Audrey, when the blow had fallen, neither screamed nor fainted, nor
even moved. She heard the man’s words with a dumb, awful consciousness
that what she had dimly feared had happened, that the crime which had
been committed within these rooms was now attributed to her.
Some vague foreshadowing of this had haunted her from time to time,
long before she guessed that Mr. Candover was concerned in the death
and disappearance of the White Countess. Mademoiselle Laure and the
doctor--the one of them secretly inimical, the other probably
suspicious--these were the witnesses who would both aver that she had
confessed to seeing the White Countess in the rooms, and who would
also be able to bear witness that her excitement and nervous distress
were great, and her bearing inconsistent with the perfect innocence
she professed in the matter.
The men waited respectfully enough for her to speak. At last she
said:--
“I don’t understand. Who is it that accuses me?”
“We can’t answer that, ma’am,” said the man. “We’ve got nothing to do
but just execute orders. And to say that you’d better not say anything
yet, as what you say may be used in evidence against you.”
Audrey shook her head.
“Oh, no,” she said with spirit. “This is all nonsense; there is no
evidence, and there can be no evidence against me. For I can tell who
it was that was last with the woman alive.”
Both men, she thought, looked interested, though they said nothing.
She went on:--
“It was a man whom she called Eugène. But the name by which he is
known here is not Eugène Reynolds, but Reginald Candover.”
“Well, ma’am, you needn’t tell us all this,” said the man who had
stated that he had the warrant. “It won’t do you any good now; but if
you tell it all to your solicitor at the trial, or rather before
then--he’ll find out what he can for you, no doubt.”
“In the meantime, ma’am, if you’ll come along with us,” said the other
man, who now spoke for the first time, “we’ve got to take you before a
magistrate. It will only be the affair of a moment, and then you can
send for your solicitor to see and advise you.”
“We’ve got a cab waiting, ma’am,” said the policeman.
But Audrey shook her head.
“I won’t go away with you,” she said firmly, “until I’ve had an
opportunity of consulting some one.”
The men looked at each other.
“Can’t be done, ma’am, at least not yet. You must go before the
magistrate first,” said the man with the warrant. “Afterwards, every
facility will be given you.”
The other man, more impatient, made a movement as if to hurry her
towards the door. But she hung back, looking so determined, with her
teeth tightly clenched and her breast heaving, and her eyes very
bright, that they hesitated a little as to the best means of
proceeding.
“I won’t go. I simply refuse to go,” she said firmly, “until I’ve had
an opportunity of--of conferring with--with my friends.”
She had at first intended to say that her husband was at hand, but on
second thoughts she hesitated to let Gerard know the dreadful thing
that had happened, without due preparation for the shock it would be
to him. If only she could send word to his solicitor. Things were too
desperate now for her to trouble her head about his former doubts of
Gerard--she would take counsel with him as to the best means of
breaking the news to her husband, and also as to what she ought to do
for her own defence.
“We don’t _want_ to have to use force, ma’am,” said the man with the
warrant, warningly.
For answer Audrey rushed to the nearest window, and was with
difficulty restrained from breaking it with her fists.
“Come, ma’am,” said the second man persuasively, “I’m quite sure a
lady like you don’t want a disturbance. And we’ve done everything as
quiet as possible on your account. We’ve waited about on purpose so as
not to come in while your young ladies were here. And for your own
sake you’d better be quiet. If, as you say, you can tell who did this,
why you may be able to get it all hushed up so that nobody shall know
anything about it. For the sake of your business, ma’am, you’d better
not call a crowd about the place.”
Audrey made them a commanding gesture to stand back. They obeyed, and
stood, the one between her and the window, and the other between her
and the door. She waited a moment, collecting her thoughts. Then she
spoke steadily and quietly, though with quickly drawn breaths and many
pauses:--
“All I want to do is to be allowed to consult some one before I go. I
intend to do this, whatever you may choose to do to try to prevent me.
As for your using force, you will do that at your peril. For I’m quite
sure that what I ask is reasonable enough.”
The man with the warrant nodded to the other.
“Very well, ma’am. If you’ll write a note, I’ll give it to some one to
take for you, and we’ll wait here till your friend, that you write to,
comes back.”
Audrey went into the inner showroom, closely followed by the two men,
opened her writing-desk, and wrote a hurried note to the solicitor who
had been employed by Gerard on his trial, telling him she was accused
of connection with a murder, and asking him to come to her at once.
When she had fastened the envelope, one of the men put out his hand
offering to take it. But she refused, saying that she would send it by
her own messenger.
As a matter of fact, she was wondering whom she was to employ, but
happening to catch an odd look exchanged between the two men, her
suspicions were aroused as to whether they meant the note to be sent
at all.
Perhaps it was against the rules for any communication to be sent in
such a case by a person newly arrested. Perhaps the men would merely
retain the note and hand it over to the magistrate!
With these thoughts in her mind, Audrey hesitated to give up the note,
and stood holding it tightly in her hands, while the men began to show
unmistakable signs of impatience.
“Come, ma’am, we’ve given you a good deal of indulgence. If you’re
going to send the note give it to me, and if you think better of it
please come down with us and let us get this business done with.”
A voice from behind startled them all.
“What business?”
There was a cry from Audrey, an exclamation from the man with the
warrant.
Standing between the heavy curtains that divided the one showroom from
the other was Gerard, very pale, very quiet, grasping the hangings
tightly, and gazing steadily at the group in front of him.
Brave as she had been, valiantly as she had resolved that she would
not burst in upon him with the knowledge of the awful blow which had
fallen upon her, Audrey was so overjoyed at the sight of her husband
that, forgetting everything in the relief she felt, she dashed across
the room and fell into his arms.
“Oh, Gerard, Gerard! thank God you’ve come,” sobbed she.
Gerard looked down at her for one second, and then again at the two
men.
“What is all this?” said he shortly.
“Very sorry, sir. We’ve got a warrant for the arrest of the lady,”
said the man who had taken the most prominent part in the affair, the
man in the policeman’s boots.
“Upon what charge?”
Audrey, even at that moment of intense excitement, was amazed at the
perfect calmness which Gerard showed. She had expected an outburst of
indignation on his part, an angry repudiation of the insult put upon
her; but instead of that, it seemed to her that he took the matter as
coolly as if he had expected this to happen and had been quite
prepared for it.
“On the charge of being concerned in the disappearance of a woman
known as Madame Rocada, otherwise the White Countess,” said the man.
Gerard looked down at his wife, who was still clinging to him without
uttering a word.
“This is serious,” said he.
“Oh, Gerard, surely----” moaned Audrey in a husky whisper.
An unobtrusive but reassuring pressure of his fingers upon her arm
checked her, and she, feeling the intense relief of having another
arm, another brain at her service, remained silent, listening,
wondering, while he went on:--
“Of course my wife--this lady is my wife--is entirely innocent of any
hand in the disappearance of anybody. But, at the same time, I
recognise that it is a serious matter. What is it she was asking you
if she might do?”
“Oh, Gerard, it doesn’t matter now,” sobbed out Audrey. “I--I wanted
some one to break it gently to _you_, that was all. But now that you
know, nothing matters, nothing matters. I was afraid it would be a
shock to you, that’s all.”
“Well, it is a shock, a great shock, naturally,” admitted Gerard. “You
can understand this when I tell you,” and he turned to the two men,
“that I am rejoining my wife to-day after a long absence.”
Audrey was rather surprised at this unexpected and apparently
uncalled-for confidence on her husband’s part, and she was still more
astonished when he went on:--
“But our domestic affairs are, of course, no concern of yours. At the
same time I daresay, now that you know what I have just told you, you
will make allowance for the irritation my poor wife has shown, and you
will not suppose she had any wish to interfere with the course of
justice!”
“Justice!” echoed Audrey faintly, more amazed than ever at the
calmness with which her husband received the horrible news.
“I repeat--justice,” said Gerard firmly. “If this unfortunate lady has
disappeared, naturally she must be found, or traced. You can’t expect
her friends to take her disappearance calmly. And may I ask,” and he
turned from the one man to the other, “which of you has the warrant?”
The man in the policeman’s boots nodded.
“I have it, sir,” he said.
Gerard turned to the other man.
“Are you a policeman, too?” he asked.
The man answered in a voice which made Audrey look round. It was not
that, she thought, in which she had previously heard him speak.
“I’m a detective, sir,” he said.
“And was it necessary, do you think, to threaten a woman--a lady--with
using force, when all she wanted was to write a letter to her
solicitor?”
The man with the policeman’s boots would have answered, but Gerard put
up his hand, refusing to take his answer except from the person he had
addressed. Again his calmness, and the impression his behaviour made
on the policemen, surprised Audrey and excited her admiration.
“Well, sir, what we meant by force was not exactly that,” said the man
in a voice that was hardly audible.
Gerard looked at him intently.
“Well,” he said, “it would have been better not to use the word at
all, don’t you think so?”
“Perhaps, sir, we did exceed our duty a little,” said the detective
hurriedly. “I’m sorry.”
“So I think you ought to be,” said Gerard, still fixing him with his
keen blue eyes as he went on speaking, and disregarding every attempt
made by the other man to distract his attention by casual comments.
“You know very well that there was nothing surprising in the fact that
a lady, brought face to face with such a charge, should wish to
exchange a few words with her friends. I believe such a privilege is
usually allowed, is it not?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“Then why were you so strict?”
The man looked at his companion, but Gerard refused again to divert
his gaze from the man he questioned, who fidgeted uneasily under this
interrogatory.
“Ladies are difficult people to deal with, sir,” he said, in the same
hoarse whisper as before. “One doesn’t want to be harsh, yet one is
afraid of being talked round. Especially in such a case, sir.”
He was conciliatory, almost apologetic. At last Gerard relaxed his
look, and turned to the other man.
“What is it you want my wife to do?” he asked briefly.
There was a hesitating silence.
“Do I understand that she is to be taken before a magistrate
to-night?”
No answer.
“Or would it be possible, say by your good offices, if I were to
promise that she would still be here to-morrow morning, for you to go
away now and return then?” went on Gerard, with an easy confidence
which made Audrey look up at him askance in fresh astonishment at his
self-possession.
There was another pause, and Gerard pressed his wife’s arm with
another reassuring touch.
“If you’ll allow us, sir, to discuss this a moment,” said the man with
the warrant civilly.
“Oh, certainly, certainly. Shall we retire and leave you here? Or will
you----”
Gerard drew apart the curtains that hung between the two showrooms;
and the men, with another “Thank you, sir,” passed through and
conversed in a low voice in the outer room.
Once alone with her husband, Audrey wanted to speak. But he put his
hand upon her mouth, and with a warning frown, kept her silent.
Meanwhile he listened with keen ears to the whispering that was going
on in the outer room.
In a few minutes the man in the policeman’s boots reappeared, alone.
Saluting Gerard, he said:--
“We think, sir, it might be managed as you suggest. If you, sir, will
give an undertaking that the lady will be here to-morrow morning, when
we shall have to come again, and when we hope she’ll make no objection
to coming quietly.”
“I’ll give the undertaking,” said Gerard. “Would you like it in
writing?” he added quickly, going towards the writing-desk, and gently
disengaging himself from Audrey’s arms.
“Oh, no sir. Not with a gentleman. I understand you are sure there is
nothing in the charge, sir?”
“Nothing whatever. Indeed I think you’ll find that on further
consideration, this charge won’t be pressed further against my wife.”
“Oh, well, sir, in that case we’ll take further orders, sir.”
“Thank you,” said Gerard, as he followed the man out through the
second showroom, and found that the other man had already taken his
departure.
“Can you see? Mind the corner stair. It’s an awkward turn. That’s
right.”
These words, in Gerard’s voice, reached Audrey’s ears as she stood
trembling in the inner showroom, listening and waiting.
Then there was a pause, and she presently heard the door at the bottom
shut sharply.
A moment later Gerard came back into the room. His eyes were very
bright; all his calmness had disappeared, and he was shaking from head
to foot with violent excitement.
“Gerard, Gerard, how did you manage it? What did you do? How is it
that they went away so quietly? I thought the police had to execute a
warrant, and that they couldn’t go away like that without orders!”
Gerard had by this time come close to her, and the brilliancy of his
eyes, the heaving of his breast, frightened her.
“Of course they can’t, of course _real_ policemen can’t,” he answered
promptly.
“Real policemen! Oh, Gerard, who--who were they? Who were they?”
“They were members of the gang you told me about, the gang that’s
controlled by that rascal Candover, I’ve no doubt,” said Gerard in her
ear. “They thought you were all alone here, and that they could
frighten you away, frighten you into giving up possession of this
place which is yours.”
“Oh, Gerard, do you really think that?”
“I do indeed. They never meant to take you away--at least, if they
had, they would have taken care to drop you at the first convenient
halting-place. Probably they would have left you at some door which
they would have represented to you was the door of your solicitor’s.
And then they would have driven off. That they merely meant to work
upon your woman’s fears to make you give up these premises I feel
certain.”
“But how do you _know_ all this? Surely you’re only guessing!”
objected Audrey, who could not understand her husband’s confident yet
excited manner.
He looked earnestly into her face.
“Can you keep a secret, a dead secret?” he whispered into her ear.
“_Your_ secret! Yes, oh, yes!” panted she.
He put his lips close to her ear once more.
“The second man--the one who disguised his voice--who didn’t want to
speak--was----”
“Go on, go on. Who was he?”
“Tom Gossett, the man whose false evidence secured my conviction.
Hush!”
And even as the little cry rose to her lips, Gerard silenced it by
pressing his own mouth long and tenderly against hers.