*CHAPTER XXIX*
*ON THIN ICE*
Lilla drew herself up, and looked her unwelcome interrogator full in theface with unwavering gaze.
"Mrs. Morrison?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, madam, that as I approached this house Mrs. Morrison waslooking out of the window."
Lilla laughed. Though greatly perturbed, she had been forewarned, andpreserved an outward calm.
"Really, Mr. Emery," she laughed, "you must be mistaken. I have not thepleasure of knowing Mrs. Morrison. I only knew her husband, who came tosee us several times when we lived in Kensington. His wife lived inScotland, but I was never acquainted with her."
"Do you mean to insist that you have never seen her?"
"Never in my life--to my knowledge," was the frank reply.
"But I insist that my eyes have not deceived me, and that she was inyour window a few minutes ago."
Again Lilla laughed.
"Well, Mr. Emery, though you and I have never met before, I can't helpthinking that you are--well, just a little eccentric," she said. "Youcome here and declare that you have seen at my window a woman who isdead."
"Ah, but is she really dead, Mrs. Braybourne?" asked the shrewd youngman, who had of late been getting together an extensive legal practicein Manchester.
"My dear Mr. Emery, ask yourself," Lilla replied. "I understand that thepoor lady's sister was present at the end and took a last look at herbefore the coffin was screwed down. Surely her sister would know her?I am, of course, in utter ignorance of the facts, But I think, beforeyou make such foolish mistakes as you are doing, you had betterinquire--don't you?"
Her argument was rather disconcerting. Charles Emery felt certain thathe had seen the face of the dead woman at the window. Yet, if it weretrue that her sister had seen her in her coffin, then surely his eyeshad deceived him.
Upstairs Boyne and Ena stood together in breathless wonder at what wasin progress below. Boyne knew how clever his wife was, and how, whenfaced with difficulties, she always became so calm and innocent. Ofthat he had had proof many times. Their marital relations had been suchthat he had long ago felt she was a super-woman in the art of deception.
But here she was faced with a perilous problem, and both Ena and he knewit.
They stood together, conversing in whispers.
"Trust Lilla," said Boyne in a low voice. "She will wriggle out ofanything. Besides, she had the tip that the fellow may have recognisedyou."
Below the young solicitor and Lilla were still in open hostility.
Emery had grown angry. The woman had accused him of an undue suspicion.
"Lots of people, especially those who are spooky, believe in a sixthsense," she said. "Surely you don't believe in it, do you, Mr. Emery?I do not. Do you really insist that in my window you have seen the faceof a woman who is dead and buried? If so--well, you've got the sixthsense, and it would be more profitable to you to go into the Other WorldCombine--which, I believe, is being formed--than to practise law.Personally, I only wish I had a sixth sense. Oh, what a lot concerningother people's affairs I should know--eh?"
And she laughed lightly, as though highly amused.
Emery stood in silence. She could see that he was still unconvinced.The situation was one of the most perilous they had ever faced.
"To tell you the truth, Mrs. Braybourne, I'm not at all satisfied," saidthe young man frankly. "I feel confident that the woman's face I saw atyour window was that of Mrs. Augusta Morrison."
"How utterly ridiculous!" declared the clever adventuress. "If Mrs.Morrison's sister and other relatives saw her at the nursing home beforeand after her death they must have recognised her. How therefore, canthe lady possibly be alive? It's silly to imagine such a thing!"
"Well," he asked, "who first informed you that the late Mrs. Morrisonhad assigned her life policy to you?"
"A man I know named May, who was a friend of my husband and of the lateMr. Morrison."
"And how did he know, pray?"
"How can I tell? He knew Mrs. Morrison, I believe, and he used to stayat her house-parties at Carsphairn. Possibly she might have told him."
"When did you see him?"
"I haven't seen him lately," she replied quickly, a fiction ready to herlips. "He rang me up about three days after Mrs. Morrison's death andtold me of the sad event, of which I, of course, was in completeignorance. Then he told me that she had insured her life for mybenefit. I asked him how he knew that; but he only laughed and saidthat he knew, and would send, me particulars of the assignment of thepolicy, and that I had better take steps at once to establish myclaim--which naturally I did, after receiving a few notes of theassignment. I made out a full account of my late husband's dealingswith Mr. Morrison--how he had very nearly brought us to ruin--and placedthem with the notes of the assignment in the hands of my solicitor, who,I suppose, in due course approached the insurance company. Previously,however, I had heard of the fact from another source--a solicitor--as Ihave already told you."
"H'm!" Emery grunted. Then, after a pause, he asked:
"Do you happen to know a certain lady living in Upper Brook Street namedMrs. Pollen?"
"Pollen? Pollen?" repeated Lilla. "The name sounds familiar. She's asociety hostess--a woman who often has her photograph in the picturepapers, isn't she?" she asked, with well-affected ignorance.
"I think not. I've never seen her portrait in the papers. She was,however, a friend of Mrs. Morrison."
"I'm afraid I know nothing of Mrs. Morrison's friends. My husband knewsome of them, of course. And I have to thank Morrison for bringing ruinto us. He made huge profits over these business deals and boughtCarsphairn, while my husband went under and would have been down and outhad it not been for my family, who assisted him on his legs again."
"Well, in any case, you seem to live in very easy circumstances to-day,Mrs. Braybourne," he remarked, glancing around the luxurious room.
"Oh, I don't know," Lilla laughed lightly. "In London we put all thegoods in the window--you don't up in Lancashire."
An awkward pause ensued.
"Well, Mrs. Braybourne," he said at last, "I cannot conceal from myselfthat there are certain peculiar circumstances which must be cleared up."
"About what?" she asked in pretended innocence.
"About this curious claim of yours. The assignment of the policy was,of course, in my hands, and it is not at all clear how your mythicalfriend Mr. May gained knowledge of what the late Mrs. Morrison desiredto keep secret."
"As I've told you, Mr. May gave me particulars regarding it, which Iduly handed to my solicitors. If Mrs. Morrison, in a fit of remorse forher husband's sharp practice, as it seems, chose to insure her life formy benefit, I don't see, Mr. Emery, why you should raise any objection,"she protested. "She was your client, I presume?"
"She was," he replied. "And because I also acted as agent of theinsurance company, I now consider it my duty to put all the facts beforethem, together with my allegation that the dead woman is actually inthis house, or was when I entered here."
"Really, you are most insulting!" declared Lilla with well-feignedindignation. "I think it gross impertinence and a breach ofprofessional etiquette that you should come here to see me and accuse meof lying when the matter is in the hands of my solicitor."
"Ah, Mrs. Braybourne. Pardon me, please; I only wish to straightenthings out," he said blandly. "At present they are a little too tangledto suit me," he went on. "When I have given over the facts to thecompany my responsibility is at an end. Your solicitor returns toLondon to-morrow, and I will have a consultation, with a view to asettlement--in some way or other," he added in a meaning tone.
Then he bowed coldly and took his departure.
The instant he had left, the trio of dealers in secret death held ahurried and excited council.
"The game is up!" declared Ena, her countenance blanched to the lip
s."The Fates are against us. How dare we press our claim further, and ifwe do not, then our failure to do so is self-condemnation."
"He's a shrewd young chap. He certainly recognised you--curse it!"cried Boyne.
"We must get away," said Lilla. "We all of us have old Jackie James'spassports. And it only remains for us to clear out at once."
"Old Jackie's passports" to which she had referred were those cleverlyfabricated since the war by an old man named James who lived at NottingHill Gate, and who had at one time been a notorious forger. He now madea very excellent living by supplying crooks and criminals of all classeswith false passports in neat little blue books, on which then photographwas fixed, and he himself embossed it with the stamp bearing the Britishroyal arms and the words "Foreign Office," as well as the rubber datestamp, at an inclusive cost of fifteen pounds each.
These passports were beautifully printed in Bilbao, in Spain, togetherwith the British red sixpenny stamp, but completed ready for thepurchaser at Notting Hill Gate.
"Though I never like leaving good money behind," said Boyne, "I mustadmit that our luck is quite out this time, and we must all lie doggofor a bit."
"Ena must not return to Upper Brook Street, for Emery is certain to gothere," Lilla said.
"Curse the fellow!" cried the Red Widow. "It's all my fault! I oughtto have exercised more care, but Bernie has always been so cocksure thateverything was plain sailing."
"No," he protested. "Surely I can't be accused of your indiscretions,Ena. I've done my best--just as we all have done--but we've fortunatelyreceived warning in time that the game is at an end--at least, for alittle while. We can resume it in France, or probably in America lateron. All that remains now is for us to swiftly and quietly fade out andleave them all guessing."
"One good feature is that the girl Ramsay will not be able to tell themanything," said Lilla. "I've always doubted her from the first. She'sa cunning little cat."
"Yes. The end ought to be to-day--or to-morrow at latest," Boyne said.
"And by that time we shall all three be well on our way abroad."
Then they began to discuss ways and means, the destination of each ofthem, and the matter of money, there being three deposits in differentLondon banks in different names.
The Red Widow and her companions had long ago taken every ingeniousprecaution in case of enforced flight at a moment's notice. There were,indeed, three separate sets of baggage lying at the waiting-room ofVictoria Station. But the banks were closed and no money could beobtained.
In the meantime the young Manchester solicitor, much puzzled, of course,had taken a taxi and alighted in Upper Brook Street.
Of the hall-porter he made inquiry regarding Mrs. Pollen, and was takenup in the lift.
At the door of the flat he rang, and a smart maid answered.
"I want to see Mrs. Pollen," he said with his best smile.
"Mrs. Pollen isn't at home, sir," the girl replied.
"Dear me!" he said, deeply disappointed. "I've come up from the countryspecially to see her. When will she be back?"
"I don't know. Perhaps not till the evening, sir."
Emery paused. He was arriving at an estimate of the maid's loyalty toher mistress.
"Well," he said, "my business is most important--upon money matters.May I come in and write her a note?"
"Madam has forbidden me to allow anyone inside during her absence,"replied the good-looking, dark-eyed girl.
"Of course, she fears thieves. But I'm a solicitor," and he showed herhis card. "Please don't think I'm a thief--eh?" and he laughed merrily.
The girl looked at the card and then allowed him in, showing him intothe dining-room, upon the table of which was a great bowl of La Franceroses--the room in which his client, Mrs. Augusta Morrison, had beenentrapped and done to death so insidiously.
"There's paper there, I think, sir," she said, indicating a smallwriting-table set near the window.
He seated himself, though his quick eyes took in all the surroundings.
Before he began to write, he saw in a broad silver frame before him alarge photograph of his client, Mrs. Morrison.
"That's a beautiful portrait," he remarked to the girl.
"Yes, sir. Mistress had it done about three months ago. It's very goodof her."
Charles Emery bit his lip and managed to stifle the ejaculation whichrose to his lips.
The truth was out! It was Ena Pollen whom he had seen at Mrs.Braybourne's window, and Ena Pollen had, he saw, posed for insurancepurposes as Mrs. Augusta Morrison--the rich widow of Carsphairn.
For a moment the discovery dumbfounded him. He scribbled a few lines.Then he tore them up, and, making excuse for troubling the maid, he roseand said he would call next day. Then he pressed into her hand aten-shilling note.
But just before he took his leave, he turned to her in the hall, andasked suddenly:
"Oh, by the way, has Mrs. Morrison been here to visit your mistresslately?"
"Not lately, sir," she answered. "Poor lady, she's dead, so I hear."
"Did she often visit your mistress?"
"Yes, sir. The last time she was here was at a dinner party with Mr.and Mrs. Braybourne."
"Oh! Then Mrs. Braybourne is a friend of your mistress, is she? I knowher quite well. She lives in Pont Street, eh?"
"Yes, sir; she's a very great friend," was the girl's reply. "So is Mr.Braybourne."
"And who is Mr. Braybourne?"
"Why, Mrs. Braybourne's husband, of course."
As Emery descended the stairs to the street he wondered who could be"Mr. Braybourne"--if Mrs. Braybourne was a widow, as alleged.
At the end of the street he hailed a taxi and returned at once to thehead office of the insurance company, where he revealed certain othersuspicions which had arisen in his mind after his interview with Mrs.Braybourne.