A WOMAN'S CRY
The three men were sitting at a small round dining-table, from which
everything except the dessert had been removed. Duncombe filled his own
glass and passed around a decanter of port. Pelham and Spencer both
helped themselves almost mechanically. A cloud of restraint had hung
over the little party. Duncombe raised his glass and half emptied its
contents. Then he set it down and leaned back in his chair.
"Well," he said, "I am ready for the inquisition. Go on, Andrew."
Pelham fingered his own glass nervously. He seemed to find his task no
easy one.
"George," he said, "we are old friends. I want you to remember it. I
want you also to remember that I am in a hideous state of worry and
nerves"--he passed his hand over his forehead just above his eyes as
though they were hurting him. "I am not behaving to you as a guest
should to his host. I admit it freely. I have lost my temper more than
once during the last twenty-four hours. I am sorry! Forgive me if you
can, George!"
"Willingly, Andrew," Duncombe answered. "I shall think no more about
it."
"At the same time," Pelham continued, "there is another point to be
considered. Have you been quite fair to me, George? Remember that
Phyllis Poynton is the one person whose existence reconciles me to life.
You had never even heard her name before I sent for you. You went
abroad, like the good fellow you are, to find her for me. You assure me
that you have discovered--nothing. Let me put you upon your honor,
George. Is this absolutely true?"
"I have discovered nothing about Phyllis Poynton," Duncombe declared
quietly.
"About Miss Fielding then?"
"Phyllis Poynton and Miss Fielding are two very different persons,"
Duncombe declared.
"That may be so," Pelham said, "although I find it hard to believe that
God ever gave to two women voices so exactly similar. Yet if you are
assured that this is so, why not be altogether frank with me?"
"What have you to complain of?" Duncombe asked.
"Something has happened at Runton Place, in which Mr. Fielding and his
daughter are concerned," Pelham continued. "I have heard all manner of
strange rumors. This afternoon I distinctly heard the girl's voice in
the lane outside. She was crying out as though in fear. A few minutes
later I heard you speaking to some one in the library. Yet when I
entered the room you would not answer me."
"Supposing I grant everything that you say, Andrew," Duncombe answered.
"Supposing I admit that strange things have happened with regard to Mr.
Fielding and his daughter which have resulted in their leaving Runton
Place--even that she was there in the lane this afternoon--how does all
this concern you?"
"Because," Pelham declared, striking the table with his fist, "I am not
satisfied that the girl who has been staying at Runton Place, and
calling herself Miss Fielding, is not in reality Phyllis Poynton."
Duncombe lit a cigarette, and passed the box round.
"Do you know what they are saying to-night of Mr. Fielding and his
daughter?" he asked quietly.
"No!"
"That the one is a robber, and the other an adventuress," Duncombe
answered. "This much is certainly true. They have both left Runton Place
at a moment's notice, and without taking leave of their host and
hostess. Remember, I never knew Phyllis Poynton. You did! Ask yourself
whether she is the sort of young person to obtain hospitality under
false pretences, and then abuse it--to associate herself in a fraud with
a self-confessed robber."
"The idea," Pelham said quietly, "is absurd."
"While we are on the subject," Spencer remarked, drawing the cigarettes
towards him, "may I ask you a few questions, Mr. Pelham? For instance,
had Miss Poynton any relations in France?"
"Not to my knowledge," Pelham answered. "I have known both her and her
brother for a great many years, and I never heard either of them mention
any."
"Why did she go to Paris, then?"
"To meet her brother."
"And why did he go abroad?"
"It was a whim, I think. Just a desire to see a few foreign countries
before he settled down to live the life of a country gentleman."
"You believe that he had no other reason?"
"I think I may go so far as to say that I am sure of it," Pelham
answered.
"One more question," Spencer added, intervening.
But the question remained unasked. The butler had opened the dining-room
door and was announcing Lord Runton.
Duncombe rose to his feet in surprise. For the moment a sudden fear drew
the color from his cheeks.
He looked apprehensively towards his unexpected visitor. Lord Runton,
however, showed no signs of any great discomposure. He was wearing his
ordinary dinner clothes, and in reply to Duncombe's first question
assured him that he had dined.
"I will try a glass of your port, if I may, George," he declared.
"Thanks!"
The butler had wheeled a chair up to the table for him, and left the
room. Lord Runton filled his glass and sent the decanter round. Then he
turned towards Spencer, to whom he had just been introduced.
"Mr. Spencer," he said, "my visit to-night is mainly to you. I dare say
you are aware that a somewhat unpleasant thing has happened at my house.
My people tell me that you called there this morning and inquired for
Mr. Fielding."
Spencer nodded.
"Quite true," he answered. "I called, but did not see him. He appears to
have left somewhat hurriedly while I was waiting."
"You did not even catch a glimpse of him?"
"No!"
"You know Mr. Fielding by sight, I presume?"
"I have seen him in Paris once or twice," Spencer answered.
"You will not think me impertinent for asking you these questions, I am
sure," Lord Runton continued apologetically, "but could you describe Mr.
Fielding to me?"
"Certainly," Spencer answered. "He was tall and thin, wears glasses, was
clean-shaven, bald, and limped a little."
Lord Runton nodded.
"Thank you," he said. "I presume that your visit this morning was one of
courtesy. You are acquainted with Mr. Fielding?"
"I have not that pleasure," Spencer answered. "I am afraid I must
confess that my visit was purely one of curiosity."
"Curiosity!" Lord Runton repeated.
"Exactly. Do you mind passing those excellent cigarettes of yours,
Duncombe?"
Lord Runton hesitated for a moment. He was conscious of a certain
restraint in Spencer's answers. Suddenly he turned towards him.
"Mr. Spencer," he said, "may I ask if you are Mr. Jarvis Spencer, of the
'Daily Messenger'--the Mr. Spencer who was mentioned in connection with
the investigations into the Lawson estates?"
Spencer nodded.
"Yes," he said, "I am that person."
"Then," Lord Runton continued, "I want to tell you exactly what has
happened to-day in my house, and to ask your advice. May I?"
"If our host has no objection," Spencer answered, glancing towards
Pelham.
"None whatever," Duncombe answered, also glancing towards Pelham.
There was a moment's silence. Pelham raised his head.
"If Lord Runton desires it, I will withdraw," he said slowly. "At the
same time I must confess that I, too, am interested in this matter. If
Lord Runton has no objection to my presence I should like to remain. My
discretion goes without saying."
Duncombe moved uneasily in his chair. His eyes sought Spencer's for
guidance, but found his head averted. Lord Runton raised his eyebrows
slightly at what he considered a somewhat vulgar curiosity, but his
reply was prompt.
"You are a friend of Duncombe's, Mr. Pelham," he said, "and that is
enough. I have to ask not only you, but all three of you, to consider
what I am going to tell you as absolutely confidential."
They all signified their assent. Lord Runton continued:--
"Mr. and Miss Fielding came to me with letters from my brother, and with
many convincing proofs of their identity. We none of us had the
slightest suspicion concerning them. Their behavior was exactly what it
should have been. Nothing about them excited remark in any way, except
the unusual number of telegrams and telephone messages which Mr.
Fielding was always receiving. That, however, was quite in accord with
our ideas of an American business man, and didn't seem to us in the
least remarkable."
"The telegrams were delivered through a neighboring office?" Spencer
asked quietly.
"Yes," Lord Runton answered, "but they were all in code. I happen to
know that because the postmaster brought the first one up himself, and
explained that he was afraid that he must have made some mistake as the
message was incomprehensible. Fielding only laughed, and gave the man a
sovereign. The message was absolutely correct, he declared. He told me
afterwards that whenever he was speculating he always coded his
messages, and it seemed perfectly reasonable."
Spencer nodded.
"Just so!" he murmured.
"This morning," Lord Runton continued, "Mr. Fielding rather upset our
plans. We were all to have spent the day at the Duke's, and dined there.
There was a big shoot for the men, as you know. At breakfast-time,
however, Mr. Fielding announced that he had a man coming over with a
motor car from Norwich for them to try, and begged to be excused. So we
had to go without them.
"Von Rothe was staying with me, as you know, and just before we started
he had a telegram that a messenger from the Embassy was on his way down.
He hesitated for some time as to whether he ought not to stay at home so
as to be here when he arrived, but we persuaded him to come with us, and
promised to send him back after luncheon. When we got to Chestow,
however, the wind had become a gale, and it was impossible to shoot
decently. Von Rothe was a little uneasy all the time, I could see, so he
and I and a few of the others returned here, and the rest went up to
Chestow. Just as we arrived Fielding passed us in a great motor car with
his daughter behind. When we got to the house Von Rothe inquired for the
messenger. He was told that he was in Mr. Fielding's sitting-room, but
when we got there we found the door locked, and through the key-hole we
could hear a man groaning. We broke the door in and found Von Rothe's
messenger half unconscious, and a rifled despatch box upon the floor. He
has given us no coherent account of what has happened yet, but it is
quite certain that he was attacked and robbed by Mr. Fielding."
"What was stolen?" Spencer asked. "Money?"
"No, a letter," Lord Runton answered. "Von Rothe says very little, but I
never saw a man so broken up. He has left for London to-night."
"The matter is in the hands of the police, of course?" Spencer asked.
Lord Runton shook his head.
"Von Rothe took me into his room and locked the door a few minutes after
we had discovered what had happened. He implored me to keep the whole
affair from the Press and from publicity in any form. His whole career
was at stake, he said, and very much more than his career. All that we
could do was to follow Mr. Fielding and drag him back by force if we
could. Even then he had little hope of recovering the letter. We did our
best, but, of course, we had no chance. Mr. Fielding and his daughter
simply drove off. Von Rothe is dealing with the affair in his own way."
"It is a most extraordinary story," Spencer said quietly.
Lord Runton turned towards him.
"I have treated you with confidence, Mr. Spencer," he said. "Will you
tell me now why you called at my house to see Mr. Fielding to-day?"
Spencer hesitated, but only for a moment.
"Certainly," he said. "I came because I knew that Mr. Fielding was
half-way to America, and his daughter in Russia. Some friends of mine
were curious to know who your guests could be."
Pelham raised his head.
"You lied to me then!" he exclaimed.
"I had as much right to lie to you," Spencer answered calmly, "as you
had to ask me questions. I had----"
He stopped short in the middle of his sentence. The faces of the three
men were a study in varying expressions. From some other part of the
house there came to them the sound of a woman's sudden cry of
terror--the cry of a woman who had awakened suddenly to look into the
face of death. Duncombe's uplifted glass fell with a crash upon the
table. The red wine trickled across the table-cloth.