CHAPTER XXII
Upstairs Mr. Brimsdown made unavailing search among Robert Turold's papersfor proofs of his statement about his marriage. The lawyer believed thatthey existed, and his failure to find them brought with it a belatedrealization of the fact that he, too, had been cherishing hopes ofSisily's innocence. It was the memory of her face which had inspired thatsecret hope. That was not sentiment (so Mr. Brimsdown thought), but theworldly wisdom of a man whose profession had trained him to read the humanface. Sisily's face, as he recalled it now, had looked sad and a littlefearful that night at Paddington, but there was nothing furtive or taintedin her clear glance. He felt that a judge would look with marked attentionat such a face in the dock. Judges, like lawyers, and all whose businessit is to trip their kind into the gins of the law, scan faces as closelyas evidence in the effort to read the stories written there.
But the disappearance of certain papers which had probably been abstractedfrom that room weighed more in the scale of suspicion against Sisily thanher look of innocence. She stood to gain most by the suppression ordestruction of the proofs of her mother's earlier marriage. But Mr.Brimsdown could not see that this rather negative inference against thegirl brought the actual solution of the mystery any nearer. It did nothingto explain, for instance, the marks on the dead man's arm and hisposthumous letter. The letter! What was the explanation of the letter? Wasit not an argument of equal weight for Sisily's innocence, suggesting theexistence of some hidden avenging figure glimpsed by Robert Turold in timeto give him warning of his death, but not in time to enable him to avertit?
There were other things too. What was the meaning of that sly and stealthyshake of the head which Austin Turold had given his son that afternoon. Awarning obviously--but a warning for what purpose? Mr. Brimsdown could notguess, but his contemplation of the incident brought before him the imageof the restless and unhappy young man, as he stood by the bedside in thenext room, pointing to the marks on the dead man's arm. Even in hisvehement assertions of Sisily's innocence Mr. Brimsdown had conceived theimpression that he was keeping something back. What did Charles Turoldknow? Did his father share his secret knowledge? Mr. Brimsdown could notanswer these questions, and he was greatly perturbed at the way in whichthey brought a host of other thoughts and doubts in their train. Hereflected that the Turolds, father and son, were after all the greatestgainers by their relative's death. The father came into immediatepossession of a large and unexpected fortune which he would bequeath tohis son. And Austin Turold was not anxious apparently to proceed with hisbrother's claim for the title.
These were facts which could not be gainsaid, but where did they lead? Thetrouble was that no conceivable theory covered the facts of the case, sofar as they were known. So far as they were known! That was thedifficulty. Any line of thought stopped short of the real solution,because the facts themselves were inconclusive. There was much that wasstill concealed--Mr. Brimsdown felt sure of that.
As he applied his mind to the problem, the definite impression came backto him, and this time with renewed force, that the mystery surroundingRobert Turold's death was something which might not bear the light of day.He set his lips firmly as he considered that possibility. If that provedto be the case it would be his duty to cover it up again. He was an adeptat such work, as many of his clients, alive and dead, could haveapprovingly testified. He had spent much time in safeguarding familysecrets. Several old families had found him their rock of refuge indistress. If he had been a man of the people, baby lips might have beentaught to call down Heaven's blessings on his discreet efforts. Thosemembers of the secluded domain of high respectability for whom he strivedshowed their gratitude in a less emotional but more substantialway--generally in the mellow atmosphere of after-dinner conferences ..."You had better see my man, Brimsdown. I'll give you a note to him. He'llsquare this business for you. Safe? None safer."
Mr. Brimsdown did not accept the axiom of a great English jurist thatevery man is justified in evading the law if he can, because it is theduty of lawmakers not to leave any loophole for evasion. That point ofview of justice as a battle of wits, with victory to the sharpest, was alittle too cynical for his acceptance. But he believed it to be his dutyto safeguard the interests of his client. Robert Turold was dead, and nolonger able to protect his own name. It might be that the facts of hisdeath involved some scandalous secret of the dead man's which was betterundivulged, and if so it would remain undivulged, could Mr. Brimsdowncontrive it. For the time being he would pursue his investigations andkeep his own counsel.
The sound of an opening door and a shadow athwart the threshold disturbedhis meditations. He looked up, and was confronted by the spectacle ofThalassa advancing into the room with his eyes fixed upon him.
"Well, Thalassa," he said, "what do you want?"
"To ask you something," was the response. "It's this. It's every man forhimself--now that he's gone."
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the next room. "He took this housefor twelve months, and so it'll have to be paid for. Can I stop here for abit? I suppose it's in your hands to say yes or no."
His face was hard and expressionless as ever, but there was a new note inhis voice which struck the lawyer's keen ear--an accent of supplication.He looked at Thalassa thoughtfully.
"You wish to stay on here until you have made other arrangements for yourfuture--is that so?" he asked.
"That's it," was the brief reply.
Mr. Brimsdown felt there was more than that--some deeper, secret reason.Before granting the request it occurred to him to try and get what hecould in exchange. Self-interest is the strongest of human motives, andmen wanting favours are in a mood to yield something in return.
"Well, Thalassa," he said, amiably enough, but watching him with the eyeof a hawk, "I do not think your request is altogether unreasonable--in thecircumstances. I dare say it could be arranged. I'll try to do so, but Ishould like you to answer me one or two questions first."
"What do you want to know?"
"Was your master's daughter here--in the house, I mean--on the night ofhis death?"
Thalassa's face hardened. "You, too?" he said simply. "I say again, as Isaid before, that she was not."
"You said so," rejoined Mr. Brimsdown softly. "The question is--are youtelling the truth? If you know anything of the events of that night youmay be injuring Miss Turold by your silence."
For a moment Mr. Brimsdown thought his appeal was going to succeed. Hecould have sworn that a flicker of hesitation--of irresolution--crossedthe old man's stern countenance. But the mood passed immediately, and itwas in an indifferent voice that Thalassa, turning to go, replied--
"If that's what you're reckoning on, I'd better go and pack my traps."
"Oh, I don't make that a condition," replied the lawyer, acknowledging hisdefeat in a sporting spirit. "You can remain here and look after the houseuntil you decide what to do. As Robert Turold's old servant you areentitled to consideration. I will help you afterwards, if you will let meknow your plans. I am sure that would have been your late master's wish."
"I want nothing from _him_," Thalassa rejoined, "a damned blackscoundrel."
Mr. Brimsdown was shocked at this savage outburst, but there was somethingso implacable in the old man's air that the rebuke he wished to utter diedunspoken. Thalassa regarded him for a moment in silence, and then wenton--
"Thank'ee for letting me stop on here a bit. Now I'll tell yousomething--about him." Again his thumb indicated the next room. "It wasthe night after."
"Do you mean the night after he met his death?"
"Yes. Some one was upstairs in his room--in this room."
Mr. Brimsdown gave a startled glance around him, as though seeking alurking form in the shadows. "Here?" he breathed.
"Here, sure enough. I woke up in my bed downstairs, staring wide awake, asthough somebody had touched me on the shoulder. I was just turning over togo to sleep again, when I heered a noise up here."
"What sort of a noise?
"
"Like the rustling of paper. I listened for a bit, then it stopped. Iheard a board creak in the next room, where we'd carried him. Then therustling started in the other room again, right over my head. The dogdownstairs started to bark. I got up, and went upstairs as quickly as Icould, but there was nobody--except _him_. The dog frightened whoeverit was, I suppose. Next morning I found the front room window wide open."
"Were there any footprints outside the window?"
"A man doesn't leave footprints on rocks."
"What time was it?"
"It would be about midnight, I reckon."
"Did your wife hear the noise?"
"No. She was in bed and asleep."
"Are you sure you didn't dream this?" Mr. Brimsdown asked, with a shrewdpenetrating glance.
"The open window wasn't a dream," was the dogged reply.
"You might have left it open yourself."
"No, I didn't. I close the windows every night before dark."
"And lock them?"
"Not always."
The incident did not sound convincing to Mr. Brimsdown, but his face didnot reveal his scepticism as he thanked Thalassa for the information.Thalassa lingered, as if he had something still on his mind. He brought itout abruptly--
"Has anything been seen of Miss Sisily?"
"Nothing whatever, Thalassa."
On that he turned away, and went out of the room, leaving the lawyerpondering over his story of a midnight intruder. Mr. Brimsdown came to theconclusion that it was probably imagination, and so dismissed it from hismind.
He resumed his work of working over the papers, but after a few minutesdiscontinued his search, and walked restlessly about the room. The airseemed to have the taint of death in it, and he crossed over to one of thewindows and flung it up.
The window looked out on the sea, though far above it, but the slope ofthe house embraced in the view a portion of the cliffs at the side. As Mr.Brimsdown stood so, breathing the sea air and looking around him, heespied a woman, closely veiled, walking rapidly across the cliffs in thedirection of the house.
She vanished from the range of his vision almost immediately, but a fewminutes later he heard footsteps and an opening door. He was againconfronted by the presence of Thalassa on the threshold. But this timeThalassa did not linger. "Somebody to see you," he announced with gruffbrevity, and turned away.
The open door now revealed the figure of the woman he had seen outside.She advanced into the room.
"Mr. Brimsdown?" she said.
"That is my name," said the lawyer, eyeing her in some surprise. Herecognized her as the woman who had stared after him when he left AustinTurold's lodgings, but he could not conjecture the object of her visit.
"I see you do not remember me," she sadly remarked.
"You are Mrs. Brierly, I think."
"Yes. But I was Mary Pleasington before I was married. I remember you verywell, but I suppose that I have changed."
Mr. Brimsdown recalled the name with a start of surprise. He found itdifficult to recognize, in the faded woman before him, the pretty daughterof his old client, Sir Roger Pleasington, whose debts and lawsuits hadbeen compounded by death ten years before. He remembered his daughter as abudding beauty, with the airs and graces of a pretty girl who imagines herexistence to be of some importance in the world. He recollected that hermarriage to an impecunious young artist had caused some sensation inSociety at the time. Marriage had dealt hardly with her, and no trace ofher beauty or vivacity remained.
"You are the late Mr. Turold's legal adviser?" she continued, after apause.
Mr. Brimsdown, always chary of unnecessary words, replied with a slightbow.
"I suppose you have come to Cornwall to investigate the cause of hisdeath?"
Mr. Brimsdown remained silent, waiting to hear more.
"I--I wish to speak to you about that." Her lips quivered with some inwardagitation.
"Will you not be seated?" he said, placing a chair for her.
"Will you regard what I have to say to you in strict confidence?" shequeried, sinking her voice to a whisper.
"Is it about Mr. Turold's murder?"
"It--it may be."
With the recollection of previous eavesdropping in that house, the lawyerrose and closed the door. "I cannot make a promise of that kind," he saidfirmly, as he returned to his seat.
"No, no--of course not," she hurriedly acquiesced. "I was wrong to ask it.I have come here to tell you. When I saw you this afternoon I realizedthat Providence had answered my prayers, and sent somebody in whom I couldsafely confide. I will tell you everything. I have come here for thatpurpose."
She seemed to have a difficulty in commencing. Her pale grey eyes wanderedirresolutely from his, and then returned. It was with a perceptible effortthat she spoke at last.
"What I am about to tell you I have known for some days, but I could notbring myself to the extreme step of going to the police. Sometimes I aminclined to think that it may be only a trifling thing, easily explained,and of no importance. But sometimes--at night--it assumes a terriblesignificance. I need counsel--wise counsel--about it."
She paused and looked at him wistfully. As though interpreting his nod asencouragement, she went on--.
"Mr. Austin Turold and his son have been inmates of my household for thelast six weeks. Mr. Robert Turold arranged it with me beforehand. I hadnever done anything of the kind before, but our means--my husband's andmine--are insufficient for the stress of these times. After all, peoplemust live."
Mr. Brimsdown's slight shake of the head seemed to imply that this laststatement was by no means an incontrovertible proposition, but Mrs.Brierly was not looking at him.
"Therefore, to oblige Mr. Turold we decided to afford hospitality to hisbrother and son. The terms were favourable, and they were gentlefolk.These things counted, and the money helped. But if I had only known--if Icould have foreseen ..."
"Mr. Turold's death?" said Mr. Brimsdown, filling in the pause.
"I mean--everything," she retorted a little wildly. "My name is wellknown. I was in Society once. There is my husband's reputation as anartist to be considered. I would not be talked about for worlds. I actedagainst my husband's advice in this matter--in taking Mr. Turold and hisson. My husband said it was a degradation to take in lodgers. I pointedout that they were gentlefolk. There is a difference. I wish now that Ihad listened to my husband's advice."
Mr. Brimsdown listened with patient immobility. His long experience offemale witnesses withheld him from any effort to hasten the flow of hiscompanion's story.
"They were very nice and quiet--particularly Mr. Austin Turold," she wenton. "The son was more silent and reserved, but we saw very little ofhim--he was out so much. But Mr. Turold did my husband good--his breedingand conversation were just what he needed to lift him out of himself. Aman goes to seed in the country, Mr. Brimsdown, no matter how intellectualhe may be. Nature is delightful, but a man needs to be near Piccadilly tokeep smart. Cornwall is so very far away--so remote--and Cornish rocks aredreadfully severe on good clothes. I am not complaining, you understand.We had to come to Cornwall. It was inevitable--for us. No English artistis considered anything until he has painted a picture of the Land's End orNewquay. The Channel Islands--or Devon--is not quite the same thing. Notsuch a distinctive hallmark. So we came to Cornwall, and my husband wentto seed. That was why I welcomed Mr. Turold's conversation for him. It didhim good. My husband said so himself. He derived inspiration--artisticinspiration--from Mr. Turold's talk. He conceived a picture--'Land of Hopeand Glory' it was to be called--of a massive figure of Britannia, standingon Land's End, defying the twin demons of Bolshevism and Labour Unrestwith a trident. He was working at it with extraordinary rapidity--whenthis happened.
"On the day of his brother's death we did not see much of Mr. AustinTurold. There was Mrs. Turold's funeral in the afternoon, and when he camehome I thought he would prefer to be left to himself.
"He went to his sitting-room,
and stayed there. My husband and I retiredearly that night, but later we were awakened by a very loud knock at thefront door. We heard Mr. Austin Turold, who was still up, go down and openit. Then we heard a very loud voice, outside--Mr. Robert Turold'sman-servant, it appears. We heard him tell Mr. Austin that his brother hadbeen found shot. Mr. Turold returned upstairs, and some time afterwards weheard him go down again and out.
"I was so upset that I arose and dressed myself to await Mr. Turold'sreturn. I thought he might like a cup of coffee when he returned, so Idecided to go downstairs myself and prepare it. As I passed the passagewhich led to Mr. Charles Turold's room, I noticed a light underneath hisdoor. I rather wondered, as he was still up, why he had not gone with hisfather, but I was passing on without thinking any more about it when Ihappened to notice that the light beneath the door was fluctuating in thestrangest way. First it was very bright, then it became quite dim, but thenext moment it would be bright again.
"That alarmed me so much that I walked along the passage to see what itmeant. I thought perhaps the young man had fallen asleep with the windowopen and left the gas flaring in the wind. I stood for a moment outsidethe door wondering what I ought to do. Then I heard a crackling sound, andsmelt something burning. That alarmed me still more, because I knew nofire had been lit in the room that day. I wondered if the bedroom was onfire, and I knelt down and tried to see through the keyhole.
"At first I could see nothing except a bright light and the shadow of aform on the wall. Then I made out the form of Charles Turold, standing inhis dressing-gown in front of the fireplace, in which a fire of kindlingwood was leaping and blazing. I could not make out at first what he wasdoing. He seemed to be stooping over the fire, moving something about.Then I saw. He was drying his clothes--the suit he had worn that day. Theymust have been very wet, for the steam was rising from them.
"I must have made a noise which startled him, for I saw him turn quicklyand stare at the closed door, then walk towards it. I went away as quicklyand noiselessly as I could, and as I turned the corner of the passage, outof sight, his door opened, and then closed again. He had looked out and,seeing nobody, gone back into his room.
"I went downstairs to make the coffee and wait for Mr. Turold. I had towait some time. When I did hear the sound of his key in the door, I wentup the hall with a cup of coffee in my hand. Mr. Turold seemed surprisedto see me. He looked at me in a questioning sort of way as he took thecoffee, and stood there sipping it. As he handed me back the cup he toldme in a low voice that his brother was dead. I said that was why I hadwaited up--because I had heard the knock and the dreadful news. Mr.Turold, in the same low voice, then said he was very much afraid hisbrother had taken his own life.
"He then went upstairs. I again retired shortly afterwards, but I couldnot sleep. I was too upset--too nervous. I could not get Mr. RobertTurold's suicide out of my head. It seemed such a dreadful thing for awealthy man to do--so common and vulgar! Suicide sticks to a family so--itis never really forgotten. It is much easier to live down an embezzlementor misappropriation of trust funds. The thought of it put the otherthing--the fire and young Mr. Turold and his wet clothes--out of my headcompletely, for the time.
"As I was lying there tossing and thinking I heard a light footstep passmy door. I slipped out of bed, and opening the door a little, looked out.I saw Mr. Turold, fully dressed, a light in his hand, turning down thepassage which led to his son's room. Then I heard the sound of a creakingdoor, the murmur of a low conversation, cut short by the shutting of thedoor. I stood there for a few minutes, and then went back to my bed andfell asleep.
"The next day it all came back to me. I had gone into Charles Turold'sroom for some reason when he was out, and there, on the hearth, I couldsee the remains of the fire he had lit overnight to dry his clothes. Hehad made some clumsy man-like attempt to clean up the grate, but he leftsome ends of the charred kindling wood lying about."
This final revelation brought a silence between Mrs. Brierly and thelawyer; a silence broken only by the distant deep call of the sea beneaththe open window. The silence lengthened into minutes before Mr. Brimsdownfound his voice.
"You have said nothing to anybody else about this?" He spoke almostabstractedly, but she chose to regard this question in the light of areproach. She hurriedly rejoined--
"I did not see the necessity--then. If young Mr. Turold got caught in thestorm, and chose to dry his clothes in his room, instead of putting themout for the maid, why should I tell anybody? I did not connect it with hisuncle's death. I was under the impression that Mr. Robert Turold had takenhis own life. It was not until the detective called to see Mr. AustinTurold that I learnt there was a suspicion of--murder. My maid overheardthe detective say something while she was in and out of the room servingtea, and she told me what she had heard. I saw things in a new light then,and I was terribly upset. But I could not see my way clear until you cameto the house to-day. Then I decided to tell you."
"Can you tell me what time Charles Turold came in that night?"
"I have no idea. He and his father have separate keys of the front door."
It was evident that she had told all she knew. She rose to her feet inagitation.
"I must go. My husband will be wondering where I am. But tell me, Mr.Brimsdown, do you imagine ... Is it possible ..." Her voice dropped to theghost of a frightened whisper.
He evaded this issue with legal caution.
"You have done quite right in coming to me," he replied, as he opened thedoor for her departure. He held out his hand.
She touched it with trembling fingers, and went away.
Mr. Brimsdown closed the door behind her, and wearily sat down. He hadbeen prepared to do much to shield the name of Turold, but he had notbargained for this. He did not doubt the truth of the story he had justheard, and it gave him a feeling of nausea. What a revelation of theinfamy of human nature! The stupendous depth of such villainy overwhelmedhim with dismay. The extent of the criminal understanding between fatherand son he did not attempt to fathom. His mind was filled with themonstrous audacity by which Charles Turold, apparently at the dictate ofremorse, had sought to convince him of Sisily's innocence by directingattention to the marks on the dead man's arm which he had probably madehimself. Could human cynicism go farther than that? A great wave of pityswept over the lawyer as he thought of the unhappy Sisily, and all thatshe had been compelled to endure. But why had she fled?
Long he sat there without stirring, until the shadows deepened and thegrey surface of the sea dissolved in blackness.
"The police must be told of this," he said at last, in an almost voicelesswhisper.