MORE MYSTERIES
It was with a triumphant smile on her lips that Lydia heard what Maria
said about the ring and visit. When Torry was assured of the truth,
she spoke to him with composure and some insolence.
"You see, sir," said she, "I did not wear my ring on that day, nor did
I visit Mr. Ghent's chambers. You owe me an apology for your doubts."
"It would seem so," replied Torry with affected humility. "Do you
think I owe Mr. Leighbourne one also?"
"Mr. Leighbourne?" echoed Miss Hargone coolly. "You mean the elder?"
"I mean the younger, the one from whom you received a telegram."
The unexpectedness of this query threw Lydia off her guard. "How do
you know I received a telegram from him?" she asked.
"I met the telegraph boy and he told me."
"Told you that I had received a telegram?"
"Yes," said Torry truthfully.
"From Mr. Leighbourne, junior?"
"Yes," said Torry falsely. "Of course, you'll deny it?"
"No," said Lydia with brazen assurance; "why should I deny it?"
"Why indeed, miss, seeing that Mr. Frederick Leighbourne loves you."
"Does he, indeed? That is news to me."
"Ah!" sneered the detective, "will it be news to Mr. Blake?"
"Sir!" cried Miss Hargone, rising, with a flush of anger, "you are
insolent!"
"No," said Torry, who wished to make her lose her temper that she
might speak incautiously, "I am only candid. Donna Maria will agree
with me, miss, that you are a very lucky young lady to be loved by
three men. To be sure," added Torry, as to himself, "there are only
two now."
Donna Maria, who had sat pale, calm, and silent during their
conversation, darted a flaming glance at Lydia but said nothing. The
look made the governess quail, but retaining her self-command, she
pretended ignorance. She had a difficult part to play, but she played
it well.
"I do not quite understand," said she quietly. "Perhaps, sir, you will
explain. Who are my lovers?"
"Mr. Blake to whom you are engaged; Mr. Frederick Leighbourne, with
whom you have some understanding; and the late Mr. Grent."
Lydia grew red. "I am engaged to Roderick Blake," she said, "and he
trusts me too much to believe your insinuations. With Mr. Leighbourne
I have nothing to do."
"Save in the way of telegrams," put in Torry drily.
"That telegram contained an intimation that Mr. Leighbourne had found
a situation for me," cried Lydia hotly. "I asked him to interest
himself on my behalf."
"In that case you will not mind shewing me the telegram, miss?"
"I cannot; I tore it up."
"You can collect the pieces, and----"
"I cannot; I threw the pieces into the fire."
"Really? A fire in summer time--how strange."
At this last thrust Miss Hargone lost her temper. "Understand, Mr.
Torry," she cried, "that the telegram concerns me and no one else. I
decline to shew it to you."
"I quite believe that, as it has to do with this murder."
"You dare to accuse me of that?" gasped Lydia, jumping up.
Torry shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said coolly, "I don't think you
killed the man yourself; but you know who did."
"It is a lie," said the governess in a passionate voice, and sat down
again.
"It is the truth," said Donna Maria gravely, and when Lydia turned an
amazed face towards her she repeated solemnly: "It is the truth."
"Oh, oh," chuckled the detective, rubbing his hands at the idea of a
quarrel between the two women, "now we shall hear something amusing."
At first Lydia could not believe that her friend was in earnest, and
stammered out something about not understanding. To this Maria made a
prompt and sharp reply.
"You understand well enough. My aunt complained of your conduct with
Mr. Grent. I did not believe that you would behave so with a married
man old enough to be your father. It was to show that I believed in
your innocence that I asked you down here. My aunt objected to the
invitation, but I insisted upon its being sent. You accepted; you
came; you are here."
"Here, to save you trouble," cried Lydia venomously. "You would not
have asked me had it not been to get something out of me."
"You judge me by yourself," said Donna Sandoval coldly. "I asked you
here to reconcile you, if possible, with my aunt, but she refuses to
be reconciled, as she believes that you let Mr. Grent make love to
you."
"It is not true; It is not true. Remember," said Lydia with a sneer,
"it was not I who called at Mr. Grent's chambers."
"I know it; but it was you who sent my maid Julia to see Mr. Grent in
Mortality-lane."
"Ha!" cried Torry, much surprised. "Are you sure of that?"
"I am. I can prove it."
Lydia was pale and uneasy, and avoided the eye of the detective.
Nevertheless, as the situation was awkward, and even dangerous, she
assumed a defiant air to mask the fear she felt.
"How can you prove it?" she demanded.
"By means of that fawn-coloured mantle trimmed with black lace."
"Your mantle?" said Torry, recollecting a previous conversation with
Maria.
"No, not mine; it belongs to Miss Hargone."
"But you said--"
"I know what I said," interrupted Maria, reddening slightly--"that the
mantle was mine. I lied in order to shield Lydia. Yes," she continued,
addressing Miss Hargone directly, "I was your friend, and as such
defended you against the aspersions of my aunt, but now, as I find
that you trapped me by that ring into confessing that I visited my
uncle in London; when I see that, to save yourself, you are willing to
sacrifice me, I renounce your friendship, and I order you to leave
this house. Never dare to show your face here again."
Lydia, who had turned red and pale by turns, now rose to her feet,
with a malignant expression on her face. "I shall go," said she slowly
"and only too willingly; but first--"
"First," interrupted Torry, "you must explain how Julia Brawn became
possessed of your mantle."
"I gave it to her, in the same way that Donna Maria presented her with
the hat. If," she continued insolently, "articles of cast-off clothing
are to be taken as evidence of my connection with the crime, Donna
Maria is as guilty as I am."
"Not so," corrected the Spanish girl. "I gave the hat to Julia
a long time ago--in fact, a week before she left my service, and
she left that quite seven days before the murder. But as to your
mantle, when I was up in London, on the day when the crime was
committed--Saturday----"
"Pardon, the murder, took place on Sunday morning after midnight,"
said Torry precisely.
"Well on the day before the murder I saw Miss Hargone in Piccadilly.
She wore that mantle."
"I did not!" contradicted Lydia very pale.
"You did. Mr. Vass was with me, and can prove it. I believe you gave
that mantle to Julia, so that she might meet Mr. Grent and delude him
into the belief that she was you."
"Ah!" cried Torry, recollecting the double ticket. "Then you, Miss,
were the woman with whom Mr. Grent intended to travel to Genoa?"
"No! no! no!" cried Lydia in her turn. "I utterly deny it. Why should
I have met Mr. Grent? I swear I did not meet him."
"No," sneered Maria, "you sent Julia in your mantle."
"I did not. Julia came to my lodgings that day and told me she was
going to be married the next. As a wedding present I gave her the
mantle, for which I had no further use. Julia said nothing about
meeting anyone. When I heard of her death I was as astonished as
anyone. But I shall no longer remain to be insulted here," she cried
in a fury. "I shall pack my box and leave at once."
"The best thing you can do," said Torry, who was scribbling in his
notebook.
"But before I go," said Lydia, turning at the door with a venomous
look, "I should advise you, Mr. Torry, to ask Donna Maria why she
visited her uncle--secretly!" And, spitting out the last word like an
angry cat, the fair Lydia, disgraced but impenitent, left the room.
"All in good time," remarked Torry, tearing a leaf out of his book.
"Will you kindly send a servant with this to the telegraph office,
miss?"
Donna Maria touched the bell, a servant appeared, and to him Torry
delivered the leaf which he had scribbled on.
"Send someone with this to the telegraph office at Wraybridge Railway
Station?" he said. "If anyone of you can ride a bicycle, make him the
messenger. I wish this wire despatched as promptly as possible."
When the servant retired Donna Maria asked with some curiosity for
details of the important message which was to be sent off in such
haste. Torry replied to her prompt and frankly:
"It is a message to my friend, Mr. Darrel, miss, telling him to take a
detective with him and await Miss Hargone's arrival at Waterloo
Station."
"What! do you intend to have her arrested?"
"Not yet," replied Torry with significance. "I intend to have her
watched. The detective will not lose sight of her, so, if she is
really concerned in this murder, she will sooner or later betray
herself by some indiscreet action. But now, miss," added the detective
cheerfully, "You must answer me a few questions."
"Certainly," replied Donna Maria with an embarrassed look. "You know I
am only too happy to assist you in every way."
"H'm!" said Torry doubtfully. "What about Mr. Vass? You met him on
that day?"
"Yes; in Piccadilly."
"Was it by appointment?"
"No, by accident."
"Did he see your uncle?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then what was he doing in the West End so far from the bank?"
"He casually mentioned that he was executing a commission for Mr.
Frederick Leighbourne."
"Do you know what the commission was?"
"No," replied Maria haughtily, "I do not."
"You saw Mr. Grent, I believe?"
"Yes; for some ten minutes or so."
"On business?"
"On private business," said Maria with emphasis.
"H'm! Would you mind explaining what that private business was about?"
"I mind very much."
"You refuse to explain?"
"Yes!" said Miss Sandoval. "I refuse--absolutely."