Both husband and wife were in a whirl of excitement so intense that
for a little while they could do nothing, say nothing, but look at
each other and exchange muttered and incoherent thanksgivings.
Then Gerard said:--
“Look here. We’re in a tight place still, though I think we shall get
out of it. But we must be careful, very careful. And we must keep our
mouths shut. Do you think you are clever enough to keep a straight
face while I fall on the neck of Candover, and receive him as if he
were a long-lost brother?”
“Oh, Gerard, could you?”
“Yes,” snarled Gerard. “I could do anything to bring to book the
scoundrel who has pretty well wrecked my life and who tried his
hardest to wreck yours!”
They had exchanged these words in whispers, and now they remained
silent, keeping close together, and instinctively looking round them
as if in fear of being overheard.
“What are we going to do?” said Audrey helplessly.
Gerard hesitated.
“In the first place,” he said at last, “we must not leave this place,
either of us, just yet. They want to get rid of you, Audrey, and I’ve
not the slightest doubt that they would like to get rid of me, but
they can’t do it as long as we’re both together. But on the other
hand, we must have advice. This is too big a business for us to tackle
without help. This Candover seems to be about as artful a rascal as
they make ’em. For remember, so far, though we’ve found out a good
deal about different members of the gang, we’ve got nothing whatever
to convict _him_ by.”
“There’s what his wife said!”
“That doesn’t count--as evidence. Don’t you know that a wife can’t
give evidence against her husband?”
“Well, I heard the poor woman--the White Countess, call out
‘Eugène’!”
“But you didn’t see him?”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid that wouldn’t count for much--unless you could prove
that you told the story to other people as soon as it happened.”
“I--I think I may have told the doctor!”
“What, the doctor who was so like Johnson, the card-sharper!”
Audrey uttered a low cry.
“Why! Do you think he too was one of the gang?” she asked, almost
giddy with these revelations, following so swiftly the one upon the
heels of the other.
“I think it most likely. However, we’ll have a hunt in the directory
in the morning. In the meantime I’m going to write to my cousins.
They’re a rackety pair, and will welcome the chance of being in any
shindy. And I’ll get them to come here and help us through with this
business.”
“Oh, Gerard, what are you going to do? I feel so frightened! I feel as
if we--you and I--were standing together on the edge of a precipice.”
“And I,” whispered Gerard back, with his face aglow, “feel as if I had
escaped from the edge of the precipice and as if I had my hand on the
rascal who drove me there!”
There was silence for a few minutes. Neither had even dared to mention
yet the thought that was uppermost in the minds of both--that the
crime of which Gerard had been accused and convicted, was the work of
the man, whom they had known as Reginald Candover, and whom Audrey had
heard of also under the name of Eugène Reynolds.
The possibility of tracing the crime to its author, of clearing Gerard
from the stain upon his own honour, was so bewildering, so
overwhelming, that both the young husband and his wife felt almost
crazy at the exciting prospect.
But Gerard felt so strongly that the man in whose hands they had both
been as clay in the potter’s fingers was an adversary of consummate
strength and craft, that he was anxious not to discuss the glorious
prospect which he began dimly to see glimmering in the distance, lest
some chance word should be overheard and carried to the ears of the
arch-conspirator himself.
Even if they were really alone now, it was better by over-reticence to
school themselves to a prudence that should leave no loophole of
danger, and even, if possible, to behave as if they did not believe in
the momentous discovery which both were sure they had made.
So Gerard sat down to write a short note to his cousin Edgar, and, as
he could not feel sure whether the young men had stayed the night at
their father’s place or whether they had returned to their chambers in
town, he duplicated the note, and directed the one copy to their own
address and the other to the Hampshire house. The question then was
how to get these letters posted. They could neither leave the premises
nor leave each other; so at last they went down the stairs together,
and waited at the door on the chance of lighting upon a trustworthy
messenger.
They were lucky in the passing of a tradesman’s boy known to Audrey;
he not only took the letters to the post for them, but fulfilled for
them certain small commissions which resulted in their being able to
enjoy, in the little back-room to which they retreated after they had
made all secure for the night, a somewhat casual but none the less
welcome meal of slices of boiled ham, penny rolls, cream tarts, baked
potatoes and bottled stout these being the various viands selected by
the boy on being told to bring back “anything he could get” in the way
of food and drink.
So uneasy and suspicious were the two young people, that they took it
in turns to rest on the sofa, while the other sat up in a chair by the
fire.
No amount of prowling about the first floor, of peering into corners
and listening at doors, sufficed to render them perfectly at ease in
their minds while on the premises where things so uncanny had already
happened.
When morning came it was resolved that the presence of Gerard should,
if possible, be kept a secret from every one but the woman who swept
out the rooms and lit the fires: she was old, deaf and
uncommunicative, and could be trusted not to chatter.
Within an hour of the beginning of work for the day, Audrey, who was
on the watch, heard a hansom dash up to the door, and met the two
young Angmerings at the head of the staircase.
Both were surprised to find themselves welcomed with effusion by
Audrey, who forgot all possible causes of disagreement in the joy of
finding that they had responded so quickly to Gerard’s appeal.
“I--I thought--Is Gerard here?” asked Edgar, as he shook hands.
Audrey put her finger on her lip.
“Yes, but we are keeping the fact as quiet as we can. He wants to see
you both. Come in here.”
She glanced as she spoke at the door of the little room. It was ajar;
a hand pulled it gently open and Gerard peeped out.
In another moment the young Angmerings were shut in the room with
their cousin, and his wife, who kept watch near the door while the
story was rapidly and succinctly unfolded to the astonished young men.
Whatever they might think, whether they believed in Audrey’s complete
innocence and in Candover’s guilt or not, they both took the affair as
a huge “lark,” and entered with zest into the part which they were
required to play.
“In the first place,” explained Gerard, “we want advice. Now we don’t
dare leave these premises together, or we should never be allowed to
get in again; and we daren’t let one of us go without the other, as we
don’t feel ourselves to be in particularly safe quarters.”
“What are you afraid of?” said Geoffrey.
“I’m afraid,” said Gerard, “that some further attempt will be made by
Candover and his gang to get rid of us. The more so that I think it
very possible Gossett knew that I recognised him. Now if we could once
prove that the man who swore I gave him the cheque to cash is the same
man that came here last night masquerading as a detective, and
pretending to have a warrant for the arrest of my wife, we are in a
fair way to lay some of these rascals by the heels. But from what we
know of Candover, he won’t allow himself to be unmasked without a
struggle. So we can’t be too careful, we can’t have too many to help
us, and we can’t have too much pluck.”
“Right you are. Tell us what we’re to do,” said Geoffrey.
“Well, I want you, Edgar, to take my wife to my solicitor’s, and to
wait there till he’s heard everything, and to take his advice as to
what we are to do. Perhaps he’ll come here at once and see me. Or
perhaps he’ll go to the police, and get Audrey to make a statement
about last night’s affair. I don’t think Gossett knew I recognised
him, but I can’t be sure. If he did, I’m afraid he may have got out of
the way. At any rate, we mustn’t lose any time.”
“All right,” said Edgar, as Audrey seized her hat and fur stole and
prepared to go with him.
“And what am I to do?” asked Geoffrey in a disappointed tone.
“I want you to stay with me in case I have to receive any more dubious
visitors.”
“All right,” said Geoffrey eagerly. “Have you got anything for me to
knock ’em on the head with?”
A burst of subdued laughter met this speech, in spite of the tension
of feeling from which his hearers were suffering. Geoffrey put his
hands in his pockets and tilted back his head.
“Oh, you may sneer and you may laugh,” said he. “But it’ll be odd if
we get off without a bit of a shindy. Disappointing too,” he added
reflectively. “I must say I should like to crack a skull or two, if
these fellows are really all members of a gang and partners of those
rascals Johnson and Diggs!”
Gerard took him good-humouredly by the shoulder.
“It’s not likely to be a question of blows, Geoff,” said he. “On the
contrary, if only I can get hold of Candover, I want to persuade him
that I’m deeply indebted to him for his constant kindness to my wife,
and to apologise to him for her rudeness to him the other day.”
Geoffrey opened wide eyes and whistled softly.
“If you were to talk like that to him before me,” said he, “I should
give you away. I couldn’t stand still and smile at the man whom I knew
to be a scoundrel.”
“Then you’ll have to keep away,” said Gerard. “For our only chance of
running him to earth is to make him think we have no suspicion of
_him_, at any rate.”
Geoffrey looked bewildered.
“Remember,” said Gerard, “we have no proof against him yet--of actual
crime on his part. We only suspect. Now that’s not enough.”
“I don’t think myself,” said Edgar, who was less impetuous than his
brother, “that you ever will get any proof. To me it seems absurd to
think that a man in Candover’s position would be concerned with cheats
and card-sharpers.”
“Well, then,” said Gerard, “that’s a very good reason why we should
treat him civilly to begin with.”
“What makes you think he’ll come here at all?” asked Geoffrey, who
could ask pertinent questions when he was in the mood.
“Well, if we’re wrong in believing that he’s the head of this gang, he
won’t come,” said Gerard concisely. “There will be nothing to come
about. But if, as I think, he _is_ the head of it, he’ll be bound to
turn up, to find out what we think about last night’s affair.”
“Then he won’t come,” said Edgar with decision.
“Now, I think he will,” said Geoffrey.
Gerard and Audrey remained silent on the point, and, with many
injunctions to Gerard to take care of himself and to Geoffrey to take
care of him, Audrey accompanied Edgar downstairs and out of the house.
Then Gerard and his cousin had a long conversation. Geoffrey, who was
by far the more intelligent, if he was also the wilder, of Lord
Clanfield’s two sons, was more and more inclined to share his cousin’s
views as they discussed the whole matter from various points of view.
But he was also inclined to think that the man who had been concerned
in the disappearance of the white lady might use other means than
strategy, and again he deplored the absence of a revolver or other
weapon in case Candover should show fight.
Gerard laughed at him, and was secretly glad that no such dangerous
means of offence or defence were at hand.
Both the young men kept their voices low, and their ears on the alert,
and presently both raised their heads at the same moment when, hearing
a footfall on the stairs, they caught the sound of Mr. Candover’s
voice and that of one of the assistants in the showroom answering him.
Gerard, with a sign to his cousin to remain where he was and to be
quiet, went out of the room and met the visitor at the top of the
short flight of half a dozen stairs, which lay between the little back
room and the showrooms.
Nothing could have been heartier than the greetings on both sides.
Each held out a hand, each uttered the usual commonplaces, and Mr.
Candover overwhelmed the younger man with congratulations on his
freedom. He did not, however, take the precaution to lower his voice
as he said this, so that the curious young women in the showroom a few
paces away were all made aware in the course of his remarks that the
pale young gentleman with the curly fair hair had been only recently
undergoing a term of penal servitude.
Whereat there was a little alarmed rush towards the inner recesses of
the premises, and much excited comment.
Gerard, who was quite aware of this manœuvre, which was calculated to
confirm his suspicions, invited his too effusive acquaintance into the
little back-room, where he expected to find his cousin. He was annoyed
to discover that Geoffrey had disappeared, and he conjectured that,
with his usual impetuosity, Geoffrey had gone off to invest in a
revolver or a thick stick.
He was angry with his cousin for this unexpected defection, but there
was no help for it, and he asked his suspicious guest to take a chair
by the fire, while he himself took one on the opposite side of the
hearth.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” said Mr. Candover, when they had
exchanged comments upon the weather, which was cold and wet. “I
understood that you were staying at your uncle’s place.”
“So I was till yesterday, when I found out my wife’s address, and came
here at once to see her.”
“By-the-bye, what have you done with her? It was to see her I came.
I’m in sad disgrace with her, for having introduced some people to
her, some of whom turned out to be rather less strait-laced than she
cared for her friends to be. I suppose she told you about it?”
And Mr. Candover threw at the young man a piercing look.
“Yes. I told her she was silly and ungrateful.”
“Where is she?”
“I’ve sent her to see my solicitor. A most unpleasant thing happened
here last night. Two sham detectives came with a pretended warrant for
her arrest.”
“You don’t say so!”
Gerard was sitting with his face to the light, while Mr. Candover was
in shadow. The elder man, therefore, had the advantage, in that he
read the face of the younger like a book, while Gerard was not even
aware of the curious and furtive movements by which his visitor had
taken something out of one of his pockets and was holding it against
his breast, just covered by his overcoat.
But Gerard, feeling uneasy that his own expression had betrayed him,
and that the red blood was rushing into his face, looked down at the
fender, and as he did so, perceived that the poker was missing.
At once suspecting something, he looked up and round the room,
believing that his cousin Geoffrey was in hiding somewhere.
As he turned his head, he saw a sudden movement on the part of Mr.
Candover, and then, almost at the same moment, there was a crash, a
thud, and some one burst out of the cupboard close to the visitor’s
chair; the next moment Mr. Candover was lying on the floor, stunned
and motionless, with a great wound in his head, from which the blood
was flowing, while Geoffrey, flushed and excited, was standing over
him with his own weapon, the poker, bent and stained, in his right
hand, and in his left the revolver which he had wrenched from Mr.
Candover’s hand.
“I’ve settled him, I think!” said Geoffrey hoarsely, as he bent over
the motionless body of the adventurer.
“I’m afraid you have, by Jove!” said Gerard, in an awestruck whisper.