CHAPTER XIII
Ronald's strange silence after his arrest decided Colwyn to relinquishhis investigations and return to Durrington. His tacit admissions,coupled with the damaging evidence against him, enforced conviction inthe young man's guilt in spite of the detective's previous belief to thecontrary. In assisting Queensmead in his search Colwyn had cherished thehope that Ronald, if captured, would declare his innocence and gladlyrespond to his overture of help. But, instead of doing so, Ronald hadtaken up an attitude which was suspicious in the highest degree, and onewhich caused the detective to falter in his belief that the Glenthorpemurder case was a much deeper mystery than the police imagined. Ronald'sattitude, by its accordance with the facts previously known or believedabout the case, belittled the detective's own discoveries, and causedhim to come to the conclusion that it was hardly worth while to gofarther into it.
Nevertheless, it was in a perplexed and puzzled state of mind that hereturned to Durrington, and his perplexity was not lessened by a pieceof information given to him at luncheon by Sir Henry. The specialiststarted up from his seat as soon as he saw the detective, and made hisway across to his table.
"My dear fellow," he burst out, "I have the most amazing piece of news.Who do you think this chap Ronald turns out to be? None other than JamesRonald Penreath, only son of Sir James Penreath--Penreath ofTwelvetrees--one of the oldest families in England, dating back beforethe Conquest! Not very much money, but very good blood--none better inEngland, in fact. The family seat is in Berkshire, and the family taketheir name from a village near Reading, where a battle was fought in 800odd between the Danes and Saxons under Ethelwulf. You won't get a mucholder ancestry than _that_. Sir James married the daughter of SirWilliam Shirley, the member for Carbury, Cheshire--her family was not sogood as his, but an honourable county family, nevertheless. This youngman is their only child. A nice disgrace he's brought on the familyname, the foolish fellow!"
"Who told you this?" asked Colwyn.
"Superintendent Galloway told me last night. The description of theyoung man was published in the London press in order to assist hiscapture, and it appears it was seen by the young lady to whom he isaffianced, Miss Constance Willoughby, who is at present in London,engaged in war work. I have never met Miss Willoughby, but her aunt,Mrs. Hugh Brewer, with whom she is living at Lancaster Gate, iswell-known to me. She is an immensely wealthy woman, who devotes herlife to public works, and moves in the most exclusive philanthropiccircles. The young lady was terribly distressed at the similarity ofdetails in the description of the wanted man and that of her betrothed,particularly the scar on the cheek. Although she could not believe theyreferred to Mr. Penreath, she deemed it advisable to communicate withthe Penreath family solicitor, Mr. Oakham, of Oakham and Pendules.
"Mr. Oakham called up Superintendent Galloway on the trunk lineyesterday, to make inquiries, and shortly afterwards the news camethrough of Ronald's arrest. Superintendent Galloway was rather perturbedat learning that the arrested man resembled the description of the heirof one of the oldest baronetcies in England, and sought me to ask myadvice. As he rather vulgarly put it, he was scared at having flushedsuch high game, and he thought, in view of my professional connectionwith some of the highest families in the land, that I might be able togive him information which would save him from the possibility of makinga mistake--if such a possibility existed."
"Superintendent Galloway did not seem much worried by any such fears thelast time I saw him," said Colwyn. "His one idea then was to catchRonald and hang him as speedily as possible."
"The case wears another aspect now," replied Sir Henry gravely,oblivious of the irony in the detective's tones. "To arrest a nobodynamed Ronald is one thing, but to arrest the son of Penreath ofTwelvetrees is quite a different matter. The police--quite rightly, inmy opinion--wish to guard against the slightest possibility of mistake."
"There is no certainty that Ronald is the son of Sir James Penreath,"said Colwyn thoughtfully. "Printed descriptions of people are verymisleading."
"Exactly my contention," replied Sir Henry eagerly. "I told Gallowaythat the best way to settle the point was to let the young lady see theprisoner. The police are acting on the suggestion. Mr. Oakham is comingdown with Miss Willoughby and her aunt from London by the afternoontrain. They will go straight to Heathfield, where they will see Ronaldbefore his removal to Norwich gaol. Superintendent Galloway is drivingover from here in a taxicab to meet them at the station and escort themto the lock-up, and I am going with him. It is a frightful ordeal fortwo highly-strung ladies to have to undergo, and my professional skillmay be needed to help them through with it. I shall suggest that theyreturn here with me afterwards, and stay for the night at the hotel,instead of returning to London immediately. The night's rest will serveto recuperate their systems after the worry and excitement."
"No doubt," said Colwyn, who began to see how Sir Henry Durwood hadbuilt up such a flourishing practice as a ladies' specialist.
Sir Henry, having imparted his information, promised to acquaint himwith the result of the afternoon's interview, and bustled out of thebreakfast room in response to the imperious signalling of his wife'seye.
It was after dinner that evening, in the lounge, that Sir Henry againapproached Colwyn, smoking a cigar, which represented the amount of amedical man's fee in certain London suburbs. But as Sir Henry countedhis fees in guineas, and not in half-crowns, he could afford to beluxurious in his smoking. He took a seat beside the detective and,turning upon him his professionally portentous "all is over" face,remarked:
"There is no mistake. Ronald is Sir James Penreath's son."
"Miss Willoughby identified him, then?"
"It was a case of mutual identification. Mr. Penreath, to give him hisproper name, was brought under escort into the room where we wereseated. He started back at the sight of Miss Willoughby--I suppose hehad no idea whom he was going to see--and said, 'Why, Constance!' Thepoor girl looked up at him and exclaimed, 'Oh, James, how could you?'and burst into a flood of tears. It was a very painful scene."
"I have no doubt it was--for all concerned," was Colwyn's dry comment."Why did Miss Willoughby greet her betrothed husband in that way, asthough she were convinced of his guilt? What does she know about thecase?"
"Superintendent Galloway prepared her mind for the worst during the ridefrom the station to the gaol. She asked him a number of questions, andhe told her that there was no doubt that the man she was going to seewas the man who had murdered Mr. Glenthorpe."
"I suspected as much. But what else transpired during the interview? Howdid Penreath receive Miss Willoughby's remark?"
"Most peculiarly. He seemed about to speak, then checked himself with ahalf smile, looked down on the ground, and said no more. SuperintendentGalloway signed to the policemen to remove him, and we withdrew. Theinterview did not last more than a minute or so."
"Miss Willoughby did not see him alone, then?"
"No. Galloway told her that she would not be permitted to see himalone."
"And nothing more was said on either side while Penreath was in theroom?"
"Nothing. Penreath's attitude struck me as that of a man who did notwish to speak. He appeared self-conscious and confused, like a man witha secret to hide."
"Perhaps his silence was due to pride. After Miss Willoughby's tactlessremark he may have thought there was no use saying anything when hissweetheart believed him guilty." Colwyn spoke without conviction; thememory of Penreath's demeanour to him after his arrest was too fresh inhis mind.
"You wrong Miss Willoughby. She is only too anxious to catch at anystraw of hope. When she learnt that you had been making someinvestigations into the case she expressed an anxiety to see you. Sheand her aunt yielded to my advice, and returned here to spend the nightat the hotel before going back to London. As they did not feel inclinedto face the ordeal of public scrutiny after the events of the day theyare dining in private, and they have asked me to take you to their roomwhen you are at libert
y. Mr. Oakham has gone to Norwich, where he willstay for some days to prepare the defence of this unhappy young man, buthe is coming here in the morning to see the ladies before they departfor London. He asked me to tell you that he would like to see you also."
"I shall be glad to see him, and Miss Willoughby as well. Have theladies asked you your opinion of the case?"
"Naturally they did. I gave them the best comfort I could by hintingthat in my opinion Mr. Penreath is not in a state of mind at present inwhich he can be held responsible for his actions. I did not say anythingabout epilepsy--the word is not a pleasant one to use before ladies."
"Did you tell them this in front of Galloway?"
"Certainly not. A professional man in my position cannot be too careful.I am glad now that I was so circumspect about this matter in my dealingswith the police--very glad indeed. It was my duty to tell Mr. Oakham,and I did so. He was interested in what I told him--exceedingly so, andwas anxious to know if I had given my opinion of Penreath's condition toanybody else. I mentioned that I had told you--in confidence."
"And it was then, no doubt, that Mr. Oakham said he would like to seeme. I fancy I gather his drift. And now shall we visit Miss Willoughby?"
"Yes, I should say the ladies will be expecting us," said Sir Henry,looking at a fat watch with jewelled hands which registered goldenminutes for him in Harley Street. He beckoned a waiter, and asked him toconduct them to Mrs. Brewer's sitting-room. The waiter led them along acorridor on the first floor, tapped deferentially, opened the doornoiselessly in response to a feminine injunction to "come in," waitedfor the gentlemen to enter, and then closed the door behind them.
Two ladies rose to greet them. One was small and overdressed, withfluffy hair and China blue eyes. She carried some knitting in her hand,and a pet dog under her arm. Colwyn had no difficulty in identifying herwith the frequent photographs of Mrs. Brewer which appeared in Societyand illustrated papers. She belonged to a class of women who tookadvantage of the war to advertise themselves by philanthropicbenefactions and war work, but she was able to distance most of hercompetitors for newspaper notoriety by reason of her wealth. Her niece,Miss Constance Willoughby, was of a different type. She was tall andgraceful, with dark eyes and level brows. A straight nose and a firmchin indicated that their possessor was not lacking in a will of herown. Her manner was self-possessed and assured--a trifle too much so fora sensitive girl in the circumstances, Colwyn thought. Then heremembered having read in some paper that Miss Willoughby was one of theleaders of the new feminist movement which believed that the war hadbrought about the complete emancipation of English woman-hood, and withit the right to possess and display those qualities of character whichhitherto were supposed to be peculiarly masculine. It was perhaps owingto her advocacy of these claims that Miss Willoughby felt herself calledupon to display self-possession and self-control at a trying time.Colwyn, appraising her with his clear eye as Sir Henry introduced him,found himself speculating as to the reasons which had caused Penreathand her to fall in love with one another.
"Please sit down, Mr. Colwyn," said Mrs. Brewer, resuming a comfortablearm-chair in front of the fire, and adjusting the Pekingese on her lap."I am so grateful to you for coming to see us in this unconventionalway. I have been so anxious to see you! Everybody has heard of you, Mr.Colwyn--you're so famous. It was only the other day that I was reading along article about you in some paper or other. I forget the name of thepaper, but I remember that it said a lot of flattering things about youand your discoveries in crime. It said----Oh, you naughty, naughtyJellicoe." This to the dog, which had become entangled in the skein ofwool on her lap, and was making frantic efforts to free itself. "Badlittle doggie, you've ruined this sock, and some poor soldier will haveto go with bare feet because you've been naughty! Are you a judge ofPekingese, Mr. Colwyn? Don't you think Jellicoe a dear?"
"Do you mean Sir John Jellicoe, Mrs. Brewer?"
"Of course not! I mean my Pekingese. I've named him after our greatgallant commander, because it is through him we are all able to sleepsafe and sound in our beds these dreadful nights."
"Sir John Jellicoe ought to feel flattered," said Colwyn gravely.
"Yes, I really think he should," replied Mrs. Brewer innocently."Jellicoe is not a pretty name for a dog, but I think we should all bepatriotic just now. But tell me what you think of this dreadful case,Mr. Colwyn. I am so frightfully distressed about it that I really don'tknow what to do. How could Mr. Penreath do such a shocking thing? Whydidn't he go back to the front, if he had to kill somebody, instead ofhiding away from everybody and murdering this poor old man in this wildspot? Such a disgrace to us all!"
"Mr. Penreath has been in the Army, then?" asked Colwyn.
"Of course. Didn't you know? He was in Mesopotamia, but was sent to theWest Front recently, where he won the D.S.O. for an act of greatgallantry under heavy fire, but was shortly afterwards invalided out ofthe Army. It was in all the papers at the time."
"You forget, my dear lady, that Mr. Penreath did not disclose his fullname while he was staying here," interposed Sir Henry solemnly. "Imyself was in complete ignorance of his identity until last night."
"Why, of course--you told me this afternoon. My poor head! Whateverinduced Mr. Penreath to do such a thing as to conceal his name? Socommon and vulgar! What motive could he have? What do you think hismotive was, Mr. Colwyn?"
"I think, Aunt Florence, as your nerves are bad, that you had betterpermit me to talk to Mr. Colwyn," said Miss Willoughby, speaking for thefirst time. "Otherwise we shall get into a worse tangle than thePekingese."
"I am sure I shall be only too relieved if you will talk to Mr. Colwyn,"rejoined the elder woman. "My head is really not equal to the task--mynerves are so frightfully unstrung."
Mrs. Brewer returned to the task of untangling the dog from the knittingwool, and the girl faced the detective earnestly.
"Mr. Colwyn," she said, "I understand you have been investigating thisterrible affair. Will you tell me what you think of it? Do you believethat Mr. Penreath is guilty? You need not fear to be frank with me."
"I will not hesitate to be so. I shall be pleased to give you myconclusions about this case--so far as I have formed any--but I shouldbe greatly obliged if you would answer a few questions first. That mighthelp me to clear up one or two points on which I am at present in doubt,and make my statement to you clearer."
"Ask me any questions you wish."
"Thank you. In the first place, how long is it since Mr. Penreathreturned from the front, invalided out of the Army?"
"About two months ago."
"Was he wounded?"
"No. I understand that he broke down through shell-shock, and thedoctors said that it would be some time before he completely recovered.I do not know the details. Mr. Penreath was very sensitive and reticentabout the matter, and so I forbore questioning him."
Colwyn nodded sympathetically.
"I understand. Have you noticed much difference in his demeanour sincehe returned from the front?"
"That question is a little difficult to answer," said the girl,hesitating.
"I can quite understand how you feel about it. My motive in asking thequestion is to see if we can ascertain why Penreath came to Norfolkunder a concealed name, and then wandered over to this place, Flegne, inan almost penniless condition, when he had plenty of friends who wouldhave supplied his needs, and, I should say, had money of his own in thebank, for it is quite certain that he would be in receipt of anallowance from his father. He acted most unusually for a young man ofhis standing and position, and I am wondering if shell-shock left him inthat restless, unsettled, reckless condition which is one of its worsteffects."
"I have seen so little of him since he returned from the front that itis difficult for me to answer you," said the girl, after a pause. "Hewent down to Berkshire to his father's place on his return, and stayedthere a month. Then he came to London, and we met several times, butrarely alone. I am very deeply engaged in war work, and
was unable togive him much of my time. When I did see him he struck me as rathermoody and distrait, but I put that down to his illness, and the factthat he must naturally feel unhappy at his forced inaction. My friendspaid him much attention and sent him many invitations--in fact, theywould have made quite a fuss of him if he had let them--and, of course,he had friends of his own, but he didn't seem to want to go anywhere,and he told me once or twice that he wished people would let him alone.I pointed out to him that he had his duty to do in Society as well as atthe front, but he said he disliked Society, particularly in war-time.About three weeks ago he told me one night at a dance that he was sickof London, and thought he would be better for a change of air. He waslooking rather pale, and I agreed he would be the better for a change. Iasked him where he intended going, and he said he thought he would trythe east coast--he didn't say what part. He left me with the intentionof going away the next day. That was the last I saw of him--untilto-day."
"You got no letter from him?"
"I did not hear from him--nor of him--until I saw his descriptionpublished in the London newspapers as that of a criminal wanted by thepolice."
Miss Willoughby uttered the last sentence in some bitterness, with asparkle of resentment in her eyes. It was apparent that she consideredshe had been badly treated by her lover, and that his arrest hadhardened, instead of softening, her feelings of resentment.
"I am much obliged to you for answering my questions, Miss Willoughby,"said the detective. "As I told you before, they are not dictated bycuriosity, but in the hope of eliciting some information which wouldthrow light on this puzzling case."
"A puzzling case! You consider it a puzzling case, Mr. Colwyn?" Sheglanced at him with a more eager and girlish expression than he had yetseen on her face. "I understood from the police officer that there wasno room for doubt in the matter. Sir Henry Durwood shares the policeview." She turned a swift questioning glance in the specialist'sdirection.
Sir Henry caught the glance, and felt it incumbent upon himself to uttera solemn commonplace.
"I beg of you not to raise false hopes in Miss Willoughby's breast, Mr.Colwyn," he said.
"I have no intention of doing so," returned the detective. "On the otherhand, I protest against everybody condemning Penreath until it iscertain he is guilty. And now, Miss Willoughby, I will tell you what Ihave discovered."
He entered upon a brief account of his investigations at the inn, withthe exception that he omitted the visit of Peggy to the murdered man'schamber and her subsequent explanation. Miss Willoughby listenedattentively, and, when he had concluded, remarked:
"Do you think the wax and tallow candle-grease dropped in the roomsuggests the presence of two persons?"
"I feel sure that it does."
"And who do you think the other was?"
"It is not yet proved that Penreath was one of them."
She flushed under the implied reproof, and hurriedly added:
"Have you acquainted the police with your discoveries, Mr. Colwyn?"
"I have, and I am bound to say that they attach very little importanceto them."
"Do you propose to go any further with your investigations?"
"I would prefer not to answer that question until I have seen Mr. Oakhamto-morrow."