THE NEXT MOVE.
"Well, and what is it now?" Ravenspur asked. "You look as if you had
seen a ghost. Is there anything new in this ghastly business? Have the
police solved the problem?"
"On the contrary, the problem gets more bewildering every hour,"
Walter said. "As you know, I was going to talk over our side of the
puzzle with Inspector Dallas, and he gave me some startling
information. As soon as ever I mentioned the Flavio business he told
me that he had made a discovery which connected it closely with the
death of poor Louis Delahay. It appears that there is in England at
the present moment an Italian detective, called Berti, who had the
Flavio affair in hand."
"I recollect the name perfectly well," Ravenspur murmured.
"It appears that Berti has seen Mrs. Delahay since the inquest. He was
rather interested in the affair, and he contrived to get a sight of
Mrs. Delahay. And now comes the most extraordinary feature of the
story. Berti is absolutely certain that Mrs. Delahay is no other than
Carlotta, Countess Flavio."
"Impossible," Ravenspur cried. "The man is mistaken."
"He is prepared to swear to his statement, any way," Walter said.
"And, after all, I don't see why it should be impossible. In fact it
is not in the least impossible, and I'll tell you why. After this
amazing thing came out I thought it my duty to go back to the hotel
and see Mrs. Delahay. I told her what Berti said, and taxed her with
being a principal in the Flavio tragedy."
"And she denied it promptly, of course?"
"She did. She told me quite calmly that she had never heard of the
Flavio affair. I confess her words staggered me, because they were so
calm and self-possessed. I watched her narrowly when I was speaking,
and she never so much as changed colour. Even when I told her the
story she appeared to be as mystified and puzzled as ever. She said,
as she has always said, that for the best part of her life she has
been more or less a recluse, and altogether out of touch with the
world's happenings. You see, Berti was so confident, and Mrs. Delahay
so self-possessed, that I was utterly puzzled."
"There is nothing to be puzzled about," Ravenspur said. "The Italian
detective has made a mistake. His recollections of Carlotta Flavio's
features after eighteen years have become blurred. For goodness sake,
don't let us harp upon this absurdity. Surely, there are enough
complications without this!"
"So I thought at first," Walter said. "But you will recollect telling
me the story of your friend Count Flavio and his unhappy marriage.
There were two Descartis--Carlotta, who married your friend, and
Maria, who disappeared and was not heard of for years. Now isn't it
rather significant, bearing in mind what Berti says, that Mrs.
Delahay's name should be Maria?"
Ravenspur looked up with a startled expression.
"Well, yes," he exclaimed. "But I see you have more to tell me. Will
you please go on?"
"I am coming to the interesting part now," Walter said. "Though I was
prepared to believe that Mrs. Delahay knew nothing of the Flavio
affair, I was by no means satisfied. I felt that there must be
something in the Italian's story. I was certain of it when Mrs.
Delahay admitted that her maiden name was Descarti. Oh, please let me
finish. It was Mrs. Delahay's sister Carlotta who was the wife of your
friend the Count. Hence the very natural mistake made by Berti. He had
not seen the Countess, but her sister. The strong likeness between
them would account for the misunderstanding."
"And this is really a fact?" Ravenspur cried. "Strange that it should
not have come out before."
"But why should it, my dear uncle? You say that you never saw Count
Flavio's wife. You have not the slightest idea what she was like. All
you know is that she was an exceedingly bad woman, and that you
rescued her child from a questionable future. On the other hand, Maria
Delahay is secluded from the world for eighteen years. She is told by
her parents that her sister is dead. She knows nothing of the terrible
Flavio scandal. This is a fact, because she told me so herself.
Indeed, we had it all out. She has to come back to the world again
when her parents die. She is compelled to get her own living. It is
only natural that she should change her name, and there you are."
Lord Ravenspur pondered over the matter for some time in silence.
"You saw a great deal more of the Delahays than I did," he said.
"Practically I have not seen them together at all. Now how do they
strike you? I mean, before their marriage, did you think that the
woman really cared anything for our poor friend?"
"I am sure she did," Walter said emphatically. "Of course, there was
no passionate attachment between them; they were too old for that. But
I am quite certain that Maria Delahay's affection was sincere enough.
After what I have seen the last day or two, I decline to believe that
she had anything to do with her husband's death. I believed her when
she said she never saw him from the time she left the hotel till she
found him dead in the studio."
"And that opens up another theory," Ravenspur exclaimed. "If it wasn't
Maria Delahay the witness Stevens saw that night in Fitzjohn Square,
then it must have been her sister Carlotta."
"My word, that never occurred to me!" Walter cried. "And yet the
solution is as simple as it is probable. I wonder if it is possible to
obtain a photograph of the Countess?"
"There were plenty of them published at the time of the trial,"
Ravenspur said. "Of course, I mean in the illustrated papers. I have
got the whole of them somewhere upstairs. Not that I pay much
attention to newspaper photographs, as they are rarely any use. I'll
go and see if I can find one."
Ravenspur turned hurriedly and left the room. He was gone some
considerable time, leaving Walter to stand there and ponder over the
result of his night's adventure. The more he thought the matter over,
the more complicated it became. He put the thing away from him almost
petulantly. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that the music in
the drawing-room was very soft and soothing. Then it flashed across
him that Vera had something to say. Ravenspur might be a little time
longer, and there was no opportunity like the present.
Only a portion of the drawing-room lights were on, together with the
piano candles, and Vera sat there half in the shadow, a pathetic
looking figure enough, in her white dress. As Walter approached he
could see that her face was very pale, and that her eyes showed signs
of recent tears.
"What is the matter?" he asked. "What fresh trouble is this?"
Vera's hands fell away from the keys. She rose from her seat.
"It is not altogether a fresh trouble," she murmured; "it is only the
old one become more acute. Do you remember my telling you the other
day that I felt how impossible it is for me to remain here any longer?
But I must go away."
"My dearest girl, why?" Walter asked. "You know perfectly well how
much I care for you. You know perfectly well that you could not look
me in the face and declare that you do not love me as well as I love
you. Now, could you?"
"That is what makes it all the harder," Vera whispered. "Oh, I am not
going to prevaricate about it. We have always been good friends,
Walter, and in the last few months I have realised that friendship has
given way to a more tender attachment. Perhaps it was that which
opened my eyes. Perhaps it was that that made me ask myself some
questions. I felt quite sure that Lord Ravenspur had guessed nothing
of our secret. In fact, it was a secret to me till one afternoon in
this very room. . . ."
"I am not likely to forget," Walter said tenderly.
"Well, then, you see I began to think. No father could have been
kinder to me than Lord Ravenspur. I owe him a debt that I can never
repay. But, though he has taken me into his house, and brought me up
as if I belonged to his own flesh and blood, it does not follow that
he considers me good enough for his nephew, the future holder of the
title. And when he did find out not long ago, I saw at once what a
dreadful disappointment it was to him."
"I am afraid it was," Walter said grudgingly. "But he did not set his
face against it when I placed the thing before him in a proper light.
He merely stipulated that our engagement must be a secret between us
for the present. I am sure he is much too just a man, much too
kind-hearted to spoil our happiness. You are too sensitive, Vera; your
sense of honour is too high."
The girl's lips quivered piteously.
"Perhaps I am," she whispered. "But there is another thing which I
have learned tonight, a thing which prevents me from remaining here
an hour longer than is necessary. It is the question of my birth. I
learned that tonight for the first time. Oh, do not humiliate me any
further. Do not force me to speak any more plainly. If you knew the
shameful story of my parents you would realise at once how unfitted I
am to become----"
The girl said no more. She covered her face with her hands, and burst
into tears. As to Walter, he was too astonished to speak. In the tense
silence that followed the hall bell rang violently again and again.
Vera looked up swiftly.
"You had better go yourself," she said. "It may be important." (She
was deeply grateful for the interruption.) "Go yourself; everybody
else is in bed."