
"I am prepared to risk that," Walter said grimly. "Still, at the
present moment, we have far more important things to talk about. And
Vera must know nothing of this."
"My dear boy, of course not. I should never dream of telling her. But
sooner or later she must discover everything for herself, I am afraid.
I have been thinking over what you said just now, and perhaps it would
be as well to let the police know."
"You will do it at once?" asked Walter eagerly.
"Well, no, I don't propose to do it at all. You have been so clever
and cool-headed in this matter that I have decided to leave everything
to you. The whole problem is so complicated that I am utterly unable
to grasp it. I can see no connection between the two, but I am
perfectly certain that the death of poor Delahay is all part of the
coil."
"I feel that, too," Walter said. "But we need not concern ourselves
about that at present. By the way, have you seen anything of Mrs.
Delahay today?"
"She won't see me," Ravenspur replied. "She obstinately refuses to see
anybody. She remains wilfully blind to the fact that she is in a
serious position. You see, she declared in her evidence in chief that
she had not been outside the hotel on the night of the murder, and yet
on the testimony of three independent witnesses we have it that she
was away upwards of three hours. Of course, that man Stevens is a very
suspicious character, but he could have nothing to gain by swearing
that he saw Mrs. Delahay with her husband very early in the morning in
Fitzjohn Square. Moreover, the man's evidence was not in the least
shaken. What to make of it I don't know. I wish you would try and see
her. You know her far better than I do, because you were a deal in
Italy before Delahay's marriage, and I think she likes you. Of course,
she might have some strong reasons for leaving the hotel and for
keeping the thing a secret, and she may be utterly and entirely
innocent. But, really she ought to tell her best friends what is the
meaning of this mystery."
Walter glanced at his watch. It still wanted some minutes to eleven
o'clock, and it was no far cry to the Grand Hotel. A hansom took him
there in ten minutes. Mrs. Delahay had not yet retired for the night,
and Walter sent up his card, with a few urgent words pencilled on it.
A maid came down presently with the information that Mrs. Delahay
would see him for a moment.
She came into her sitting-room perfectly calm and self-possessed,
though the deadly whiteness of her face and the scintillating of her
eyes told of the torture that was going on within.
"I wish you would let me help you," Walter said as they shook hands.
"I wish you would be advised by me. My uncle tells me that you refused
to see him altogether."
"I was bound to," Mrs. Delahay said in a low voice. "Oh, I know
exactly what you want. I am the victim of a set of extraordinary
circumstances. My innocent lie may get me into serious trouble. I am
not blind to that knowledge, but at the same time I cannot speak. I
must allow people to think the worst. But I swear to you if it is the
last word I ever utter, that I was not with my husband. I was not the
woman the witness identified as the person he had seen with Louis
Delahay in Fitzjohn Square that terrible morning."
The words were quietly, almost coldly, uttered, but Walter believed
them as he would perhaps have refused to believe a passionate outburst
on the speaker's part.
"But surely," he argued, "you can give some account of your movements.
You can say why you went out and what for?"
"I cannot," Maria Delahay went on in the same even tones. "There are
the most pressing reasons why I should keep silent. My dear Mr. Lance,
I am grateful from the bottom of my heart for all your sympathy and
kindness, but nothing can move me from my determination. After all
said and done, the police can prove nothing against me. For the rest
of my life I shall be a person to be shunned and avoided, but I shall
know how to bear my punishment uncomplainingly. And in conclusion, I
am quite convinced of this--if I told you everything, you would say
that I was perfectly justified in the course I am taking. Further
argument is useless."
Walter saw the futility of it, too. He saw in the woman's averted head
and outstretched hand, the sign that he was no longer needed, and that
the interview was at an end. By no means satisfied he made his way
down to the vestibule intent upon seeing Inspector Dallas without
further delay. He was not surprised to find the object of his search
engaged in discussion with the clerk.
"You are the very man I want to see," he said. "If you have ten
minutes to spare, I think I can give you some useful information. I
have just been having a long conversation with Lord Ravenspur, and he
has asked me to lay certain facts before you."
"I can come with you now," Dallas said. "We can talk as we go along
the road. Now, sir."
"It is rather a long story," Walter said. "I suppose you Scotland Yard
people keep yourselves _au fait_ with most of the sensational crimes
which take place on the Continent? I suppose, for instance, you
remember the death by poisoning of Count Boris Flavio, and how his
wife was charged no fewer than five times with the crime?"
Dallas fairly started.
"That is a most extraordinary thing," he said. "I don't mind telling
you that within the last day or two, or rather within the last few
hours, we have blundered upon a startling light on that crime. It so
happens that an Italian detective, who has come here to take a
prisoner back to Rome, has interested himself in the Fitzjohn
business, more or less because Mrs. Delahay is Italian herself. This
detective Berti was not in court during the inquest, but he came round
here an hour or two ago and expressed a casual wish to see Mrs.
Delahay. He managed to do so for a moment, and then he made a
statement that fairly took my breath away. But come with me as far as
Scotland Yard and you shall hear him tell the story himself. I won't
spoil it for him."
A little while later Walter found himself in the presence of a slim,
diminutive man, with a fierce moustache and an exceedingly mild,
insinuating manner.
"This is my friend Berti," Dallas explained. "And this, Berti, is Mr.
Walter Lance, nephew of Lord Ravenspur. He mentioned the Flavio case
to me just now with a view to getting a little information. I told him
that you had had the whole business in hand, and you had better let
him know that you are in a position to place your finger upon the
Countess Flavio at any moment."
"Oh, that is an easy matter," Berti said. "I had the privilege of
seeing the Countess this evening; but she does not call herself
countess now. She is Mrs. Louis Delahay."