CHAPTER X
"WILL you come to some place where we can have a talk?"
"Yes. Where shall we go?"
Her eyes met his frankly, as she replied, and Marsland as he lookedat her was impressed with her beauty and the self-possession of hermanner. She was young, younger than he had thought on the night of thestorm--not more than twenty-two or twenty-three at the most--and as shestood there, with the bright autumn sunshine revealing the fresh beautyof her face and the slim grace of her figure, she made a strikingpicture of dainty English girlhood, to whom the sordid and tragic sidesof life ought to be a sealed book. But Marsland's mind, as he glancedat her, travelled back to his first meeting with her in the lonelyfarm-house where they had found the body of the murdered man on thenight of the storm.
He led her to one of the numerous tea-rooms on the front, choosing onewhich was nearly empty, his object being to have a quiet talk with her.Since the eventful night on which he had walked home with her afterthey had discovered the dead body of the owner of Cliff Farm, severalimportant points had arisen on which he desired to enlighten her, andothers on which he desired to be enlightened by her.
"I thought of writing to you," he said after he had found seats forhis companion and himself in a quiet corner of the large tea-room andhad given an order to the waitress. "But I came to the conclusion thatit was unwise--that you might not like it."
He found it difficult to strike a satisfactory balance in his attitudeto her. On the one hand, it was impossible to be distant and formal inview of the fact that they were united in keeping from the police thesecret of her presence at Cliff Farm on the night of the murder; on theother hand, he did not wish to adopt a tone of friendly familiaritybased on his knowledge that she had something to hide. When he studiedher from the young man's point of view as merely an attractive memberof the opposite sex he felt that she was a charming girl whoseaffection any one might be proud to win, but his security against hercharms was the feeling of distrust that any one so good-looking shouldhave anything to hide. He had no sentimental illusion that she wouldconfide her secret to him.
She waited for him to continue the conversation, and pretended to beengaged in glancing round the room, but from time to time she gave hima quick glance from beneath her long lashes.
"What I wanted to tell you most of all is that, when I went back toCliff Farm the next day, the detective from Scotland Yard found a combon the floor of the sitting-room downstairs where we sat after you letme in."
"A comb!" she cried. "What sort of a comb?"
"A tortoise-shell comb about three inches long, with a gold mounting."
"That is strange," she said. "It was found on the floor?"
"Close to the chair where you stood."
"Do they know whom it belongs to?"
"No, fortunately. But they are very anxious to find out. Naturally theythink it points to the conclusion that there is a woman in the case."
"Of course they would think that," she said.
"Do you think any one in Ashlingsea could identify it as yours?" heasked. "Have you had it any length of time?"
"It was not mine," she declared. "I did not lose a comb."
"Not yours?" he exclaimed in astonishment.
"I am trying to think to whom it belonged," she said meditatively. "Asfar as I know, lady visitors at Cliff Farm were few. And yet it couldnot be Mrs. Bond--the woman who went there to tidy up the place once aweek--you say it was gold mounted?"
"Rather an expensive looking comb, I thought," said the young man.
"Yes; it looks as if there was a woman in the case."
The arrival of the waitress with the tea-things brought about a lengthypause in the conversation.
To Marsland it looked as if there must be two women in the case ifthe comb did not belong to Miss Maynard. But he was not altogethersatisfied with her statement that it was not hers. It is difficult fora young man of impressionable age to regard a good-looking girl asuntruthful, but Marsland recalled other things which indicated that shewas not averse to seeking refuge in false statements. He rememberedher greeting when he had knocked at the farm-house on the night of thestorm. "Where have you been?" was the question she put to him, and thenshe had added, "I have been wondering what could have happened to you."
They were not questions which might reasonably be directed to a chancevisitor on such a night, and he remembered that there had been a noteof impatience in her voice. This impatience harmonized with the startof surprise which she gave when he spoke to her. Obviously she hadbeen expecting some one and had mistaken his knock for the arrival ofthe man for whom she had been waiting. And yet her subsequent story toMarsland in explanation of her presence at the farm was that she hadbeen overtaken by the storm and had sought shelter there. She had madeno reference to the man whom she had expected to see when she openedthe door in response to Marsland's knock. When directly questioned onthe matter she had declared that it was Frank Lumsden she had expectedto see.
"Whom do the police suspect?" she asked, after the waitress haddeparted.
"I do not think they suspect any one in particular just yet," hereplied.
"Have they no clue of any kind?"
"They have several clues of a kind. They have discovered somefootprints outside the window of the room in which we sat. The windowitself has been forced. And that reminds me of something else I wantedto tell you. The police have naturally questioned me in order to obtainany light I can throw on the mystery. One of the first things theyasked me was how I got into the house. I told them that the door wasopen, and that as no one came when I knocked I walked in and sat down.I think that was what you told me you did."
"Yes," she replied. "The door was open."
"You see, I forgot to fortify myself with a ready made story whichwould fit all these questions. The theory of the police at present isthat the murderer was in the house all the time we were there."
"Oh!" she exclaimed. It was obvious that she was deeply interested inthat theory. "Because of the crash we heard?"
"Partly because of that, and partly because that strange lookingdocument we found on the stairs has disappeared. It was gone whenI went back to the house with the police sergeant. Their theory isthat the murderer was in the house when I arrived--that is, when youarrived--but of course they didn't know about your being there. As theyreconstruct the tragedy, the murderer was making his way downstairswith the plan in his hand just as I--meaning you--arrived at the door.In his alarm he dropped the plan and retreated upstairs. The crash weheard was made by him knocking down a picture that hung on the wallnear the top of the staircase--that is on the second floor. After weleft the house he came down, found the plan in the sitting-room andmade off with it."
"To think of his being in the house all the time I was there alone!"she said. "It makes me shudder even now."
"The police are under the impression that they will not have muchdifficulty in getting hold of him, but on the other hand Mr. Crewethinks there are some puzzling mysterious features which the policehave overlooked."
"Mr. Crewe!" she exclaimed. "Do you mean the famous London detective?"
"Yes."
"How does he come into it?"
"My uncle, Sir George Granville, is responsible for that. Perhaps youknow him?"
"I know him by sight," she said.
"I have been staying with him," continued the young man. "And whenI rang him up from the police station at Ashlingsea, after leavingyou, he was greatly excited about my discovery. He knows Crewe verywell--they used to be interested in chess, and that brought themtogether. Crewe had come down to Staveley for the week-end as myuncle's guest, and they were sitting up for me when I telephoned fromAshlingsea."
"Was that Mr. Crewe who was with you this morning?" she asked.
"Yes. Rather a fine looking man, don't you think?"
She had other things to think of than the appeal of Mr. Crewe'sappearance to her feminine judgment.
"What did he want at Grange's shop?" she ask
ed.
It occurred to him that he would like to ask that question concerningher own visit there. What he said was:
"He wanted to make some inquiries there."
"Inquiries?" She looked at him steadily, but as he did not offerfurther information she had to put her anxiety into words. "About thiscomb?"
"As a matter of fact, I am not fully in his confidence," said Marslandwith a constrained smile. "Crewe is a man who keeps his own counsel. Hehas to, in his line of business."
She was not quite sure that a rebuke was contained in this reply, butshe gave herself the benefit of the doubt.
"Does Mr. Crewe know that I was at Cliff Farm that night?" she asked.
"No. I thought I made my promise on that point quite definite."
"You did," was her candid reply to his undoubted rebuke. "But I willrelease you from that promise if you think you ought to tell him."
"I am under no obligation to tell him anything more than I have toldthe police."
"I thought that perhaps the fact that your uncle has brought Mr. Creweinto the case might make a difference."
As he made no reply to that suggestion she branched off to somethingelse that was in her mind:
"Do you think Mr. Crewe is as clever as people say he is?"
"There is no doubt that he is a very remarkable man. I have already hadproof of his wonderfully quick observation."
"Then I suppose there is no doubt that he will find out who killedFrank Lumsden?"
He looked at her steadily as he replied:
"His appearance in the case lessens the guilty person's chance ofescape. But Mr. Crewe does not claim to solve every mystery which ispresented to him."
"Do you think he will solve this one?" she asked.
He knew that she had a secret reason for hoping that some aspect of itwould prove insoluble, but this knowledge did not influence his reply.
"It may baffle him," he replied meditatively. "But I have been sodeeply impressed with the keenness of his observations and his methodsof deduction that I feel sure he will get very near to the truth."