FACE TO FACE
It was indeed Mr. Randolph Vernon Sorley who spread out his hands to
the fire in a crouching attitude, but woefully changed from the
debonair and juvenile gentleman of former days. His aggressively shabby
overcoat and worn boots showed that he had some idea of disguising
himself, since he had both money and clothes at his command to dress
better. He was unshaven, his cheeks and chin being covered with a
silvery stubble, and in his sunken eyes there lurked a hunted look. The
man looked both broken up and broken down, and had aged at least twenty
years since Alan had last set eyes on him. The terror he displayed when
the young man entered the room showed how apprehensive he was of being
arrested by the police.
“Oh, it’s you, Alan,” he gasped with a sigh of relief, when the
newcomers, in sheer surprise, called out his name. “I’m glad it’s only
you and your friend.”
“I am Fuller’s friend,” remarked Latimer with emphasis, “but not
yours.”
“Ah!” Sorley shivered and cringed fearfully, “you’re against me too. Am
I to find an enemy in you also, Alan?”
“No,” said the young man briefly; “I never kick a man when he is down.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Alan, for I am very down indeed. A few days ago
and I could hold up my head with the best; now I am hunted for a crime.
“If you are guilty——”
“I swear I am not,” interrupted Sorley, his voice rising to a scream,
“on my soul I swear to both of you that I am not.”
“Then why did you run away?” asked Dick.
“Because, after reading the newspaper interview with that vile woman, I
saw that appearances were against me. I fled to gain time.”
“Time for what, Mr. Sorley?”
“To prepare a defence.”
“Oh,” said Latimer doubtfully and staring at the limp figure of the
fugitive, “then you have a defence.”
“Yes—that is, I can—I can—oh, Alan,” wailed Sorley piteously, “in
heaven’s name give me some wine or brandy. I have scarcely touched food
since I left Belstone, and I am that weak I can scarcely speak. Give me
drink and food, then we can talk.”
Fuller nodded silently, and went to a cupboard, whence he brought out a
loaf of bread, some butter, and a jar of _pâté de foie gras_, which had
been given to Dick by a friend, together with a bottle of good port
wine. The hunted man, who had sought the sanctuary of their
hearthstone, staggered to the table and began to eat and drink with
avidity. Both men pitied the unfortunate creature, whose arrogance had
been thus laid low. Whether he was innocent or guilty they could not
say on what evidence they possessed; but it seemed terrible that a
gentleman should be brought to such a sordid pass. While Sorley
methodically filled himself with food, there was silence for quite a
long time. Alan finally broke it.
“Why did you come here?” he asked abruptly.
“I want you to help me,” mumbled Sorley hastily.
“How can I help you, man? You know that there is a warrant out for your
arrest, so if either Latimer or I assist you to escape we shall be
compounding a felony.”
“I never asked for your assistance to escape,” retorted Sorley tartly,
and in a stronger tone, for the food and drink had put life into him.
“Then why did you come here?” asked Alan again, and stiffening, as the
old arrogance was perceptible in the man’s tone.
“I have told you; I want help.”
“What sort of help?”
“To prove my innocence.”
“How can I, or how can Latimer? We know nothing.”
“I think you know a great deal,” returned the other acidly, and
shuffled to the fire again, as the night was chilly and he required
warmth; “from what Jotty told me, you brought about my arrest.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Sorley,” struck in Dick before his friend could speak,
“but I am the one who did that. Since you have seen Jotty you must know
that he found the letter which you wrote making an appointment with
Grison on the very night and about the very time when the poor devil
was killed. He showed that letter to us, and Alan was all in favor of
leaving the matter alone, since he has some sympathy for you as the
uncle of Miss Inderwick. But I declined to compound a felony, and I
went to Inspector Moon to explain that you were the criminal.”
“I am not the criminal,” cried Sorley furiously. “I did not murder the
man. As to Jotty showing you my letter——”
“Then you admit the letter?” demanded Dick swiftly.
“Certainly I do. Why should I not? But the boy never told me that he
had acted in such a Judas way. He came down to see me with a copy of
_The Latest News_ in his pocket, and when I read the interview I went
away on the impulse of the moment, recognizing how dangerous was my
position.”
“Why did the boy go to warn you?”
“Because he wanted money. Didn’t he get money for giving up that
letter?”
“Yes,” answered Alan readily; “two pounds.”
“He received five from me for bringing down the newspaper,” said Sorley
in a hasty tone, “he sold me to you, and later he sold you to me. You
expected to have me arrested, but the boy’s warning enabled me to
escape. It is all a question of money. Jotty, as I knew and Grison
knew, would sell his soul for gold.”
“Where is the boy now?” asked Dick suddenly, and watching Sorley
through half-closed eyes.
“I don’t know. He got his price and left The Monastery, shortly before
I went away on my motor bicycle. He may have gone back to Miss Grison
for all I know.”
“I don’t think that is likely,” said Alan dryly, “since she hates you,
and will not be pleased if she finds out—as she must have done by this
time—that Jotty has thwarted her revenge.”
“There you are, there you are,” cried Sorley, greatly excited and
gesticulating vehemently, “that beastly woman hates me. It is she who
has got me into this trouble. What did I tell you, Alan, what did I
tell you? That she had some reason for bringing back the peacock and
leaving it in its old place. Now you see the reason; she wished to
implicate me in the death of her infernal brother.”
“Did she really bring back the peacock?” was Dick’s question.
“Yes, she did; I swear that she must have brought it back on the day
she came unexpectedly to The Monastery and walked—as I learned
later—all over the house. It’s a trap—a trap I tell you. I am innocent;
oh yes, I am innocent as a child unborn, but she is doing her best to
put a rope round my neck. What are her words in the interview. ‘Find
the peacock and you find the assassin of my brother!’ Those are her
words, because she knew that I had the bird, and that the mere
possession could hang me. Oh, the devil, the cruel vampire that she
is!” and he trembled with rage and terror.
“But there is not only the peacock to be considered, Mr. Sorley,” put
in Latimer, struck by the vehemence of this defence, and wondering if
the man was really innocent after all. “The letter——”
“I wrote the letter,” admitted Sorley swiftly, “and—but one moment Mr.
Latimer, you had better present me with a full statement of the
evidence upon which you and the police base your charges against me.
Then I shall be able to defend myself.”
“I hope so, sincerely,” murmured Alan, who sat back in his chair with
folded arms, and allowed Dick to conduct the conversation.
The journalist wasted no time in preliminary explanations, but bluntly
set forth the whole story from the time he had entered that very room
in November to report the murder, down to the moment when Marie
departed from the Victoria station for Belstone _via_ Lewes. Sorley
still crouching and still haggard in looks, though stronger in voice,
listened intently, but did not interrupt. Alan noticed, however, that
at certain portions of the recital he trembled, probably from
overstrained nerves. When Dick ended, and relighted his pipe, the old
man nodded gravely.
“I am indeed in a dangerous position,” he said, striving to steady a
voice that would quiver with ill-concealed alarm, “all the same I am
entirely innocent. I swear to it.”
“A judge and jury will not believe in such swearing without proof,”
said Fuller, shaking his head.
“Proof! Proof! What proof can I give? Only Louisa Grison can prove that
the peacock was brought to The Monastery without my knowledge, and she
hates me too greatly to confess as much. Do you think,” cried Sorley
bitterly, “that she will spoil the trap she has set? Not she. I know
her venomous nature too well.”
“There’s the letter, you know,” Dick reminded him.
“Yes! The letter. I don’t deny the letter, which that Judas of a boy
showed to you. He betrayed me——”
“And he saved you,” interpolated Alan quickly.
“For money in both cases,” sneered the other, “if the truth is to be
found that lad knows it. If so, he is aware that I am guiltless, and
thus he may have come to warn me because his conscience smote him.”
“I scarcely think that Jotty is sufficiently evolved to possess a
conscience,” said Latimer dryly; “he helped you for the five pounds, as
he betrayed you for the two pounds. It is all a question of money. But
since you insist so strongly upon your innocence, Mr. Sorley, I should
like to hear on what grounds you do so.”
“On the grounds that Miss Grison brought the bird to——”
“Yes, yes; but the letter; your presence at Rotherhithe on the night
and about the time the crime was committed?” put in Alan hastily, for
he felt that they were losing time.
The old man was silent for a few moments, and his fingers played in a
senile manner on his unshaven chin. Then he appeared to gain a sudden
strength from the steady looks of his companions, and spoke with some
dignity and considerable strength. “I make an admission to you both,”
he said in a surprisingly clear tone. “I knew that Grison had the
peacock.”
“Oh!” said the listeners simultaneously, and looked at one another,
wondering if Sorley was about to confess his guilt. The man saw this
and smiled in a sardonic manner.
“If I were what you suppose me to be,” he said coldly, “I should
scarcely admit as much; but being innocent, I can do so. For many years
I believed that Louisa Grison had stolen the peacock out of revenge,
because I dismissed her brother.” Alan nodded at this point, as he had
heard the woman acknowledge as much, but did not interrupt. “It was
twelve months ago when I became aware that Grison possessed it. He
wrote me a letter saying that he could not live long, and was ready to
give up the peacock on condition that I came to hear on what terms he
was prepared to surrender it. I went up to town and to Rotherhithe to
that dreadful woman’s house.”
“Mother Slaig’s, I suppose. Did you ride your motor bicycle?”
“No, I did not have it twelve months ago,” said Sorley quickly. “I went
up and found Grison better than I expected. He had rallied since
writing to me, and refused when we met, to give up the peacock. I
departed, and later—in a few weeks, went up again, when I saw that he
was very sick indeed with his profligate ways. He said that if I would
promise to give his sister half of the treasure when it was discovered,
he would hand me back the peacock. I refused, as I had no right to
dispose of Marie’s property in that way.”
Alan smiled grimly when he remembered how this scrupulous man had
disposed of furniture which belonged to the niece whose goods he was
supposed to safeguard. However he did not make any remark on this
point, but asked a pertinent question: “Had Grison discovered the
secret?”
“No; he had tried to, but had failed, as everyone else has done up to
the present,” said Sorley, continuing his narrative with an effort, for
he appeared to be very weary. “When I refused to give up half the
treasure he declined to restore the golden bird. Up till November last
I continued to call on him and urge him to return what his sister had
stolen, and it was because of my frequent visits that I purchased the
motor bicycle.”
“Ah,” said Dick, who was nursing his chin, “you didn’t want your visits
to be known to the railway authorities.”
“You are quite wrong, Mr. Latimer. If I chose to go up to town every
now and then that was no business of anyone. Had I contemplated murder
I might indeed have shirked giving color to my doings by travelling so
often by train. But I bought the bicycle to save expense in one way,
and because I found it easier to slip out of the house and up to town
in this style.”
“Hum!” murmured Latimer, to whom the explanation sounded weak, “we’ll
admit so much for the time being. Well, sir?”
“Well,” said Sorley taking no notice of the implied doubt. “I went up
and down constantly. Sometimes Grison when sick would agree to give up
the peacock without terms; then, when well, he would refuse to
surrender it on any condition. Also sometimes he wanted half the
treasure for his sister, since—as he put it—she had stuck by him in his
fall. Finally, so as to get the bird and try to unravel the secret I
compromised by offering to give a third of the jewels to Louisa.”
“You had no right to promise that without submitting the proposition to
Marie,” said Alan.
“I didn’t want Marie to know anything about the business until it was
entirely settled and the jewels were in our possession,” said Sorley
doggedly, “she never dreamed that I went so frequently to London, for I
was often by myself for days, and had my meals alone. When I got the
motor bicycle she and the other women more than ever were unable to
learn about my movements. Things went on in this way until November
last, and I could do nothing with Grison, who was as obstinate as a
mule. He then wrote me saying that he wanted to see me on the evening
of the thirteenth November, and this time would really make terms. I
replied that I would be there at eight o’clock.”
“Seven o’clock,” corrected Alan quickly.
“Thank you; it was seven, but my memory is not so good as it was, my
boy. I went up on my bicycle and saw Grison at the appointed time at
Mother Slaig’s. He was as difficult to manage as ever, and I came away
about eight, quite angry at my constant failures to get what I desired.
I rode back during the night and gained The Monastery as usual. Next
day, or rather the day after, I heard through the medium of the
newspapers about the murder. Having regard to the time and place and my
presence on the spot I saw in what danger I stood, so I held my peace.
In one way I fancied that I could not be taxed with the commission of
the crime, since I had not the peacock. Then I found it in its old
place after the unexpected visit of Miss Grison, and guessed that she
had brought it. I guessed also—since I knew that her brother had
possessed it—she was setting a trap of some sort. Had I been wise,” he
looked frankly at the young men, “I should have told the police at once
about the matter; but I saw then, as I see now—and as you, Mr. Latimer,
have so plainly set before me that everything was in favor of my
guilt.”
Dick nodded and pulled his mustache meditatively. “You didn’t improve
matter by bolting when Jotty warned you,” he remarked pointedly.
“I lost my nerve,” gasped the other man, his pale face becoming still
more pale, “and on the impulse of the moment I fled.”
“Why did you fly here?” asked Alan, irritated by the problem presented
to him as to letting the man go, or handing him over to Inspector Moon.
“I have told you twice, my boy; I wish you to help me. Long ago I told
you that I believed Louisa Grison was laying a trap for me with that
peacock. Now you can see that I was right, and your evidence that I
spoke as I did, will help me at the trial.”
“At the trial.” Dick looked swiftly at the fugitive. “Then you——”
“Yes; I intend to give myself up.” Sorley rose and stood up lean and
haggard, yet with something of his old self-assertion, “but before
doing so I wish you both to come with me to Thimble Square and see Miss
Grison.”
“Why?” demanded Fuller, jumping up with an inquiring look.
“I desire to face her in your presence, and accuse her of having
brought the peacock down to The Monastery to get me into trouble.”
“But how could she get it from her brother, when Jotty said that he saw
it on the night of the murder in Grison’s possession?”
“I can’t explain,” said Sorley with a vexed air, “and I am sure that
Louisa hates me too much to do so. She may have induced him to give it
back, lest he should return it to me; she knew of my visits.”
“Did she know of your visits?”
“She must have. Baldwin doubtless told her, for he never could keep his
own counsel, being as weak as water. And if he did hold his peace, I am
very sure that Jotty did not. The boy saw me frequently.”
“Yes,” said Alan reflectively, “he told us that he did, and described
you.”
Sorley smiled bitterly and revengefully. “The boy seems to have given
me away thoroughly. Had he come to me I could have paid him more than
two pounds, and would have done so to close his mouth and regain that
letter.”
“It is just as well that Jotty did speak out, and has placed you in
your present position,” said Latimer coldly, “for if Miss Grison did
lay the trap you speak of, the exposure would only have come about in
another way.’
“I daresay you are right,” sighed the old man, putting on a shabby cap
which also formed a portion of his disguise, “and after all, Jotty, by
coming down to warn me, gave me a chance of escape.”
“Hum!” said Alan after a pause, “your flight only lent color to the
suspicions against you, on the evidence we gave to Moon. It is just
probable since Jotty is in league with Miss Grison—for I believe the
brat is—that the warning was arranged so that you should incriminate
yourself.”
“I shall do so no longer,” said Sorley opening the door, “come both of
you with me. You need not fear that I shall try to escape as I quite
intend to give myself up, knowing my complete innocence. If you doubt
me take each of you an arm.”
“Oh, we’ll trust you,” said Latimer with a shrug, much to Alan’s
relief. All the same Dick intended to keep a sharp eye on the man,
since the talk might be mainly for effect, and there was no knowing if
an escape might not be attempted.
And when the trio got outside, it proved to be a night very propitious
to a fugitive, since an unexpected fog had rolled down on the city.
London was enveloped in a dense gray smoking cloud chilly and clammy,
and intensely disagreeable. Alan and his friend had, after all, to take
Sorley’s arms to guide him out of the court and through the rusty iron
gates, and he went along so passively between them that Latimer became
ashamed of his suspicions, since the old man appeared to be acting very
straightforwardly. It was not easy even for those who knew the
neighborhood, to get out of the labyrinth surrounding Barkers Inn, for
the dense fog made the place as unfamiliar as the desert of Sahara. But
in some way they managed to reach Chancery Lane, and turned up towards
Oxford Street on their way to Thimble Square in Bloomsbury. So thick
was the fog that all traffic had ceased, although it was still early in
the evening, so the three men, by keeping close to the houses, had to
literally feel their way like the blind to their destination. It was a
long time before they managed to strike the Square, and longer still
before they found the house. But in the end they crossed the threshold,
and told the Swiss waiter, who opened the door that they wished to see
Miss Grison. As the man was going upstairs, Latimer called him back to
press a shilling into his palm.
“Where is Alonzo?” he asked under his breath.
The waiter threw up his hands and explained that the boy had gone away
and had not returned, and madame was greatly vexed by his absence.
“Hum!” said Dick to himself when the waiter finally departed to
announce their arrival, “Jotty seems to have engineered Sorley’s escape
on his own account, and fears lest his mistress should turn crusty.”
Shortly the Swiss came back and conducted them up the stairs and into
the private room of Miss Grison. Looking more acid than ever she stood
by the fireplace to receive them, but smiled in a wintry fashion when
the two young men—who had sent up their names—entered. But they had—for
obvious reasons—omitted to inform her that they brought a companion
with them, and Miss Grison’s face grew hard and malignant, when she saw
Sorley steal in behind them. Her shallow blue eyes flashed like
sapphires, and if looks could have killed her enemy, Sorley would have
fallen dead that very instant. Hate was written all over that wasted
face.
“How dare you bring that beast here?” she demanded shrilly, yet—as Dick
observed mechanically—lowered her voice lest those in the near
drawing-room should overhear, “he ruined my brother and murdered him.”
“It’s a lie,” said Sorley savagely, and glared fiercely at her.
“Beast! beast! it’s the truth, it’s the——” she stopped, and her hand
went to her heart suddenly, “My drops, my drops,” she staggered to the
door, avoiding her enemy even at the moment of pain. “Wait, wait,” she
breathed hurriedly to Latimer, “weak heart—drops—a moment a——” she
almost reeled out of the room, seeking medicine to recover her from the
shock which Sorley’s presence had inflicted upon her.
“Is her heart weak?” asked Alan, turning to the man.
“Not that I ever heard of,” he retorted sharply, and wiping his face,
“she was all right when at Belstone twenty years ago. Perhaps it is
weak now. I wish it would break and she would fall dead.”
“You mustn’t say such things, Mr. Sorley,” said Dick frowning.
“But I shall. What would you say of a woman who ruined you?”
“She’s not ruined you yet,” remarked Alan, soothingly; “if you are
innocent you will be set free.”
“Oh, I shall be set free all right, even if I have to drink poison to
rid myself of my bonds,” said the old man, recklessly. “Oh, that woman,
that woman, you don’t know of what she is capable. Wait till she
returns and hear the lies she will tell. All is against me, and only
she can prove that I did not take the peacock from her brother. But I
am innocent; I swear before heaven that I am innocent.”
“Hush! Don’t make a row,” said Dick, who did not wish the house to be
disturbed, and for the next ten minutes both he and Alan were trying to
reduce the excited man to a quieter frame of mind. Miss Grison was
absent quite that time, if not a few moments longer, and when she
returned her looks were much stronger and more composed.
“Why did you bring that man here?” she demanded again, and took up a
defiant position on the hearthrug.
“I wish to ask you a question,” said Sorley feebly, for his wrath had
almost worn him out, and he felt that he was at the mercy of his enemy.
“_You_ ask me a question,” she echoed contemptuously, “the police wish
to ask you one or two, you—you criminal.”
“I—I—I am not a criminal,” panted the other, sitting down suddenly.
“You are. Inspector Moon has been to see me. He related how Mr.
Latimer—and I thank Mr. Latimer for doing so—gave him the letter you
wrote to Baldwin which proves that you were with him on that night. I
know also what the police know, that you have the peacock which you
took from his body, you beast!”
“It’s a lie! a lie, Louisa, and you know it. It was you who brought the
peacock to The Monastery when you came down for the funeral.”
“Ha! is that so?” she said tauntingly; “and how are you going to prove
I did such a thing?”
“You don’t deny it, Miss Grison?” asked Alan, with some sharpness.
“Yes, I do. I deny it at once and with all truth. I stole the peacock
to punish that brute who ruined us, and I gave it to Baldwin. He had it
in his possession when he was murdered, and since he has it,” she
pointed an accusing finger at Sorley, who winced and wilted, “he is
guilty.”
“You brought it to The Monastery to trap me,” said the man resolutely.
“I did not,” she retorted equally resolutely, and the two argued the
question on and on and on until Alan and Dick both felt their heads
reeling. For almost an hour the conversation continued, Latimer
sometimes putting in a question, and sometimes Alan suggesting an
explanation. But every time, the result was that Miss Grison refused to
acknowledge that she had taken the peacock to Belstone. Then, while
they were in the full tide of talk, she rose unexpectedly, and pointed
towards the door.
“Come in, come in,” she almost shouted, “this is the beast.”
Inspector Moon appeared, and behind him were two policemen in plain
clothes.