The Woman's Way Part 35

As he reached it, he glanced over his shoulder at the silent, blood-stained form lying on the floor; he wondered whether his father were dead or only stunned. For a moment, he wished that the blow had been fatal: he, Heyton, would be the Marquess; there would be plenty of money ready to his hand, there would be no need to steal his own jewels, he thought, with an hysterical giggle. But he could leave nothing to chance now. With another glance at the motionless figure, he stole from the room and reached his own.

The unnatural calm which had supported him during the last few minutes had deserted him by this time, and, in closing the door, he did so clumsily enough to make a sound; the sound, slight as it was, struck him with renewed terror, and, in crossing the room, he stumbled against a chair and overthrew it; and let the two keys slip from his fingers. The sound of the falling chair was loud and distinct enough to fill him with apprehension, and he stood breathless and listened, as if he expected the whole household to awake.

There was a movement in Miriam's room, and he heard her voice calling to him softly.

"Was that you, Percy?" she asked, in the tone of one just awakened from sleep.

He was silent for a moment; it seemed hours to him--then he slipped into the bed, and, with a yawn, as if she had roused him from sleep, he replied,

"What is it?"

"I don't know," she said. "I thought I heard a noise."

"Oh, that!" he said, with another yawn. "I knocked over the chair by the bed, reaching for a gla.s.s of water. For goodness' sake, go to sleep and don't bother!"

Mentally cursing his wife, Heyton closed his eyes and tried to think.

Strangely enough, his lack of imagination helped him; the imaginative man, in Heyton's position, would have conjured up all the terrible possibilities which environed him; but Heyton's mind was dull and narrow, and so he was able to concentrate on actual facts and actual chances.

Up to the present, he told himself, there was absolutely nothing to connect him with the robbery and the--murder, if murder it was. He felt sure that the Marquess had not seen him in that brief moment, when the old man stood in the doorway; if he had done so, he would certainly have spoken Heyton's name; there was nothing to show that the blow had been dealt by Heyton; with the selfishness of the baser kind of criminal, he had refrained from examining the motionless figure, lest he should be stained by the blood which flowed from the wound. No; the robbery would be laid to the charge of the ordinary burglar.

Then suddenly his mind switched off with a jolt; he had forgotten that the most d.a.m.ning proof of his guilt was in the cabinet opposite the bed, where he had thrust it. At that very moment he was actually in possession of the stolen goods; a minute search would be made, even his own room would not be exempt. He must hide the jewel-case somewhere. But where? Then he remembered having dropped the keys, and he hunted for them; but he could not find them. He was getting confused, obfuscated: he would search for the keys in the morning: perhaps, after all, he had left them in the dressing-room.

Throughout the remaining hours of that awful night, he lay pondering the momentous question, at one moment burning with fever, at another icy cold. The dawn broke, the sun rose, the room grew hot; and the heat gave him an idea. As the clock struck six, he rose, put on his boating flannels, and, with his bath towel over his arm, opened the bedroom door. He had actually forgotten the missing keys! Such lapses are common to the criminal.

Miriam was a light sleeper--as her awaking at the noise of the falling chair had proved--she became conscious of his presence and she opened her eyes.

"Oh, what is it, Percy?" she asked, petulantly and a little nervously.

"I'm going down to the lake for a swim," he said; "it's precious hot this morning. I left my white shoes in the room."

"No, you didn't," she said, impatiently. "I saw them with your other boots in the dressing-room yesterday."

"Oh, right!" he said. "Awfully sorry to have disturbed you."

He returned to the dressing-room, arranged the long bath towel over the jewel-case, and went downstairs. He was too early, as he knew, for any of the servants to be about, and he went through the lower hall and was unbolting the outer door when he chanced to glance at the window nearest it; it was closed by a common hasp, and was without bars. With a little nod of satisfaction, he opened the window noiselessly; then went out by the door.

He was about to go through the shrubbery, towards the little wood, at the bottom of which lay the lake, but it occurred to him that some of the servants might be getting up and that any movement of his should be open and free from secrecy. So he went straight across the lawn in the sauntering fashion of a man going for a bath and enjoying the fresh, warm air; but when he entered the wood, which was enchanted ground for Derrick and Celia, he looked round him cautiously; for it was just possible that one of the gamekeepers might be about; but there was no sight or sound of anyone, and when he had gained the centre of the wood, he stopped and looked around him, and presently, after waiting a minute or two listening intently, he hid the box under a bush and covered it with the leaves of last autumn. Then, with a sense of relief, for, light as it was, the jewel-case had weighed upon him like a leaden thing, he went to the lake, slipped off his things and had his swim.

He felt better after it; more of a man, as the poor fool told himself.

There was nothing to connect him with the robbery, he had got rid of the jewel-case; it was well-nigh impossible that anyone should discover it; he could remove it when the fuss was over; indeed, perhaps there would be no need to deal with the jewels; the old man might be----

It was all very plausible; but he had forgotten to take into account that long arm of coincidence which so often upsets the plans of the most astute criminal. And yet, in this case, the arm was not so very long.

For Derrick had acquired a habit of early rising during the experiences in South America; the circus people were always up soon after sunrise, and at the ranch most of the people were stirring at dawn, when the air was cool and fresh. That morning, Derrick, who had slept soundly, as your happy lover should sleep, rose and, leaving the inn, had sauntered along the road until he came to the gate where Lady Gridborough had seen him and Celia. Naturally enough, he pa.s.sed into the wood; of course, taking the path on which he had walked with Celia. He was thinking of her, thinking of the future, of the joy that awaited him, and in that clear, sunlit air, with the song of the birds in his ears, the difficulties with which he was beset seemed very light and unimportant.

The girl he had loved was going to be his; that thought was quite enough for such a morning. He had nearly reached the centre of the wood, when he stopped to take out his pipe and pouch, and he was about to strike a match, when he saw something white pa.s.sing between the trees at a little distance from him.

At first he thought it was Celia, and, with a leap of the lover's heart, he took a step forward; then he stopped short; the figure was that of a man in flannels; and a moment or two afterwards, he had recognised Heyton. The disappointment was great; he had no desire to meet Heyton; the sight of him recalled the bitter past; and Derrick stood, frowning as he watched Heyton on his way to the lake. He saw Heyton stop and look round him, and then he lost sight of him, for Heyton was bending down in the act of hiding the jewel-case. When he rose, Derrick got a clear sight of the man's face, and something in its expression impressed Derrick curiously, painfully.

Nothing stops still in this world of ours; and men must go up or down.

It was evident to Derrick that Heyton had gone very much down since he had last seen him. Heyton's face had coa.r.s.ened, his lips had grown looser and more sensual, there were bags under his eyes; but it was not these grosser changes which struck Derrick so much, as the expression of the man's face; it was that of one burdened by some oppression of mind or body; it seemed to Derrick that the light, prominent eyes had in them a look of fear, the look a man wears when he is hunted and driven.

And why, just before he had disappeared, had Heyton looked round him, secretively, cautiously, as if he did not wish to be seen? It was ridiculous, Derrick told himself; but it seemed to him as if Heyton were hiding something. Half-unconsciously, he made a mental note of the spot at which Heyton had made that curious pause in his progress. But Derrick did not go to it; he wanted particularly to avoid Heyton--and Miriam, everyone connected with that wretched past which still hung over him like a cloud. So he returned to the road and went straight back to the inn.

Awaiting him, he found a letter from the engineers concerning matters which needed his immediate presence in London. He had just time to s.n.a.t.c.h a hasty breakfast, left word with the landlord for Reggie that he, Derrick, was obliged to go to London but would return by the night train, and reached the station just as the train came in. He was hot and, no doubt, looked rather worried; for there was no means of letting Celia know that he had gone, or of making an appointment with her. Of course, he pictured her wandering about the wood in the hope of seeing him, and acutely imagined her disappointment.

CHAPTER XXVI

Meanwhile, Heyton returned to the Hall; walking with a certain jauntiness which was not altogether a.s.sumed; for the disposal of the jewel-case had been an immense relief. Some of the servants were now about, and to her surprise, he wished one of the maids good morning quite pleasantly; to her surprise, because Heyton's manner to his inferiors was usually anything but a pleasant one; and, while all the household was devoted to the Marquess, and would have done anything for him, his son was unpopular. As he pa.s.sed along the lower hall, Heyton glanced at the window he had opened: it had not been shut. He went up the stairs and, as he entered his dressing-room, hummed the latest comic song. The breakfast hour at the Hall was half-past nine; the Marquess was called at half-past eight, but Heyton's valet had orders not to disturb his master until he rang, and, more often than not, Heyton's bell did not ring until breakfast was on the table.

Heyton threw himself down on the bed and closed his eyes with the preposterous idea of getting a little sleep; but he lay and listened, and presently he heard Miriam's maid knocking at the bedroom door; then he rose and rang for his man.

"Early this morning, eh, Simc.o.x?" he said. "Been for a swim. Feel jolly fit. Fact is, we all lie abed too late; I've half a mind to get up for a bath in the lake every morning."

The valet grinned to himself as he answered respectfully,

"Yes, my lord. Very pleasant in the morning."

When he had half finished dressing, Heyton called to Miriam.

"I say, Miriam, what about a drive this morning? We might go over to Teynsham."

"I don't know; I'll see," she called back listlessly.

"I'll wear a tweed suit," said Heyton to his man; "I'll have the new one. And, look here, you tell the tailor to give me a little more room round the waist. I suppose I must be getting fat, eh, Simc.o.x?"

"Oh, not fat, my lord," murmured Simc.o.x, remonstratingly.

"More--er--comfortable."

When the man had finished with him, Heyton lit a cigarette and leant back in his chair--as if he were waiting for something.

He had not to wait long.

A cry rang through the house; it was followed by others; there was the sound of rushing footsteps and voices raised in terror; his door was flung open and Simc.o.x stood on the threshold, his face white, his eyes starting; he gaped at his master speechlessly, and Heyton gaped back at him.

"Well, what the devil is it?" he asked at last, his face red, his lips quivering. "What do you mean by rushing in, in this--idiotic fashion?"

"Oh, my lord!" gasped Simc.o.x. "Something's--something's happened. Oh, it's awful! It's the Marquess's man--Mr. Jenkins--he's just been to call his lordship and--and--oh, my lord, it's 'orrible!"

Heyton rose, gripping the back of the chair.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"Oh, my lord, the Marquess is dead!" stammered Simc.o.x.

"Dead!" echoed Heyton, his face livid, his whole form shaking as if with palsy.