CHAPTER XXXI
AND THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO DO NOT CARE
For the first time in the whole course of her life Louisa Harris feltthat convention must be flouted and social duties could not befulfilled.
When the coroner, rising from his seat, gave the signal for generalexodus, she had felt her father's firm hand grasping her arm, andleading her out of the fog-ridden, stuffy room into the cold, graypassages outside.
The herd of cackling geese were crowding round her. Heavens above, howthey cackled and gossiped! It seemed as if the very floodgates of anoisy, bubbling stream had been torn asunder, and a whirlpool ofchattering women been let loose upon the earth.
Convention, grim and untractable, tried to pull the string to make allpuppets dance. But for once Louisa Harris rebelled. She closed herears to insinuating calls from her friends, responding with a merecurt nod to the most gushing "Oh, Miss Harris! how are you?" whichgreeted her from every side.
She turned her back resolutely on convention. The slave for oncerebelled against the taskmaster: the puppet refused to dance to theever-wearying monotonous tune.
She had lost sight of Luke the moment the court rose. She supposedthat his solicitor, Mr. Dobson, knowing the ropes, had got him awayfrom the reach of cackling geese by leading him through some othermore private way. But she was far too dazed, too numb, either towonder or to be disappointed at this. She felt as if she had pitchedhead foremost down a long flight of stairs, and had only just hadsufficient strength to pick herself up, and not to let other peoplesee quite how severely she had been bruised.
Mentally, morally, even physically, she felt bruised from head tofoot.
Colonel Harris contrived to steer her through the crowd: at the gateoutside even the smoke-laden atmosphere seemed pure and invigoratingin comparison with that stuffy pen, wherein the herd of cackling geesehad found its happy hunting ground. Louisa drew in a long breath,filling her lungs with fog, but feeling a little freer, less choked inspite of the grime which she inhaled.
"I think," said Colonel Harris now, "that you'd better go straightback to the Langham, and get some tea. You'll feel better when you'vehad your tea."
"I feel all right, dear," she said, trying to smile.
"So much the better," he retorted with an equal effort atcheerfulness. "I'll come along as soon as I can."
"Where are you off to, dear?" she asked.
"I'll just go and have a talk to Tom," he replied.
"I'll come with you. I can wait in the cab. I don't suppose thatyou'll be long."
He tried to protest, but obviously she had made up her mind. Perhapsshe did not like the idea of going back to the hotel alone. So hehailed a passing cab and told the man to drive to Scotland Yard.
He had deliberately--and despite former prejudices--selected ataxicab. He wanted to see Tom as soon as was possible.
Louisa leaned back in the corner of the vehicle silent and motionless.Father and daughter did not exchange a single word whilst the cabrattled through the crowded streets of London. Hansoms, omnibuses,innumerable other taxis, rattled along the selfsame way, just as theyhad always done before this, just as they would go on doing to the endof time. People walked along, busy and indifferent. Many went past theshrieking news vendors without even stopping to buy a paper.
Luke stood accused, almost self-convicted, of a horrible crime, andthere were thousands, nay millions, of people who didn't even care!
The taxicab flew past the railings of the Green Park, there whereanother taxicab had drawn up a couple of evenings ago, and where asnake-wood stick marked with tell-tale stains had been found clumsilyburied in the mud. Louisa peered out of the window of the cab. Peoplewalked past that spot, indifferent and busy. Two girls were standingclose to the railings chatting and giggling.
And Luke to-morrow, or perhaps to-night, would be underarrest--charged with murder--horrible, cruel, brutal murder--a vulgar,cowardly crime! The snake-wood stick had told a tale which he had notattempted to refute.
Presently the cab drew up and Colonel Harris jumped down.
"I won't be longer than I can help," he said. "Will you be all right?"
"Yes, father dear," she replied, "I'll be all right. Don't hurry."
She saw her father disappearing through the wide open door, abovewhich a globe of light shone yellow through the fog. She remainedhuddled up in her furs, for she felt very cold. Her feet were likeice, and the fog seemed to have penetrated to her very marrow. Fewpeople were to be seen in the narrow roadway, and only an occasionalcab rattled past.
From the embankment close by came the cry of news vendors rushingalong with late editions of the evening papers.
A church clock not far away slowly struck six, but she held no countof time. A kind of drowsiness was upon her, and the foggy atmosphere,coupled with intense, damp cold, acted as a kind of soporific.
She may have waited years, or only a few minutes; she did not know,but presently her father came back. His presence there under thelintel of the door seemed to have roused her from her torpor, as ifwith a swift, telepathic current. As he stood for a moment beneath theelectric light, adjusting the collar of his coat, she saw his facequite distinctly: its expression told her everything. Luke's arrestwas imminent. It was but a question of a few hours, moments perhaps.
"I am going to Exhibition Road at once," he said, speaking quickly,like a man deeply troubled.
And without waiting for her assent, which was a foregone conclusion,he gave the chauffeur the address: "Fairfax Mansions, ExhibitionRoad"; and added, "drive as fast as you can!"
Then he jumped in beside Louisa. The taxicab moaned and groaned whilstit manoeuvred for turning; then it rattled off once more at prohibitedspeed.
"It is," she said simply, "only a question of time, I suppose?"
"The warrant is out," he replied curtly. "Any moment now the policemay be at his door."
"Uncle Ryder is convinced of Luke's guilt?"
"Absolutely."
"Beyond that what does he say?"
"That unless Luke chooses to make a bolt of it, he had better pleadguilty and intense provocation. But he thinks Luke would be wise tocatch the night boat for Calais."
"They'd get him back on extradition."
"Tom says they won't try very hard. And if Luke keeps his wits abouthim, and has a sufficiency of money he'll be able to get right throughto Spain and from thence to Tangiers. With money and influence muchcan be done, and Tom says that if Luke will only get away to-night hehimself is prepared to take all the blame and all the responsibilityof having allowed a criminal to escape. It's very decent of Tom,"added the colonel thoughtfully, "for he risks his entire future."
But the sorely troubled father did not tell his daughter all that SirThomas had told him in the course of the brief interview.
In effect the chief of the Criminal Investigation Department had givena brief alternative by way of advice.
"A ticket to anywhere via Calais at once--or a revolver."
And he had added dryly:
"I see nothing else for it. The man has practically confessed."
But this Colonel Harris would not admit, and so the two men parted.Louisa's father, thinking a great deal of his friend but still more ofhis daughter, wanted above all things to have a final talk with Luke.
Louisa in the meanwhile sat silent in the corner of the cab.
She was trying to visualize this new picture: Luke--a fugitive fromjustice!
The taxicab was making a slight detour as Whitehall and the Mall wereclosed for road repairs. The chauffeur was driving round by St.Martin's Lane. At one of the theatres there, a popular play wasfilling the house night after night with enthusiastic crowds. It wasonly half past six now, and in a long queue extending over two hundredyards away from the pit and gallery doors of the lucky playhouse,patient crowds waited for the evening's pleasure.
People were going to theatres, they laughed at farces, and wept attragedies. Was there ever such a tragedy enacted inside a theatre,
asnow took place in the life of a commonplace man and woman?
Luke--a fugitive from justice! Money and influence could do much! Theycould enable a wealthy criminal to escape the consequences of his owncrime! They could enable him to catch express trains unmolested, tofly across land and sea under cover of the night, to become,Cain-like, a wanderer on the face of the earth without rest andwithout peace.
Could they prevent him from seeing ever present at his elbow the grimAngel of Remorse, holding in one hand the glass wherein relentlesslyflowed the sands of time, and in the other, the invisible sword of aretarded but none the less sure vengeance? Could they prevent hishearing the one word, Nemesis?
Luke--a fugitive from justice! Accused of a crime which he did notcommit, self-convicted, almost self-accused, and fleeing from itsconsequences as he would from Remorse!
And people went to theatres, and laughed and cried. People ate anddanced and sang. News vendors shrieked their wares, the latestsensational news; the gentleman criminal who had money and influenceand with their help evaded the grip of justice.
The Heart of a Woman Page 31
