Part 14 (2/2)
”A foreigner! And who in Sibberton could possibly have any business with a foreigner?” she laughed. ”Why, half the villagers haven't been as far away from their houses as Northampton, and I don't believe, with the exception perhaps of our studsman James, that any one has crossed the Channel.”
”Yes,” I admitted, ”the whole affair is a profound puzzle. All that is known is that a certain young man who, from his exterior appearance and clothes, was well-bred, met in the park a certain woman, and that afterwards, he was found stabbed in the back with some long, thin and very sharp instrument. That's all!”
”And the police are utterly confounded?”
”Utterly. They photographed the unfortunate man.”
”Did they? Where can I see a copy?” asked the Countess quickly, bending forward to me in her eagerness. ”I would so very much like to see one.
Could you get one?”
”I have one here,” I replied. ”The police sent it to me a week ago, in response to my request.” And unlocking a drawer, I took out the inartistic picture of the dead man.
So keenly interested was she that she sprang from her chair, and came quickly to the edge of my writing-table in order to examine the picture.
”G.o.d!” she gasped, the colour of her cheeks fading pale as death as her eyes glared at it. ”The woman has killed him, then--just as I thought!
Poor fellow--poor fellow! The police don't even know his name! It is a mystery--then let it remain so. They regard it, you say, as a strange affair. Yet if the real truth were known, the remarkable romance of which this is the tragic _denouement_ would be found to be most startling--one so curious and mysterious indeed as to be almost beyond human credence. Yes, Mr Woodhouse,” she added in a low voice as she straightened herself and looked at me, ”I know the truth--I know why this man was sent to his grave--and I know by whom!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
CONCERNS A GAY WOMAN.
The open declaration of the Countess held me in weak indecision. No doubt she was well aware of the motive of the crime, and therefore guessed who had struck the fatal blow. Yet she boldly expressed her intention of concealing her knowledge, which seemed strange on the face of it. A murder had been committed, therefore if she really had no reason to defeat the ends of justice she might surely reveal the dead man's ident.i.ty and explain all she knew concerning him. I argued this with her, but she shook her head and remained firm in her decision of silence.
Did she entertain, as I did, a grave suspicion of Lady Lolita?
This vague suggestion occurred to me as I sat staring straight up into the grey eyes of that brilliant woman before me. She knew the truth.
She had told me so, yet next instant she seemed to regret the words had escaped her and sought lamely to modify her a.s.sertion.
She appeared to regard her statement as an error of judgment, and with all the tact of a clever woman ingeniously endeavoured to mislead me.
”One person could, I believe, tell us something,” I remarked presently, in order to show her that I was in possession of other facts that I had not revealed.
”Who's that, pray?”
”A certain man named Richard Keene.” It was quite a haphazard shot, only made in order to ascertain whether the name really conveyed anything to her.
”Richard Keene!” she echoed, her brows knit in quick apprehension. ”Did you know him?”
”I do know him,” was my calm response. ”I have seen him down in Sibberton, if I am not very much mistaken.”
”Seen him!” she cried hoa.r.s.ely. ”Why, if you've seen him you've met an apparition. He died long ago.”
”No,” I declared. ”I have seen Richard Keene in the flesh. He is not dead.”
”Impossible! You're deceiving me,” she exclaimed. ”The man cannot possibly be alive.”
”How do you know?”
She hesitated, for she saw that to reply to my question was to expose her own knowledge. Her face was ashen grey. My announcement, I saw, held her rigid in terror and surprise.
<script>