JENNY AND MILLIE SPLAY
After a time their thoughts reverted to the living.
"There's Joan," said Millie Splay. "Jenny Prask hates her. She means to
drag her into some scandal."
"If she can," said Martin. He went out into the hall and returned with
the key of Stella Croyle's room. He held it up before them all.
"This key was found on the lawn outside the library window this morning
by Luttrell. Jenny has never referred to it since she ran downstairs
this morning crying out that the key was not in the lock. It was lying
on the hall table all through the time when Sir Chichester was
questioning her, and she said never a word about it. She was much too
clever. But she saw it. I was watching her when she did see it. There
was no concealing the swift look of satisfaction which flashed across
her face. I haven't a doubt that she herself dropped the key where it
was found."
"Nor I," Luttrell agreed with a despairing vehemence, "but we can't
prove it. Jenny Prask is going to know nothing of that key. 'No, no, no,
no!' she is going to say, 'Ask Miss Whitworth! Miss Whitworth came back
from Harrel. Miss Whitworth was the last person to see Mrs. Croyle
alive. Ask her!' It is Jenny Prask or Miss Whitworth. We are up against
that alternative all the time. And Jenny holds all the cards. For she
knows, damn her, what happened here last night."
"She did hold all the cards this morning," Hillyard corrected. "She
doesn't now. Look at this key! There was a heavy dew last night. It was
wet underfoot in the garden at Harrel."
"Yes," said Millie.
"How is it then that there's no rust upon the key?" and as he asked the
question he twirled the key so that the light flashed upon stem and
wards until they shone like silver. "No, this key was placed where you
found it, Luttrell, not last night, but this morning after the sun had
dried the grass."
"But we came home by daylight," Sir Chichester interposed. "They might
argue that Joan might have slipped downstairs before she went to bed,
with the key in her hand."
"But she wouldn't have chosen that spot in front of the library window.
She might have flung it from her window, she might conceivably have
slipped round the house and laid it under Mrs. Croyle's window. But to
place it in front of the library to which room she returned from
Harrel--no."
"Yes," said Sir Chichester doubtfully. "I see. Joan can make good that
point. Yes, she can explain that." And Millie Splay broke in with
impatience:
"Explain it! Of course. But what we want is to avoid that she should
have to explain anything, that she should be called as a witness at
all!"
There lay the point of trouble. To it, they came ceaselessly back,
revolving in the circle of their vain argument. Joan had something to
conceal, and Jenny Prask was determined that she should disclose it, and
Jenny Prask held the means by which to force her.
"But that's just what I am driving at," continued Martin. "We can't
afford to be gentle here. There's no lie Jenny Prask wouldn't tell to
force Joan into the witness box. We have got to deal relentlessly with
Jenny Prask. A woman's voice spoke from this house over the telephone to
London at a quarter-past twelve last night, and said that Stella was
dead. Whose voice? Not Joan's. Joan was having supper with Luttrell at
twelve o'clock. I saw her, others, too, saw her of course. Whose voice
then? Stella's, as we say--as we know. But if not Stella's, as Jenny
Prask says--why then there is only one other woman's voice which could
have given the news."
"Jenny's," cried Millie with a sudden upspring of hope.
"Yes, Jenny Prask's."
Millie Splay rose from her chair swiftly and rang the bell; and when
Harper answered it, she said:
"Will you ask Jenny to come here?"
"Now, my lady?"
"Now."
Harper went out of the room and Millie turned again to her friends.
"Will you leave this to me?" she asked.
Sir Chichester was inclined to demur. A few deft and pointed questions,
very clear, such as might naturally occur to Hillyard or Luttrell, or
Sir Chichester himself might come in usefully to put the polish, as it
were, on Millie's spade work. Harry Luttrell smiled grimly.
"We didn't exactly cover ourselves with glory this morning," he said. "I
think that we had better leave it to Lady Splay."
Sir Chichester reluctantly consented, and they all waited anxiously for
Jenny's appearance. That she would fight to the last no one doubted.
Would she fight even to her own danger?
Jenny came into the room, quietly respectful, and without a trace of
apprehension.
"You sent for me, my lady."
"Yes, Jenny."
Jenny closed the door and came forward to the table.
"Do you still persist in your story of this morning?" Lady Splay asked.
"Yes, my lady."
"You did not see your mistress at all after Miss Whitworth had talked
with her in the library?"
"No, my lady."
"Jenny, I advise you to be quite sure before you speak."
"I am not to be frightened, my lady," said Jenny Prask, with a spot of
bright colour showing suddenly in her cheeks.
"I am not trying to frighten you," Millie Splay returned. "But some
unexpected news has reached us which, if you persist, will place you in
an awkward position."
Jenny Prask smiled. She turned again to the door.
"Is that all, my lady?"
"You had better hear what the news is."
"As you please, my lady."
Jenny stopped and resumed her position.
"The announcement of Mrs. Croyle's death appeared in the _Harpoon_ this
morning. The news was left at the _Harpoon_ office by a chauffeur with a
private car at midnight--Mrs. Croyle's car."
"It never left the garage last night," said Jenny fiercely.
"You know that for certain?"
"I am engaged to the chauffeur," she replied with a smile; and Millie
Splay looked sharply up.
"Oh," she murmured slowly, after a pause. "Thank you, Jenny. Yes, thank
you."
The quiet satisfaction of Millie Splay's voice puzzled Jenny and
troubled her security. She watched Lady Splay warily. From that moment
her assurance faltered, and with the loss of her ease, she lost
something, too, of her respectful manner. A note of impertinence became
audible.
"Very happy, I'm sure," she said.
"The motor-car delivered the message at midnight," Lady Splay resumed,
"and--this is what I ask your attention to, Jenny--the editor, in order
to obtain corroboration of the message before he inserted it in his
paper, rang up Rackham Park."
Lady Splay paused for Jenny's comment, but none was uttered then. Jenny
was listening with a concentration of all her thoughts. Here was a new
fact of which she was ignorant, creeping into the affair. Whither did it
lead? Did it strike her weapon from her hand? Upset her fine plan of
avenging her dear mistress's most unhappy life? She would not believe
it.
"He rang up Rackham Park--mark the time, Jenny--at a few minutes after
twelve," said Lady Splay impressively, and Jenny's uneasiness was
markedly increased.
"Fancy that!" she returned flippantly. "But I don't see, my lady, what
that has to do with me."
"You will see, Jenny," Lady Splay continued with gentleness. "He got an
answer."
Jenny turned that announcement over in her mind.
"An answer, did he?"
"Yes, Jenny, and an answer in a woman's voice."
A startled cry broke from the lips of Jenny Prask. Her cheeks blanched
and horror stared suddenly from her eyes. She understood whose voice it
must have been which answered the question from London. Before her, too,
the pitiful vision of the lonely woman waiting for the shrill summons of
the telephone bell to close the door of life upon her, rose clear; and
such a flood of grief and compassion welled up in her as choked her
utterance.
"Oh!" she whispered, moaning.
"Whose voice was it, Jenny?"
At the question Jenny rallied. All the more dearly because of that
vision, should Joan Whitworth pay, the shining armour of her young
beauty be pierced, her pride be humbled, her indifference turned to
shame.
"I can't think, my lady--unless it was Miss Whitworth's."
"I asked you to mark the time, Jenny. A few minutes after midnight. Miss
Whitworth was at that moment in the supper-room at Harrel. She was seen
there. The woman's voice which answered was either Mrs. Croyle's or
yours."
Nothing could have been quieter or gentler than Millie Splay's
utterance. But it was like a searing iron to the shoulders of Jenny
Prask.
"Mine!" The word was launched in a cry of incredulous anger. "It wasn't
mine. Oh, as if I would do such a thing! The idea! Well, I never did!"
"I don't believe it was yours, Jenny," said Millie Splay.
"Granted, I'm sure," returned Jenny Prask, tossing her head.
"But how many people will agree with me?" Millie Splay went on.
"I don't care, my lady."
"Don't you? You will, Jenny," said Millie in a hard and biting tone
which contrasted violently with the smoothness of her earlier questions.
"You are trying, very maliciously, to do a great injury to a young girl
who had never a thought of hurting your mistress, and you have only
succeeded in placing yourself in real danger."
Jenny tried to laugh contemptuously.
"Me in danger! Goodness me, what next, I wonder?"
"Just listen how your story works out, Jenny," and Millie Splay set it
out succinctly step by step.
"Mrs. Croyle never took chloroform as a drug. Mrs. Croyle had no
troubles. Mrs. Croyle was quite gay this week. Yet she was found dead
with a glass of chloroform arranged between her pillows, so that the
fumes must kill her--and Jenny Prask was her maid. A motor-car took the
news of Mrs. Croyle's death to London before it had occurred and took
the news from Rackham Park. There was only one motor-car in the
garage--Mrs. Croyle's--and Mrs. Croyle's chauffeur was engaged to Jenny
Prask, Mrs. Croyle's maid. London then telephones to Rackham Park for
corroboration of the news, and a woman's voice confirms it--an hour
before it was true. There are only two women to choose from, Mrs. Croyle
and Jenny Prask, her maid. But since Mrs. Croyle never took drugs, and
had no troubles or thoughts of suicide and was quite gay, it follows
that Jenny Prask----"
At this point Jenny interrupted in a voice in which fear was now very
distinctly audible. "Why, you can't mean--Oh, my lady, you are telling
me that--oh!"
"Yes, it begins to look black, Jenny, but I am not at the end," Millie
Splay continued implacably. Jenny was not the only woman in that house
who could fight if her darling was attacked. "You proceed to direct
suspicion at a young girl with the statement that you never saw your
mistress after half past nine that night or helped her to undress; and
to complete your treachery, you take the key of Mrs. Croyle's door which
you found inside her room this morning, and threw it where it may avert
inquiry from you and point it against another."
Jenny Prask flinched. The conviction with which Lady Splay announced as
a fact the opinion of the small conclave about the table quite deceived
her.
"So you know about the key?" she said sullenly. And about the table ran
a little quiver of relief. With that question, Jenny Prask had delivered
herself into their hands.
"Yes."
Jenny stood with a mutinous face and silent lips. Lady Splay had
marshalled in their order the items of the case which would be made
against her, if she persisted in her lie. How would she receive them?
Persist, reckless of her own overthrow, so long as she overthrew Joan
Whitworth too? Or surrender angrily? The four people watched for her
answer with anxiety; and it was given in a way which they least
expected. For Jenny covered her face with her hands, her shoulders began
to heave and great tears burst out between her fingers and trickled down
the backs of her hands.
"It's unbearable," she sobbed. "I would have given my life for
her--that's the truth. Oh, I know that most maids serve their mistresses
for what they can get out of them. But she was so kind to me--wherever
she went she was thoughtful of my comfort. Oh, if I had guessed what she
meant to do! And I might have!"
The truth came out now. Stella Croyle had given the letter to Jenny, and
Jenny herself had taken it to the garage and sent the chauffeur off upon
his journey. She had no idea of what the letter contained. Stella was in
the habit of inhaling chloroform; she carried a bottle of it in her
dressing-case--a bottle which Jenny had taken secretly from the room and
smashed into atoms after Doctor McKerrel's departure. She had already
conceived her plan to involve Joan in so much suspicion that she must
needs openly confess that she had returned from Harrel to meet Mario
Escobar in the empty house.
"Mario Escobar!" Millie Splay exclaimed. "It was he." She turned pale.
Sir Charles Hardiman had spoken frankly to her of Escobar. A creature of
the shadows--it was rumored that he lived on the blackmailing of women.
Joan was not out of the wood then! Martin Hillyard was quick to appease
her fears.
"He will not trouble you," and when Jenny had gone from the room he
added, "Mario Escobar was arrested this morning. He will be interned
till the end of the war and deported afterwards."
Lady Splay rose, her face bright with relief.
"Thank you," she said warmly to Hillyard. "I am going up to Joan." At
the door she stopped to add, "Now that it's over, I don't mind telling
you that I admire Jenny Prask. Out-and-out loyalty like hers is not so
common that we can think lightly of it."
Martin Hillyard turned to Sir Chichester.
"And now, if you will allow me, I will open my box of cigarettes."
Harry Luttrell went back to his depot the next morning, without seeing
Joan again. Millicent Splay wrote to him during the next week. The
inquest had been confined within its proper limits. Jenny Prask had
spoken the truth in the witness box, and from beginning to end there had
been no mention of Joan or Mario Escobar. A verdict of temporary
insanity had been returned, and Stella now lay in the village
churchyard. Harry Luttrell drew a breath of relief and turned to his
work. For six weeks his days and nights were full; and then came
twenty-four hours' leave and a swift journey into Sussex. He arrived at
Rackham Park in the dusk of the evening. By a good chance he found Joan
with Millie Splay and Sir Chichester alone.
Sir Chichester welcomed him with cordiality.
"My dear fellow, I am delighted to see you. You will stay the night, of
course."
"No," Harry answered. "I must get back to London this evening."
He took a cup of tea, and Sir Chichester, obtuse to the warning glances
of his wife, plunged into an account of the events which had followed
his departure.
"I drew out a statement. Nothing could have been more concise, the
coroner said. What's the matter, Millie? Why don't you leave me alone?
Oh--ah--yes," and he hummed a little and spluttered a little, and then
with an air of the subtlest craft he remarked, "There are those plans
for the new pig-sties, Millie, which I am anxious to show you."
He was manoeuvred at last from the room. Harry Luttrell and Joan
Whitworth were left standing opposite to one another in the room.
"Joan," Harry Luttrell said, "in ten days I go back to France."
With a queer little stumble and her hands fluttering out she went
towards him blinded by a rush of tears.