Confessions of a Young Lady Part 54

The speaker paused as if for a reply. None came. Mrs Bankes was trembling in every limb. She perceived, even more clearly than those in front of her, how close she was standing to the brink of a chasm.

"When we perceived your reluctance to communicate with us, our doubts as to your perfect trustworthiness began to amount to something stronger than suspicion--particularly when we learnt that, not content with betraying Mary Griffiths, you proposed to betray us too; to slip away to a quiet little shelter of your own, and there have a good time on the proceeds of the property which, whosesoever it was, had been procured, so far as you were concerned, very much at our expense. So, since it had clearly become a question of diamond cut diamond, we contrived a little scheme by means of which we hoped to lure you up to town. Our little scheme has succeeded even beyond our expectations.

You came to town; you came here; and now that we have got you here, you may take my word for it that we don't mean to let you go till we have had an opportunity of crying quits. First of all, hand over those jewels. Not, you understand, four hundred, but four thousand pounds'

worth."

"But I haven't got them. I a.s.sure you--"

"Silence! We don't want any of your a.s.surances, we don't want words from you of any sort or kind. I fancy that at talk we should find you more than a match for us. I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to ask you to hand over those jewels, and if you don't hand them over at once, to our satisfaction, we're going to strip you. If we don't find them concealed in your clothing, as, for my part, I think we probably shall do, we're going to find out where they are concealed, if we have to kill you to do it. I tell you, frankly, that I should have as little compunction in killing you as I should have in killing a snake which had tried to bite me. For such as you, plain killing is too good. Hand over those jewels."

"I have no jewels! For G.o.d's sake, listen to me! There is some dreadful mistake."

"That's enough of that. Penfold, strip her. I daresay you can manage her single-handed; but if you want a.s.sistance, I shall be happy to give you mine."

The virago, addressed as Penfold, grinned, not agreeably.

"I sha'n't want a.s.sistance, not with the likes of her. I can handle her as easy as if she was a baby."

CHAPTER IV.--OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN

Penfold proceeded to put her words to the proof. Without any sort of warning, she took Edith by the throat, and, advancing her foot, tripped her over on to the floor with an ease which was positively ludicrous. And, having got her down, choking her with one huge hand, while with the other she began to tear her clothes from off her with as scant formality as she might have plucked the feathers from a fowl, Edith made not the slightest attempt at resistance. Not only was there no fight left in her, but she was being throttled. If that iron grasp about her slender throat was not soon relaxed, she would, ere long, become a runaway wife indeed, and for ever. Before, however, that consummation had been achieved, and she was actually and finally throttled, a diversion was caused by the unceremonious entrance of still another woman, who was holding a paper in her hand. Without any sort of prelude she addressed herself to all and sundry.

"Clara Harvey's been too much for us. She's declined to swallow the bait we offered her, she saw the hook behind it, as I expected she would. She's given us the slip, and apparently got clean away, because she's had the impudence to send me this telegram."

The new-comer read aloud from the piece of paper she was holding, which was now seen to be a telegraph form.

"So sorry cannot accept kind invitation to come to town. Have business engagement, which I am now starting to fill. Good-bye, dearest, in case I should not see you again for very long time, which fear I sha'n't. Say good-bye for me to the other dears. Hope dear Mary won't suffer much, but we have all of us to be in trouble in our turn. Best love.--CLARA."

The reading of this curiously and extravagantly-worded telegram, was followed by a chorus of exclamations.

"What nonsense are you talking?" "What are you reading from?" "Who's been kidding you?" "Clara's here!"

It was the new-comer's turn to exclaim. "Clara's here? Where?"

"Here!"

Her attention was directed to the figure of Mrs Bankes, who was still rec.u.mbent on the floor, though fortunately Penfold had somewhat softened the vigour of her attentions. The new-comer stared at the prostrate lady.

"Clara! That's not Clara!"

"Not Clara? Don't talk rubbish! It's her, right enough!"

"I don't know who that is, and I don't know what you're playing off on me, but I do know that's not Clara Harvey. I've known her pretty well all my life; if I don't know her, I don't know who does, and I tell you that's no more Clara Harvey than I am."

On the faces of the four women were looks of stupefied amazement.

Penfold shook the recipient of her tender mercies.

"Now then, wake up there, you ain't quite dead. Ain't you, Clara?"

"No!" Mrs Bankes just managed to gasp.

On the table lay her purse, with its contents displayed to the public gaze. The new-comer took up the visiting card.

"What's this? Mrs Frank Bankes, The Chestnuts, Tuesdays, 4 to 6."

"I'm Mrs Frank Bankes," murmured the owner of that name.

The new-comer darted forward.

"Not Mrs Frank Bankes, of Colchester? Not the wife of Frank Bankes, the solicitor, who's undertaken the prosecution of Mary Griffiths?"

"I'm his wife."

The new-comer evinced all the symptoms of mental disturbance. She stared at Edith as if she were a ghost. Then looked at the others with eyes in which were both anger and amazement.

"What--what's the meaning of this? What tomfoolery have you been up to? How came she here?"

The little woman advanced to the front.

"It is for her to explain, not us. She came here with Ricketts as Clara Harvey; she allowed us to believe she was Clara Harvey. You know neither of us four has ever seen Clara Harvey; we never supposed, therefore, that she could be anyone else!" She spoke to Edith. "Why did you pa.s.s yourself off as someone else?"

"I didn't. I told you there was a mistake. I wanted to explain but you wouldn't let me."

"But you came here with Ricketts?"

"Not of my own free will. I didn't want to come, but she made me. She threatened to shoot me if I tried to get out of the cab."

"But how came you to be with Ricketts at all? Do you know her?"

"If you mean by Ricketts the person who brought me here, I never saw her before in my life. When she came to me in the railway carriage, I thought my husband had sent her to meet me. I was in great distress, or I should have been more cautious."

"Look here, Mrs Bankes, what has happened has been your fault, not ours. We certainly were not desirous of your presence, so perhaps you will just explain by what curious accident you are here."

Mrs Bankes did explain, lamely enough, and with plentiful lack of dignity. Her audience listened with all their ears.

"I am Mrs Bankes, of Colchester. This afternoon I quarrelled with my husband--I see now that I was altogether in the wrong." If only Frank could have heard! "I was beside myself with pa.s.sion. I said that I would run away, and--I ran away. When I got to London someone came to me in the train. I thought my husband had sent her to take me back again, so--I went with her, but--she brought me here instead--you wouldn't listen to me, so--"

She stopped short, something seemed to be choking her. But she had said enough to make her meaning pretty plain.

"Ricketts is a fool." They were the first words the lady in widow's weeds had uttered. They seemed to meet with general approval.

"Rickett's is not the only fool." The addition was the little woman's.

This expression of opinion was also adopted. "For all I know, Mrs Bankes, you may, on ordinary occasions, be a person remarkable for common-sense; but you must forgive my saying that, on this occasion, it is not that quality in your conduct which strikes one most. You are the wife of a man who is no friend of ours; you have forced yourself into our confidence; you have tricked us into treating you with alarming frankness; you have engineered yourself into a position in which you will be able to do us serious mischief. For us it now becomes a question of self-preservation. What are we to do with her?"

"Don't let her go back to her husband."

This suggestion also came from the lady in weeds. An irrepressible shudder went all over Mrs Bankes. She would have protested, however feebly, against so terrible a proposition, had not her tongue refused its office. Never had she supposed it possible that she would have been treated with contempt by anyone--and by a gang of thieves!