CHAPTER XV
When Lady Maud stopped at Margaret's house on her way to the theatreshe had been dining at Princes' with a small party of people, amongstwhom Paul Griggs had found himself, and as there was no formality tohinder her from choosing her own place she had sat down next to him.The table was large and round, the sixty or seventy other diners inthe room made a certain amount of noise, so that it was easy to talkin undertones while the conversation of the others was general.
The veteran man of letters was an old acquaintance of Lady Maud's; andas she made no secret of her friendship with Rufus Van Torp, it wasnot surprising that Griggs should warn her of the latter's danger. Ashe had expected when he left New York, he had received a visit from a'high-class' detective, who came to find out what he knew about MissBamberger's death. This is a bad world, as we all know, and it is madeso by a good many varieties of bad people. As Mr. Van Torp had said toLogotheti, 'different kinds of cats have different kinds of ways,' andthe various classes of criminals are pursued by various classes ofdetectives. Many are ex-policemen, and make up the pack that huntsthe well-dressed lady shop-lifter, the gentle pickpocket, the agileburglar, the Paris Apache, and the common murderer of the Bill Sykestype; they are good dogs in their way, if you do not press them,though they are rather apt to give tongue. But when they are notex-policemen, they are always ex-something else, since there is nocollege for detectives, and it is not probable that any young man everdeliberately began life with the intention of becoming one. Edgar Poeinvented the amateur detective, and modern writers have developed himtill he is a familiar and always striking figure in fiction and on thestage. Whether he really exists or not does not matter. I have heard agreat living painter ask the question: What has art to do with truth?But as a matter of fact Paul Griggs, who had seen a vast deal, hadnever met an amateur detective; and my own impression is that if oneexisted he would instantly turn himself into a professional because itwould be so very profitable.
The one who called on Griggs in his lodgings wrote 'barrister-at-law'after his name, and had the right to do so. He had languished inchambers, briefless and half starving, either because he had no talentfor the bar, or because he had failed to marry a solicitor's daughter.He himself was inclined to attribute his want of success to thelatter cause. But he had not wasted his time, though he was more thanmetaphorically threadbare, and his waist would have made a sensationat a staymaker's. He had watched and pondered on many curious casesfor years; and one day, when a 'high-class' criminal had baffled thepolice and had well-nigh confounded the Attorney-General and provedhimself a saint, the starving barrister had gone quietly to work inhis own way, had discovered the truth, had taken his information tothe prosecution, had been the means of sending the high-class one topenal servitude, and had covered himself with glory; since when he hadgrown sleek and well-liking, if not rich, as a professional detective.
Griggs had been perfectly frank, and had told without hesitation allhe could remember of the circumstances. In answer to further questionshe said he knew Mr. Van Torp tolerably well, and had not seen him inthe Opera House on the evening of the murder. He did not know whetherthe financier's character was violent. If it was, he had never seenany notable manifestation of temper. Did he know that Mr. Van Torp hadonce lived on a ranch, and had killed two men in a shootingaffray? Yes, he had heard so, but the shooting might have been inself-defence. Did he know anything about the blowing up of the worksof which Van Torp had been accused in the papers? Nothing more thanthe public knew. Or anything about the circumstances of Van Torp'sengagement to Miss Bamberger? Nothing whatever. Would he read thestatement and sign his name to it? He would, and he did.
Griggs thought the young man acted more like an ordinary lawyer than adetective, and said so with a smile.
'Oh no,' was the quiet answer. 'In my business it's quite as importantto recognise honesty as it is to detect fraud. That's all.'
For his own part the man of letters did not care a straw whether VanTorp had committed the murder or not, but he thought it very unlikely.On general principles, he thought the law usually found out the truthin the end, and he was ready to do what he could to help it. He heldhis tongue, and told no one about the detective's visit, because hehad no intimate friend in England; partly, too, because he wished tokeep his name out of what was now called 'the Van Torp scandal.'
He would never have alluded to the matter if he had not accidentallyfound himself next to Lady Maud at dinner. She had always liked himand trusted him, and he liked her and her father. On that evening shespoke of Van Torp within the first ten minutes, and expressed herhonest indignation at the general attack made on 'the kindest man thatever lived.' Then Griggs felt that she had a sort of right to knowwhat was being done to bring against her friend an accusation ofmurder, for he believed Van Torp innocent, and was sure that LadyMaud would warn him; but it was for her sake only that Griggs spoke,because he pitied her.
She took it more calmly than he had expected, but she grew a littlepaler, and that look came into her eyes which Margaret and Logothetisaw there an hour afterwards; and presently she asked Griggs if he toowould join the week-end party at Craythew, telling him that Van Torpwould be there. Griggs accepted, after a moment's hesitation.
She was not quite sure why she had so frankly appealed to Logothetifor help when they left Margaret's house together, but she was notdisappointed in his answer. He was 'exotic,' as she had said of him;he was hopelessly in love with Cordova, who disliked Van Torp, and hecould not be expected to take much trouble for any other woman; shehad not the very slightest claim on him. Yet she had asked him to helpher in a way which might be anything but lawful, even supposing thatit did not involve positive cruelty.
For she had not been married to Leven four years without learningsomething of Asiatic practices, and she knew that there were moremeans of making a man tell a secret than by persuasion or wilycross-examination. It was all very well to keep within the bounds ofthe law and civilisation, but where the whole existence of her bestfriend was at stake, Lady Maud was much too simple, primitive, andfeminine to be hampered by any such artificial considerations, andshe turned naturally to a man who did not seem to be a slave to themeither. She had not quite dared to hope that he would help her, andhis readiness to do so was something of a surprise; but she would havebeen astonished if he had been in the least shocked at the impliedsuggestion of deliberately torturing Charles Feist till he revealedthe truth about the murder. She only felt a little uncomfortable whenshe reflected that Feist might not know it after all, whereas she hadboldly told Logotheti that he did.
If the Greek had hesitated for a few seconds before giving his answer,it was not that he was doubtful of his own willingness to do what shewished, but because he questioned his power to do it. The requestitself appealed to the Oriental's love of excitement and to his tastefor the uncommon in life. If he had not sometimes found occasions forsatisfying both, he could not have lived in Paris and London at all,but would have gone back to Constantinople, which is the last refugeof romance in Europe, the last hiding-place of mediaeval adventure,the last city of which a new Decameron of tales could still be told,and might still be true.
Lady Maud had good nerves, and she watched the play with her friendsand talked between the acts, very much as if nothing had happened,except that she was pale and there was that look in her eyes; but onlyPaul Griggs noticed it, because he had a way of watching the smallchanges of expression that may mean tragedy, but more often signifyindigestion, or too much strong tea, or a dun's letter, or a tightshoe, or a bad hand at bridge, or the presence of a bore in the room,or the flat failure of expected pleasure, or sauce spilt on a new gownby a rival's butler, or being left out of something small and smart,or any of those minor aches that are the inheritance of the socialflesh, and drive women perfectly mad while they last.
But Griggs knew that none of these troubles afflicted Lady Maud, andwhen he spoke to her now and then, between the acts, she felt hissympathy for her in every word and
inflection.
She was glad when the evening was over and she was at home in herdressing-room, and there was no more effort to be made till the nextday. But even alone, she did not behave or look very differently; shetwisted up her thick brown hair herself, as methodically as ever, andlaid out the black velvet gown on the lounge after shaking it out,so that it should be creased as little as possible; but when she wasready to go to bed she put on a dressing-gown and sat down at hertable to write to Rufus Van Torp.
The letter was begun and she had written half a dozen lines when shelaid down the pen, to unlock a small drawer from which she took an oldblue envelope that had never been sealed, though it was a good dealthe worse for wear. There was a photograph in it, which she laidbefore her on the letter; and she looked down at it steadily, restingher elbows on the table and her forehead and temples in her hands.
It was a snapshot photograph of a young officer in khaki and puttees,not very well taken, and badly mounted on a bit of white pasteboardthat might have been cut from a bandbox with a penknife; but it wasall she had, and there could never be another.
She looked at it a long time.
'You understand, dear,' she said at last, very low; 'you understand.'
She put it away again and locked the drawer before she went on withher letter to Van Torp. It was easy enough to tell him what she hadlearned about Feist from Logotheti; it was even possible that he hadfound it out for himself, and had not taken the trouble to inform herof the fact. Apart from the approval that friendship inspires, she hadalways admired the cool discernment of events which he showed whengreat things were at stake. But it was one thing, she now told him, tobe indifferent to the stupid attacks of the press, it would be quiteanother to allow himself to be accused of murder; the time had comewhen he must act, and without delay; there was a limit beyond whichindifference became culpable apathy; it was clear enough now, shesaid, that all these attacks on him had been made to ruin him in theestimation of the public on both sides of the Atlantic before strikingthe first blow, as he himself had guessed; Griggs was surely not analarmist, and Griggs said confidently that Van Torp's enemies meantbusiness; without doubt, a mass of evidence had been carefully gottogether during the past three months, and it was pretty sure that anattempt would be made before long to arrest him; would he do nothingto make such an outrage impossible? She had not forgotten, she couldnever forget, what she owed him, but on his side he owed something toher, and to the great friendship that bound them to each other. Whowas this man Feist, and who was behind him? She did not know why shewas so sure that he knew the truth, supposing that there had reallybeen a murder, but her instinct told her so.
Lady Maud was not gifted with much power of writing, for she was notclever at books, or with pen and ink, but she wrote her letterwith deep conviction and striking clearness. The only point of anyimportance which she did not mention was that Logotheti had promisedto help her, and she did not write of that because she was not reallysure that he could do anything, though she was convinced that he wouldtry. She was very anxious. She was horrified when she thought of whatmight happen if nothing were done. She entreated Van Torp to answerthat he would take steps to defend himself; and that, if possible, hewould come to town so that they might consult together.
She finished her letter and went to bed; but her good nerves failedher for once, and it was a long time before she could get to sleep.It was absurd, of course, but she remembered every case she had everheard of in which innocent men had been convicted of crimes they hadnot committed and had suffered for them; and in a hideous instant,between waking and dozing, she saw Rufus Van Torp hanged before hereyes.
The impression was so awful that she started from her pillow with acry and turned up the electric lamp. It was not till the light floodedthe room that the image quite faded away and she could let herhead rest on the pillow again, and even then her heart was beatingviolently, as it had only beaten once in her life before that night.