CHAPTER XX
THE PAPER
When John Steele began to recover, he was dimly aware that he was in afour-wheeler which rattled along slowly through streets, now slightlymore discernible; by his side sat a figure that stirred when he did;spoke in crisp, official accents. He, Mr. Steele, would kindly not placeany further obstacles in the way of justice being done; it was uselessto attempt that; the police agent had come well armed, and, moreover,had taken the precaution for this little journey of providing a cab infront and one behind, containing those who knew how to act should thenecessity arise.
John Steele heard these words without answering; his throat pained him;he could scarcely swallow; his head seemed bound around as by a tight,inflexible band. The cool air, however, gradually revived him; he drankit in gratefully and strove to think. A realization of what had occurredsurged through his brain,--the abrupt attack at the door; the arrival ofthe police agent.
Furtively the prisoner felt his pocket; the memorandum book containingthe paper that had cost so much was gone; he looked at the agent. Had itbeen shifted to Mr. Gillett's possession, or, dimly he recalled hisassailant's last words, had Rogers succeeded in snatching the preciousevidence from his breast before escaping? In the latter case, it had,undoubtedly, ere this, been destroyed; in the former, it would,presumably, soon be transferred to the police agent's employer. Toregain the paper, if it existed, would be no light task; yet it was thepivot upon which John Steele's fortunes hung. The principal signer was,in all likelihood, making his way out of London now; he would, in a fewhours, reach the sea, and after that disappear from the case. At anyrate, John Steele could have nothing to hope from him in the future; theopportune or inopportune appearance of the police agent would savor oftreachery to him. John Steele moved, quickly, impatiently; but a hand,swung carelessly behind him, moved also,--a hand that held somethinghard.
Thereafter he remained outwardly quiescent; resistance on his part, andthe consequences that would ensue, might not be displeasing to his chiefenemy; it would settle the case in short and summary fashion.Justification for extreme proceedings would be easily forthcoming andthere would be none to answer for John Steele.
Where were they going? John Steele could not surmise; he saw, howeverthat they had left behind the neighborhood of hovels, narrow passagesand byways, and traversed now one of the principal circuses. There thestreet traffic moved smoothly; they seemed but an unimportant part of anendless procession which they soon left to turn into a less public, morearistocratic highway. A short distance down this street, the carriagessuddenly stopped before an eminently respectable and sedate front, and,not long after, John Steele, somewhat to his surprise, found himself inLord Ronsdale's rooms and that person's presence.
The nobleman had been forewarned of John Steele's coming. He sat behinda high desk, his figure and part of his face screened by its massiveback. One drawer of the desk was slightly opened. What could be seen ofhis features appeared sharper than usual, as if the inner virulence, thedark hidden passions smoldering in his breast had at length stampedtheir impression on the outer man. When he first spoke his tones weremore irascible, less icily imperturbable, than they had been hitherto.They seemed to tell of a secret tension he had long been laboring under;but the steady cold eyes looked out from behind the wood barrier withvicious assurance.
The police agent he addressed first; his services could be dispensedwith for the present; he should, however, remain in the hall with hismen. Mr. Gillett looked from the speaker to him he had brought there andafter a moment turned and obeyed; but the instant's hesitation seemed tosay that he began to realize there was more to the affair than he hadfathomed.
"There is no need for many words between us, Mr. Steele." LordRonsdale's accents were poignant and sharp. "Had you listened to whatMr. Gillett, on my behalf, would have said to you that night in thegardens at Strathorn House, we might, possibly, both of us, have beensaved some little annoyance. We now start at about where we were beforethat little contretemps."
John Steele silently looked at Lord Ronsdale; his brain had again becomeclear; his thoughts, lucid. The ride through the cool and damp air, thisoutre encounter at the end of the journey, had acted as a tonic on jadedsense and faculty. He saw distinctly, heard very plainly; his ideasbegan to marshal themselves logically. He could have laughed at LordRonsdale, but the situation was too serious; the weakness of hisdefenses too obvious. Proofs, proofs, proofs, were what the English jurydemanded, and where were his? He could build up a story; yes, but--if hecould have known what had taken place between Mr. Gillett and this man afew minutes before, when the police agent had stepped in first andtarried here a brief period before ushering him in!
Had Mr. Gillett delivered to his noble patron the memorandum book andother articles filched from John Steele's pockets? That partly openeddrawer--what did it contain? The nobleman's hand lingered on the edge ofit; with an effort the other resisted allowing his glance to rest there.
He even refused to smile when Lord Ronsdale, after a sharper look, askedhim to be seated; he seemed to sift and weigh the pros and cons of theinvitation in a curious, calm fashion; as if he felt himself there insome impersonal capacity for the purpose of solving a difficultcatechetical problem.
"Yes; I think I will." He sat down in a stiff, straight-backed chair; itmay be he felt the need of holding in reserve all his physical force, ofnot refusing to rest, even here.
Lord Ronsdale's glance narrowed; he hesitated an instant. "To go back toStrathorn House--a very beautiful place to go back to," his tones forthe moment lapsed to that high pitch they sometimes assumed, "Mr Gilletthad there received from me certain instructions. Whatever you oncewere," seeming not to notice the other's expression, "you have since byyour own efforts attained much. How--?" His brows knit as at somethinginexplicable. "But the fact remained, was perhaps considered. Exposurewould have meant some--unpleasantness for your friends." The eyes of thetwo men met; those of Lord Ronsdale were full of sardonic meaning."Friends who had trusted you; who," softly, "had admitted you to theirfiresides, not knowing--" he broke off. "They," he still adhered to theplural, "would have been deeply shocked, pained; would still be if theyshould learn--"
"If?" John Steele did manage to contain himself, but it was with aneffort; perhaps he saw again through the fog a girl's face, white andaccusing, which had appeared; vanished. "You spoke of certaininstructions?" he even forced himself to say.
"Mr. Gillett, in the garden at Strathorn House, was authorized by me tooffer you one chance of avoiding exposure, and," deliberately, "theattendant consequences; you were to be suffered to leave London, thiscountry, with the stipulation that you should never return." John Steeleshifted slightly. "You did not expect this," quickly, "you had notincluded that contingency in your calculations?"
"I confess," in an even, emotionless voice, "your lordship'scomplaisance amazes me."
"And you would have accepted the alternative?" The nobleman's accentswere now those of the service, diplomatic; they were concise butmeasured.
"Why discuss what could never have been considered?" was the bruskanswer.
Lord Ronsdale frowned. "We are still fencing; we will waste no moretime." Perhaps the other's manner, assured, contemptuously distant,goaded him; perhaps he experienced anew all that first violent,unreasoning anger against this man whose unexpected coming to London hadplunged him into an unwelcome and irritating role. "That alternative isstill open. Refuse, and--you will be in the hands of the authoritiesto-night. Resist--" His glittering eyes left no doubt whatever as to hismeaning.
"I shall not resist," said John Steele. "But--I refuse." He spokerecklessly, regardlessly.
"In that case--" Lord Ronsdale half rose; his face looked drawn butdetermined; he reached as if to touch a bell. "You force the issue,and--"
"One moment." As he spoke John Steele stepped toward the fireplace; hegazed downward at a tiny white ash on the glowing coals; a little filmthat might have been--paper? "In a matter so important we may c
onsider alittle longer, lest," still regarding the hearth, "there may beafter-regrets." His words even to himself sounded puerile; but what theyled to had more poignancy; he lifted now his keen glowing eyes. "In onelittle regard I did your lordship an injustice."
"In what way?" The nobleman had been studying him closely, had followedthe direction of his glance; noted almost questioningly what it hadrested on--the coals, or vacancy?
"In supposing that you yourself murdered Amy Gerard," came theunexpected response. The other started violently. "Your lordship willforgive the assumption in view of what occurred on a certain stormynight at sea, when a drowning wretch clung with one hand to a gunwale,and you, in answer to his appeal for succor, bent over and--"
"It's a lie!" The words fell in a sharp whisper.
"What?" John Steele's laugh sounded mirthlessly. "However, we will givea charitable interpretation to the act; the boat was alreadyovercrowded; one more might have endangered all. Call it an impulse ofself-preservation. Self-preservation," he repeated; "the struggle of thesurvival of the fittest! Let the episode go. Especially as your lordshipincidentally did me a great service; a very great service." The otherstared at him. "I should have looked at it only in that light, and thenit would not have played me the trick it did of affording a falsehypothesis for a certain conclusion. Your lordship knows what I mean,how the true facts in this case of Amy Gerard have come to light?"
John Steele's glance was straight, direct; if the other had the paper,had read it, he would know.
Lord Ronsdale looked toward the bell, hesitated. "I think you had bettertell me," he said at last.
"If your lordship did not kill the woman--if the 'Frisco Pet did not,then who did?" Ronsdale leaned forward just in the least; his eyesseemed to look into the other's as if to ask how much, just what, he hadlearned. John Steele studied the nobleman with a purpose of his own."Why, she killed herself," he said suddenly.
"How?" The nobleman uttered this word, then stopped; John Steele waited.Had Lord Ronsdale been surprised at his knowledge? He could hardly tell,from his manner, whether or not he had the affidavit and had read it.
"How--interesting!" The nobleman was willing to continue the verbalcontest a little longer; that seemed a point gained. "May I ask how itoccurred?"
"Oh, it is all very commonplace! Your lordship had received athreatening letter and called on the woman. She wanted money; yourefused. She already had a husband living in France, a ruined gambler ofthe Bourse, but had tricked you into thinking she was your wife. You haddiscovered the deception and discarded her. From a music-hall singer shehad gone down--down, until she, once beautiful, courted, had become amere--what she was, associate of one like Dandy Joe, cunning,unscrupulous. At your refusal to become the victim of their blackmailingscheme, she in her anger seized a weapon; during the struggle, it wasaccidentally discharged."
Was Lord Ronsdale asking himself how the other had learned this? IfRogers had escaped with the paper, John Steele knew Ronsdale might wellwonder that the actual truth should have been discovered; he would not,under those circumstances, even be aware of the existence of a witnessof the tragedy. But was Lord Ronsdale assuming a manner, meetingsubtlety with subtlety? John Steele went on quietly, studying his enemywith close, attentive gaze.
"At sound of the shot, Joe, who had been waiting below in the kitchenwith the landlady, rushed up-stairs. You explained how it happened; werewilling enough to give money now to get away quietly without beingdragged into the affair. The dead woman's confederate, greedy for gaineven at such a moment, would have helped you; but there was adifficulty: would the police accept the story of suicide? There weresigns of a struggle. At that instant some one entered the house, camestumbling up the stairs; it was the--'Frisco Pet."
John Steele paused; his listener sat stiff, immovable. "Joe hurried youout, toward a rear exit, but not before," leaning slightly toward LordRonsdale, "an impression of your face, pale, drawn, had vaguely stampeditself on the befuddled brain," bitterly, "of the fool-brute. You lostno time in making your escape; little was said between you and Joe; buthe proved amenable to your suggestion; the way out of the difficulty wasfound. He hated the Pet, who had once or twice handled him roughly forabusing this poor creature. You gave Joe money to have the landlady'stestimony agree with his; she never got that money," meaningly, "butgave the desired evidence. Joe had found out something."
Once more the speaker stopped; there remained a crucial test. If LordRonsdale had the paper, what John Steele was about to say would causehim no surprise; he would be prepared for it. The words fell sharply:
"The landlady's son, Tom Rogers, was at the time in the house, in hidingfrom the police. He was concealed above in a small room or garret;through a stove-pipe opening, disused, he looked down into thesitting-room below and heard, saw all!"
The effect was instantaneous, magical; Lord Ronsdale sprang to his feet;John Steele looked at him, at the wavering face, the uncertain eyes. Nodoubt existed now in his mind; Gillett had not secured the paper, or hewould have given it to his patron when they were alone. That fact waspatent; the document was gone, irretrievably; there could be no hope ofrecovering it. The bitter knowledge that it had really once existedwould not serve John Steele long. But with seeming resolution he wenton: "I had the story from his own lips," deliberately, "put in the formof an affidavit, duly signed and witnessed."
"You did?" Lord Ronsdale stared at him a long time. "This is asubterfuge."
"It is true."
"Where--is the paper?"
"Not in my pocket."
The other considered. "You mean it is in a safe place?"
"One would naturally take care of such a document."
"You did not have any such paper at Strathorn."
"No?" John Steele smiled but he did not feel like smiling. "Not therecertainly."
"I mean no such paper existed then, or you would have taken advantage ofit."
John Steele did not answer; he looked at the drawer. The affidavit wasnot there; but something else was.
"You are resourceful, that is all."
Lord Ronsdale had now quite recovered himself; he sank back into hischair. "You have, out of fancy, constructed a libelous theory; one thatyou can not prove; one that you would be laughed at for advancing. Acock-and-bull story about a witness who was not a witness; a paper thatdoesn't exist, that never existed."
A sound at the door caused him to turn sharply; a knocking had passedunheeded. The door opened, closed. Mr. Gillett, a troubled, perturbedlook on his face, stood now just within. "Your lordship!"
"Well?" the nobleman's manner was peremptory.
The police agent, however, came forward slowly. "I have here somethingthat one of our men has just turned over to me." John Steele started;but neither of the others noticed. "He found it at the last place wewere; evidently it had been dropped by the fellow who was there and whofled at our coming." As he spoke, he stepped nearer the desk, in hishand a paper.
"What is it?" Lord Ronsdale demanded testily.
Mr. Gillett did not at once answer; he looked at John Steele; the latterstood like a statue; only his eyes were turned toward the nobleman, tothe thin aristocratic hand yet resting on the edge of the drawer.
"If your lordship will glance at it?" said Mr. Gillett, proffering thesheet.
The nobleman did so; his face changed; his eyes seemed unable to leavethe paper. Suddenly he gave a smothered explanation; tore the sheetonce, and started up, took a step toward the fire.
"Stop!" The voice was John Steele's; he stood now next to thepartly-opened drawer, in his hand that which had been concealed there,something bright, shining. Lord Ronsdale wheeled, looked at the weaponand into the eyes behind it. "Place those two bits of paper there--onthe edge of the desk!"
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