CHAPTER VI
Beatrice came down from her room presently, dressed in quiet black. Inher hand she carried not only the telegram but a letter she had takenfrom the dressing-table of the dead man.
The little group in the hall had by this time been augmented by thepresence of Colonel Berrington; Stephen Richford had slipped offsomewhere. Mark had not failed to notice the restlessness and agitationof his manner.
"I think I have got rid of everybody," Berrington said. "It has been amost distressing business, and I am afraid that there is worse to come.Dr. Andrews has just telephoned. He has seen Sir Charles's medical man,and they have decided that there must be an inquest. I don't suggestthat anything is wrong, but there you are."
"I am not surprised," Beatrice said coldly, "I have been to my father'sroom looking over his papers. And I found a letter that puzzles me. Itwas written last night as the date shows, in the hotel, on hotel paper,and evidently delivered by hand, as the envelope proves. Look at this."
Colonel Berrington held out his hand for the envelope. He startedslightly as he looked at the neat, clear handwriting. Something wasevidently wrong here, Mark thought. The Colonel was a man of courage, ashe very well knew, and yet his fingers trembled as he glancedinterrogatively at Beatrice before he drew the letter from the envelope.
"Yes," Beatrice said; "I want you to read it. I brought it down onpurpose."
"There does not seem to be much," Berrington said. "As there is noheading and signature, the letter may be intended for anybody."
"Only my father's name happens to be on the envelope," Beatrice saidquietly. "Pray read it aloud."
Berrington proceeded to do so. There were only two or three lines inwhich the writer said that she must see the recipient of the letterwithout delay, and that it was of no use to try and keep out of the way.There was nothing more; no threat or sign of anger, nothing to signifythat there was any feeling at all. And yet so much might have beenconcealed behind those simple lines. Berrington looked grave, andtrembled as he handed the letter back to Beatrice.
"Clearly it is our duty to find out who wrote that letter," Markobserved. "It was written in the hotel, probably by somebody dining herelast night. It is just possible that it was written by someone who wasstaying in the hotel. In that case we can easily ascertain the name ofthe writer."
"How is that possible?" Berrington demanded. He asked the question quitenervously. "In a place so large as this, with so many visitorscontinually going and coming----"
"There is a rigid rule here," Mark proceeded to explain. "Every guest,even if only passing a single night under the roof, has to sign thevisitors' book. With this letter in my hand I can compare signatures. Ifthere is no signature like this characteristic handwriting, then ourtask is no easy one. On the other hand, if there is----"
The speaker paused significantly. Berrington's agitation deepened. Withall her distress and sorrow, Beatrice did not fail to notice it.
"Perhaps you will go down to the office and see at once, Mark," Beatricesuggested.
Ventmore went off obediently enough. Berrington stood watching him for amoment, then he turned to Beatrice and laid his hand gently on her arm.
"Believe me, this is not going to help anybody," he said in a low voice."Unless I am greatly mistaken, I know who wrote that letter. Whatconnection she had with your father and what the secret was between themI shall perhaps never know. But the lady who wrote that letter----"
"Ah," Beatrice cried, with a flash of sudden inspiration, "it was thegrey lady, I am sure of it."
"You have guessed correctly," Berrington went on. "It was the personwhom you have elected to call the grey lady. It was a great shock to meto recognize that handwriting. The secret is not wholly mine to tell,but for a long time I have been seeking the grey lady. I had not theremotest idea that she and Sir Charles had anything in common; littledid I dream that she was here in this hotel last night. But whatever maybe the meaning of this mystery, if there has been foul play here, thegrey lady is quite innocent of it. Don't ask me to say any more, becauseI cannot, I dare not."
Beatrice nodded in sympathy. The brave, grave soldier by her side wasterribly agitated; indeed Beatrice could not have recognized him asbeing capable of such a display of emotion.
"I am going to believe in you both," she said. "Probably the grey ladywas the last person to see my father alive. She may have told him someterrible news; she may have given him the shock that killed him. Butthere was another who knew----"
"What do you mean by that?" Berrington asked.
"Nothing. I have said too much. That is quite between myself and--andcould possibly have had nothing to do with my father's death. Oh, ifonly Mark had arrived five minutes sooner!"
Berrington knew exactly what was passing through Beatrice's mind.
"A great pity, indeed," he said quietly. "What a difference moments makein our lives. Still----"
"Still there is always the doubt," Beatrice whispered eagerly. Aconstant throng of people passed through the great hall where the deathof Sir Charles was already forgotten. "I am living on the doubt, ColonelBerrington; am I or am I not married to Stephen Richford?"
"I could not say," Berrington replied. "I have very little knowledge ofthese matters. As far as I could see, the marriage ceremony wascompleted, the ring was placed on your finger, therefore----"
"Therefore you think that I am married," Beatrice said. She was twistingthe gold badge of servitude on her finger nervously. "I am going to findout for certain. The service was not quite finished; there was noexhortation, there was no signing of the register. Surely I am free ifit is my desire to be free. After what I found to-day----"
Again Beatrice paused as if aware of the fact that she was saying toomuch. There was a certain expression of relief on her face as she sawthe figure of Mark approaching.
"Well, have you done anything?" she asked eagerly. "Have you made anygreat discovery?"
"I have only been partially successful," Mark said. "I have identifiedthe writing with a signature of a guest in the visitors' book. The ladycame only yesterday, as the date is opposite her writing. She camewithout a maid and with very little luggage, and she called herself Mrs.Beacon Light."
"Beacon Light," Beatrice said reflectively. "It sounds like a _nom deplume_; it suggests the kind of name a lady novelist would assume. Toosingular to be real. And are you quite sure that the lady wrote thatletter to my father?"
"I should say there is very little doubt about it," Mark replied. "Thehandwritings are identical. It seems that Mrs. Beacon Light stayed herelast night and dined in the red salon. She had breakfast here veryearly, and then she paid her bill and departed. The clerk cannot saywhere she went, for her small amount of baggage was placed in a hansomand the driver was told to go in the first instance to Peter Robinson's.That is everything that I could ascertain."
There was no more to be said for the present, and very little to bedone. A tall, stiff man, with an air of Scotland Yard indeliblyimpressed upon him, came presently, and asked to be allowed to see SirCharles's suite of rooms. He had been waited upon at his office, heexplained, by the deceased baronet's medical man, who had suggested thenecessity for an inquest, which had been fixed upon for ten o'clock thefollowing day. Under the circumstances the suite of rooms would belocked up and the seal of authority placed on them. The inspector wassincerely sorry to cause all this trouble and worry to Miss Darryll, butshe would quite see that he was doing no more than his duty.
"But why all this fuss?" Stephen Richford demanded. He had come up atthe same moment. Troubled and dazed as Beatrice was, she could not helpnoticing that Richford had been drinking. The thing was so unusual thatit stood out all the more glaringly. "There's no occasion for aninquest. Dr. Oswin has told me more than once lately that Sir Charleswas giving his heart a great deal too much to do. This thing has got tobe prevented, I tell you."
"Very sorry, sir," the inspector said politely; "but it is already outof private hands. Both Dr. Oswin and Dr. Andrew
s have suggested aninquest; they have notified us, and, if they wished to change theirminds now, I doubt if my chief would permit them."
Richford seemed to be on the point of some passionate outburst, but hechecked himself. He laid his hand more or less familiarly on Beatrice'sarm, and she could feel his fingers trembling.
"Very well," he said sulkily. "If you have made up your minds as to thiscourse, I have no more to say. But there is nothing to gain by standinghere all day. Beatrice, I have something to say to you."
"I am quite ready," Beatrice said. "I have also something to say to you.We will go on as far as my sitting-room. Please don't leave the hotel,Colonel Berrington; I may want you again."
The hard corners of Richford's mouth trembled, but he said nothing. Hedid not utter a word until the door of the sitting-room had closed uponBeatrice and himself. He motioned the girl to a chair, but she ignoredthe suggestion.
"It is a very awkward situation," Richford began. "As my wife----"
"I am glad you have come so quickly to the point," Beatrice saideagerly. "Am I your wife? I doubt it. I do not think I am your wife,because the ceremony was not quite completed and we did not sign theregister. You know what my feelings have been all along; I have nevermade the slightest attempt to disguise them. If I had known that myfather was dead--that he had died on the way to church, I should neverhave become Mrs. Stephen Richford. To save my father's good name I hadconsented to this sacrifice. My father is dead beyond the reach oftrouble. If I had only known. If I had only known!"
The words came with a fierce whisper. They stung the listener as nooutburst of contempt or scorn could. They told him clearly how thespeaker loathed and despised him.
"Nobody did know," he sneered. "Nobody could possibly have known."
"That is not true," Beatrice cried. She had come a little closer toRichford; her cheeks were blazing with anger, her eyes flamedpassionately. "It is a cowardly lie. There was one man who saw my fatherafter his death, and I am going to prove the fact in a way that cannotpossibly be disputed. One man was in my father's room after his death.That man saw my father lying there, and he crept away without givingthe slightest alarm. You may sneer, you may say that such a thing isimpossible, that the man I allude to would have nothing to gain by sucha course; but as I said before, I am going to prove it. Look at thistelegram I hold in my hand. It was sent before ten o'clock to-day to theperson to whom it is addressed. It evidently relates to some StockExchange business. The address is quite clear; the time the telegram wasdelivered is quite clear, too; and by the side of my father's body Ifound the telegram, which could only have been dropped there by theparty to whom it was addressed. So that party knew that my father wasdead, and that party made no alarm. Why?"
"Why," Richford stammered. "Why, because,--well, you see it is quitepossible to explain----"
"It is not," Beatrice cried. "The telegram is addressed to _you_. It wasyou who called on my father; you who found him dead. And in youragitation you dropped that message. Then you grasped the fact that ifthe marriage was postponed it would never take place, that I was in aposition to defy you. You locked my father's door; you said nothing; youmade up your mind to let the ceremony go on. That accounts for youragitation, for the fact that you have been drinking. Cowardly scoundrel,what have you to say to this!"
"What are you going to do?" Richford asked sullenly.
"Unless you release me here and now," Beatrice cried, "I swear by Heaventhat I am going to _tell the truth_!"
"Richford stood there shaking and quivering withpassion." _Page 49._]