The Moon Rock

  CHAPTER XXIII

  "And suppose the police call during your absence?" said Austin Turold,glancing sharply at his son.

  "Then you had better tell the truth. I am tired of it all."

  "I might ask, with Pilate, What is truth?--in your case."

  "You know it already, father, whether you believe me or not."

  Austin Turold looked strangely at him--a look in which anger was mingledwith something deeper and more searching, as though he sought to reachsome secret in the depth of his soul. Impatiently he crossed the room tothe fireplace, and stood with his back to the fire, facing his son.

  "I do not see that there's any more risk than there was before," saidCharles gloomily.

  "I say there is," returned his father sharply. "What! Do you suppose youcan go off to London like this, leaving me here alone, at such a moment?Do you not see that your unexplained absence, in itself, is likely tobring suspicion upon you, indeed, upon both of us?"

  "I cannot help that," returned the young man desperately. "I must go andfind Sisily."

  "You are not likely to find her. You do not even know that she has gone toLondon."

  "Yes. I have found out that much. She took a ticket by the midday train onthe day after--it happened."

  "And why do you wish to find her?"

  "Because she is deeply wronged--she is innocent."

  "You should be able to speak with authority on that point," said Austin,with a cold glance, which the other did not meet. "You are acting veryfoolishly, rushing off to London on this quixotic mission. You won't findher. Besides, no woman is worth what you are risking in this wild-goosechase. You are jeopardizing your future by an act of the maddest folly."

  "There is nothing in life for me but the shadow of things--now," returnedthe young man in low tones. "I want nothing except to find Sisily andprove her innocence. I'm going to look for her, whatever you say."

  Austin Turold made an impatient gesture.

  "Very well," he said. "If Providence has made you a fool you must fulfilProvidence's decree. Only, I warn you, I think you are going the right wayto bring trouble on yourself. That lawyer who was here to-day--what's hisname, Brimstone, Brimsdown?--has his suspicions, unless I'm very muchmistaken."

  Charles turned pale. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

  "By the way he watched both of us."

  "That accounts for his attitude when I saw him afterwards," said Charlesin a startled voice.

  "Afterwards--where?"

  "I went after him to tell him that Sisily was innocent."

  "And what else did you tell him?"

  "Nothing but that--nothing that counted, at least."

  "Really, Charles, your lack of intelligence is a distinct reflection on meas a parent. Fancy a son of mine trying to make a lawyer's bowels yearnwith compassion! I'm positively ashamed of you. Why are you so elementary?The situation must have contained some elements of humour, though. Ishould like to have witnessed it. Did you call down Heaven's vengeance onthe murderer in approved fashion? How did the man of parchments take it?"

  "You have no heart," said his son, flushing darkly under this sarcasm. Hewalked towards the door as he spoke. "I am going," he said. "There is anexcursion train through to Paddington to-night, and I shall catch it."

  "You are determined on it, then?"

  "I should be in an unendurable position if I didn't," replied the youngman, and without another word he left the room.

  Austin looked after him a little wistfully, as though remembering that theother was, after all, his son. He remained motionless for a moment, thencrossed over to the window and looked out. As he stood so his eye wascaught by two figures beneath. One was his son, walking down the gardenpath. The other was Mrs. Brierly, returning to the house. She walked pastCharles with downcast eyes, but Austin from the window saw her turn andcast a frightened fluttering glance at the young man's retreating figure.She had seen him, then, but did not want to recognize him. As she hurriedup the garden path Austin caught a glimpse of her face, and observed thatit was white and drawn.

  "What's the matter with my estimable landlady?" he murmured as he withdrewfrom the window.

  His quick intelligence, playing round this incident and seeking to pierceits meaning, grew alarmed. There seemed to be a menace in it. Did she knowor guess something of the hidden events of that night, or had she playedthe spy since? He turned pale as he considered these possibilities. Womenhad an unerring instinct for a secret once their curiosity was aroused.But he had been careful, very careful. What did she suspect?

  He thought over this problem until night fell, and retired to bed with itstill unanswered.

  But the solution flashed into his mind at breakfast next morning,suddenly, like light in a dark place. He was amazed that he had not seenit before. "If it is that ..." he whispered. But he knew it was that; knewalso, that it meant the worst. He got up from the table, then forcedhimself to sit down again and eat. An untouched breakfast tray mightquicken the suspicions in the mind of that most treacherous womandownstairs, might hasten her hand. But why had she delayed so long?

  He passed the morning between his chair and the window, watching, andlistening for footsteps. He saw Mrs. Brierly leave the house early, andwondered if she would return with the police. Another reflection came tohis mind. Charles had some inkling, and had fled in time. Perhaps that wasjust as well, if he got out of England. For himself there was no suchretreat, nor did he wish it. He would have to face things out, if they hadto be faced, and he did not yet despair of saving the situation, so far asit affected himself. What did that diabolical female know, really? He hada momentary vision of her stealing about the house, prying, watching,listening. He sank into a motionless brooding reverie.

  The day passed its meridian, but he still sat there in solitude with hisanxious thoughts. As the afternoon declined his hopes rose. Could it bethat he was mistaken, that his fears were imaginary? Perhaps, after all--

  At that sharp ring of the doorbell downstairs he walked noiselessly to thewindow, and shrank back with the startled look of a man who has had hisfirst glimpse of the bared teeth of the law. He stood still, listeningintently. He heard the door opened, a sharp question, then the sound ofascending footsteps. When the knock came at his own door he was incomplete command of himself as he went to open it. He was well aware ofthe ordeal before him, but he did not show it. There was nothing butironical self-possession in the glance which took in the figures ofDetective Barrant and Inspector Dawfield, revealed on the threshold of theopening door.

  Barrant lost no time in coming to the point. "I want to see your son," hesaid, entering and glancing quickly round the apartment.

  "I am afraid that is impossible."

  "Why?"

  "He is not here."

  "Where is he?"

  "I think he has gone to London."

  Barrant was plainly taken aback at this unexpected piece of news. "Whendid he go?" he demanded.

  "Yesterday evening."

  Barrant cast a look at Dawfield, which said plainly: "He's had word ofthis and bolted." His glance returned to Austin. "Can you tell me where heis staying in London?"

  "I have not the least idea," returned Austin negligently.

  "Does he not live with you?"

  "As a rule--yes."

  "What is your London address?"

  Austin took a card from his case and laid it on the table. Barrant pickedit up, glanced at it, and said: "Is your son likely to be there?"

  "He may be, but he said nothing to me about going there. He has his ownliberty of action, like every other young man of his age. May I ask thereason of these questions, Detective Barrant?"

  Barrant did not choose to reply. He drew Inspector Dawfield to the doorwayand conferred with him in an undertone. Austin saw Barrant slip the cardinto his colleague's hand, and Dawfield then hastened away. The inferencewas plain. Dawfield had been sent off to intercept the flight or start thepursuit. Austin found himself profoundly hoping that his son wa
s by thattime out of England.

  He had not much leisure to think of that, for Barrant turned towards himagain with an annoyance that he did not attempt to dissemble. "Why hasyour son gone to London--perhaps you can tell me that much?" he exclaimed.

  "I gathered from him that it is his intention to look for his cousinSisily."

  "For what purpose?"

  "Because he strongly believes in her innocence."

  "It is strange that he should have rushed off like this."

  "Without waiting for your visit, do you mean? Really, Detective Barrant,may I constrain you to give me some explanation of all this? I want tohelp you all I can, but your actions savour too much of a peremptoryjack-in-the-box, even in these bureaucratic days. What is the object ofthis visit? Why did you want to see my son?"

  "I wished to interview him."

  "About what, may I ask?"

  Barrant did not immediately reply, but Austin, scanning him furtively,sought to reach his thoughts by the varying shades of expression on hisface. It was the state of mind of a man who was at once chagrined, amazed,suspicious, and wondering. The older man could picture Barrant thinking tohimself: "This man before me--how far is he involved in this?" And,watching him mutely, Austin steeled himself for a sudden outburst: "Youpicked up the key. You declared it was suicide. What does that mean--now?"

  But he under-estimated Barrant's intelligence. Barrant had no intention ofdoing anything so crude. The situation was sufficiently awkward as itstood without putting the father on his guard. Austin might guess that hewas under suspicion as well as his son, but that did not matter so much.Barrant instinctively realized that flight was impossible for AustinTurold, though he might seek to warn his son not to go near their Londonhome because the police were after him. But that was a warning which wouldbe useless, for the police were ahead of him there. Barrant reflected thathe gained nothing by not divulging the object of his visit when theinference of it was so transparently palpable. The disclosure might evenserve a useful purpose by lessening Austin's apprehensions in his owncase. With this consideration in view he brought it out frankly--

  "I wished to question your son about his movements on the night of themurder."

  "Is my son suspected--now?"

  Barrant winced under the delicate inflection of irony which conveyed inthat brief reply the inference of another blunder in his own changingsuspicions. That sneer roused the official in him, and it was in a curttone of command that he said--

  "What time did your son get home on the day of the murder?"

  "I am unable to say."

  "He did not return with you after the funeral?"

  "No, he did not."

  "Where did he go?"

  "These are strange questions, Detective Barrant. I really cannot tell youthat either, because I do not know."

  He put up his glasses to look at Barrant with an assumption of resentment,but the detective's return glance was hard and searching. "Was your son into dinner that night?" he asked.

  "We have midday dinner, in this house."

  "Well, supper. Was he in to supper?"

  Austin reflected rapidly. He dared not refuse to answer the question, andany attempt to mislead the questioner would only make things worse whenthe two women in the house knew the truth.

  "Yes. He was in to supper."

  "And went out afterwards?"

  This was put more as a simple statement of fact than a question. Again,Austin's subtle intelligence could see no better course than truth.

  "He did. My son frequently goes out walking of an evening after supper."

  "What time did he return--on this evening?"

  "I do not know."

  "Do you mean that?" Barrant's tone was incredulous.

  "I do." The impulse which had dictated his previous answer sprang from thethought that the foolish females downstairs could not contradict it, andhe adhered calmly to the course now he was committed to it.

  "What time did Thalassa come for you from Flint House with the news thatyour brother was dead?"

  "I do not know the exact time. He called at the police station first."

  "Had not your son returned by then?"

  "I am unable to inform you. He frequently goes straight to his room whenhe returns from an evening walk."

  "Then you do not know whether he was in or out when you left the house?"

  "I assumed he was in, as it was after his usual time for returning."

  "You did not go to his room, to see?"

  "No. I did not wish to disturb him."

  Barrant looked as though there was only one possible construction to beplaced on these replies, but he still did not utter the question whichAustin feared and dreaded most. In a harsh peremptory voice he said--"Showme your son's room."

  In those words he stood revealed as one with all the resources of the lawat his back, able to issue commands which other people must obey. Therights of liberty and freedom were in his hands. It needed not that toshow Austin Turold how near he stood to the edge of the precipice. Thestrain of the interview had told on him. This was the first actual buffetof the beast's paw. He led the way to his son's room and watched Barrantgo through his intimate belongings with the feeling that intelligence wasa flimsy shield against the brutal force of authority. The law in searchof prey cared nothing for such civilized refinements as intellect orself-respect. As well try to stop a tiger with a sonnet.

  The search revealed nothing, and Barrant went away without another word. Amoment later Austin heard him questioning the frightened women on thefloor beneath. Listening intently, he made out a fragment of theconversation, sufficient to remove all doubts of the origin of thedetective's present visit. Austin's mind flew to the episode he had seenfrom his window on the previous afternoon. Why in the name of heaven hadthis Brierly woman been such a fool? Why had she not come to him with herstory, and asked for money to shut her mouth? Why was she sobbing andsnivelling downstairs now, when it was too late?