The Stowmarket Mystery Part 13

Margaret pressed her hands to her face. She could no longer bear the torture of make-believe quiescence.

"Oh, what shall I do!" she wailed. "I am the most miserable woman in England to-day, and I might have been the happiest."

"Why are you miserable, Mrs. Capella?" asked Brett gently.

"I cannot tell you. Perhaps it is owing to my own folly. Are you sure that David and Helen intend to get married?"

"Yes."

"Then, for Heaven's sake, let the wedding take place. Let them leave Beechcroft and its a.s.sociations for ever."

"That cannot be until Hume's character is cleared from the odium attached to it."

"You mean my brother's death. But that has been settled by the courts.

David was declared 'Not guilty.' Surely that will suffice! No good purpose can be gained by reopening an inquiry closed by the law."

"I think you are a little unjust to your cousin in this matter, Mrs.

Capella. He and his future wife feel very grievously the slur cast upon his name. You know perfectly well that if half the people in this county were asked, 'Who killed Sir Alan Hume-Frazer?' they would say 'David Hume.' The other half would shake their heads in dubiety, and prefer not to be on visiting terms with David Hume and his wife. No; your brother was killed in a particularly foul way. He died needlessly, so far as we can learn. His death should be avenged, and this can only be done by tracking his murderer and ruthlessly bringing the wretch to justice. Are not these your own sentiments when divested of all conflicting desires?"

Brett's concluding sentence seemed to petrify his hearer.

"In what way can I help you?" she murmured, and the words appeared to come from a heart of stone.

"There are many items I want cleared up, but I do not wish to distress you unduly. Can you not refer me to your solicitors, for instance? I imagine they will be able to answer all my queries."

"No. I prefer to deal with the affair myself."

"Very well. I will commence with you personally. Why did you quarrel with your brother in London a few days before his death?"

"Because I was living extravagantly. Not only that, but he disapproved of my manner of life. In those days I was headstrong and wilful. I loved a Bohemian existence combined with absurd luxury, or rather, a wildly useless expenditure of money. No one who knows me now could picture me then. Yet now I am good and unhappy. Then I was wicked, in some people's eyes, and happy. Strange, is it not?"

"Not altogether so unusual as you may think. Was any other person interested in what I may term the result of the dispute between your brother and yourself?"

"That is a difficult question to answer. I was very careless in money matters, but it is clear that the curtailment of my rate of living from 15,000 to 5,000 per annum must make considerable difference to all connected with me."

"Had you been living at the former rate?"

"Yes, since my father's death. What annoyed Alan was the fact that I had borrowed from money-lenders."

"Who else knew of your disagreement with him besides these money-lenders and his solicitors?"

"All my friends. I used to laugh at his serious ways, when I, older and much more experienced in some respects, treated life as a tiresome joke.

But none of my friends were commissioned to murder my brother so that I might obtain the estate, Mr. Brett."

"Not by you," he said thoughtfully.

He knew well that to endeavour to get Margaret to implicate her husband would merely render her an active opponent. She loved this Italian scamp.

She was profoundly thankful that David Hume had come back to claim the hand of Helen Layton, the woman who had been the unwilling object of Capella's wayward affections. She would be only too glad to give half her property to the young couple if they would settle in New Zealand or Peru--far from Beechcroft.

Yet it was impossible to believe that she could love a man whom she suspected of murdering her brother. Why, then, had husband and wife drifted apart? a.s.suredly the pieces of the puzzle were inextricably mixed.

"Where did you marry Mr. Capella?" asked Brett suddenly.

"At Naples--a civil ceremony, before the Mayor, and registered by the British Consul."

"Had you been long acquainted"

"I met him, oddly enough, in Covent Garden Theatre, the night my brother was killed"

It was now Brett's turn to be startled.

"Are you quite certain of this ?" he asked, his surprise at the turn taken by the conversation almost throwing him off his guard.

"Positive. Were you led to believe that Giovanni was the murderer?"

Her voice was cold, impa.s.sive, marvellously under control. It warned him, threw him back into the safe role of Hume's adviser and friend.

"I am led to believe nothing at present," he said slowly. "This inquiry is, as yet, only twenty-four hours old so far as I am concerned. I am seeking information. When I am gorged with facts I proceed to digest them."

"Well, what I tell you is true. There are no less than ten people, all living, I have no doubt, who can testify to its correctness. I had a box at the Fancy Dress Ball that New Year's Eve. I invited nine guests. One of them, an attache at the Italian Emba.s.sy, brought Giovanni and introduced him to me. We were together from midnight until 4.30 a.m. Whilst poor Alan was lying here dead, I was revelling at a _bal masque_. Do you think I am likely to forget the circ.u.mstances?"

The icy tones thrilled with pitiful remembrance. But the barrister's task required the unsparing use of the probe. He determined, once and for all, to end an unpleasant scene.

"Will you tell me why you and your husband have, shall we say, disagreed so soon after your marriage? You were formed by Providence and nature to be mated. What has driven you apart?"

The woman flushed scarlet under this direct inquiry.

"I cannot tell you," she said brokenly, "but the cause--in no way--concerns--either my brother's death--or David's innocence. It is personal--between Giovanni and myself. In G.o.d's good time, it may be put right."

Brett, singularly enough, was a man of quick impulse. He was moved now by a profound pity for the woman who thus bared her heart to him.

"Thank you for your candour, Mrs. Capella," he exclaimed, with a fervour that evidently touched her. "May I ask one more question, and I have done with a most unpleasant ordeal. Do you suspect any person of being your brother's a.s.sa.s.sin?"

"No," she said. "Indeed I do not."

CHAPTER VIII

REVELATIONS

Hume and Winter did not meet on terms that might be strictly described as cordial.

Brett, on quitting the Hall, had surrendered himself to a spell of vacant bewilderment. He haled the unwilling Hume from Helen's society, and picked up the detective at the Wheat Sheaf Inn. Then the barrister, from sheer need of mental relief, determined to have some fun with them.

"You two ought to know each other," he said good-humouredly. "At one time you took keen interest in matters of mutual concern. Allow me to introduce you. Hume--this is Mr. Winter, of Scotland Yard."