CHAPTER IV
ISOBEL
Ten minutes later I was standing in a charming little boudoir whichtoo often figured in my daydreams. My own photograph was upon themantelpiece, and in Isobel's dark eyes when she greeted me there was alight which I lacked the courage to try to understand. I had not atthat time learned what I learned later, and have already indicated,that my own foolish silence had wounded Isobel as deeply as hersubsequent engagement to Eric Coverly had wounded me.
The psychology of a woman is intriguing in its very naivete, and nowas she stood before me, slim and graceful in her well-cut walkingcostume, a quick flicker of red flaming in her cheeks and her eyesalight with that sweet tantalizing look in which expectation and a hotpride were mingled, I wondered and felt sick at heart. Desirable shewas beyond any other woman I had known, and I called myself witlingcoward, to have avoided putting my fortune to the test on that fatalday of my departure for Mesopotamia. For just as she looked at me nowshe had looked at me then. But to-day she was evidently on the pointof setting out--I did not doubt with the purpose of meeting EricCoverly; on that day of the irrevocable past she had been free and Ihad been silent.
"You nearly missed me, Jack," she said gayly. "I was just going out."
By the very good-fellowship of her greeting she restored me to myselfand enabled me to stamp down--at least temporarily--the monsterthrough whose greedy eyes I had found myself considering the happinessof Eric Coverly.
"I am afraid, Isobel," I replied, "that what I have to tell you is notby any means pleasant--although--"
"Yes?" she prompted, noting how I hesitated.
"Although it means that you are now the future Lady Coverly."
The bright color left her cheeks. That some black tragedy underlay mywords she had intuitively perceived, but I could see that she failedto grasp the whole meaning of my bald statement. She sank down slowlyinto a cushioned chair, so that a beam of golden light pouring inthrough the opened window set aglowing the russet tints in her darkbrown hair.
"Did you know Sir Marcus?" I asked, speaking as gently as I could.
With what intense, if hidden, emotion I awaited her answer it wereimpossible to describe.
"Do you mean--"
She met my glance, and I nodded gravely.
"Oh, Jack! When did it happen?"
"Last night. But you have not told me if you knew him?" I persisted.
Isobel shook her head.
"Not in any way--intimately," she replied. "Eric"--she hesitated,glancing up quickly and as quickly down again--"and he were not ongood terms."
"But you had met him?" I persisted; for I had detected in her manner areluctance to discuss Sir Marcus which I failed to understand.
"I used to meet him, Jack, when--when you were away. He came once ortwice with Eric. They were not good friends, even then. But I neverliked him. I quite lost sight of him from the time that he came intothe title--about four years ago, was it not?--until quite recently. Hehad been in Russia, I think. Then he--" Again she hesitated. It wasodd how often people hesitated, as if seeking for words, when speakingof the late baronet. "He called at the theater. Considering that heknew of my engagement to Eric, his manner was not quite nice. But Iwas anxious to prevent trouble, and did not mention the visit to Eric.Sir Marcus was very persistent, however. One night Eric saw himleaving the stage-door and I believe there was a dreadful scene atEric's rooms."
"And that is all you know of him, Isobel?"
"Practically all, except what I have heard, of course. I might addthat I instructed Marie to tell Sir Marcus I was engaged whenever hemight call in future."
"And did he call again?"
"Marie said that he sent his card up on several occasions, but sheknew how the affair worried me and did not tell me at the time. I sawhim in the stalls occasionally, and--oh!--"
The last word was a mere murmur. Isobel's expression grew more thanever troubled.
"He was there last night," she whispered, and raising her eyes to me:"Tell me how it happened, and where--"
But ere I had time to begin there was an interruption. Dimly, atelephone bell rang. I could hear the voice of Marie, Isobel's maid,answering the call then:
"Mr. Coverly to speak to you, madam," said Marie, entering the room.
"He must have only just heard the news!" cried Isobel, rising swiftlyand going out.
Consumed by impatience, I walked up and down the dainty apartmentlistening to Isobel's muffled voice speaking in the lobby. Twice Iwent to the window and peered down into the street, expecting to seethe thick-set figure of Inspector Gatton approaching. My frame of mindwas peculiar and troubled. Gatton's inquiries pointed unmistakably toa suspicion that Sir Marcus's last hours had been spent, if notactually with, at any rate near to Isobel. And since the man who wouldmost directly profit by the baronet's death happened also to beIsobel's _fiance_, I foresaw a dreadful ordeal for both if EricCoverly was not in a position to establish an alibi.
I had been about to ask her if Coverly had been in her company on theprevious night when the interruption had occurred. Now if Gattonshould arrive and find me in Isobel's flat, what construction would heput upon my presence?
Yet again I went to the window and peered anxiously up and down thestreet. Every cab that approached I expected to contain the inspector,and I heaved a sigh of relief as one after another passed the door.Pedestrians who turned the distant corner I scrutinized closely andwas so employed when Isobel came running back to the room.
All her color had fled and her eyes were wide and fear-stricken.
"Oh, Jack, Jack!" she cried, "it is horrible, horrible! Eric is at hissolicitors' and they tell him that suspicion is bound to fall on_him_! It's preposterous--unthinkable. It must have been some fiendwho committed such a crime, not a human being--"
"Then," I interrupted excitedly, "Coverly was not with you lastnight?"
"No! That is the crowning tragedy of it all. He 'phoned me early inthe evening saying that he had an unavoidable business appointment tokeep. From the tone of his voice--"
She ceased speaking abruptly, and stared at me rather wildly.
"Isobel," I said, "you should surely know that you can trust your lifeto me--and the life of any one dear to you."
She quickly laid her hand on my arm and her face flushed sweetly. Ifear I had infused my words with an ardor which exhibited at anearlier and more opportune moment might have changed the course ofboth our lives.
"Of course I know, Jack," she said. "But I am so frightened that Idistrust my very self. Well, then, I thought that I noticed a changein Eric's manner last night--in the tone of his voice. In fact I askedhim if I had done anything of which he had disapproved." She gave me aquick little embarrassed glance. "He is somewhat exacting, you know.He laughed at the idea, but in rather a forced way, it seemed. Then hearranged to meet me for lunch at the Carlton to-day."
"But surely he can satisfactorily account for his movements? He musthave been seen by those who know him."
Isobel frowned in a troubled manner that awakened strange, wildlongings.
"I cannot make it out," she replied. "He appears to be keepingsomething back."
"He is very ill-advised. He will certainly have to make up his mind tospeak out when Inspector Gatton examines him. I cannot disguise fromyou, Isobel, that the police know that Sir Marcus was at the NewAvenue last night, and since his death occurred some hours later thenature of their suspicion is obvious enough. Are you joining him atthe solicitors', Isobel?"
"Yes, he asked me to do so."
"Then come along at once. I expect a Scotland Yard man to arrive atany moment and it would be advisable to see Coverly and to take alegal opinion before you give your testimony."
"But, Jack!" Isobel confronted me. "You don't think that I or Erichave anything to hide?"
"Certainly not. You must know that I do not think so. But on the otherhand, the legal mind being used to considering problems of evidence, asolicitor will be able to advise you of the best cour
se to adopt, andthat most likely to result in your being spared all association withthe inquiry. Meanwhile--let us hurry. I prefer to give InspectorGatton my own account of this visit rather than to be discovered hereby him. He will learn from Marie that I have called, of course, butthat doesn't matter."
We had now quitted the flat and were descending the stairs. Onreaching the street I glanced sharply to right and left. But Gattonwas not in sight.
I secured a taxi at the corner and Isobel set out for the office ofCoverly's solicitor. I stood looking after the cab until it was out ofsight and then I set out to walk to the _Planet_ office. By the timethat I had reached Fleet Street I had my ideas in some sort of orderand I sat down to write the first of my articles on the "_Oritoga_mystery"--for under that title the murder of Sir Marcus Coverly wasdestined to figure as the _cause celebre_ of the moment. I had morethan one reason for reticence and indeed I experienced no littledifficulty in preparing the requisite amount of copy without involvingIsobel and Eric Coverly. Half-way through my task I paused, laid downmy pen, and was on the point of tearing up the pages already writtenand declining the commission at the eleventh hour.
A few minutes' reflection, however, enabled me to see that the bestservice I could offer to the suspected man (always assuming that hehad no alibi to offer) was that of representing the facts as I sawthem to the vast public reached by this influential journal. In my ownmind I had never entertained a shadow of suspicion that Coverly wasthe culprit. Underlying the horrible case I thought I could perceiveeven darker things--a mystery within a mystery; a horror overtoppinghorror.
I had just resumed work, then, when a boy came in to inform me thatGatton had rung up and wished to speak to me.
Half fearful of what I should hear, I went to the adjoining room andtook up the receiver. Presently:
"Hullo! Is that Mr. Addison?" came Gatton's voice.
"Yes, speaking. What developments, Gatton?"
"Several. I've got the report of the estate-agent and I've seen thestage-doorkeeper of the New Avenue! You mustn't write anything until Isee you, but in order to regularize things a bit I've spoken to theChief and formally asked his permission to consult you on thecase--about the Egyptian figures, you know. He remembered you at once,so it's all square. But I've got a bone to pick with you."
"What is that?"
"Never mind now. Can you meet me at the Red House at five o'clock?"
"Yes. I will be there."
"Good. I don't hope for much. It's the strangest case I ever touched.We are dealing with unusual people, not ordinary criminals."
"I agree."
"If there is any man in London who can see daylight through themystery I believe you are the man. Do you know on what I think thewhole thing turns?"
"On some undiscovered incident in Sir Marcus's past, beyond a doubt.Probably an amorous adventure."
"You're wrong," said Gatton grimly. "It turns on the figure of thegreen cat. Good-by. Five o'clock."