She Painted her Face (21 page)

As a servant answered his summons, he turned on his heel.

I watched him curiously.

There was a moment's silence. Then:

"Your lordship rang?" said the servant.

The other spoke over his shoulder "Yes," he said thickly. "Has— has Mr. Percy returned?"

"Not yet, my lord."

"Desire him to come here the moment he enters the house."

"Very good, my lord," said the man, and made himself scarce.

As the door closed behind him :

"I do not think," I said, "that your son is going to come back."

Lord Ferdinand started about.

"My son? Is this blackmail?"

"It's not even bluff," said I. "But listen to me. I say I have reason to think that your son is not coming back. In view of what I told him last night, I think he will find it convenient to disappear."

The man was staring as though I were not of his world.

"Of what you told him? Who are you?"

The question flamed.

"I'm a plainclothes man," said I, "and I'm working for Scotland Yard."

I watched the blood flow out of the fellow's face. At length he moistened his lips.

"Does the Duchess know this?" he said.

"No," said I. "Nobody knows except the Austrian police."

I saw his mouth twitch at the word.

"Why— why the Austrian police?"

"Because I could not arrest you without their leave. It's a question of extradition. You broke your bail in England twenty-two years ago."

"So you say. But—"

"You arranged your flight with your brother. He booked your passage for you and went alone to the station, taking your tickets and money to see you off. And, when he was gone, you went, to Paris, instead. And the police mistook him for you and sent him down. That's twenty-two years ago, and he's done his time; but the charge against you remains, Lord Ferdinand Virgil, and I have been sent from England to clear things up."

His fingers were plucking at his trousers, as those of a dying man will pluck at his sheets.

"What d'you mean— clear things up?"

"I'll tell you plainly," said I. "Because of the mistake that was made, another warrant must issue— as a matter of form. Before that warrant can issue, a further information has to be sworn. I am here to complete that information. Thanks to what happened last night, it is very nearly complete."

"And then?"

"Then I shall return to London. And when the warrant is issued, I shall— come— back."

There was a deathly silence.

Then the follow turned round and made his way to a chair. I saw that he went heavily, as a man that is tired.

After a little he spoke.

"Why do you tell me these things?"

I took out the note he had written, and held it up.

"Because of this letter. It seems that one of your people saw me leaving the Lady Caroline's suite. I had to convince you, therefore, that I was there on duty— and nothing else."

He let out a laugh at that, and the blood came into my face.

"If you doubt me," I said, "I can prove it. I'd a man outside her door the whole of the time."

"A man?" he cried, starting up.

"A man," said I. "Don't think I'm working alone. The man in question is playing the part of my servant; he's really a sergeant of the C.I.D."

He quailed at the words, as a beast will quail at the whip. And then, as a beast will turn, he was showing fight.

"So you say," he snarled. "So you say. You prate of warrants and duty and— where's your badge?" His voice rose into a scream. "Show me your badge, you— "

"It's in my despatch-case," I said "with other things. Would you like to know the duty which took me into her suite?"

"What then?"

I raised my eyebrows.

"I wanted a word with her maid— a girl of the name of Elsa. She's wanted by the police in England. Perhaps you didn't know that."

And there, when I stood to lose it, I won my game— with a shaft that Percy Virgil had set in my hand. For I saw in his father's eyes that he knew the truth about Elsa— and how could I have known it, unless I belonged to the police? "The evil that men do lives after them." The son had delivered the father Into my hand.

Lord Ferdinand's head was shaking.

As he felt for his chair:

"I swear that I didn't. I swear—"

"You needn't worry. You wont be accused of that. But that isn’t nearly all. I didn't go just to see Elsa; I wanted to see your niece. For one thing, I wanted to speak of her mother's Jewels."

The fellow's head stopped shaking and a hand went up to his mouth.

"What— of— her— mother's jewels?"

"This," said I. "Your son, Percy Virgil, stole them six weeks ago."

Lord Ferdinand sat very still, with his mouth a little open and his eyes staring over my shoulder at something which was not there. That he had not known of the theft was perfectly plain, and I shall always believe that his son had "double crossed" him in that disgraceful affair.

I went on steadily:

"The Jewels were in London, in Bauble and Levity's hands. Your son produced to that firm his cousin's 'authority' to hand them over to him Then he sold them to a broker named Inskip. The deal was put through in Surrey— at dinner, in a country hotel. I saw it done. I was sitting two tables away."

The fellow sat back in his chair, with a hand to his throat.

"You say that he's gone?' he said.

"Both he and Elsa have gone. You see, I had Instructions to give them their choice. That is sometimes done— if the injured party consents. It— it tends to avoid a scandal. I gave them both until dawn to be clear of Brief. And both have availed themselves of the chance which they had. Personally, I think they were wise; and I must confess that Elsa got back on me, for she packed a suitcase while I was engaged with your niece, and when she went, it went after her. But that's by the way. In fact, this is all by the way, for I have so far said nothing of the most significant duty I did last night. I proved your brother's statement that he is the Count of Brief."

My words brought him up to his feet.

"I defy you!" he mouthed. "It's a lie!" He clawed at the air. "There is no proof! Because some old, doddering servant imagines vain things— "

"I am not a doddering servant and I have no memories. Yet I can prove the statement your brother makes. I was sent to see if I could prove it. I told you just now. I was sent to complete the information— upon which the warrant will issue the day after I get back."

"Then prove it— prove it to me!"

"With pleasure," said I. "The Lady Caroline Virgil is twenty-four. She is also the next in line. If you are the Count indeed, why have you never shown her the secret of Brief?"

BESIDE THIS, my other blows were so many flicks on the face. Before my eyes, Lord Ferdinand seemed to shrink; and he took a step back and then sideways, and put out a hand to find something on which he could lean.

His fingers encountered a table, to which they clung.

"The secret, the— the secret?" he breathed.

"Yes," said I, "the secret. The secret of Brief. Only the firstborn is shown it— or ever has been shown it, for more than five hundred years. If you are the Count indeed, then tell me the tale of the secret and what exists in that chamber which no one would ever find. Tell me the names there written and show me the secret steps. But, first of all, tell me this— how is your brother aware of these mysteries unless he is, as he says, the Count of Brief?"

To my surprise he made answer.

"I— I cannot tell."

But he spoke as a man in a trance, with a dull, emotionless voice, and I knew that his spirit was broken, because I had shown him something against which he could not stand.

"Listen to me," said I. He lifted his head. "Following your brother's careful directions. I found the way to the chamber and I took his daughter with me— and now she knows for herself the secret of Brief. Both of us, therefore, can swear that we have seen with our eyes what your brother said we should see— which means that, as I warned you, the information is very nearly complete."

Though I heard no sound, I saw his lips frame the words.

"Very nearly."

"Very nearly, my lord. I have proved all your brother said, except once thing. He declared that if I were to ask you to tell me the secret of Brief I should ask you in vain. And so I ask you to give me one single detail of what your father revealed to his first born son."

The man was trembling and the sweat was out on his face.

"My b— brother!" he quavered. "I think, if I could see him— I mean, without his statement the— the warrant could not issue— and could not—"

'He has made his statement," I said "I have a copy upstairs."

"But my son is free. Statements were made in his case, but he has gone free. You said that you had instructions—"

"If the injured party consents."

'That's what I say," cried the man , "My brother would never subscribe to my— to proceedings against his father's son. I— I know he wouldn't. Exon. He wouldn't bear malice like that. And then the scandal. You said yourself that, rather than have a scandal—"

"Your son has gone," said I. "There can be no scandal there. Percy Elbert Virgil has disappeared."

"I— can— disappear."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Your case is far more serious than that of your son. You've forged, lied, and stolen for twenty two years. And an innocent man has served the heavy sentence which should have been served by you for your first offence. I was able to tell your son that, if he made himself scarce, the case against him would be dropped. Without authority, I cannot say that to you. For your brother, I
can
answer. If he is allowed to do so, I know that he will withdraw. But the Crown may not allow him to take that course."

"But you can advise them, Exon." The man was cringing— at last. "You can say you've spoken with me and you think it's best. I'm not as strong as I was and I shan't live long, and— and it's no good im— imprisoning someone in failing health."

He was panting now and his eyes were half out of his head, yet he did what he could to wreathe his face into a smile, as though to do me pleasure and make me his friend.

"I can make no promise," I said, "until I have reported to those who sent me here. The case is too grave. But I'll tell you what I will do. If you endorse the statement your brother has made, I'll take it to London tonight and recommend my people to let you go. To be honest, I don't think they'll do it, but—"

"How soon will you know?"

"On Friday. And on Sunday I shall be back— with or without the warrant for your arrest. This is upon condition that you endorse the statement to which I refer. Otherwise—"

"Yes?"

"In view of what you have admitted, I shall lay an information at Gabble without delay. That will ensure your detention until the demand for your extradition is made."

"But if I sign—"

"I can make no promise," I said. "I'll take the statement to London, and do what I can. You can take it or leave it, my lord. Sign, and I leave for London. Don't sign, and I leave for Gabble— within the hour."

The fellow was biting his fingers, with his eyes on my face. The signing stuck in his gullet, as well it might. And then he threw in his hand.

"All right," he said. "Give me the statement. And you'll do your best for me, Exon. I'm— I'm not as young as I was."

I stepped to the bell and rang it.

"I want my... servant," I said.

With a shaking hand, Lord Ferdinand wiped his face; and then, still holding the table, he made his way round the oak and took his seat in a chair. When my summons was answered, one hand was shading his eyes and the other was toying with a paper that lay on a blotting-pad.

"I want my dispatch-case, Winter."

As the door closed. Lord Ferdinand spoke again.

"Will— will he go to London with you?"

I shook my head.

"He'll take me to Innsbruck this evening, spend the night there and be back to-morrow at noon."

"I see."

He said no more, but I saw him pick up a pencil, as though to write. Then he seemed to remember my presence and laid the pencil down.

Winter re-entered the room.

As he gave the case Into my hand:

"I shall want you again," I said; "so wait within call."

"Very good, sir."

As he left the chamber, I held a paper up.

"The statement," I said. "A copy of the first of the statements your brother made. The second does not concern you, because it only deals with the secret of Brief."

The man half-rose from his chair, out I bade him sit still. Then I stepped to his side and laid the paper before him for him to read.

I am glad to record that in the next three minutes that black-hearted patricide paid part of his debt.

As he read, I saw him writhing, and the sweat fell down from his forehead to blur the ink.

It was a frightful indictment

"My twin brother was under arrest on a charge of forgery...

"It was perfectly clear that, if Ferdinand stood his trial, he would be sent to prison for several years...

"My brother fell on his knees. . .

"He had put this into my pocket to gain his terrible ends...

"So he and I changed places...

"He took my father's title and all that was mine, and I was sent to prison for seven years...

"My daughter became his daughter, my life became his life...

"And Ferdinand was careful. He even denied my cheque for five hundred pounds. He said that I had forged it..."

Twice, while he read, he dropped his head to the table and cried aloud, and when he had done, he fairly burst into tears and laid his head down on his arm and sobbed like a child.

"So I changed my name and sought work— I had to have bread."

Gering was earning his bread in Red Lead Lane, while his brother was paying his chef five hundred a year.

I drew the statement from under his sprawling arm. Then I picked up a pen and wrote.

When I had done, I called Winter. "Fetch Mr. Parish," I said.

Lord Ferdinand started up, lifting a visage that made even Winter blench.

"Parish? Her Grace's page? What has he—"

"To witness your signature. I shall witness it, and so will my man. But Parish is independent, and— "

"No, no. I never consented to any such thing."

"As you please," said I, and folded the statement up. "Turn out the car, Winter. I want to be at Gabble within the hour."

"No, no. Not that," cried the other, and savaged his thumb.

"Parish or Gabble," said I; "It's for you to choose."

After a frightful struggle:

"To witness my signature only, you'll cover the statement up?"

"Yes."

"Very well."

I turned again to Winter.

"Fetch Mr. Parish," I said.

Whilst we waited, he got to his feet and went to a glass and generally did what he could to pull himself into some shape, and I looked out of the window, with folded arms.

As he came back to the table:

"What name did he take?" he said. "I— I saw the initials 'MG.'?"

"He is known as Matthew Gering," I said.

I blotted the precious endorsement and folded the statement up. Then I put it into my pocket and faced the man I had bluffed.

"You've done your part," I said, "and I shall do mine."

As one who is listening intently, he kept his eyes upon mine and greeted every phrase with a nod of his head.

"I will recommend that you be allowed to disappear— to go, to change your name, and never come back. As I've told you, I don't think they'll do it."

A hand went up to his mouth.

"The punishment doesn't matter, it’s a question of righting a wrong. And that is why I think they'll insist that the case must proceed— But I shall know on Friday, and on Sunday I shall be back."

I hesitated.

"If I were you, I should put your things in order, for whether—"

In evident apprehension, he cut me short.

"They wouldn't pursue me, Exon? They wouldn't do that? You'd tell them I wasn't worth it?"

He laid a hand on my arm, and I shook it off

"They wouldn't try to find you," I said, "so long as you kept out of light."

"Even if they hadn't— No, no, never mind! Tell me this. I've— I've saved a little money that Percy knows nothing about. Not very much— very little. It's in a bank in England, under another name."

His head was going again. Plainly, the thought of penury hit him hard.

"If the estate is in order, I expect they'd let that go."

"Quite so," he said, "quite so. Besides, it's so very little—"

"A man can live," I said grimly "on thirty-five shillings a week. That was your brother's wage for seventeen years."

He winced at that. Then he took his handkerchief out and wiped his eyes.

"Very sad," he said, "very sad. If only I'd known— You'll tell them I'm failing, won't you? You'll ram it home?"

Consumed with disgust and indignation, I turned on my heel.

As I opened the door, I looked back— to see his outstretched hand whip back to his side. As though I had noticed nothing, I left the room.

I have no doubt at all that before the door had closed he had picked the timetable up.

As I took my way to the tower, I laid my plans.

I had to leave Brief at four— no question of that. For, though we had the game won, it was highly desirable that the "Count" should take the departure which he had planned. If he fled to avoid arrest— as, at present, he intended to do— he would indeed disappear for good and all, and would never more be heard of, because he could not take such a risk. But if he had reason to think that he had been bluffed, though now we could force his hand, he would stand upon the order of his going and would certainly be a nuisance for as long as he happened to live.

And so "the plain-clothes man" must "leave for London" at four.

And there I stood still in my tracks, for all of a sudden I saw that here was my chance to do what, sooner or later, I had to do, that is to say, to walk out of my lady's life.

I glanced at my watch. The time was a quarter to ten. Once my decision was taken, I could have wished that the time was a quarter to four.

I had already determined that no one must know what had happened till after the "Count" had fled; and now I perceived that all I had to do was to leave a note for the Duchess, to be delivered as soon as my victim was gone.

I entered my room, to find Winter, suitcase in hand.

"Leave the packing for the moment," I said. "Ill tell you when to begin. I want you to send off a wire."

I sat down and wrote it out— addressed to myself.

"Turn out the Rolls and take this to Gabble at once. And on the way back you might get rid of that suit."

"Very good, sir. Excuse me— you know Mr. Virgil's not here."

"So I've heard," said I. "I rather imagine he's gone while the going is good."

"That's what they're saying downstairs, sir. I can hardly believe it myself, but they've got the idea in their heads he won't come back. 'Rats leavin' a sinkin' ship,' is what one of them said. An' when I asked what he meant, 'You wait an' see,' he says. ' "Er Grace ain't here for nothing— not after last night.'"

"That's the style," said I. "And now you get off with that wire."

"Very good, sir. And breakfast is served— in the morning-room. It's been ready since half-past nine. Mr. Herrick's gone down."

OLD HARRY looked round.

"And now— " she said, grimly enough.

Luncheon was over and coffee had been served in her suite. For the first time for fifteen hours, Caroline, Herrick and I were alone with the Duchess of Whelp.

She was plainly out of humour, and I had an uneasy feeling that she knew more than I was prepared to tell.

My lady took a deep breath.

"Last night an attempt was made to put me to death. My maid admitted my cousin into my suite. Richard came to my help— and walked into a trap. But by his wit and his courage he saved us both. That is why my cousin and Elsa have disappeared."

Herrick's face was a study, but the Duchess of Whelp merely nodded and then picked up her cup and drank what coffee was left. As she set it down:

"That's more like it," she said. "I mean, that is credible. I knew your life was in danger, yet what could I do— except trust in Richard Exon? Courage and wit be damned— I'll lay his instinct saved you, and nothing else."

She turned upon me.

"Did you take my advice this time? Or did your better judgment impel you to spare his life?"

"Madam," said I, "he is dead."

Herrick was full of surprise.

"I am given to understand that, while I slept last night, certain action took place. Men came and went in— in violence; and, unless my ears have betrayed me, one will return no more. Very well. Out of that soul-shaking fact two burning questions arise— to pierce the scum now floating upon my brain. I mean, I'm no 'Scourge of God,' but I am a practical man—"