A last beam of the sun gliding over the surface of the river transformed
it into a ribbon of creamy gold as, accompanied by Sybil and Grindlay, I
was driven over the old moss-grown bridge on the way from the station to
Fyneshade Hall, one of the most historic mansions in Sussex.
Throughout the length and breadth of the land telegraphic information
had reached the police that the Earl of Fyneshade was wanted on a charge
of murder. In every town, in almost every village, constables and
detectives were on the alert. The search in London during the day had
proved futile, for after leaving Lady Stretton's all trace of his
lordship had been lost, and it was supposed that, finding De Vries
present, he had become alarmed and had hidden himself. At Eaton Square,
Grindlay had ascertained that Mabel had been away at the country seat
during the past three days, and nothing had been seen there of the Earl
for a week. Inquiries at his clubs and elsewhere elicited no clue to
the direction he had taken, but about five o'clock Grindlay had called
upon me hurriedly, saying that he intended to go to Fyneshade, whereupon
I resolved to accompany him, and Sybil, being also present, pleaded that
she might be taken also.
Therefore we had left Victoria, and two hours later found ourselves at a
small wayside station with four miles to drive. It was an anxious
journey, and during those last four miles scarcely a word was exchanged
between us, so full were our thoughts, for the Inspector had ascertained
from the station-master that his lordship had arrived from London by the
first train that morning, and, no fly being available, had walked up to
the Hall.
At last we were gaining upon him.
Was it any wonder, then, knowing the fate awaiting him, that we were
silent?
When, having passed the lodge-gates and driven up through the spacious,
well-wooded park wherein the birds were gayly chattering, we alighted
before the great stone portico of the quaint, rambling, ivy-covered
mansion, a man-servant came forward.
"I wish to see Lady Fyneshade!" I said.
"Yes, sir. Her ladyship is at home, sir. Please step this way," and
taking my card he led us through the great hall of polished oak, with
its windows of stained glass and stands of armour, into a pleasant
sitting-room with diamond panes and deep window-seats commanding a wide
sweep of the park and lake beyond. Here, as through the mansion, there
was a lulling quietude, and an atmosphere of voluptuous luxury. The
sense became oppressed with the richness of the surroundings, and the
quietude added to the oppression.
Almost before the door had closed a rustling of silk reached our ears,
and when it opened again Mabel stood before us. Her face was deathly
pale; around her eyes, swollen as if by tears, were dark rings that told
only too plainly the distressing anxiety of that breathless day.
"You?" she gasped, steadying herself by clutching at the handle of the
door, and gazing fixedly at Sybil. Then, turning her haggard eyes upon
Grindlay, she said half reproachfully:
"You have come for him!"
The Inspector, standing by the window, advanced a few steps, and bowing
answered:
"It is unfortunately my painful duty, my lady."
"Ah! I knew it--I knew it!" she wailed, with a wild passion, bursting
again into a torrent of hot tears. "He arrived here at ten o'clock this
morning--and--and--"
"Did he leave again?" Grindlay quickly asked.
"No," she replied, in a harsh discordant tone, her pallor becoming more
apparent. "He is still here. He came home, and without seeing me went
to his room. My maid--my maid told me that he--"
She had almost become calm, but the marks of a storm of agitation were
very palpable in her pale countenance and her disordered dress. She
paused, her words seemed to choke her, and she started with a cold
shudder, as if some unseen hand had touched her. Then with a fierce
effort she drew herself up and continued:
"My maid, whom I sent to him asking him to see me, returned with a
message that he was busy, and when I went to his room a few minutes
later I found he had again gone out."
For an instant she paused, then as if a sudden wild impulse seized her
she rushed across the room and threw open wide the door leading to an
adjoining apartment.
"An hour later he returned," she cried hoarsely. "See!"
We all three dashed forward, but an instant later, with one accord,
uttered cries of horror.
Lying upon a couch in a room that had been almost cleared of furniture
was the Earl of Fyneshade, fully dressed. From his wet, slime-covered
clothes water still dripped slowly, forming a pool upon the carpet, and
even as we looked his wife withdrew the handkerchief reverently placed
upon the upturned face, so that we gazed upon the closed eyes, white
sunken cheeks, and muddy lips.
"They brought him home to me dead," Mabel said in an agonised tone, that
told of the terrible pent-up anguish in her breast. "One of the
gardeners saw him deliberately throw himself into the lake, and although
he tried to save him was unable."
Then, as slowly as she had removed the covering from the rigid features,
she carefully wiped some of the green slime from his lips and replaced
it.
A long, deep-drawn sigh was the only sound that broke the silence, and,
by the crumpling of paper next moment, I knew that Grindlay had crushed
the warrant in his hand.
No word was spoken, but as we passed slowly back into the comfortable
sitting-room, Mabel fell upon the neck of my well-beloved and they both
wept bitterly.
The scene was intensely painful, and Grindlay, with a murmur of excuse,
withdrew, leaving me alone to whisper sympathy and courage. The
assassin's end, though tragic, was merciful, for, at least, his young
wife would be spared the torture of being branded as the unhappy widow
of a man who had been executed.
He had thrown dice with the Devil, and lost. By his own volition he had
released Mabel from a hateful marital tie, at the same time paying the
penalty for his sins.