at Cape Town. Even if he escaped there, and found his way back, he
could not arrive in London for another three weeks or more. So when he
does return--if he ever does--he will find Marigold silent in her grave,
that a disaster has occurred in Bridge Place, and that we are no longer
in London."
"And Lionel?" asked the Red Widow.
"Oh, we have nothing to fear from him. He's only a gibbering idiot who
believes my story that he committed a crime--killed a little girl named
Maggie--although he was quite innocent. I made him wear a hood whenever
he saw me, and I did the same. He believed me to be a man named Wisden,
the witness of his crime! And because of that he executed in blind
obedience every order I gave him. The fact that for months he never saw
my face impressed him, and thus the terror of the police has so got upon
his unstrung nerves that he is fast going from bad to worse. As a
bacteriologist he is, of course, wonderful. He was marked out as a
coming man by the professors at the Laboratory at Oxford, before he took
to drugs and his brain gave way."
"Where is he now?" asked Ena.
Boyne explained the man's hiding-place, adding: "I've given him money to
go on with. When that is finished--well, we will consider what we shall
do."
"We shall want him again, no doubt," laughed Ena.
"Probably," said Boyne. "But remember, if there are any awkward
inquiries--as there may be if we can't settle completely with
Celine--then we must be absent from London for a year or two."
"That's a pity," declared the Red Widow. "Recollect what I said
regarding that woman Vesey, whose hair is almost similar to mine. I met
her at Brighton some time ago, and we became very chummy. She has a
place in Gloucestershire. And that other woman Sampson. Both affairs
would be so easy--ten thousand each."
"I know, my dear Ena, but let us square up this present deal first.
That solicitor in the City is horribly slow. He is out of town till
to-morrow. Time is going on. Each day brings us nearer open
hostilities with Celine, therefore I suggest that Lilla should remain to
receive the money and settle up, while you and I get away. I propose
going to Spain, and you--well, you know Sweden well. Why not slip over
to Stockholm? We will all meet again, say, at Trouville in six weeks'
time, and hold another consultation," suggested the man.
"Yes," Lilla said. "That's all very well. But it means that I'm to be
left alone to face Celine!"
"Well, it's the only way," declared her husband. "It is not wise for all
of us to await the payment. I agree that the solicitor might easily have
obtained a settlement of the claim ere this--especially as it is not
disputed. But the more respectable the solicitor the slower he is."
"Are you sure that the fire at Bridge Place has aroused no suspicion?"
asked Ena. "After a fire there's always an inquiry as to how it
originated."
"Yes, when the place is insured. But mine was not--intentionally,"
Boyne replied, with a grin. "We couldn't afford that upstairs laboratory
to be discovered. Besides, there was enough stuff in the tubes to kill
a whole town--all sorts of infectious diseases, from anthrax to bubonic
plague. Lionel dabbled with them, and gleefully cultivated them with
his broth and his trays and tubes of gelatine."
"Well, as long as you are quite certain we are not watched, I don't
care," said the handsome woman, who was so often seen at table at the
Ritz, the Carlton, and the Berkeley. "If we were, it would be most
dangerous to meet, even as we are doing now."
"Bah! You are both growing very nervy!" laughed Boyne derisively. "It
is so foolish. Nothing serious can happen. Even when the French girl
grows greedy, we can always settle with her. Between us we have laid up
a nice little nest-egg for the future. I reckoned it out yesterday.
The game is one of the few which is worth the candle."
"And the people in their graves are better off!" laughed Lilla, who was
utterly heartless and unscrupulous.
Boyne rose and obtained a fresh cigarette, while his wife rang the bell
for tea.
The latter was brought in upon a fine old Sheffield plate tray, and
Lilla poured it out.
When the man-servant had gone, the Red Widow, turning to Boyne's wife,
said:
"I really think, Lilla, after what Bernie has suggested, that I shall
plead illness and get away. I shall tell my friends I am going to
Sicily, but instead I shall run over to Stockholm. I know lots of
friends there. Indeed, we might carry on our affairs there later. The
Scandinavian is a good insurance company."
"English companies are better," Boyne declared. "I have little faith in
foreign insurance companies. They always want to know just a little too
much to suit our purpose. I've studied them all. My first case was in
Milan eight years ago, and it nearly ended in disaster. I had to clear
out suddenly and leave my claim--which has never been paid. And I
wasn't clumsy, I assure you. I got the stuff from old 'Grandfather' of
Frankfurt."
"Oh! 'Grandfather.' I've heard his name before," said Ena. "He sells
tubes, doesn't he?"
"Sells them! Of course he did--and still does. You have to be well
introduced, and he charges you very high, but his stuff is
first-class--quite as good as Lionel's. 'Grandfather' I met once in the
Adlon, in Berlin--a funny old professor with long hair. But, by Jove!
he must have made a big fortune by this time. He charged a hundred
pounds for a single tube of anthrax, sleeping sickness, or virulent
pneumonia--and double for a certain poison which creates all the
post-mortem symptoms of heart-disease, and cannot be detected."
"Well now?" asked Lilla, sipping her tea from the pretty Crown Derby
cup. "What are we to do?"
"As Bernie suggests, I think," said Ena. "I'll get away, and next day
Bernie can go to Paris, and on by the Sud Express to Madrid."
"Then on to Barcelona," said Boyne. "I'm known there as Mr. Bennett.
I've stayed once or twice at the Hotel Colon."
"No. I really can't be left alone," said Lilla. "As soon as you have
gone that girl Celine will call."
"Don't see her, dear," urged the Red Widow.
"Oh! That's all very well, but I can't be out each time she comes. I
should be compelled to see her. And no doubt she would have the man
with her. Then, when she found out that you had both gone, she would
turn upon me."
"No, no," laughed Boyne. "You will have money ready to give her if she
turns very hostile, so as to afford us further time. Their only game is
blackmail. They suspect something concerning the old man at
Chiswick--thanks to talking too loud in the presence of one's servants.
It ought to be a lesson to us all."
"It is, Bernie," said the Red Widow, rising from her chair and crossing
the room to get her handbag which she had left on the sofa by the
window.
As she took it up, she chanced to glance out into the street.
"My God!" she gasped. And next second she sprang from the window. Her
face was white as paper. "My God!" she repeated, reeling, and steadying
herself by the back of a chair.
"What's happened?" asked Boyne, springing up.
"No, no! For Heaven's sake, don't go near the window. He has seen
me--I'm sure he recognised me!"
"Who?"
"Emery--that solicitor in Manchester! He--he--knows me as--as Augusta
Morrison--the dead woman!"
"And did he see you?" cried Boyne in a low, hoarse voice. "Are you
certain?"
"Well--no--I--I'm not absolutely certain. He was looking up at the
house, and he's coming here."
At that second the front door electric bell rang.
All three started.
"Why is he here?" asked Lilla. "Are inquiries already on foot?"
"If they are, then our game is up," declared Ena. "You must receive him,
Lilla, but you must deny all knowledge of me. You know nothing of
Augusta Morrison."
"But he may call at Upper Brook Street," said Boyne quickly. "You must
not return there."
"Did he recognise me? That's the question," asked Ena, still pale to
the lips.
A second later the man entered with a card upon his salver--the card of
the Manchester solicitor, Mr. Emery.
"Oh!" exclaimed Lilla, taking it up. "Oh, yes--show him up."
Then as soon as the man had left, Ena slipped upstairs into one of the
bedrooms to hide, in company with Bernard Boyne.
When the young Manchester solicitor was ushered in, he found the
tea-things cleared--which had been effected several minutes before--and
Lilla rose to greet him.
"I believe you are Mrs. Braybourne," he said, bowing. "My name is
Emery. I am the solicitor who effected a policy on the life of the late
Mrs. Augusta Morrison in your favour. My client, I hear, with much
regret, has died, and I understand from the company that you have put in
your claim."
Mrs. Braybourne admitted that it was so, and offered her visitor a seat.
"I came this morning from Manchester, in order to consult with your
solicitor," he went on. "Mrs. Morrison was a personal friend of mine,
and she told me that she had, since her husband's death, discovered that
she was indebted to Mr. Braybourne, hence her insurance on the
assignment of the policy."
"It came as a great surprise to me," said Lilla, with her innate
cleverness. "I had not the pleasure of knowing Mrs. Morrison, though I
met her husband several times, years ago. My late husband was a friend
of his."
"So she told me when we were together at Llandudno," Emery said. "It
was certainly very generous of her to try and make reparation for some
wrong which her husband did to Mr. Braybourne. But I confess I am
somewhat surprised."
"At what?" asked the pseudo widow.
"Well--she gave me the impression that you were a person of limited
means. But that does not appear so," he said, glancing around the
luxurious little apartment.
Lilla smiled quite calmly. She was uncertain whether her very unwelcome
visitor had recognised Ena through the window as his client, the false
Augusta Morrison.
"Of course, I have no idea what Mrs. Morrison told you concerning
myself. I only know that my late husband was interested in certain
business transactions with Mr. Morrison up in Scotland," she said, with
an air of ignorance.
"True, Mrs. Braybourne; but how is it that you have instructed your
solicitors here to press a claim of which you now declare you had no
knowledge?"
For a second Lilla was cornered; but her quick woman's wit came to her
aid, and smiling quite calmly, she said:
"Well, to tell you the truth, a solicitor of Mrs. Morrison in London
wrote me quite recently, explaining in strict confidence the position
and the efforts your client had made to make reparation for her
husband's swindling. All I know is that Mr. Morrison's business
morality left a great deal to be desired, and we came very near ruin.
Indeed, we should have been ruined, had it not been for assistance I
received from my father."
"In what way?" asked the keen young lawyer.
"Well--I think I need not go into such details," said the clever woman
with whom he was confronted. "Your client, no doubt, admitted to you her
husband's double-dealing and how he very nearly ruined us. It was
because of that Mrs. Morrison of Carsphairn insured her life in my
favour."
Young Mr. Emery nodded, but his lips curled in a smile of incredulity.
He paused for several moments, his gaze fixed upon the woman.
"Well," he said at last, "I have been at the head office of the company
to-day, after I found that your legal adviser was absent, and--well, to
tell you the truth, they are not altogether satisfied."
"Who?" asked Lilla, in surprise.
"The insurance company."
"Why?"
Again Mr. Emery paused, again he fixed his eyes upon the woman before
him. He slowly rose from his chair and walked to the fireplace,
whereupon he drew himself up. Placing his hands in his trousers
pockets, he said, in a changed voice:
"Mrs. Braybourne, just because I have interested myself, rather unduly
perhaps, in the affairs of my late client, Mrs. Morrison, I find myself
confronted by several problems. I want you to assist me to solve at
least one of them."
"And what is that?" asked Lilla, quite calmly.
"Simply this," he said, fixing his dark eyes upon her. "I want you to
explain the fact why, as I came along the street, I should see, standing
here in your window, my late client, Mrs. Augusta Morrison?"
*CHAPTER XXIX*
*ON THIN ICE*
Lilla drew herself up, and looked her unwelcome interrogator full in the
face with unwavering gaze.
"Mrs. Morrison?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, madam, that as I approached this house Mrs. Morrison was
looking out of the window."
Lilla laughed. Though greatly perturbed, she had been forewarned, and
preserved an outward calm.
"Really, Mr. Emery," she laughed, "you must be mistaken. I have not the
pleasure of knowing Mrs. Morrison. I only knew her husband, who came to
see us several times when we lived in Kensington. His wife lived in
Scotland, but I was never acquainted with her."
"Do you mean to insist that you have never seen her?"
"Never in my life--to my knowledge," was the frank reply.
"But I insist that my eyes have not deceived me, and that she was in
your window a few minutes ago."
Again Lilla laughed.
"Well, Mr. Emery, though you and I have never met before, I can't help
thinking that you are--well, just a little eccentric," she said. "You
come here and declare that you have seen at my window a woman who is
dead."
"Ah, but is she really dead, Mrs. Braybourne?" asked the shrewd young
man, who had of late been getting together an extensive legal practice
in Manchester.
"My dear Mr. Emery, ask yourself," Lilla replied. "I understand that the
poor lady's sister was present at the end and took a last look at her
before the coffin was screwed down. Surely her sister would know her?
I am, of course, in utter ignorance of the facts, But I think, before
you make such foolish mistakes as you are doing, you had better
inquire--don't you?"
Her argument was rather disconcerting. Charles Emery felt certain that
he had seen the face of the dead woman at the window. Yet, if it were
true that her sister had seen her in her coffin, then surely his eyes
had deceived him.
Upstairs Boyne and Ena stood together in breathless wonder at what was
in progress below. Boyne knew how clever his wife was, and how, when
faced with difficulties, she always became so calm and innocent. Of
that he had had proof many times. Their marital relations had been such
that he had long ago felt she was a super-woman in the art of deception.
But here she was faced with a perilous problem, and both Ena and he knew
it.
They stood together, conversing in whispers.
"Trust Lilla," said Boyne in a low voice. "She will wriggle out of
anything. Besides, she had the tip that the fellow may have recognised
you."
Below the young solicitor and Lilla were still in open hostility.
Emery had grown angry. The woman had accused him of an undue suspicion.
"Lots of people, especially those who are spooky, believe in a sixth
sense," she said. "Surely you don't believe in it, do you, Mr. Emery?
I do not. Do you really insist that in my window you have seen the face
of a woman who is dead and buried? If so--well, you've got the sixth
sense, and it would be more profitable to you to go into the Other World
Combine--which, I believe, is being formed--than to practise law.
Personally, I only wish I had a sixth sense. Oh, what a lot concerning
other people's affairs I should know--eh?"
And she laughed lightly, as though highly amused.
Emery stood in silence. She could see that he was still unconvinced.
The situation was one of the most perilous they had ever faced.
"To tell you the truth, Mrs. Braybourne, I'm not at all satisfied," said
the young man frankly. "I feel confident that the woman's face I saw at
your window was that of Mrs. Augusta Morrison."
"How utterly ridiculous!" declared the clever adventuress. "If Mrs.
Morrison's sister and other relatives saw her at the nursing home before
and after her death they must have recognised her. How therefore, can
the lady possibly be alive? It's silly to imagine such a thing!"
"Well," he asked, "who first informed you that the late Mrs. Morrison
had assigned her life policy to you?"
"A man I know named May, who was a friend of my husband and of the late
Mr. Morrison."
"And how did he know, pray?"
"How can I tell? He knew Mrs. Morrison, I believe, and he used to stay
at her house-parties at Carsphairn. Possibly she might have told him."
"When did you see him?"
"I haven't seen him lately," she replied quickly, a fiction ready to her
lips. "He rang me up about three days after Mrs. Morrison's death and
told me of the sad event, of which I, of course, was in complete
ignorance. Then he told me that she had insured her life for my
benefit. I asked him how he knew that; but he only laughed and said
that he knew, and would send, me particulars of the assignment of the
policy, and that I had better take steps at once to establish my
claim--which naturally I did, after receiving a few notes of the
assignment. I made out a full account of my late husband's dealings
with Mr. Morrison--how he had very nearly brought us to ruin--and placed
them with the notes of the assignment in the hands of my solicitor, who,
I suppose, in due course approached the insurance company. Previously,
however, I had heard of the fact from another source--a solicitor--as I
have already told you."
"H'm!" Emery grunted. Then, after a pause, he asked:
"Do you happen to know a certain lady living in Upper Brook Street named
Mrs. Pollen?"
"Pollen? Pollen?" repeated Lilla. "The name sounds familiar. She's a
society hostess--a woman who often has her photograph in the picture
papers, isn't she?" she asked, with well-affected ignorance.
"I think not. I've never seen her portrait in the papers. She was,
however, a friend of Mrs. Morrison."
"I'm afraid I know nothing of Mrs. Morrison's friends. My husband knew
some of them, of course. And I have to thank Morrison for bringing ruin
to us. He made huge profits over these business deals and bought
Carsphairn, while my husband went under and would have been down and out
had it not been for my family, who assisted him on his legs again."
"Well, in any case, you seem to live in very easy circumstances to-day,
Mrs. Braybourne," he remarked, glancing around the luxurious room.
"Oh, I don't know," Lilla laughed lightly. "In London we put all the
goods in the window--you don't up in Lancashire."
An awkward pause ensued.
"Well, Mrs. Braybourne," he said at last, "I cannot conceal from myself
that there are certain peculiar circumstances which must be cleared up."
"About what?" she asked in pretended innocence.
"About this curious claim of yours. The assignment of the policy was,
of course, in my hands, and it is not at all clear how your mythical
friend Mr. May gained knowledge of what the late Mrs. Morrison desired
to keep secret."
"As I've told you, Mr. May gave me particulars regarding it, which I
duly handed to my solicitors. If Mrs. Morrison, in a fit of remorse for
her husband's sharp practice, as it seems, chose to insure her life for
my benefit, I don't see, Mr. Emery, why you should raise any objection,"
she protested. "She was your client, I presume?"
"She was," he replied. "And because I also acted as agent of the
insurance company, I now consider it my duty to put all the facts before
them, together with my allegation that the dead woman is actually in
this house, or was when I entered here."
"Really, you are most insulting!" declared Lilla with well-feigned
indignation. "I think it gross impertinence and a breach of
professional etiquette that you should come here to see me and accuse me
of lying when the matter is in the hands of my solicitor."
"Ah, Mrs. Braybourne. Pardon me, please; I only wish to straighten
things out," he said blandly. "At present they are a little too tangled
to suit me," he went on. "When I have given over the facts to the
company my responsibility is at an end. Your solicitor returns to
London to-morrow, and I will have a consultation, with a view to a
settlement--in some way or other," he added in a meaning tone.
Then he bowed coldly and took his departure.
The instant he had left, the trio of dealers in secret death held a
hurried and excited council.
"The game is up!" declared Ena, her countenance blanched to the lips.
"The Fates are against us. How dare we press our claim further, and if
we do not, then our failure to do so is self-condemnation."
"He's a shrewd young chap. He certainly recognised you--curse it!"
cried Boyne.
"We must get away," said Lilla. "We all of us have old Jackie James's
passports. And it only remains for us to clear out at once."
"Old Jackie's passports" to which she had referred were those cleverly
fabricated since the war by an old man named James who lived at Notting
Hill Gate, and who had at one time been a notorious forger. He now made
a very excellent living by supplying crooks and criminals of all classes
with false passports in neat little blue books, on which then photograph
was fixed, and he himself embossed it with the stamp bearing the British
royal arms and the words "Foreign Office," as well as the rubber date
stamp, at an inclusive cost of fifteen pounds each.
These passports were beautifully printed in Bilbao, in Spain, together
with the British red sixpenny stamp, but completed ready for the
purchaser at Notting Hill Gate.
"Though I never like leaving good money behind," said Boyne, "I must
admit that our luck is quite out this time, and we must all lie doggo
for a bit."
"Ena must not return to Upper Brook Street, for Emery is certain to go
there," Lilla said.
"Curse the fellow!" cried the Red Widow. "It's all my fault! I ought
to have exercised more care, but Bernie has always been so cocksure that
everything was plain sailing."
"No," he protested. "Surely I can't be accused of your indiscretions,
Ena. I've done my best--just as we all have done--but we've fortunately
received warning in time that the game is at an end--at least, for a
little while. We can resume it in France, or probably in America later
on. All that remains now is for us to swiftly and quietly fade out and
leave them all guessing."
"One good feature is that the girl Ramsay will not be able to tell them
anything," said Lilla. "I've always doubted her from the first. She's
a cunning little cat."
"Yes. The end ought to be to-day--or to-morrow at latest," Boyne said.
"And by that time we shall all three be well on our way abroad."
Then they began to discuss ways and means, the destination of each of
them, and the matter of money, there being three deposits in different
London banks in different names.
The Red Widow and her companions had long ago taken every ingenious
precaution in case of enforced flight at a moment's notice. There were,
indeed, three separate sets of baggage lying at the waiting-room of
Victoria Station. But the banks were closed and no money could be
obtained.
In the meantime the young Manchester solicitor, much puzzled, of course,
had taken a taxi and alighted in Upper Brook Street.
Of the hall-porter he made inquiry regarding Mrs. Pollen, and was taken
up in the lift.
At the door of the flat he rang, and a smart maid answered.
"I want to see Mrs. Pollen," he said with his best smile.
"Mrs. Pollen isn't at home, sir," the girl replied.
"Dear me!" he said, deeply disappointed. "I've come up from the country
specially to see her. When will she be back?"
"I don't know. Perhaps not till the evening, sir."
Emery paused. He was arriving at an estimate of the maid's loyalty to
her mistress.
"Well," he said, "my business is most important--upon money matters.
May I come in and write her a note?"
"Madam has forbidden me to allow anyone inside during her absence,"
replied the good-looking, dark-eyed girl.
"Of course, she fears thieves. But I'm a solicitor," and he showed her
his card. "Please don't think I'm a thief--eh?" and he laughed merrily.
The girl looked at the card and then allowed him in, showing him into
the dining-room, upon the table of which was a great bowl of La France
roses--the room in which his client, Mrs. Augusta Morrison, had been
entrapped and done to death so insidiously.
"There's paper there, I think, sir," she said, indicating a small
writing-table set near the window.
He seated himself, though his quick eyes took in all the surroundings.
Before he began to write, he saw in a broad silver frame before him a
large photograph of his client, Mrs. Morrison.
"That's a beautiful portrait," he remarked to the girl.