THE EARL OF LEDBURY INTERVENES
My first thought, when I knew that Violet’s confession was still
undestroyed, was to hide the fact from her. I must spare her the
torturing apprehensions that I felt myself. Fortunately she did not
seem to be thinking of her own danger; at all events, she put no
questions to me about the letters. Perhaps she took it for granted that
I had secured them, or that they were no longer in existence. At all
events, the possibility that they might be in other hands as dangerous
as Weathered’s did not seem to strike her at the moment. The idea that
I had murdered Weathered overpowered all her faculties.
Again and again I went over with her all that had happened.
“I don’t believe that I killed him,” I told her with the utmost
earnestness. “Surely you can trust me to know what I was doing. I am
not an ordinary doctor. I have made a special study of poisons, as the
pupil, I may say the favourite pupil, of the greatest expert alive. I
am prepared to swear to you or in any court of justice that the dose
I gave him would not have killed any man in a normal condition of
health. Sir Frank Tarleton and I both observed symptoms that point to
some other drug having been administered to Weathered. Remember that
you were not his only patient, and you are not likely to have been the
only one whose confidence he abused. The Domino Club probably swarmed
with his enemies, in fact the manageress as good as told us so. His
own step-daughter asserts that there were other women with whom he had
mysterious relations----”
“Other women!” She interrupted me with a cry of dismay. “Do you
mean--does she know anything about me?”
I recollected Sarah Neobard’s fierce denunciation, and the scene she
had described, when she sat with her hired spy in the restaurant
watching the persecuted girl. I tried to explain away my unlucky slip.
“No, no; I didn’t mean that for a moment. She told us that her
step-father had dealings with some of his women patients, and one of
the waiters in the Club described some women who were there that night.
He described me among others; that is to say, he described the costume
I was wearing. But he suspected that it was worn by a man. He must have
keen eyes.”
“Then you are under suspicion!” Her anxiety was instantly diverted from
herself to me again.
“Not at all,” I answered. “No one has the least suspicion who the
wearer of the costume really was. The police made inquiries, and all
they learned was that a similar costume had been supplied to you a year
ago. They followed up the clue, and found that you were down here on
the night, so that it must have been someone else in the Club. Now
you see why I sent it back to you. If Sir Frank Tarleton says anything
about it, all you have to do is to say that you remember having such
a costume, and offer to find it and show it to him. He and the police
will naturally believe that the one worn at the Club that night was a
duplicate.”
Violet looked a little uncertain, as she had some excuse for being. I
thought I might venture now to ask her to come back to the house to
meet my formidable chief.
“Sir Frank will be there by the time that we get down,” I said. “He has
gone for an hour’s stroll in the park.”
She put her hand to her head as she stood up and prepared to come with
me.
“Will he ask me anything else? What were you going to tell me just now?”
“The numbers,” I reminded her. “He will ask you if you know what they
meant.”
“Ah! Must I tell him that? Must he know about the letters? Will
everything come out?--O Bertrand!”
Her gasp of anguish wrung my very heart-strings.
“No!” I cried. “Don’t give way to such thoughts. You don’t know
Tarleton. He is the soul of honour. He is delicacy itself. He won’t ask
you one word more than he can help. You need tell him nothing more than
that Weathered gave you a number to use in writing to him. You can
trust Sir Frank not to ask you what the letters were about.”
“But he will know--he will know!” she sighed despairingly. And I could
say little in reply.
We found the door unlocked that led from the house into the ruins, and
we parted in the corridor, Violet going upstairs to her room while I
made my way back to the library into which I had been shown at first.
Waiting for me outside the door I found my friendly manservant.
“You’ll find the other gentleman inside,” he whispered. “He’s been back
about five minutes.”
I went in trying to look unconcerned, and found Tarleton comfortably
seated in an armchair engaged in the familiar rite of waving his mascot
to and fro as if it were a censer with which he was offering invisible
incense to the Sphinx.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting, sir. I have been taking a look at
the ruins of the old Castle.”
“I have had a look at them, too,” was the enigmatic answer. “Twelfth
century, I should think. One of the first castles put up by the Normans
when they began penetrating South Wales.”
I could only hope that that was the extent of his observations. I could
not bring myself to ask.
There was silence between us till Violet came into the room. The
change in her amazed me. She was rather pale but perfectly composed.
Her manner was full of courteous dignity. It was the first time that I
had seen her as the Lady Violet Bredwardine, the daughter of a noble
house, conscious of her claims to deference from strangers.
The consultant rose from his seat with every mark of respect and
consideration, and I clumsily imitated him. She was the first to speak.
“Sir Frank Tarleton?--I am told that you wish to see me on urgent
business. I am sorry that you have been kept waiting, but I had gone
out for a walk. Won’t you sit down?”
She included me in the invitation by a slight, distant bow, as she
seated herself facing us.
“It is very good of you to see me, Lady Violet.--Dr. Cassilis is my
assistant.” Another distant bow. “I have been called in as a physician
in the case of another medical man who had the honour to include you
among his patients, I believe--Dr. Weathered.”
A bow in the affirmative, still colder, if possible.
“I regret to have to inform you that Dr. Weathered has died--of heart
failure.”
A little gasp, natural enough in the circumstances. A gasp of relief in
my ears, relief at hearing the death described as natural. A gasp of
surprise, I could only hope, in the keen ears of my chief.
“Dr. Weathered’s death was rather sudden. It is desirable for the sake
of his family to dispense with an inquest if possible, but it has been
necessary to make some inquiries into his affairs, and I have had to go
through his appointment-book, the book in which he entered the names
of his patients who came to see him, you understand.”
“I understand.” Just a tremor, immediately subdued.
“Naturally your name appears in the book among others. And it happens
to be one of several that have numbers attached to them, as if for
purposes of identification. If you know, or can suggest, the reason for
that, I shall be very much obliged by your telling me.”
Violet straightened herself up and spoke very distinctly. It was clear
to me that she had prepared her answer carefully.
“I can tell you exactly. When Dr. Weathered’s patients had to write to
him about whatever he was treating them for, he gave them a number to
use instead of their own names. The letters were confidential.”
Tarleton’s face told me that he had grasped the full situation, as I
had grasped it half an hour before. He looked at me instead of her, but
he failed to hide his consternation altogether.
“What is the matter? Why do you look like that?” the startled girl
exclaimed.
The specialist pulled himself together.
“There is nothing the matter, Lady Violet. I was staggered for a moment
at the thought of what might have happened if I hadn’t taken the
precaution of coming here and questioning you. I will see that this
correspondence is destroyed unread as soon as I get back to town.
Unless, that is, it has been destroyed already. Dr. Weathered may have
burnt the letters as soon as he had read them.”
The explanation was not very happy. Poor Violet’s dignity forsook her
as she realized for the first time that the outpouring of her heart,
the record of her secret shame, were at the mercy of whatever stranger
first gained access to the dead man’s repository. She did her best to
keep her eyes from straying in my direction, but the half turn of her
head towards me before she spoke to Tarleton was enough to tell me what
she felt.
“Do you mean,” she faltered, “that there is a danger of someone finding
these letters?--someone who might make use of them?”
I had not often seen my chief at a loss, but he was plainly put out now.
“My dear young lady, there isn’t the least fear of that. It may ease
your mind if I tell you more than I intended. Dr. Weathered’s death
occurred in a club in Chelsea, and the proprietress or manager,
whichever she really is, sent for the police. They thought the death
might be due to foul play, and they have been making some inquiries.
Meanwhile, they have had their eyes on everyone who would be at all
likely to have anything to do with the case, and you may be sure that
if the doctor left any secret correspondence it will be secured and
burnt immediately.”
Violet had glanced at my face while he was speaking, and had read in
it, no doubt, that it would be her best course to appear satisfied. She
murmured a “Thank you.”
“There is one other question I should like to ask you, but I hope you
won’t think it concerns you personally. The doctor’s death took place
on Wednesday night, and as you were more than a hundred miles away, no
one supposes that you can throw any light on what took place in the
Club that night.”
He paused for a moment, as if to give her a chance of asking how he
came to know that she was so far away. But of course I had already
given her the information, and she was afraid to speak.
“But it seems that you have a double, or rather that someone was
impersonating you that night. The attention of the police was drawn to
the presence of a dancer wearing a fancy dress which the costumiers
consider to represent Zenobia, the famous Queen of Palmyra who fought
against the Romans in the third century. They made inquiries, and heard
that a similar costume had been supplied to you about a year ago.--Can
you tell me what has become of it?”
The final question was put abruptly. It was well that Violet had been
prepared for it. She kept perfectly cool; if anything, too cool. I
should have liked her to show a little more disturbance.
“I have no idea. I suppose my maid has put it away somewhere among my
things. But I will ring for her, and ask.”
“Permit me, Lady Violet.” Tarleton sprang to the bell before she was
out of her chair. It was answered by the manservant, whom her ladyship
dispatched in quest of her maid.
I watched my chief while we were waiting. I flattered myself that I had
outmanœuvred him in this direction. His lowered brows told me that he
was puzzled. He must have come down to Tyberton expecting to find the
costume missing, and to receive some made-up story to account for its
disappearance.
A woman came into the room, an elderly person, of very plain
appearance, whom I put down as Lord Ledbury’s housekeeper. I didn’t
think his lordship’s means were sufficient to provide his daughter with
a lady’s maid.
“Oh, Henderson, do you know what has become of that fancy dress of mine
with the helmet and breastplate? Can you put your hands on it?”
Henderson showed no surprise.
“Certainly, my lady. It is in the drawer at the bottom of your
ladyship’s wardrobe.”
“Just go and fetch it, will you?”
“Yes, my lady.”
She went out with the movement of a well-drilled actor, leaving me
with the uncomfortable impression that the scene had been rehearsed,
and that Tarleton could hardly miss coming to the same conclusion. He
muttered some vague expression of regret for the trouble he was giving
to Lady Violet, and then sat with his lips pursed up in rather ominous
fashion, and his eyes fixed on the door.
Henderson reappeared rather too quickly. She carried all the articles
that made up the much-talked-of costume, the paste-board armour coated
with silver paint, the flowing shirt, even the sandals which the
Wardour Street Israelite had deemed appropriate footwear for a desert
queen.
Tarleton gave them the barest glance, as they were spread out on the
table, and bowed to Violet.
“I have to thank your ladyship.”
He was in the act of rising when the door of the room was thrown open
abruptly.
The figure on the threshold presented the appearance of a man just
roused from sleep and inclined to resent the interruption of his
dreams. He was tall and thin, and seemed to hold himself upright
with an effort. His gray hairs straggled over his head in unbrushed
disorder, and his clothes hung on him as though they had been dropped
where they were in a fit of absence of mind. In spite of these signs of
neglect there was an air of dignity about him that left me in no doubt
as to his identity.
The Earl of Ledbury advanced into the room, turning a glance of
disapproval from Sir Frank Tarleton to myself, and addressed his
daughter.
“Violet, what business have you with these gentlemen?”
What excuse she would have made if it had been left to her to answer,
I don’t know. Tarleton instantly took the burden on himself.
“My business with Lady Violet is official, my lord. I am right, no
doubt, in thinking that you are the Earl of Ledbury?”
“Official?” The word sounded like a snarl. “Who are you, sir?”
“I am the principal medical adviser to the Home Office. My name is Sir
Frank Tarleton, and this gentleman is my assistant, Dr. Cassilis.”
I was already on my feet. I gave the Earl a deferential bow which only
seemed to increase his irritation.
“And may I ask what you mean, gentlemen, by coming into my house and
interviewing my daughter behind my back?”
Tarleton was not the man to let himself be addressed in that fashion.
“I think you forget yourself, my lord. The Lady Violet is of age, I
believe. We are here in the discharge of our duty, and I need not
remind your lordship that the law is not a respecter of persons.”
Lord Ledbury’s look of anger changed to one of amazement and alarm.
“Good heavens, what do you mean, sir? What has the law to do with Lady
Violet Bredwardine?”
“Very little, I hope, but it was necessary for us to see her ladyship
and put a few questions to her, for her own sake.”
The Earl turned suddenly. “Henderson, leave the room.”
“One moment, please.” The physician detained the woman by a gesture.
“Can you tell me if this costume has been where you just found it
during the whole of last week? Would it have been possible for anyone
to take it without your knowledge, send it away, and put it back again
afterwards?”
It was a fatal question, the one question I ought to have anticipated
and prepared for. Violet’s face must have betrayed her to a duller eye
than my shrewd chief’s. As for Henderson, she gazed stupidly at her
mistress in the evident need of prompting.
The irascible father could see this as plainly as ourselves.
“The truth, woman!” he thundered. “Tell the truth this instant.”
Henderson turned very red.
“I had no wish to tell anything else, my lord. The drawer wasn’t
locked, that’s all I can say. I can’t tell whether anyone might have
taken the costume out and put it back again, I’m sure.”
“Thank you. That is all I have to ask of you at present.” Nothing in
Tarleton’s tone or look showed what amount of importance he attached to
the answer he had received; and the woman, after gazing uneasily round
at us all in turn, went out of the room with a subdued mien.
What the effect was on me, I need scarcely say. The whole question
of Violet’s connection with the case had been reopened. If the astute
investigator chose to follow up the clue he would not find it difficult
to obtain evidence through the post office that a parcel large enough
to contain the incriminating costume had been received by Lady Violet
since the discovery of the crime. It might not be possible to trace it
to me as the sender, but she might be placed in such a position that
only a full confession on my part could clear her. That confession, of
course, I had been ready to make all along, the moment it could do her
the least service. My difficulty had been to make it without involving
her as what the law calls an accessory before the fact. How could my
chief, how could Inspector Charles, fail to draw the inference that we
had acted in collusion, and that she had lent me her disguise knowing
the use I meant to make of it?
The torturing problem racked my brain the whole time that Sir Frank was
explaining the situation to Lord Ledbury. The explanation was a painful
one. He did his best to soften the ugliest features, but it could
not be concealed that Lady Violet had consulted a doctor without the
knowledge of her father or her chaperon, that the doctor had died in
suspicious circumstances, and that some suspicion had attached to the
wearer of a fancy dress similar to the one spread out before us.
The shock would have been a terrible one for any father. It must have
been doubly so for a man who had lived for so many years out of the
world, ignoring the changes that had come about since his youth. The
whole story must have taken him out of his bearings. The society in
which night clubs flourish, and girls as young as Violet are found in
them, was as strange to him as it would have been to any parent of the
Victorian age.
I could see his mood turning from surprise and bewilderment into
growing fury as he listened. And his anger was no longer directed
against Tarleton and myself.
“It comes to this, that my daughter’s name is mixed up with a murder
case,” he exploded at last. “If she is not actually under suspicion her
clothes are. Violet!” The stricken girl turned beseeching eyes on him.
“Unless you can assure me that you had no more to do with this business
than I had, you shan’t pass another night under this roof.”
The injustice of it nearly stung me into speech. The Earl had done
nothing to deserve his daughter’s confidence. He had let her grow
up a stranger to him. He had handed her over to a mercenary with no
qualifications beyond those of a drill-sergeant or a prison warder. And
he was ablaze with wrath because she had grown into a living creature
with blood in her veins, instead of a wooden doll.
Violet’s eyes filled with tears.
“What do you want me to say?” she implored. “I didn’t even know that
Dr. Weathered was dead till these gentlemen told me.”
“You knew him, it seems. What did you go to him for? You haven’t been
ill.”
I began to feel anxious for myself as well as her. But she replied with
unexpected spirit.
“I went to him as a doctor. He was a nerve specialist, and I went to
him about my nerves.”
“Nerves!” His lordship spat out the word in scorn. “A girl of your age
has no business with nerves. Did you tell Miss Pollexfen that you were
suffering from nerves?”
“No.” Violet flared up with a touch of her father. “Why should I? Miss
Pollexfen is no friend of mine. I didn’t choose her for a companion.
I am old enough to decide for myself whether I want to see a doctor,
without consulting her.”
Lord Ledbury was clearly taken aback. He can have had no real suspicion
that his daughter had done anything seriously wrong, or he would hardly
have cross-examined her before us. Little as he loved her, regard for
his own good name would have made him refrain from going on.
“So you consider yourself independent, do you?” He pointed to the
clothes. “Have you lent these things--to anyone?”
I held my breath. I dared not make the least sign to Violet. And if I
had, she would not have seen it. She kept her eyes steadily fixed on
her father’s.
“Yes.” It was the wisest answer to give now that so much had come out.
A falsehood must have been detected in a few hours.
“Tell me her name.”
My heart seemed to stop beating. There was a tense pause in which the
air of the room vibrated with suspense. Then the girl slowly shook her
head.
“I cannot.”
“You mean you won’t. I command you, Violet. Do you hear?”
Her head sunk obstinately on her breast.
“I shall never tell.”