The Sign of the Stranger Part 14

In these modern go-ahead days, however, with the giddy young Countess as chatelaine, this sort of thing was of the past. She tolerated people only as long as they amused her. When they ceased to do that, she calmly and ruthlessly struck them off her list. In town, she petted young foreign musicians and got them to sing or play at her concerts and brought them into notoriety by paying them cheques of three figures for their nightly services. But their reign usually lasted only half the season, when they were cast aside, disappointed and dejected, and other popular favourites rose to take their places.

She noticed my cigarettes in the big silver box the Earl had given me, and walking across, selected one, and slowly lit it with that free-and-easy air that was essentially that of the latter-day woman. An exception to the general rule that beauty in women of the higher cla.s.s is growing rarer, she was extremely good-looking--fair-haired, grey-eyed, with handsome regular features and a clear pink complexion devoid of any artificial "make-up."

Her dress was magnificent, the latest Paquin creation for which I had sent a cheque only the week before for one hundred and ten guineas. It was a study in cream, and trimmed with sparkling sequins which caused the gauze to s.h.i.+mmer and sparkle with every movement. The curves of her figure were graceful in every line, and at her throat she wore the magnificent collar of rubies which Queen Anne had given to the beautiful Countess of Stanchester, wife of Her Majesty's Amba.s.sador to France.

With careless abandon she threw herself into an armchair opposite where I sat, stretched out her tiny shoes upon the rug, gazing steadily at me, and blew a cloud of blue smoke from her lips. Yes, as I gazed upon her I really did not wonder how completely Lord Sibberton had been fascinated. Magnificent was the only word that described her.

"I've only just heard about this awful affair in the park," she commenced. "George says he knows nothing very much about it. He says you found a man murdered. Tell me all about it--I'm interested." And she placed the cigarette to her lips and gazed lazily at me through the haze of smoke. Knowing the strong bond of friends.h.i.+p existing between her husband and myself, she always treated me with a flippant equality that would be viewed with some surprise in any other circle of society.

But to-day it seems that the more daring a wealthy woman is in words and actions, the greater is her popularity.

"Yes," I answered, turning towards her upon my revolving writing-chair.

"It is a mystery--an entire mystery." And then I briefly related the curious facts, omitting, of course, all mention of the connexion between the murdered man and her sister-in-law, whom, be it said, she secretly ridiculed as a pious stay-at-home.

Lolita did not care for the ultra-gay set who formed the shooting parties, therefore was absent from them when she could escape. She hated bridge and baccarat, and had nothing in common with those women about whom scandalous tales were told in boudoirs and smoking-rooms.

"I suppose Doctor Pink has been exercising his talents in trying to discover the a.s.sa.s.sin?" she remarked.

"Yes. But the young man has remained unidentified," I answered. "And for my own part, I believe the affair will remain an absolute mystery."

"Why? What causes you to antic.i.p.ate that?"

"Because there are certain features which are utterly incomprehensible.

The young man came along the avenue that night to keep a secret appointment--that's very certain. And the person who met him coolly murdered him."

"Yes. But it really isn't very nice to have a tragedy at one's very door, and yet be unaware of the ident.i.ty of the a.s.sa.s.sin! Who was the murderer? Who is suspected?"

"A woman," I responded, whereupon, to my great surprise, I noticed in her eyes a strange expression, but whether of fear or of surprise I could not determine.

"A woman!" she repeated. "How is it that the police suspect a woman?"

I told her how Redway had discovered certain footmarks, and how at least two of the prints were those of a woman's shoe.

"That's very strange! Most interesting!" she remarked. "Sounds almost like what you see in a drama on the stage--a dark wood, man meets a woman who stabs him, then rushes away full of remorse--green lights, and all that sort of thing. You know what I mean."

"But this is no theatrical effect," I said. "It is a hard solid tragic fact that an unknown man has been murdered in the park here not half-a-mile away, and the affair is still a complete mystery except, as I have said, a woman was certainly present."

"Exactly. She might have been present--and yet innocent," she said, with a slightly triumphant ring in her argument, I thought. Was it possible that she, too, knew something of Lolita's secret and, suspecting her, sought to divert suspicion from her?

Her beautiful face was sphinx-like. She continued to discuss the startling affair, and I somehow felt convinced that she knew rather more of its details than she would admit. Yet probably she had read some report of it in the papers. Nevertheless, certain remarks of hers were distinctly curious, especially her eagerness to know exactly what suspicions the police entertained, and in what direction their inquiries were at present directed.

As to the latter, I could tell her nothing, for I had not met Redway for several days. Indeed I had not heard of his presence in the neighbourhood, and I had begun to believe that he and his men were giving up the matter as a mystery that would never be solved save by confession or by mere chance. They were evidently pursuing that policy of masterly inactivity of which local police officers are past-masters.

Gossips all of them, they are full of pretended activity on false scents, and p.r.o.ne to discover clues wherever beer chances to be deposited.

"I hear that Warr, the innkeeper, was with you when you found the man,"

the Countess presently remarked. "If the dead man were not an absolute stranger surely he, of all men, would have recognised him!"

"But he was an entire stranger--and apparently a gentleman," I said.

"From his clothes, his appearance was that of a foreigner--but of course that's only mere surmise. He may have been abroad and purchased foreign clothes there."

"A foreigner! And who in Sibberton could possibly have any business with a foreigner?" she laughed. "Why, half the villagers haven't been as far away from their houses as Northampton, and I don't believe, with the exception perhaps of our studsman James, that any one has crossed the Channel."

"Yes," I admitted, "the whole affair is a profound puzzle. All that is known is that a certain young man who, from his exterior appearance and clothes, was well-bred, met in the park a certain woman, and that afterwards, he was found stabbed in the back with some long, thin and very sharp instrument. That's all!"

"And the police are utterly confounded?"

"Utterly. They photographed the unfortunate man."

"Did they? Where can I see a copy?" asked the Countess quickly, bending forward to me in her eagerness. "I would so very much like to see one.

Could you get one?"

"I have one here," I replied. "The police sent it to me a week ago, in response to my request." And unlocking a drawer, I took out the inartistic picture of the dead man.

So keenly interested was she that she sprang from her chair, and came quickly to the edge of my writing-table in order to examine the picture.

"G.o.d!" she gasped, the colour of her cheeks fading pale as death as her eyes glared at it. "The woman has killed him, then--just as I thought!

Poor fellow--poor fellow! The police don't even know his name! It is a mystery--then let it remain so. They regard it, you say, as a strange affair. Yet if the real truth were known, the remarkable romance of which this is the tragic _denouement_ would be found to be most startling--one so curious and mysterious indeed as to be almost beyond human credence. Yes, Mr Woodhouse," she added in a low voice as she straightened herself and looked at me, "I know the truth--I know why this man was sent to his grave--and I know by whom!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

CONCERNS A GAY WOMAN.

The open declaration of the Countess held me in weak indecision. No doubt she was well aware of the motive of the crime, and therefore guessed who had struck the fatal blow. Yet she boldly expressed her intention of concealing her knowledge, which seemed strange on the face of it. A murder had been committed, therefore if she really had no reason to defeat the ends of justice she might surely reveal the dead man's ident.i.ty and explain all she knew concerning him. I argued this with her, but she shook her head and remained firm in her decision of silence.

Did she entertain, as I did, a grave suspicion of Lady Lolita?

This vague suggestion occurred to me as I sat staring straight up into the grey eyes of that brilliant woman before me. She knew the truth.

She had told me so, yet next instant she seemed to regret the words had escaped her and sought lamely to modify her a.s.sertion.

She appeared to regard her statement as an error of judgment, and with all the tact of a clever woman ingeniously endeavoured to mislead me.

"One person could, I believe, tell us something," I remarked presently, in order to show her that I was in possession of other facts that I had not revealed.

"Who's that, pray?"

"A certain man named Richard Keene." It was quite a haphazard shot, only made in order to ascertain whether the name really conveyed anything to her.

"Richard Keene!" she echoed, her brows knit in quick apprehension. "Did you know him?"

"I do know him," was my calm response. "I have seen him down in Sibberton, if I am not very much mistaken."

"Seen him!" she cried hoa.r.s.ely. "Why, if you've seen him you've met an apparition. He died long ago."

"No," I declared. "I have seen Richard Keene in the flesh. He is not dead."

"Impossible! You're deceiving me," she exclaimed. "The man cannot possibly be alive."

"How do you know?"

She hesitated, for she saw that to reply to my question was to expose her own knowledge. Her face was ashen grey. My announcement, I saw, held her rigid in terror and surprise.