Paris with Burton, in London withTommy Esmond. To be fair, we cannot say how much or how little she knewof his forgery business."
"Your idea is to turn her out of her husband's house, with or withoutscandal?" queried the detective.
"Without scandal, if possible. I would prefer that. I suppose youwould back me up by saying that you have recognised her and thisscoundrel who was yesterday her brother and is to-day her cousin?"
"If you push me to it, I will, Major Murchison, for the sake of our oldacquaintance. But, for reasons which I stated last time we met, I don'twant to mix myself up in a purely private affair. The woman caught holdof a fool in your friend Pomfret; she has caught hold of another equallysilly fool in your friend Mr Spencer. Please forgive my bluntlanguage, but it is so, is it not?"
"You are quite right, Bryant," groaned poor Hugh. "I seem fated to bemixed up in these matters. At the present moment I have a little stunton, in which I don't require any help. A younger brother of mine hasgot mixed up with a young harpy in the chorus of a third-rate theatre.The young fool has written compromising letters to her. I am trying tobuy these letters. I need hardly tell you she is asking a high price.I can't see her at my own place, for fear of my brother popping in. Ihave taken rooms in a suburb where I see her to carry on thebargaining."
Mr Bryant raised his hands. "Well, sir, when a woman once begins totwist a man round her little finger there is no knowing to what lengthhe will go."
"Profoundly true, Mr Bryant. Well, what do you advise me to do?"
"For the moment, nothing. Get a little more evidence. When I watchedthis couple, I took my old friend Parkinson with me. He knows them now.Get him to watch them. He will tell you where they meet, and howoften. Here is his card. He will wait on you at your convenience."
"I quite see," said Hugh, as he took the proffered card. "If I canprove that they are meeting on the sly it will strengthen my hands, eh?"
"That is the idea. Of course, at the moment, I don't know which you aregoing to tackle first, the husband or the wife."
"I can't say myself, my mind is in such a whirl. But I feel I mustavenge poor Jack Pomfret's death."
Mr Bryant rose. "You will excuse me, Major Murchison, but I have avery busy day. Make use of Parkinson; he is as keen as mustard. And ifit comes to this, that you want me for purposes of identification, I amat your disposal, in Eaton Place or elsewhere."
Murchison left, but not before he had pressed a substantial cheque intoBryant's somewhat reluctant hand.
The next day he interviewed Parkinson, a lean, ascetic-looking man ofthe true sleuth-hound breed. He took his instructions.
"Give me a fortnight, if you please, sir; a week is hardly long enough.I'll warrant, from what our friend Bryant has hinted to me, I will havesomething to report."
And he had. At the end of the fortnight he appeared. He produced asmall pocket-book.
"I'm glad you didn't stipulate for only a week, sir; it was rather ablank one--only one meeting. I expect the lady couldn't get awaycomfortably. But the week after I was rewarded. Three meetings in thatsecond week."
"Ah! Where do they meet?"
"At quite humble little restaurants and queer places in the City. Ifancy the bucket-shop business is not very flourishing just now. For onthe last two occasions when I followed them in, and sat at a table whereI could observe them, I saw Mrs Spencer slip an envelope into hishand."
"Good Heavens!" cried Murchison in a tone of disgust. "She is keepingthis criminal with her husband's money."
Mr Parkinson shrugged his shoulders. "A common enough case, sir, ifyou had seen as much of life as I have."
Hugh shuddered. The woman was depraved to the core. She could leaveher house in Eaton Place, where she had been installed by her devotedand trustful husband, and journey down to some obscure eating-house inthe City to meet this criminal who lived upon her bounty.
Well, the chain of evidence was complete. Bryant would swear to theidentification, and Parkinson would swear that Mrs Guy Spencer, onceNorah Burton, had met George Burton clandestinely four times in afortnight, and had supplied him with money.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
It was in his blackest and most grim mood that Hugh Murchison walked toEaton Place, for the purpose of paying an afternoon call upon MrsSpencer. He had not been near her since the night of the dinner, hadonly left cards. And, very fortunately, he had not come across Guy inthe interval.
On that particular night he had reproached himself with indiscretion.He had availed himself of Fairfax's information to tax her with meetingTommie Esmond at Charing Cross Station on the morning of his flight tothe Continent.
And at the moment that he had made that dramatic announcement, thedrawing-room door had opened to admit the unsuspecting husband. Hughhad left shortly after dinner, on the plea of another engagement. HadMrs Spencer tried to take the wind out of his sails by volunteeringsome plausible explanation about her meeting with Esmond? She was aclever young woman; she might try to forestall him. On the other hand,she might sit tight till he forced her hand. Anyway, he was going toforce it to-day, armed with the new evidence that had been furnished tohim.
Mrs Spencer was not looking well. Her eyes had lost their brightness,her once charming smile was forced and mechanical.
She rose as he was announced, and advanced to him with outstretchedhands, with an exaggerated air of cordiality.
"I thought you had forgotten us." She seated herself on theChesterfield and motioned him to sit beside her. "Major Murchison, Ifear I was a little rude to you the other night, you remember, justbefore Guy came in." She clasped her hands nervously together. "I dotrust we are going to be friends."
Hugh looked at her grimly. He had no compassion for this shamelessadventuress who had driven the poor foolish Pomfret to his grave, whohad ensnared Guy Spencer, a man of stronger fibre, but equally powerlessin the hands of an unscrupulous woman.
"Mrs Spencer--to call you by one of the many names by which you areknown--we were not friends the last time I was at this house. To-day weare bitter enemies."
"What do you mean?" she faltered. "You are speaking in riddles. Whyshould you, the old friend of my husband, be the bitter enemy of hisinnocent wife?"
"His innocent wife!" repeated Hugh sternly. "Dare you look me in theface and say that my name, even if you fail to recognise me after theseyears, does not recall to you certain tragic episodes at Blankfield?"
"I know nothing of Blankfield." The voice was low but very unsteady."You put that question to me the other night in a roundabout sort ofway. My answer is the same--I know nothing of Blankfield."
There was a long pause. Hugh continued to look at her with his steadyand disconcerting gaze. Suddenly she rose, and paced restlessly up anddown the long drawing-room.
"Major Murchison, put your cards on the table. You have come into thishouse, an old friend of my husband's; I have done my best to make youwelcome. But you have some spite against me. Of what do you accuseme?"
"I will put my cards on the table," answered Hugh in his inflexiblevoice. "On the night I met you at Carlton House Terrace I had mysuspicions; no two women could be so exactly alike. Since that night Ihave been picking up information here and there. I have now got acomplete chain of evidence."
"Evidence of what?" she gasped, still pursuing her restless walk up anddown the room. "Of my having met Tommie Esmond at Charing CrossStation? Would you like to hear the true history of that?"
"I shall be pleased to hear any explanation you like to offer, with thereservation that I must please myself as to whether I accept it or not."
"You are very hard, Major Murchison. As you are not prepared to believeme, perhaps it would be better if I did not embark on this history. ButTommie Esmond is really my uncle, my mother's brother. When I was inlow water he was very kind to me. I could not turn my back on him inhis distress." She spoke with sudden passion. "Of course, you, withyour pharisaical way of looking at things, w
ould say I should haveforgotten all his previous kindness."
"The Tommie Esmond affair is, comparatively, a trivial one, MrsSpencer. I am coming in a moment to graver issues. You still say thatthe name of Murchison conveys nothing to you. Oh, think well before youanswer! Remember, I have told you I have overwhelming evidence. And,believe me, the task I have set out upon is far from a welcome one."
"I still say that the name of Murchison conveys nothing to me." Shespoke with a certain air of assurance, but he could see that she wasquivering all over.
"Carry your memory back to that night at Blankfield when your so-calledbrother, George Burton, was arrested on a charge of forgery. You hadbeen his