Corner House — Chapter LV, The Corner House Again; Chapter LVI, Now Then!; Chapter LVII, A Way Out
CHAPTER LV. THE CORNER HOUSE AGAIN.
There was no chance for Balmayne from the first.
He was perfectly conscious all the time; he was to have anything that he required.
He was absolutely cynical and callous as to the future.
He had always played the coward's part all his life, and now, strangely enough, when he came to die he showed the greatest indifference.
He smiled into the face of the man whose good name he might have cleared, but he gave no sign.
So hard and callous a nature was impervious to kindness.
Anybody who did a kind action for its own sake was a fool in Balmayne's eyes.
There was only one that he cared to see, and that was Hetty.
In a curious way the girl's goodness and purity appealed strongly to him.
As to his future he cared nothing.
He wanted to know if anything had been seen of Leona Lalage, and when Hetty replied to the contrary he seemed to be greatly astonished.
"You are sure she has not been near Lytton Avenue?"
he asked.
Hetty was quite sure of that.
Only that day the magnificent decorations of No. 1, Lytton Avenue, had been sold on the premises, and nobody could have been there besides those who were interested in the sale.
"Strange thing," said Balmayne to himself.
"A most remarkable thing!
Miss Lawrence, will you do a favour for me.
I would not trust anybody else.
But if you will give me your promise I shall be easy.
There is only one thing I have done that I really am sorry for, and you can set it right for me."
"I will do anything I can to make your mind easy," Hetty said.
"Ah, you are a good girl.
If I had seen more like you I should have been a better man.
But I was brought up in a hard school.
It's about Mamie.
Did it ever strike you that the child was no relation to Leona Lalage?"
"My uncle has always said so," Hetty replied.
"And he is perfectly right.
That wonderful man always is right.
Mamie is the only child of a sister of mine who lives in Florence.
I wanted her once to impoverish herself to help me in one of my schemes, and she refused.
By way of revenge I had her child stolen.
That is some four years ago.
She never knew I had a hand in it; she deems Mamie to be dead.
When I am gone I want you to write to my sister and tell her what I am saying.
Only you must get the address."
"Only tell me," Hetty exclaimed.
"Poor woman!
What is the address?"
"I cannot tell you from memory.
But I am going to ask you to find the address.
You know the little bedroom I used to occupy at the top of the Lytton Avenue house.
There is a cupboard in the corner, and the board next the fireplace comes up.
In the recess you will find a little box full of papers.
On one paper is my sister's address.
The other papers I will ask you to burn unread."
"If I could get into the house," Hetty said, "I would cheerfully do what you ask."
"That is quite easy.
I have a latchkey in my waistcoat pocket.
You have only to go and get the papers, and nobody will be any the wiser.
I felt quite sure you would do this thing for me."
Balmayne murmured something more and closed his eyes.
When the nurse came up to him an hour later he was dead.
He had passed away quietly in his sleep.
How he came by his death, and who his assailants were nobody knew.
There were many dark passages in that dark life known only to itself and its Maker.
It was a few days later before Hetty thought of her promise to Balmayne.
It was a fine bright afternoon with a strong sunshine, so that even the deserted house in Lytton Avenue looked almost cheerful.
With a feeling that she might have been taken for a burglar or a house-breaker, Hetty let herself in.
Everything was gone, even to the electric fittings.
The place was dismantled and dirty, the floors grimy with the tramp of many feet.
A
door closed with a sullen bang, and Hetty started.
"How dreadful it all looks!"
she murmured.
"I hope I shall never see it again.
Some houses seem to be given over to misery and crime.
Now to find those papers."
The little room was at the top facing the blank windows of the Corner House.
Hetty had no difficulty in finding the box, and a very brief search showed the address she was looking for.
The box she emptied in the grate and set fire to the contents with a match she had brought for the purpose.
She watched the flames die away, and turned to go.
As she did so she looked out for a moment at the Corner House.
The sun was shining strongly on the grimy windows.
It seemed as if somebody was moving inside.
Hetty was certain that she could see a shadowy form there.
She waited just for a moment in eager expectation.
There was the form again, and then the spurt and flare of gas.
What would anybody want gas for at this time of the day?
The question was answered immediately, for a hand went over the gas flame holding something that looked like a kettle to the flame.
Then the hand disappeared and nothing more was to be seen, despite Hetty's patience.
She pondered over this discovery as she went home.
It might mean a lot, it might mean a very little.
It was more than possible that Mr. Charlton had left a caretaker in possession of the house with a view to avoiding further incursions upon his possessions.
If so, that casual way of boiling a kettle was quite the course a caretaker would adopt.
All the same, Hetty decided to speak of her discovery to Lawrence.
He was busy at his desk when she returned.
He looked up quickly, for there was an expression on Hetty's face that told of some discovery.
"I have been to Lytton Avenue," she said, "to get that address I told you of.
And then I made a discovery.
Uncle, how long has there been a caretaker on those premises, who boils a kettle by the ingenious expedient of holding it over the gas until it is hot enough?"
Lawrence threw up his pen with a cry of delight "You've made a more wonderful discovery than you know," he said.
"What a splendid scheme, and how foolish of me not to think of it before.
My dear child, you have found the hiding place of Leona Lalage!"
CHAPTER LVI. NOW THEN!
The time had come.
Leona Lalage knew it as well as if she had seen the writing on the wall.
This man had come for her; she would have no time to make her peace with the world.
When he had his say he would drive his knife into her heart, and there would be an end of it.
"I--I thought you were in prison," she gasped.
"Oh, then you knew that I was in England?"
René replied.
"I have been in prison for some time, otherwise you would have done less mischief.
Woman, what has become of my brother--your husband?"
She did not reply for a moment.
Her courage was coming back to her, as it always did when the stress of danger was great.
Hard-pushed and beaten down as she was, she did not wish to die.
She had been crushed flat to earth before, and yet she had recovered.
If she could only gain time!
If she could only manage to throw dust in the eyes of this man!
She would ask no questions, because that would be only by way of making admissions.
She must feel her way in the dark.
And there was no avenue of escape whatever.
She was alone with this man in a dark, deserted house.
She had come there for a few needed trifles that she had left behind.
Nobody had seen either of them enter.
Why, it was a very premium upon murder and the lust for revenge!
"Where is my brother?"
René repeated doggedly.
"You know very well where your brother is," Leona replied.
"He is dead.
He died in a house that is very close to here."
"He did not die, woman.
He was foully murdered."
"Why should I deny it?"
Leona said boldly.
"My husband was murdered.
He was slain by Dr. Gordon Bruce for the sake of his money."
René sneered.
He crossed over to the door.
Leona laughed aloud.
"Oh, I have not the slightest idea of trying to escape," she said.
"Why should I?
I am entirely innocent of the death of your brother."
"You lured him to the Corner House and drugged him.
You kept him prisoner."
"I admit it.
Leon discovered my whereabouts, and that I was apparently rich and prosperous.
He demanded large sums of money.
As a matter of fact I was driven to my wits' ends for cash then, and I refused.
I had to drug him and detain him to still that fool's tongue of his.
He might have done me a grave mischief.
Then I had a bit of luck, and I gave Leon four hundred sovereigns.
He knew where you could be found;
he told me he wanted to send half to you.
I allowed him to go so that he could change his gold into notes for the purpose."
"Yes, yes," René said impatiently, "I know all that.
Why did you kill him?"
"Why should I have killed him?"
was the cool response.
"At the rate he was going he would have drunk himself to death in another week."
The rage and lust for vengeance was only smouldering in René's eyes now.
It was just possible that he had made a mistake after all.
"But you were in the house," he said, "disguised as a Spanish woman----" "Of course I was.
Leon and myself had come to an understanding.
He was going abroad after he had sent you the money.
At great risk to myself I passed between here and the Corner House.
I had to disguise myself.
And when everything was ready Leon got at the brandy bottle again.
For some nights he had not slept.
When I got to the Corner House late that night Leon was practically dead.
Ah, better for me if I had left him to die."
The passionate despair of the tones touched René.
It did not seem possible to the man that this woman was acting.
"But I didn't do anything of the kind," Leona resumed.
"I had Balmayne to back me up.
He played the part of a deaf mute servant for me and fetched Dr. Bruce in the motor car.
When Bruce came I departed, at least I left him on the premises.
I dared not stay any longer.
Half Bruce's story was a clever lie.
He only told a portion of it.
And it has been proved beyond doubt that the notes Leon intended to send to you were paid by Dr. Bruce to a firm in the Tottenham Court Road for some furniture.
I am not romancing; you can see all this in the papers.
Every one of those missing notes had Dr. Bruce's signature on the back.
How do you get over that?"
René was silent for a moment.
The woman's tongue was getting round him.
And the practical part of her story was true.
"Now, listen to me," he said hoarsely.
"I came here to kill you; I came here to be avenged on my brother's murderer.
When you saw me come in you were afraid."
"Because I read your errand in your eyes.
But I am not afraid now."
"I don't think you are," René said, with grudging admiration.
"Do you know how I got here?
We lured Balmayne into a trap under the idea that he was going to meet Ghetti, and I frightened your address out of him.
He betrayed you."
The outburst of rage and scorn that René expected was not forthcoming.
She smiled.
"Not in the way you mean," she said.
"Balmayne has fooled you to save his own skin.
He knew I should make my story good and prove my innocence, or he would never have sent you to meet me tonight."
"He had no what you call alternative," René growled.
"Yes, he had.
That man is far cleverer than you.
You are a child to him in cunning with all your boasted brains.
If you kill me tonight you commit a cold-blooded murder.
But you are not going to do anything of the kind."
It began to dawn upon René that the speaker was right.
But he had another weapon still up his sleeves.
His vengeance was not boiling within him as it had been, the red light no longer danced before his eyes.
"Get me food," he said; "they starve you in those places yonder.
I
have tobacco, but my stomach craves for food.
Go and get me food.
I'll go and lock the area door so that you may not give way to a desire to take the air.
After that you can find me something."
CHAPTER LVII. A WAY OUT.
Leona retorted scornfully that she had no desire for flight.
But as for the food that René demanded, it was a different matter.
Still, Lytton Avenue had always been an extravagant household, and there might be welcome food here that would have been looked upon with disdain a few days ago.
There was nothing in the kitchen, but there were some boxes in the storeroom beyond--a tin or two of sardines and some biscuits.
Also in a wine cellar Leona found a flask or two of Chianti.
These she handed up to René, who returned to the dining-room with them.
His mood had changed for the moment, but Leona was by no means out of danger yet.
He might have been trying her all the time, he might be gloating over his vengeance.
If she could only get rid of him, only scare him away.
She looked round as if seeking inspiration.
She found it presently in the housekeeper's room.
Just in front of her was the glitter and sheen of the telephone.
The scheme that she wanted came to her like a flash.
She closed the door of the room softly and gave a call.
It was late at night, the exchange was quiet, and the answer came swiftly.
"Give me number--well, I forget the number," she said almost in a whisper.
"I want to be put on to the nearest police-station quick."
"Vine Street," came the staccato reply.
"Number 107--there you are.
You are wanted Vine Street.
.
.
.
There you are--speak up."
A hoarse voice wanted to know what was wrong.
But it mattered little what noise the speaker made at the other end of the wire so long as the caller spoke under her breath.
She proceeded to explain.
"I'm at No. 1, Lytton Avenue," she said, "Countess Lalage's, you know.
Yes, I am quite aware of the fact that it is an empty house.
But there is a lot of stuff here that is worth fetching.
In fact, there is somebody in the dining-room now.
Are you going to do anything, or shall I give the alarm?"
The gruff voice suggested diplomacy, and promised immediate assistance.
The caller had only to lie low and the desired aid should be on hand immediately.
With a sense of pride and exultation Leona Lalage hung up the receiver and made her way to the dining-room.
Unless some unforeseen event took place she had saved her own life.
But all the same there was danger.
The police would probably get René, but also they might get her, which was a much more serious matter.
She softly opened the catch of the back drawing-room window so that she could reach the garden.
René had opened the tin with the point of his knife, and was eating sardines and biscuits in a wolfish way.
The Chianti he drank from the bottle.
"That is like a breath of old times," he growled, as he finished the flask.
"Let me light a cigarette and then we'll talk again.
I am going to try you high, dear lady.
I am going to test your story."
The old gleam was coming back to his eyes.
Leona drew a deep breath.
She had half expected this at the time; there was always the chance that this man knew a great deal more than she imagined.
But help must be near her by this time, and she could always prevaricate.
"Pooh, I am not afraid," she said, with easy contempt.
"Say on, say on."
"Ah, I am coming to that fast enough," René growled.
"You say that you gave my brother four hundred pounds in gold----" He paused as he saw Leona listening eagerly, not to himself, but to something outside.
She was acting perfectly.
There was just a suggestion of alarm in her manner that gave the situation.
"Didn't you hear something?"
she whispered.
René shook his head.
He could hear nothing at all.
He said so impatiently.
It seemed to him that his companion was playing with him.
"You or I, or both of us, are followed," she said.
"Come this way.
Peep out of the window without lifting the blind.
What do you see?"
A policeman, standing rigidly outside the house, making signs with his hands to somebody.
A sound of feet creeping down the area steps, the sudden pop and bang of a door forced in by a lever.
"Look to yourself," Leona cried, "they are here.
There is a ladder in the garden that leads out to the roof.
Never mind me."
René had no intention of doing anything of the kind.
A dim, blue-coated figure stood in the doorway of the dining-room.
With one spring René was upon him, and carried him to the floor.
There was a groan and a snarl and a snore, and the policeman lay on his back utterly oblivious for the moment.
René Lalage raced up the stairs.
The house was not familiar to him, but he quite understood the meaning of what Leona had said about the ladder.
As to the woman herself, she was quite at home there.
She slipped into the back drawing-room, and thence across the hall into the drawing-room.
The window catch was unfastened, as she had looked forward to this way out, and an instant later she was in the cool air.
She could hear the shouts and yells in the house; presently she heard the cry of a policeman far overhead.
René's means of escape had been discovered, and he was being pursued over the housetops.
"I hope they get him," Leona said between her teeth.
"I hope they get him.
And may they keep him for the rest of his life."
She hurried down the garden to the green gate.
A little way beyond it was a policeman.
No escape that way for the present.
The garden was all right, but it would be light in two or three hours.
There was a yell from the roof, and then a policeman's hoarse roaring, saying that he had "got him."
The next time Leona looked out the policeman outside the green gate was gone.
