Surprise held me dumb.
It seemed quite evident by the fact that five places had been laid at
table that the Frenchwoman must have already been in the flat awaiting
the arrival of Marigold and her companions, and, further, that Logan and
her ladyship had remained behind after the unfortunate woman had been
carried to the cab.
These and a thousand other thoughts flashed through my bewildered mind
as I stood aghast, my eyes riveted upon the dead white face of the woman
whose single word could have saved my love.
She had died, alas! with that secret locked within her heart!
I recollected her quick vivacious manner in those exciting moments when
we had met on the Chelsea Embankment, and how I had made a compact with
her, one which it was now impossible for her to fulfil. She had hid
from the police, first at Hayes's Farm, where a dastardly attempt had
been made upon her, and here, in that unoccupied flat, she had fallen
the victim of her enemies. Why? What motive could Marigold and her
friends have in her assassination?
That there was a motive, and a very strong one, was quite plain, but it
certainly was in no way apparent to me. The mystery was maddening. I
felt, indeed, that my weakened brain could not much longer stand the
strain.
"You recognise her, I see!" exclaimed the _delegato_, with satisfaction.
He had been watching me narrowly, and believed that the start I gave
when the ghastly face was revealed was proof of my guilt.
"Yes, I recognise her," was my answer. And glancing round the room I
saw that it was dirty and neglected, having been unoccupied for some
time. The assassins, I supposed, had cleaned the dining-room and
_salon_ in order that the victim should not suspect that she was in an
apartment that had been so long closed. It was certainly bold and
ingenious of them to enter a stranger's house and use it for their
nefarious purpose.
My captors led me back to the room in which I had been found, where one
of them pointed to a dark stain upon the floor--the stain of my own
blood. Beside it I saw my handkerchief cast aside. It had, no doubt,
been used by my discoverers to staunch the blood. Again I took the
heavy axe in my hand, and realised what a deadly weapon it was.
Then when the men had concluded making some other investigations they
led me away, driving me back to the hospital in the cab, evidently
entirely satisfied with their effort to fix the crime upon myself. The
doctors had not yet discharged me, therefore I was put to bed again, and
a detective mounted guard as before.
At my suggestion, the British Consul, Mr Martin Johnson, was informed,
and visited me. He stood at my bedside, a pompous and superior person
to whom I at once took an intense dislike. Happily he is now
transferred, and his office is now occupied by a very courteous and
pleasant-mannered member of His Majesty's Consular Service. I had,
however, the misfortune to call Mr Johnson without knowing the
character of the man. He was one of those precious persons of whom
there are far too many in the British Consular Service; men who object
to be disturbed by the Englishman in distress, whose hours are from one
till three, and whose duties in an inland city like Milan are almost
_nil_. Mr Martin Johnson, something of a fop, believed himself an
ornament of the Service, hence his annoyance when the police called him
to my bedside at the hospital. He regarded me with combined pity and
contempt, at the same time drawing himself up and speaking in a
ha-don't-you-know tone, supposed to be impressive.
I had heard of this superior person long ago, and as I lay in bed was
amused at his attempt to impress upon me the importance of his position.
I explained to him how I had been discovered and arrested, and that I
was entirely innocent of the crime alleged against me, whereupon he said
snappily--
"Well, I can't help you. You'll have to prove your innocence. The
police say that you've been confronted with the body of the woman, and
that your attitude showed plainly that you were guilty."
"But it's monstrous!" I said. "I was attacked in the street by some
ruffian, struck insensible, and carried up to the room."
"You'll have to prove that, What's your name?"
I told him, without, however, mentioning my connexion with the
Stanchesters.
"And the woman? You admitted to the police that you know her?"
"She's a Frenchwoman named Lejeune--who was wanted by the police."
He sniffed suspiciously, and rearranged his cravat in the mirror upon
the wall.
"Well," he remarked in Italian to the _delegato_ who stood at his side.
"This is a matter in which I really cannot intervene. The prisoner has
to prove his innocence. How can I help him?"
"By doing your duty as Consul," I chimed in. "By having an interview
with the Questore and obtaining justice for me."
"I know my duty, sir," he snapped. "And it is not to investigate the
case of every unknown tourist who gets into difficulty. If you have
money, you can engage some lawyer for your defence--and if you haven't,
well I'm sorry for you."
"Yours is a rather poor consolation, Mr Johnson," I remarked in anger.
"Am I to understand then that you refuse to help me--that you will not
see the Questore on my behalf?"
"I've told you plainly, I am unable to interfere."
"Then I shall complain to the Foreign Office regarding the inutility of
their Consul in Milan and his refusal to assist British subjects in
distress," I said.
"Make whatever complaint you like. I have no time to discuss the matter
further." And he turned rudely upon his heel and left me, while the
police drew their own conclusions from his attitude.
"Very well, my dear sir," I called after him down the hospital ward,
"when Sir Charles Renton asks for your explanation of your conduct
to-day, you will perhaps regret that you were not a little more civil."
My words fell upon him, causing him to turn back. Mention of the name
of the head of his particular department of the Foreign Office stirred
the thought within him that he might, after all, be acting contrary to
his own interests. He was a toady and place-seeker of the first water.
"And of what do you complain, pray?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "I chance to know Sir Charles very intimately--in fact
he is a relative of mine. Therefore when I return I shall not fail to
describe to him this interview." It was the truth. Sir Charles was my
cousin.
"Then why didn't you tell me that before, my dear sir?" asked the
pompous official, in an instant all smiles and graces, for he knew too
well that direct complaint to the head of his department meant
transference to some abominable and desolate hole in West or East
Africa. "Of course, I'm only too ready and anxious to serve any friend
of Sir Charles," he assured me.
"No doubt," I said smiling and inwardly reflecting that, happily,
members of our Consular Service were not all cast in that person's
mould. Previously he had put on the airs of an Ambassador--the air he
assumed, I suppose, in the drawing-rooms of democratic Milan, but now he
was all obsequiousness, declaring himself ready and anxious to carry out
my smallest wishes in every respect.
"Well," I said, regarding him contemptuously, "I can only tell you that
the tragic affair that has just occurred concerns the honour of one of
the greatest houses in England. I cannot be more explicit, otherwise I
should betray a confidence. I am accused of murder, but I am, of
course, innocent."
"Of course," he said. "Of course! These fools of police are always
trying to parade their wonderful intelligence. But," he added, "how are
you going to prove yourself innocent?"
Strangely enough that very serious question had never occurred to me. I
was in a country where the law regarded me as guilty, and not in
England, where I should be looked upon as innocent until convicted.