AUSTIN’S SILENCE
“I can’t understand it, Winnie. It seems almost as if every one--like
mother--had already made up their minds that--that Roger----”
Grace broke off. She could not bring herself to utter the words “that
Roger is guilty.” But Winnie understood.
“Nonsense, dear. There are you and I and George and your father and
Austin on his side to begin with, and Mr. Spedding of course----”
“I don’t know about Mr. Spedding,” said Grace slowly, her hands clasped
round her knees, her troubled eyes fixed on the fire. “I was with
him all the afternoon, you know--there is so much to discuss and to
arrange--and I thought his manner very reserved, very strange, and--and
uneasy.”
“That’s only because he’s a lawyer. They’re always mysterious. What did
he say?”
“Well, when I told him the simple truth as Roger told it me--as to why
he followed Lady Rawson, and how it was he was so late at the church,
he said, in quite an offhand way, that he knew all about that, and
Roger would of course embody it in his statement at the proper time;
but that his--Roger’s--unsupported account of his own movements was
no use as evidence! You can’t think what a shock it gave me, Winnie;
it was the way he said it. And then he explained that ‘fortunately the
onus of proof rests with the prosecution, and not with the defence: it
is for them to prove him guilty, not for us to prove him innocent.’
‘_Fortunately_,’ mind you; and in tone that implied that it would be
quite impossible to prove my darling’s innocence! Now what do you think
of that?”
“That it was his silly, pompous old legal way of talking and nothing to
be upset about,” said Winnie, with a fine assumption of confidence.
“Perhaps--but it hurt! He hopes to secure Cummings-Browne for the
defence.”
“Of course. Austin says there’s no one to touch him.”
“For the defence,” Grace repeated drearily. “Oh, Winnie! I suppose it
was foolish, but I felt quite sure when I went out this morning that
it was only a matter of a few hours and Roger would be free; and now,
nothing done; just adjourned till after the inquest; and then--and
then---- Mr. Spedding takes it for granted that he will be committed
for trial--kept in prison for weeks, months, till after Christmas, for
the trial cannot come on till January. My Roger!”
She hid her face in her hands and for the moment Winnie was dumb,
unable to find words of comfort.
All that long day Grace had borne herself bravely. Betimes in the
morning she had gone to Spedding’s office, and thence, with the
lawyer, to the police court, where, in a private room, she had a brief
half-hour with Roger--only five minutes or so alone with him, for they
had to consult with Mr. Spedding; but those five minutes were precious
indeed.
Roger was pale, but cheery and confident; and she managed to appear the
same for his sake.
“I’m staying with Winnie for the present, dearest,” she told him.
“Mother was--well, a little difficult yesterday, so I thought it best.
But I’m going to take possession of the flat--our flat--as soon as
possible, and get it ready for you to come home to, or we’ll get it
ready together if you come to-day--to-morrow.”
“Not so soon I fear, darling. The law moves cumbrously. But you can’t
go to the flat alone. Why not stay with Winnie?”
“I’d rather be in--our own home,” she whispered, “getting it straight
for us both, beloved. I shall be happier, and you will seem nearer.
Winnie will come in and out, of course; and you’ll come soon--very
soon--and all will be well again, and all this will have passed like a
bad dream!”
She smiled at him and he at her, and none but themselves knew how hard
it was to summon those brave smiles to their lips when their hearts
were almost breaking.
Then her father arrived, the gentle, careworn, grey-haired professor,
who had travelled all night to be with her; and she smiled at him,
too, and sat with her hand in his, and Winnie Winston on the other
side, through the ordeal of the police court; sat with her eyes fixed
on Roger most of the time, utterly unconscious of the scrutiny and
whispered comments of the fashionably dressed women who had literally
fought their way into the court in ghoulish anticipation of sensation.
The ordeal to-day was not prolonged, for, to the manifest
disappointment of the assemblage of female ghouls, only a brief
statement of the charge and formal evidence of arrest were given, and
an adjournment asked for and granted.
The remainder of that dark, wet day was passed in a series of
conferences with her father, and with the lawyers, all more or less
painful, all important; but throughout she managed to maintain an
appearance of cheerfulness and confidence, telling herself the while
that she must be brave and strong and clear-headed, “for Roger’s sake.”
But now, alone with Winnie in the cosy drawing-room at Chelsea, came
reaction. She felt and looked utterly exhausted, unutterably anxious
and sorrow-stricken.
Her father had gone home, but was to return after dinner to discuss
a vital matter--how, among them, they were to raise money for the
defence. Mr. Spedding had named five thousand pounds as the least
amount necessary. It must be raised, but how none of them knew at
present. Roger’s salary had been a generous one, but he had no private
means, no near or wealthy relatives, and only a very few hundred
pounds at call--which had seemed an ample reserve wherewith to start
housekeeping, as they had already furnished the charming little flat in
Buckingham Gate which was to be their first home.
Grace herself had a tiny income, only just over a hundred a year, a
legacy from an aunt, but it was strictly tied up under a trustee, and
she could not touch the principal.
Therefore this question of money was a new and terrible difficulty that
must be surmounted somehow.
In any other conceivable emergency they would have had Sir Robert
Rawson to back them, with his enormous wealth and influence; but now he
was their enemy, able to bring all his resources against them.
“I can’t understand it all,” Grace resumed presently. “It seems as
if we had become entangled, in a moment, in a great web of evil. But
_why_? What have we done or left undone to deserve it? Roger _did_
distrust that poor thing--disliked her in a way, simply because of the
distrust. But he would never have harmed her, or any living creature.
And yet they fix on him of all people, just because he happened to be
near at hand, and to be concerned with those papers!”
“That’s only because, as Austin says, they’re just a lot of guys who
can’t see as far as their own silly noses. And he’s on the trail
anyhow, so cheer up, darling. Everything’s going to come right soon
perhaps. You trust Austin!”
Grace sighed and glanced restlessly at the clock.
“I wish he’d come.”
“Here he is--that’s his ring,” said Winnie, and hurried out to answer
the front door bell.
Austin it was, and she questioned him in an eager undertone as he took
off his coat in the little hall.
“Any news?”
“Not yet. I’ve been on duty all day, dear. Only just free. I rang up
Cacciola, but he wasn’t in, or I’d have gone around to his place
instead of coming here. How’s Grace?”
“Terribly down, though she’s been so plucky all day. Come along. She’s
dying to see you!”
He was shocked at the change these few days had wrought in Grace. As
he had been prevented from attending the wedding he had not seen her
for nearly a fortnight. Her radiant girlhood had vanished; she looked
ten years older, a woman scathed by sorrow; and yet it struck him that
in some subtle way she had become more beautiful, or rather that her
beauty was spiritualized.
In the brief interval before he entered she had pulled herself
together--only with Winnie, her closest girl-friend, would she betray
any sign of weakness--and greeted him with a smile that belied the
tragic intensity of her grey eyes.
They had exchanged but a few sentences when there were other
arrivals--her father, and Mr. Iverson the vicar, who somehow brought
with him a breezy breath of comfort. Grace gave him both her hands.
“Oh, _padre_, how good to see you.”
“You’d have seen me before if I’d known where to find you; but Mrs.
Armitage was out when I called this afternoon, and I was just going
round again when I met your father, and here we are. We’ve been talking
hard all the way from the bus, and I know all about everything so far.
Roger’s keeping his heart up and so are you? Good!”
“Trying to, _padre_.”
“You’re going to, both of you, all the time, however long or short it
is. It’s a black streak, child, but the help and guidance will come
day by day till you’re through it and out into the sunshine again.”
“I’ve been telling the vicar about this money trouble, darling,”
interposed Mr. Armitage, “and----”
“Just so; and we shall soon get over that. The house will go into
committee on ways and means, so come along. What’s the state of the
exchequer?”
“Roger has just over six hundred in the bank.”
“Splendid, and your father can find another six fifty.”
“Two hundred and fifty of that’s from himself, Grace,” said her father.
“He insists.”
“Now, look here, Armitage, that’s sheer breach of confidence, and
you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Let’s be thankful I have it to
spare--which wouldn’t have been the case a year or two ago.”
Then Austin after a rapid mental calculation, chimed in:
“Bully for you, _padre_! Put me down for the same to start, and I’ll be
able to raise as much again, or more in a week or two. I’d give every
dollar, every red cent I have to help clear old Roger.”
He exchanged a swift glance with Winnie, who nodded delighted approval.
She knew perfectly well that his impulsive offer meant that their own
wedding might have to be delayed perhaps for years, but that weighed as
nothing with Roger’s life and liberty in the opposite scale.
“George and I too,” she said. “I’ve told Grace so already. I don’t know
how much yet, Mr. Iverson, but I’ve lots of engagements for Christmas
and after--good ones, too--so I shall be quite rich.”
The vicar beamed round at them all and rubbed the shining little bald
circle on his crown in a way he had when he was pleased. That bald
patch, set round with curly, iron-grey hair, was one of his innocent
little vanities. It was perfectly natural, but it did look so like a
real tonsure!
“Now isn’t that capital! Nearly two thousand pounds in less than five
minutes. Lots to go on with; and we shall get the rest long before
it’s wanted. ‘Hope for the best and prepare to meet the worst,’ is an
excellent maxim.”
His incorrigible optimism was infectious; it cheered them all as no
amount of conventional and lugubrious sympathy could have done; and
his acceptance of Roger’s innocence as a fact that need not even be
discussed, and would assuredly be established, was an unspeakable
comfort to Grace, whose loyal and sensitive soul had been so cruelly
tortured by the doubt of others, and by her own mother’s attitude above
all.
He declared his conviction that the first theory advanced and then
abandoned was the right one: that the deed had been committed by some
casual miscreant, who would yet be discovered.
Austin said nothing of his own newer theory, to the secret surprise of
both Winnie and Grace, who, however, followed his example, supposing he
thought it best to keep silence for the present, even among themselves.
“How curious that Mr. Cacciola should be mixed up with it all, in a
way,” remarked the vicar.
“Do you know him, sir?” asked Austin quickly.
“Only slightly, but I like him immensely. He’s a Catholic, of
course--and a good one, I should say. I often encounter him on Sunday
mornings, on his way from Mass; and we walk along and yarn in all amity
so far as our road lies together. That’s as things should be, to my
mind! And he’s really most generous--often comes to play and brings his
pupils to our little parish concerts, as _you_ know, Miss Winston.”
Winnie nodded.
“Yes, the _maestro_ is the kindest old thing imaginable, and so
simple--not a bit of side.”
“He’s a genius,” said the vicar. “And I think true genius always is
simple. I met him this afternoon, of all places in the world in the
post office itself.”
“_The_ post office?” cried Grace. “Not where--not Mrs. Cave’s?”
“Yes. It was when I was on my way from your house, Armitage. I looked
in for a chat with Mrs. Cave, and little Jessie, who really haven’t got
over the shock yet. It will be a long time before they do, and they
talk of giving up the shop as soon as they can find another. No wonder.”
“The telephone booth is partitioned off now, by order of the police,”
said Austin.
“Yes, very necessary, of course; but awkward for the Caves, for it
means that they have to go out at the shop door and in at the side one
before they can get to their own rooms. I was just consoling the good
lady--with the suggestion that now she would have more walks abroad and
fresh air than she’s had for years; no use condoling, you know, that
would only make things seem worse than they are--when in comes Mr.
Cacciola and his niece, one of the loveliest girls I’ve ever seen in my
life.”
“His niece! I didn’t know he had one--not in England!” exclaimed Winnie.
“Nor I till now. But I think she must have been educated here, she
speaks English so well; though possibly she has not been with him
all the time. I should certainly have remembered her if I’d seen her
before--such a remarkably beautiful girl. She’s to make her début
soon--as a violinist. And what do you suppose was their errand to-day?
That young girl actually wanted to see the place where poor Lady Rawson
was murdered, and worried her uncle till he brought her across and
asked Mrs. Cave to show it them!”
“Morbid curiosity isn’t confined to young people,” Mr. Armitage
remarked.
“Quite so, but it’s unhealthy in anyone, and very distressing in a
girl like that. As a matter of fact, I went round with them myself.
I offered to as Mrs. Cave was alone in the shop--Jessie was out; and
I was glad of the opportunity, not from ‘morbid curiosity,’ I assure
you, but simply so that I could see the place for myself. It seems so
incredible that anyone could be murdered like that in a shop actually
full of people, and the murderer get clean away, unless you’ve seen the
place. It might have been made on purpose--a regular death-trap--for
the booth is really in a narrow passage that at some time has been
thrown into the shop, and the door of it opens outwards, towards the
shop. Just beyond is the scullery-place, and _I_ think it probable the
murderer was lurking there when Jessie Jackson came down to help her
aunt. And close at hand, on the right, is the street door, through
which he simply walked out.”
“The police think he went out through the garden door,” said Austin.
“Just like ’em. But they’re wrong. Why? Because Sadler’s cab was
standing outside the _street_ door, where it was the work of an instant
to throw the bag through the window. If the criminal had gone down the
garden and out at that door he’d have had to come all the way back to
pass the cab. And he’d never have done that; he’d have bolted _down_
the street.”
“I guess you’re right, vicar. And then he tried to steal the cab. Some
nerve!”
“Wrong again. That was a bit of boyish mischief.”
“What in thunder makes you say that?”
“Because I happen to know. It will all come out at the next
hearing--inquest or police court, or both. However that’s only a
detail.”
“What did the girl--the _maestro’s_ niece--say?” asked Winnie.
“Ah! Of course, I was speaking of them. She _said_ very little, but,
do you know, her manner rather shocked me. It takes a lot to do that!
She seemed positively to gloat over that horrible, tragic, dark corner.
Cacciola was quite distressed, and remonstrated with her--at least I’m
sure he did, though he spoke in Italian, which I don’t understand,
and she answered him very briefly, in a passionate whisper, and then
simply walked off, and Cacciola made a sort of incoherent apology
and hurried after her. I couldn’t help thinking there was something
mentally wrong--a most grievous thing, especially in one so young and
beautiful and talented.”
Austin Starr sat listening intently, but neither then nor later, when
the elder men had gone, did he say that he knew aught of Maddelena
Cacciola, though why he kept silence he really did not know.