from ruralEngland. The other half of the village had entered the park to see thespot where the terrible tragedy had been enacted.
For a moment I halted talking with a couple of men who made inquiry ofme, knowing that I had first raised the alarm. And then I heard a dozendifferent theories in as many minutes. The rural mind is always quickto suggest motive where tragedy is concerned.
At noon I walked up to the Hall again, wondering if my love would showherself. I longed to get up to London and make inquiries at thatpawnbroker's in the Westminster Bridge Road, as well as to call at theaddress she had given me in Chelsea. As she had said, only myself stoodbetween her and death. The situation all-round was one of great peril,and I had, at all costs, to save her.
As I entered and crossed the hall, Slater, the old butler, approached,saying--
"His lordship would like to see you, sir. He's in the library."
So I turned and walked up the corridor of the east wing to that finelong old room with its thousands of rare volumes that had been the chiefdelight of the white-headed old peer who had spent the evening of hisdays in study.
"I say, Woodhouse!" cried the young Earl, springing from his chair as Ientered, "what does this murder in the park last night mean?"
"It's a profound mystery," I replied. "The murdered man has not yetbeen identified."
"I know, I know," he said. "I went down to the inn with Pink thismorning and saw him. And, do you know, he looks suspiciously like afellow who followed me about in town several times last season."
"That's strange!" I exclaimed, much interested. "Yes, it is. I can'tmake it out at all. There's a mystery somewhere--a confounded mystery."And the young Earl thrust his hands deeply into his trousers pockets ashe seated himself on the arm of a chair.
Tall, dark, good-looking, and a good all-round athlete, he was aboutthirty, the very picture of the well-bred Englishman. A few years inthe Army had set him up and given him a soldierly bearing, while hisface and hands, tanned as they were, showed his fondness for out-doorsports. He kept up the Stanchester hounds, of which he was master, tothat high degree of efficiency which rendered them one of the mostpopular packs in the country; he was an excellent polo player, asplendid shot, and a thorough all-round sportsman. In his well-worngrey flannels, and with a straw hat stuck jauntily on his head, hepresented the picture of healthy manhood, wealthy almost beyond thedreams of avarice, a careless, easy-going, good-humouredman-of-the-world, whose leniency to his tenants was proverbial, andwhose good-nature gave him wide popularity in Society, both in Londonand out of it.
By the man-in-the-street he was believed to be supremely content in hisgreat possessions, his magnificent mansions, his princely bank balance,his steam yacht and his pack of hounds, yet I, his confidential friendand secretary, knew well the weariness and chagrin that was now eatingout his heart. Her ladyship, two years his junior, was one of the threecelebrated beauties known in London drawing-rooms as "the giddyGordons," and who, notwithstanding her marriage, still remained theleader of that ultra-smart set, and always had one or two admirers inher train. She was still marvellously beautiful; her portraits,representing her yachting, motoring, shooting or riding to hounds, werefamiliar to every one, and after her marriage it had become the fashionto regard the Countess of Stanchester as one of the leaders of theLondon _mode_.
All this caused her husband deep regret and worry. He was unhappy, forwith her flitting to and from the Continental spas, to Rome, toFlorence, to Scotland, to Paris and elsewhere, he enjoyed little of hersociety, although he loved her dearly and had married her purely on thataccount.
Often in the silence of his room he sighed heavily when he spoke of herto me, and more than once, old friends that we were, he had unbosomedhimself to me, so that, knowing what I did, I honestly pitied him.There was, in fact, affection just as strong in the heart of themillionaire landowner as in that of his very humble secretary.
"I had the misfortune to be born a rich man, Willoughby," he had oncedeclared to me. "If I had been poor and had had to work for my living,I should probably have been far happier."
At the present moment, however, he seemed to have forgotten his ownsorrows in the startling occurrence that had taken place within his owndemesne, and his declaration that the man now dead had followed him inLondon was to me intensely interesting. It added more mystery to theaffair.
"Are you quite certain that you recognise him?" I inquired a fewmoments later, wondering whether, if this were an actual fact, I had notalso seen him when walking with the Earl in London.
"Well, not quite," was my companion's reply. "A dead man's face looksrather different to that of a living person. Nevertheless, I feelalmost positive that he's the same. I recollect that the first occasionI saw him was at Ranelagh, when he came and sat close by me, and wasapparently watching my every movement. I took no notice, because lotsof people, when they ascertain who I am, stare at me as though I weresome extraordinary species. A few nights later on, walking home fromthe Bachelors', I passed him in Piccadilly, and again on the next day hefollowed me persistently through the Burlington. Don't you remember,too, when Marigold held that bazaar in the drawing-room in aid of theDeep Sea Mission? Well, he came, and bought several rather expensivethings. I confess that his constant presence grew very irritating, andalthough I said nothing to you at the time, for fear you would laugh atmy apprehension, I grew quite timid, and didn't care to walk home fromthe club at night alone."
"Rather a pity you didn't point him out to me," I remarked, very muchpuzzled. "I, too, have a faint idea that I've seen him somewhere. Itmay have been that when I've walked with you he has followed us."
"Most likely," was the young Earl's reply. "He evidently had some fixedpurpose in watching my movements, but what it could be is an entiremystery. During the last fortnight I was in town I always carried mylittle revolver, fearing--well, to tell you the truth, fearing lest heshould make an attack upon me," he admitted with a smile. "The factwas, I had become thoroughly unnerved."
This confession sounded strange from a resolute athletic man of hisstamp whom I had hitherto regarded as utterly fearless and possessingnerves of iron.
"And now," he went on, "the fellow is found murdered within half a mileof the house! Most extraordinary, isn't it?"
"Very remarkable--to say the least," I said reflectively. "The policewill probably discover who and what he is."
"Police!" he laughed. "What do you think such a fellow as Redway coulddiscover, except perhaps it were a mug of beer hidden by a publicanafter closing-time? No, I agree with Pink, we must have a couple of mendown from London. It seems that Pink has found the print of a woman'sshoe at the spot, while in the dead man's hand was grasped a piece ofwhite fur. The suspicion is, therefore, that some woman has had a handin it. I think, Willoughby, you'd best run up to London and get them tosend down some smart man from the Criminal Investigation Department. Goand see my friend Layard, the Home Secretary, and tell him I sent you toobtain his assistance. He'll no doubt see that some capable person issent."
I suggested that he should write a note to Sir Stephen Layard which Iwould deliver personally, and at once he sat down and scribbled a fewlines in that heavy uneven calligraphy of his, for he had ever been asad penman.
The net seemed to be slowly spreading for Lolita, yet what could I do toprevent this tracking down of the woman I loved?
The mystery of the man's movements in London had apparently thoroughlyaroused the young Earl's desire to probe the affair to the bottom. Andnot unnaturally. None of us care to be followed and watched by anunknown man whose motive is utterly obscure.
So I was compelled to take the note and promise that I would deliver itto Layard that same evening.
"I mean to do all I can to find out who the fellow was and why he waskilled," the Earl declared, striding up and down the room impatiently."I've just seen Lolita, who seems very upset about it. She, too, admitsthat she saw the man watching me at Ranelagh, at the bazaar, and
also atother places."
"I wonder what his motive could have been," I remarked, surprised thather ladyship should have made such a statement.
"Ah! That we must find out. His intentions were evil ones, without adoubt."
"But he didn't strike you as a thief?" I asked.
"Not at all. He was always very well-dressed and had something of aforeign appearance, although I don't believe he was a foreigner."
"How do you know?"
"Because I heard him speak. His voice had rather a Cockney ring in it,although he appeared to ape the Frenchman in dress and mannerisms, inorder, I suppose, to be able to pass as one."
"An adventurer--without a doubt," I remarked. "But we shall know morebefore long. There are several facts which may afford us good clues."
"Yes, in the hands of an expert detective they may. That's why we musthave a man down from London. You go to town and do your best,Willoughby, while I remain here and watch what transpires. The inquestis fixed for to-morrow at three, I hear, so you had better be back forit. The Coroner will no doubt want your evidence." And with that weboth walked out together into the park, where the constabulary werestill making a methodical examination of the whole of the area to theleft of the great avenue.
I had intended to obtain another interview with Lolita, but now resolvedthat to keep apart from her for the present was by far the wisestcourse, therefore I accompanied the Earl as far as the fateful spot, andthen continued my way home in order to lunch before driving to Ketteringto catch the afternoon express to St Pancras.
In the idle half-hour after my chop and claret, eaten by the way withbut little relish, I lounged in my old armchair smoking my pipe, when ofa sudden there flashed upon me the recollection of the ring I hadsecured from the dead man's hand. I ran up to my room, and taking itfrom the pocket of my dress-waistcoat carried it downstairs, where Isubmitted it to thorough and searching examination.
It was a ring of no ordinary pattern, the flat golden scarabaeus beingset upon a swivel, while the remaining part of the ring was oval, so asto fit the finger. I put it on, and found that the scarabaeus beingmovable, it adapted itself to all movements of the finger, and that itwas a marvellously fine specimen of the goldsmiths' art, and no doubt,as I had already decided, a copy of an antique Etruscan ornament.
The thickness of the golden sacred beetle attracted me, and I wonderedwhether it could contain anything within. Around the bottom edge werefashioned in gold the folded hairy legs of the insect just showingbeneath its wings, and on examining them I discovered, to my surprise,that there was concealed a tiny hinge.
Instantly I took a pen-knife and gently prised it open, when Idiscovered that within it was almost like a locket, and that behind asmall transparent disc of talc was concealed a tiny photograph--apictured face the sight of which held me breathless. I could notbelieve my eyes.
Revealed there was a portrait of Lady Lolita Lloyd, the woman I loved,which the dead man had worn in secret upon his finger!
CHAPTER EIGHT.
WHEREIN I MAKE CERTAIN DISCOVERIES.
Alas! how I had, in loving Lolita, quaffed the sweet illusions of hopeonly to feel the venom of despair more poignant to my soul.
During the journey up to London my thoughts were fully occupied by thediscovery of what that oddly-shaped ring contained. That portraitundoubtedly linked my love with the victim of the tragedy. But how? Ibelieved myself acquainted with most, if not with all, of her manyadmirers, and if this unknown man were an actual rival then I hadremained in entire and complete ignorance.
As the express rushed southward I sat alone in the compartment calmlyexamining my own heart and analysing my own feelings. Hope gilded myfancy, and I breathed again. I found that I loved, I reverenced woman,and had sought for a real woman to whom to offer my heart. Inherent inman is the love of something to protect; his very manhood requires thathis strongest love should be showered on one who needs his strong arm toshelter her from the world, with all its troubles, all its sorrows, andall its sins. I wanted a companion, pure, loving, womanly; one whowould complete what was wanting in myself; one whom I could reverence--and in Lady Lolita I had found my ideal.
Yet the difference of our stations was an insurmountable barrier in thefirst place, and in the second, if the young Earl knew that I, hissecretary, had had the audacity to propose to his favourite sister, myconnexion with the Stanchesters would, I knew, be abruptly severed.Nevertheless, I had with throbbing heart confessed my secret to my love,and being aware of my deep and honest affection she allowed me to baskin the sunshine of her beauty, and she was trusting in me to extricateher from a peril which she had declared might, alas! prove fatal.
Poor Stanchester! I pondered over his position, too--and I pitied him.Awakened from the temporary aberration which made him take as wife LadyMarigold Gordon, the racing girl and smart up-to-date maiden; consciousthat the _camaraderie_ of the billiard-room, the stable, and theshooting-party and the card-room was after all but a poor substitute forthe true companionship of a wife. The young Countess, well-versed inFrench novels of doubtful taste, accomplished in manly sports, a goodjudge of a dog, capable of talking slang in and out of season, inured tocigarettes and strong drinks, had been an excellent "chum" for a shorttime, but she now preferred the freedom of her pre-matrimonial days, anddrifted about wherever she could find pleasure and excitement. Indeed,she seemed to have more admirers now that she was the wife of the Earlof Stanchester than when she had been merely one of "the giddy Gordongirls."
The smoky sunset haze had settled over the Thames as I crossedWestminster Bridge in search of the pawnbroker's whose voucher had beenfound in the dead man's pocket, and a copy of which I had obtainedbefore leaving Sibberton. It had been a blazing August day and everyLondoner who could afford to escape from the city's turmoil was absent.Yet weather or season makes no appreciable difference to those hurryingmillions who cross the bridges each evening to rush to their 'buses,trams or trains.
At six o'clock that summer's evening the crowd was just as thick onWestminster Bridge as on any night in winter. The million or so ofabsent holidaymakers are unnoticed in that wild desperate fight for thedaily necessaries of life.
Without difficulty I found the shop where a combined business ofjeweller's and pawnbroker's was carried on, and having sought theproprietor, a fat man in shirt-sleeves, of pronounced Hebrew type, Irequested to be allowed to see the pledge in question.
He called his assistant, and after the lapse of a few minutes the latterdescended the stairs carrying a small well-worn leather jewel-case whichhe placed upon the counter. The instant I saw it I held my breath, forupon it, stamped in gold, was the coronet and cipher of Lady LolitaLloyd!
The pawnbroker opened it, and within I saw a necklet of seed pearls andamethysts which I had seen many times around my love's throat, an oldDelhi necklace which her father had bought for her when in India yearsago. In her youth it had been her favourite ornament, but recently shehad not worn it.
Was it possible that it had been stolen--or had she made gift of it tohim?
I took up the familiar necklet and held it in the hollow of my hand. Irecollected how Lolita, with girlish pride, had shown it to me when shehad received it as a present on her eighteenth birthday, and how, onoccasions at parties and balls at Government House afterwards, it hadadorned her white neck and its rather barbaric splendour had so oftenbeen admired.
"It's unredeemed, you know," remarked the black-haired Jew. "You shallhave it for twenty pound--dirth cheap."
Ought I to secure it? The police would, no doubt, soon instituteinquiries, and finding the coronet and cipher upon the case would atonce connect my love with the mysterious affair. But I had by goodfortune forestalled them, therefore I saw that at all hazards I mustsecure it.
I pretended to examine it in the fading light at the window, lingeringso as to gain time to form some plans. I had not twenty pounds in mypocket; to give a cheque would be to betray my name, and the bank
s hadclosed long ago.
At last, after some haggling, more in order to conceal my anxiety toobtain it than anything else, I said, with affected reluctance--
"I haven't the money with me. It's a pretty thing, but a trifle toodear." And I turned as though to leave.
"Well, now, ninetheen pound won't hurt yer. You shall 'ave it forninetheen pound."
"Eighteen ten, if you like," I said. "What time do you close?"
"Nine."
"Then I'll be back before that with the money," I answered, and I sawthe gleam of satisfaction in the Hebrew's eyes, for it had been pawnedfor five pounds. He, however, was not aware that it was I who wasgetting the best of the bargain.
I drove in a cab back to the Constitutional Club, where I had left mybag for the night, and the secretary, a friend of mine, at once cashed acheque, with the result that within an hour I had the necklet anddeposited it safely in my suit-case, gratified beyond measure to knowthat at least I had baffled the police in the possession of this verysuspicious piece of evidence.
From the Jew I had endeavoured to ascertain casually who had pledged theornament, but neither he nor his assistant recollected. In thatparticularly improvident part of London with its floating population ofstruggling actors and music-hall artistes, each pawnbroker has thousandsof chance clients, therefore recollection is well-nigh impossible.
Having successfully negotiated this matter, however, a second and moredifficult problem presented itself, namely, how was I to avoiddelivering the letter to Sir