CHAPTER XXIII
To any imaginative mind there is surely something awe-inspiring in thethought of the constant secret interlocking of lives which seem asunlikely ever to meet, in a decisive sense, as are two parallel lines.
How amazed, how bewildered, Laura Pavely would have been could she havevisioned even a hundredth part of the feeling concerning herself whichfilled her nearest neighbour, Katty Winslow's, heart!
Even in the old days Katty had disliked Laura, and had regarded her witha mixture of contempt and envy. And now that Oliver Tropenell had comeback--now that Katty suspected him of being Laura's potential, if notactual, lover--she grew to hate the woman who had always been kind toher with an intense, calculating hate.
It seemed as if she hardly ever looked out of one of her windows withoutseeing Oliver on his way to The Chase, or Laura on her way toFreshley--and this although the secret lovers behaved with greatdiscretion, for Oliver was less, rather than more, with Laura than heused to be in the old days when Godfrey was alive. Also, wherever Laurahappened to be, her child--cheerful, eager little Alice--was sure to beclose by.
Laura, so much Katty believed herself to have discovered, was now happy,in her cold, unemotional way, in the possession of a man's ardentdevotion, while she, Katty, who had asked so comparatively little oflife, had been deprived of the one human being who could, and perhaps intime would, have given her all she wanted.
Poor Godfrey Pavely! No one ever spoke of him now, in that neighbourhoodwhere once he had counted for so much. Already it was as if he had neverbeen. But to Katty Winslow he was still an insistent, dominatingpresence. Often she brooded over his untimely death, and sometimes sheupbraided herself for not having made some sort of effort to solve themystery. The reward was still in being, but one day, lately, when shehad made some allusion to it in Laura's presence, Laura, reddening, hadobserved that she was thinking of withdrawing it.
"Lord St. Amant and the Scotland Yard people never approved of it," shesaid, "and as you know, Katty, it has led to nothing."
Early in October, Laura, Oliver and Alice, passing by Rosedean one day,turned in through the gate. "Why shouldn't we go in and ask Katty tocome to tea?" It was Laura's suggestion. Somehow she was sorry forKatty--increasingly sorry. Yet she could not help feeling glad whenHarber coldly informed her that Mrs. Winslow had left home, and wouldnot be back for ten days.
* * * * *
At the very time that happy little group of people was at her door,Katty herself was standing in a queue of people waiting to take herticket at York station.
Though Mrs. Winslow would have been honestly surprised had any one toldher she was sentimental, she had actually come down by an earlier trainthan was necessary in order that she might retrace the ways that she andher friend had trodden together a year ago in January.
She had first gone to the Minster, moving swiftly along the pavedstreets where she had walked and talked slowly, pleasantly, with thedead man. Then she had wandered off to the picturesque thoroughfarelined with curiosity shops. How kind, how generous Godfrey had been toher just here! Every time she looked up in her pretty littledrawing-room at Rosedean, his gift met her eye.
While she was engaged on this strange, painful pilgrimage, there welledup in Katty's heart a flood of agonised regret and resentment. She toldherself bitterly that Godfrey's death had aged her--taken the spring outof her. Small wonder indeed that in these last few weeks she should havecome to hate Laura with a steady, burning flame of hate....
So it was that Katty Winslow was in a queer mental and physical statewhen she returned to the big railway station to complete her journey.She did not feel at all in the mood to face the gay little housepartywhere she was sure of an uproarious, as well as of an affectionate,welcome.
As she stood in the queue of rather rough North-country folk, waiting totake her third-class ticket, there swept over her a sudden, vividrecollection of that incident--the hearing of a voice which at the timehad seemed so oddly familiar--which had happened on the day she hadparted from Godfrey Pavely for the last time.
And then--as in a blinding, yet illuminating flash--there came to herthe conviction, nay, more, the certain knowledge, as to whose voice ithad been that she had heard on the last occasion when she had stoodthere, in the large, bare booking office. The voice she had heard--shewas quite, _quite_ sure of it now, it admitted of no doubt in her mindat all--had been the peculiar, rather high-pitched, voice of GillieBaynton....
She visualised the arresting appearance of the man who had been theowner of the voice, and who had gazed at her with that rather impudent,jeering glance of bold admiration. Of course it was Gillie, but Gilliedisguised--Gillie with his cheeks tinted a curious greenish-orangecolour, Gillie with his fair hair dyed black, Gillie--her brain suddenlysupplied the link she was seeking for feverishly--_exactly answering tothe description of the sinister Fernando Apra--the self-confessedmurderer of Godfrey Pavely_. Katty left the queue in which she wasstanding, and walked across to a bench.
There she sat down, and, heedless of the people about her, put her chinon her hand and stared before her.
What did her new knowledge portend? What did it lead to? Was Lauraassociated with this extraordinary, bewildering discovery of hers? Butthe questions she put to herself remained unanswered. She failed tounravel even a little strand of the tangled skein.
Slowly she got up again, and once more took her place in the queueoutside the booking office. It would be folly to lose her train becauseof this discovery, astounding, illuminating, as it was.
She was so shaken, so excited, that she longed to confide in one of theHaworths, brother or sister, to whose house she was going--but somedeep, secretive instinct caused her to refrain from doing that. Still,she was so far unlike herself, that after her arrival the members of themerry party all commented to one another on the change they saw in her.
"She's as pretty as ever," summed up one of them at last, "but somehowshe looks different."
All that night Katty lay awake, thinking, thinking--trying to puttogether a human puzzle of which the pieces would not fit. GillieBaynton, even if he disliked his brother-in-law, had no motive for doingthe awful thing she was now beginning to suspect he had done. She foundherself floating about in a chartless sea of conjectures, ofsuspicions....
She felt better, more in possession of herself, the next morning. Yetshe was still oppressed with an awful sense of bewilderment and horror,uncertain, too, as to what use she could make of her new knowledge.
Should she go straight up to town and tell Sir Angus Kinross of what hadhappened to her yesterday? Somehow she shrank from doing that. He wouldsuspect her of simply trying to snatch the reward. Katty had never beenquite at ease with the Commissioner of Police--never quite sure as towhat he knew, or did not know, of her past relations to Godfrey Pavely.And yet those relations had been innocent enough, in all conscience!Sometimes Katty, when thinking of those terrible times last January, hadfelt sorry she had not told Sir Angus the truth as to that joint journeyto York. But, having hidden the fact at first, she had been ashamed toconfess it later--and now she would have to confess it.
She was still in this anxious, debating-within-herself frame of mindwhen, at luncheon, something happened which seemed to open a way beforeher.
Her host, Tony Haworth, was talking of the neighbourhood, and he said,rather ruefully: "Of course a man like that old rascal who calls himselfGreville Howard is worse than no good as a neighbour! For one thing he'sa regular recluse. He hardly ever goes outside his park gates. I supposethe conscience of a man who's done so many naughty deeds in a good worldis apt to make him feel a bit nervous!"
"How far off does he live from here?" asked Katty slowly. The scene atthe inquest rose up before her, especially that moment when "GrevilleHoward's" affidavit, accompanied by his doctor's certificate, had beenread aloud amid a ripple of amusement from the general public present.
"About four miles--but no one ever sees him. He's
more or less of aninvalid. It's a beautiful old house, and they say he's got somewonderful pictures and furniture there."
"Does he live quite alone?"
Her host hesitated. "Well, yes--but sometimes he has a lady of sortsthere. He brought one back from France last June (he has a villa atMonte Carlo), and then--" Tony Haworth hesitated again, but Katty waslooking at him eagerly--"then something dreadful happened! The poorwoman died. She got a chill, developed pneumonia, and, to do the oldrascal justice, he got down the biggest man he could from town. But itwas no good--she died just the same! As far as I know, he's quite alonenow--and precious lonely he must find it!"
Katty was very silent for the rest of the meal, and after luncheon shedrew her host aside.
"Look here," she said abruptly. "I've something to tell you, Tony. Iwant to see that person we were speaking about--I mean Greville Howard.I want to see him about Godfrey Pavely. You know he is one of the fewpeople who actually saw the man who killed Godfrey. At the time of theinquest he was ill, and so couldn't attend--I think the police thoughthe shammed illness. Sir Angus Kinross was convinced (and so was Lord St.Amant) that this Greville Howard knew a great deal more about FernandoApra than he was willing to tell."
Tony Haworth was much taken aback.
"My dear girl, I don't think there's a chance of your getting at him!However, of course you shall be driven over as soon as you like. He_may_ see you--_you're_ not the sort of person he's afraid of."
He looked at her a little sharply. "You never had any money dealingswith him, had you, Katty? Now, honour bright----"
"Of course not," she laughed. "Is it likely? My husband may have had, inthe long, long ago--but I, never!"
* * * * *
An hour or so later, Katty Winslow, alone in her friend's motor, foundherself before the lodge of the big lonely place where the retiredmoney-lender--a Yorkshireman by birth--had set up his household gods.The great gates were closed and locked, but there was a bell, and sherang it.
After a certain interval the lodge-keeper came out.
"I've come to see Mr. Greville Howard," she explained, and smiledamiably at the man.
He looked at her doubtfully. "The master don't see no one excepting byappointment," he said gruffly.
"I think he'll see me."
And then an extraordinary piece of luck befell Katty Winslow. While shewas standing there, parleying, she suddenly saw a man inside the park,walking towards the gates.
"I think," she said boldly, "that that _is_ Mr. Greville Howard?" andshe saw by the lodgekeeper's face that she was right in her guess.
Moving gracefully forward, she slid past him, and thus she stood justwithin the gates, while slowly there advanced towards her--and, had shebut known it, towards many others--Fate, in the person of a tall, thin,some would have said a very distinguished-looking, elderly man.
As he came up, he looked at Katty with a measuring, thoughtful glance,and his eyes travelled beyond her to the well-appointed motor drawn upin the lonely country road outside.
Now this was the sort of situation to amuse and stimulate, rather thanalarm, Katty, the more so that the stranger, who was now close to her,was looking at her pleasantly rather than otherwise.
She took a step towards him.
"Mr. Howard?" she exclaimed, in her full, agreeable voice. "I wonder ifyou would be so kind as to grant me a short interview? I want to see youabout the late Mr. Godfrey Pavely. He was a great friend of mine."
As she uttered the dead banker's name, Greville Howard's face stiffenedinto sudden watchfulness. But he said slowly: "May I enquire your name,madam?"
"Oh yes," she said eagerly. "My name is Winslow--I am Mrs. Winslow. Iwas Godfrey Pavely's oldest friend--we were children together."
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Your name comes back to me. I think you werementioned at the inquest, Mrs. Winslow? But you did not give anyevidence, if I remember rightly."
"No, I was not asked to give evidence," she answered. "And you yourself,Mr. Howard, were too ill to come and say what you knew about--about----"
"About Mr. Pavely's murderer," he said smoothly.
They were now walking side by side slowly away from the gate, down abroad, well-kept carriage road, the lodge-keeper staring after them.
"Do you know Sir Angus Kinross?" asked Katty's companion suddenly.
She gave him a curious, side-glance look. "I saw him several times lastwinter," she said hesitatingly. "But, Mr. Howard?--I don't like him!"
"Neither do I." He snapped the words out. "I could have told ScotlandYard a good deal if Kinross had taken the trouble to be civil to me--buthe sent me down a fellow whose manner I exceedingly resented."
There followed a long pause. Katty became unpleasantly awarethat this strange-looking man--she wondered how old hewas--sixty-five?--seventy?--was looking at her with a ratherpitiless scrutiny.
"I can see that you are anxious to know the truth," he observed. Headded: "Are you aware that the reward has just been withdrawn?"
"No, I didn't know that. But I'm not surprised," she said.
She glanced at him, puzzled, and a little nervous. His keen eyes,grey-green in tint, were much younger than the rest of his face.
"I think I know part of the truth," he went on. "And perhaps you will beable to supply the other part, Mrs. Winslow. I confess to a certaincuriosity about the matter."
They were now within sight of a charming-looking old house. It wascharming, and yet there was something forlorn about its very perfection.The low, oak, nail-studded front door was shut, not hospitably open--asis generally the case with the door of a Yorkshire country house. ButMr. Greville Howard pulled the bell, and at once the door was opened bya respectable-looking manservant.
"I am taking this lady to my study, and I do not wish to be disturbedtill I ring. When I ring you can bring tea."
Katty followed her host through a short, vaulted passage into a squarehall. It was a beautiful apartment, in keeping with the delicate,austere charm of the house outside. And round the hall there were somefine Dutch easel pictures.
Out of the hall there opened various doors. Greville Howard pushed openone, already ajar, and Katty walked through into what she at oncerealised was her companion's own habitual living-room.
With all her cleverness, and her acquaintance with the art-furnishingjargon of the day, Katty would have been surprised to know the value ofthe contents of this comparatively small room. It contained some notableexamples of the best period of early French Empire furniture. This wasspecially true of the mahogany and brass inlaid dwarf bookcases whichran round three sides of the apartment. Above the bookcases, against theturquoise-blue silk with which the walls were hung, were a number ofMeissonier's paintings of Napoleon.
On the mantelpiece was a marble bust of the young Caesar as First Consul,and above it a delightful portrait of Mademoiselle Georges, by Gerard.As he briefly informed his visitor of the portrait's identity, Mr.Greville Howard felt just a little disappointed that Mrs. Winslow didnot seem more interested.
During the last quarter of an hour he had recaptured what at the time ofthe affair had been a very definite impression as to the relations ofhis present visitor and the Wiltshire banker. But now, seeing Kattythere before him, looking so much at her ease, so--so ladylike (Mr.Greville Howard's own word), he hesitated.
"Pray sit down," he said courteously, "and make yourself comfortable,Mrs. Winslow. It's getting rather chilly."
Her host put on another log as he spoke, and pulled a low, easy chairup close to the fire. And then he himself sat down, at right angles tohis attractive guest, in a curiously-shaped winged chair which had oncebeen part of the furniture in the Empress Josephine's music-room atMalmaison.