The Heart of a Woman

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE TALE HAD TO BE TOLD

  And whilst the morning papers were unfolded by millions of English menand women, and the details of the mysterious crime discussed over eggsand bacon and buttered toast, Philip de Mountford, the newly foundheir presumptive to the Earldom of Radclyffe, was lying in the gloomymortuary chamber of a London police court, whither he had beenconveyed in the same cab whose four narrow walls jealously guarded thesecret of the tragedy which had been enacted within their precincts.

  Lord Radclyffe had been aroused at ten o'clock the previous night byrepresentatives of the police, who came to break the news to him. Itwas not late, and the old man was not yet in bed. He had opened thefront door of his house himself, his servants--he explainedcurtly--were spending their evening more agreeably elsewhere.

  The house--even to the police officers--appeared lonely and gloomy inthe extreme, and the figure of the old man, who should have beensurrounded by every luxury that rank and wealth can give, lookedsingularly pathetic as he stood in his own door-way, evidentlyunprotected and uncared for, and suspiciously demanding what his latevisitors' business might be.

  Very reluctantly on hearing the latter's status he consented to admitthem. He did not at first appear to suspect that anything wrong mighthave happened, or that anything untoward could occasion this nocturnalvisit: in fact, he seemed unconscious of the lateness of the hour.

  He walked straight into the library, where he had obviously beensitting, for an arm-chair was drawn to the fire, a reading lamp waslighted on the table, and papers and magazines lay scattered about.

  The police officer in plain clothes, who stood with his subordinate,somewhat undecided, hardly knew how to begin. It was a hard task tobreak such awful news to this lonely old man.

  At last it was done; the word "accident" and "your nephew" wereblurted out by the man in command. But hardly were these out of hislips than Lord Radclyffe--livid and trembling--had jumped to his feet.

  "Luke!" he contrived to exclaim, and his voice was almost choked, hislips and hands trembled, beads of perspiration stood upon hisforehead. "Something has happened to Luke."

  "No, no, my lord! that's not the name--Philip was on the card and onthe letters--Philip de Mountford--that was, I think, the poorgentleman's name."

  "And an accident has happened to Mr. Philip de Mountford?"

  The voice was quite different now. No longer choked with anxiety, calmand as if mildly interested in passing events. It was obvious even tothe strangers present that one nephew was of far greater moment thanthe other.

  "I am afraid, my lord, that it's worse than an accident----"

  The officer paused a moment, satisfied that he was doing all that wasnecessary and possible to mitigate the suddenness of the blow.

  "It's foul play," he said at last; "that's what it was."

  "Foul play? What do you mean by that?"

  "Mr. Philip de Mountford has been murdered, my lord--his body now liesat the police station--would you wish him conveyed home at once, mylord--or wait until after the inquest?"

  There was silence in the room for a moment or two, while theold-fashioned clock ticked stolidly on. At the awful announcement,which indeed might have felled a younger and more vigorous man, LordRadclyffe had not moved. He was still standing, his hand resting onthe table beside the piled up newspapers. The light of the lamp veiledby a red shade illumined the transparent delicacy of the high-bredhand, the smooth black surface of the coat, and the glimmeringwhiteness of the shirt front with its single pearl stud. The faceitself was in shadow, and thus the police officer saw little ornothing of that inward struggle for self-mastery which was being putso severely to the test.

  Lord Radclyffe, face to face with the awful event, strove by everypower at his command to remain dignified and impassive. The lessonstaught by generations of ancestors had to bear fruit now, when arepresentative of the ancient name stood confronting the greatestcrisis that one of his kind has ever had to face--the brutal, vulgarfact of a common murder. The realities of a sordid life brought withinthe four walls of a solemn, aristocratic old house.

  For a moment before he spoke again the old man looked round abouthim, the tall mahogany bookcases filled with silent friends, the bustsof Dryden and of Milton, the globes in their mahogany casings: allheirlooms from the generations of de Mountfords who had gone before.

  It seemed as if the present bearer of the historic name called allthese mute things to witness this present degradation. A crime hadsmirched the family escutcheon, for to some minds--those who dwell onempyrean heights to which the matter-of-fact sordidness of every-daylife never reaches--to those minds the victim is almost as horrible asthe assassin.

  Lord Radclyffe however fought his own battle silently. Not with onetremor or one gasp would he let the two men see what he felt.Conventionality wielded her iron rod in this shabby old library, justas she had done in the ball room of the Danish Legation, and whilstnot two hundred yards away Louisa Harris sang Guy d'Hardelot's songsand smilingly received praise and thanks for her perfect performance,so here the old man never flinched.

  He gave to his nerves the word of command, and as soon as he hadforced them to obey, he looked straight at the police officer and saidquite calmly:

  "Please tell me all that I ought to know."

  He sat in his high-backed chair, curtly bidding the two men to sitdown; he made no attempt to shade his face and eyes; once the battlefought and won he had nothing more to hide: his own face, rigid andstill, his firm mouth, and smooth brow were mask enough to conceal thefeelings within.

  The officer gave the details at full length: he told Lord Radclyffeall that was known of the mysterious crime. The old man listened insilence until the man had finished speaking, then he asked a fewquestions:

  "You have a clue of course?"

  "I think so, my lord," replied the officer guardedly.

  "Can I help in any way?"

  "Any information, my lord, that you think might help us would ofcourse be gladly welcomed."

  "The man who hailed the cab in Shaftesbury Avenue--what was he like? Icould help you if I knew."

  "I'll have his description properly written out, my lord, and bring ityou in the morning."

  "Can't you tell me now? Every moment lost is irretrievable in caseslike these."

  "I am afraid, my lord, that I cannot tell you definitely now. There'sa dense fog outside--and----"

  "The chauffeur's descriptions are vague," interposed Lord Radclyffewith a sneer, "the eternal excuses for incompetence."

  "My lord!" protested the man.

  "All right! all right! No offence meant I assure you. You must pardonan old man's irritability--the news you have brought me does not makefor evenness of temper. I rely on your department to clear this matterup with the least possible scandal."

  "I am afraid that scandal is inevitable," retorted the officer dryly,for he still felt sore at Lord Radclyffe's ill-tempered thrust. "Weshall have to rake up a great deal of what might be unpleasant to manyparties."

  "Why should it be unpleasant?"

  "We shall have to know something of the murdered man's past, of hisassociates before--before he was able to establish his claim to yourlordship's consideration."

  "I have no doubt that the late Philip de Mountford had manyundesirable associates in the past," remarked Lord Radclyffe curtly.

  The silence which followed was tantamount to a dismissal. The officerrose to go. He felt nettled at the old man's obvious sneers: they hadbeen like a cold douche over his enthusiasm, for the case had alreadydrifted into his hands and it promised to be the most interesting andmost sensational criminal case of modern times.

  "You have not," he said before taking his leave, "told me, my lord,what you wish done about the body."

  "Surely," replied Lord Radclyffe querulously, "it is too late now tomake any arrangements. What is the time?"

  "Half past ten, my lord."

  "Surely to-morrow morning we can discuss all that
."

  "Just as you wish, of course."

  "To-morrow morning--as early as you like. My servants will be at homethen--the house will be ready--and I can make arrangements--or elsewe'll wait, as you say, until after the inquest."

  The sound of a bell broke the silence that ensued.

  "You must excuse me," said his lordship dryly, "my servants are out,and there's some one at the front door."

  "I can hear footsteps below stairs, my lord," remarked the officer.

  "Ah! I believe you're right. Those two blackguards must have come homeand I didn't know it. They do pretty much as they like."

  Shuffling, uncertain footsteps were heard across the hall. The officersaid hurriedly:

  "One more thing, my lord--you will pardon me asking but--you had notthought of--er--offering a reward?"

  "What for?"

  "The apprehension of the murderer, or useful information that wouldlead to conviction."

  "Oh! Ah, yes; a reward by all means! Of course I'll give a reward tostimulate incompetence, eh?"

  "What will your lordship make it?" asked the officer, determined thistime to show no resentment.

  "Two hundred--five hundred--have what you like--so long as you getthat brute."

  "Five hundred, my lord, would stimulate us all."

  "Very well," said Lord Radclyffe briefly. "Good evening."

  "Good evening, my lord. And to-morrow morning we'll be ready for thebody to be taken away, if you wish it. But the inquest will be the dayafter, so perhaps it might be best to wait until then. At thecoroner's court, Victoria, my lord--South Kensington, youknow--everything will be all right. Good evening, my lord."

  The two men took their leave, glad enough to have done with theunpleasant interview.

  As they walked to the door that gave from the library on the hall itwas opened from the outside, and a seedy-looking man, dressed inshabby evening clothes that bore many traces of past libations, walkedunceremoniously midway into the room.

  "Will you see Mr. Luke de Mountford?" he muttered addressing hismaster.

  "Certainly not," replied his lordship. "It's much too late. Ask Mr.Luke to call again to-morrow. And you and your wife can go to bed."