CHAPTER XI
"THORNTON LYNE IS DEAD."
For a time neither spoke. Tarling walked slowly forward, pulled a chairto the side of the bed and sat down, never once taking his eyes off thegirl.
Odette Rider! The woman for whom the police of England were searching,against whom a warrant had been issued on a charge of wilful murder--andhere, in a little country hospital. For a moment, and a moment only,Tarling was in doubt. Had he been standing outside the case and watchingit as a disinterested spectator, or had this girl never come so closelyinto his life, bringing a new and a disturbing influence so that the verybalance of his judgment was upset, he would have said that she was inhiding and had chosen this hospital for a safe retreat. The very nameunder which she was passing was fictitious--a suspicious circumstance initself.
The girl's eyes did not leave his. He read in their clear depths a hintof terror and his heart fell. He had not realised before that the chiefincentive he found in this case was not to discover the murderer ofThornton Lyne, but to prove that the girl was innocent.
"Mr. Tarling," she said with a queer little break in her voice, "I--I didnot expect to see you."
It was a lame opening, and it seemed all the more feeble to her since shehad so carefully rehearsed the statement she had intended making. For herwaking moments, since the accident, had been filled with thoughts of thishard-faced man, what he would think, what he would say, and what, incertain eventualities, he would do.
"I suppose not," said Tarling gently. "I am sorry to hear you have hadrather a shaking, Miss Rider."
She nodded, and a faint smile played about the corners of her mouth.
"It was nothing very much," she said. "Of course, it was very harried atfirst and--what do you want?"
The last words were blurted out. She could not keep up the farce of apolite conversation.
There was a moment's silence, and then Tarling spoke.
"I wanted to find you," he said, speaking slowly, and again he read herfear.
"Well," she hesitated, and then said desperately and just a littledefiantly, "you have found me!"
Tarling nodded.
"And now that you have found me," she went on, speaking rapidly, "what doyou want?"
She was resting on her elbow, her strained face turned towards him, hereyes slightly narrowed, watching him with an intensity of gaze whichbetrayed her agitation.
"I want to ask you a few questions," said Tarling, and slipped a littlenotebook from his pocket, balancing it upon his knee.
To his dismay the girl shook her head.
"I don't know that I am prepared to answer your questions," she said morecalmly, "but there is no reason why you should not ask them."
Here was an attitude wholly unexpected. And Odette Rider panic-strickenhe could understand. If she had burst into a fit of weeping, if shehad grown incoherent in her terror, if she had been indignant orshame-faced--any of these displays would have fitted in with hisconception of her innocence or apprehension of her guilt.
"In the first place," he asked bluntly, "why are you here under the nameof Miss Stevens?"
She thought a moment, then shook her head.
"That is a question I am not prepared to answer," she said quietly.
"I won't press it for a moment," said Tarling, "because I realise that itis bound up in certain other extraordinary actions of yours, Miss Rider."
The girl flushed and dropped her eyes, and Tarling went on:
"Why did you leave London secretly, without giving your friends or yourmother any inkling of your plans?"
She looked up sharply.
"Have you seen mother?" she asked quietly, and again her eyes weretroubled.
"I've seen your mother," said Tarling. "I have also seen the telegram yousent to her. Come, Miss Rider, won't you let me help you? Believe me, agreat deal more depends upon your answers than the satisfaction of mycuriosity. You must realise how very serious your position is."
He saw her lips close tightly and she shook her head.
"I have nothing to say," she said with a catch of her breath. "If--if youthink I have----"
She stopped dead.
"Finish your sentence," said Tarling sternly. "If I think you havecommitted this crime?"
She nodded.
He put away his notebook before he spoke again, and, leaning over thebed, took her hand.
"Miss Rider, I want to help you," he said earnestly, "and I can help youbest if you're frank with me. I tell you I do not believe that youcommitted this act. I tell you now that though all the circumstancespoint to your guilt, I have absolute confidence that you can produce ananswer to the charge."
For a moment her eyes filled with tears, but she bit her lip and smiledbravely into his face.
"That is good and sweet of you, Mr. Tarling, and I do appreciate yourkindness. But I can't tell you anything--I can't, I can't!" She grippedhis wrist in her vehemence, and he thought she was going to break down,but again, with an extraordinary effort of will which excited his secretadmiration, she controlled herself.
"You're going to think very badly of me," she said, "and I hate thethought, Mr. Tarling--you don't know how I hate it. I want you to thinkthat I am innocent, but I am going to make no effort to prove that I wasnot guilty."
"You're mad!" he interrupted her roughly "Stark, raving mad! You must dosomething, do you hear? You've got to do something."
She shook her head, and the little hand which rested on his closed gentlyabout two of his fingers.
"I can't," she said simply. "I just can't."
Tarling pushed back the chair from the bed. He could have groaned at thehopelessness of the girl's case. If she had only given him one threadthat would lead him to another clue, if she only protested her innocence!His heart sank within him, and he could only shake his head helplessly.
"Suppose," he said huskily, "that you are charged with this--crime. Doyou mean to tell me that you will not produce evidence that could proveyour innocence, that you will make no attempt to defend yourself?"
She nodded.
"I mean that," she said.
"My God! You don't know what you're saying," he cried, starting up."You're mad, Odette, stark mad!"
She only smiled for the fraction of a second, and that at the unconsciousemployment of her Christian name.
"I'm not at all mad," she said. "I am very sane."
She looked at him thoughtfully, and then of a sudden seemed to shrinkback, and her face went whiter. "You--you have a warrant for me!" shewhispered.
He nodded.
"And you're going to arrest me?"
He shook his head.
"No," he said briefly. "I am leaving that to somebody else. I havesickened of the case, and I'm going out of it."
"He sent you here," she said slowly.
"He?"
"Yes--I remember. You were working with him, or he wanted you to workwith him."
"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Tarling quickly.
"Thornton Lyne," said the girl.
Tarling leaped to his feet and stared down at her.
"Thornton Lyne?" he repeated. "Don't you know?"
"Know what?" asked the girl with a frown.
"That Thornton Lyne is dead," said Tarling, "and that it is for hismurder that a warrant has been issued for your arrest?"
She looked at him for a moment with wide, staring eyes.
"Dead!" she gasped. "Dead! Thornton Lyne dead! You don't mean that, youdon't mean that?" She clutched at Tarling's arm. "Tell me that isn'ttrue! He did not do it, he dare not do it!"
She swayed forward, and Tarling, dropping on his knees beside the bed,caught her in his arms as she fainted.
The Daffodil Mystery Page 11
