Richard Keene in the flesh. He is notdead."
"Impossible! You're deceiving me," she exclaimed. "The man cannotpossibly be alive."
"How do you know?"
She hesitated, for she saw that to reply to my question was to exposeher own knowledge. Her face was ashen grey. My announcement, I saw,held her rigid in terror and surprise.
"Because his death is common knowledge to those who--well, those whoknew him," she replied lamely.
"I tell you that Richard Keene has eaten cold meat and drunk beer in thetap-room at the _Stanchester Arms_. He came to Sibberton to makeinquiries regarding the Earl and the occupants of this house."
"He did!" she gasped aghast. "Are you quite certain of that?"
"I heard him with my own ears. He questioned Warr, who is not, however,very communicative to strangers, especially if they are not verywell-dressed."
"How long ago?"
"On the evening of the tragedy."
"Ah!" she sighed, and the light died out of her countenance again. "Butare you really certain that it was Richard Keene?--does Lolita knowthis?"
"Yes. He wrote to her."
"Wrote to her! Then there is no mistake that the fellow is stillalive?" she cried, dismayed.
"None. He told Warr that he had only just arrived home from abroad.And he looked very travel-stained and weary. He seemed to be on tramp."
"Without money?"
"On the contrary, he appeared to have plenty. It struck me that hispenurious exterior was assumed for some purpose of his own."
"Then if he really has returned, he means mischief--serious mischief,"exclaimed the Countess, still very pale. "The fact that he is not dead,as we had all supposed, alters entirely my theory regarding the crimeand its motive."
"You believe then that he is the guilty one?"
"No. That could not be," was her quick reply.
"There are strong reasons--very strong reasons--why there can be nosuspicion against him."
"Is he such a very estimable person, then?" I inquired, hoping toobtain some further facts from her.
"Estimable!" she ejaculated. "Why, he is the one person in all theworld who--but no!" she added, suddenly breaking off. "You are George'sfriend!"
"And therefore I must not be told the truth," I remarked disappointedly.
"You must not know the secret of his sister Lolita," she answered quitecalmly. "I cannot betray her confidence."
I felt assured that the real reason of her refusal to tell me wasbecause she feared lest I might betray her to her husband, and not onaccount of Lolita at all. She and I had somehow never been very closefriends. I distrusted all women of her stamp, and treated them withthat same light airy irresponsibility with which they treated me. TheCountess of Stanchester could not be taken seriously. She was one ofthose women who, though married, live for the admiration and flattery ofthe opposite sex, and who indeed, according to her enemies, would courtthe admiration of her footman, provided no other male of higher statuswere available. Often she had set herself to win from me somecomplimentary speech, but had, probably to her chagrin, always found meblind to all her feminine blandishments. That she was amazinglyhandsome could not for a moment be denied, but the open manner in whichshe coquetted under her husband's nose filled me with anger andcontempt.
How different she was from Lolita. The latter possessed all that calm,well-bred dignity, that inflexible moral principle which had ever beencharacteristic of the noble Catholic line of Stanchester. Her earlyyears had been passed with the good nuns of the Sacred Heart at Provins,in France, and even now she gave the impression of one who had passedunder the ennobling discipline of suffering and self-denial; amelancholy charm tempered the natural vigour of her mind; her spiritseemed to stand upon an eminence and look down upon the world as thoughit were not of it; and yet when brought into contact with that worldwhich she inwardly despised, she shrank back with all the timiditynatural to her convent education.
Marigold, on the other hand, possessed all the worst traits of theGordons of Glenloch, that ill-fated house whose men were gamesters andwhose women had for two centuries been noted only for their personalbeauty. Successions of Gordons had ruined the estates, now mostly inthe hands of Jew mortgagees, and the present generation, still recklessand improvident, were consequently very poor. Lady Gordon hadsuccessfully schemed to marry her three dashing daughters to wealthy menas a means of saving the last remnant of the estate from passing out ofher husband's hands and of the trio of girls who, for two seasons inLondon, were the most admired and most courted, Marigold, now Countessof Stanchester, was perhaps the most confirmed flirt. She had set allthe _convenances_ at naught then, just as she did now. The golden bondof matrimony never for a moment, galled her. She found the world mostamusing, she declared, pouting if her husband reproved her, and surelyshe might be allowed to amuse herself!
She differed very little from thousands of other wives--women of ourlatter-day degenerate stock which has neither code of honour to husbandnor to tradesmen. Debts trouble them not, they fear neither man norGod, but skip arm-in-arm with the devil down to ruin and disgrace. If,however, the husband chances to be wealthy and their extravagance makesno difference to his income, they will, strangely enough, instead ofdescending to destruction, rise to a pinnacle of notoriety, becomepopular leaders of Society, and have their daily doings chronicled bythe papers as assiduously as those of the princes of the earth. But,after all, conscience is the padlock that we try to put on ourinclinations.
I tried to ascertain the reason why the announcement of the man Keene'sreturn should concern her so deeply, but she was far too clever tobetray herself. From her manner, as soon as she grew calmer again afterthe first startling shock which the truth had given her, I saw that shewas trying to exercise her blandishments upon me. She had some motivein this, I felt convinced. Was it that she was trying to win me over toher side as her friend?
"I really think the less we discuss the unfortunate affair, MrWoodhouse, the better," she exclaimed at last, standing upon thehearthrug and facing me with her hands clasped behind her back. Thelamplight caught the magnificent ornaments on her throat and bodice,causing them to dance with a thousand flashing fires.
"You yourself approached the subject," was my cool response. "I quiteagree that we may well leave the matter in the hands of the police."
"But there is one thing I would implore you, as Lolita's friend--for sheis very fond of you, I know--and as my own friend also--and that is tokeep this man Keene's return a profound secret from every one--moreespecially from George. Do you understand?"
"No, I don't," I answered. "At least I don't understand your reason forendeavouring to conceal the fact."
"Of course not," she exclaimed in quick earnestness. "Because you don'tknow the truth--you don't know what exposure means to me--or to Lolita."
"To you? Then you wish me to assist you in preserving the secret?"
"You have guessed aright, Mr Woodhouse. I confess that I am in fearlest George shall learn that this man Keene has been to Sibberton. Hemust be kept in ignorance of it at all hazards. Besides yourself, whoknows of his return?"
"The innkeeper, Warr."
"Ah!" she gasped quickly. "Then you must see him and make him promiseto say nothing--either to the police or to any person Whatsoever."
"I will act as you wish," I responded. "But Lolita has already told meof her own peril."
"Yes, she no doubt foresaw it, just as I do. If you will assist me inthis matter, which is purely confidential between us, you will earn myeverlasting gratitude," she declared.
Then after a brief pause she turned from me, as though to hide her face,and said--
"I know quite well, Mr Woodhouse, that you hold me in little esteem. Idaresay that if I dared I should be your open enemy, but knowing thefriendship my husband has for you, I am prevented from acting as I wouldperhaps otherwise act. I confess to you, however, that no one is betteraware of my own failings than I am myself.
People believe that becauseI like to amuse myself, I am a woman without a heart. But I tell youthat George is the only man I care for, even though I may laugh andallow others to pay court to me. George will not believe me when I saythis, but some day I will show you, as I will show him, the strength ofmy love for him. I will, in a word, redeem my character as a womanworthy to bear his honourable name."
I was utterly dumbfounded at this sudden outburst of confidence. Therewas a strange catch of emotion in her voice by which I knew that thewords came direct from her heart, that remorse had at last seized her,and she intended to make atonement for all the grief and pain she hadcaused the devoted man
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