*CHAPTER XXVI*
*"GET RID OF THE GIRL!"*
Ten days more had passed. Poor Mrs. Morrison had been buried atBrookwood, her sister and several relatives being among the mourners.
Notice had been given through a solicitor to the insurance company ofthe assignment of the policy for ten thousand pounds to Mrs. Braybourne.The solicitor, a perfectly respectable man practising in the City, hadreceived a call from Mrs. Braybourne of Pont Street, and she had handedhim the policy and the assignment. Boyne had first made secretinquiries regarding the unsuspecting lawyer, and found him to be a manwith a very high reputation in his profession.
Hence the Red Widow and her two associates, having successfully defiedthe French ex-maid and her lover, were now awaiting payment by theinsurance company. Boyne, on his part, had cleverly destroyed alltraces of the secret of that upstairs room in which had lived for sometime the half-demented, eccentric Lionel Gosden, who was so blindlyobedient to every order of the criminal who held him in control.
"There only remains that girl!" remarked Boyne as he sat with his wifeone night.
"Yes. The sooner she's out of the way the better, my dear Bernie. Sheknows far too much."
"I've got the remainder of the stuff from Lionel."
"Then it will be quite easy. I needn't tell you the way."
Boyne smiled as he took another cigarette from his case.
"Yes," he said. "And then I think that Ena and I will clear off abroadand leave you as the lone widow in whose favour dear Augusta insured herlife."
"True. We ought to part as soon as possible. What do they think of yourabsence from Hammersmith?"
"Oh, they know my home is burned up, but I put in an appearance now andthen and collect up a few premiums just to show myself."
"I wonder what the girl told the police?" Lilla remarked thoughtfully.
"Some story which they, no doubt, put down to be a cock-and-bullstatement--about the locked room, most probably. She might have heardLionel moving about, or coughing, before I got him away from there. Ifso the noise would naturally excite her suspicion."
"What about the man Durrant?"
"Oh, we needn't trouble about him. It will be months before he can getback again, and when he does, he'll find none of us here, the girldead--of natural causes, of course--and the house being rebuilt. Wehave nothing to fear from him, providing we can get rid of the girl."
"And that must be done at once," the handsome woman repeated. "Whileshe is alive she will be a constant menace to us."
Next morning, when he left Pont Street, he went to the City, and,knowing that Marigold always went out at a quarter to one to her lunch,he waited outside the bank.
At last she came, a neatly-dressed and dainty figure of the true type ofbusiness girl, and at the corner of Fenchurch Street he met her asthough by accident, and raised his hat.
"Why, Mr. Boyne!" she exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes. This is an unexpected meeting, Miss Marigold! I haven't seen yousince the fire," he said. "How lucky that you and your aunt escaped! Ican't think how it was caused, except that your aunt perhaps dropped amatch upstairs before going to bed."
"No, Mr. Boyne," she said. "It's a mystery. I'm glad, however, thatauntie is recovering from the shock."
"Have you heard anything lately of Mr.--what is his name?--Durrant,isn't it?"
"Not a word. I can't think what has become of him. They've heardnothing at his office since his last telegram."
"Oh! I shouldn't worry. He told you in his message not to worry, youknow," he said cheerfully.
Marigold distrusted the man, yet she remembered how she and Gerald hadresolved, at all hazards, to penetrate the mystery surrounding him. Shecould not deny that he had always been polite and generous towards her,and her aunt would never have a more kind and considerate master.
"Come and have some lunch with me," he suggested suddenly, as he glancedat his watch. "I'm just going to have mine. And I want to talk overyour aunt's future--what she is to do while my house is being rebuilt."
Marigold hesitated a few seconds. Then she replied:
"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Boyne, but my assistant is away ill, and we'remost awfully busy in the bank to-day. I am only out for ten minutesthis morning, I usually have half an hour."
"Then come somewhere and have dinner with me to-night."
"I can't to-night. I'm going to the theatre with a girl friend."
"To-morrow night, then," he said. "I'll meet you at Piccadilly tubestation, say at seven, and we'll dine somewhere--eh?"
Again Marigold hesitated. She was naturally distrustful, yet she arguedwithin herself that perhaps if she accepted his invitation she mightlearn from him something of interest.
"No," he laughed merrily. "I'm sure you won't refuse me, Marigold. Iwant to see what I can do for your aunt--because--well, perhaps I maynot set up house again. And I don't want to leave her in the lurch,poor deaf old soul."
His solicitude for her aunt touched her, and so she promised to meet himas he suggested.
Then two minutes later he raised his hat and they parted.
As the girl sat with her glass of milk and sandwiches before her in thelittle teashop, strange thoughts crowded through her mind. The refusalof the police to assist her to find Gerald had hipped her, and eversince the night of the fire she had gone about utterly disconsolate andbroken-hearted. The fire was mysterious, coming within an hour or so ofher visit to the police. Yes; the more she reflected, the strangerstill appeared the whole enigma.
She returned to the bank and sat hour after hour her books, but her onlythought was of Gerald the reason of his disappearance.
Next day, just before noon, while she was busy at the bank, one of themale clerks came to her desk, and said:
"Miss Ramsay, you're wanted on the telephone."
"Me!" exclaimed Marigold, much surprised, for none of the staff wereallowed to speak on the telephone except upon urgent family affairs."Was this one?"
She hurried to the telephone-box and heard a female voice, which sherecognised as that of Gerald's sister at Ealing.
"You there, Marigold. Listen!" she said. "I've just had a wire fromGerald. It's sent from Folkestone Harbour, and says:
"'_Back again. Don't worry. With you soon, but not yet. Marigoldknows why. Have wired her._--GERALD.'"
"Oh, how lovely!" cried the girl over the 'phone in wild delight. "Iexpect I've got a wire at Wimbledon. I'll tell you what he says. Suchlots of thanks for ringing up. Good-bye. I'll come over and see yousoon, dear. Righto!"
And she hung up the receiver, her cheeks flushed with the excitement ofthe good news.
Gerald--her Gerald--had spoken at last!
Further adding of figures that day was out of the question. She couldnot work, but, ever and anon, she raised her eyes to the big clock, thehands of which moved, oh! so slowly. At last five o'clock came, and sheput her books away in the trolley ready to be wheeled to the strong roomby the uniformed messenger, and putting on her hat and coat hurried awayhome in the crowded tube.
She missed her train, and things seemed to move too slow for her, but onarrival at the station she raced home. Yes, in the narrow hall of thelittle suburban villa lay a telegram on the hat-stand.
She tore it open with frantic haste, and read:
"_Do not make inquiry about me. Am quite safe, and am in possession ofsome very important facts. Just returned from abroad. Be watchful, butdo not feel anxious. Am quite all right. Love._--GERALD."
It reassured her. She dressed and went out to meet Mr. Boyne, carryingin her handbag the treasured message from Folkestone Pier, together withher powder-puff, her little mirror, and a few hairpins.
She had no idea, however, that at the moment when she was dressing todine with her aunt's benefactor, a lady with red-brown hair, havingtaken tea at the Pavilion Hotel in Folkestone, was in a first-classcarriage in a boat express for L
ondon, and that that same lady had onlyarrived in Folkestone a couple of hours before, and on meeting the boathad handed in the message at the office at the harbour.
She was at Piccadilly tube station quite early, and it was fully tenminutes before Boyne put in an appearance, smiling and happy.
"I'm so glad you've been able to come, Miss Marigold," he exclaimed, ashe shook hands with her warmly. "Now, we'll just go and have a littledinner together, and talk about your aunt, eh?"
And he placed his hand upon her arm in a paternal manner, and started tocross the road to Coventry Street. "There's a little Italian place inWardour Street where they do you excellently. A man I know told me ofit the other day, and I dined there a couple of nights ago and foundthings very good. Not much of a place to look at, but good, well-cookedfood. So let's go there."
She walked with him, but unable to contain her joy at receiving thatreassuring wire from Gerald. She said, as they walked along CoventryStreet:
"I've had a wire to-night from Mr. Durrant. He's all right."
"Have you really? How excellent!" exclaimed Boyne. "What does he say?"
"He wires from Folkestone pier. He's just arrived back in England, andhe says he's all right. That's all."
"Well, what do you want more? Your boy is back, and no doubt you'll seehim soon. I've always had in my mind that his absence has been due tosome secret mission given to him by his employer. Those food people inMincing Lane are profiteering out of all conscience, and Durrant'sabsence is only what might well be expected. He will get a big bonusfor carrying out some little bit of delicate diplomacy with regard tofood supplies from abroad."
They turned up Wardour Street, and presently stopped in front of one ofthe small, unpretentious little foreign restaurants, where one canalways rely upon good cooking, even though the quality of the foodsometimes leaves a little to be desired.
Not more than half a dozen people were in the white-enamelled littleplace, but the proprietor, a well-dressed, prosperous-looking littleItalian, came forward to greet them.
"Table for two--oh! yes. You reserved it, sare--I know! This way,please." And he conducted them to a cosy spot in a corner where a tablewas laid _a deux_.
Marigold, flushed with excitement on account of the telegram in her bag,threw off her coat, settled her blouse, and sat down opposite the man,while an elderly waiter was quickly in attendance.
"I've ordered dinner," said Boyne, rather impetuously. "Antonio willknow." And he dismissed him.
"I've told them to get a nice little dinner for us," he said, lookingacross at the girl. "Well, now, Miss Marigold," he went on. "First,I'm delighted that you could come and have dinner with me to-night. Nowthat my house is no longer inhabitable, I live in rooms at Notting HillGate. But rooms are not like one's own home, and especially with youraunt as housekeeper. A more economical woman never lived. She'd savethe egg-shells and turn them into money, if she could!"
And they both laughed.
"Yes; auntie is very saving," replied the girl, whose sole purpose inaccepting the unusual invitation was to try and draw her host, and sofurther the plans set by her lover.
"Saving! What I always say is that she's the most perfect housekeeperanyone ever had. That's why I want to do something for her."
"It's really very good of you, Mr. Boyne," said the girl, "I know nowkeenly she has always looked after your interests."
"And I appreciate that, Miss Marigold. Now, my idea is to allow her twopounds a week till I get settled again."
"Very generous of you, I'm sure," replied Marigold. "With her infirmity,it's most difficult. Her deafness has increased the last six months,and she could never get another situation now. I'm sure of that."
"Then you'll look after her if she has two pounds a weekregularly.--eh?"
"Yes. She can come and live with me at Wimbledon," the girl said. "I'msure auntie will be very grateful," she added. "Only a couple of daysago she told me she was wondering what she would do now that the houseis burnt, and she couldn't live with a neighbour for ever."
Boyne was silent for a few seconds. The waiter had placed the littleplates of sardines, olives, and sliced beet upon the table, the usualhors d'oeuvres of the foreign restaurant.
The girl's host looked her in the face suddenly, and asked:
"Tell me, Miss Marigold, what friends have you?"
"Relatives, you mean? Well, practically none who count, except auntieand my sister," she replied, little dreaming that the man had put thatquestion with an ulterior motive--and a very sinister one, too.
"And also Mr. Durrant," he laughed.
Marigold blushed.
"Don't fear. He'll soon be back with you, and no doubt explainmatters."
The girl made no reply. It was her own secret that his absence was dueto the inquiries he was making concerning the past career of theplausible and hard-working man who was at that moment her host.
The soup was served, a clear _pot-au-feu_, hot, and as the waiter turnedaway, Boyne drew handkerchief from his trouser pocket, and next moment anumber of coins fell upon the floor.
Instantly Marigold drew her chair away from the table and bent down tosee where they were. At that moment Bernard Boyne executed a clevertrick which he had done before. He flicked into the girl's hot soup apiece of very soft gelatine that had been extracted only half an hourbefore from one of those mysterious blue glass tubes he had obtainedfrom the idiot-scientist hiding in Harpur Street.
The piece of gelatine fell into the soup unnoticed by the girl, whoseeagerness was centred upon the picking up of the lost coins, and theother diners only glanced across for a second, and did not notice thedropping of that fatal dose.
"Don't bother," he said airily next moment. "The waiter will find it.They are really only coppers. I was foolish to put my handkerchiefthere. Please don't bother. Your soup will be cold."
And, thus reassured, the girl drank her soup with her spoon and greatlyenjoyed it--for it was excellent.
Boyne watched her with complete satisfaction and confidence.
The other courses were served: fillets of sole, and a chicken _encasserole_, with mushrooms, in true Continental style. Then a cup inwhich were fruit, ice-cream, and champagne, and black coffee afterwards.
The dinner Marigold agreed was excellent. Boyne smoked cigarettes andchatted merrily the whole time, until at last he paid the bill andwalked back with her.
They shook hands, and she thanked him heartily. Then they parted, Boynepromising to see old Mrs. Felmore and pay her the amount he suggested.
As he strode along down the Haymarket, however, on his way back to PontStreet, he laughed aloud and muttered to himself:
"I don't think we shall be troubled with you, young lady, after a fewmore days!"