CHAPTER XXVIII
IN THE MATTER OF A MOTIVE
That was between eight and nine o'clock at night; before ten anoutrageous thought occurred to the man with the undisciplinedimagination. It closed his mind to the tragedy of an hour ago, to thedead man lying upstairs, whose low and eager voice still went on and onin his ears. It was a thought that possessed Langholm like an uncleanspirit from the moment in which he raised his eyes from the last wordsof the manuscript to which the dead man had referred.
In the long, low room that Langholm lived in a fire was necessary indamp weather, irrespective of the season. It was on the fire that hiseyes fell, straight from the paper in his hand ...
No one else had read it. There was an explicit assurance on the point.The Chelsea landlady had no idea that such a statement was in existence;she would certainly have destroyed it if she had known; and furtherwritten details convinced Langholm that the woman would never speak ofher own accord. There were strange sidelights on the feelings which theyoung Italian had inspired in an unlikely breast; a mother could havedone no more to shield him. On the night of the acquittal, for example,when he was slowly recovering in her house, it had since come to thewriter's knowledge that this woman had turned Mrs. Minchin from her doorwith a lying statement as to his whereabouts. This he mentioned toconfirm his declaration that he always meant to tell the truth toRachel, that it was his first resolve in the early stages of hisrecovery, long before he knew of her arrest and trial, and that thiswoman was aware of that resolve as of all else. But he doubted whethershe could be made to speak, though he hoped that for his sake she would.And Langholm grinned with set teeth as he turned back to this passage:he would be diabolically safe.
It was only an evil thought. He did not admit it as a temptation. Yethow it stuck, and how it grew!
There was the fire, as though lit on purpose; in a minute the writtenevidence could be destroyed for ever; and there was no other kind. Deadmen tell no tales, and live men only those that suit them!
It all fitted in so marvellously. To a villain it would have been less atemptation than a veritable gift of his ends. Langholm almost wished hewere a villain.
There was Steel. Something remained for explanation there, but therereally was a case against him. The villain would let that case come on;the would-be villain did so in his own ready fancy, and the end of itwas a world without Steel but not without his wife; only, she would beSteel's wife no more.
And this brought Langholm to his senses. "Idiot!" he said, and went outto his wet paths and ruined roses. But the ugly impossible idea doggedhim even there.
"If Steel had been guilty--but he isn't, I tell you--no, but if he hadbeen, just for argument, would she ever have looked--hush!--idiot andegotist!--No, but _would_ she? And could you have made her happy if shehad?--Ah, that's another thing ... I wonder!--It is worth wonderingabout; you know you have failed before. Yes, yes, yes; do you think Iforget it? No, but I must remind you. Are you the type to make womenhappy, women with anything in them, women with nerves? Are you notmoody, morbid, uneven, full of yourself?--No, of my work. It comes tothe same thing for the woman. Could you have made her happy?--yes or no!If no, then pull yourself together and never think of it. Isn't italways better to be the good friend than the tiresome husband, and, ifyou care for her, to show her your best side instead of all your sides?I thought so! Then thank your stars, and--never again!"
So the two voices, that are only one voice, within Langholm that night,in the heavy fragrance of his soaking garden, under the half-shut eye ofa waning moon; and, having conquered him, the voice of sense and sanityreminded him of his reward: "Remember, too, how you promised to serveher; and how, if less by management than good luck, you have, after all,performed the very prodigy you undertook. Go and tell her. I should goto-night. No, it is never too late to bring good news. I should jump onmy bicycle and go now!"
The old moon's eye drooped also over Normanthorpe House, out of theclearest sky that there had been for days. The Steels were strolling onthe sweep of the drive before the house, out for outing's sake for thefirst time that day, and together for the sake of being together for thefirst time that month. There was something untoward in the air. In fact,there was suspicion, and Rachel was beginning to suspect what thatsuspicion was. She could not say absolutely that she did not entertainit herself for a single instant. She had entertained and had dismissedthe thought a good many times. Why had he never told her his real motivein marrying her? Some subtle motive there had been; why could he nevertell her what it was? Then there was his intimacy with her firsthusband, which she had only discovered by chance, after the mostsedulous concealment on his part. And, finally, there was the defiantcharacter of his challenge to Langholm, as it were to do his worst (nothis best) as a detective.
On the other hand, there was that woman's instinct which no wise womandisregards; and Rachel's instinct had never confirmed her fancies inthis matter. But within the last few hours her point of view had totallychanged. Her husband was suspected. He said so laughingly himself. Hewas in a certain danger. Her place was by his side. And let it beremembered that, before his absolute refusal to answer her crucialquestion about his prime motive for the marriage, Rachel had grownrather to like that place.
They had been strolling quite apart, though chatting amiably. Rachel hadnot dreamt of putting her hand within his arm, as she had sometimes donetowards the end before their quarrel. Yet she did it again now, thevery moment his quicker vision descried the cyclist in the drive.
"I hope they are not going to run me in to-night," he said. "If they do,I shall run _them_ in for riding without a light. So it's Langholm!Well, Langholm, put salt on him yet?"
"On whom?"
"Your murderer, of course."
"I have his confession in my pocket."
It was the first time that Rachel had known her husband taken visiblyaback.
"Good God!" he cried. "Then you don't think it's me any longer?"
"I know it is not. Nevertheless, Mrs. Steel must prepare for a shock."
Rachel was shocked. But her grief and horror, though both were real andpoignant, were swept away for that hour at least by the full tide of herjoy.
It was a double joy. Not only would Rachel be cleared for ever beforethe world, but her husband would stand exonerated at her side. The dayof unfounded suspicions, of either one of them, by the other or by theworld, that day at least was over once for all.
Her heart was too full for many explanations; she lingered whileLangholm told of his interview with Abel, and then left him to one withher husband alone.
Langholm thereupon spoke more openly of his whole case against Steel,who instantly admitted its strength.
"But I owe you an apology," the latter added, "not only for something Isaid to you this afternoon, more in mischief than in malice, which Iwould nevertheless unsay if I could, but for deliberately manufacturingthe last link in your chain. I happened to buy both my revolvers andMinchin's from a hawker up the country; his were a present from me; and,as they say out there, one pair was the dead spit of the other. Thismorning when I found I was being shadowed by these local heroes, itoccurred to me for my own amusement to put one of my pair in athoroughly conspicuous place, and this afternoon I could not resistsending you to the room to add it to your grand discoveries. You see, Icould have proved an alibi for the weapon, at all events, during my tripto town a year ago. Yes, poor Minchin wrote to me, and I went up to townby the next train to take him by surprise. How you got to know of hisletter I can't conceive. But it carried no hint of blackmail. I thinkyou did wonders, and I hope you will forgive me for that little trap;it really wasn't set for you. It is also perfectly true that I stayed atthe Cadogan and was out at that particular time. I went there because itwas the one decent hotel I knew of in those parts, which was probablyyour own reason, and I was out reconnoitring my old friend's housebecause I knew him for an inveterate late-bird, and he did not write asthough marriage had improved his habits. In fact, as y
ou know, he hadgone to the dogs altogether."
This reminded Langholm of the hour.
"It is late now," said he, "and I must be off. Poor Severino had not arelation in this country that I know of. There will be a great deal todo to-morrow."
Steel at once insisted on bearing all expenses; that would be thelightest part, he said. "You have done so much!" he added. "By the way,you can't go without saying good-night to my wife. She has still tothank you."
"I don't want to be thanked."
"But for you the truth might never have come out."
"Still I shall be much happier if she never speaks of it again."
"Very well, she shall not--on one condition."
"What is that?"
"Langholm, I thought last summer we were to be rather friends? I don'tthink that of many people. May I still think it of you?"
"If you will," said Langholm. "I--I don't believe I ever should havebrought myself to give you away!"
"You behaved most fairly, my dear fellow. I shall not forget it, nor theway you scored off the blackmailer Abel. If it is any satisfaction toyou, I will tell you what his secret was. Nay, I may as well; and mywife, I must tell her too, though all these months I have hidden it fromher; but I have no doubt he took it to the police when you failed him.It is bound to get about, but I can live it down as I did the thingitself. Langholm, like many a better man, I left my country for mycountry's good. Never mind the offence; the curious can hunt up thecase, and will perhaps admit there have been worse. But that man and Iwere transported to Western Australia on the same vessel in '69."
"And yet," said Langholm--they were not quite his next words--"and yetyou challenged me to discover the truth! I still can't understand yourattitude that night!"
Steel stood silent.
"Some day I may explain it to you," he said. "I am only now going toexplain it to my wife."
The men shook hands.
And Langholm rode on his bicycle off the scene of the one real melodramaof a life spent in inventing fictitious ones; and if you ask what he hadto show for his part in it, you may get your answer one day from hiswork. Not from the masterpiece which he used to talk over with Mrs.Steel, for it will never be written; not from any particular novel orstory, much less in the reproduction of any of these incidents, whereinhe himself played so dubious a part; but perhaps you will find youranswer in a deeper knowledge of the human heart, a stronger grasp of therealities of life, a keener sympathy with men and (particularly) withwomen, than formerly distinguished this writer's books. These, at allevents, are some of the things which Charles Langholm has to show, if hewill only show them. And in the meantime you are requested not to pityhim.
Steel went straight to his wife. Tears were still in her eyes, but suchtears, and such eyes! It cost him an effort to say what he had to say,and that was unusual in his case.
"Rachel," he said at length, in a tone as new as his reluctance, "I amgoing to answer the question which you have so often asked me. I amgoing to answer it with perfect honesty, and very possibly you willnever speak to me again. I shall be sorry for both our sakes if you doanything precipitate, but in any case you shall act as you think best.You know that I was exceedingly fond of Alec Minchin as a young man;now, I am not often exceedingly fond of anybody, as you may also know bythis time. Before your trial I was convinced that you had killed my oldfriend, whom I was so keen to see again that I came up to town by thevery first train after getting his letter. You had robbed me of the onlyfriend I had in England at the very moment when he needed me and I wason my way to him. I could have saved his ship, and you had sent both himand it to the bottom! That, I say candidly, was what I thought."
"I don't blame you for thinking it before the trial," said Rachel. "Itseems to have been the universal opinion."
"I formed mine for myself, and I had a particular reason for formingit," continued Steel, with a marked vibration in his usually unemotionalvoice. "I don't know which to tell you first.... Well, it shall be thatreason. On the night of the murder do you remember coming downstairsand going or rather looking into the study--at one o'clock in themorning?"
Rachel recoiled in her chair.
"Heavens!" she cried. "How can you know that?"
"Did you hear nothing as you went upstairs again?"
"I don't remember."
"Not a rattle at the letter-box?"
"Yes! Yes! Now I do remember. And it was actually you!"
"It was, indeed," said Steel, gravely. "I saw you come down, I saw youpeep in--all dread and reluctance! I saw you recoil, I saw the face withwhich you shut those doors and put out the lights. And afterwards Ilearned from the medical evidence that your husband must have been deadat that time; one thing I knew, and that was that he was not shot duringthe next hour and more, for I waited about until half-past two in thehope that he would come out. I was not going to ring and bring you downagain, for I had seen your face, and I still saw your light upstairs."
"So you thought I had come down to see my handiwork!"
"To see if he was really dead. Yes, I thought that afterwards. I couldnot help thinking it, Rachel."
"Did it never occur to you that I might have thought he was asleep?"
"Yes, that has struck me since."
"You have not thought me guilty all along, then?"
"Not all along."
"Did you right through my trial?"
"God forgive me--yes, I did! And there was one thing that convinced memore than anything else; that was when you told the jury that theoccasion of your final parting upstairs was the last time you saw poorAlec alive."
"But it was," said Rachel. "I remember the question. I did not know howto answer it. I could not tell them I had seen him dead but fancied himonly asleep; that they would never have believed. So I told the simpletruth. But it upset me dreadfully."
"That I saw. You expected cross-examination."
"Yes; and I did not know whether to stick to the truth or to lie!"
"I can read people sometimes," Steel continued after a pause. "I guessedyour difficulty. Surely you must see the only conceivable inference?"
"I did see it."
"And, seeing, do you not forgive?"
"Yes, that. But you married me while you still thought me guilty. Iforgive you for denying it at the time. I suppose that was necessary.But you have not yet told me why you did it."
"Honestly, Rachel, it was largely fascination--"
"But not primarily."
"No."
"Then let me hear the prime motive at last, for I am tired of trying toguess it!"
Steel stood before his wife as he had never stood before her yet, hiswhite head bowed, his dark eyes lowered, hands clasped, shoulders bent,the suppliant and the penitent in one.
"I did it to punish you," he said. "I thought some one must--I felt Icould have hanged you if I had spoken out what I had seen--andI--married you instead!"
His eyes were on the ground. When he raised them she was smiling throughunshed tears. But she had spoken first.
"It was not a very terrible motive, after all," she had said; "at least,it has not been such a very terrible--punishment!"
"No; but that was because I did the very last thing I ever thought ofdoing."
"And that was?"
"To fall in love with you at the beginning!"
Rachel gave a little start.
"Although you thought me guilty?"
"That made no difference at all. But I have thought it less and less,until, on the night you appealed first to me and then to Langholm--onthinking over that night--it was impossible to suppose it any more."
Rachel rose, her cheeks divinely red, her lip trembling, her handoutstretched.
"And you fell in love with me!" she murmured.
"God knows I did, Rachel, in my own way," said Steel.
"I am so glad!" whispered his wife.
THE END
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