The Heart of a Woman Part 29

"Ryder," he began quite abruptly at last, "had the hall porter of that confounded club up to his room while I was there, and questioned him before me."

"He could," suggested Luke, "only repeat the story which we all know already. I never denied seeing Philip at the club or quarrelling with him for a matter of that. Hang it all! I have often quarrelled with him before."

"Yes," rejoined the colonel, "they've ferreted out the old servants of your uncle's household, and heard innumerable stories of quarrels."

"Exaggerated, I expect. But what of it?"

"And that hall porter didn't mince matters either. d.a.m.n him."

"Philip," remarked Luke dryly, "shouted pretty loudly. I did not."

"The porter said that when you left the club you had 'murder in your eye.'"

"Possibly."

"You had overheard Philip's last remark to the porter?"

"Yes--something about pestering beggars. I was ready to make him swallow his words, but I loathe a scene, before people like those who frequent the Veterans' Club."

"I wish to goodness you had gone for him then and there."

"Why?"

"This accursed business would not have occurred."

"Oh, yes it would--sooner or later."

"What makes you say that?"

"Philip must have had an enemy."

"Who murdered him last night, you think?"

"An enemy," a.s.sented Luke, "who evidently laid in wait for him, and murdered him last night. It is bound to come out at the inquest."

"About this enemy?" queried Colonel Harris vaguely.

"Why, yes," rejoined Luke a little impatiently, "surely the police have made other investigations. They are not just fastening on me and on no one else."

"Could you," asked Louisa, "help the police in that, Luke?"

"No;" he replied, "I know absolutely nothing about Philip or about his past life."

"Did Lord Radclyffe?"

"I don't know."

"He has been questioned, has he not?"

"He is too ill to see any one. Doctor Newington declares that he must not attempt to see any one. His condition is critical. Moreover, he is only partly conscious."

"But----"

"There's Philip's lawyer, Davies," said Luke; "the police ought to be in communication with him. It is positively ridiculous the way they seem to do nothing in the way of proper investigation, but only make up their minds that I have killed my cousin. Why! they don't even seem to trouble about the weapon with which the murder was committed."

"The weapon----?"

The e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, spoken hardly above a whisper, had come from Colonel Harris. Once more the old man felt--as he had done in his brother-in-law's office--that every drop of blood in him had receded back to his heart, and that he would choke if he attempted to utter another word.

"They say," continued Luke quietly, "that Philip was killed by the thrust of a sharp dagger or stiletto, right through the neck. Well, where is that dagger? Have they found it? Or traced it to its owner?"

Then as Colonel Harris was still silent he reiterated once more:

"Did Sir Thomas tell you if they had found the weapon?"

And Colonel Harris nodded and murmured:

"Yes."

"Actually found the weapon?" insisted Luke.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Behind the railings--in Green Park--close to Hyde Park corner."

"Was it a stiletto? Or a dagger? Or what?"

"It was a stick with a dagger fitting into it. A snake-wood stick. It was covered with mud and--other stains."

There was silence in the room now for the s.p.a.ce of a few brief seconds. A silence solemn and full of meaning. All through this rapid succession of questions and answers between Colonel Harris and Luke, Louisa had kept her eyes fixed upon the younger man's face, had seen light indifference at possible danger alternating with impatience at the singular obstinacy of his accusers. Throughout this time the face she knew so well, mirrored that perfect calm which she understood and admired, since it was the reflex of a calm, untroubled soul.

But now there came a change in the face: or rather not in the face but in the soul behind it. The change came at Colonel Harris's last words; a change so subtle, so undetermined, that she was quite sure her father had not perceived it. But movement there was none; one mere, almost imperceptible, quiver of the eyelids--nothing more. The mouth beneath the slight fair moustache had not trembled, the brow remained smooth, the breath came and went as evenly as before.

But the change was there, nevertheless! The gray tint just round the eyes, the stony look in the pupils themselves a tiny speck of moisture round the wing of each nostril. Colonel Harris had not looked at Luke whilst he spoke of the stick. He was staring straight in front of him, hardly conscious of the silence which had cast a strange and mystic spell on these three people standing here in the ba.n.a.l atmosphere of a London hotel.

It was Luke who broke the silence. He said quite quietly asking the question as if it related to a most trivial, most indifferent matter:

"Did Sir Thomas show you the stick?"

The colonel nodded in acquiescence.

"It was my stick, I suppose?"

The query was so sudden, so unexpected that Colonel Harris instinctively uttered an exclamation of amazement.

"Luke! By G.o.d, man! Are you mad?"