THE PEARL BROOCH.
So the long-expected had happened at last, and the inevitable woman
appeared on the scene. Dora was hardly astonished to hear of Lady
Burville's connection with the crime. She had always believed that,
sooner or later, the name of this woman would come into the matter.
Nevertheless, it was terrible that she should have killed the wretched
man with whom, in some mysterious fashion, she had been associated
twenty years before. With the pearl-lettered brooch in her hand, Dora
considered the position in which she was placed, the discovery she had
made.
"Do you think that Lady Burville really did kill him, Allen?" she
asked in a hesitating voice.
"Who can say?" answered Scott wearily. "I should be loath to accuse
her on insufficient evidence. But look at the matter as it stands.
Lady Burville fainted at the sight of Edermont; she asked me questions
as to his whereabouts. On the night of the murder she visits him, as
is proved by the finding of that brooch in the study. Immediately
after passing her on the road I enter the house, to find Edermont
dead. So far as we know, no one else was in the house on that night;
so the inference must be drawn that this woman murdered your guardian.
Yes," said Allen thoughtfully, "I think there is a strong case to be
made out against Lady Burville."
"But her motive, Allen?" expostulated Dora. "She would not commit so
terrible a crime without a motive."
"I cannot guess her motive, Dora. I am as ignorant of Lady Burville's
connection with the dead man as--as--you are."
"But, Allen," said Dora, hesitating, "was not her name mentioned by
Mr. Edermont during that conversation?"
"Yes. He asked me where she was staying, but he gave me no information
about her. She has nothing to do with the bar to our marriage. At
least, I do not think so."
"Then you are not certain?"
"No," said Allen in a low voice; "I cannot say that I am certain."
Dora looked at him impatiently, and a sigh escaped her. Evidently he
was determined to give her no clue to the unravelling of these
enigmas, and what she discovered she would discover unaided.
Nevertheless, she did not lose heart, but took up the burden which he
had laid down.
"Why did you not tell me this before, Allen?"
"How could I?" he said vehemently. "By visiting the Red House on that
night I was in a dangerous position. If my movements had been known, I
might have not only lost what little practice I have, but have been in
danger of arrest. Even now I may be called upon to exonerate myself
should this man Joad speak."
"Joad will not speak," said Dora quietly; "at all events, not for a
week. As I said before, a great deal may be done in seven days. You
must let me take away this brooch."
Allen looked at her with an air of astonishment.
"Why do you wish to take away the brooch?" he asked.
"I'll answer that question later on. Lady Burville is not now at
Hernwood Hall?"
"I believe not," replied Scott. "She returned to London, I think,
shortly after the discovery of the murder of Edermont. To my mind, her
sudden departure seems suspicious."
"On the face of it, I agree with you that it does," assented Dora.
"But from what I have heard of the medical evidence, I doubt if Lady
Burville killed Edermont--the murder was so brutal."
"You are right there. The assassin must have had brutal instincts and
a strong physique. Now, Lady Burville is small and delicate, not the
sort of woman capable of using that heavy knobkerrie, or striking so
terrible a blow. But then, Dora," added Allen, with a puzzled air, "if
Lady Burville is innocent, who is guilty? There can't have been anyone
else in the house on that night."
"Why not? Mr. Edermont wrote letters to other people besides
yourself."
"Do you know the names of the persons to whom he wrote?"
"No," replied Dora promptly; "he was careful to post the letters
himself."
"But, Dora," expostulated Allen, "why should Edermont convene a
meeting of so many people at such a late hour?"
"I cannot guess. The explanation may be contained in the stolen
manuscript. All my guardian's actions were wrapped up in mystery, and
there may be more people connected with this matter than we dream of.
But this is not the point. Can I take away this brooch?"
"As you please," said Allen indifferently; "except to exonerate myself
in your eyes, I would not have betrayed Lady Burville, murderess as I
believe her to be."
"You would win fifty thousand pounds by doing so."
"Blood money!" said Scott angrily. "No, Dora; I do not wish to build
up my fortunes in that way, on the ruin of others. I do not say,
should Joad denounce me, that I would keep silent. One must save one's
own neck if possible; but otherwise I say nothing, I do nothing. All
things thought about, or done, cannot gain me your hand; the rest may
go."
"Well, my dear Allen," said Dora, pocketing the brooch, "you refuse to
tell me this secret, and I have promised not to press you. But if I
can't marry you, at least I can save you."
"By becoming Joad's wife?"
"No; by seeing Lady Burville."
He looked at her in surprise.
"My dear Dora," said he after a pause, "you have no reasonable excuse
for seeking an interview with Lady Burville."
"You have just given me an excellent excuse, Allen--the pearl brooch."
"But Lady Burville will know that I have betrayed her."
"No doubt. But I will show her that you have done so to save your own
life."
Allen thought.
"What do you intend to do?" he asked abruptly.
"Force Lady Burville to confess her share in these mysteries."
"She will not do that," said Scott, shaking his head. "On the surface
she is a frivolous little creature, but from what I saw of her I am
inclined to believe that such frivolity conceals a strong will."
"No doubt, Allen. She must be a clever and merciless woman to plan and
carry out so dexterous a crime. I do not see why you should save her
life at the expense of your own. Leave me to deal with her, and I'll
force her to speak."
"Would you have her arrested for the crime?"
"If Joad denounces you, I shall denounce her," said Dora quietly; "but
there may be no necessity for such an extreme course. Wait until I see
her."
"But you do not know where to find her."
"Oh, I can get her address from her late host, Sir Harry Hernwood."
And with this decision Dora took her leave. Here one may pause to
reflect on the difference between these characters--a difference
accentuated the more by the circumstances in which they found
themselves entangled. It cannot be denied that Dora bore herself the
better of the two. Shrewd, cool and determined, she saw her way to a
definite end, and strove steadily towards its attainment. Allen, on
the other hand, was dilatory and wavering. Knowing of a bar to his
marriage, he should have informed the girl what this bar was, and have
left her to judge of its insuperability. But this is exactly what he
shrank from doing. He preferred to wait the turn of events, to refrain
from action, until it was forced upon him. No; Allen Scott was not an
heroic character. Dora knew this, despite her preference for him above
all other men. Indeed, as is the way with good women, she loved him
all the better for such weakness. However, as matters now were
arranged, Allen sulked like a modern Achilles in his tent, and Dora
went forth to take action.
With characteristic decision, she had determined upon her future
course. To get the address of Lady Burville from Sir Harry, to call on
Lady Burville in town, and to learn all she could of the events of the
night from Lady Burville before leaving her house--this was the
programme sketched out and adhered to by Dora Carew. As a first step
towards the accomplishment of her purpose, she turned off the main
road and took that which led to Hernwood Hall. She reached it before
half-past six--an awkward hour for a call--and on inquiring for Sir
Harry she was shown into the drawing-room. Here she was saluted by the
man she came to see, and to whom she apologized for the lateness of
her visit.
"You must excuse me, Sir Harry," said Dora calmly. "I am Miss Carew,
of the Red House, and I leave for London to-morrow by an early train.
Hence my calling on you at so late an hour. If you would be so kind as
to give me the address of Lady Burville, I should esteem it a favour."
This abrupt speech was hardly a graceful one under the circumstances;
but Dora was so taken up with the intrigue in which she found herself
involved that she paid no attention to necessary social observances.
Sir Harry, a dapper little man, mincing and polite, was not at all
indisposed to grant this request, especially to so handsome a woman.
"Charmed to oblige you, Miss Carew," said he in a gallant fashion;
"but--you will pardon me--may I ask why you wish for this address?"
"Certainly," replied Dora, prepared for the question; "I have picked
up a pearl brooch on the road"--she was afraid to state the actual
finding-place--"which I have reason to believe belongs to Lady
Burville. I wish to return it to her in person."
"May I see the brooch, Miss Carew?"
"Certainly."
She handed it to him in silence. Sir Harry examined it, noted the
initials, and returned it with a polite bow and the required
information.
"The address of Lady Burville," said he amiably, "is No. 22, Jersey
Place, Mayfair. I am sure she will be greatly obliged to you for
returning her brooch, which I recognise as one she usually wore. No
doubt she dropped it on the road when out on her bicycle. But if it
would save you trouble, Miss Carew, I should be happy to forward it
myself."
"There is no necessity, thank you," replied Dora, rising to take her
leave. "I am going up to town to-morrow, in any event, so I can easily
return it myself. Good evening, Sir Harry. I thank you for your good
nature in seeing me at this hour, and your kindness in giving me the
address."
"Pray do not mention it, my dear Miss Carew. I am delighted to be of
service to you."
During this conversation Sir Harry had discreetly refrained from
remarking on the tragic end of Julian Edermont. He knew that Miss
Carew was the ward of the dead man; but, afraid of a scene, and
detesting trouble, he judged it wiser to ignore the fact. In the same
way he gave the address of Lady Burville at once, as he was anxious to
rid himself of his visitor. Sir Harry Hernwood, in a word, was a fool;
and for that reason Dora was successful in her mission. A wiser man
would have withheld the address of his late guest until better assured
of the errand of the inquirer.
Dora thought of all these things as she rode homewards, and
congratulated herself that Sir Harry had proved so foolish and weak.
She had the address of Lady Burville, and could obtain the interview
she sought. Now it remained to force the woman into confession of the
crime by means of the pearl brooch. It would be difficult for Lady
Burville to explain its presence in the study without inculpating
herself in the murder.
"Mrs. Tice," said Dora that night when Joad had departed, "I am going
to town to-morrow."
"Very good, Miss Carew," said the housekeeper placidly. "Will you
return in the evening?"
"Probably. If I do not, I shall send you a wire. But I want you to
conceal from Mr. Joad that I have gone to London."
"I shall not tell him, Miss Carew, if you do not wish him to know. But
why, if I may be so bold?"
"Oh," said Dora, with a peculiar look, "I'll tell you that when I
return."
"You will tell me on your return?" repeated Mrs. Tice, looking
shrewdly at her companion. "I hope nothing is wrong, miss?"
"Everything is wrong. I am endeavouring to put everything right."
"That will be difficult, my dear young lady, in your present state of
ignorance. You do not know all."
Dora laughed.
"I know more than you give me credit for, Mrs. Tice. Allen has told me
something."
The ruddy face of the housekeeper blanched suddenly.
"Not--not--the secret?" she stammered.
"Not the secret you know of," replied Dora. "I am still ignorant of
the bar to our marriage."
"Then what has Mr. Allen told you?" asked Mrs. Tice, reassured on this
point.
"Ah, that's my secret. If you will not confide in me, I do not see why
I should confide in you."
"Mr. Allen could have said nothing very dreadful," was Mrs. Tice's
reply; "we had a talk together on the evening he returned from London,
and he told me everything then."
"No doubt," said Dora, who was pleased to stimulate the housekeeper's
curiosity, "but he did not tell you some things, for the simple reason
that 'some things' had not happened. Remember, Mrs. Tice, the night of
Allen's return was the night of the murder."
"The murder!" repeated Mrs. Tice in a scared tone.
"Yes. Allen did not tell you what he knew about that," said Dora, and
left the room.