A Traitor's Wooing Part 14

"Well, yes; as you seem to be omniscient, sir, and friendly to him, we did see Chermside on the marsh that night," Reggie admitted.

"But we didn't see him murdering anybody," interposed Enid; adding inconsequently, "Dear Violet Maynard wouldn't be so keen on him if he was a murderer."

"You were not, I presume, an actual witness of the crime," Mr. Mallory said drily. He remained silent for a minute, walking up and down the room, and then continued--

"Now, look here, you two. There is some ugly mischief going on here, and it is my belief that Chermside, though mixed up in it, is more sinned against than sinning. You will best serve him by being perfectly frank with me, and if it will induce you to be so, let me say that the wire-puller in the business is Mr. Travers Nugent. You are both of you aware of my opinion of that gentleman, based on grounds of former official experience. I am certain that there is some deep-laid plot afoot in which Chermside is a mere p.a.w.n--a plot which I somehow vaguely deem to be directed against the good people who have rented the Manor House. I have utterly failed so far to gain the slightest inkling of the nature or object of Nugent's machinations, but I have gathered this--that whether Chermside killed that little Jew or not Nugent is holding over him, as a means to effect his purpose, the probability of imminent arrest."

At that Reggie described fully how he and Enid had been "resting" in the bushes at the side of the marshland path, and how at short intervals two men, whom it was too dark to recognize, had pa.s.sed by. He went on to repeat the evidence dragged from him at the inquest as the result of the eavesdropping of Mr. Lazarus Lowch, telling over again of the weird scream that had startled them a few minutes after the pa.s.sing of the second unseen pedestrian. And he finished his narrative with the hurried return along the path of a man who, as he pa.s.sed their lair, was shown by the searchlight on the battleship to be none other than Leslie Chermside.

Mr. Mallory pondered the statement, then asked suddenly, "Did you notice any peculiarity in the footfall of the invisible pedestrians?"

"Yes, we did," Enid answered quickly. "The first to come along was going rapidly, as though he was late for an appointment--almost running, in fact. We could quite plainly hear him puffing and blowing."

"Humph! Cannot you be a little more exact as to the time that elapsed between these four different incidents--the pa.s.sing of the two unseen wayfarers, the scream, and the disclosure of Chermside by the searchlight? For instance, could the second of the two invisible pa.s.sers-by have reached the spot where the body was found, when you heard the scream?"

"I couldn't say, sir," replied Reggie with a faint grin at his companion of the fatal night.

"Or whether, after the scream, there had been sufficient time for Chermside to traverse the distance from the same spot to where you were?"

"You see, father," Enid took up her parable as Reggie shook his head, "we didn't know then of any reason for paying attention to these matters. We were discussing things that seemed of far greater importance," she added demurely.

The old diplomatist was in too serious mood to give rein to his sense of humour just then. He allowed his daughter's nave confession to pa.s.s unheeded, and, walking to the window, tried, as men do when face to face with a knotty problem, to concentrate his thoughts by fixing his gaze on some immaterial object. The study window was at the side of the house, with a distant view of the red point at the mouth of the river, and his eyes unconsciously sought that soothing picture without causing any reflex action on the clever brain busy with affairs of more human interest. Close under the window ran the path leading from the tradesmen's entrance to the back door.

"Your vagueness as to time makes it uncertain," Mr. Mallory said presently, "whether Chermside was one of the two men who pa.s.sed you in the first instance, going outwards from the town. By the way, was he in evening dress?"

"No," replied Reggie and Enid in unison. "He was wearing flannels."

"Then," mused Mr. Mallory aloud, "it is conclusive that he was not returning from dining at the Manor--a point which could of course have been easily ascertained. He may have been one of those who pa.s.sed you, but--No, my good man, go away! We don't require any."

The sudden break-off, which drew Reggie and Enid's eyes to the window, was caused by a shabby, down-at-heels individual who was holding up a bunch of dangling bootlaces with the stereotyped smirk and inviting gesture of the street hawker. Accepting his dismissal meekly, he went shambling off to the side entrance from the road.

"Reggie!" cried Enid.

"Madam to you."

"Did you twig who that was?"

"Can't say I did."

"He was the man who looked out of the train on the day of the picnic, and who called out about 'the face in the pool.'"

Mr. Mallory turned sharply round. He had been watching the exit of the tramp from the premises. "Are you sure of that?" he asked.

"Now that Enid has reminded me I am sure of it," Reggie replied. "He is dressed differently, but I remember the bloated, drinky face perfectly.

And, by the way, I saw him coming out of the gates of The Hut this morning. Can it be that he was not in that train by chance, but was travelling at the instance of Nugent in order to ensure that the body of Levison should not remain there undiscovered?"

"Precisely what was in my mind," Mr. Mallory rejoined. "And he was probably hanging about this house as a spy in the interests of his employer, for I can see a connexion by which Nugent may have become aware of my active opposition. You went far to confirm my suspicions, my boy, when you told me of Nugent's journey to Weymouth the other day; what has just transpired is finally convincing that there is some villainy hatching with Chermside either as victim or catspaw."

"But you are entirely in the dark as to the purport of all this plot and counterplot?" said Reggie.

"Entirely; all I have been able to elucidate is that Nugent finds it necessary to threaten Chermside with implication in a murder which he may or may not have committed."

"Can't Reggie and I capture the bootlace man and stick red-hot needles into him till he confesses?" suggested Enid.

But her father smiled with grim tolerance. "You don't know Mr. Travers Nugent, my child," he said. "You may be very sure that 'the bootlace man,' as you call him, has not been admitted to the inner precincts of the mystery. Nugent, while pretending to trust his agents, never does so really. He is even capable of wiping them out of existence when they have served their purpose--or failed in it."

"Then what is your game, sir? I should like to take a hand in it, whatever it is," said Reggie with the zest of the good sportsman he was.

"To head off Nugent and give a shake up to old Lazarus Lowch too would afford me the greatest pleasure."

Mr. Mallory took a turn up the room and came back. "The game," he said slowly, "is to find proof against the actual slayer of Levison before Nugent's blow, whatever it is, falls. As your leave is up to-morrow morning I am afraid there will be no time for you to help me in that."

"I hope that your researches won't lead you into danger, sir."

"Oh dear no," rejoined Mr. Mallory carelessly. "They are chiefly concerned with the movements on the night in question of a French onion vendor belonging to a lugger lying at Exmouth."

"Why not drop a hint to the sergeant of police?"

But Mr. Mallory made a gesture of dissent. "Because I am far from sure that I am right," he said. "If the police were to push inquiries in that direction Nugent would get wind of it and make a counter-move. It isn't as if the catching of Levison's murderer was the chief desideratum. It is the cunningly veiled scheme in which that crime was only a detail that I have set myself to discover and foil. Given positive proof against the murderer, be he Chermside or any one else, and I would be at the police station with it inside five minutes. But it must be clear evidence, justifying an immediate arrest."

CHAPTER XVI

BARBED SHAFTS

Louise Aubin stood behind her young mistress's dressing chair, brushing the glorious tresses which her deft fingers would presently coil and coax into the latest fashionable mode. There was to be a small dinner party at the Manor House that evening. Mr. Vernon Mallory and his daughter were coming, also Leslie Chermside and Travers Nugent, as well as a few local people in whom we are not interested. It was the day following that on which Aunt Sarah had raised hopes for her protegees, which, so far as one of them was concerned, were so rudely dashed in the card-room at the club.

The maid glanced furtively at the beautiful face in the mirror opposite, and took note of the dreamy happiness in Violet Maynard's eyes. Violet had been consistently kind to her, and Louise, selfish though she was to the core, was not wholly ungrateful. She had deceived herself into the belief that she was about to do her mistress a genuine service, but it was characteristic of her that she rather enjoyed the prospect of inflicting pain in the process.

"I should so like to consult you, mees, about an affair of my own," she began hesitatingly. There was no need for the hesitation, mademoiselle having been carefully coached for the part she was to play no later than that afternoon, when she had paid another surrept.i.tious visit to The Hut. But a shy modesty was a weapon in her equipment for the fray.

Violet looked up quickly. The note of diffidence was unusual. "Of course, Louise, you can ask me anything," she said, wondering why the Abigail's gaze was so swiftly averted. "I should have thought, though, that you are much more capable of managing your affairs than I am."

The Frenchwoman contrived to show deprecation in the twirl she gave to the silver hair-brush. "In small things, mees, perhaps," she answered.

"But this is not small, the thing in which I beg you to advise. It is an affair of the 'eart, and an affair of murderre--the murderre of the gentleman who was killed on the marsh."

Violet with difficulty repressed a smile. The subject was a gruesome one, but, serene in her own love idyll, she had really paid very little attention to it. "You don't mean to tell me, Louise, that you killed that unfortunate man because he did not appreciate your charms?"

Mademoiselle was on her dignity at once; moreover, having marked down higher game, she could afford to be quite genuine in her repudiation of any partiality for Mr. Levi Levison.

"Mees will pardon her devoted maid for saying that it is hardly a subject for jest," came her prompt rebuke. "The shoe was what you call on the other foot. Mr. Levison, he admire me greatly, but I not think ver' moosh of 'im. All the same, he tells me things, and among others he tell me who it was he going to meet on the marsh. I blame myself for not having approach the police about it, and I desire to ask you, mees, if it is now too late."

Violet grew suddenly grave. A responsibility was being thrust upon her which she would have avoided if she could, but she felt it her duty to accept. Louise was a stranger in a strange land, the laws of which she could not be expected to understand, and who was there to advise her if not her mistress? Violet had not much doubt as to what her advice would be, for she knew that it was a serious matter to withhold information that would tend to the conviction of a criminal. The maid would have to be told to take the course she ought to have taken at first--to give the police the name of the man Levison was to meet.

But Violet intuitively shrank from uttering the word which might be the first step towards condemning a fellow-creature to ignominious death, however well merited, and perhaps it was to gain time that she asked--

"How was it that you concealed this knowledge, Louise? Is the person whom you have been shielding a friend of yours?"