DONNA MARIA
Wray House was a charming villa on the banks of the Thames. The view
of the mansion from the river was singularly picturesque. From the
banks a smooth green lawn of closely shorn turf, diversified by oval
flower-beds, brilliant with scarlet geranium, sloped gently up to a
terrace, bordered by a balustrade of white marble. On this plateau
rose the house, a fairy edifice of two storeys, the upper smaller than
the lower. A colonnade ran round the house, and supported an upper
balcony, broad and spacious, on which opened the French windows of the
bedrooms. French windows also gave access to the colonnade, which was
liberally sprinkled with small tables and lounging chairs. The whole
building painted a brilliant white had, in appearance and design, a
tropical look, more suited to equatorial regions than to the cool
green misty island of England. This miniature paradise was encircled
by a belt of trees.
This particular summer, however, had proved particularly hot, so that
Wray House was a perfect residence, during the sultry months of June
and August. Used to the ardent heats of South America Donna Inez, as
Mrs. Grent loved to be called, found the warmth delightful, and basked
like a snake in the golden sunshine. In a large degree her niece was
charmed with the unusual splendour of the summer, and the two Spanish
women passed most of their time lounging in the colonnade, or swinging
in silken hammock suspended from the branches of convenient trees. To
them house and life and summer recalled the languid lazy existence of
far distant Lima. There laziness is an art, and idleness has been
reduced to a silence.
When the news came of Grent's tragic death, Donna Inez, a weak
lymphatic woman, had given way to intolerable grief, and had shut
herself up to indulge in it. The domestic economy of the house was
thus upset for the moment, but was speedily restored to order by Maria
Sandoval, who had much more character and self-control than her aunt.
Mr. Leighbourne, senior, came hastily over from Paris on receiving the
news of his partner's death, and at once paid a visit to Wray House.
He could do nothing with Donna Inez, who was hysterical from grief, so
he insisted that Donna Maria should take command of the household.
This the young girl, not without misgiving, agreed to do, and
satisfied on this point, Mr. Leighbourne returned to London in order
to arrange the affairs of the dead man. So far as the will was
concerned he, as one of the executors, took all the trouble on his
shoulders, but at Wray house the responsibility of looking after her
aunt and managing the servants devolved on Maria. Shortly she found
that the task was too difficult, the more so as she was a foreigner,
and a comparative stranger to English way, so she requested Lydia
Hargone to come down and assist her.
Miss Hargone was a woman of twenty-seven, good-looking and extremely
clever. She had been engaged to teach Maria English when the young
girl first arrived from Lima, and had stayed nearly two years at Wray
House. Then she had announced that Maria spoke the Anglo-Saxon tongue
excellently well, and that, as there was no necessity for further
teaching, she Miss Hargone, would seek another situation. Everyone in
the house had protested against this, for Lydia was a general
favourite and Maria was quite overcome with grief at the thought of
losing her. However, Miss Hargone had her own way, as usual, and had
departed some three months before the death of Grent, when the tragic
circumstance and the urgent message of her former pupil recalled her
to Wray House. It is to Miss Hargone's credit that she accepted the
invitation at once, and strove in every way to pacify Donna Inez, and
lighten the domestic burdens of Donna Maria. Things were in this
position when Torry, accompanied by Darrel, paid a visit to the house
of the dead man. And that visit was the first step in the dark and
tortuous path which led to the discovery of the truth.
At first Darrel had been unwilling to come, or even to continue his
partnership with the detective in following up the various clues now
in their possession. He excused himself on the ground of
incapabilities.
"I cannot assist you in any way," he urged. "I see now that the
unravelling of an actual criminal problem is far more difficult and
complex than I thought. I have not your indomitable perseverance, and
the rebuffs which never daunt you, make me nervous and doubtful."
"Nonsense! nonsense!" cried Torry cheerfully.
"I've set my heart on your going through with this. After all, why
should you be discouraged; we have found out a good deal."
"Have we?" said Darrel sceptically.
"Of course. We have learnt that the dead man's name was Jesse Grent;
that he was attempting to fly with a woman and ten thousand pounds,
and that he was killed, probably by the lover of the woman whose name
we have yet to discover. Also, we have learnt that the stolen money
belongs to a secret society who use the image of a Blue Mummy as a
token. Come now, I think all these discoveries are very encouraging."
"They would be if you could prove them," replied Darrel, "but you are
mingling fact and fancy. You cannot prove that Grent stole the money,
and, indeed, on the face of it--if Vass is to be believed--he is
innocent. Also you cannot say for certain if Grent intended to fly
with a woman, or that he was killed by her lover. Finally, although I
admit on the authority of Manuel that a secret society exists we don't
know its aims, nor do we know that the Blue Mummy has anything to do
with it."
"So there, now," cried Torry smiling, "you knock down my fine castle
of cards with your relentless logic. Never mind, build it up with
future discoveries, stronger than ever. Come and help me to lay the
first card."
"The first card?"
"The first brick, if you are so particular," said the detective
testily. "In plain English, come down to Wray House and assist me to
question this young lady about the hat."
"She won't tell you the truth."
"Yes she will, provided she is not implicated in the matter, and I
hardly think that likely. Though to be sure," added Torry to himself,
"it is strange that her hat should be on the dead woman's head."
"I should like to know the truth of that, certainly," said Darrel,
fired by sudden curiosity, "Yes, I'll go with you. When do we start?"
"In an hour. We take the mid-day train from Waterloo, I am not
fanciful, you know," remarked the detective, nodding, "but I have an
idea that this journey will be a lucky one."
Frank laughed, "We'll do our best to make it so," said he.
This being arranged they drove to Waterloo Station, and after a hasty
luncheon in the restaurant, departed for Wraybridge by the 12.30
train. In a surprisingly short time considering the distance from
town, they arrived at Wraybridge, and hiring a fly, drove at once to
Wray House. The road which led, thereto, was singularly beautiful, as
it passed through a small forest of pine and fir trees. Here and there
were villas and mansions and cottages, and occasionally, through
intervening trees, a glimpse could be caught of the smoothly-flowing
Thames, winding its silvery way through flowery meadows. In twenty
minutes the travellers arrived at Wraybridge village, a quaint and
picturesque hamlet with old-fashioned houses, peaked roofed and many
gabled. Through the narrow crooked thoroughfare, misnamed the
High-street, they passed; emerged again into a stretch of open country
marching with the river, and ultimately stopped before a pair of
elaborate iron gates which gave admission to Wray House. Having
arrived at their destination Torry paid off the cabman and, followed
by Darrel, entered the grounds.
It must be confessed that Frank did not feel altogether easy in his
mind. To visit unsuspecting people with the idea of worming secrets
out of their inexperience seemed to him like getting into the house
under false pretences. Torry not being a gentleman, was not troubled
by these fine scruples. And indeed there was no need that he should
be. He was an officer of the law; he was acting entirely in the
interests of justice; and it was only natural that he should attempt
by every means in his power to bring the wrongdoer to the gallows.
Darrel mentally tried to assure himself of this, for the salving of
his own conscience; but all the same, he felt uncomfortable, and
devoutly wished that he had not embarked on a career which dealt with
life in so underhanded a way. However, he had gone too far to retreat;
so with some philosophy, he made the best of a bad bargain, and
followed Torry up to the house. Here they found some difficulty in
entering.
The servant brought back Torry's card, and announced that his
mistress was too ill to receive anyone. Thereupon the detective
requested permission to see Donna Maria; who also sent back a
message that she was not to be seen. On this second refusal Torry
lost his smiling demeanour, and at once became the stern officer of
justice--sharp-tongued and peremptory.
"Tell your mistress," said he to the servant, "that if she will not
see me herself, she must permit me to converse with Donna Maria
Sandoval. I am a detective from New Scotland-yard, and have been
charged to discover, if possible, the assassin of Mr. Grent. In my
official character Donna Maria dare not refuse to see me."
Apparently this peremptory speech carried weight, for in a few minutes
the servant returned and shewed the two men into a small room.
Here they waited, and Torry amused himself by admiring the beauty of
the apartment, which was luxuriously furnished; and in contemplating
the exquisite view from the open French windows which led on to the
colonnade. The scene was worthy of his praise.
At the foot of the emerald lawn ran the great river flashing diamonds
in the strong sunlight. On the further bank were a row of tall
poplars, slender and stately in their leafy pride; beyond were smooth
green meadows dotted with grazing cattle; lines of rugged hedges,
clumps of trees, and occasionally a cluster of red-roofed houses, and
the square tower of some village church. It was all very pastoral and
peaceful; but Torry's eyes left the scene to gaze upon two people--a
man and woman--who were walking to and fro on the gravelled path
beside the river. Both were young, both were handsome, and both were
deeply engaged in conversation.
"Wonder who they are?" speculated Torry
"Can't guess who the man is, but I daresay the lady is Donna Maria."
"Donna Maria is here," said a sweet voice behind him.
Torry and Darrel rose to their feet to behold a beautiful woman in the
first blush of girlish beauty. Donna Maria was not very tall, but her
figure was perfect; and she walked with the graceful, undulating gait
peculiar to Spanish women. Her hair and eyes were as black as
midnight; and she had a pale oval, olive-hued face, a charming mouth,
and when she smiled, displayed a row of pearly teeth. Her air was
haughty and imperious, and she looked at the visitors like a queen
whose privacy has been intruded upon.
"I am Donna Maria," said she coldly. "May I ask, sir, why you insisted
upon seeing me?"
She looked at Darrel, who did not respond, so amazed he was by her
beauty; so after a glance of disapproval, the lady turned towards
Torry, and repeated the question. The detective immediately unwrapped
the parcel he carried, and held the hat out towards her.
"Is this hat yours?" he asked.
Donna Maria looked at it closely, then bowed. "It was mine," she
admitted, "but some weeks ago I gave it to my maid."
"What was her name?"
"Julia Brawn; but you say, 'What was her name?' Why?"
"Because," replied Torry, looking steadily at her, "Julia Brawn has
been murdered."