The Red Window

by Fergus Hume

  CHAPTER XIV

  LOVE IN EXILE

  Next day at twelve o'clock Durham went back to Hurseton to see Mrs.Gilroy. She alone could relate the true story of the night. But beforehe left Bernard he related an incident about which he had forgotten totell him on the previous night.

  "Did you ever see your Uncle Guiseppe Tolomeo?" he asked.

  "Several times," replied Bernard, with no very pleased expression. "Iassisted him with money."

  "He is the kind of person who will always have to be assisted," was thelawyer's reply. "I fear he is a scamp, old fellow."

  "So my grandfather said. I don't think he is a good man myself. All thesame he was my mother's brother, and I must assist him."

  "He'll give you every opportunity to do so," said Durham, dryly. "I hada visit from him the other day?"

  "What did he want?"

  "His errand was similar to that of Mrs. Gilroy's. He wished to know ifSir Simon had made any provision for him in the will. I don't know onwhat grounds he based his claim, as your grandfather hated him. But heevidently expected to be remembered. I told him he would get nothing,and then with true Italian excitability he began to lament that you hadnot lived, saying you would have helped him."

  "I shall certainly do that. He is my uncle when all is said and done.What is he doing?"

  "Playing the violin in some orchestra. The fellow is a gentleman,Bernard, but a thorough scamp. Since he can earn his own bread I don'tthink it is wise for you to let him live on your money."

  "There's no chance at present of my letting him believe I will allowthat," said Gore, rather dolefully. "What else did he say?"

  "Rather a strange thing. He said that he told Sir Simon that the RedLamp would not bring you."

  "The Red Window, you mean. My uncle knew about that one at the Hall.When my mother was alive, and staying--as she did for a time--with SirSimon, she used to put a light in the Red Window so as to tell Tolomeothat she would meet him in the garden on that evening. The window isvisible through a long avenue, and can easily be seen from the roadwhich runs past the grounds. My poor mother used it as a signal to herbrother, as Lucy used it as a signal to me. And I believe that in daysgone by--in Charles the First's days--it was used in a like manner towarn loyal cavaliers."

  "Tolomeo did not say the Red Window," replied Durham, wrinkling hisbrows, "but the Red Lamp, which makes me think he must have been withSir Simon on that fatal evening."

  Bernard looked up alertly, and his brow grew dark. "How do you make thatout?"

  "Well," said Durham, after a pause, "I questioned Jane Riordan againabout the possibility of there having been a red light visible!"

  "There was," interrupted Gore, decisively. "I saw it myself."

  "And Mrs. Webber saw it, although afterwards it disappeared. Well, Janetold me that there was a lamp on the table in front of the window. Shesaw it when she went up with the cook and Miss Randolph."

  "I remember. I was in the grip of the policeman then," said Gore.

  "Well, it is strange, seeing that the apartment was lighted byelectricity, that a lamp should have stood in front of the window."

  "What do you infer?" asked Bernard, doubtfully and uneasily.

  "This much. Your cousin told Sir Simon about the use she made of the RedWindow--your cousin Miss Randolph, I mean--and when she was at theCurtain Theatre with Beryl, I believe he put the lamp in the window toattract you."

  "Had the lamp a red glass?"

  "No. But a red bandana handkerchief such as Sir Simon used might havebeen stretched across the window. I daresay he did it."

  "But he didn't know that I knew the house," objected Gore.

  "True enough, unless"--here Durham hesitated--"unless it was yourgrandfather who sent Jerry Moon to lure you to the square."

  "No! Judas--as Conniston calls him--is Beryl's tool. I would ratherbelieve that Beryl placed the red handkerchief across the window."

  "There was no handkerchief found," said Durham. "Mrs. Webber saw the redlight, yet when Beryl went out to look for it he could see none, neithercould she. What do you infer from that, Bernard?"

  "That the handkerchief must have been removed in the meanwhile by Beryl.No," Bernard recollected, "not by Beryl; Mrs. Gilroy prevented him goingup the stairs. But Lucy, the cook and Jane Riordan went up;--one of themmust have removed the handkerchief. I tell you what, Mark," addedBernard, thoughtfully, "it was Lucy who placed the lamp by the windowand stretched the handkerchief across it."

  "We don't know that a handkerchief was so stretched," said Durham.

  "It must have been to cause the red light," insisted Gore. "Lucy alwayshad the idea of the Red Window. She was then friendly with Beryl, andshe might have made use of Jerry Moon to bring me to the square in thehope that, seeing the red light, I might venture into the house andinterview my grandfather."

  "Well," said Durham, rising, "we will ask Miss Randolph. Also we canquestion this young Judas, who is now with Miss Plantagenet."

  Bernard did not answer. With his head on his hand he was ponderingdeeply. "One thing I can't understand," he said, after a pause: "Why doyou connect my Uncle Guiseppe with the Red Window?"

  "I don't, but with the Red Lamp. In this especial instance, for lack ofred glass a lamp was used. It was not the ordinary lighting of the room,remember. Now, Tolomeo must have been in the room, and he must have seenthe lamp to make use of such an expression."

  "So you believe he was with Sir Simon when Lucy and Beryl were at thetheatre?"

  "Yes," said Durham, looking directly at Gore, "and Tolomeo is Italian."

  Bernard jumped up nervously. "Do you mean to hint that Tolomeo may havestrangled my grandfather?"

  "Yes, I do. Tolomeo may have come to see him--indeed, he must have doneso to make use of such an expression as the 'Red Lamp.' The twoquarrelled, and perhaps your uncle, losing his temper----"

  "No, no! I can't believe that," said Gore, walking anxiously to and fro."Tolomeo is wild but not wicked."

  "That depends on what you call wicked," said Durham, dryly, andpreparing to take his leave. "However, we can leave this clue, if clueit is, alone at present. What I have to do is to question Mrs. Gilroyabout her son. Also I may see Miss Randolph and Jerry Moon. But of onething I am certain, Bernard: your grandfather had several visitorsduring that evening. Your half-brother Michael came, also your uncle.One of the two----"

  "No! I would rather believe Mrs. Gilroy strangled the old man herself."

  "She is quite capable of doing so," said Durham, coolly, "but I do notthink she did. His death was unfortunate for her schemes; he was of morevalue to her alive than dead. But it might be that Michael killed SirSimon, and that Mrs. Gilroy is using you as a scapegoat. However, Ilearn the truth from her to-day."

  "If that theory is correct, Tolomeo----"

  "Is innocent, quite so. We'll give him the benefit of the doubt. But Iwant to know what he was doing with Sir Simon on that evening. He may beable to tell us something if he is innocent himself."

  Gore shuddered. "It is a most involved case," he said hopelessly.

  "I quite agree with you. We have a long dark road to travel before wecome to the light. However"--Durham clapped Bernard on the back--"keepup your spirits. If time, and money, and friendship can put you right,Conniston and I will see the thing through. Meantime, as Miss Mallesonis coming here this day, make yourself happy and don't worry."

  "You might as well put the kettle on the fire and say don't boil."

  Durham shrugged his shoulders and said no more. What with his isolationand anxiety, Bernard was growing morbid, and his only cure lay in thetruth being discovered. Therefore Durham set out to discover it fromMrs. Gilroy, and left the young man to his by no means pleasantmeditations.

  The day was fine and cold, with much sunshine and no mist. Bernard wentout for a walk on the small spot of dry ground on which the castle isbuilt. Victoria privately complained to him that she had all the work todo. Since
Mrs. Moon had learned "Kings" she would do nothing but playthe game. Bernard laughed, and saw the housekeeper, telling her again ofthe expected arrival of the two ladies.

  "You had better get a good luncheon ready," he said.

  "I'll try," sighed the giantess; "but that game lies heavy on myconscience. I'm bound to do it at least once, Mr. Grant." She gave Gorehis false name in all innocence. "I do wish, sir, you hadn't taught methe game."

  "Never mind, you'll do it some day," said Bernard, kindly.

  Mrs. Moon moaned and groaned and went to prepare luncheon, her head fullof the fatal game, which had seized on her rather sluggish imaginationso strongly as to exclude all other thoughts. Bernard went outside andwalked along the causeway which connected the castle with the main road.He wished to welcome Miss Plantagenet and Alice before the two womencould see them, as it was necessary to inform them that his name for thetime being was Grant. Certainly Conniston might have informed them ofthis fact; but the young lord was so feather-headed that Bernard did notalways trust to his discretion.

  Presently an open carriage came in sight driven by Miss Berengaria's fatcoachman. Gore heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that they had notbrought the dangerous Jerry with them. Evidently Conniston hadremembered that part of his instructions.

  "Dear Alice," he said, hurrying forward to meet the carriage as itturned down the causeway. And he waved his hat, in return for whichtoken of greeting Alice waved her hand.

  But when the lovers met, their hearts were too full to speak. Theysimply took one another's hands and looked into one another's eyes. MissBerengaria, alighting at the same time, ordered the carriage to drive tothe castle door, and turned to salute the exile. "Well, young man," shesaid in her bluff way, "a nice mess you have got yourself into."

  "Oh no, aunt," protested Alice; "it is not Bernard's fault."

  Miss Berengaria rubbed her nose. "Well, I don't know," she observedtartly. "Bernard Gore always had a talent for getting himself intoscrapes."

  "I hope Mr. Grant is more cautious," said Gore, leading the way to thedoor with a smile.

  "And who is Mr. Grant?" asked Alice, puzzled.

  "I am. I have to take a false name because of the servant, Victoria. Sheis so sharp that she might write and tell Judas I am here."

  "Judas!" echoed Miss Berengaria, who, with her dress kilted up, waspicking her way amidst the puddles. "Oh, that brat who says he lovesfowls and harries mine beyond endurance. I assure you, Bernard, thewretch has spoilt the nerves of the whole poultry yard. I'd give him hiswalking-ticket if it were not for you. But I'm bound to keep an eye onhim, according to Durham. And a nice lawyer he is, with his finikingways," finished the old lady grimly.

  "There is no danger of Jerry getting any letter," said Alice, as theyentered the castle. "Aunt looks over all the correspondence. Jerry isbehaving himself nicely."

  "Except that he's always in places he shouldn't be," said MissBerengaria. "Deuce take the boy, I don't know what he is after."

  "He is on the watch for the arrival of Bernard," said Alice, quietly."It is for that reason, I am sure, that Julius asked you to take him."

  "Bah! Beryl!" Miss Berengaria never was respectful to anyone, much lessto Julius, whom she hated. "Beryl doesn't know Gore is alive."

  "Yes, he does," began Alice, then checked herself. "I'll tell you later,my dear," she added in a lower tone to Bernard. "I have much to say Idon't want my aunt to overhear."

  But that lady was too much occupied with Mrs. Moon to listen.

  "Well, Moon, how are you?" she said grimly, surveying the giantess. "Noyounger, I see, and not in good health, I should say."

  "What can you expect from damp marshes, my lady?" whimpered Mrs. Moon,who, for some unexplained reason, gave Miss Berengaria this title.

  "Rheumatism and ague," said the old dame promptly. "And you look asthough you were getting ready for a fever."

  "Oh, my lady!"

  "Oh, fiddlesticks!" said Miss Berengaria, stalking into the castle."Have you a good meal ready? If you have, send it up. I'm as hungry as amosquito after my drive."

  "Victoria is laying the table, my lady."

  "Who is she? Oh yes. The brat of a girl that urchin of mine talks about.He wants to come over and see her, but I won't let him."

  "Why not, my lady? I should like to see my own flesh and blood."

  "Well, then, you won't," snapped Miss Berengaria. "And don't you tellVictoria the boy is with me, or I'll discharge him."

  "So Mr. Grant said, my lady. He having told me as Jerry was page to yourladyship."

  "Hum! It's none of Mr. Grant's business. I can manage my own affairswithout his assistance. Come along and show me to a room where I can putmy hair tidy; it's blown about by the wind. And see that the coachmanfeeds the horses. He's a fool."

  "I'll see to it, my lady. And Victoria----?"

  "Hold your tongue about Victoria."

  "I will, my lady. Come this way, my lady," and Mrs. Moon plunged alongthe corridor with little Miss Berengaria trotting briskly at her heels.She looked like a cock-boat following in the wake of a three-decker. Andall the time she scolded the meek giantess.

  While Mrs. Moon was thus suffering, the lovers were talking eagerly inthe sitting-room, where the table was already laid for luncheon.Victoria had departed, so they had the apartment to themselves, and forthe moment, in spite of the depressing surrounding circumstances, theywere absolutely happy.

  "Dearest," said Bernard, taking the girl's hand, "I have hungered forthis moment. Alice, you are more beautiful than ever."

  "Darling! But, Bernard, I have a confession to make. I really thoughtfor a moment that you were guilty."

  "Alice, how could you?"

  Her eyes filled with tears. "I was mad to doubt you, dearest, but I did.I thought you might have lost your temper with----"

  "Ah!" groaned Gore, "my terrible temper. But when did you come to thinkme innocent, Alice?"

  "Almost immediately. My aunt laughed at the idea that you had killed SirSimon. She always stood up for you, and scolded me."

  "I think you deserved it," said Gore, playfully. "However, I forgiveyou. The evidence against me is so strong that I don't wonder youbelieved I was----"

  "No, Bernard, no. You loved me, and in the face of everything I shouldnever have credited you with the commission of this crime. But youforgive me, don't you, dear?" she added, nestling to his heart.

  "Of course I do," replied Gore, and sealed his forgiveness with a kiss."So long as you believe me to be innocent now."

  "I do--I do. I wonder that I could have doubted you. Lord Connistonnever doubted you, nor did Mr. Durham, nor my aunt. It was only Iwho--oh dear me! How wicked of me."

  "Alice"--he kissed away her tears--"say no more. The circumstances wereenough to shake your faith in me, especially when you knew I had such abad temper. And I have it still," sighed Gore, sadly; "even now in spiteof all my trouble I am impatient."

  "Wait, wait! All will be well."

  "I can't see how I am to win free of the trouble, Alice dear."

  "None of us can see, Bernard. But we are in God's hands. He will helpus. See, He has given you a refuge here till your innocence is proved."

  "And how long will I keep this refuge?" said Gore, gloomily. "If thatyoung imp Judas learns from Victoria that I am here----"

  "Then you can escape to another place. But, Bernard, I have something totell you." Alice looked round and took a letter out of her pocketcautiously. "This is from Julius. He says that he saw you in London."

  "Ah!" Bernard read the letter hurriedly. "My double--my half-brother,Michael."

  "Your half-brother! I never knew you had one."

  "Nor did I, till Durham found it out from Mrs. Gilroy."

  The next ten minutes was taken up by Bernard in explaining what thelawyer had learned from Mrs. Gilroy. Alice was extremely astonished andinterested, and quite agreed that it was possible the half-brother mightbe the guilty person. "And it explains Mrs. Gilroy's accusation of you,"said Al
ice, thoughtfully.

  "Without doubt. Mrs. Gilroy never liked me. But do you believe Michaelis the real heir?"

  "No," said Alice, firmly. "Mrs. Gilroy would have claimed the money andthe title for her son had there been a true marriage. There is somethingwrong, Bernard. I don't know what it is, but I feel sure that Mrs.Gilroy is not so secure about her position as she pretends to be."

  "Well," said Bernard, putting the letter into his pocket, "Durham willtell us what she says."

  Then occurred one of those coincidences which occur in real life quiteas often as they do in novels. Durham suddenly entered the room, lookingdisturbed. He saluted Alice, then turned to his client--"Mrs. Gilroy!"he exclaimed.

  "What of her?" asked Gore. "Has she confessed?"

  "She has left the Hall, and no one knows where she is!"