You never mentioned to me youraffection for Guy, but I had guessed it long ago. I told Kemball aboutit, didn't I?" and he glanced across at me.
"Yes, you did," I said.
"Ah, poor Guy!" he sighed. "He was such a thorough sterling fellow, andI had hoped, Asta, that you would marry and be happy. But, alas! theFates have willed it otherwise."
"I--I feel bewildered, Dad," exclaimed the girl. "I can't believe thathe is really dead," and rising suddenly, she again burst into tears, andwith uneven steps left the room.
"Poor child!" remarked Shaw in a low voice, when she had gone. "It isindeed a terrible blow for her. I had no idea that she was so devotedto him. She had many admirers in the neighbourhood, but he wasevidently the one to whom she was most attached. And, betweenourselves, Kemball," he added, in a low voice, his wineglass poisedbetween his white fingers, "he was one of the most eligible youngfellows in the whole county--eight thousand a year, as well as ahalf-share in Nicholson Brothers of Sheffield. I had dreams of seeingAsta mistress of Titmarsh Court. But, of course, I never told her so.I believe in allowing a girl to make her own choice in life. Loveaffairs, if interfered with by elders, invariably turn out badly."
And so he chatted on as we smoked our cigarettes; and as I gazed intothose small queer eyes of his, I became more and more convinced that mysuspicions of the previous day had been unfounded. He could notpossibly have had any hand in the poor fellow's untimely end.
He could not know of Guy's secret intention to make certain revelationsto me--and even if he did, he knew quite well that I was already awarethat he was leading a double life. No; when I carefully weighed overthe whole of the facts, I came to the conclusion that the man beforeme--mysterious though he might be--had every motive that Guy Nicholsonshould live. I do not think my intelligence was much above that of theordinary man, yet I felt that if he were an adventurer, as alreadyseemed proved, then what more natural than that he should secureNicholson as husband for Asta, and afterwards judiciously bleed him. Itcertainly was not to his interest that the fellow should die.
The circumstances were full of suspicion, I admit; but the hard factscertainly disproved that Harvey Shaw had had any hand in the strangeaffair.
Still, what was the Something which had held poor Guy horror-stricken,and which had produced symptoms so near akin to the affection of thebrain that the doctors had been deceived by it and the Coroner and jurymisled?
The opinion I still held was that Guy Nicholson did not die a naturaldeath. Therefore I intended to leave no stone unturned in my endeavourto probe the extraordinary mystery, and to ascertain the truth of whathad actually occurred in that long old room during the silent watches ofthat fateful night.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
CONTAINS ANOTHER SUGGESTION.
A week went by--a breathless, anxious week.
I had attended poor Guy's burial in the pretty churchyard of Titmarshvillage, and as I turned from the grave I could not help wondering aboutwhat he had intended to tell me, had he but lived to speak.
Yet his lips were sealed. Some one had known of his intentions, and hadforced silence upon him.
My mind was ever full of dark thoughts and black suspicions, and yet Ihad so clearly proved that Harvey Shaw, against whom his intention wasto speak, had had no hand in the matter. Of one thing, however, I wasconvinced: poor Nicholson had been cruelly murdered.
About eight days after the funeral, Shaw, one hot afternoon, drove overalone in his car, and found me smoking in a deck-chair beneath a tree.The object of his visit was to tell me of Guy's will. It had beenfound, he said, that the young man had bequeathed the sum of tenthousand pounds to Asta.
"He was infatuated with her, poor fellow," Shaw declared, in a tone ofslight annoyance. "Of course she will not touch a penny of it. Howcould she? Ah! when he made that will, only two months ago, he neverdreamt that he would meet with such a sudden end."
"No," I sighed, my mind full of wonder. At that moment many strangethings flitted across my brain. "We all of us foolishly believe that wehave many years to live."
"As soon as Asta heard of the legacy, she declared that she would notaccept it," he remarked, "But I suppose she must, even though shetransfers it to some charity, as is her intention."
"I can quite understand her reluctance to take the dead man's present,"I said. "It is only natural. Is she still very upset?"
"Very. I scarcely know what to do with her. She suffers from insomnia,and sits for hours moping and sobbing. I've been wondering if a tripabroad would bring about forgetfulness. But she declared that she's hadenough travelling, and prefers her own home. Therefore I'm half afraidto take her away. Redwood advises a journey through Hungary andRoumania, which would be fresh ground for her. But at present I'mundecided."
He remained with me for a couple of hours, and afterwards left, whenthat same evening I was called by telephone up to London to see mylawyer regarding the pending action concerning a portion of my land.
Fortunately, at the inquest, I had met the dead man's solicitor, MrSewell, and in order to ascertain whether Shaw's statement was correct,I called upon him in Lincoln's Inn Fields. From what I gathered itseemed that the bulk of the property had passed to a cousin, and thatAsta had declined to accept her legacy, and had given instructions forit to be divided between three London hospitals.
The solicitor, like myself, disagreed with the finding of the Coroner'sjury. Yet he could form no theory as to the manner in which his clienthad met with his untimely end.
On the afternoon of my return to Upton End, four days later, I was inthe library scribbling a letter to catch the post, when a card wasbrought to me bearing the name, "Mrs Charles Olliffe."
"The lady has come by car, sir, and wishes very particular to see you,"the girl said.
I was not over-pleased to have a visitor at that moment; nevertheless, Iordered her to be shown in, and in a few moments found myself confrontedby a tall, well-built, good-looking, well-dressed woman of aboutforty-five, wearing a smart motor-bonnet and dust-coat. The latter wasopen, revealing a fine diamond brooch in her white silk blouse.
As our eyes met, I held my breath; but next moment I managed to recovermyself, and bowing, offered her a chair.
"I hope, Mr Kemball, that you will pardon my intrusion. I am astranger to you, but I wished to see you upon a matter of the greatestimportance to myself."
"There is no necessity for apology," I assured her. "I am at yourservice."
My eyes were fixed upon her in wonder, for I had, on the instant I hadseen her, recognised her as the original of the newspaper photograph Ihad locked away in my safe--the picture of Lady Lettice Lancaster!
She certainly had the air and manner of a lady, and surely none wouldhave suspected her to be a convicted criminal. Notwithstanding her age,she was extremely well-preserved. She spoke low and with refinement,whilst her bearing was that of a well-bred woman. Her smile, too, asshe spoke to me, was good-humoured, almost fascinating.
"The fact is, Mr Kemball," she said, as I seated myself and benttowards her in attention, resolved not to betray my knowledge of heridentity, "I believe you were a friend of a very great friend of mine."
"Who is that?" I asked quickly.
"Mr Melvill Arnold."
Across my mind there flashed the recollection of that threatening letterthrough which I had discovered the truth concerning the ingenious LadyLettice.
"Yes. It is true that I knew Mr Arnold," I said slowly.
"It is about him that I have ventured to call. I live near Bath, but Imotored over to-day in the hope of seeing you," she said. "I heard froma mutual friend that you were present at Mr Arnold's death, and that heentrusted you with certain matters concerning his estate. It was anhonour, I assure you, for he trusted nobody."
Recollecting that strange letter threatening vengeance, I was not verycommunicative. She plied me with many clever questions, to which Icarefully avoided giving satisfactory answers. She was "pumping" me, Iknew.
But I could see no motive. Hence I exercised every care in myreplies.
Through what channel had she become aware of my acquaintance with theman now dead? I had believed that only Shaw and his daughter were awareof it, but she denied any knowledge of them.
I, however, found myself compelled to describe the circumstances of hisdeath, for, after carefully reviewing the situation, I saw that the mostdiplomatic course was to profess frankness, and by so doing I might beable to learn some further facts concerning the man whose past was socompletely hidden.
I recognised that she was an exceedingly shrewd and clever woman. Themanner in which she put her questions, her well-feigned carelessness,and her deep regret at his death, all showed marvellous cunning. Yet,from that letter, it seemed to me evident