CHAPTER XXVII
"Evening papers! Standard! Globe!" called a shrill little voice along the platform at Dover, where the long train was filling with passengers from the Channel boat.
Terry was dominated by her vague fears for Sir Ian, and she did not realize that the evening papers might be of unusual importance to her or Nora Verney. She was thinking what she should say in her letter to Sir Ian, which she intended to begin as soon as she was settled in her place in the train. She had a stylographic pen and writing-case in her dressing-bag, and was anxious to put her thoughts on paper. She meant to say kind and cheering things to Sir Ian; and to save delay she would send the letter by messenger from somewhere near Victoria.
A porter put the ladies small luggage into a first-class carriage, spreading it about, as clever porters will, in the hope of keeping out other passengers.
"Come, Nora," said Terry. "He's got our places. Would you like tea?"
But Nora did not move or answer, because she did not hear. She had bought a paper and was standing on the platform, in everybody's way, eagerly reading something on the middle page. Terry had to touch the girl on the arm to rouse her. Then she started and, crumpling the paper in her hand followed Miss Ricardo to the door of their compartment with a bewildered air.
"What is the matter?" Terry asked, when the porter was paid and dismissed.
"The paper," said Nora dazedly. "They've found Liane, and arrested he—this morning."
"Oh!" cried Terry, with a quickening of her tired pulses. "Arrested her? Does that mean—will it save your Ian?"
"I don't know," answered Nora. "Perhaps I'm stupid. But I can't see that it will help him much. Please read, and tell me what you think."
Forgetting the letter which she had been so eager to begin, Terry took the paper from Nora's hand. It was open at the middle, most important page, and in the most conspicuous position appeared two columns under a sensationally large double heading:
"Another Startling Development in the Hereward Murder Mystery. Pawning of the Lost 'Vanity Box.' Arrest of Vanished French Maid. Her Extraordinary Confession."
The blood began to knock at Terry Ricardo's temples. She plunged into the news as Nora had, oblivious of everything else, as the girl had been. Nora watched her anxiously, as she read on.
Liane Rodache had been found by the "smart young detective, Gaylor," living in lodgings in Moreton Crescent, Westbourne Grove, and arrested on suspicion of complicity in the murder of Lady Hereward. She had confessed to pawning the gold vanity box which had led to her discovery; and it had been identified by Sir Ian Hereward on his return from France, as the property of his late wife. Liane had been run to earth by Gaylor with the help of a photograph made at Havershall, Surrey, although her appearance had greatly changed since the portrait was taken. Her hair, auburn formerly, had been allowed to resume its natural dark brown. Her complexion was sallow, rather than brilliant, as it had been. She was thin to the point of emaciation, and showed signs of having passed through a severe illness. Her story was elaborate, and if true, exonerated Barr from one charge, at least; that made against him by Lady Hereward. Denying that Barr had ever been her lover, Liane accused his intimate friend, a young socialist author and newspaper writer, named Ernest Bayne, late of Deodar Lodge, near Riding St. Mary.
This young man had French blood in his veins. His mother, a French girl of good birth, had married an English commercial traveller, who, losing his position through illness, had become impoverished during the son's boyhood. The youth had been clever, had conquered many difficulties, and succeeded as a writer. When about twenty-four, two or three years before the meeting with Liane, he had brought his mother, an invalid, to live in the country, taking Deodar Lodge which was then to let. Political opinions had drawn the two young men together, and they became intimate friends. Liane had made Bayne's acquaintance one day in the train, on the way to London, where she had to carry out a commission for Lady Hereward. The French girl had been late and would have missed her train, if Bayne had not opened the door of his compartment and pulled her in. They had conversed in French, and from that day were on the most friendly terms, though their acquaintance was kept secret, even from Barr. Later, however, Barr had found it out by accident. Bayne was ill, and Liane, anxious for news of him, called one evening to make inquiries at his house, though forbidden to go there, as he was not proud of his engagement to a girl in service, no matter how fascinating. Barr was looking after his friend, and had opened the door. Liane knowing of their intimacy, excused her anxiety by saying that she was engaged to Ernest Bayne. Afterward Bayne had denied the engagement; but Barr had strongly advised him to be brave and keep it, since they loved each other. A difference of opinion had somewhat disturbed the friendship, and Liane had several times called after dark, at the steward's to tell him of her troubles, and beg him to use all his influence with Ernest. Before this time Ernest's mother died and when he suddenly left Deodar Lodge, without warning Liane of his intention, she implored Ian Barr to say where his friend had gone; but, apparently with reluctance, he refused, pleading that to do so would be a betrayal of confidence. Certain that he corresponded with Bayne, Liane went to the steward's cottage when she knew he was out, and making a hurried search in his unlocked desk, found a letter to Barr from her lover. Forgetting to look first at the address, she read how a small fortune and a little estate in the country had been left by an aunt provided he took for his wife a distant cousin, whom she had practically adopted as her daughter. Ernest had seen the girl, liked her, and married her immediately, only letting his friend know when it was too late to give advice or reprove him about Liane.
While the girl was in the act of looking at an enclosed photograph of a pretty young woman, and before she had made sure of Ernest's address in France, Barr had come in and found her with the letter in her hand. He had taken it from her, and in pity for her despair had refrained from reproaches, and said it was too late to do anything now. Ernest was married and no good could come of reprisals.
Liane listened as if convinced, but though there were no promises of marriage in the letter she had, there were enough professions of love to distress the bride if they could be brought to her eyes. Revenge of some sort Liane was determined to have, and though the letter had been taken away before she had time to fix the address in her mind, she knew that Ernest's property was in the district of Loire, and felt sure she could find him, if only she had plenty of money to carry her through the search. Unfortunately she had been extravagant, and had saved little or nothing. Desperate, the idea came to her that she might get leave for a day from Lady Hereward, take a diamond chain of her mistress's to London and have the stones replaced with paste. The brilliants were cut in such a way that they could easily be copied, and soon after Liane had fifty pounds in her possession. Lady Hereward's manner, however, changed toward her at the time, or she fancied it did; and, her guilty conscience making her fear that her mistress might be planning to have her arrested, she determined to "disappear," instead of giving a week's notice as she had intended. Arrived in France, she was not able after all to find Bayne, who had perhaps taken a French name, to put her off the track, in case she pursued him. Some of her money was stolen in a hotel, and the rest she spent in vain searchings for Ernest. Eventually she was driven to pawn her clothes, and, at the end of her tether at last, she tried to end her life with a dose of laudanum. She took too much, however, and recovered to find herself very ill in a hospital at Blois. One of the doctors interested in her case (she having given a false name) believed that she had well-to-do relatives in England, and lent her money to buy a third-class ticket.
After reaching London she had but a shilling left, and started to walk the thirty miles to Riding St. Mary, hoping to sleep in a barn on the way, and expecting to get help from Barr at the end of the journey. On the way, between Havershall and Riding St. Mary, she was amazed and overjoyed to see Ernest Bayne on a bicycle. Standing directly in his path, she motioned him to stop, and he did so before recognizing her, changed as she was. Rather than make a scene and have her "go screaming after him," he listened to the story of her sufferings, pretended remorse, excused himself as well as he could, and said that, as he now loved his wife, he would do anything rather than she should hear of his treachery to another woman, one "so much below him socially." He had heard from Barr (who had by this time resigned his stewardship and gone away) that "Liane had disappeared," otherwise he would not have ventured to return to Surrey, necessary as it was that he should settle various matters and try to sublet Deodar Lodge. He admitted that he was on his way to the house, which was in charge of a caretaker, and swore to Liane that if she would "forgive and forget," and burn his letters, he would make her a present of three thousand francs. Liane said that she would remain in the neighbourhood till she got the money, which he promised to give her as soon as he received three months' rent in advance for the furnished villa, which he expected to have next day, from a man who wanted the house. Ernest wanted her to go back to London, but when she refused, he suggested her staying at the old View Tower, where she could remain secretly, and would not be too uncomfortable for a short time.
The Tower had been a favourite trysting-place with them in the days of their love-making, when Ernest—a socialist only in name—had been ashamed of his humble sweetheart. He had taken a key lent by Sir Ian Hereward to Barr, who supposed that he had mislaid it, had it copied, and returned the old key to Barr's cottage. Often Liane had met him there, and they had talked of future plans (which Ernest probably never meant to carry out) sitting in the upper room; and he still had the copy of the original key. Having persuaded Liane to lodge there for one night, he left her in the shelter of the woods, cycled to Deodar Lodge, found the key, took her to the Tower, and as it was then evening, told her he would come next day with the money. She in her turn promised not to show herself for his sake, because of the talk there had been after her disappearance; but in reality she was anxious not to be seen on her own account, fearing Lady Hereward had discovered the substitution of the paste for diamonds. Ernest brought food, when he brought the key, but Liane felt too tired and ill to eat, after her weary two days' tramp, in broiling weather.
The next morning passed, however, and Ernest did not appear. Nevertheless Liane did not despair, as he had seemed sincerely repentant, and warned her that there might be some delay in obtaining cash, if he received a cheque for the furniture. Lying on the old couch in the upper room of the Tower, just under the roof, Liane had felt "too tired after her two days' march to care what had happened." Exhausted and faint for lack of food, she slept a good deal, expecting that Ernest would put off coming till after dark. Suddenly she started up from a doze, on hearing two shots, one after the other. They had sounded very close, though she could not be sure whether they had been fired in the Tower or outside. She was so frightened, and her heart thumped so terribly that she was unable to move for a few minutes; but at last she could bear the suspense no longer, and summoned up courage to go downstairs and see what had happened.
After the shots which waked her, she had heard nothing; but the window of the upper room, unlike that on the first floor of the Tower, was unbroken, and closed, therefore she knew that there might have been sounds which failed to reach her ears.
She descended cautiously, and at the foot of the stairs saw the door of the room on the ground floor slightly open. This surprised her; for she had tried it before going up to the top of the Tower the night before, and it was then locked. She peeped in, and was horrified to see the dead body of Lady Hereward lying at full length, with a pool of blood on the floor at her side. At first, Liane's only thought was to get away from so terrible a sight; but "something seemed to speak in her brain," reminding her of the beautiful jewelry Lady Hereward was in the habit of wearing. She assured herself it was not unlikely (as afterward proved to be the case) that Ernest intended to play her false. If he did, she would be penniless. Since Lady Hereward was certainly dead, and would never again want her jewels, it would not be like stealing to take them; and the person who killed her, whoever it was, would be suspected of the robbery.
Then Liane had tip-toed into the Tower, had tremulously taken Lady Hereward's rings, her brooch, and a bracelet, finding the body still quite warm. On the point of going away, she had spied a bead bag, and a gold case which "Miladi called her 'vanity box' lying on the table, with a rolled-up pair of gray suede gloves. In the bead bag was a little gold chain purse containing four sovereigns and several shillings. Liane put this purse and the vanity box into her pocket, with the jewelry, but of course she had no reason to touch a revolver which she saw lying on the floor. It was a small revolver, and Liane had seen it at Mr. Barr's some months before she left Friars' Moat. He had said, when she remarked it, that he had promised his mother, before her death, to keep a weapon of some sort always loaded in the house while living in the country. Once during the mother's lifetime, a thief had broken in, during the night. She had never quite got over the fright she suffered then, and because of it she exacted the promise from her son.
Having secured the jewels and money, panic overtook Liane, and leaving the door ajar as she had found it, she hurried away very fast, in spite of her exhaustion. In order not to be seen, she kept always to the shelter of the woods, selecting little by-paths, and met no one. An idea came to her that she might call at Deodar Lodge, and see if Ernest was there, or had been there, but she dared not, lest some one should catch her coming out of the forest.
She walked a very long distance, she did not know exactly how far, but at last had the courage to show herself in the village of Defford, and go to the railway-station.
The people she passed paid no particular attention to her, and she grew braver. She took a ticket to London, and went to Westbourne Grove, because she had had lodgings there before; but she did not venture back to the same street. She went to a house in Morton Crescent, where she saw a bedroom with attendance advertised, and gave the name of Madame Ernest. She told the landlady that she was married to an English husband, a commercial traveller, who was away from her at present on business. She had paid, with Lady Hereward's money, for a week in advance, and the next morning had got her luggage from Charing Cross Station where she had left it on arriving in England some days before. When she read the paper, and saw what a sensation Lady Hereward's death had made, she was afraid to sell the jewelry, even the stones picked out of their gold settings, as she had intended to do. She lived on the money remaining of the four sovereigns, paying her lodgings in advance, by request, until all was gone. Then she resolved to pawn the little gold case, which was so like many others of its kind that she hoped it would not be remarked.
This, then, was the story of Liane Rodache, and the finding of the vanity box.