"Lady Wyke! Lady Wyke!" babbled Claudia, dazed by the amazing
discovery.
"You beast!" snarled the detected murderess, and wrenched herself
free, to run swiftly across the open space between the barn and the
zig-zag path which led down to the beach.
Claudia, seeing her quarry escaping, recovered her senses promptly,
and blew a shrill call on the police whistle. In a moment Sergeant
Purse, at the not too distant coastguard station, heard the signal,
and came running out. He saw in a moment the flying figure of the
woman, and sped towards her like a deer, in order to intercept her
before she reached the cliffs. At the same time Claudia sprang forward
also, and reached the fugitive almost at the same time as the officer.
Purse laid hands on his prey just as she reached the opening of the
path, and dexterously flung her on the ground. Lady Wyke, seeing that
she was lost, howled like a wild beast, and swore like several
troopers in her anger and baffled rage. But the sergeant paid no
attention to her curses. When he rose she was lying on the ground with
handcuffs on her wrists. Claudia silently stood looking down on her
captured enemy, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, so unstrung did
she feel. Unable to say a word, she turned red and white alternately,
and awaited events.
"Get up, Mrs. Vence," said Purse, briefly.
"It's--not--Mrs. Vence," quavered Claudia, in a shaky voice. "It's
Lady Wyke."
"Gosh!" gasped the sergeant, astonished for once in his official life.
"Do you mean to say that she murdered her husband?"
There was no answer from either woman. Lady Wyke rolled on the dry
grass cursing freely, while Claudia sat down on a convenient rock to
clasp her hands tightly and keep herself from trembling--in fact, from
breaking down altogether. No one else was at hand, as the policemen at
the rectory had not heard the whistle, and Purse had waved back the
coastguards who seemed disposed to approach. He did not wish anyone
should share the glory of his capture, and desired then and there to
hear Lady Wyke's story, so that he could be sure he had arrested the
right person.
"Now, then," said Purse, shaking his finger at her sternly, "what have
you to say, madam? Remember, anything you do say will be used in
evidence against you."
"Oh," sneered Lady Wyke, looking very white and very vicious, "and you
think that I'll be fool enough to speak after that warning. How dare
you arrest an innocent person such as I am!"
"You are guilty," said Claudia, hoarsely. "You murdered Sir Hector."
"It's a lie."
"Neddy Mellin can prove it."
"Then until he does, I am guiltless," raged the woman, furiously.
"Take these handcuffs off, man."
"Oh, no," said the sergeant, smoothly. "I have arrested you as Mrs.
Vence, who struck down that boy. Afterwards you can be arrested for
the murder of your husband as Lady Wyke."
"I didn't kill him, I tell you," she snarled viciously. "As to the
boy, I never saw him."
"Rats!" growled Purse inelegantly. "If you are innocent of assault,
why did you hide in that loft?"
Lady Wyke scowled, and saw that there was no escape from the lesser
crime. "I only hit the boy lightly to punish him for telling lies."
"You stunned him. He is dangerously ill," said Claudia, quickly.
"Then how can he accuse me if he hasn't his senses about him?"
"He recovered for a moment to say that you had struck him, and he gave
the reason why you did so."
"And the reason?" demanded the woman, with a sneer.
"You murdered your husband."
"Did he say that in those exact words?"
"No. He said that Mrs. Vence had murdered Sir Hector."
"Well, I am not Mrs. Vence, I am Lady Wyke."
"Rot!" said the sergeant, angrily. "What the deuce are you wasting my
time for in telling lies? You are Lady Wyke sure enough, but you have
been masquerading for some purpose as an old woman under the name of
Mrs. Vence."
"You can prove nothing against me, said Lady Wyke, sullenly.
"Yes, we can. An operation will restore young Mellin to health, and
his evidence will hang you."
"Hang me?" Lady Wyke shivered.
"Yes. There is no escape, But you had better not say any more. I don't
want to trap you into a confession. Get up and come along with me. I
must take you to Redleigh Goal."
"Oh," groaned the woman, looking at her handcuffs and then wrathfully
at the white face of Miss Lemby, "and to think that the girl should
get the better of me! But I'm not beaten yet."
"Here, get up and come along," said Purse, harshly, and bent to lift
her.
"Wait!" shrieked Lady Wyke, who now saw that there was indeed no
escape, and that the time had come for her to pay in full for her
wickedness. "I have a word to say first."
"Say it then," growled the officer, sharply, "and be quick about it."
The captured woman thought for a few moments, and then began with a
sigh to confess her wickedness, and continued with frequent sobs. Bad
as she was, Claudia was quite sorry for her apparent misery.
"I'll tell the truth," said Lady Wyke, in a melancholy tone, but it
became sharper when Purse began to recite his formula. "Don't bother
me," she said, tartly, "but take out your pocket-book and note down
what I say."
"I'm ready," said the sergeant, stolidly, when her command was
complied with. Lady Wyke nodded, looked at her fettered hands, and
shivered. "I never thought that I'd live to have these on," she said,
sullenly. "However, the game's up, and that girl yonder has won. It's
no use beating about the bush any longer. I did murder my husband."
"Oh!" gasped Claudia, shrinking and wincing.
"Yes," went on the woman plaintively. "I killed him, with the knife of
your father. To begin at the beginning"--her voice shook, but she made
an effort and continued slowly--"when I saw in America that Hector was
going to marry you. Miss Lemby, I came back to stop him from
committing bigamy."
"He thought that you were dead."
"Well, I wasn't. I returned and saw Sandal to prove my identity. I
also learnt that the will made by Hector shortly after our marriage,
which left his property to me, was still in existence. Then I
interviewed Hector, and we had an unpleasant scene, as you may guess.
He did not want to tell you the truth immediately, but wished for time
to think over matters. To do so he proposed to go into hiding in the
country, because he was afraid lest your father should come and worry
him."
"My father did find him out," said Claudia, while Purse went on busily
taking notes. "He learnt from Edwin where Sir Hector was."
"Add Edwin knew because his father was Rector of Hedgerton. Well,
than, as you may guess, I was not going to let my husband give me the
slip, so I said that I would go with him. He objected, as he had fixed
upon Maranatha, in Hedgerton, as his hiding-place, and knew that I
came from there. He did not wish my sister, who was only a
washerwoman, to know that I was his wife. I therefore said that I
would make myself up as an old woman, and go as his housekeeper."
"And your husband consented to this absurd idea?" I asked Purse,
doubtfully.
Lady Wyke smiled drily. "He couldn't very well object, could he," she
demanded, "seeing that I had the inside running? Since he was anxious
to hide the truth about his first marriage from that girl yonder, he
had to do what I wished, as he knew that I could give the show away.
"Well, then, being an actress, I was quite able to turn myself into an
old hag. I was Lady Wyke in London, but I arrived at Maranatha as Mrs.
Vence. Afterwards, when the house was more or less ready, Hector
arrived, and we pigged it there for some time. Hector could not
make up his mind to tell you of my reappearance, Miss Lemby, and so
dilly-dallied day after day. I kept mostly indoors, while occasionally
Hector walked out, although he discouraged people calling, which was
natural, considering he did not feel inclined for company. I
particularly refused to see my sister, Mrs. Mellin, lest she should
recognise me through my disguise. But I got Neddy to bring the
washing, and my nephew and I became very friendly."
"Did he know, then, that you were his aunt?" asked Claudia, and Purse
mutely put the same question.
"No. He never knew at all that Mrs. Vence and Lady Wyke were one
and the same person, which said a good deal for my cleverness in
making-up."
"I never guessed myself," said Miss Lemby, shaking her head.
"Another tribute to my talents," cried Lady Wyke, ironically. "Well,
then, the whole reason why I disguised myself at Hector's request, and
watched him, was to prevent him from making another will. I fancied
that he wanted to leave the money to you, Miss Lemby, and naturally I
hated you. I pigged it as my husband's housekeeper for some time, as
you know, and watched him carefully. Then, on that particular night
Mr. Oliver Lemby arrived, and saw my husband in the drawing-room. I
then----"
"Wait a bit," broke in Purse. "Was the boy Mellin in the house then?"
"Yes. He arrived early with the washing, and was eating some bread and
honey in the kitchen. I excused myself, and left him there while I
went up to spy at the drawing-room door keyhole. I wished to find out
if Hector was saying anything about leaving the money to you, Miss
Lemby. I saw what I told you in London, when you truly believed that I
was Mrs. Vence. Your father threatened Hector with his knife, and then
came the ring at the door. I ran down to open it, but did not know
that the newcomer was Mr. Craver. While he asked for my husband,
Hector came running downstairs with your father's knife in his hand.
He pushed me aside, told me to go to the kitchen and bring
refreshments in a quarter of an hour, and then took the stranger into
his study. I did not go to the kitchen, but listened. Then I heard
Hector say that he intended to leave the money to MV. Craver, and knew
that the stranger was Edwin. Afterwards Hector conducted Mr. Craver
into the dining-room to show him some papers. What they were I don't
know, and why they should be in the dining-room I don't know either.
But then Hector's papers and letters were always all over the place.
He was a most untidy man.
"I stole into the study, and saw Mr. Lemby's knife on the table, where
Hector had left it. I was furious at the thought of Hector making a
new will and leaving the money to another person. The devil entered
into me, for I swear that I had no idea of killing him until then.
Hector came back for a moment and faced me as I was holding the
knife. Without waiting, I sent the knife straight into his false
heart. He gave a cry and fell. Then I heard Mr. Craver move in the
next room--the dining-room. I turned to fly, and saw Neddy Mellin
looking at me. He had seen all. I dragged him into the kitchen, and
made him promise to hold his tongue. He was scared, and did so. Then,
while Mr. Craver was bending over the body, I came in with the tray
and dropped it. The postman's knock----"
"Yes, yes, yes!" said Purse, closing his pocket-book; "we know all the
rest. Mr. Craver escaped on the bicycle. Hall and Jervis and Lemby
arrived, and you played the innocent goat."
"She did more than that," said Claudia, looking very sick and white.
"She tried to implicate my father and Edwin when she knew they were
innocent."
"Oh, that was a part of my game," said Lady Wyke, lightly. "But you
know now why I went to buy a motor. It was to make Edwin's
acquaintance. Then Neddy gave me the letter he had taken from the hall
table, and I knew that I had the upper hand of your lover. I must say
that, seeing how I could have ruined him, he was brave to stick to
you, Claudia. As to that pirate Lemby----"
"That's enough," said Sergeant Purse, suddenly. "I have heard all that
I want to hear. Now come to Redleigh Gaol."
"One minute," said Lady Wyke, staring across the water. "There is the
aeroplane, sergeant. Won't you wait for its arrival, and let we say
good-bye to the man I love, and for whose sake I have ruined myself?"
"No. Come along," and Purse laid his hand lightly on her arm, never
thinking but what she would obey, "come to Redleigh Gaol."
"Death rather!" shrieked Lady Wyke and, handcuffed as she was, sprang
down the path in a moment. How she kept, her balance was a wonder but
keep it she did, and before the two on the cliffs could gather their
senses together she was down on the beach. The aeroplane came nearer
and nearer.
"She means to drown herself!" cried Claudia, and sprang in pursuit,
while Purse, wholly taken by surprise, blew his whistle loudly.
At once three or four men came running from the coastguard station,
and followed the sergeant down the path. But Claudia, determined to
prevent her rival from escaping punishment, was already in pursuit.
She soon dropped to the level of the beach, and scrambled over the
boulders on to the smooth sands. Lady Wyke was speeding ahead like a
swallow, but lingered when she saw Claudia at her heels. The girl got
within touching distance of her, when the woman, with an insulting
laugh, darted off again. Claudia followed unthinkingly, and almost
before she knew what had happened, found herself in the middle of the
fatal quicksands, which had been pointed out to her by Neddy.
Lady Wyke was already sinking fast, and laughing loudly. "I've got
you; you are trapped! No Redleigh Gaol for me, and no Edwin for you!
I'm not beaten yet, I'm not beaten yet!"
Claudia shrieked as she felt herself in the grip of the cruel sands.
Purse and the coastguards uttered shouts of dismay, for it appeared to
be impossible to save the two women. At once two of the men scrambled
back up the cliff to get ropes and boards for the rescue. But all the
time Claudia and the rival who had lured her to destruction were
sinking deeper and deeper, Lady Wyke, in particular, going down
swiftly, as she had ran on to the sands first. Claudia was following
quickly. All at once both women heard the buzz of the machine, and
looked up to see the aeroplane directly overhead. Edwin dropped
swiftly downwards as he recognised the peril, and soon came near
enough to recognise who were in danger. With a white face, but
perfectly calm, he dropped the rope coiled on the pilot seat, and
guided the aeroplane down a short distance above the heads of the two.
Lady Wyke uttered a cry of rage as she saw Claudia grasp the rope, and
cling to it for dear life.
"It's not fair; it's not fair!" she screamed. "She shan't be saved! Me
too; me too!" and she shook her ironbound hands impotently at the
aeroplane. Purse and his men looked on aghast, for Lady Wyke was now
up to her middle in the sand.
There was no word, from Craver, and no cry from Claudia. The rope had
dropped truly, and one end was in her hands, while the other was
fastened to the seat of the machine. Edwin kept his engine going at
full speed, swung low, and then curved for the ascent. The rope
tightened, there came a steady pull, and Claudia was plucked from
peril, just as the sands had her in their grip up to the knees. With
an angry, despairing cry, Lady Wyke saw her hated rival swinging in
the air and borne out of danger as the aeroplane slanted skywards with
a rush. Then the pilot descended lower and lower gradually, until the
rescued girl, now on firm ground, was able to let go her hold. With a
faint moan she did so, and sank insensible on the sands, while the
aeroplane rose in the air to sweep upward majestically, to skim over
the cliffs, and finally to alight with a run near the barn.
But Lady Wyke saw nothing of this. Swiftly and surely the greedy sands
sucked her down into their depths. Her waist, her shoulders, her neck
disappeared, while the sergeant and the coastguards looked on
helplessly. With ropes and board the rescuers scrambled down the
cliffs just as the miserable woman's black head vanished for ever.
Without a sound, she went down into the halls of death, by a far more
cruel road than the one she had forced her husband to travel. And when
Claudia awoke from her death-like trance she was lying in the
sheltering arms of her lover.
"Lady Wyke?" she murmured, feebly. Edwin silently pointed to the
quicksands, which gleamed and glittered, and appeared to smile in the
evening light. There was not a sign of the evil woman who had been
swallowed up by them. And the incoming tide began to break in little
waves over her nameless grave.