PLAIN TRUTH
The man and the woman, meeting thus suddenly in the silence of the
big, barrack-like building, paused involuntarily, and looked at each
other in a questioning surprise. To the man, all the difficulty, the
delicacy, the undoubted unpleasantness of his position rose up with new
and telling force; he realized how thankful he would be to run away
from his self-imposed task, and it was only when he thought of the
seriousness of that task that his face grew set and his eyes stern. It
needed no second glance at set face and stern eyes to tell the woman
that trouble stood in her path; she had felt that as soon as she saw
the military figure, rendered more striking by the vacant sleeve which
was pinned up to the square, well-thrown-out chest advancing upon her.
For a moment she blanched, and a sudden pang shot through her heart.
She noted it with a vague curiosity, wondering, amongst all her other
thoughts, if her heart had become affected. But her woman’s wit, the
sense of her own danger, the knowledge that she herself, having got
Sophie Guyner out of the way, had only come to the flat to obtain
certain articles before leaving it for ever, steeled her nerves. She
summoned up a smile of astonishment.
“Captain Blair!” she exclaimed.
Captain Blair made a stiff and ceremonious bow.
“Good evening, Mrs. Walsingham,” he said politely. “I have just called
at your flat, but I could get no response to my ring. May I see you
for a few moments?”
“Certainly, Captain Blair,” answered Mrs. Walsingham. “I’m sorry you
got no answer, but I believe my maid has gone to the theatre. I am
usually home before this time, but I’m a little late to-night.”
“I am informed that you were generally to be found at home about a
quarter to eight,” said Blair following her along the corridor.
“As a rule,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She produced a latch-key, and
opening the door of her flat, motioned her visitor to enter. “Come
in, Captain Blair,” she said, and she pointed to the open door of the
drawing-room.
Blair walked in, again wishing that he could run away. He glanced
rapidly around him and noted the abundant evidences of refinement
and taste--the books, the pictures, the old china and glass. But he
suddenly remembered another side of his hostess’s character, and he
became ice-cold to all but the needs of the moment, which were, after
all, that he should speak plainly and firmly.
“Sit down,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She dropped into an easy chair, with
her back to the light, and looked at her visitor. And it seemed to
Blair that in her eyes there was something of an amused speculation, if
not of a careless defiance.
“Mrs. Walsingham,” he began. “I--I have called to see you upon business
which is--er----”
“Unpleasant!” she said quickly. “Unpleasant!”
“How do you know that?” asked Blair.
“Because I cannot suppose you would call on any other business,” she
answered. “Well, let us discuss it, then--I am pressed for time, for I
have to go out again.”
Blair looked at her steadily. He saw that he was dealing with a woman
who would probably care little for anything he might say--it would
be best, then, perhaps, to be brief and plain, even to the verge of
brutality.
“I have called, Mrs. Walsingham, on behalf of my friend, Captain
Burgoyne,” he said. “You are doubtless aware that Captain Burgoyne is
very much attached to young Mr. Richard Shrewsbury, to whom you are
engaged to be married?”
“Well?” said Mrs. Walsingham.
“Captain Burgoyne,” continued Blair, “does not approve of that
engagement.”
Mrs. Walsingham laughed.
“He would be glad to see Mr. Shrewsbury released from it,” said Blair.
Mrs. Walsingham laughed again.
“In fact,” said Blair, “Mr. Shrewsbury must be released from it. Must!”
Mrs. Walsingham ceased to laugh. She sat up, and an angry spot showed
itself in each cheek.
“Must!” she exclaimed. “And why ‘must,’ Captain Blair? What right has
Captain Burgoyne to say ‘must’ to me?”
“I am here to explain to you why Captain Burgoyne says ‘must,’”
answered Blair. “The fact is, Mrs. Walsingham, Captain Burgoyne,
whether you know it or not, has got what is commonly called the whip
hand.”
“Over me?” she said.
“Over you!” said Blair, quietly. “Over you. Unmistakably and
undoubtedly, over you. So he gives you an alternative. Either you will
give up, dismiss, get rid of--anything you like to call it, so long as
the reality is there--young Shrewsbury, or----”
“Or--what?” she demanded sharply.
“Or you go to prison,” answered Blair. “To prison.”
Mrs. Walsingham drew in her breath sharply. She favoured her visitor
with a cool and a long stare. Finally she shook her head.
“I am not good at riddles, Captain Blair,” she said. “Will you have the
goodness to tell me what this is about.”
“I am quite sure that you know what it is about,” answered Blair.
“What I think you do not know is that Captain Burgoyne knows more than
you think he knows. You made a false step, Mrs. Walsingham, when you
allowed young Shrewsbury to buy the imitation necklace from his friend.”
Mrs. Walsingham showed no sign of agitation or fear. By that time she
was ready and prepared for anything, and she turned apparently innocent
and wondering eyes on her visitor.
“This is so much Greek to me,” she said lightly. “Be plain, if you
please, Captain Blair.”
“Very good,” responded Blair. “Then perhaps I had better tell you what
we know----”
She interrupted him with an arch laugh.
“‘We!’” she repeated. “Oh--so you, too, are concerned. I thought as
much, the other night.”
“I speak as Captain Burgoyne’s friend,” continued Blair. “What we
know is this--Before he left England for South America, three years
ago, Captain Burgoyne deposited with your late employer, Mr. Barclay
Leverton, a diamond necklace as security for a loan of five thousand
pounds. That necklace Mr. Leverton placed in his safe. You abstracted
that necklace from that safe very shortly afterwards; you had a
facsimile of it skilfully manufactured, and you put the facsimile where
the real article should have been. Then you----”
“Wait a minute, if you please,” said Mrs. Walsingham, interrupting him
with a lifted hand. “Is this all surmise or is it knowledge?”
“That you shall see for yourself,” replied Blair, “Let me go on.
You then went to a well-known jeweller and pawnbroker, who is quite
prepared to give evidence against you--ah, I thought that would
surprise you, Mrs. Walsingham!--and you pawned the real necklace for
a thousand pounds on a special contract, under the terms of which you
paid so much interest every six months. Frequently, that jeweller
endeavoured to buy the necklace from you, but you would never consent
to a sale, and eventually you redeemed the necklace by paying back the
thousand pounds which had been lent to you. That was quite recently.
You had a deep scheme in your mind. And you believed, Mrs. Walsingham,
that Captain Burgoyne was unaware that what had been delivered to
him by the late Mr. Leverton’s executors was mere paste! But Captain
Burgoyne was not unaware. He discovered that fact almost at once.
And--he quickly suspected you. And then, a trap was laid for you. You
are a very clever young woman, but you walked into that trap as easily
as we could wish.”
Mrs. Walsingham made no answer. She had none to make. For one of the
few times in her experience, she was genuinely surprised. She had
firmly believed that her dealings and transactions with Mr. Wiertz
were sacredly secret--yet here was this man with the stern eyes fully
cognizant of them. It might be that he was also cognizant of what had
taken place between her and Mr. Wiertz that morning. So she remained
silent, listening intently.
“I say you walked into that trap,” continued the level-toned voice.
“We were sure that you had the genuine necklace, and so we contrived
that you should have the sham one also. We knew that when you had both
in your possession you would feel safe. We also knew that you would be
sure to begin wearing the real necklace. And we gave you an opportunity
of wearing it, and you did wear it. Then, of course, we knew all. It
would make a very pretty story in a criminal court, Mrs. Walsingham.”
Mrs. Walsingham gazed at her persecutor with sullen eyes.
“I believe you engineered all that,” she said suddenly. “I’m sure you
did. Burgoyne hasn’t the brains to have done it. But you can’t prove
anything of it. Whatever it was that Burgoyne sold the boy, the boy
bought for genuine, and Burgoyne sold for genuine, and the boy paid his
money--ten thousand pounds. What do you say to that, pray?”
“Only that Mr. Richard Shrewsbury’s cheque for ten thousand pounds has
never been presented by Captain Burgoyne, and never will be, and that
we can prove that what was handed to him was the imitation necklace
which you had caused to be manufactured and of which, at that very
moment, you possessed the original,” answered Blair. “It’s no use
quibbling, Mrs. Walsingham--the case against you is complete. You had
better take our terms while we are inclined to be merciful.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
Blair drew out his pocket-book.
“A mere written acknowledgment of the fact that you abstracted the
necklace from Mr. Leverton’s safe will do,” he said, producing a sheet
of note-paper on which some lines were written. “Perhaps you will read
this.”
Mrs. Walsingham looked the confession over.
“I will sign that,” she said. “I did take the necklace.” And she took
up a pen from her writing-desk close by and dashed off her signature,
and handed the paper back. “And I suppose that’s all?” she asked.
Blair was more than a little astonished at her coolness. The matter
seemed to be one of absolute indifference to her. He began to wonder if
she was tricking him in some way. Yet--there was her signature.
“All,” he said, “except--the return of the genuine necklace. You must
give me that.”
But Mrs. Walsingham shook her head.
“No!” she said firmly. “I shall do no such thing. It is not yours, at
any rate. If I give it back to anybody it will be to its legal owner,
whether that’s Captain Burgoyne or Dick Shrewsbury. It may belong to
one of the two, but it certainly doesn’t belong to you.”
“Captain Burgoyne is at present in Paris,” said Blair.
“And so is the boy,” she remarked. “And I dare say I can guess what has
taken him there--now. Burgoyne has got him over so that you could do
this dirty work in his absence. All right!--but you’ll get nothing out
of me. If either of them want the thing, let them come to me for it.”
“You understand,” said Blair, speaking very slowly, “you understand
that this paper which you have signed will be shown to Mr. Shrewsbury.
It is scarcely probable that he will care to see you after he has read
it and realized what it means.”
Mrs. Walsingham burst into a peal of silvery laughter.
“What do I care whether he cares to see me or not?” she retorted
defiantly. “That’s all over and done with. But I can tell you this, you
solemn-faced old goose, that in spite of that paper, and in spite of
what you say, and in spite of Burgoyne, and of all of you, if I cared
to lift a finger, I could have the boy at my feet again--yes, and keep
him there! Do you hear that, Captain Blair?”
“I hear it, and I doubt it,” replied Blair.
“Well, I don’t, then,” she said. “However, I’m not going to argue with
you. I have business to attend to, and I want to go out. I dare say you
can open the door for yourself.”
Blair unconsciously moved a little towards the door.
“I think that even now you scarcely appreciate your position,” he said.
“I appreciate it only too well,” she replied. “Am I to ask you to leave
me? Or can’t you take a hint?”
“The necklace----” began Blair, “the necklace----”
“Isn’t yours,” she retorted. “Now, go!”
Blair shook his head, went to the door, let himself out, and left her
alone. She sprang to the door and locked it after him. Then, moving
quickly, she went into her bedroom, and opening a small safe which was
let into the wall, she took from it certain articles of jewellery which
she had no mind to leave behind her, together with a pocket-book which
contained money.
Suddenly, as she placed these things in her bag, Mrs. Walsingham heard
a slight sound in the room she had just left. She turned, and in the
gathering gloom saw the door being slowly pushed open towards her.
Round its edge were the fingers of a man’s hand--square-nailed, strong,
suggestive. She looked, hesitated; then her own hand stole into a
pocket of her gown, and her fingers grasped the tiny revolver which she
always carried.