The Heart of a Woman

  CHAPTER XXI

  HAVE ANOTHER CIGAR

  "Well, William, what do you think of it all?"

  The two men had sat in silence for quite a considerable time afterFrederick Power had marched out of the room. Colonel Harris buried inthought was in no hurry to talk things over. Sir Thomas Ryder--a verybusy man--was the more impatient of the two.

  "I must tell you," he said, seeing that his brother-in-law seemeddisinclined to speak, "that our man Travers, as soon as Power hadpointed Luke out to him, went and rang the bell at Radclyffe's houseand quickly enough established beyond a doubt that the man who hadjust entered it was Mr. Luke de Mountford. I tell you this now, so asto disabuse your mind once and for all in case you should imagine thatthis might be a case of mistaken identity. Moreover you yourself knowand have admitted to me that Luke's intention was to seek out hisuncle and his cousin at the Veterans' Club, after he parted from youat eight o'clock last night."

  "Yes," said Colonel Harris, "I know that. I was not thinking ofmistaken identity."

  "You," rejoined the other, "were thinking of Luke, and so am I. I havethought little of any one else since first the crime was reported tome last night. And long before Travers gleaned the outlines of thestory which Power has just amplified for us, I vaguely guessed at thebroad lines of it. Now that I know it in all its details, I can seethe whole scene in the lobby of the Veterans' Club before me. You maybelieve me or not as you like, but as a matter of fact I know quite agood deal about Luke de Mountford. I have often met him, of course,and though we have never been very intimate--for I am a busy man andhave but little time for intimacy with my fellow-men--I have had manyopportunities of studying him. He has a very curious power ofself-control--almost an abnormal one I call it, and a morbid hatred ofpublic scenes or scandal. This of course he shares with a great manymen of his class, and his self-control is all the more remarkable ashe is not by any means the impassive young man about town which hepretends to be. Well, that same power, I suppose, stood him in goodstead in the lobby of the Veterans' Club. In Power's picturesqueparlance 'there was murder in his eye.' Of course he had been provokedbeyond the bounds of endurance, and if he had rushed at Philip deMountford and strangled him then and there, no one would have beenastonished. I should," continued Sir Thomas with emphasis, "because itwould not have been like the Luke whom I had studied. The picture oftwo gentlemen at fisticuffs like a pair of navvies would not have beenan edifying one, and Luke--as I know him--would above all wish not tomake a spectacle of himself before the hall porter or before a crowdin the ante-room of a second-rate club. He naturally--for that sort ofthing becomes second nature--pulled himself together and walked outinto the street."

  You must not think for a moment that Sir Thomas Ryder was habitually atalkative man. Englishmen of his class and type are rarely talkative,and Sir Thomas's position and occupation had rendered him lesscommunicative than most. But Colonel Harris and he had been brotherofficers, friends long before family ties were closely knit bymarriage, and he considered the present crisis a very serious one.

  He had had enough to do with crime in the past few years since he hadobtained the interesting post which he now occupied, but never with acrime which affected him personally as this one did. Luke de Mountfordwas of course nothing to him, except in connection with Louisa Harris.But this was a strong tie. Louisa was his own wife's niece; she wasthe daughter of a friend, of a brother officer. No one who is not insome manner or other in touch with military men can have the slightestidea of how much those two magic words mean: "brother officer": whatmagnetism lies in them: what appeal they make to all that is mostloyal, most willing, most helpful in a man.

  Sir Thomas felt that the mud of irretrievable disgrace which was boundto smirch Luke de Mountford would in no small measure redound onLouisa too. Instinctively too all his sensibilities recoiled againstthe idea of a gentleman, one of his own caste, being dragged in thispeculiarly loathsome mire. It seemed impossible that that type of manshould commit a murder--a murder--just an ordinary, brutal,commonplace murder, such as the rough and tumble herd of humanitycommit when under the stress of vulgar passions: greed, avarice,jealousy. It was this juxtaposition of the mean and sordid against hisown class that revolted Sir Thomas Ryder. He was loyal to his brotherofficer in his endeavour to induce him to keep out of all that mudwhich would be scattered all round presently, when the papers came outwith their sensational headlines; but he was also--perhaps moreso--loyal to his caste: his was the _esprit de corps_, not only ofmilitarism but of birth and breeding. He would not, if he could, havea gentleman held up to opprobrium, and if this could be avoided by theunfortunate criminal's flight from justice--well, Sir Thomas was readyand willing to take upon his shoulders the burden of contempt andridicule, which the press and the general public would presently behurling at him and at his department for their hopeless incompetencein allowing a murderer to escape.

  Therefore he was putting the case against Luke more clearly and with agreater wealth of detail before his brother-in-law than theconscientious discharge of duty should have allowed. In fact we seeSir Thomas Ryder--a hard disciplinarian, a hide and tape boundofficial--freely transgressing the most elementary rules which dutyprescribes. He was sitting in his private office with hisbrother-in-law, giving away secrets that belonged not to him but tohis department, conniving through the words which he spoke at thefleeing from justice of a criminal who belonged not to him but to theState.

  He was making the case against Luke de Mountford to appear as black asit was in effect, so that Colonel Harris and Louisa might take frightand induce the unfortunate man to realize his danger in time and toshrink from facing the consequences of his own terrible deed.

  But Colonel Harris--with the obstinacy of those who throughout lifehave never led but have always been ruled--would not see the casethrough his brother-in-law's spectacles. He clung to his ownrepudiation of the possibility of Luke de Mountford's guilt. Hebehaved quite unconsciously, just as Louisa would have wished him tobehave, had she been present here to prompt him.

  To Sir Thomas's most convincing _expose_ of the situation he lent anattentive ear, but the shrug of his shoulders when the other manpaused to take breath was in itself a testimony of loyalty to Luke'scause.

  "Hang it all, man," he said, "you are not going to sit there and tellme that Luke de Mountford--the man whom I myself would have chosen asa son-in-law had Lou not forestalled me--that Luke would commit adeliberate murder? In the name of common-sense, Tom, why it'sunthinkable! Do you mean to say that you actually believe that Luke,after he left that God-forsaken club, joined his cousin again as ifnothing had happened; that he got into a taxicab with him, and pokedhim through the neck whilst the man was looking another way."

  "Roughly speaking," assented Sir Thomas, "I believe that's whathappened."

  "And you call yourself a shrewd detective!" exclaimed Colonel Harrishotly. "And you hold the lives of men practically in the hollow ofyour hand! Why, man! have you forgotten one thing?" he continued, hisgruff voice assuming a note of triumph, "the most important in allthis damnable business?"

  "What have I forgotten, Will?" asked the other not at all ruffled bythe gallant colonel's sudden tone of contempt.

  "The weapon, Tom!"

  "I haven't forgotten the weapon," rejoined Sir Thomas calmly.

  "Oh, yes, you have! Do you mean to tell me that Luke de Mountfordhabitually walks about the streets of London with an Italian stilettoin his trousers pocket? for I am told that it was with a thing of thatsort that the murder was committed. Or according to you did Lukeescort Louisa to a dinner-party with the avowed intention at the backof his mind of committing a murder later on if occasion offered? Didhe bring an Italian stiletto from home when he came to meet hisfiancee at the Langham Hotel, or did he buy one on the way to theVeterans' Club? Which of these cock-and-bull theories do you hold,Tom?"

  "Neither," admitted Sir Thomas with a placid smile.

  "Then," concluded Colonel Harris contemptuously, "you
think that Lukewas--as I said--in the habit of carrying an Italian stiletto in histrousers pocket?"

  "No," rejoined the other, still unruffled, "but I know that Luke deMountford is in the habit of carrying a snake-wood walking stick,which he once bought--years ago--somewhere abroad, and the top ofwhich contains a short pointed dagger which fits into the body of thestick. And what's more you know that stick too, Will; you have oftenseen it. Are you prepared to swear that Luke hadn't it with him lastnight?"

  "He hadn't it with him."

  "You are prepared to swear to that?" insisted the other earnestly.

  Colonel Harris was silent. For the first time since the beginning ofthis long interview he felt as if all the blood in his body wasreceding back to his heart causing it to beat so wildly that hethought it was about to choke him. The colour fled from his cheeks andthe cigar dropped from between nerveless fingers. Swift as lightning arecollection came back to him--a vision of Luke entering thesitting-room of the Langham Hotel with his coat on and his hat andstick in the left hand.

  But he would not give in even now--not on such paltry surmises. Anynumber of men he knew carried sticks that contained weapons ofself-defence. He himself possessed a very murderous-looking swordstickwhich he had once bought in Paris. He fought down this oncoming attackof weakness, and blamed himself severely for it too. It savoured ofdisloyalty to Louisa and to Luke. He stooped and picked his cigar upand looked his brother-in-law boldly in the face.

  "I wouldn't," he said, "swear either way, whether Luke had his stickwith him last night or not. I know that stick, of course. I have gotone very like it myself."

  "So have I," rejoined Sir Thomas with his placid smile.

  "And if that's one of the proofs on which you are going to accuse myfuture son-in-law of having committed a murder, then all I can say is,Tom, that you and I are seeing the last of one another to-day."

  But Sir Thomas took this threat, as he had taken Colonel Harris'sundisguised expressions of contempt, with perfect equanimity.

  "If," he said quietly, "I did accuse Luke de Mountford or any otherman of murder on such paltry grounds as that, Will, you would beperfectly justified in turning your back on me, if for no other reasonthan that I should then be an incompetent ass."

  "Well, what more is there then?"

  "Only this, Will. That the stick which you have so often seen in Lukede Mountford's hand, was found this morning inside the railings ofGreen Park; it bears unmistakable signs of the use to which it was putlast night."

  "You mean--that it was stained----?"

  How long a time elapsed between the beginning of that query and itslast words Colonel Harris could not say. The uttering of the words wasa terrible effort. They seemed to choke him ere they reached his lips.A buzzing and singing filled his ears so that he did not hear SirThomas's reply, but through a strange veil which half obscured hisvision he saw his brother-in-law's slow nod of affirmation. For thefirst time in his life, the man who had fought against naked savagesin the swamps or sands of Africa, who had heard, unflinching, the newsof the death of his only son, felt himself totally unnerved. He heardas in a dream the hum of the busy city in the street below, hansomsand omnibuses rattling along the road, the cries of news vendors orhawkers, the bustle of humdrum, every-day life: and through it theticking of his own watch in his waistcoat pocket.

  He remembered afterward how strangely this had impressed him: that hecould hear the ticking of his own watch. He had never been consciousbefore of such an acute sense of hearing. And yet the buzzing andsinging in his ears went on. And he was horribly, painfully consciousof silly, trivial things--the ticking of his watch which obsessed him,the irregularity in the design of the wall paper, the broken top ofthe inkstand on Sir Thomas's desk.

  The great, all-important fact had escaped momentarily from hisconsciousness. He forgot that Philip de Mountford had been murdered,and that Luke's stick, bloodstained and damning, had been found insidethe railings of the park.

  A cycle of time went by--an eternity, or else a few seconds. SirThomas Ryder pulled open the long drawer of his monumental desk.

  Colonel Harris watched him doing it, and long before Sir Thomas took acertain Something from out the drawer, the colonel knew what thatsomething would be.

  A familiar thing enough. The colonel had seen it over and over againin Luke de Mountford's hand. A slender stick of rich looking, darkwood, only very little thicker at the top than at the base and with asilver band about six inches from the top. On the band the initials L.de M. daintily engraved.

  "Put it away, Tom, for God's sake!" Colonel Harris hardly recognizedhis own voice; he had spoken more from a sudden instinct of shrinkingfrom loathsome objects, than from any real will of his own. One glanceat the stick had been enough. It was thickly coated with mud, andabout six inches from the top there where the silver band showed adeep dark cleft between it and the length of the stick, there wereother stains--obvious stains of blood.

  Yet Colonel Harris had seen worse sights than this in Zululand and atOmdurman. But on this stained stick, that discoloured silver band, hefelt it impossible to look.

  "I have broken it to you, Will, as gently as I could," said SirThomas, not quite as placidly as before. He too was not unmoved bythe distress of his old friend. "You see that I had no option, but totell you all. You must keep out of all this, old man, and above allyou must keep Louisa out of it. Take her abroad, Will, as soon as youcan."

  "She won't go!" murmured the father, dully.

  "Nonsense!"

  "She won't go," he reiterated. "She has given her heart to Luke."

  "She'll soon forget him."

  "Not she!"

  "And she'll be horrified--when she knows."

  "She'll not believe it."

  "If he is wise, he'll plead guilty--his solicitor will advise him todo that. It is his one chance. . . ."

  "His one chance?" queried the other vaguely.

  "Of escaping the gallows. If he pleads guilty, many extenuatingcircumstances will be admitted--his own spotless reputation--and alsointense provocation. He'll get a life sentence, or even perhaps----"

  But with a loud oath, the most forcible one he had ever uttered in hislife, Colonel Harris had jumped to his feet and brought a heavy fistcrashing down upon the table.

  "And by the living God, Tom," he said, "I'll not believe it. No! notfor all your witnesses, and your cross questionings, and your damnableproofs. No! I'll not believe it, and I know that my girl will notbelieve it either--not until we hear the word 'guilty' spoken byLuke's own lips. And we'll not leave London, we'll not go abroad,we'll not desert Luke; for I swear, by God that I don't believe thathe is an assassin."

  Men who have always been accounted weak often have moments ofunexpected strength. Colonel Harris now seemed to tower morally andmentally over his brother-in-law. The passion of loyalty was in him,and caused his eyes to sparkle and his cheeks to glow. The oath heuttered he spoke with fervour: there would be no faltering, nowavering in his defence of Luke.

  Sir Thomas waited a minute or two, allowing his old friend to recoverhis normal self-control as well as his breath, which was coming andgoing in quick gasps. Then he said quietly:

  "As you will, old man. Have another cigar."