CHAPTER VIII
A TIMELY WARNING
It was rather late that evening when I returned to the Cayleys; for Ihad to go to the office, and write my report of the murder. It would bea scoop for the "Courier;" for, though the other papers might get holdof the bare facts, the details of the thrilling story I constructed werenaturally exclusive. I made it pretty lurid, and put in all I had toldFreeman, and that I intended to repeat at the inquest.
The news editor was exultant. He regarded a Sunday murder as nothingshort of a godsend to enliven the almost inevitable dulness of theMonday morning's issue at this time of year.
"Lucky you weren't out of town, Wynn, or we should have missed this, andhad to run in with the rest," he remarked with a chuckle.
Lucky!
"Wish I had been out of town," I said gloomily. "It's a ghastly affair."
"Get out! Ghastly!" he ejaculated with scorn. "Nothing's ghastly to ajournalist, so long as it's good copy! You ought to have forgotten youever possessed any nerves, long ago. Must say you look a bit off color,though. Have a drink?"
I declined with thanks. His idea of a drink in office hours, was, as Iknew, some vile whiskey fetched from the nearest "pub," diluted withwarm, flat soda, and innocent of ice. I'd wait till I got to Chelsea,where I was bound to happen on something drinkable. As a good American,Mary scored off the ordinary British housewife, who preserves a fixedidea that ice is a sinful luxury, even during a spell of sultry summerweather in London.
I drove from the office to Chelsea, and found Mary and Jim, with two orthree others, sitting in the garden. The house was one of the fewold-fashioned ones left in that suburb, redolent of many memories andassociations of witty and famous folk, from Nell Gwynn to ThomasCarlyle; and Mary was quite proud of her garden, though it consistedmerely of a small lawn and some fine old trees that shut off theneighboring houses.
"At last! You very bad boy. We expected you to tea," said Mary, as Icame down the steps of the little piazza outside the drawing-roomwindows. "You don't mean to tell me you've been packing all this time?Why, goodness, Maurice; you look worse than you did this morning! Youhaven't been committing a murder, have you?"
"No, but I've been discovering one," I said lamely, as I dropped into awicker chair.
"A murder! How thrilling. Do tell us all about it," cried a pretty,kittenish little woman whose name I did not know. Strange how some womenhave an absolutely ghoulish taste for horrors!
"Give him a chance, Mrs. Vereker," interposed Jim hastily, with hisaccustomed good nature. "He hasn't had a drink yet. Moselle cup,Maurice, or a long peg?"
He brought me a tall tumbler of whiskey and soda, with ice clinkingdeliciously in it; and I drank it and felt better.
"That's good," I remarked. "I haven't had anything since I breakfastedwith you,--forgot all about it till now. You see I happened to find thepoor chap--Cassavetti--when I ran up to say good-bye to him."
"Cassavetti!" cried Jim and Mary simultaneously, and Mary added: "Why,that was the man who sat next us--next Anne--at dinner last night,wasn't it? The man the old Russian you told us about came to see?"
I nodded.
"The police are after him now; though the old chap seemed harmlessenough, and didn't look as if he'd the physical strength to murder anyone," I said, and related my story to a running accompaniment ofexclamations from the feminine portion of my audience, especially Mrs.Vereker, who evinced an unholy desire to hear all the most gruesomedetails.
Jim sat smoking and listening almost in silence, his jolly faceunusually grave.
"This stops your journey, of course, Maurice?" he said at length; and Ithought he looked at me curiously. Certainly as I met his eyes heavoided my gaze as if in embarrassment; and I felt hot and cold byturns, wondering if he had divined the suspicion that was torturingme--suspicion that was all but certainty--that Anne Pendennis wasintimately involved in the grim affair. He had always distrusted her.
"For a day or two only. Even if the inquest is adjourned, I don'tsuppose I'll have to stop for the further hearing," I answered,affecting an indifference I was very far from feeling.
"Then you won't be seeing Anne as soon as you anticipated," Maryremarked. "I must write to her to-morrow. She'll be so shocked."
"Did Miss Pendennis know this Mr. Cassavetti?" inquired Mrs. Vereker.
"We met him at the dinner last night for the first time. Jim and Mauriceknew him before, of course. He seemed a very fascinating sort of man."
"Where is Miss Pendennis, by the way?" pursued the insatiable littlequestioner. "I was just going to ask for her when Mr. Wynn turned upwith his news."
"Didn't I tell you? She left for Berlin this morning; her father's ill.She had to rush to get away."
"To rush! I should think so," exclaimed Mrs. Vereker. "Why, she was atMrs. Dennis Sutherland's last night; though I only caught a glimpse ofher. She left so early; I suppose that was why--"
I stumbled to my feet, feeling sick and dizzy, and upset the littletable with my glass that Jim had placed at my elbow.
"Sorry, Mary, I'm always a clumsy beggar," I said, forcing a laugh."I'll ask you to excuse me. I must get back to the office. I've to seeLord Southbourne when he returns. He's been out motoring all day."
"Oh, but you'll come back here and sleep," Mary protested. "You can't goback to that horrible flat--"
"Nonsense!" I said almost roughly. "There's nothing wrong with the flat.Do you suppose I'm a child or a woman?"
She ignored my rudeness.
"You look very bad, Maurice," she responded, almost in a whisper, as wemoved towards the house. I was acutely conscious that the others werewatching my retreat; especially that inquisitive little Vereker woman,whom I was beginning to hate. When we entered the dusk of thedrawing-room, out of range of those curious eyes, I turned on my cousin.
"Mary--for God's sake--don't let that woman--or any one else, speakof--Anne--in connection with Cassavetti," I said, in a hoarse undertone.
"Anne! Why, what on earth do you mean?" she faltered.
"He doesn't mean anything, except that he's considerably upset," saidJim's hearty voice, close at hand. He had followed us in from thegarden. "You go back to your guests, little woman, and make 'em talkabout anything in the world except this murder affair. Try frocks andfrills; when Amy Vereker starts on them there's no stopping her; and ifthey won't serve, try palmistry and spooks and all that rubbish. LeaveMaurice to me. He's faint with hunger, and inclined to make an ass ofhimself even more than usual! Off with you!"
Mary made a queer little sound, that was half a sob, half a laugh.
"All right; I'll obey orders for once, you dear, wise old Jim. Make himcome back to-night, though."
She moved away, a slender ghostlike little figure in her white gown; andJim laid a heavy, kindly hand on my shoulder.
"Buck up, Maurice; come along to the dining-room and feed, and then tellme all about it."
"There's nothing to tell," I persisted. "But I guess you're right, andhunger's what's wrong with me."
I managed to make a good meal--I was desperately hungry now I came tothink of it--and Jim waited on me solicitously. He seemed somehowrelieved that I manifested a keen appetite.
"That's better," he said, as I declined cheese, and lighted a cigarette."'When in difficulties have a square meal before you tackle 'em; that'smy maxim,--original, and worth its weight in gold. I give it you fornothing. Now about this affair; it's more like a melodrama than atragedy. You know, or suspect, that Anne Pendennis is mixed up in it?"
"I neither know nor suspect any such thing," I said deliberately. I hadrecovered my self-possession, and the lie, I knew, sounded like truth,or would have done so to any one but Jim Cayley.
"Then your manner just now was inexplicable," he retorted quietly. "Now,just hear me out, Maurice; it's no use trying to bluff me. You think Iam prejudiced against this girl. Well, I'm not. I've always acknowledgedthat she's handsome and fascinating to a degree, though, as I told youonce before, she's a coquette
to her finger-tips. That's one of hercharacteristics, that she can't be held responsible for, any more thanshe can help the color of her hair, which is natural and not touched up,like Amy Vereker's, for instance! Besides, Mary loves her; and that's asufficient proof, to me, that she is 'O. K.' in one way. You love her,too; but men are proverbially fools where a handsome woman isconcerned."
"What are you driving at, Jim?" I asked. At any other time I would haveresented his homily, as I had done before, but now I wanted to find outhow much he knew.
"A timely warning, my boy. I suspect, and you know, or I'm very muchmistaken, that Anne Pendennis had some connection with this man who ismurdered. She pretended last night that she had never met him before;but she had,--there was a secret understanding between them. I saw that,and so did you; and I saw, too, that her treatment of you was a mereruse, though Heaven knows why she employed it! I can't attempt to fathomher motive. I believe she loves you, as you love her; but that she's nota free agent. She's not like an ordinary English girl whose antecedentsare known to every one about her. She, and her father, too, are involvedin some mystery, some international political intrigues, I'm prettysure, as this unfortunate Cassavetti was. I don't say that she wasresponsible for the murder. I don't believe she was, or that she had anypersonal hand in it--"
I had listened as if spellbound, but now I breathed more freely.Whatever his suspicions were, they did not include that she was actuallypresent when Cassavetti was done to death.
"But she was most certainly cognizant of it, and her departure thismorning was nothing more or less than flight," he continued. "And--Itell you this for her sake, as well as for your own, Maurice--yourmanner just now gave the whole game away to any one who has anyknowledge or suspicion of the facts. Man alive, you profess to love AnnePendennis; you do love her; I'll concede that much. Well, do you want tosee her hanged, or condemned to penal servitude for life?"
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