tothe fear of Roddie popping in unexpectedly.
Then came the whimsical record of his strolling round Kensington,halting opposite the house with the board announcing that it was to belet furnished, his interview with the accommodating caretaker who, inreturn for a very handsome _douceur_, gave him a duplicate key to enterthe house at any time he liked. He had casually mentioned to Miles thathis name was Sanderson.
The Major seemed childishly pleased over what he considered a veryastute move, especially the giving of another name. Here in this quietbackwater of the world, for so it would seem to a man of his wealth andposition, he could continue his negotiations with the somewhat obstinateIris. In the portion of the diary concerned with the grasping andfrivolous young chorus-girl, Bryant was not greatly interested. He hadlearned this already from Iris Deane, whom he had interviewed a fewtimes, and Reginald Davis.
He turned from the bulky little volume, the pages of which were coveredwith the Major's small, rather methodical handwriting, to a slendererbook lying beside him. Into this had been copied all the extractsbearing on the relations between the dead man and Mrs Spencer,otherwise Stella Keane, otherwise Norah Burton.
The first entry recorded the dinner-party at Carlton House Terrace, whenhe had been struck by the remarkable likeness of his friend's wife tothe pretty adventuress at Blankfield, who had driven his old friend,Jack Pomfret, to his death; his endeavours to startle her by allusionsto that garrison town.
An important entry was that of his interview with his old acquaintanceat the club, Gilbert Fairfax, from whom he had learned something of theatmosphere of the L'Estrange flat in Elsinore Gardens, the branding ofTommie Esmond as a card-sharper, the flight of the fat little man to theContinent, the visit of Stella Keane to Charing Cross Station to bid thedetected cheat farewell. There was a comment upon this fact: "Whethershe is Norah Burton or not, her intimacy with the L'Estrange set, hersolicitude for Tommie Esmond, are sufficient to make her unfit to be thewife of a straight, honest fellow like my old friend Guy Spencer."
There followed further entries, relating his interview with Bryant, theconfirmation by the detective that Stella Keane was Norah Burton, thatGeorge Dutton, the keeper of the obscure little bucket-shop in the City,was the same George Burton who had been arrested at Blankfield on acharge of forgery, and who, thanks to one of the cleverest advocates atthe criminal bar, had got off with a very light sentence.
There was a full record of the long interview with Mrs Spencer, inwhich she had been finally confounded, and forced to confession, of heracceptance of his terms, of the words she had uttered when, while ratherregretting that things could not go on as they were, lamenting the factthat her accuser had ever been born, she was not at all satisfied withher present environment, and would experience a certain measure ofrelief in quitting it for a more congenial sphere.
On the day he had parted from her, the day on which she had yielded tohis inflexible determination that she must remain under her husband'sroof as short a time as possible, he recorded the fact that, up to thepresent moment, he had not made up his mind as to the precise way inwhich he was going to bring about the separation. He wanted to choosethe way which would least hurt Guy.
There had flashed through his mind that, in addition to the confessionshe was about to make to him of her whole career, she should confess toher husband that she was not legally his wife, being in reality the wifeof George Burton, alias George Dutton. There followed here a note. "Iam convinced she and this rascal were married, the sister and cousindodges were always a fake. I must see Parkinson to find out if he canferret out anything on that point. But the time is short. In a week Imust be ready for action."
A further entry showed that he had called on Parkinson with this object,only to learn that the detective had gone on an important missionabroad, and could undertake no further work till his return, which wouldbe some ten days hence. That idea therefore had to be dismissed. Hemust think out some other plan.
Then came the last and most important entry of all, dated on the fourthof July, written no doubt a few hours before he took his luggage toVictoria Station.
"I meet Norah Burton, I always think of her by that old name, atCathcart Square at six o'clock to-night. I have given the caretaker aholiday to keep him out of the way. I have drawn up two copies of theconfession, one of which she is to sign. I have also drawn up anundertaking on my part to keep her from want in case Guy should proveobdurate. But this I am sure he will not do. Besides, if she is hiswife, and thinking it over, I have my doubts as to whether she was everreally married to Burton, he would have to support her, in spite of herunsavoury associations."
Bryant paused for a moment as he finished this paragraph to reflect alittle. Personally, he did not believe that she was the wife of GeorgeBurton; in his opinion, their association had been the result of mutualinterests. With this knowledge hanging over her head, she would hardlyhave been daring enough to go through the ceremony of marriage with twoother men. Anyway, it was a debatable point.
Moreover, Burton, like most criminals, would be very wide-awake andcalculating. To marry her would be to handicap himself. He could getmore out of her by marrying her to a rich man.
Then came the last paragraph of all.
"Now, for my action after the final interview of to-night, when she hassigned the confession. I may do one of two things, forbid her to returnto her husband's house, and go myself straight to Eaton Place, and breakthe news to Spencer without any preamble. In that case, I shall takewith me some ready money to hand to her, as she will probably have verylittle upon her.
"And yet I rather shrink from this course; it would be painful for me towatch his agony while I struck such a terrible blow. I will run down toBrighton, drop him a note telling him that an important letter willreach him at his club by registered post to-morrow, that he is on noaccount to let his wife know he has heard from me till he has read thecontents of that registered packet.
"I shall post him the copy of the confession, telling him he can inspectthe original at any time he likes, meeting me either in Brighton orLondon, leaving him to deal with her as he chooses. After all, his isthe right to dispose of his private affairs, my duty really ends when Ihave put him in possession of the facts. My first method must have theeffect of creating open scandal at once, by my insisting upon her notreturning to Eaton Place.
"He may wish to devise some plan that will create a scandal less open,to save, as far as he can, the disgrace to himself and his family. If Iknow the man, and here, perhaps, I am arguing from the knowledge only ofmy own temperament, I should say his love would turn to hatred after hereads that confession. Jack Pomfret was a weaker man than Guy, but heacted as I should have done under the circumstances, and refused allfarther communication with her, refused to give her the opportunity ofdenial or explanation.
"Still, there is no knowing to what lengths a deep-rooted infatuationfor a fascinating woman will lead a man. In this respect, Guy may beless adamant than Pomfret, although I am sure he will never imitate poorJack's final weakness. He is too sturdily built for that.
"When confronted with that confession she may plead artfully, and,perhaps to him, convincingly, that while she admits everything containedin it, she was more sinned against than sinning, that she tried toescape from her odious bondage by marrying Jack, and that with hissuicide and the frustration of her hopes, she was compelled to return toan environment which she loathed. He might consent to believe andforgive, although to me such a thing seems incredible, impossible."
Bryant closed the book on the last entry. That little red-leathervolume threw a lurid light on the mystery of Cathcart Square. Theexhumed body was found to be that of Major Murchison, wrongly identifiedin the first instance as that of Reginald Davis. It was all very clear.
That meeting had taken place, and the unfortunate man had been done todeath by the precious pair, Norah Burton and the scoundrel brother,cousin or life-long lover, whichever he was. Reginald Davis was an
oldacquaintance of theirs, had been possibly a more intimate one than thecautious Davis was prepared to admit. They took with them lettersaddressed to their old friend, they forged a letter from him intimatinghis intention to commit suicide.
If Davis read of all this in the papers, he was too concerned with hisown danger to emerge from his hiding-place and publish the truth to theworld. He would be thankful that, through the villainy of others, hecould take a new lease of life, unmenaced by detection. Of course, theyhad never thought of the possibility that Davis would be cleared by theconfession of the real criminal. Like Scotland Yard, they were sure hewas guilty, and his silence was a matter of certainty.
And slowly Bryant, drawing from the stores of his vast experience, beganto construct in his own mind the details of the murder, executed by twodesperate criminals, almost driven to the verge of madness by theknowledge that their carefully-laid plans were about to be frustrated bythe