The Blue Room into which Mr. Tom Starkie had been shown was at the
back of the house, and its windows looked into a quaint old-fashioned
garden with clipped hedges and shady alleys. In order to reach this
room, visitors had to cross the entrance hall, then proceed along a
wide corridor which intersected the house, with doors opening on
either hand, after which they found themselves in a second hall almost
as large as the first. An archway, from which depended a heavy
_portièr_ divided this hall from the Blue Room. This second hall,
which was lighted by a cupola, was hung with a few family portraits,
some arms pertaining to various countries and various epochs, together
with sundry trophies of the chase.
A broad, shallow, oaken staircase, black with age, led to an upper
floor, at the foot of which, on either hand, stood a man in armour
with his visor down, grasping in his mailed right hand a lance half as
tall again as himself. Tropical plants in tubs were disposed here and
there.
Gerald Brooke, pushing aside the _portière_, advanced and shook hands
with his visitor. Mrs. Brooke and her aunt had remained behind. It was
just possible that Mr. Starkie might have something of a private
nature to communicate to Gerald. "Brooke, what's this confounded mess
you seem to have got yourself into?" he began, without a word of
preface. He was a red-haired, open-faced, good-natured-looking young
fellow of three or four and twenty. "Have you heard that Von Rosenberg
is dead, and that you are accused of having murdered him?"
"Yes, I have heard," answered the other quietly. "Is that the affair
about which you have come to see me?"
Mr. Starkie looked thunderstruck. "As if by Jove! it wasn't enough!
But, unfortunately, there's more behind."
Gerald touched the bell. "There is no reason why my wife and her aunt
should not hear anything you have to say," he remarked. "They know
already of what I am accused."
When the ladies came in, they shook hands with Mr. Starkie. Clara and
he had known each other for years.
Gerald having explained the nature of their visitor's errand as far as
he knew it, turned to the young man and said: "And now for your
narrative, dear boy; we won't interrupt you oftener than is absolutely
necessary."
"I'll cut what I've got to say as short as I can," rejoined the other,
"because, don't you know, there's no time to lose." He cleared
his voice and drew his chair a few inches nearer Gerald. "About
three-quarters of an hour ago," he began, "I happened to be with my
dad in his office talking over some private matters, when Drumley, our
new superintendent of police, was ushered into the room. He horrified
both my dad and me by telling us that the Baron von Rosenberg had been
found murdered--shot through the heart in the little _châlet_ which
stands in the grounds about a hundred yards from the house; and he
shocked us still more by telling us that he had come to apply to my
father, as the nearest J.P., for a warrant authorising the arrest of
Mr. Gerald Brooke as being the supposed murderer. As soon as my father
could command himself, he demanded to know the nature of the evidence
which tended to implicate a gentleman like Mr. Brooke in a crime so
heinous. Then Drumley, to whom every credit is due for the smart way
in which he has done what he conceived to be his duty, adduced his
evidence item by item. Item the first was the finding of a curious
pistol, inlaid with gold and ivory, which was picked up a few yards
from the _châlet_. It had been recently discharged, and was recognised
by some one at Beaulieu as being, or having been, your property."
"There can be no dispute on that point," said Gerald. "The pistol in
question is mine. I lent it to the Baron the last time he was here,
ten weeks ago. He wanted it for a certain purpose, and promised to
return it in the course of four or five days. As it happened, he was
summoned by telegram next day to Berlin, and, as you may or may not
know, he only returned to Beaulieu yesterday. Hence the reason why my
pistol was still in his possession."
"How unfortunate!" answered Starkie. "But perhaps you had some
witness, perhaps some one was there at the time who saw you give the
pistol to the Baron?"
Gerald considered for a moment. "No," he said; "we were alone--the
Baron and I; no one else was in the room when I gave him the pistol.
He would not let me send it over by a servant, but persisted in taking
it himself."
"That is more unfortunate still," said the young man. "The next item
of evidence was that of two of the Baron's men, who deposed to having
seen you making your way through the plantation in the direction of
Beaulieu; and to having seen you returning by the same way some twenty
minutes or half an hour later, and not many minutes after they had
heard the sound of a gun or pistol shot."
"That fact also will admit of no dispute," answered Gerald. "I left
home with the intention of calling on the Baron on a matter of
importance; but at the last moment I changed my mind and determined to
write to him instead. I, too, heard a shot; but as the Baron has a
range for pistol-practice in his grounds, I thought nothing of it."
Very glum indeed looked Mr. Starkie. "And now we come to the last item
of evidence, which is perhaps the most singular of all. Had you not, a
little while ago, a groom in your service of the name of Pedley?"
"I had. About two months ago, I had occasion to discharge him for
insolence and insubordination."
"And a few days later he came to you for a character, telling you
that he had a chance of getting into the employ of the Baron von
Rosenberg?"
"He did; and as I thought he was sorry for his behaviour, I gave him a
note to the Baron's man, whose name I don't just now remember."
"The day Pedley came to see you, do you recollect whether you left him
alone in the room where the interview between you took place?"
"Now you mention it, I believe I did leave him alone for a couple of
minutes while I went into the next room to write the note I had
promised him."
"He seems to be a dangerous sort of customer. According to his
account, it would appear that during your absence from the room,
observing a half-burnt piece of paper in the fender, he took it up and
carefully opened it. He had only just time to glance at its contents
before you returned; but what he saw was sufficient to induce him to
take the paper away with him so as to enable him to decipher it at his
leisure."
"May I ask the nature of the contents of the paper in question?" said
Gerald, who had turned a shade or two paler in spite of himself.
"When Pedley heard that you were suspected, he spoke to Drumley, and
came along with him to see my father. There he produced the half-burnt
piece of paper, the contents of which he stated to be in your writing,
though how he should be able to speak so positively on the point is
more than I can understand. Anyhow, Brooke, if the document should
prove to be in your handwriting, it seems a somewhat singular
composition, to say the least of it. I had only time to glance
hurriedly over it; but from what I could make out, it appears to be a
sort of warning addressed to Von Rosenberg, telling him that his life
is in great and imminent danger, and that he has been condemned to
death; and then there was something about escaping while there was yet
time; but the whole thing was so fragmentary, and here and there there
were such gaps in the sequence of the sentences, that I may perhaps
scarcely have gathered the right sense of what I read. As there seemed
to be no time to lose, I did not wait to hear more, but had my mare
saddled at once, and rode straight across country, taking everything
as it came, in order that I might be the first to bring you the news,
bad as it is, and so put you on your guard."
Gerald grasped his hand. "You are a true friend, Starkie, and I thank
you from my heart," he said. Then he added: "I trust you will take my
word when I say that, however black the evidence may at present seem
against me, I am as innocent of this man's death as you are."
"I believe it, Brooke--with all my heart I believe it!"
"Now for an explanation of the half-burnt letter. That it is in my
writing I don't for one moment doubt." Mr. Starkie gave vent to a
little whistle under his breath. "It is perfectly true that Von
Rosenberg's life was in imminent danger. His enemies were powerful and
implacable, and nothing short of his death would satisfy them. He was
to be assassinated--murdered in cold blood. In what way I came to know
all this I am not at liberty to say. The half-burnt paper picked up by
Pedley was a letter of warning to the Baron which I never finished,
and afterwards, as I thought, burnt to ashes. Von Rosenberg was at
Berlin at the time, and I knew that the danger which menaced him lay
here, and not there. Finally, I decided not to write to him, but to
await his return and seek a personal interview. He reached Beaulieu
last night, and this afternoon I made up my mind to call upon him. I
had nearly reached the house, when, coward that I was, my heart failed
me, and I came back determined that, after all, I would break my news
by letter. And now it is too late!"
"But," exclaimed the other, "don't you see that what you have just
told me, if told in a court of justice, would only serve to make the
case seem a hundredfold blacker against you?"
"I can quite understand that," answered Gerald sadly. "Nevertheless,
the truth is the truth, and nothing can alter it."
Mr. Starkie looked at his watch. "I have not a moment to lose," he
said. "The police may arrive at any minute, and it would never do for
them to find that my father's son had been here before them and given
you the 'tip.'"
"Oh, Mr. Starkie, what would you advise Gerald to do? What a horrible
accusation to have brought against him!" exclaimed Clara.
"It is that, and no mistake; but it is scarcely in my province, Mrs.
Brooke, to advise your husband what to do."
"Supposing you were in his place, Mr. Starkie, what would _you_ do?"
"Upon my word, I hardly know. On the face of it one must admit that
the case looks very black against him, so many bits of circumstantial
evidence being piled one on the top of another; but I have no doubt in
my own mind that further inquiry will in the course of a few hours go
far to substantiate his innocence. In fact, I think it most likely
that before this time tomorrow the real murderer will have been
arrested."
"Then you would advise?"---- She paused, and looked at him with eyes
full of entreaty.
"Well, Mrs. Brooke, I think--mind you, I only say I think--that if I
were in Brooke's place would make tracks for a little while.--I beg
your pardon," he resumed in some confusion, "what I mean is, that I
would be suddenly called from home on business, or pleasure, or what
not, so that when the police arrived I should be _non est_. Only, if
you decide to do as I suggest, it must be done without a minute's loss
of time. In the course of a day or two or even earlier, the mystery
will no doubt be cleared up, and in the meantime Brooke will escape
the unpleasantness of being in quod.--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Brooke;
I mean in prison."
"You hear, Gerald--you hear!" cried his wife.
Mr. Starkie took Gerald aside and said something to him rapidly in a
low voice, to which the other replied by an emphatic shake of his
head. "No--no," he said; "I cannot consent to anything of the kind."
"Well, you know best, of course," replied Mr. Tom; "but I think I
would if I were you. In any case, I'll not fail to be on the lookout;
only, don't forget the directions." Two minutes later he had said his
hurried adieus and had ridden rapidly away.
No one spoke till the noise of his horse's hoofs was lost in the
distance. A sort of stupor of dismay had settled on the little party.
Gerald felt as if he were shut in by a net of steel, which was being
slowly drawn round him closer and closer. The mental anguish he had
undergone since Karovsky's visit, combined with all the varied and
fluctuating emotions of the last few hours, were beginning to tell
upon him. It seemed to him as if some hinge in his brain were being
gradually loosened--as if the fine line which divides the real from
the imaginary and fact front fantasy were in his case being strained
to tenuity.
Mrs. Brooke was the first to break the silence. She crossed and sat
down by her husband and took one of his hands in hers. "Gerald,
dearest, you must fly," she said with a sob in her voice. The eyes he
turned on her caused passionate tears to surge from her heart, but
with all her might she forced them back.
"Why should an innocent man fly?" he asked.
"You heard what Mr. Starkie said. For a little while it may not be
possible for you to prove your innocence, and in the meantime you will
escape the ignominy of a jail."
"But if I do not stay and face this vile charge, all the world will
believe me guilty."
"No one who knows you can possibly believe that.--O
Gerald--husband--my dearest and best--listen to me!"
"Clara, you would make a coward of me."
"Oh, no, no! But consider how strong the evidence is against you. Less
than that has brought innocent men to the scaffold before now."
"Come what may, I must stay and face this out."
"Again I say no. A few days, perhaps a few hours even, may bring
the real criminal to light. As Mr. Starkie said, you must go on a
little journey--a journey where no one can trace you. For my sake,
Gerald--for your wife's sake!"
"Oh, my dear boy, do, pray, listen to her," put in Miss Primby, who up
to the present had scarcely uttered a word.
"To-morrow will prove my innocence."
"How devoutly I hope so! But can we be sure of it? Days, weeks even,
may elapse before the murderer is discovered, and meanwhile what will
become of you! Gerald--dear one, think--think!"
"I have thought, Clara. You are asking an impossibility."
"I am asking you to save your life. You must fly--you must hide, but
only for a little while, I trust. You must leave me here to help to
hunt down the murderer--to fight for you while you are away."
"She speaks the truth, Gerald. Oh, do listen to her!" pleaded Miss
Primby with quivering lips.
"Again I say, you would persuade me to act like a coward."
"Let the world call you what it will. While you are in hiding, your
life will be safe. Will it be safe if you stay here?"
Before more could be said, Margery burst without ceremony into the
room. "O mum, they're coming!" she cried; "the polis is coming!
There's five or six of 'em in two gigs."
"It is too late--we are lost!" cried Clara in anguished accents.
"I ran down to the little hill in the park, 'cos it's getting too dark
to see very fer,'" continued Margery; "and when I see 'em come round
the corner of the road, a quarter of a mile away, I bolted like a
hare, and got the old woman at the lodge to lock the gate, and told
her not to open it to anybody for her life. It'll take 'em seven or
eight minutes longer to drive round by the other gate," concluded
Margery with a burst of witch-like laughter.
"Good girl! brave girl!" ejaculated Miss Primby.
"Then there may yet be time," said Clara. She dropped on one knee, and
clasping one of her husband's hands, pressed it passionately to her
lips. "O Gerald--if you love me--for my sake!" she cried again.
"You are persuading me to this against my will and against my
conscience."
"I am persuading you to save your life, which to me is more than all
the world besides."
"Be it as you wish," he answered with a sigh. "I feel as if whatever
may happen now cannot greatly matter."
Clara rose, and as she did so, a strange eager light leapt into her
eyes. "Come with me--quick, quick!" she exclaimed. "I have thought of
a plan. Even now there may be time." Then turning to Miss Primby "You
will stay here, aunt, will you not? I shall not be more than a few
minutes away."
The spinster nodded; her heart was too full for speech. Then Clara,
passing an arm through her husband's, lifted the _portière_, and they
went out together.
Margery had already disappeared.