Part 39 (2/2)
We followed him upstairs, along a corridor on the first floor, until he opened a door, and bowing said--
”Mr Woodhouse desires to see you urgently, m'lady.”
Next second the four of us were in the small elegantly furnished room upholstered in pale blue damask and gold, where the Earl and his wife were in consultation.
”You!” he cried in fury, when his eyes fell upon Lolita. ”Leave this place at once, woman! Marigold has just told me everything--that it was you who killed your lover in the park--that it was you who--”
”Excuse me, my lord,” interrupted Logan, coming forward, whereupon at sight of him the Countess fell back with a loud cry of dismay--a deathly pallor overspreading her countenance.
Her hand went to her throat convulsively and she gasped as though she were being strangled. Then, next instant, her teeth were set hard, her nails were clenched into the palms, her shoulders were elevated, and she stood rigid as a statue, and yet magnificent in her dinner-gown of pale pink and s.h.i.+mmering silver.
She tried to face Lolita, the woman whom she had hounded to her death, but her gaze wavered, and I saw that her effort to regain her self-composure was an utterly vain one. She trembled visibly from head to foot, while the expression in her eyes was sufficient to show the terror now consuming her.
The Earl noticing the change in her, and how she shrank from us, looked from Keene to the stranger, and asked--
”Well, sir? I have not the pleasure of knowing you. Who are you?”
”My name is Alfred Logan, architect by profession and--well, adventurer by inclination,” he replied. ”I presume from your words that your wife has denounced your sister, Lady Lolita, as the murderess of young Hugh Wingfield in your park, and has also laid certain other charges against that lady? Fortunately, however, I am in a position to reveal to you the other side of the question, and reveal facts which I believe you will find both startling and remarkable.”
”Tell me?” exclaimed George hoa.r.s.ely. ”I suppose you intend to retaliate by making charges against my wife--eh?”
”Yes!” cried the unhappy woman, clinging to her husband. ”That man is my worst enemy, George--save me from him--save me if you love me!”
”Your husband has no power to save you, madam,” exclaimed Logan in a cold distinct voice, while we all stood rooted to the spot. ”It is my duty, knowing the truth as I do, to tell it, and to leave your husband to form his own conclusions. To-night, knowing that Lady Lolita, driven to desperation by you, had threatened to commit suicide, rather than a scandal should rest upon her n.o.ble house, you have written to her, telling her of your intention of making these charges, with the sole object of causing her death by her own hand, and thus placing yourself in a position of safety. Heaven, however, is just, and I am here to reveal those things that you have hidden from your husband--to tell the world what I know regarding your past.”
”Ah! no!” she cried, covering her face with her hands. ”No! Enough!
Spare me!”
”You have not spared Lady Lolita, therefore you must hear the hard and bitter truth.” Then, disregarding the terrible effect his words had upon her, he faced the Earl, and said, ”What I am about to say will be borne out partially by our friend here, Mr Richard Keene--whom you know by the name of Smeeton--partly by Mr Woodhouse, and partly by your sister herself.”
”Go on,” said the Earl in a low voice. ”I am all attention.”
”Then, in order to understand events in their true sequence, I must begin at the very beginning,” he said. ”You will recollect that two years before your marriage you, with Lady Lolita, spent the spring at the Villa Aurora at San Remo, while Lady Marigold was staying with her mother at the _Hotel Royal_, close by. At the same hotel was staying Richard Keene, the man you afterwards met out in Africa under the name of Smeeton, together with his valet, a good-looking young fellow named Hugh Wingfield. The latter had very foolishly given a promise of marriage to a rather pretty young French lady's maid named Marie Lejeune, but on sight of Lady Lolita, he forsook the young woman and fell madly in love with her ladys.h.i.+p. The latter, of course, had no idea at the time that he was a valet. They first met casually when walking in one of the olive woods behind the town, and he rendered her some little service in arranging the easel upon which she was sketching.
He spoke well, dressed well, and as he mentioned he was staying at the _Royal_, the best hotel, she naturally concluded that he was a gentleman. She had, of course, no suspicion of the pa.s.sion for her which had been aroused within his heart. The young Frenchwoman, however, quickly discovered the truth, and her intense jealousy was at once aroused. She was a woman of rather questionable character, being in a.s.sociation with two Italian adventurers named Belotto and Ostini, who lived over at Mentone, and at once set to work to intrigue against Lady Lolita and Lady Marigold Gordon. The two being great friends, in consequence of your engagement to Lady Marigold, revenge did not present any very great difficulty to that interesting trio who lived by their wits. I admit that I, myself, was living upon what I could win at the tables, and being at that time very hard-up had been induced to join them in various nefarious schemes which, although they brought us the wherewithal to live, caused us to be wanted by the police for helping ourselves to other people's property.”
”To put it plainly,” remarked the Earl, ”you were thieves.”
”Exactly,” Logan replied. ”But our recent schemes had met with little success and we were at our wits' end for money, when Marie Lejeune, who was a born adventuress, suggested a scheme whereby, in addition to revenging herself upon the woman who had robbed her of her lover, we could blackmail both Lady Marigold and Lady Lolita. Therefore, after considerable forethought and much ingenious intrigue, the scheme was put into practice. A watch was placed upon Lady Marigold, and it was found that she was in the habit of meeting clandestinely on the sea-road towards Bordighera an old friend, a certain Major Atherton, and that she one day went over to Monte Carlo with him in secret, where she was seen by the valet Wingfield, who told his master. It was found that Atherton was an old lover of her ladys.h.i.+p's, and a letter of hers was secured in which Lady Marigold wrote, `I am only accepting George for his money.
You know my heart is yours alone.' Having secured that, the intriguers turned their attention to young Wingfield and Lady Lolita. Marie, with the Frenchwoman's keen jealousy, discovered that she had met the young man once or twice, and that he had copied his master's checker-board cipher, and with her own name as the keyword, corresponded with her by its means. Lady Lolita had already discovered, to her great surprise, that the prepossessing young man was desperately in love with her, and his affection rather amused her than otherwise, for every woman is flattered by attention. At last, however, the adventurers, of whom I myself was one, contrived to effect a coup that was about as ingenious as any devised by a gang of evildoers. The love-sick valet--still concealing his real avocation--had arranged to meet her ladys.h.i.+p after dinner one evening in the olive wood at the back of your villa, but his master gaining possession of a cipher message which Lady Lolita had sent him, was, of course, able to read it and resolved upon watching the pair. What he saw he will, perhaps, relate with his own lips.” And then the speaker paused and turned to Richard Keene.
”Yes,” he said, ”as far as I know, all that Mr Logan says is absolutely correct. Young Wingfield was my valet. He copied my checker-board cipher, and by its means had the audacity to correspond with her ladys.h.i.+p. When I realised what was going on I felt impelled to go to her and tell her. Yet she being a perfect stranger to me, it was really no affair of mine, so I hesitated until the evening in question, when I watched my valet meet her and walk with her in the olive grove about half a mile from the villa. It was one of those brilliant moonlight nights of early spring on the Mediterranean, and it seemed to me that her ladys.h.i.+p was in no way averse to the young fellow's attention. They walked together for half an hour or so, in earnest conversation, when he at length took leave of her and, apparently at her desire, left her to return home alone. I followed her in secret, but she had not, however, gone far before I heard her utter a cry of surprise and dismay. `Help!
help!' she cried, and in the darkness I saw black figures scuffling, the report of a revolver, followed by a man's loud groan. I rushed forward, but ere I reached the spot the men's figures I had seen distinctly had disappeared, but in their place stood the woman Marie Lejeune. Upon the ground lay a man dying, and just as Wingfield, attracted by the shot returned, the woman, who had bent tenderly over the prostrate man rose, and in her voluble French accused Lady Lolita of murder. At first her ladys.h.i.+p was too startled and too utterly dumbfounded to deny this astounding allegation, but when she did the Frenchwoman declared to Wingfield that she had been witness of the crime, and taking up the revolver lying at the poor fellow's side pointed out that the weapon belonged to Lady Lolita's brother, the young Earl of Stanchester--that his name was engraved upon it. Denials were useless, but the crafty Marie, determined to await her opportunity to levy blackmail, urged her ladys.h.i.+p to take back the revolver, and return to the villa at once, which she did. But as she turned away I addressed her, offering to walk home with her, told her my name and escorted her to her own gate. My own opinion was that she had met the man there and deliberately shot him, an opinion which I have held till quite recently, for it was strengthened by the fact that the dead man, when discovered next day by the police, was found to be one of her most intimate friends and admirers, Lieutenant Randolph Glover, a wealthy young man who had, after distinguis.h.i.+ng himself at Ladysmith, been invalided to the Riviera.”
”I recollect the tragedy quite well,” declared the Earl. ”And also what a great sensation it caused. The police theory was that he had fallen into the hands of sharpers, who had robbed him at _roulette_ and afterwards made away with him, fearing his revelations.”
”Exactly. And the police theory was right,” Keene said. ”Marie, who had fascinated him, while her accomplices had extracted from him almost his last penny, shot him herself, without a doubt. But this did not prevent her levying blackmail upon poor Lady Lolita by threatening to denounce her as the actual a.s.sa.s.sin. She had also convinced Wingfield of her ladys.h.i.+p's guilt, pointing out their intimate friends.h.i.+p previously, and insinuating that the tragedy was owing to jealousy. I must admit that I believed her ladys.h.i.+p guilty, even though, when we met on the following day and she spoke to me on the promenade, asking me to preserve silence, she again denied her guilt. I promised her to remain silent, hence the police of San Remo were in ignorance of her alleged connexion with the crime, and believed it, as it really was, a case of robbery and murder. Yet Lady Lolita was held in bondage by that woman.”
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