John Oram was an old-fashioned solicitor of very high standing. His
firm had always managed all the private business of the Rushworth
family, and he was a personal friend of the client from whom he had
received a long and explicit cable about two hours ago. The receipt of
that cable, and above all the way it had been worded, had induced Mr.
Oram to come himself to Duke of Kent Mansion, instead of sending one
of his clerks. He felt intensely curious to see this newly made widow
in whom Miles Rushworth evidently took so intimate and anxious an
interest.
Rushworth’s cable to John Oram had been nearly three times the length
of his cable to Ivy; and the purport of it had been that the solicitor
was to help Mrs. Lexton in every way in his power. The last words of
the cable had run: “Find out from Mrs. Lexton the name of her bankers,
and place two thousand pounds to her credit.”
After reading the cable, Mr. Oram had sent for his head clerk, an
acute, clever man named Alfred Finch, who was some twenty years
younger than himself.
“Can you tell me anything of some people of the name of Lexton, who
live in Duke of Kent Mansion? I gather there’s some sort of legal
trouble afoot.”
The answer had been immediate, and had filled him with both surprise
and dismay.
“Yes, sir, I know all there is to be known. It’s not very much, yet. A
Mr. Jervis Lexton died some days ago in one of the Duke of Kent
Mansion flats. And, as the result of a post-mortem, it has been
discovered that death was occasioned through the administration of a
large dose of arsenic.”
The speaker waited a moment. His curiosity was considerably whetted,
for he had seen a look of astonishment, almost of horror, come over
his employer’s usually impassive face.
Alfred Finch went on, speaking in a more serious tone:
“This Mr. Jervis Lexton must have been a man of means, for you may
remember, sir, that he drew up the lease of a flat in Duke of Kent
Mansion for the Misses Rushworth about eighteen months ago.”
“Aye, aye, I do remember that. I think the rent of their flat was four
hundred a year, and the two ladies had to pay a considerable premium
on going in. As you say, the Lextons must be well-to-do.”
Mr. Finch allowed himself to smile.
“There’s only one of them now, sir--the dead man’s widow. She’s said
to be very attractive, and well known in smart society.”
“I see. That will do.”
It was no wonder that John Oram, while waiting in the drawing-room of
the flat for Ivy to join him, gazed about him with a good deal of
interest. Then, all at once, he recognised a fine picture which he
knew to be the property of the Misses Rushworth, his clients, and
Miles Rushworth’s cousins. In a moment what had appeared a mystery was
to his mind cleared up. There must be, there was, of course, some sort
of connection between the Rushworths and the Lextons; and the rich,
precise, old-fashioned maiden ladies, who, he now remembered, were
wintering abroad, had lent their flat to these family connections.
That would explain everything--Miles Rushworth’s urgent cable, as also
his evident anxiety that everything should be done to help and succour
Mrs. Lexton in her distress.
Just as he came to this satisfactory explanation of what had puzzled
and disturbed him, the door of the drawing-room opened, and Ivy walked
in.
She held out her little hand. “Mr. Oram?” she cried eagerly, “I’m so
glad to see you! I had a cable just before lunch from Mr. Rushworth,
telling me that you were going to help me. Everything is so dreadful,
so extraordinary, that I feel utterly bewildered, as well as
miserable----” and then tears strangled her voice.
For a moment her visitor said nothing. He was amazed at her exceeding
loveliness, puzzled also, for he was very observant, by the expression
which now lit up the beautiful face before him. Though tears were
running down her cheeks, it was such a happy expression.
“Won’t you sit down?”
Her tone was quite subdued now; the hysterical excitement which had
been there had died out of her voice.
He obeyed her silently, and there shot over Ivy Lexton a quick feeling
of misgiving. Mr. Oram looked so grave, so stern, and he was gazing at
her with so curiously close a scrutiny.
“It’s very kind of you to have come so soon,” she said nervously.
“I am anxious to help you in every way possible, Mrs. Lexton,” he
answered quietly.
Though the old solicitor was exceedingly impressed by Ivy’s beauty,
instead of being attracted, he felt, if anything, slightly repelled,
by her appearance.
For one thing, he was sufficiently old-fashioned to feel really
surprised, and even shocked, by her “make-up.”
Ivy had made up more than usual this morning, and before coming into
the drawing-room just now she had used her lipstick quite recklessly.
So it was that while Mr. Oram asked her certain questions, each one of
which was to the point, and allowed for but very little prevarication
on her part, he avoided looking straight at her.
How astounding, he said to himself with dismay, that such a woman
should be a friend of Miles Rushworth! A direct question had shown him
that she had no knowledge of, or even a bowing acquaintance with, the
Misses Rushworth.
At last he said rather coldly, “I take it you are in possession of
very little money?”
“Very little,” she answered, almost in a whisper.
“At the request of Mr. Miles Rushworth, I have a sum of money to place
at your disposal. As a matter of fact, it is a considerable sum--two
thousand pounds. If you will tell me who are your bankers, I----”
And then Ivy, keeping the joy she felt out of her voice, interrupted
him:
“I have not got a banking account, Mr. Oram. I had one many years ago,
before my husband lost all his money, but I have not had one for over
three years. And oh! it’s been so inconvenient.”
A kinder look came into the lawyer’s grave face.
“In that case, Mrs. Lexton, I advise you to open an account at the
local branch of the Birmingham Bank. It is close here, in Kensington
High Street. Mr. Rushworth informed me in his cable that you would
probably stay on in this flat for the next few weeks.”
“I should like to do that,” she said in a low tone.
“Your husband, I understand, was a great friend of Mr. Rushworth?”
“Yes, my husband was working in Mr. Rushworth’s office when he fell
ill.”
“Was he indeed?”
That the Lextons could be what the sender of the cable had called “my
closest friends” had surprised the solicitor. He had believed himself
acquainted with all Miles Rushworth’s intimate circle.
Ivy had come across a good many lawyers in her life, and she had
always found them bright, cheery, and pleasant. All of them, to a man,
had admired her, and made her feel that they did so.
Very, very different was this lawyer’s attitude. She realised that he
did not approve of her, and she even suspected that he regretted his
client’s interest in her. That was quite enough for Ivy, and she began
to long intensely for Mr. Oram to go away. She had already made up her
mind that he was “horrid,” and she was sorry indeed that such a man
should be Miles Rushworth’s representative.
“I will pay in the cheque to the Birmingham Bank to-morrow morning,
Mrs. Lexton,” said the solicitor. “I will call for you, if I may, at
eleven, for you will have to come too, in order that the manager may
register your signature.”
At last he got up, and then he said suddenly: “Have you yet seen
anyone from the police?”
“Yes, I saw a gentleman from Scotland Yard this morning.”
“I trust your legal adviser was present.”
“I have no legal adviser,” and she looked at him surprised.
“I’m sorry for that. I had hoped to learn that you had a solicitor,
and that he had been present. However, I don’t suppose it will make
any odds. I presume you told the gentleman from Scotland Yard
everything that it was within your power to tell him, concerning the
mysterious circumstances surrounding Mr. Lexton’s death?”
“Yes, I did,” she said falteringly.
It seemed to her that he was looking at her with such a hard, cold
look on his bloodless face. She even had a queer feeling that this Mr.
Oram could see right through her, and she felt a touch of deadly
terror.
But Ivy’s fears were quite unfounded. The solicitor’s view of Ivy
Lexton was very much what “the gentleman from Scotland Yard’s” had
been. But whereas Inspector Orpington had liked and pitied her,
Rushworth’s lawyer already regretted that, if only as a matter of
common humanity, he must now secure for her the best legal advice in
his power.
John Oram had the faults of his qualities. His life’s work had brought
him in contact with more than one skilful adventuress. But against
such a woman, when she came across his path, the dice were already
loaded.
Thus he had never had much trouble with the kind of girl who
infatuates a foolish “elder son,” and then, maybe, tries to extract an
enormous sum out of him by a threat of a breach of promise case. More
difficult to deal with had he found, in his long career as a family
solicitor, the sort of woman blackmailer who has letters in her
possession. But, even in regard to that type of woman, Mr. Oram, with
the law on his side, invariably came out of the duel triumphant.
He had never had to do, even remotely, with a case of murder, and the
last thing that would have occurred to his mind was that this lovely
young fribble of a woman--for such was his old-fashioned
expression--could be a secret poisoner.
“I think you must authorise me to instruct counsel to represent you at
the inquest which I understand is about to be held.”
“What is counsel?” asked Ivy.
She felt surprised and uneasy. Was this disagreeable old man going to
run up what she knew was called “a lawyer’s bill” which she would have
to pay out of Rushworth’s munificent gift?
Mr. Oram looked at her with scarce concealed contempt.
“A counsel,” he replied drily, “is any member of the Bar. But
naturally some are better than others, and, with your permission, I
will obtain for you the services of a gentleman who is thoroughly
experienced in cases of this kind.”
The next morning Mr. Oram arrived at his office early, and, after
glancing over his letters, he had just made out a cheque for two
thousand pounds to “the order of Mrs. Ivy Lexton,” when a card was
brought into his private room. But before he looked at the card he had
already fully made up his mind that he could see no one, however
important their business might be, till his return from Kensington.
Already the solicitor and his head clerk, Alfred Finch, had gone into
the question of who should represent Mrs. Lexton at the inquest, and
at the various other proceedings which were likely to take place in
connection with Jervis Lexton’s mysterious death. Money, as the saying
is, being no object, they had selected as her counsel one known to
them to be by far the soundest man for that sort of watching brief.
The old lawyer was sorry indeed that Miles Rushworth had brought him
in touch with what he termed to himself “this very unpleasant
business.”
His feeling was not shared by his head clerk. Alfred Finch was already
keenly interested in the Lexton case. He was an intelligent man, keen
about his work whatever it might be, and he already had managed to
make certain pertinent inquiries. Indeed, he very much startled Mr.
Oram by a remark he made towards the end of their discussion.
“They do say, sir, that Scotland Yard as good as know already who
poisoned Mr. Lexton. I think it quite probable that you will see the
news of an arrest on the newspaper placards on your way to Duke of
Kent Mansion.”
“What sort of person has been, or is to be, arrested, Finch? Have you
discovered that?”
“Well, sir, I haven’t yet got hold of the man’s name. But I gather
he’s a gentleman, and one who was described to me as--” he coughed
discreetly “--a beau of Mrs. Lexton. Mrs. Lexton seems to have been a
bit of a flyer, sir. She was out every night dancing at what they call
a smart night-club, or in some big hotel, during the days when her
unfortunate husband was being slowly done to death by this friend of
hers.”
“Have you heard anything serious against Mrs. Lexton’s character?”
Mr. Oram was very old-fashioned. The term “night-club” signified to
him something vaguely terrible, and utterly disreputable.
“Oh, no, sir, there’s nothing against her. On the contrary, the story
goes that, though the man under suspicion was crazy about her, she
only flirted with him, so to speak. Mrs. Lexton, it seems, gave him
away, quite unknowingly, to the C.I.D. inspector who is in charge of
the case.”
Finch smiled, “They say it’s likely to be the most important case of
the kind there’s been at the Old Bailey for many a long day. The
public are about ready for another murder mystery.”
“Not much mystery about it, if your information is correct, Finch,”
observed Mr. Oram grimly.
“It’s Mrs. Lexton--they say she is such a very pretty, smart little
lady--who will provide the mystery and the sensation, sir. She’ll be
the principal witness for the Crown.”
Mr. Oram felt very much disturbed on hearing this piece of
information.
“I do not regard myself as being in any sense Mrs. Lexton’s legal
representative,” he said stiffly. “With regard to this lady, I am
simply acting as Mr. Miles Rushworth’s solicitor.”
And now, just as he was reaching out for his hat and coat, feeling
more perturbed than he would have cared to acknowledge, a client for
whom he had a great regard called to see him. Though John Oram was not
the kind of man who changes his mind lightly when he saw whose name
was engraved on the card which had been brought in to him, the lawyer
at once made up his mind that he must spare time for this visitor.
For one thing, her business must be serious, for she lived in the
country, and this was the first time she had ever called on him
without first making an appointment. Further, she was a widowed lady
he had known since he was quite a young man, and for whom he had a
very high esteem, and, it might almost be said, affection. But he had
despised her husband, and he did not really like her son--though the
son had none of the faults which had brought his father to ruin.
Lastly, Mr. Oram was willing to see this client because she was a
woman of few words. She would tell him at once why she wished to see
him, and then she would go away.
“Show Mrs. Gretorex in,” he said quickly.
“There is a young lady with her, sir.”
“A young lady?”
Did that mean that Roger Gretorex was thinking of getting married? If
so, unless the girl had money, he would be doing a very foolish and
improvident thing. Mr. Oram did not really think that this was at all
likely to be the reason for Mrs. Gretorex’s unexpected visit; but a
solicitor is apt to consider every possibility.
However, Mr. Oram’s old friend and client came unaccompanied through
the baize door of his private room. Mrs. Gretorex had left Enid in the
waiting-room, for there were certain things which she knew she would
have to say, and which she felt she could only say when alone with the
solicitor.
As she looked at her old lawyer’s stern face, though the expression on
it was just a little softer than usual, even her high courage
faltered.
“Perhaps you know, Mr. Oram,” she said in a low voice, “what it is
that has brought me here this morning?”
“No,” he said, surprised, “I have no idea at all, Mrs. Gretorex----”
He could see she was very much disturbed, and he drew forward a chair.
After all, it wouldn’t hurt that frivolous little widow to wait for an
extra half-hour or so for the two thousand pounds Miles Rushworth was
so rashly presenting to her free and for nothing. Mr. Oram’s knowledge
of human nature told him that probably a very great deal more money
was coming Ivy’s way from the same source as this money came from.
Mrs. Gretorex bent a little forward. She fixed her sunken eyes, for
she had not slept at all the night before, on the lawyer’s face.
“Roger has been arrested on the charge of having murdered a man called
Jervis Lexton----”
“Roger arrested on a charge of murder? God bless my soul!”
He took off his eyeglasses and began cleaning them mechanically with a
small piece of wash-leather which he kept for that purpose.
Here was indeed a complication! And a very troublesome as well as a
painful complication, from his point of view. His own connection with
the Gretorex family was hereditary. His grandfather had been, not only
the lawyer, but the very close friend and trustee, of Mrs. Gretorex’s
father-in-law. As for the rich Rushworths, they were in Mr. Oram’s
estimation mere upstarts compared to the ancient, if now impoverished,
county family.
“If you don’t mind,” he said suddenly, “I’ll send for Finch. In a case
of this sort two heads are better than one. Also Finch can take notes
of any information you can give me about the matter.”
Mrs. Gretorex would much rather have told her story to this good old
friend alone. But she saw the sense of his suggestion, and they both
waited in silence till the head clerk came in.
Mrs. Gretorex rose and shook hands with Mr. Finch. She was well
acquainted with him, and she had always liked him.
“May I tell Finch what you have just told me?” Mr. Oram asked.
She bent her head, overwhelmed with a passion of agony and shame.
“Mrs. Gretorex has brought bad news, Finch. Her son has just been
arrested on the charge of having caused the death, I presume by the
administration of arsenic, of Mr. Jervis Lexton. I take it”--and he
looked very straight into the younger man’s face--“that you had no
notion of this fact, when you told me, this morning, that you had
heard that an arrest was about to be effected in connection with the
Lexton affair?”
Alfred Finch prided himself on his self-control, and wise lack of
emotion, where anything connected with business was concerned. But his
face was full of dismay as he answered instantly, “No name at all was
mentioned, sir. I was simply told that an arrest was imminent.”
He turned to Mrs. Gretorex. “When was it that Mr. Roger was arrested?”
He had known “Mr. Roger” from childhood.
Tears welled up to her tired eyes. “Last evening,” she answered.
“I wish he’d sent for us at once,” Finch exclaimed. “It’s always
important to get one’s blow in first, and especially over a matter of
this kind.”
“My son was arrested at Anchorford House. I came up by the night
train, as the police inspector from Lynchester said he would be
brought to town the first thing this morning. I suppose he is in
London by now.”
Finch looked at his employer.
“In that case, don’t you think, sir, that I’d better go off at once
and try to find Dr. Gretorex? Let me see. Where would he be charged?”
Mentally he answered his own question. Then he observed, “I hope he
made no statement to the police?”
“He wished to make a statement, but the inspector advised him not to
do so.”
“You think, Finch, that you’d better go off now, instantly?”
“I’m sure of it, sir. Even now, I fear I shall be too late to stop his
saying something he’d best keep to himself.”
“I feel quite sure he has nothing to hide,” said Mrs. Gretorex rather
stiffly. But neither of the two men made any comment on that.
Mr. Oram was the first to break the silence.
“Very well, Finch. You go off,” he said. “Start at once! And of course
no expense is to be spared?”
He glanced at his client, and she quickly nodded.
“Meanwhile, I’ll make rough notes of any information that Mrs.
Gretorex is good enough to give me. But I don’t suppose she really
knows very much.”
And then in a serious tone he asked her, “Were you yourself acquainted
with Mr. and Mrs. Lexton?”
He put the question just as the other man was leaving the room, and
Mrs. Gretorex saw Finch stay his steps. It was clear that he wished to
hear her answer.
“I’ve never seen Mr. Lexton; but Mrs. Lexton spent a week-end at
Anchorford last winter.”
Both men noticed the somewhat embarrassed way in which Roger
Gretorex’s mother answered that question.
At last, reluctantly, Finch shut the door. How useful it would be,
sometimes, to find oneself in two places at once!
Being the manner of woman she was, Mrs. Gretorex did not try to
conceal anything of what was in her heart from her old and trusted
friend.
“I am absolutely certain, Mr. Oram, that Roger had nothing to do with
Mr. Lexton’s death. On the other hand, it would be dishonest to
conceal from you my conviction that he is in terrible danger.”
“What makes you think that, if you are certain he is innocent?”
“Because,” answered Mrs. Gretorex in a low tone, “he loves this woman,
Ivy Lexton, desperately. He admitted as much to me last night, before
we supposed there was any fear of an immediate arrest, but after he
had already had an interview with someone from Scotland Yard----”
“Roger in love with a married woman. That’s the last thing I should
have expected to hear!”
Mr. Oram got up. “I have a bit of business I must attend to this
morning, Mrs. Gretorex. But I suggest that you wait here till a
telephone message comes through from Finch.”
As they shook hands, “I beg you, I implore you,” she said in a stifled
voice, “to try and believe Roger innocent.”
Mr. Oram said to himself, “I will--until he is proved guilty.” Aloud
he exclaimed:
“Of course I believe him innocent! But, Mrs. Gretorex, I have
something very serious to say to you; that is, I feel that this is not
the kind of case of which I have the necessary experience, and I doubt
if I should be able to afford your son the kind of legal assistance
which he needs.”
He saw a look of terror and of fear flash over her face.
“Don’t desert me in my extremity!” she exclaimed. “You know as well as
I do that I haven’t a single man relation in the world. You, Mr. Oram,
are my only hope.” And he saw that tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“If you feel that, Mrs. Gretorex, then be assured that I shall do my
best for Roger.”