Penfold proceeded to put her words to the proof. Without any sort of
warning, she took Edith by the throat, and, advancing her foot,
tripped her over on to the floor with an ease which was positively
ludicrous. And, having got her down, choking her with one huge hand,
while with the other she began to tear her clothes from off her with
as scant formality as she might have plucked the feathers from a fowl,
Edith made not the slightest attempt at resistance. Not only was there
no fight left in her, but she was being throttled. If that iron grasp
about her slender throat was not soon relaxed, she would, ere long,
become a runaway wife indeed, and for ever. Before, however, that
consummation had been achieved, and she was actually and finally
throttled, a diversion was caused by the unceremonious entrance of
still another woman, who was holding a paper in her hand. Without any
sort of prelude she addressed herself to all and sundry.
"Clara Harvey's been too much for us. She's declined to swallow the
bait we offered her, she saw the hook behind it, as I expected she
would. She's given us the slip, and apparently got clean away, because
she's had the impudence to send me this telegram."
The new-comer read aloud from the piece of paper she was holding,
which was now seen to be a telegraph form.
"So sorry cannot accept kind invitation to come to town. Have business
engagement, which I am now starting to fill. Good-bye, dearest, in
case I should not see you again for very long time, which fear I
sha'n't. Say good-bye for me to the other dears. Hope dear Mary won't
suffer much, but we have all of us to be in trouble in our turn. Best
love.--CLARA."
The reading of this curiously and extravagantly-worded telegram, was
followed by a chorus of exclamations.
"What nonsense are you talking?" "What are you reading from?" "Who's
been kidding you?" "Clara's here!"
It was the new-comer's turn to exclaim. "Clara's here? Where?"
"Here!"
Her attention was directed to the figure of Mrs Bankes, who was still
recumbent on the floor, though fortunately Penfold had somewhat
softened the vigour of her attentions. The new-comer stared at the
prostrate lady.
"Clara! That's not Clara!"
"Not Clara? Don't talk rubbish! It's her, right enough!"
"I don't know who that is, and I don't know what you're playing off on
me, but I do know that's not Clara Harvey. I've known her pretty well
all my life; if I don't know her, I don't know who does, and I tell
you that's no more Clara Harvey than I am."
On the faces of the four women were looks of stupefied amazement.
Penfold shook the recipient of her tender mercies.
"Now then, wake up there, you ain't quite dead. Ain't you, Clara?"
"No!" Mrs Bankes just managed to gasp.
On the table lay her purse, with its contents displayed to the public
gaze. The new-comer took up the visiting card.
"What's this? Mrs Frank Bankes, The Chestnuts, Tuesdays, 4 to 6."
"I'm Mrs Frank Bankes," murmured the owner of that name.
The new-comer darted forward.
"Not Mrs Frank Bankes, of Colchester? Not the wife of Frank Bankes,
the solicitor, who's undertaken the prosecution of Mary Griffiths?"
"I'm his wife."
The new-comer evinced all the symptoms of mental disturbance. She
stared at Edith as if she were a ghost. Then looked at the others with
eyes in which were both anger and amazement.
"What--what's the meaning of this? What tomfoolery have you been up
to? How came she here?"
The little woman advanced to the front.
"It is for her to explain, not us. She came here with Ricketts as
Clara Harvey; she allowed us to believe she was Clara Harvey. You know
neither of us four has ever seen Clara Harvey; we never supposed,
therefore, that she could be anyone else!" She spoke to Edith. "Why
did you pass yourself off as someone else?"
"I didn't. I told you there was a mistake. I wanted to explain but you
wouldn't let me."
"But you came here with Ricketts?"
"Not of my own free will. I didn't want to come, but she made me. She
threatened to shoot me if I tried to get out of the cab."
"But how came you to be with Ricketts at all? Do you know her?"
"If you mean by Ricketts the person who brought me here, I never saw
her before in my life. When she came to me in the railway carriage, I
thought my husband had sent her to meet me. I was in great distress,
or I should have been more cautious."
"Look here, Mrs Bankes, what has happened has been your fault, not
ours. We certainly were not desirous of your presence, so perhaps you
will just explain by what curious accident you are here."
Mrs Bankes did explain, lamely enough, and with plentiful lack of
dignity. Her audience listened with all their ears.
"I am Mrs Bankes, of Colchester. This afternoon I quarrelled with my
husband--I see now that I was altogether in the wrong." If only Frank
could have heard! "I was beside myself with passion. I said that I
would run away, and--I ran away. When I got to London someone came to
me in the train. I thought my husband had sent her to take me back
again, so--I went with her, but--she brought me here instead--you
wouldn't listen to me, so--"
She stopped short, something seemed to be choking her. But she had
said enough to make her meaning pretty plain.
"Ricketts is a fool." They were the first words the lady in widow's
weeds had uttered. They seemed to meet with general approval.
"Rickett's is not the only fool." The addition was the little woman's.
This expression of opinion was also adopted. "For all I know, Mrs
Bankes, you may, on ordinary occasions, be a person remarkable for
common-sense; but you must forgive my saying that, on this occasion,
it is not that quality in your conduct which strikes one most. You are
the wife of a man who is no friend of ours; you have forced yourself
into our confidence; you have tricked us into treating you with
alarming frankness; you have engineered yourself into a position in
which you will be able to do us serious mischief. For us it now
becomes a question of self-preservation. What are we to do with her?"
"Don't let her go back to her husband."
This suggestion also came from the lady in weeds. An irrepressible
shudder went all over Mrs Bankes. She would have protested, however
feebly, against so terrible a proposition, had not her tongue refused
its office. Never had she supposed it possible that she would have
been treated with contempt by anyone--and by a gang of thieves!
The five women drew together at one side of the room. They entered
into agitated discussion, conducted, however, in whispers, so as to be
inaudible to the anxious lady close at hand. The consultation could
not have been carried far before the room door was again thrown open,
and the woman, Ricketts, who had been primarily the cause of all the
mischief, came rushing in.
"Quick!--the coppers! they're at the door!--the other way."
The woman was a picture of excitement and alarm. As soon as she had
spoken she turned and fled as rapidly as she had come. Her words fell
like a bombshell amidst the little group of women. Without an attempt
at comment they rushed after her, bustling each other in their panic
flight. Almost before she learned what had happened, and certainly
before she could guess what was about to happen, Mrs Bankes found
herself alone. Suddenly there was the sound of violent knocking at the
street door; a loud crash; heavy footsteps were heard ascending the
stairs. Three or four men came into the room. One of them, advancing,
laid his hand upon her shoulder. He turned to a man behind him.
"They've had the office and done a bolt. I daresay they are trying the
roof; go up and see. Take somebody with you." The man addressed walked
quickly from the room, two others going with him.
"You are my prisoner."