TWENTIETH CHAPTER
THE MAN WHO KNEW
Late on Thursday night Dorise and her mother were driving home from LadyStrathbayne's, in Grosvenor Square, where they had been dining. It wasa bright starlight night, and the myriad lamps of the London trafficflashed past the windows as Dorise sat back in silence.
She was tired. The dinner had been followed by a small dance, and shehad greatly enjoyed it. For once, George Sherrard, her mother's friend,had not accompanied them. As a matter of fact, Lady Strathbayne dislikedthe man, hence he had not been invited.
Suddenly Lady Ranscomb exclaimed:
"I heard about Hugh Henfrey this evening."
"From whom?" asked her daughter, instantly aroused.
"From that man who took me in to dinner. I think his name was Bowden."
"Oh! That stout, red-faced man. I don't know him."
"Neither do I. He was, however, very pleasant, and seems to havetravelled a lot," replied her mother. "He told me that your preciousfriend, Henfrey, is back, and is staying down in Surrey as guest of somewoman named Bond."
Dorise sat staggered. Then her lover's secret was out! If hiswhereabouts were known in Society, then the police would quickly getupon his track! She felt she must warn him instantly of his peril.
"How did he know, I wonder?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh! I suppose he's heard. He seemed to know all about the fellow. Itappears that at last he's become engaged."
"Engaged? Hugh engaged?"
"Yes, to a girl named Louise Lambert. She's the adopted daughter ofa man named Benton, who was, by the way, a great friend of old Mr.Henfrey."
Hugh engaged to Louise Lambert! Dorise sat bewildered.
"I--I don't believe it!" she blurted forth at last.
"Ah, my dear. You mean you don't want to believe it--because you are inlove with him!" said her mother as the car rushed homeward. "Now put allthis silly girlish nonsense aside. The fellow is under a cloud, and nogood. I tell you frankly I will never have him as my son-in-law. How hehas escaped the police is a marvel; but if the man Bowden knows where heis, Scotland Yard will, no doubt, soon hear."
The girl remained silent. Could it be possible that, after all, Hugh hadasked Louise Lambert to be his wife? She had known of her, and hadmet her with Hugh, but he had always assured her that they were merelyfriends. Yet it appeared that he was now living in concealment under thesame roof as she!
Lady Ranscomb, clever woman of the world as she was, watched herdaughter's face in the fleeting lights as they sped homeward, and sawwhat a crushing blow the announcement had dealt her.
"I don't believe it," the girl cried.
She had received word in secret--presumably from the White Cavalier--tomeet Hugh at the Bush Hotel at Farnham on the following afternoon, butthis secret news held her in doubt and despair.
Lady Ranscomb dropped the subject, and began to speak of otherthings--of a visit to the flying-ground at Hendon on the following day,and of an invitation they had received to spend the following week witha friend at Cowes.
On arrival home Dorise went at once to her room, where her maid awaitedher.
After the distracted girl had thrown off her cloak, her maid unhookedher dress, whereupon Dorise dismissed her to bed.
"I want to read, so go to bed," she said in a petulant voice whichrather surprised the neat muslin-aproned maid.
"Very well, miss. Good-night," the latter replied meekly.
But as soon as the door was closed Dorise flung herself upon thechintz-covered couch and wept bitterly as though her heart would break.
She had met Louise Lambert--it was Hugh who had introduced them. GeorgeSherrard had several times told her of the friendship between the pair,and one night at the Haymarket Theatre she had seen them together in abox. On another occasion she had met them at Ciro's, and they had beentogether at the Embassy, at Ranelagh, and yet again she had seen themlunching together one Sunday at the Metropole at Brighton.
All this had aroused suspicion and jealousy in her mind. It was all verywell for Hugh to disclaim anything further than pure friendship, but nowthat Gossip was casting her hydra-headed venom upon their affairs, itwas surely time to act.
Hugh would be awaiting her at Farnham next afternoon.
She crossed to the window and looked at the bright stars. In war timeshe used to see the long beams of searchlights playing to and fro. Butnow all was peace in London, and the world-war half forgotten.
Within herself arose a great struggle. Hugh was accused of a crime--anaccusation of which he could not clear himself. He had been huntedacross Europe by the police and had, up to the present, been successfulin slipping through their fingers.
But why did he visit that notorious woman at that hour of the night?What could have been the secret bond between them?
The woman had narrowly escaped death presumably on account of hismurderous attack upon her, while he had cleverly evaded arrest, until,at the present moment, his whereabouts was known only to a dinner-tablegossip, and he was staying in the same house as the girl, love for whomhe had always so vehemently disclaimed.
Poor Dorise spent a sleepless night. She lay awake thinking--and yetthinking!
At breakfast her mother looked at her and, with satisfaction, saw thatshe had gained a point nearer her object.
Dorise went into Bond Street shopping at eleven o'clock, still undecidedwhether to face Hugh or not. The shopping was a fiasco. She bought onlya bunch of flowers.
But in her walk she made a resolve not to make further excuse. She wouldnot ask her mother for the car, and Hugh, by waiting alone, should beleft guessing.
On returning home, her mother told her of George's acceptance of aninvitation to lunch.
"There's a matinee at the Lyric, and he's taking us there," she added."But, dear," she went on, "you look ever so pale! What is worrying you?I hope you are not fretting over that good-for-nothing waster, Henfrey!Personally, I'm glad to be rid of a fellow who is wanted by the policefor a very serious crime. Do brighten up, dear. This is not like you!"
"I--well, mother, I--I don't know what to do," the girl confessed.
"Do! Take my advice, darling. Think no more of the fellow. He's no useto you--or to me."
"But, mother dear--"
"No, Dorise, no more need be said!" interrupted Lady Ranscomb severely."You surely would not be so idiotic as to throw in your lot with a manwho is certainly a criminal."
"A criminal! Why do you denounce him, mother?"
"Well, he stands self-condemned. He has been in hiding ever since thatnight at Monte Carlo. If he were innocent, he would surely, for yoursake, come forward and clear himself. Are you mad, Dorise--or are youblind?"
The girl remained silent. Her mother's argument was certainly a verysound one. Had Hugh deceived her?
Her lover's attitude was certainly that of a guilty man. She could notdisguise from herself the fact that he was fleeing from justice, andthat he was unable to give an explanation why he went to the house ofMademoiselle at all.
Yvonne Ferad, the only person who could tell the truth, was a hopelessidiot because of the murderous attack. Hence, the onus of clearinghimself rested upon Hugh.
She loved him, but could she really trust him in face of the fact thathe was concealed comfortably beneath the same roof as Louise Lambert?
She recalled that once, when they had met at Newquay in Cornwall over atete-a-tete lunch, he had said, in reply to her banter, that Louisewas a darling! That he was awfully fond of her, that she had the mostwonderful eyes, and that she was always alert and full of a keen senseof humour.
Such a compliment Hugh had never paid to her. The recollection of itstung her.
She wondered what sort of woman was the person named Bond. Then shedecided that she had acted wisely in not going to Farnham. Why shouldshe? If Hugh was with the girl he admired, then he might return withher.
Her only fear was lest he should be arrested. If his place ofconcealment were spoken of over a West End din
ner-table, then it couldnot be long before detectives arrested him for the affair at the VillaAmette.
On that afternoon Hugh had borrowed Mrs. Bond's car upon a rather lamepretext, and had pulled up in the square, inartistic yard before theBush--the old coaching house, popular before the new road over the Hog'sBack was made, and when the coaches had to ascend that steep hill outof Guildford, now known as The Mount. For miles the old road is nowgrass-grown and forms a most delightful walk, with magnificent viewsfrom the Thames Valley to the South Downs. The days of the coaches have,alas! passed, and the new road, with its tangle of telegraph wires,is beloved by every motorist and motor-cyclist who spins westward inSurrey.
Hugh waited anxiously in the little lounge which overlooks thecourtyard. He went into the garden, and afterwards stood in impatiencebeneath the archway from which the street is approached. Later, hestrolled along the road over which he knew Dorise must come. But all tono avail.
There was no sign of her.
Until six o'clock he waited, when, in blank despair, he mounted besideMead again and drove back to Shapley Manor. It was curious thatDorise had not come to meet him, but he attributed it to The Sparrow'sinability to convey a message to her. She might have gone out of townwith her mother, he thought. Or, perhaps, at the last moment, she hadbeen unable to get away.
On his return to Shapley he found Louise and Mrs. Bond sitting togetherin the charming, old-world drawing-room. A log fire was burningbrightly.
"Did you have a nice run, Hugh?" asked the girl, clasping her handsbehind her head and looking up at him as he stood upon the pale-bluehearthrug.
"Quite," he replied. "I went around Hindhead down to Frensham Ponds andback through Farnham--quite a pleasant run."
"Mr. Benton has had to go to town," said his hostess. "Almost as soonas you had gone he was rung up, and he had to get a taxi out fromGuildford. He'll be back to-morrow."
"Oh, yes--and, by the way, Hugh," exclaimed Louise, "there was a callfor you about a quarter of an hour afterwards. I thought nobody knew youwere down here."
"For me!" gasped Henfrey, instantly alarmed.
"Yes, I answered the 'phone. It was a girl's voice!"
"A girl! Who?"
"I don't know who she was. She wouldn't give her name," Louise replied."She asked if we were Shapley, and I replied. Then she asked for you. Itold her that you were out in the car and asked her name. But she saidit didn't matter at all, and rang off."
"I wonder who she was?" remarked Hugh, much puzzled and, at the sametime, greatly alarmed. He scented danger. The fact in itself showed thatsomebody knew the secret of his hiding-place, and, if they did, then thepolice were bound to discover him sooner or later.
Half an hour afterwards he took Mrs. Bond aside, and pointed out theperil in which he was placed. His hostess, on her part, grew alarmed,for though Hugh was unaware of it, she had no desire to meet the police.That little affair in Paris was by no means forgotten.
"It is certainly rather curious," the woman admitted. "Evidently it isknown by somebody that you are staying with me. Don't you think it wouldbe wiser to leave?"
Hugh hesitated. He wished to take Benton's advice, and told his hostessso. With this she agreed, yet she was inwardly highly nervous atthe situation. Any police inquiry at Shapley would certainly be mostunwelcome to her, and she blamed herself for agreeing to Benton'sproposal that Hugh should stay there.
"Benton will be back to-morrow," Hugh said. "Do you think it safe for meto remain here till then?" he added anxiously.
"I hardly know what to think," replied the woman. She herself had ahaunting dread of recognition as Molly Maxwell. She had crossed andrecrossed the Atlantic, carefully covering her tracks, and she did notintend to be cornered at last.
After dinner, Hugh, still greatly perturbed at the mysterious telephonecall, played billiards with Louise. About a quarter to eleven, however,Mrs. Bond was called to the telephone and, closing the door, listened toan urgent message.
It was from Benton, who spoke from London--a few quick, cryptic, butreassuring words--and when the woman left the room three minutes laterall her anxiety as to the police had apparently passed.
She joined the young couple and watched their game. Louise handled hercue well, and very nearly beat her opponent. Afterwards, when Louisewent out, Mrs. Bond closed the door swiftly, and said:
"I've been thinking over that little matter, Mr. Henfrey. I really don'tthink there is much cause for alarm. Charles will be back to-morrow, andwe can consult him."
Hugh shrugged his shoulders. He was much puzzled.
"The fact is, Mrs. Bond, I'm tired of being hunted like this!" he said."This eternal fear of arrest has got upon my nerves to such an extentthat I feel if they want to bring me for trial--well, they can. I'minnocent--therefore, how can they prove me guilty?"
"Oh! you mustn't let it obsess you," the woman urged. "Mr. Benton hastold me all about the unfortunate affair, and I greatly sympathize withyou. Of course, to court the publicity of a trial would be fatal. Whatwould your poor father think, I wonder, if he were still alive?"
"He's dead," said the young man in a low, hoarse voice; "butMademoiselle Ferad knows the secret of his death."
"He died suddenly--did he not?"
"Yes. He was murdered, Mrs. Bond. I'm certain of it. My father wasmurdered!"
"Murdered?" she echoed. "What did the doctors say?"
"They arrived at no definite conclusion," was Hugh's response. "He lefthome and went up to London on some secret and mysterious errand. Later,he was found lying upon the pavement in a dying condition. He neverrecovered consciousness, but sank a few hours afterwards. His death isone of the many unsolved mysteries of London."
"The police believe that you went to the Villa Amette and murderedMademoiselle out of revenge."
"Let them prove it!" said the young fellow defiantly. "Let them proveit!"
"Prove what?" asked Louise, as she suddenly reopened the door, greatlyto the woman's consternation.
"Oh! Only somebody--that Spicer woman over at Godalming--has been sayingsome wicked and nasty things about Mr. Henfrey," replied Mrs. Bond."Personally, I should be annoyed. Really those gossiping people aresimply intolerable."
"What have they been saying, Hugh?" asked the girl.
"Oh, it's really nothing," laughed Henfrey. "I apologize. I was put outa moment ago, but I now see the absurdity of it. Forgive me, Louise."
The girl looked from Mrs. Bond to her guest in amazement.
"What is there to forgive?" she asked.
"The fact that I was in the very act of losing my temper. That's all."
Presently, when Louise was ascending the stairs with Mrs. Bond, the girlasked:
"Why was Hugh so put out? What has Mrs. Spicer been saying about him?"
"Only that he was a shirker during the war. And, naturally, he is highlyindignant."
"He has a right to be. He did splendidly. His record shows that,"declared the girl.
"I urged him to take no notice of the insults. The Spicer woman has avery venomous tongue, my dear! She is a vicar's widow!"
And then they separated to their respective rooms.
Half an hour later Hugh Henfrey retired, but he found sleep impossible;so he got up and sat at the open window, gazing across to the dimoutlines of the Surrey hills, picturesque and undulating beneath thestars.
Who could have called him on the telephone? It was a woman, but thevoice might have been that of a female telephone operator. Or yet--itmight have been that of Dorise! She knew that he was at Shapley andlooked it up in the telephone directory. If that were the explanation,then she certainly would not give away the secret of his hiding-place.
Still he was haunted by a great dread the whole of that night. TheSparrow had told him he had acted foolishly in leaving his place ofconcealment in Kensington. The Sparrow was his firm friend, and infuture he intended to obey the little old man's orders implicitly--as somany others did.
Next morning he came down to breakfas
t before the ladies, and beside hisplate he found a letter--addressed to him openly. He had not receivedone addressed in his real name for many months. Sight of it caused hisheart to bound in anxiety, but when he read it he stood rooted to thespot.
Those lines which he read staggered him; the room seemed to revolve, andhe re-read them, scarce believing his own eyes.
He realized in that instant that a great blow had fallen upon him, andthat all was now hopeless. The sunshine of his life, had in that singleinstant, been blotted out!
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