Part 35 (2/2)
”If you wish to save your cousin Barthorpe's life, leave the church and speak to the lady whom you will find in a private automobile at the entrance to the churchyard.”
CHAPTER x.x.x
THE WHITE-HAIRED LADY
The two young people who bent over this mysterious message in the shelter of that old-fas.h.i.+oned pew were each conscious of a similar feeling--they were thankful that they were together. Peggie Wynne had never been so glad of anything in her life as for Selwood's immediate presence at that moment: Selwood felt a world of unspeakable grat.i.tude that he was there, just when help and protection were wanted. For each recognized, with a sure instinct and intuition, that those innocent-looking lines of type-script signified much, heralded some event of dire importance. To save Barthorpe Herapath's life!--that could only mean that somebody--the sender of the note--knew that Barthorpe was innocent and some other person guilty.
For a moment the girl stared with startled eyes and flushed cheeks at the sc.r.a.p of paper; then she turned with a quick, questioning look at her companion. And Selwood reached for his hat and his stick, and murmured one word:
”Come!”
Peggie saw nothing of the surprised and questioning looks which were turned on Selwood and herself as they left the pew and pa.s.sed down the aisle of the crowded church. She had but one thought--whom was she going to meet outside, what revelation was going to be made to her? Unconsciously, she laid a hand on Selwood's arm as they pa.s.sed through the porch, and Selwood, with a quick throb of pride, took it and held it. Then, arm in arm, they walked out, and a verger who opened the outer door for them, smiled as they pa.s.sed him; he foresaw another pa.s.sing-out, whereat Peggie would wear orange blossoms.
The yard of this particular church was not a place of green sward, ancient trees, and tumble-down tombs; instead it was an expanse of bare flagstones, shut in by high walls which terminated at a pair of iron gates. Outside those gates an automobile was drawn up; its driver stood attentively at its door. Selwood narrowly inspected both, as he and Peggie approached. The car was evidently a private one: a quiet, yet smart affair; its driver was equally smart in his dark green livery. And that he had received his orders was evident from the fact that as the two young people approached he touched his cap and laid a hand on the door of the car.
”Be watchful and careful,” whispered Selwood, as he and Peggie crossed the pavement. ”Leave all to me!”
He himself was keenly alert to whatever might be going to happen. It seemed to him, from the chauffeur's action, that they were to be invited, or Peggie was to be invited, to enter the car. Very good--but he was going to know who was in that car before any communications of any sort were entered upon. Also, Peggie was not going to exchange one word with anybody, go one step with anybody, unless he remained in close attendance upon her. The phraseology of the mysterious note; the clandestine fas.h.i.+on in which it had been brought under Peggie's notice; the extraordinary method adopted of procuring an interview with her--all these things had aroused Selwood's suspicions, and his natural sense of caution was at its full stretch as he walked across to the car, wondering what he and Peggie were about to confront.
What they did confront was a pleasant-faced, white-haired, elderly lady, evidently a woman of fas.h.i.+on and of culture, who bent forward from her seat with a kindly, half-apologetic smile.
”Miss Wynne?” she said inquiringly. ”How do you do? And this gentleman is, no doubt, Mr. Selwood, of whom I have heard? You must forgive this strange conduct, this extraordinary manner of getting speech with you--I am not a free agent. Now, as I have something to say--will you both come into the car and hear it?”
Peggie, who was greatly surprised at this reception, turned diffidently to her companion. And Selwood, who had been gazing earnestly at the elderly lady's face, and had seen nothing but good intention in it, felt himself considerably embarra.s.sed.
”I--well, really, this is such a very strange affair altogether that I don't know what we ought to do,” he said. ”May I suggest that if you wish to talk to Miss Wynne, we should go to her house? It's only just round the corner, and----”
”But that's just what I am not to do,” replied the lady, with an amused laugh. ”I repeat--I am not exactly a free agent. It's all very strange, and very unpleasant, and sounds, no doubt, very mysterious, but I am acting--practically--under orders. Let me suggest something--will you and Miss Wynne come into the car, and I will tell the man to drive gently about until you have heard what I have to say? Come now!--I am not going to kidnap you, and you can't come to much harm by driving round about Portman Square for a few minutes, in the company of an old woman! d.i.c.kerson,” she went on, as Selwood motioned Peggie to enter the car, ”drive us very slowly round about here until I tell you to stop--go round the square--anywhere.”
The car moved gently up Baker Street, and Selwood glanced inquiringly at their captor.
”May we have the pleasure of----”
The elderly lady brought out a card-case and some papers.
”I am Mrs. Engledew,” she said. ”I live in the Herapath Flats. I don't suppose you ever heard of me, Miss Wynne, but I knew your uncle very well--we had been acquaintances, nay, friends, for years. I thought it might be necessary to prove my _bona fides_,” she continued, with a laugh, ”so I brought some letters of Jacob Herapath's with me--letters written to me--you recognize his big, bold hand, of course.”
There was no mistaking Jacob Herapath's writing, and the two young people, after one glance at it, exchanged glances with each other.
”Now you want to know why I am here,” said Mrs. Engledew. ”The answer is plain--if astonis.h.i.+ng. I have managed to get mixed up in this matter of Jacob Herapath's murder! That sounds odd, doesn't it?--nevertheless, it's true. But we can't go into that now. And I cannot do more than tell you that I simply bring a message and want an answer. My dear!” she continued, laying a hand on Peggie's arm, ”you do not wish to see Barthorpe Herapath hanged?”
”We believe him innocent,” replied Peggie.
”Quite so--he is innocent--of murder, anyway,” said Mrs. Engledew.
”Now--I speak in absolute confidence, remember!--there are two men who know who the real murderer is. They are in touch with me--that is, one of them is, on behalf of both. I am really here as their emissary. They are prepared to give you and the police full particulars about the murder--for a price.”
Selwood felt himself grow more suspicious than ever. This lady was of charming address, pleasant smile, and apparently candid manners, but--price!--price for telling the truth in a case like this!
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