CHAPTER XXVI
It was the first occasion on which Mrs. Holymead had visited herhusband's chambers in the Middle Temple. Mr. Mattingford, who had beenMr. Holymead's clerk for nearly twenty years, seemed to realise that thevisit was important, though as a married man he knew that a meetingbetween husband and wife in town was usually so commonplace as to vergeon boredom for the husband. There were occasions when he had to meet Mrs.Mattingford, but these meetings were generally for the purpose of handingover to the lady her weekly dress allowance of ten shillings out of hissalary, so that she might attend the sales at the big drapery shops inthe West End and inspect the windows containing expensive articles thatshe could not hope to buy. Mr. Mattingford was an exceedingly thriftyman, and his wife possessed some of the qualities of a spendthrift. Thusit came about that Mr. Mattingford kept up the fiction that he had nosavings and that each week's salary must see him through till the nextweek. Mrs. Mattingford knew that her husband had saved money, andtheoretically she would have given a great deal to know how much. Sherepeatedly accused him of being a miser, but this is a wifelydenunciation which in all classes of life is lightly made when thepurchase of feminine finery is under discussion. There are some men whoresent it, but Mr. Mattingford was not one of these. Protests andprayers, abuse and cajolery, were alike powerless to win his consent tohis wife's perpetual proposal that she should be allowed to draw herdress allowance for some months, or even some weeks ahead. Mr.Mattingford had a horror of bad debts. He endeavoured to show his wifethat the transaction she proposed was unsound from a business point ofview and reckless from a legal point of view. She had no security tooffer for the repayment of the advance--even if he were in a financialposition to make the advance--and he stoutly declared that he was not.She might die at any moment, and then he would be left with no means ofredress against her estate because she had no estate. Of course, if shefirst insured her life out of her dress allowance and handed the policyto him it would constitute protection for the repayment of the advance,in the event of her death, but it was not any real protection in theevent of her continuing to live, for a newly-executed policy had nosurrender value. As his own legal adviser, Mr. Mattingford strongly urgedhimself not to consider his wife's proposal, and such was his respect forthe law and for those who had been brought up in a legal atmosphere thathe had no hesitation in accepting the advice.
He was a little man of nearly fifty years, with a very bald head and anextremely long moustache, which when waxed at the ends made him look asfierce as a clipped poodle. He knew Mrs. Holymead from his having calledfrequently at his chief's house in Princes Gate on business matters, andhe admired her for her good looks, but still more for her good taste instaying away from her husband's chambers. There were some ladies, thewives of barristers, who almost haunted their husbands' chambers--apractice of which Mr. Mattingford strongly disapproved. It seemed to himan insidious attempt on the part of an insidious sex to force the legalprofession to throw open its doors to women. As a man who lived in themouldy atmosphere of precedent, Mr. Mattingford hated the idea of change,and to him the thought of a lady in wig and gown pleading in the lawcourts indicated not merely change but a revolution which might wellusher in the end of the world. So strict was he in keeping the precinctsof the law sacred from the violating tread of women that he neverallowed his wife to set foot in the Middle Temple. Their meetings onthose urgent occasions when Mrs. Mattingford came to town for her dressallowance in order to go bargain-hunting took place at one of the cheaptearooms in Fleet Street.
Although Mr. Mattingford was somewhat flustered by the unexpectedappearance of Mrs. Holymead, he did not depart from precedent to theextent of regarding her as entitled to any other treatment than thataccorded to clients who called on business. He asked her if she wanted tosee Mr. Holymead, placed a chair for her, then knocked deferentially athis chief's door, went inside to announce Mrs. Holymead to her husband,and came out with the information that Mr. Holymead would see her. Heheld open the door leading into his chief's private room, and after Mrs.Holymead had entered closed it softly and firmly.
But the formal business manner of Mr. Mattingford to his chief's wifeseemed to her friendly and cordial compared with the strained greetingsshe received from her husband. He motioned her to a chair and then got upfrom his own.
"I wrote to you to come and see me here instead of going to the houseto see you," he said, "because I thought it would be better for both.It would have given the servants something to talk about. I hope youdon't mind?"
She looked at him with her large dark eyes in which there was more than asuggestion of tears. What she had read into his note, when she receivedit, was his determination not to go to his home to see her for fear shewould interpret that as a first step towards reconciliation.
"What I wanted to speak to you about is this detective Crewe whom MissFewbanks has employed in connection with her father's death," hecontinued.
Her breath came quickly at this unwelcome information. She noted that hehad spoken of Sir Horace's death and not his murder.
He began pacing backwards and forwards across the room as if with thepurpose of avoiding looking at her.
"This man Crewe is a nuisance--I might even say a danger. I don't knowwhat he has found out, but I object to his ferreting into my affairs. Hemust be stopped."
She nodded her assent, for she could not trust herself to speak. Eachtime he turned his back on her as he crossed the room her eyes followedhim, but as he faced her she turned her gaze on the floor.
"There is no legal redress--no legal means of dealing with hisimpertinent curiosity," he went on. "He is within his rights in trying tofind out all he can. But if he is allowed to go on unchecked the thingmay reach a disastrous stage. I have no doubt that he knows that I was atRiversbrook the night that man was killed. He was not long in getting onthe track of that. And the more mysterious my visit seems to him--and thefact that I have not disclosed to the police that I went up toRiversbrook and saw Sir Horace on the night of the tragedy is to his wayof thinking very significant--the more reason is there for suspecting meof complicity in the crime."
When he turned to cross the room her eyes lingered on him and she glancedquickly at his face.
"I don't want to dwell on matters that must pain you--that must pain usboth," he said slowly, "but it is necessary that you should be madeacquainted with the danger that threatens me from this man. I am anxiousto avoid anything in the nature of a public scandal--I am anxious quiteas much if not more on your account than my own. But if this wretched manis allowed to go on trying to build up a case against me--and I mustadmit that he would probably obtain circumstantial evidence of a kindwhich would make some sort of a case for the prosecution--there is gravedanger of everything coming out. If he went to the length of having mearrested and charged with the crime, there are bound to be somedisclosures and the newspapers would make the most of them. It isimpossible to foresee the exact nature of them, but I do not see how Icould adopt any line of defence which would not hint at things that arebest unrevealed. You yourself might be so ill-advised as to tell thewhole story in the end. Of course, I would try to prevent you, and as faras the trial is concerned, I think I could use means to prevent you. Butif the result was unfavourable--and knowing what eccentric things juriesdo, we must recognise the possibility of an unfavourable verdict--youmight consider it advisable to disclose everything in the hope of havingthe conviction quashed by an appeal."
For the first time since she had sat down he looked at her, and as hecaught her upward gaze he flushed.
"I would tell everything if you were arrested," she said, in a low voice.
"Ah, so I thought," he said, in a tone of disapproval. "The question nowis what means can be adopted to prevent a catastrophe. I have thoughtearnestly about it, and as you are almost as much concerned in preventingpublic disclosures as I am, I desired to consult you before taking anydefinite course. It is this man Crewe who is the danger, and the questionis how are we to stop him pro
ceeding to extremes. One way is for me tosee him and take him into my confidence--to explain fully to him whathappened. He would not be satisfied with less than the full story. If Ikept anything back his suspicions would remain; in fact, they would bestrengthened. I would have to explain to him why and how I induced SirHorace to return unexpectedly from Scotland on that fatal night, and whattook place at Riversbrook. You will understand why I have hesitated toadopt that course. I would not suggest it to you now except that I see itwould save you from the danger of something a great deal worse. Ofcourse it would save me from the annoyance of being suspected of knowingsomething about the actual murder, but it is your interests that comefirst in the matter. It would be effective in putting an end to all ourfears--all my fears. I would bind him to secrecy, of course. I do not askyou to come to a decision immediately, but I do ask you to think it overand let me know. I have been extremely reluctant to put this proposalbefore you, because I should hate carrying it out, because I should hatetelling this man of things which are really no concern of anyone butourselves. But I cannot disguise from myself that it would remove agreater danger. I believe the secret would be safe with him. I understandthat in private life he is a gentleman, and that I would be safe intaking his word of honour. It would not be necessary for him to tell thepolice--still less to tell Miss Fewbanks."
"Is there no other way?" she asked. "Have you thought of any other way?"
"Yes. The only other way out that I have been able to find is for me tosee Miss Fewbanks and ask her to withdraw the case from Crewe. I wouldnot tell her everything--I would not bring you into it at all. But Icould tell her that I had had an urgent matter to discuss with herfather; that he came from Scotland to discuss it with me, and that afterI left him he was murdered. I would tell her that it was quite impossiblefor me to disclose what the business was about, but that Crewe, havinglearnt that I had seen her father that night, was extremely suspicious. Iwould ask her to accept my word of honour that I had no knowledge of whokilled her father, and to relieve me of the annoyance of the attentionsof this man Crewe. I think she would agree to that proposal. That is theother way out, and from something which has happened this morning I aminclined to think that it is the better and quicker course to pursue."
She was thinking so deeply that she did not reply. At length she becameconscious of a long silence.
"It is very good of you to ask my opinion--to consult with me at all. Itis you that have everything at stake. I would like to do my best, but Ithink if you gave me time--Is there any great urgency? Two days at mostis all I want."
"I cannot give you two days," he replied, with a sombre smile. "You mustdecide to-day--at once--otherwise it will be too late."
She looked at him with parted lips and alarm in her eyes.
"What do you mean?" she breathed. "What have you hidden? Is the dangerimmediate?"
"I think so. For some days past my movements have been dogged by a boy inCrewe's employ. Nearly a week ago I decided, after the worry and anxietyof this--this unhappy affair, to go away for a short trip. I thought asea-voyage to America and back might do me good and fit me for my workagain." He sighed unconsciously, and went on: "Crewe has becomeacquainted with my intended departure and has placed his owninterpretation on it. He assumes that I am seeking safety in flight--thatI have no intention of coming back to England. The result has been thatthe boy Crewe had set to watch my movements has been replaced by two menfrom Scotland Yard--one watching these chambers from the front, and theother from the rear." He walked across to the window and glanced quicklythrough the curtain. "Yes, they are still here."
She sprang from her seat and followed him to the window.
"Where are they?" she gasped. "Show them to me."
"There. Do not move the curtain or they will suspect we are watchingthem. Look a little to the left, by the lamp-post. The other you cancatch a glimpse of if you look between those two trees."
"What does it mean? Why are they waiting?" she burst out. Her face hadgone very pale, and her big dark eyes glared affrightedly from the windowto her husband.
"Hush! I beg you not to lose your self-control; it is essential neitherof us should lose our heads," he said, warningly.
She regained command of herself with an effort, and whispered, ratherthan spoke, with twitching lips;
"What does the presence of these men mean?"
"It means that Crewe has already communicated with Scotland Yard."
"And that you will be arrested for _his_ murder?" Her trembling lipscould hardly frame the words.
"I think so--it's almost certain. But apparently the warrant is not yetissued, or those men would come here and arrest me. But they are watchingto prevent my escape--if I thought of escaping. We may yet have a fewhours to arrange something, but you must come to a prompt decision."
"Tell me what to do, and I will do it. Oh, let me help you if I can. Whatis the best thing to do? To see Crewe?"
"No. I forbid you to see Crewe," he said harshly. "If we decide on thatcourse I will see him myself."
"And you may be arrested the moment you go out of these chambers," shereturned. "Oh, no, no; that is not a good plan--we have not the time. Iwill go to Mabel Fewbanks at once, and beg her, for all our sakes, not toallow this to go any further."
He shook his head.
"You must not sacrifice yourself," he said. "That would be foolish."
"I will not sacrifice myself. I would tell her just what you have toldme--that her father came from Scotland to discuss an urgent matter withyou, and that he was murdered after you left. I feel certain this manCrewe is going to extremes without her knowledge or consent, and that shewill be the first to bury this awful thing when she learns that you havebeen implicated. Is not this the best thing to do?"
"It is," he reluctantly admitted. "But I do not wish you to be mixed upin it at all."
"I am not mixing myself up in it--I am too selfish for that. But I swearto you if you do not let me do this I will confess everything. I knowMabel Fewbanks, and I repeat, she is not aware of what this man Crewe hasdone. She would not--will not, permit it. I shall go down to Dellmere atonce." Her face was pale, and her eyes glittered as she looked at herhusband, but she spoke with unnatural self-possession. With feverishenergy she pulled on a glove she had taken off when she entered, andbuttoned it. "I will--I shall--arrive in time. In two hours--in three atmost--you will hear from me."
She passed out into the outer office before her husband could reply, andclosed the door behind her. Mr. Mattingford dashed to open the outer doorof his room leading into the main staircase. He thought Mrs. Holymeadlooked strange as she passed him and descended the stairs, and he rubbedhis hands gleefully. He came to the conclusion that she had come in for acheque for L50 as an advance of her dress allowance, and that her requesthad been refused.