Part 35 (1/2)

”Never!” she interrupted him vehemently. ”I will never consent to do anything which might reveal to him the secret of his birth. I would long ago have taken steps to find him, if I had not realised that I could not do so without taking a number of people into my confidence, and, if I did that, the story of my shame would be bound to leak out. Not for myself did I care, but for him. Think of it, if what Lord Wilmersley told me was true, he holds an honourable position, believes himself the son of respectable parents. Would it not be horrible, if he should suddenly learn that he is the nameless child of a servant girl and a villain? The fear that he should somehow discover the truth is always before me. That is why I made you swear to keep my secret.”

”Of course, I will do as you wish, but I a.s.sure you that you exaggerate the risk. Still, let us first search this room thoroughly; then, if we do not find the paper, it will be time enough to decide what we shall do next.”

”Ah, my lord, you are very good to me and may G.o.d reward you as you deserve. Day and night will I pray for you.” And to Cyril's dismay, Valdriguez suddenly bent down and covered his hands with kisses.

CHAPTER XVII

GUY RELENTS

Cyril and Valdriguez spent the next morning making a thorough search of the library, but the paper they were looking for could not be found.

Cyril had from the first been sceptical of success. He could not believe that her child was still alive and was convinced that Arthur Wilmersley had fabricated the story simply to retain his hold over the unfortunate mother. Valdriguez, however, for a long time refused to abandon the quest. Again and again she ransacked places they had already carefully examined. When it was finally borne in upon her that there was no further possibility of finding what she so sought, the light suddenly went out of her face and she would have fallen if Cyril had not caught her and placed her in a chair. With arms hanging limply to her sides, her half-closed eyes fixed vacantly in front of her, she looked as if death had laid his hand upon her. Thoroughly alarmed, Cyril had the woman carried to her room and sent for a doctor. When the latter arrived, he shook his head hopelessly. She had had a stroke; there was very little he could do for her. In his opinion it was extremely doubtful if she would ever fully recover her faculties, he said.

Cyril having made every possible arrangement for the comfort of the afflicted woman, at last allowed his thoughts to revert to his own troubles.

He realised that with the elimination of both Valdriguez and Prentice there was no one but Anita left who could reasonably be suspected of the murder; for that the two Frenchmen were implicated in the affair, was too remote a possibility to be seriously considered. No, he must make up his mind to face the facts: the girl was Anita Wilmersley and she had killed her husband! What was he going to do, now that he knew the truth?

Judson's advice that Anita should give herself up, he rejected without a moment's hesitation. Yet, he had to acknowledge that there was little hope of her being able to escape detection, as long as the police knew her to be alive.... Suddenly an idea occurred to him. If they could only be made to believe that she was dead, that and that alone would free her at once and forever from their surveillance. She would be able to leave England; to resume her life in some distant country where he.... Cyril shrank instinctively from pursuing the delicious dream further. He tried to force himself to consider judicially the scheme that was shaping itself in his mind; to weigh calmly and dispa.s.sionately the chances for and against its success. If a corpse resembling Anita were found, dressed in the clothes she wore the day she left Geralton, it would surely be taken for granted that the body was hers and that she had been murdered. But how on earth was he to procure such a corpse and, having procured it, where was he to hide it? The neighbourhood of the castle had been so thoroughly searched that it would be no easy task to persuade the police that they had overlooked any spot where a body might be secreted. Certainly the plan presented almost insurmountable difficulties, but as it was the only one he could think of, Cyril clung to it with bull-dog tenacity.

”Impossible? Nonsense! Nothing is impossible! Impossible is but a word designed to s.h.i.+eld the incompetent or frighten the timid,” he muttered loudly in his heart, unconsciously squaring his broad shoulders.

He decided to leave Geralton at once, for the plan must be carried out immediately or not at all, and it was only in London that he could hope to procure the necessary a.s.sistance.

On arriving in town, however, Cyril had to admit that he had really no idea what he ought to do next. If he could only get in touch with an impoverished medical student who would agree to provide a body, the first and most difficult part of his undertaking would be achieved. But how and where was he to find this indispensable accomplice? Well, it was too late to do anything that evening, he decided. He might as well go to the club and get some dinner and try to dismiss the problem from his mind for the time being.

The first person he saw on entering the dining-room was Campbell. He was sitting by himself at a small table; his round, rosy face depicted the utmost dejection and he thrust his fork through an oyster with much the same expression a man might have worn who was spearing a personal enemy.

On catching sight of Cyril, he dropped his fork, jumped from his seat, and made an eager step forward. Then, he suddenly wavered, evidently uncertain as to the reception Cyril was going to accord him.

”Well, this is a piece of luck!” cried Cyril, stretching out his hand.

Guy, looking decidedly sheepish, clasped it eagerly.

”I might as well tell you at once that I know I made no end of an a.s.s of myself the other day,” he said, averting his eyes from his friend's face. ”It is really pretty decent of you not to have resented my ridiculous accusations.”

”Oh, that's all right,” Cyril a.s.sured him, ”I quite understood your motive. But I am awfully glad you have changed your att.i.tude towards me, for to tell you the truth, I am in great need of your a.s.sistance.”

”Oh, Lor'!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Campbell, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his face into an expression of comic despair.

As soon as there was no danger of their being overheard, Cyril told Campbell of his interview with Judson. At first Guy could not be persuaded that the girl was Anita Wilmersley.

”She is not a liar, I am sure of it! If she said that her hair had turned white, it had turned white, and therefore it is impossible that she had dyed it,” objected Campbell.

”Judson suggested that she dyed only part of her hair and that it was the rest which turned white.”

Having finally convinced Guy that there was no doubt as to the girl's ident.i.ty, Cyril proceeded to unfold his plan for rescuing her from the police.

Guy adjusted his eye-gla.s.s and stared at his friend speechless with consternation.