This House to Let Part 33

It was a relief to unburden her secret to an audience whom she could trust. For she was sure that neither her brother nor sister would ever allow her to put herself into real danger.

"I am coming to that," she repeated. "A few days after he had written those letters, one to his widowed mother, one to his elder brother, who had inherited the bulk of the big fortune, the elder brother called upon me in my flat. He was a very handsome, well-set-up man, although he had been through a good deal in the War. He was very like you, Reggie."

"Ah," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr Davis. He looked at Carrie, keenly watching her sister, with a glance that suggested they would soon be coming to the real pith of this rambling confession.

"He begged the favour of a short conversation. He was perfectly open and above-board. He told me straight he was Roddie's elder brother, and that his name was Hugh Murchison. He pointed out to me very kindly that his brother was an impetuous young a.s.s--a judgment which I privately endorsed--that Roddie had been infatuated, in his short day, with quite a number of other girls, although, perhaps, not to the same extent as with me." Iris, getting back rapidly into her light mind, let her volatile and easily impressed nature peep out in her next words.

"Oh, Hugh Murchison was a darling, so quiet, so sensible, and so strong.

If he had been fool enough to ask me to marry him, I would not have given him up for seven thousand pounds."

"But you were prepared to chuck Roddie for that?" suggested her brother quietly.

"I think I let him go a bit too cheap," answered the fair Iris in a reflective voice. "Many girls have got more than I asked for compromising a breach of promise. But to tell the absolute truth, Hugh Murchison hypnotised me a bit. He was so quiet and yet so strong that I felt he could twist me round his little finger."

"We want to get to Cathcart Square," interjected Davis a little impatiently. "We don't seem to be near it yet."

"I must tell my story my own way, it is no use driving me," replied Iris, pouting a little. "Well, as I tell you, he called that day at my flat--that was the beginning of negotiations. Where were we to meet to discuss details? I couldn't have him at my flat, because Roddie was always popping in and out. He couldn't have me at his hotel, because n.o.body knew whom we might come across, and Roddie was always coming there. He said he would think out a plan and telephone or wire me."

"Ah," said Carrie, with a sigh of relief: she was a very practical person. "Now, I suppose we are coming to it."

Iris, heedless of the interruption, went on with her story.

"Next day he 'phoned me up, and after ascertaining that I was quite alone, told me to meet him at 10 Cathcart Square to resume our conversation."

"Why, in the name of all that is wonderful--" began Reginald Davis, but his sister motioned him to silence.

"Don't interrupt, please, you will know everything in a few minutes. I went to Number 10 Cathcart Square at the time appointed. He opened the door himself. It was a big house in an old-fashioned square, ages old, I should say, and in the front court was an agent's board, intimating that this particular house was to let, furnished."

"I know Cathcart Square well, it's in an old-world quarter of Kensington," interrupted Davis. He added grimly, "I know it well, although I did not have the misfortune to commit suicide there."

"He told me a very funny story. The afternoon of the day before, he had been up to Kensington to visit an old nurse of the family who lived near by. He had strolled round to Cathcart Square to fill up an idle half-hour. He had been struck by the appearance of the house, and loitered before it, when suddenly the door opened, and a somewhat bibulous-looking caretaker came out."

Davis indulged in a sigh of relief. "We are really coming to it now, then?"

"Yes, you are coming to it. He told me a sudden idea had occurred to him. Here would be a quiet little spot for our meetings, a place where Roddie would never dream of following us. He accosted the caretaker, evidently a drunken and corrupt creature. He explained that he wanted to rent a couple of rooms where he could receive a certain visitor he was expecting in the course of the next week or fortnight. It was no use going to the house agents for that, they would turn down such a proposition. The caretaker, with a couple of five-pound notes in his hand, took an intelligent view of the situation. He gave Hugh a key, and intimated that, if he had sufficient notice, he would make himself scarce on the occasions when the visitor was expected."

"Of all the mad things--" began Davis, but his sister for the second time motioned her brother to silence.

"Not quite so mad as you think. I fancy I can see into his mind. We could have met at a dozen different restaurants in London, but Roddie was here, there and everywhere: at any moment he might have come across us. He would never get as far as Kensington." David nodded his sagacious head. "I think I see. Go on."

"I met him there, in all four times, the last meeting was a few days before the tragedy."

"And what took place at that meeting?"

"He paid me the seven thousand pounds in notes. I signed a paper agreeing to give Roddie up. I carried out my bargain. I wrote Roddie that same night, giving him his dismissal, and a.s.suring him that nothing he could urge would induce me to reconsider my determination. He sent me frantic telegrams the next day, but I replied to the same effect.

After taking his seven thousand pounds, I could not break faith with Hugh, could I?"

Davis was not quite sure that Iris would not break faith with anybody if it suited her purpose. But clearly Hugh Murchison had subjugated her to the extent of respecting an honourable bargain. No doubt she had fallen in love with him, so far as a person of her shallow temperament could fall in love.

"And what has become of Roddie?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. He has bored me to extinction for over nine months. I am glad to be shut of him."

Davis put a question. "You say Hugh Murchison paid you in notes. What have you done with them? His bank will have the numbers."

"Will they?" cried Iris, the frightened look again coming into her eyes; she knew nothing of business methods. "I paid them into my own account.

Now, you see, if you rake this up I might be implicated."

"Your opinion is, then, that the man found in Number 10 Cathcart Square was Hugh Murchison?"

"I am as nearly sure as I can be, after reading the caretaker's evidence. He had some other stunt on beside my own. I was not the only visitor he received."

Davis thought deeply before he spoke. "If I have him dug up, and he is identified by those who know him, a lot will come to light. Your notes will be traced, for one thing."

"I am afraid of everything, Reggie. For the love of Heaven, let him rest where he is." Caroline Masters breathed softly to herself. "You were half in love with him, or perhaps three-quarters, and you don't want to know the real truth. Oh, you miserable little, paltry soul!"

And then a sudden thought came to Davis. "Now, Iris, you could never think very clearly about things when they got a little bit complicated.

You are quite sure the last occasion on which you saw him was a few days before the discovery of the body?"

"I will swear to it," cried Iris firmly.

"The date of his cheque, which the Bank has, will show that. He probably cashed it himself on the day he paid you, any way the day before. Now, on the day preceding and the day following that tragedy, can you prove where you were?"

Iris began to see light. "Of course I can. The day after I had the notes, I got up a sprained ankle, an obliging doctor, an old (or rather young) friend of mine, sent a certificate to the theatre. I motored down to Brighton with Johnny Lascelles--who, by the way, used to make Roddie fearfully jealous. We joined a jolly little party at `The Old Ship.' I came back the day after the discovery in Cathcart Square."

Davis rose and gave a great shout: "You have witnesses who can swear to that?"

"Of course," answered Iris, not even yet comprehending the full drift of the question. "Johnny Lascelles motored me there and drove me back.

Then there was Cissy Monteith, Katie Havard, Jack Legard and others who were with me all the time."

"You silly little idiot," cried Reginald Davis. "And what the deuce do you mean by saying that you might be implicated?"

"The notes," she faltered. "My meeting him alone in that empty house.

They might suggest I murdered him, if you say he was murdered."

Davis smote his forehead in impotent anger at her denseness. "How could you have murdered him when you were at Brighton all the time?"

He smote the palms of his hands together.

"I will find out who the dead man was, and also the man who forged my name to that letter to the Coroner."

He turned to his sister: "As for you, young woman, it may be you will have a bad quarter of an hour, if it all comes out about Roddie. But never mind, you will have a splendid advertis.e.m.e.nt. The next bunch of letters you get hold of, the price will be twice seven thousand pounds."

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

The following morning Reginald Davis, resolved to unearth the mystery of 10 Cathcart Square, stood in the private room of Mr Bryant of Scotland Yard.

He had easily overcome his younger sister's scruples, her terror at having to give evidence in a court of justice, and being forced to disclose certain transactions not too creditable to herself. She had come to see from the point of view artfully suggested by Davis, that, on the whole, it would be a very good advertis.e.m.e.nt. It might even take her from her place in the chorus to a small acting part, and then her fortune would be made. She might be able to come across another rich man whom she would like well enough to marry, a man quite different from the somewhat invertebrate Roddie.