THE DETECTIVE DETECTS
"A very pale yellow!" Cyril was dumb-founded.
Every fact, every inference had seemed to prove beyond the shadow of a
doubt that his _protegee_ and Lady Wilmersley were one and the same
person. Was it possible that she could have worn a wig? No, for he
remembered that in lifting her veil, he had inadvertently pulled her
hair a little and had admired the way it grew on her temples.
"Why does the colour of her ladyship's hair interest you, my lord?"
again inquired the detective.
Cyril blushed with confusion as he realised that all three men were
watching him with evident astonishment. What a fool he was not to have
been able to conceal his surprise! What answer could he give them?
However, as it was not his cousin's murderess he was hiding, he felt he
had nothing to fear from the detective, so ignoring him he turned to Mr.
Twombley and said with a forced laugh:
"I must be losing my mind, for I distinctly remember hearing a friend of
mine rave about Lady Wilmersley's dark beauty." Rather a fishy
explanation, thought poor Cyril; but really his powers of invention were
exhausted. Would it satisfy them?
He glanced sharply at the detective. The latter was no longer looking at
him, but was contemplating his watch-chain with absorbed attention.
"Hah, hah! Rather a joke, what?" laughed Twombley. "Never had seen her,
I suppose; no one ever did, you know, except out driving."
"It was either a silly joke or my memory is in a bad shape," said Cyril.
"Luckily it is a matter of no consequence. What is of vital importance,
however," he continued, turning to the detective, "is that her ladyship
should be secured immediately. No one is safe while she is still at
large."
"It is unfortunate," replied the detective, "that no photograph of her
ladyship can be found, but we have telegraphed her description all over
the country."
"What is her description, by the way?"
"Here it is, my lord," said Judson, handing Cyril a printed sheet.
"Height, 5 feet 3; weight, about 9 stone 2; hair, very fair, inclined to
be wavy; nose, straight; mouth, small; eyes, blue; face, oval," read
Cyril. "Well, I suppose that will have to do, but of course that
description would fit half the women in England."
"That's the trouble, my lord."
"Mr. Twombley, when you said just now that no one knew her, did you mean
that literally?"
"Nobody in the county did; I'm sure of that."
"And you, Mr. James? Is it possible that even you never saw her?"
"I have never spoken to her."
"Then so far as you know, the only person outside the castle she could
communicate with was the doctor. What sort of a man is he?"
"What doctor are you speaking of?" inquired the vicar.
"Why, the doctor who had charge of her case, of course," replied Cyril
impatiently.
"I never heard of her having a doctor."
"Do you mean to say that Wilmersley kept her in confinement without
orders from a physician?"
"No, I suppose not. Of course not. There must have been some one,"
faltered the vicar a trifle abashed.
"You never, however, inquired by what authority he kept his wife shut
up?"
"I never insulted Lord Wilmersley by questioning the wisdom of his
conduct or the integrity of his motives, and I repeat that there was
undoubtedly some physician in attendance on Lady Wilmersley, only I do
not happen to know who he is."
"Well, I must clear this matter up at once. Please ring the bell,
Judson."
A minute later the butler appeared.
"Who was her ladyship's physician?" demanded Cyril.
"My lady never 'ad one; leastways not till yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
"Yes, my lord, yesterday afternoon two gentlemen drove up in a fly and
one of them says 'is name is Dr. Brown and that 'e was expected, and 'is
lordship said as how I was to show them in here, and so I did."
"You think they came to see her ladyship?"
"Yes, my lord, and at dinner her ladyship seemed very much upset. She
didn't eat a morsel, though 'is lordship urged 'er ever so."
"But why should a doctor's visit upset her ladyship?"
The butler pursed his lips and looked mysterious. "I can't say, my
lord."
"Nonsense, you've some idea in your head. Out with it!"
"Well, my lord, me and Charles, we thought as she was afraid they were
going to lock 'er up."
Cyril started slightly.
"Ah! If they had done so long ago!" exclaimed the vicar, clasping his
hands.
"But, sir, her ladyship wasn't crazy! They all say so, but it isn't
true. Me and Charles 'ave watched 'er at table day in and day out and
we're willing to swear that she isn't any more crazy than--than me!
Please excuse the liberty, but I never thought 'er ladyship was treated
right, I never did."
"Why, you told me yourself that his lordship was devoted to her."
"So 'e was, my lord, so 'e was." The man shuffled uneasily.
"If her ladyship is not insane, why do you think his lordship kept her a
prisoner here?"
"Well, my lord, some people 'ave thought that it was jealousy as made
him do it."
"That," exclaimed the vicar, "is a vile calumny, which I have done my
best to refute."
"So jealousy was the motive generally ascribed to my cousin's treatment
of his wife?"
"Not generally, far from it; but I regret to say that there are people
who professed to believe it."
"Did her ladyship have a nurse?" asked Cyril, addressing the butler.
"No, my lord, only a maid."
"Mrs. Valdriguez is a very respectable person, my lord."
"Mrs. What?" demanded Cyril.
"Mrs. Valdriguez."
"What a queer name."
"Perhaps, my lord, I don't pronounce it just right. Mrs. Valdriguez is
Spanish."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, my lord, she was here first in the time of Lord Wilmersley's
mother, and 'is lordship brought 'er back again when he returned from
'is 'oneymoon. Lady Wilmersley never left these rooms without 'aving
either 'is lordship, Mustapha, or Valdriguez with 'er."
"Very good, Douglas, you can go now."
"A pretty state of things!" cried Cyril when the door closed behind the
butler. "Here in civilised England a poor young creature is kept in
confinement with a Spanish woman and a Turk to watch over her, and no
one thinks of demanding an investigation! It's monstrous!"
"My boy, you're right. Never liked the man myself--confess it now--but I
didn't know anything against him. Pretty difficult to interfere, what?
Never occurred to me to do so."
"I am deeply pained by your attitude to your unfortunate cousin, who
paid with his life for his devotion to an afflicted woman. I feel it my
duty to say that your suspicions are unworthy of you. I must go now; I
have some parochial duties to attend to." And with scant ceremony the
vicar stalked out of the room.
"It's getting late, I see. Must be off too. Can't be late for
dinner--wife, you know. Why don't you come with me--gloomy
here--delighted to put you up. Do come," urged Twombley.
"Thanks awfully, not to-night. I'm dead beat. It's awfully good of you
to suggest it, though."
"Not at all; sorry you won't come. See you at the inquest," said
Twombley as he took his departure followed by the coroner.
Cyril remained where they left him. He was too weary to move. Before him
on the desk lay his cousin's blotter. Its white surface still bore the
impress of the latter's thick, sprawling handwriting. That chair not so
many hours ago had held his unwieldy form. The murdered man's presence
seemed to permeate the room. Cyril shuddered involuntarily. The heavy,
perfume-laden air stifled him. What was that? He could hear nothing but
the tumultuous beating of his own heart. Yet he was sure, warned by some
mysterious instinct, that he was not alone. Behind him stood--something.
He longed to move, but terror riveted him to the spot. A vision of his
cousin's baleful eyes rose before him with horrible vividness. He could
feel their vindictive glare scorching him. Was he going mad? Was he a
coward? No, he must face the--thing--come what might. Throwing back his
head defiantly, he wheeled around--the detective was at his elbow! Cyril
gave a gasp of relief and wiped the tell-tale perspiration from his
forehead. He had completely forgotten the fellow. What a shocking state
his nerves were in!
"Can you spare me a few minutes, my lord?" Whenever the detective spoke,
Cyril had the curious impression as of a voice issuing from a fog. So
grey, so effaced, so absolutely characterless was the man's exterior!
His voice, on the other hand, was excessively individual. There lurked
in it a suggestion of assertiveness, of aggressiveness even. Cyril was
conscious of a sudden dread of this strong, insistent personality, lying
as it were at ambush within that envelope of a body, that envelope which
he felt he could never penetrate, which gave no indication whether it
concealed a friend or enemy, a saint or villain.
"I shall not detain you long," Judson added, as Cyril did not answer
immediately.
"Come into the drawing-room," said Cyril, leading the way there.
Thank God, he could breathe freely once more, thought Cyril, as he flung
himself into the comfortable depths of a chintz-covered sofa. How
delightfully wholesome and commonplace was this room! The air, a trifle
chill, notwithstanding the coal fire burning on the hearth, was like
balm to his fevered senses. His very soul felt cleansed and refreshed.
He no longer understood the terror which had so lately possessed him. He
looked at Judson. How could he ever have dignified this remarkably
unremarkable little man with his pompous manner into a mysterious and
possibly hostile force. The thing was absurd.
"Sit down, Judson," said Cyril carelessly.
"My lord, am I not right in supposing that I am unknown to you? By
reputation, I mean."
"Quite," Cyril candidly acknowledged.
"Ah! I thought so. Let me tell you then, my lord, that I am the
receptacle of the secrets of most, if not all, of the aristocracy."
"Indeed!" said Cyril. I'll take good care, he thought, that mine don't
swell the number.
"That being the case, it is clear that my reputation for discretion is
unassailable. You see the force of that argument, my lord?"
"Certainly," replied Cyril wearily.
"Anything, therefore, which I may discover during the course of this
investigation, you may rest assured will be kept absolutely secret." He
paused a moment. "You can, therefore, confide in me without fear,"
continued the detective.
Cyril was surprised and a little startled. What did the man know?
"What makes you think I have anything to confide?" he asked.
"It is quite obvious, my lord, that you are holding something
back--something which would explain your attitude towards Lady
Wilmersley."
"I don't follow you," replied Cyril, on his guard.
"You have given every one to understand that you have never seen her
ladyship. You take up a stranger's cause very warmly, my lord."
"I trust I shall always espouse the cause of every persecuted woman."
"But how are you sure that she was persecuted? Every one praises his
lordship's devotion to her. He gave her everything she could wish for
except liberty. If she was insane, his conduct deserves great praise."
"But I am sure she is not."
"But you yourself urged me to secure her as soon as possible because you
were afraid she might do further harm," Judson reminded him.
"That was before I heard Douglas's testimony. He has seen her daily for
three years and swears she is sane."
"And the opinion of an ignorant servant is sufficient to make you
condemn his lordship without further proof?"
Cyril moved uneasily.
"If Lady Wilmersley is perfectly sane, it seems to me incredible that
she did not manage to escape years ago. A note dropped out of her
carriage would have brought the whole countryside to her rescue. Why,
she had only to appeal to this very same butler, who is convinced of her
sanity, and Lord Wilmersley could not have prevented her from leaving
the castle. Public opinion would have protected her."
"That is true," acknowledged Cyril, "but her spirit may have been
broken."
"What was there to break it? We hear only of his lordship's almost
excessive devotion. No, my lord, I can't help thinking that you are
judging both Lord and Lady Wilmersley by facts of which I am ignorant."
Cyril did not know what to answer. He had at first championed Lady
Wilmersley because he had believed her to be his _protegee_, but now
that it had been proved that she was not, why was he still convinced
that she had in some way been a victim of her husband's cruelty? He had
to acknowledge that beyond a vague distrust of his cousin he had not
only no adequate reason, but no reason at all, for his suspicions.
"You are mistaken," he said at last; "I am withholding nothing that
could in any way assist you to unravel this mystery. I confess I neither
liked nor trusted my cousin. I had no special reason. It was simply a
case of Dr. Fell. I know no more than you do of his treatment of her
ladyship. But doesn't the choice of a Turk and a Spaniard as attendants
on Lady Wilmersley seem to you open to criticism?"
"Not necessarily, my lord. We trust most those we know best. Lord
Wilmersley had spent the greater part of his life with Turks and
Spaniards. It therefore seems to me quite natural that when it came to
selecting guardians for her ladyship, he should have chosen a man and a
woman he had presumably known for some years, whose worth he had proved,
whose fidelity he could rely on."
"That sounds plausible," agreed Cyril; "still I can't help thinking it
very peculiar, to say the least, that Lady Wilmersley was not under a
doctor's care."
"Her ladyship may have been too unbalanced to mingle with people, and
yet not in a condition to require medical attention. Such cases are not
uncommon."
"True, and yet I have a feeling that Douglas was right, when he assured
us that her ladyship is not insane. You discredit his testimony on the
ground that he is an ignorant man. But if a man of sound common-sense
has the opportunity of observing a woman daily during three years, it
seems to me that his opinion cannot be lightly ignored. You never knew
my cousin. Well, I did, and as I said before, he was a man who inspired
me with the profoundest distrust, although I cannot cite one fact to
justify my aversion. I cannot believe that he ever sacrificed himself
for any one and am much more inclined to credit Douglas's suggestion
that it was jealousy which led him to keep her ladyship in such strict
seclusion. But why waste our time in idle conjectures when it is so easy
to find out the truth? Those two doctors who saw her yesterday must be
found. If they are men of good reputation, of course I shall accept
their report as final."
"Very good, my lord, I will at once have an advertisement inserted in
all the papers asking them to communicate with us. If that does not
fetch them, I shall employ other means of tracing them."
"Has Lady Upton, her ladyship's grandmother, been heard from?"
"She wired this morning asking for further particulars. Mr. Twombley
answered her, I believe."
A slight pause ensued during which Judson watched Cyril as if expecting
him to speak.
"And you have still nothing to say to me, my lord?" The detective spoke
with evident disappointment.
"No, what else should I have to say?" replied Cyril with some surprise.
"That is, of course, for you to judge, my lord." His meaning was
unmistakable. Cyril flushed angrily. Was it possible that the man dared
to doubt his word? Dared to disbelieve his positive assertion that he
knew nothing whatsoever about the murder? The damnable--suddenly he
remembered! Remembered the lies he had been so glibly telling all day.
Why should any one believe him in future? His ignominy was probably
already stamped on his face.
"I have nothing more to say," replied Cyril in a strangely meek voice.
"That being the case, I'd better be off," said Judson, rising slowly
from his chair.
"Where are you going now?"
"I can't quite tell, my lord. It is my intention to vanish, so to
speak."
"Vanish."
"Yes, my lord. I work best in the dark; but you will hear from me as
soon as I have something definite to report."
"I hope you will be successful," said Cyril.
"Thank you; I've never failed so far in anything I have undertaken. I
must, however, warn you, my lord, that investigations sometimes lead to
conclusions which no one could have foreseen when they were started. I
always make a point of reminding my employers of this possibility."
What the devil was the man driving at, thought Cyril; did he suspect him
by any chance? That would be really too absurd! The man was an ass.
"I shall never quarrel with you for discovering the truth," said Cyril,
drawing himself up to his full height and glaring fiercely down at the
little grey man. Then, turning abruptly on his heel he stalked
indignantly out of the room, slamming the door behind him.