CHAPTER XI
He rose from his seat as he saw her, but waited for her to approach. Hereyes, dwelling on his face, noted that it was not so angry as she had lastseen it, but smoothed into the semblance of sorrow and regret, with,however, something of the characteristic glance of irony which habituallydistinguished him, though that may have been partly due to the pince-nezwhich glittered over his keen eyes. There was something of an art inAustin Turold's manner of wearing glasses; they tilted, superiorly, at theworld in general at an acute angle on the high bridge of a superciliousnose, the eyes glancing through them downwards, as though from a greatheight, at a remote procession of humanity crawling far beneath.
At that moment, however, there was nothing superior in his bearing. It wasso unwontedly subdued, so insistently meek, that it was to be understoodthat his mission was both conciliatory and propitiatory. That, at least,was the impression Mrs. Pendleton gathered as her brother informed herthat he had been waiting nearly an hour to see her.
She reflected that he must have arrived shortly after she left the hotelto go to the police station, and she wondered what had induced her brotherto rise at an hour so uncommonly early for him, in order to pay her amorning visit.
"I was up betimes," said Austin, as though reading her thought. "Sleep, ofcourse, was impossible. Poor Robert!"
Mrs. Pendleton waited impatiently for him to disclose the real reason ofan appearance which had more behind it, she felt sure, than to expresscondolences about their common bereavement. Of Robert she had always stooda little in awe, but she understood her younger brother better. As a boyshe had seen through him and his pretensions, and he did not seem to hermuch changed since those days.
"I have been upset by our difference last night, Constance," he pursued."It seems deplorable for us to have quarrelled--yes, actuallyquarrelled--over our poor brother's death."
His sister's face hardened instantly. "That wasn't my fault," she saiddistantly.
"You'll excuse me for saying that I think it was. You took an altogetherwrong view of his--his death; a view which I hope you've seen fit tochange after a night's reflection."
"You mean about Robert committing suicide?"
Austin inclined his head.
"I haven't changed my opinion in the slightest degree," she retorted. "Iam still quite convinced that Robert did not commit suicide."
Austin darted an angry glance at her, but controlled himself with avisible effort. "Have you reflected what that implies?" he asked in a lowtone.
"What does it imply?"
"Murder." He breathed the word with a hurried glance around him, as thoughapprehensive of being overheard, but the lounge was empty, and they werequite alone.
"I am aware of that."
"Then is it still your intention to go to the police with this terriblesuspicion?" he asked, in a voice that trembled with agitation.
It was on the tip of Mrs. Pendleton's tongue to reply that she had alreadybeen to the police, but she decided to withhold that piece of informationuntil she had heard all that her brother had to say.
"Certainly," she replied.
"Then you must be mad," was his indignant rejoinder. "Have you consideredthe scandal this will entail upon us all?"
"Not half such a scandal as that Robert should be murdered and his familypermit the crime to go unpunished."
"I do not think that you have given this matter sufficient consideration.It is for that reason I have come to see you this morning--before you takeaction which you may have reason to regret later on. I want you to thinkit over carefully, apart from a mere feminine prejudice against thepossibility of a member of the family destroying himself. If you willlisten to me I think that I shall be able to convince you that Robert,deplorable though it may seem, did actually commit suicide."
"What's the use of going through all this again?" said Mrs. Pendletonwearily. "Robert would not commit suicide."
"Suicide is always difficult to explain. Nobody can say what impels a manto it."
"Robert had no reason to put an end to his life. He had everything to livefor--everything in front of him."
"You cannot say that a man bordering on sixty has everything in front ofhim. I know it's considered middle-aged in this misguided country, wherepeople will never face the facts of life, but in simple truth Robert hadfinished with life to all intents and purposes."
"You won't say that when you come to sixty yourself, Austin. Robert was agreat strong man, with years of activity before him. Besides, people don'tkill themselves because they are growing old."
"I never suggested it. I was merely pointing out that Robert hadn'teverything in front of him, to use your own phrase."
"In any case he would not have killed himself," replied Mrs. Pendletonsharply. "Such a disgrace! He was the proudest of men, he would never havedone it."
"You always hark back to that." There was faint irritation in Austin'stone.
"I really cannot get away from it, Austin. Can you conceive of anyreason?"
"There was a reason in Robert's case. I did not mention it to you lastnight in the presence of the police sergeant, but I told Dr. Ravenshaw,and he is inclined to agree with me. Since then I have thought it overcarefully, and I am convinced that I am right."
"What is the reason?"
"You recall the disclosure Robert made to us yesterday afternoon?"
"About his marriage and Sisily?"
"Yes. It must have been very painful to Robert, more painful than weimagine. It would come home to him later with stunning force--all that itimplied, I mean. At the time Robert did not foresee all the consequenceslikely to ensue from it. It was likely to affect his claim for the title,because he was bound to make it known. When he came to think it over hemust have realized that it would greatly prejudice his claim. A body likethe House of Lords would do their utmost to avoid bestowing an ancientname on a man, who, by his own showing, lived with a married woman fortwenty-five years, and had an illegitimate daughter by her. These arepainful things to speak of, but they were bound to come out. My ownfeeling is that Robert had a bitter awakening to these facts when it wastoo late--when he had made the disclosure. And he may have felt remorse--"
"Remorse for what?"
"Remorse for giving the secret away and branding his daughter asillegitimate on the day that her mother was buried. It has an ugly look,Constance, there's no getting away from that."
He lapsed into silence, and awaited the effect of his words. Mrs.Pendleton pondered over them for some moments in manifest perturbation.There was sufficient resemblance between Austin's conclusions and thethoughts which had impelled her nocturnal visit to Flint House, to swayher mind like a pendulum towards Austin's view. But that only lasted for amoment. Then she thrust the thought desperately from her.
"No, no; I cannot--I will not believe it!" she cried in an agitated voice."All this must have been in Robert's mind beforehand. His letters to meabout Sisily indicated that there were reasons why he wished me to takecharge of her. Robert had weighed the consequences of this disclosure,Austin--I feel sure of that. He was a man who knew his own mind. Howcarefully he outlined his plans to us yesterday! He was to appear beforethe Investigations Committee next week to give evidence in support of hisclaim to the title. And he told me that he was purchasing a portion of thefamily estate at Great Missenden, and intended to live there. Is itlogical to suppose that he would terminate all these plans and ambitionsby destroying himself? I, for one, will never believe it. I have my ownthoughts and suspicions--"
He turned a sudden searching glance on her. "Suspicions of whom?"
"I took a dislike to that terrible man-servant of Robert's from the momentI saw him," said Mrs. Pendleton, setting her chin firmly.
This feminine flight was too swift for Austin Turold to follow.
"What has that to do with what we are talking about?" he demanded.
"When we reached the door last night it was Thalassa who let us in, withhis hat and coat on, ready to go out. There was somet
hing strange andfurtive about his manner, too, for I never took my eyes off him, and I'msure he had something on his mind. I'm quite convinced it was he who waslistening at the door yesterday afternoon. And he's got a wicked andcrafty face."
"Good God!" ejaculated Austin Turold, as the full force of his sister'simpressions reached his mind. "Do you mean to say that because you took adislike to this unfortunate man's face, you think he has murdered Robert?And yet there are some feminists who want to draw our judges from yoursex! My dear Constance, you cannot make haphazard accusations of murder inthis reckless fashion."
"I am not accusing Thalassa of murder," said Mrs. Pendleton, with a fineair of generosity. "And there's more than my dislike of his face in it,too. He was looking through the door in the afternoon--"
"You only think that," interrupted her brother.
"I feel sure it was he. It was also strange to see him with his hat andcoat on when he answered our knock. He told Dr. Ravenshaw that he wasgoing to the churchtown for him."
"That reminds me that I haven't yet heard what took you up to Flint Houselast night, Constance," said her brother, looking at her fixedly. "Whatwere you doing there at that late hour, and why was Ravenshaw with you?"
Mrs. Pendleton told him, and he listened coldly. "I think you might haveconsulted me first before Dr. Ravenshaw," he observed.
"I didn't because I thought you would have put obstacles in my way," shereplied with frankness.
"I most certainly should. Of course the whole position may be altered now,with Robert's death. Have you told Sisily?"
"Yes. She took it almost passively. She is the strangest girl, but afterlast night I look upon her as a sacred charge--Robert's last wish."
"It will be best for you to take charge of her, I think," said Austinabsently. "I expect she is provided for in Robert's will. I found that inthe old clock case last night, and I've handed it to the local lawyer whodrew it up. But this is beside the point, Constance. I have come over herethis morning to beg of you to let this terrible business rest where it is.There is not the slightest doubt in my mind that our unhappy brother hasended his own life--all the facts point to it only too clearly--and Iparticularly desire, for all our sakes, that you do nothing to put yourill-informed suspicions into action. Let the thing drop."
"It is too late," said Mrs. Pendleton decidedly. "I have already been tothe police. There is a detective from Scotland Yard on his way over fromBodmin."
"You might have told me this before and saved my time," said Austin,rising with cold anger. "In my opinion you have acted most ill-advisedly.However, it's too late to talk of that. No, there is no need to rise. Ican find my way out."
Austin Turold left the hotel, and made his way up the crooked street tothe centre of the town. His way lay towards Market Jew Street, where heintended to hire one of the waiting cabs to drive him back to St. Fair. Ashe neared the top of the street which led to the square, his eye wascaught by the flutter of a woman's dress in one of the narrow old passageswhich spindled crookedly off it. The wearer of the dress was his nieceSisily. She was walking swiftly. A turn of the passage took her in thedirection of the Morrab Gardens, and he saw her no more.
Her appearance in that secluded spot was unexpected, but at the momentAustin Turold did not give it more than a passing thought. He hurriedacross Market Jew Street and engaged a cabman to drive him home.
The ancient vehicle jolted over the moor road in crawling ascent, and indue time reached the spot where the straggling churchtown squatted amongboulders in the desolation of the moors, wanting but cave men to start upfrom behind the great stones to complete the likeness to a village of thestone age. The cab drifted along between the granite houses of a widestreet, like a ship which had lost its bearings, but cast anchor beforeone where a few stunted garden growths bloomed in an ineffectual effort tolessen the general aspect of appalling stoniness. Austin Turold paid thecabman and walked into this house. He opened the door with his latchkey,and ascended rapidly to the first floor.
Lunch was set for two in the room which he entered, and Charles Turold wasseated at the table, turning over the pages of a book. He glanced upexpectantly, and his lips formed one word--
"Well?"
"It is not well," was the testy response. "My charming sister has calledin the assistance of Scotland Yard. You'll have to stay. We've got to facethis thing out."
His son received this piece of news with a pale face. "You should haveforeseen this last night," he said.
"I saw Sisily in Penzance--near the gardens."
"Where was she going?" asked Charles, flushing slightly.
"I really cannot say. You should be better acquainted with her movementsthan I," was the ironical response. "You do not suppose I have beenaltogether blind to your infatuation, do you? If you choose to go walkingand flirting with a girl on Cornish moors you must expect to be observed.As a matter of fact I thought it rather a good move on your part, until Ilearnt the secret of Sisily's birth."
"I tell you I won't stand this," exclaimed Charles, springing up from thetable.
"Won't?" said his father. "You carry things with a high hand--Jonathan."His look dwelt coldly on his son. "Do not be a fool. Sit down and let ushave lunch, and we'll discuss afterwards what's best to be done."