THE INSPECTOR INTERVIEWS CYRIL
Cyril felt the muscles of his face stiffen. He had for days been
dreading some such question, yet now that it had finally come, it had
found him completely unprepared. He must parry it if he could. He must
fight for her till the last ditch.
But how devilishly clever of Griggs to have deferred his attack until he
was able to catch his adversary off his guard! Cyril looked keenly but,
he hoped, calmly at the Inspector. Their eyes met, but without the clash
which Cyril had expected. The man's expression, although searching, was
not hostile; in fact, there was something almost apologetic about his
whole attitude. Griggs was not sure of his ground, that much was
obvious. He knew something, he probably suspected more, but there was
still a chance that he might be led away from the trail.
Cyril's mind worked with feverish rapidity. He realised that it was
imperative that his manner should appear perfectly natural. But how
would an innocent man behave? He must first decide what his position,
viewed from Griggs's standpoint, really was. He must have a definite
conception of his part before he attempted to act it.
The Inspector evidently knew that a young woman, who bore Cyril's name,
had been taken ill on the Newhaven train. He was no doubt also aware
that she was now under the care of Dr. Stuart-Smith. But if the
Inspector really believed the girl to be his wife, these facts were in
no way incriminating. Yet the man smelt a rat! He must, therefore, know
more of the truth. No, for if he had discovered that the girl was not
Lady Wilmersley, Cyril was sure that Griggs would not have broached the
subject so tentatively. What then had aroused the man's suspicions? Ah,
he had it! He had told every one who inquired about his wife that she
was still on the continent. Peter, also, obeying his orders, had
repeated the same story in the servants' hall. And, of course, Griggs
knew that they were both lying. No wonder he was suspicious!
"She is much better, thank you. But how did you hear of her illness? I
have not mentioned it to any one." Cyril flattered himself that his
voice had exactly the right note of slightly displeased surprise. He
watched the Inspector breathlessly. Had he said the right thing? Yes,
for Griggs's expression relaxed and he answered with a smile that was
almost deprecating:
"I, of course, saw the report of the man who searched the train, and I
was naturally surprised to find that the only lady who had taken her
ticket in Newhaven was Mrs. Cyril Crichton. In a case like this we have
to verify everything, so when I discovered that the gentleman who was
with her, was undoubtedly your Lordship, it puzzled me a good deal why
both you and your valet should be so anxious to keep her Ladyship's
presence in England a secret."
"Yes, yes, it must have astonished you, and I confess I am very sorry
you found me out," said Cyril. He had his cue now. The old lie must be
told once more. "Her Ladyship is suffering from a--a nervous affection."
He hesitated purposely. "In fact--she has just left an insane asylum,"
he finally blurted out.
"You mean that the present Lady Wilmersley--not the Dowager--?" The
Inspector was too surprised to finish his sentence.
"Yes, it's queer, isn't it, that both should be afflicted in the same
way," agreed Cyril, calmly lighting a cigarette.
"Most remarkable," ejaculated Griggs, staring fixedly at Cyril.
"As the doctors believe that her Ladyship will completely recover, I
didn't want any one to know that she had ever been unbalanced. But I
might have known that it was bound to leak out."
"We are no gossips, my lord; I shall not mention what you have told me
to any one."
"Thanks. But if the whole police department----?"
"They have got too much to do, to bother about what doesn't concern
them. I don't believe a dozen of them noticed that in searching the
train for one Lady Wilmersley, they had inadvertently stumbled on
another, and as the latter had nothing to do with their case, they
probably dismissed the whole thing from their minds. I know them!"
"But you--" suggested Cyril.
"Well, you see, it's different with me. It's the business of my men to
bring me isolated facts, but I have to take a larger view of
the--the--the--ah--possibilities. I have got to think of
everything--suspect every one."
"Even me?" asked Cyril quickly.
"Your Lordship would have no difficulty in proving an alibi."
"So you took the trouble to find that out?"
"Of course, my lord."
"But why? I should really like to know what could have led you to
suspect me?"
"I didn't suspect you, my lord. I only thought of you. You see, Lady
Wilmersley must have had an accomplice and you must acknowledge that it
was a strange coincidence that your Lordship should have happened to
pass through Newhaven at that particular moment, especially as the
Newhaven route is not very popular with people of your means."
"Quite so. As a matter of fact, I had no intention of taking it, but I
missed the Calais train."
"I see," Griggs nodded his head as if the explanation fully satisfied
him. "Would you mind, my lord," he continued after a brief pause, "if,
now that we are on the subject, I asked you a few questions? There are
several points which are bothering me. Of course, don't answer, if you
had rather not."
"You mean if my answers are likely to incriminate me. Well, I don't
think they will, so fire ahead," drawled Cyril, trying to express by his
manner a slight weariness of the topic.
"Thank you, my lord." Griggs looked a trifle abashed, but he persisted.
"I have been wondering how it was that you met her Ladyship in Newhaven,
if you had no previous intention of taking that route?"
Cyril was ready with his answer.
"It was quite accidental. The fact is, her Ladyship escaped from an
asylum near Fontainebleau over a fortnight ago. I scoured France for her
but finally gave up the search, and leaving the French detectives to
follow up any clue that might turn up, I decided almost on the spur of
the moment to run over to England. I was never more astonished than when
I found her on the train."
"Why had she gone to Newhaven?" asked Griggs.
"I have no idea."
"Nor how long she stayed there?"
"No. She was rather excited and I asked no questions."
"Had she ever before visited Newhaven to your knowledge?"
"Never."
"Then she did not know the late Lord Wilmersley?"
"No."
"Was there any reason for this?" inquired the detective, looking keenly
at Cyril.
"I was never very friendly with my cousin, and we sailed for South
Africa immediately after our marriage. Neither of us has been home since
then."
"I must find out where she spent the night of the murder," murmured the
Inspector. He seemed to have forgotten Cyril's presence.
"If you think her Ladyship had anything to do with the tragedy, I assure
you, you are on the wrong track," cried Cyril, forgetting for a moment
his pose of polite aloofness. "She has never been at all violent. It is
chiefly her memory that is affected. Until the last few days what she
did one minute, she forgot the next."
"You think, therefore, that she would not be able to tell me how she
spent her time in Newhaven?"
"I am sure of it."
"That is most unfortunate! By the way, how has she taken the news of
Lord Wilmersley's murder?"
"She has not been told of it. She does not even know that he is dead."
"Ah!"
"I see I must explain her case more fully, so that you may be able to
understand my position. Her Ladyship's mind became affected about six
months ago, owing to causes into which I need not enter now. Since her
arrival in England her improvement has been very rapid. Her memory is
growing stronger, but it is essential that it should not be taxed for
the present. The doctor assures me that if she is kept perfectly quiet
for a month or so, she will recover completely. That is why I want her
to remain in absolute seclusion. An incautious word might send her off
her balance. She must be protected from people, and I will protect her,
I warn you of that. Six weeks from now, if all goes well, you can
cross-question her, if you still think it necessary, but at present I
not only forbid it, but I will do all in my power to prevent it. Of
course," continued Cyril more calmly, "I have neither the power nor the
desire to hamper you in the exercise of your profession; so if you doubt
my statements just ask Dr. Stuart-Smith whether he thinks her Ladyship
has ever been in a condition when she might have committed murder. He
will laugh at you, I am sure."
"I don't doubt it, my lord; all the same--" Griggs hesitated.
"All the same you would like to know what her Ladyship did on the night
of the murder. Well, find out, if you can. I assure you that although
our motives differ, my curiosity equals yours."
"Thank you, my lord. I shall certainly do my best to solve the riddle,"
said the Inspector as he bowed himself out.
Cyril sank wearily into a chair. The interview had been a great strain,
and yet he felt that in a way it had been a relief also. He flattered
himself that he had played his cards rather adroitly. For now that he
had found out exactly how much the police knew, he might possibly
circumvent them. Of course, it was merely a question of days, perhaps
even of hours, before Griggs would discover that the girl was not his
wife; for the Inspector was nothing if not thorough and if he once began
searching Newhaven for evidence of her stay there, Cyril was sure that
it would not take him long to establish her identity. Oh! If he only had
Griggs fighting on his side, instead of the little pompous fool of a
Judson! By the way, what could have become of Judson? It was now two
full days since he had left Geralton. He certainly ought to have
reported himself long before this. Well, it made no difference one way
or the other. He was a negligible quantity. Cyril had no time to think
of him now. His immediate concern was to find a way by which Priscilla
could be surreptitiously removed from the nursing home, before the
police had time to collect sufficient evidence to warrant her arrest.
But how was it to be done? Cyril sat for half an hour staring at the
smouldering fire before he was able to hit on a plan that seemed to him
at all feasible.
Going to the writing-table, he rapidly covered three sheets and thrust
them into an envelope.
"Peter," he called.
"Yes, sir," answered a sleepy voice.
"You are to take this letter at half-past seven o'clock to-morrow
morning to Mr. Campbell's rooms and give it into his own hands. If he is
still asleep, wake him up. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Very well. You can go to bed now----"
It was lucky, thought Cyril, that he had taken Guy into his confidence.
He was a good chap, Guy was! How he must hate the whole business! For,
notwithstanding his careless manner, he was _au fond_ a conventional
soul. It was really comical to think of that impeccable person as a
receiver of stolen property. What would he do with the jewels, Cyril
wondered. Ah, that reminded him of the bag. He must get rid of it at
once. Poking the fire into a blaze, he cautiously locked the two doors
which connected his rooms with the rest of the house. Then, having
assured himself that the blinds were carefully drawn and that no one was
secreted about the premises, he knelt down before the empty fireplace in
his bedroom and felt up the chimney.
The bag was no longer there!