Part 16 (1/2)
”I have no doubt it was-for all concerned,” was Colwyn's dry comment. ”Why did Miss Willoughby greet her betrothed husband in that way, as though she were convinced of his guilt? What does she know about the case?”
”Superintendent Galloway prepared her mind for the worst during the ride from the station to the gaol. She asked him a number of questions, and he told her that there was no doubt that the man she was going to see was the man who had murdered Mr. Glenthorpe.”
”I suspected as much. But what else transpired during the interview? How did Penreath receive Miss Willoughby's remark?”
”Most peculiarly. He seemed about to speak, then checked himself with a half smile, looked down on the ground, and said no more. Superintendent Galloway signed to the policemen to remove him, and we withdrew. The interview did not last more than a minute or so.”
”Miss Willoughby did not see him alone, then?”
”No. Galloway told her that she would not be permitted to see him alone.”
”And nothing more was said on either side while Penreath was in the room?”
”Nothing. Penreath's att.i.tude struck me as that of a man who did not wish to speak. He appeared self-conscious and confused, like a man with a secret to hide.”
”Perhaps his silence was due to pride. After Miss Willoughby's tactless remark he may have thought there was no use saying anything when his sweetheart believed him guilty.” Colwyn spoke without conviction; the memory of Penreath's demeanour to him after his arrest was too fresh in his mind.
”You wrong Miss Willoughby. She is only too anxious to catch at any straw of hope. When she learnt that you had been making some investigations into the case she expressed an anxiety to see you. She and her aunt yielded to my advice, and returned here to spend the night at the hotel before going back to London. As they did not feel inclined to face the ordeal of public scrutiny after the events of the day they are dining in private, and they have asked me to take you to their room when you are at liberty. Mr. Oakham has gone to Norwich, where he will stay for some days to prepare the defence of this unhappy young man, but he is coming here in the morning to see the ladies before they depart for London. He asked me to tell you that he would like to see you also.”
”I shall be glad to see him, and Miss Willoughby as well. Have the ladies asked you your opinion of the case?”
”Naturally they did. I gave them the best comfort I could by hinting that in my opinion Mr. Penreath is not in a state of mind at present in which he can be held responsible for his actions. I did not say anything about epilepsy-the word is not a pleasant one to use before ladies.”
”Did you tell them this in front of Galloway?”
”Certainly not. A professional man in my position cannot be too careful. I am glad now that I was so circ.u.mspect about this matter in my dealings with the police-very glad indeed. It was my duty to tell Mr. Oakham, and I did so. He was interested in what I told him-exceedingly so, and was anxious to know if I had given my opinion of Penreath's condition to anybody else. I mentioned that I had told you-in confidence.”
”And it was then, no doubt, that Mr. Oakham said he would like to see me. I fancy I gather his drift. And now shall we visit Miss Willoughby?”
”Yes, I should say the ladies will be expecting us,” said Sir Henry, looking at a fat watch with jewelled hands which registered golden minutes for him in Harley Street. He beckoned a waiter, and asked him to conduct them to Mrs. Brewer's sitting-room. The waiter led them along a corridor on the first floor, tapped deferentially, opened the door noiselessly in response to a feminine injunction to ”come in,” waited for the gentlemen to enter, and then closed the door behind them.
Two ladies rose to greet them. One was small and overdressed, with fluffy hair and China blue eyes. She carried some knitting in her hand, and a pet dog under her arm. Colwyn had no difficulty in identifying her with the frequent photographs of Mrs. Brewer which appeared in Society and ill.u.s.trated papers. She belonged to a cla.s.s of women who took advantage of the war to advertise themselves by philanthropic benefactions and war work, but she was able to distance most of her compet.i.tors for newspaper notoriety by reason of her wealth. Her niece, Miss Constance Willoughby, was of a different type. She was tall and graceful, with dark eyes and level brows. A straight nose and a firm chin indicated that their possessor was not lacking in a will of her own. Her manner was self-possessed and a.s.sured-a trifle too much so for a sensitive girl in the circ.u.mstances, Colwyn thought. Then he remembered having read in some paper that Miss Willoughby was one of the leaders of the new feminist movement which believed that the war had brought about the complete emanc.i.p.ation of English woman-hood, and with it the right to possess and display those qualities of character which hitherto were supposed to be peculiarly masculine. It was perhaps owing to her advocacy of these claims that Miss Willoughby felt herself called upon to display self-possession and self-control at a trying time. Colwyn, appraising her with his clear eye as Sir Henry introduced him, found himself speculating as to the reasons which had caused Penreath and her to fall in love with one another.
”Please sit down, Mr. Colwyn,” said Mrs. Brewer, resuming a comfortable arm-chair in front of the fire, and adjusting the Pekingese on her lap. ”I am so grateful to you for coming to see us in this unconventional way. I have been so anxious to see you! Everybody has heard of you, Mr. Colwyn-you're so famous. It was only the other day that I was reading a long article about you in some paper or other. I forget the name of the paper, but I remember that it said a lot of flattering things about you and your discoveries in crime. It said--Oh, you naughty, naughty Jellicoe.” This to the dog, which had become entangled in the skein of wool on her lap, and was making frantic efforts to free itself. ”Bad little doggie, you've ruined this sock, and some poor soldier will have to go with bare feet because you've been naughty! Are you a judge of Pekingese, Mr. Colwyn? Don't you think Jellicoe a dear?”
”Do you mean Sir John Jellicoe, Mrs. Brewer?”
”Of course not! I mean my Pekingese. I've named him after our great gallant commander, because it is through him we are all able to sleep safe and sound in our beds these dreadful nights.”
”Sir John Jellicoe ought to feel flattered,” said Colwyn gravely.
”Yes, I really think he should,” replied Mrs. Brewer innocently. ”Jellicoe is not a pretty name for a dog, but I think we should all be patriotic just now. But tell me what you think of this dreadful case, Mr. Colwyn. I am so frightfully distressed about it that I really don't know what to do. How could Mr. Penreath do such a shocking thing? Why didn't he go back to the front, if he had to kill somebody, instead of hiding away from everybody and murdering this poor old man in this wild spot? Such a disgrace to us all!”
”Mr. Penreath has been in the Army, then?” asked Colwyn.
”Of course. Didn't you know? He was in Mesopotamia, but was sent to the West Front recently, where he won the D.S.O. for an act of great gallantry under heavy fire, but was shortly afterwards invalided out of the Army. It was in all the papers at the time.”
”You forget, my dear lady, that Mr. Penreath did not disclose his full name while he was staying here,” interposed Sir Henry solemnly. ”I myself was in complete ignorance of his ident.i.ty until last night.”
”Why, of course-you told me this afternoon. My poor head! Whatever induced Mr. Penreath to do such a thing as to conceal his name? So common and vulgar! What motive could he have? What do you think his motive was, Mr. Colwyn?”