A Traitor's Wooing Part 13

"I have been trying to overhaul my knowledge of Levison's past in order to account for his murder by some other means than the obvious," he said. "And, with every desire to fit him with an appropriate murderer, I have entirely failed. There is no need to disguise the fact that he was my tool--a dirty little shyster who has done odd jobs for me--but he was not the sort of person to inspire a thirst for bloodshed. A mean-spirited little rascal, with no ideas beyond the price of a bill-stamp and overcharging what he called his 'exes.' There was no one to kill him but you, my friend."

"Don't call me that," said Leslie hotly. "I repeat that I did not kill him."

Nugent shook his head with an incredulity the more exasperating because it seemed so thoroughly genuine. "At any rate, a judge and jury would find a difficulty in believing to the contrary. Let me state the case just to show you your danger. You have yourself admitted acquaintance and business relations with Levison--a stranger in the place, who is not known to have had dealings with any one else. Point one for the prosecution. It can further be proved that you had arranged to meet him at that lonely spot----"

"Pardon me," interrupted Leslie hoa.r.s.ely. "That cannot be proved unless you volunteer as a witness, and give away the whole vile story of the plot to abduct Miss Maynard."

The gentle tolerance of Nugent's smile was harder to bear than abuse would have been. "Really, Chermside, you are an impossible fellow to have as a partner in a losing game," he said. "At the risk of being wearisome, let me repeat that your trial would spell ruin for me. It is Louise Aubin, Miss Maynard's French maid, who is at the bottom of the trouble. Levison, like the vulgar wretch he was, amused himself with a flirtation with her. It seems that, most indiscreetly, he confided to her that he had some hold on you, and that it was either to be tightened or relaxed after an interview arranged for that night. Point two for the prosecution."

Leslie's heart sank as the remorseless indictment against him was unfolded. He had been naturally disposed to mistrust Nugent's profession of mutual interests, but with the introduction of this new and independent witness into the case this was explained. Louise Aubin, if she had been confided in by Levison, was certainly in a position to wreck the two of them. Yet once more his doubt surged up, and he put the quick question--

"Why has this woman imparted her suspicion to you? Why did she not take it to the police, and appear at the inquest?"

"Because, by the greatest good luck, I met her on her way to do so,"

answered Nugent promptly. "It was on the day of the picnic--immediately after the discovery of the body. I was aware of her relations with the dead man, from what was said when we lunched at the Manor, and I guessed what she was up to. I managed to throw dust in her eyes for the time, and have contrived to hold her in check since, but she is growing restive, and threatens to appear at the adjourned inquest."

Leslie stared dully at the speaker. He could almost feel the hangman's noose at his neck. The bright vision of an hour ago had faded into Cimmerian gloom. Nugent's clever face suggested the only possible source of the advice of which he stood in such urgent need, and, almost against his will, the question escaped him--

"What had I better do?"

"Cut and run for it. Avoid arrest at any price," was the ready reply.

"But I am not guilty. I did not murder the little Jew."

"You cannot prove that," Nugent rejoined, with a flicker of his hateful smile. "Besides," he added, "consider the execration you would incur in attempting to do so. What would your life be worth to you if you managed to save it by confessing your share in the Violet Maynard project?"

Leslie could frame no reply, and while he sought for one, a tiny sound, that under other circ.u.mstances would have been disregarded, reached his ears. Nugent, who was further from the door, evidently had not heard it.

Somewhere about half-way up the staircase a loose board creaked, but the sound had been preceded by no footfall, nor, though he listened intently, could Leslie detect that it was followed by one. Some instinct, which he did not attempt to a.n.a.lyse then, but which he afterwards knew was a desire to dissociate himself from Nugent in any danger which that creaking stair might portend, prompted him not to call attention to it. But, to prevent any chance of the remainder of their conversation being overheard, he turned and closed the door smartly.

"If I make a bolt of it, where am I to bolt to?" he asked, lowering his voice and stepping to the table.

A gleam of triumph, instantly suppressed, flashed in Nugent's eyes. "I have considered that most carefully," he replied. "At the first hint of your departure, in the ordinary way, Louise Aubin would go to the police, and you would be traced and arrested. I propose, if you a.s.sent, to utilize the _Cobra_ for your flight. She is the property of the Maharajah, and Bhagwan Singh is as much interested in covering up his attempt to gain an English bride by force as we are ourselves. Now that the vessel won't be wanted for her original purpose, she may as well earn her upkeep by helping to preserve the secret of our abortive scheme. Once smuggled aboard safely, she could put you ash.o.r.e at some South American port, where you might carve out a new career, though you must forgive my saying that I doubt your success in any undertaking."

Leslie allowed the gibe to pa.s.s. He was prepared to make allowances for Nugent's disappointment, now that he was persuaded that he had definitely abandoned the plot against Violet, and was only concerned in hiding all traces of it. On the whole, the plan for evading arrest rather appealed to him. With a dull despair at his heart, he had already realized that the vengeful Frenchwoman had shattered his day-dream. Of what use to him would be good old Aunt Sarah's benefaction, when there was hanging over his head a murder charge which, even if he could refute it, would remove Violet beyond his pale for ever?

"I suppose you're right," he gave his tardy consent. "And if I have got to go, the sooner the better. When do you propose that I should start?"

Travers Nugent rose with a sigh of unaffected relief. "I expect it will be the day after to-morrow," he made answer. "But we will meet again to arrange final details. In the meanwhile, my dear fellow, let me congratulate you on the one gleam of common-sense you have shown throughout our disastrous a.s.sociation. All my energies must now be directed to chaining up that wild-cat of a French maid till you are safely on board."

Nodding curtly, he walked to the door, opened it, and, pa.s.sing down the stairs, left the club. Leslie, following more leisurely, was moved by a great curiosity to see if he could account for that ominous creak. He glanced into the reading-room, but there was no one there. It was too early in the afternoon for the a.s.sembly of members who came to chat and see the papers.

The click of b.a.l.l.s, unusual at that hour, attracted him to the billiard-room, and, entering, he was confronted with an enigma. The lean, ascetic form of Mr. Mallory was bending over the table, poising his cue for a difficult cannon, which he delayed for an instant because of the interruption, and then made with an unerring precision. His antagonist was the burly and rubicund General Kruse, who had his nose buried in a whisky and soda. On the lounge, watching the game with sardonic contempt, sat the cadaverous Mr. Lazarus Lowch, the foreman of the jury at the inquest on Levison, and but a rare visitor to the billiard-room.

Leslie walked to the scoring-board and noted the state of the game. It stood at 5-2, and could therefore have been only just begun. It followed that any one of these three gentlemen, so oddly occupied at an unaccustomed hour, when they ought to have been enjoying an after-luncheon siesta at home, might have caused the sound on the stairs a few minutes before.

Which of them could it have been? How much of that momentous interview, on which his liberty and his life might depend, had been overheard?

CHAPTER XV

A COUNCIL OF THREE

The handsome pension which Mr. Vernon Mallory drew as a distinguished servant of the Foreign Office, added to considerable private means, enabled him to occupy one of the most important residences in the place.

It had large, well-shaded tennis and croquet lawns, and here, later on that same afternoon, Mr. Mallory was sitting under a copper beech with his wife, a gentle, patient lady, who had the misfortune to be blind.

At the other side of the croquet lawn Lieutenant Reginald Beauchamp and Miss Enid Mallory were leaning on their mallets with every appearance of being engaged in a violent quarrel. The girl's face was flushed, and now and again she tapped the close-cropped turf impatiently with a neat brown shoe. The young sailor, viewed from the distance, had the air and att.i.tude of saying rude things in a provoking manner.

"What are those two doing, dear?" Mrs. Mallory asked presently. "My ears tell me that they have stopped playing."

"They look," replied her husband, "as if they were hurling invectives at each other over a foul stroke. Knowing them as I do, my impression is that they are occupied in coming to an understanding. Their ideas of love-making are of the kittenish order--a pat and a scratch, and a pat again. But I think that they are both in earnest."

"Reggie has been suddenly recalled to his s.h.i.+p, has he not?"

"Yes, he has to rejoin at Plymouth to-morrow morning for some sort of manoeuvres or gun practice. That may account for the affair having come to a head to-day."

The blind lady sighed with contentment. "He is a brave, good lad, Vernon," she said. "You must be kind to him, and say 'Yes' nicely when he asks you for our darling. They have been fond of each other since they were babies almost."

The ghost of a tender smile quivered at the corner of Mr. Mallory's stern mouth. "I shall not be rough with him, Margaret," he said gently, "but I am going to make a bargain with him for all that. He has--I believe both the young rascals have it--the key to something I want very badly."

Mrs. Mallory's sightless eyes turned towards her husband, and her voice spoke the affection they could not express. "The key to a secret, dear.

To some mystery that is no concern of yours? When shall I be able to persuade you that you retired from the public service years ago? But they are coming this way, I think."

Her acute hearing, that blessed compensation granted to the blind, had told her truly. Reggie and Enid were crossing the lawn towards them--a picturesque whirlwind of white flannel and flapping straw hats. Mr.

Mallory composed his features into an acid contemplation of the approaching couple, though he had much ado to succeed. No sentimental nonsense here, but earnest, c.o.c.ksure intent, after his own heart.

"We've come to ask your permission," Reggie began.

"Will you hold your tongue, sir? We have come to do nothing of the kind," Enid interrupted him. "We've come to give information, that's all. Father, dear, we have had an awful row about details, but we've patched it up, and are engaged to be married. You haven't any objection, I suppose? Of course Reggie is no great shakes, and I might have done better, but he suits me." And, after a pause, the minx added, with an impudent _moue_ at her lover, "on the whole."

Mr. Mallory reared his tall, spare frame from the basket-chair in which he had been lounging, and, having pressed his wife's hand to rea.s.sure her that all would be well, turned with mock severity to the culprits.

"Come into the study," he said in his most judicial tone. "The remarks I have to make are not for the benefit of any chance pa.s.ser-by, or of Mr.

Lazarus Lowch if he is on the prowl."

The three pa.s.sed into the house, and as soon as the door of Mr.

Mallory's sanctum was shut upon them he laid an affectionate hand on the shoulder of each of his young companions. "Your little affair will be all right," he smiled at them, laying aside his judicial manner. "You were born to keep each other in order, and we old folks should have been disappointed had it been otherwise. But in return for my easy sanction, I want your fullest confidence about something very different.

I was watching you the other day at the inquest, Reggie. What really happened that night when you two were sweethearting on the marsh?"

Two pairs of youthful eyes questioned each other, and each gave a mutely tentative answer in the affirmative.

"We saw something that night that might get some one into trouble,"

Reggie took upon himself to say. "Some one who--well, didn't strike us as the sort of chap to deserve it. So we decided to keep quiet about it."

"I am inclined to think that your discretion was praiseworthy," said Mr.

Mallory gravely. "I hope, however, that for that some one's sake I may be honoured by your confidence. It was Leslie Chermside, was it not?"