Corner House — Chapter LVIII, Nearing the End; Chapter LIX, Light in the Corner House; Chapter LX, Narrowed Down
CHAPTER LVIII. NEARING THE END.
Rene Lalage made his way blindly up to the roof, where he lay breathless under the shadow of a chimney.
It was too dark to study any further plan of escape, and too dark for a free dash for liberty.
A
false step and he might be dashed to the ground.
Better be caught and taken back to gaol than that.
He waited for what seemed a long time, but was only a few minutes after all.
Then there were voices coming nearer and nearer, one with a hoarse note of triumph as the ladder leading to the roof was found.
"This is the way," another gruff voice said.
"He's here for any money."
A police helmet appeared cautiously above the skyline, followed by a bulky body.
Then a lane of light played all over the roof.
Closer and closer René nestled up in the shadow of the chimney.
He was in the centre of the gleaming light now, and presently his figure grew distinct and clear.
"Come out of it, my lad," said the gruff one good-humouredly.
"We've got you."
René rolled down the roof to a long ledge that the light had shown him.
If he could run along that he could gain the next house, and go a deal further.
Then he might slip down another ladder, and so through a sleeping household to safety.
He rocked unsteadily over on the ledge with his feet hanging perilously over the parapet; the next instant one of the police officers, at the risk of his neck, was upon him.
René would have wriggled for his knife, but he dared not move.
"Come quietly," the officer suggested.
"If you want to commit suicide go on acting like that.
And if you drag me down that won't save your life."
Lalage saw the beautiful force of the argument.
Besides, he was not anxious to die yet.
His own bitter regret was that he had not completed his mission.
If he had only known that his dalliance with opportunity had proved his own undoing he would have been moved to a deeper and fiercer anger.
"I'll come quietly," he said between his teeth.
"Have you got the woman?"
The officer shook his head in a puzzled kind of way.
He knew nothing about any woman.
Perhaps those below had accounted for her.
There were lights all over the house when Lalage was led down with the handcuffs on his wrists.
"Have you got the woman?"
he asked again.
Nobody had seen anything of any woman.
A light began to dawn upon René.
"I'm coming quietly," he said.
"To show my friendly feeling, I don't mind telling you that you have made an important capture.
Now, during the last hour have you heard anything of an escape from Holloway?"
The sergeant in charge of the party had heard all about that.
"Party of the name of Lalage?"
he said.
"What do you know about him?"
The prisoner struck his breast theatrically.
"Simply because I am that distinguished individual," he said.
"I tell you that because in any case you must have found that out before long.
My liberty comes to me in a way that is likely to prove useful.
I came here to take a great revenge.
Pah, I may be what you call criminal, but I am not a burglar.
I have not sunk to that yet.
I came here to see a woman.
Have you got her?"
"Seen nothing of a woman," growled the sergeant.
"Oh, then I begin to have still deeper suspicions.
How did you know I was here?
I was certain that I was never tracked."
"Somebody in the house," the sergeant explained sketchily.
"Caretaker or something of that kind, or so we imagined.
Call on the telephone."
René broke out into sudden exultation.
He saw it all now.
He had been lulled into a false position of security, and Leona had slunk away and called for assistance on the telephone.
He had not known that there was such a thing in the house.
How she must have smiled at him in her sleeves all the time, knowing that his capture was certain, and that she had her own avenue of escape.
"What's this about a woman?"
the sergeant asked.
René checked himself.
He grew suddenly calm, but the effort threw him into a violent perspiration.
Well, his time should come yet.
"Take me back to Holloway," he said, sullenly, "and ask your Prout to see me in the morning.
Say it will be worth his while."
Prout came up smiling in the course of the next afternoon.
He was disposed to chaff his prisoner in a mild kind of way.
"The experience was worth the money," the latter said.
"My friend had arranged everything.
I got our dear Balmayne in our clutches within an hour.
And I said to him, 'Dog, where is Leona Lalage?'
And he professed not to know.
But we had means of our own, you understand, to make him speak.
And he spoke at last.
He told me where to find her.
And where do you think it was?"
"Well," Prout said thoughtfully, "seeing that you were traced to Lytton Avenue, I suppose that you found her there?"
"I did.
So you see that she has not escaped from London.
Perhaps you knew that before you came here.
Anyway I have told you.
And I'll tell you more if you are not aware of it already.
Leona Lalage and the Spanish gipsy of the Corner House are one and the same woman."
Prout nodded.
All this was no news to him.
Lalage paced up and down the cell fiercely.
His eyes were full of sullen fire.
"And she killed my brother," he said.
"Oh, yes, there is no doubt about that.
If I had not been a fool I should have been avenged last night."
"And spoilt my game," Prout said coolly.
"Oh, you are going to have all you need in the way of revenge, but in a legitimate way.
Within a few hours London is going to learn the mystery of the Corner House."
CHAPTER LIX. LIGHT IN THE CORNER HOUSE.
Gilbert Lawrence had put away his books and papers with the air of a man who means to take a holiday.
He did not seem in the least surprised.
"Are you astonished?"
Hetty asked.
"Well, no," Lawrence said.
"You see, the woman was taken by surprise, she was quite destitute so far as money was concerned at the time, and she must hide somewhere.
At the same time we must not forget the cleverness of the woman with whom we are dealing.
She would argue to herself that until she could communicate with some or another of her many accomplices there could be no safer hiding-place than the Corner House.
The very audacity of it would put everybody off the scent.
Charlton hates the place and does not go near it--nobody wants to go near it, in fact.
So therefore it seems to me to be a natural thing to do."
Hetty permitted herself the luxury of a smile at Gilbert's expense.
"Then why did not you suggest a search there?"
she asked.
"That is a very fair question," Lawrence admitted.
"I put that out of my mind because, as I told you before, the main scheme of the tragedy was taken from my skeleton plot.
In that plot the cause of all the mischief goes back to hide in the very spot where the mischief was done.
Now, in the course of my diplomacy I had to let the Countess know I had discovered that somebody had used my brain for inspiration.
Under the circumstances she might not have carried the thing to the end."
"An additional proof of her clever and wonderfully logical mind," said Hetty.
"On the whole you are doing her no more than justice," said Lawrence.
"Still, we do know where she is now, and I am going to see her.
If she falls into the hands of Prout now, we shall never get her to speak, and therefore we shall have no end of trouble to clear Bruce's name as it should be cleared.
I'll just run round and get Charlton to accompany me.
And then for a thrilling interview."
Charlton complied without enthusiasm.
In a few days he was going to have everything in the Corner House sold, and subsequently dispose of the property altogether.
It was a little after four o'clock that he put his key in the latch, and the two entered.
A casual glance did not disclose any marks of occupation, but there were traces of food in the kitchen and some utensils had evidently been used.
"Look at the bottom of those saucepans," said Lawrence.
"See how they are smoked; at the same time there is no soot on them.
Our quarry has not dared to light a fire by reason of the smoke.
It is quite plain that Hetty was not mistaken when she said she saw a hand holding a kettle over the gas.
And, by Jove, this kettle is warm still!"
For a long time a search of the house disclosed nothing.
Up and down they looked, but no trace of Leona Lalage could be found.
Under the tiles of the roof was a small closet, and in a vague kind of way Lawrence poked his stick in there.
Something soft yielded to his touch.
"Will you kindly step out?"
he suggested politely.
A dirty, grimy figure emerged, as unlike the dashing, brilliant Countess Lalage as could be well imagined.
Her face was white and drawn, but nothing could dim the fire and flash of those wonderful dark eyes.
Ill and worn as she was she carried herself upright as if her black dress had been a Paris gown.
There was a bitter little smile on her face.
She was going to make the best fight she could under the circumstances, but she was beaten.
She had come to the end of her resources, and nobody knew it better than herself.
"I expected this," she said.
"I knew that it must come sooner or later.
I am sorry that I cannot receive you in better fashion.
Well, you have hunted me down.
What do you propose to do now?"
"To listen to your story," said Lawrence.
"And if I refuse to tell you any story?"
"In that case I shall ask you to listen to mine with what patience you can.
I have no desire to be in the least vindictive; it is a matter of indifference to me whether you stand in the dock or not.
Personally I would go out of my way to save any woman from that indignity.
But if you will have it you must."
"But I do not share these views," said Charlton.
"I recognise this woman now, though she no longer wears any disguise.
There stands my wife's murderess.
I shall never be content till the world knows that."
"I prefer to regard the lady for the present as Countess Lalage," said Lawrence.
"But we can find a better place for discussion than this."
He stood aside politely for the woman to pass.
She led the way in her imperious fashion as if they had been honoured guests of hers.
She carried her dingy dress magnificently.
In the drawing-room, Lawrence drew the blinds so that they could see better.
The garish light of day shone on Leon Lalage's pale face, and disclosed the deep black lines under her splendid eyes.
Only the flick and tremor of her lips betrayed her feelings.
With her hands folded in her lap she waited.
"Are you not going to speak first?"
Lawrence asked.
"No, I am not," came the slow reply.
"Oh, you are a clever man, without doubt, and you have the air of one who holds all the cards.
It will be a pleasure for me to listen to what you have to say."
Charlton rose; the woman's coolness and nerve were inflammable to him.
"I cannot stay here," he cried.
"That woman maddens me.
It brings back all the recollections that I am trying to forget.
I shall forget myself----" Lawrence laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Patience, a little patience," he whispered.
"It is not for very long.
You will please stay here and see a confession signed."
"My confession!"
Leona Lalage cried.
"Even so, Madame.
I make no idle boast.
Before I leave here the name of an innocent man will be cleared."
Leona Lalage smiled unsteadily.
Her lips twitched horribly.
"Go on," she whispered.
"Go on, mine enemy."
CHAPTER LX. NARROWED DOWN.
It was a curious scene, a scene to remember long afterwards.
In all Lawrence's imaginative writing he had never constructed anything more striking than this.
He was about to hear the story of a strange crime, and it could not be told in a better setting than the Corner House.
The garish sunlight struggled through the grimy panes.
Under ordinary conditions the drawing-room was a luxurious one.
But the fine dust of years had settled upon pictures and statues and upon the upholstery of the old Empire furniture.
As Charlton paced to and fro a gossamer cloud of dust seemed to follow him.
In the centre of it all sat Leona.
Lawrence could see now that there were marks and bruises on her face, the result of the autocar accident, which showed out now there was no artist to attend to them.
She sat with her hands folded in her lap grimly, patiently waiting for the novelist to speak.
He produced a cigarette.
"You won't mind?"
he said.
"I will have one with you," Leona replied.
"That will be more comfortable.
Now, will you be so good as to proceed?"
"We will go back to the beginning," Lawrence began.
"Here is a very beautiful and fascinating woman, living all alone in her wealth.
Her talents and her loveliness have taken her into the cream of society."
"Which isn't worth the trouble when you've got it."
"There I perfectly agree with you.
But the lady I speak of is bound to lead.
Wherever she is and whatever walk of life she finds herself in, she is bound to lead.
She flashes out and dazzles London.
She lives in a fine house and entertains royally.
But there is one thing that puzzles me.
Why does the lady reside so far from Park Lane or Belgravia or Mayfair?"
"Lytton Avenue houses are large and they have gardens."
Lawrence smiled as he flicked off the end of his cigarette.
"It is very good of you to assist me in my deductions," he said.
"But that does not quite account for everything; in fact, it accounts for nothing.
There are finer houses in the localities I speak of, with better gardens.
And a lady who pays for nothing has no need to study economy."
Leona laughed outright.
"I have paid for nothing for years," she said.
"L'audace, l'audace et toujours l'audace!
But for circumstances over which I had no control I might have gone on to my death.
But proceed.
I am interested."
"Let us hope the story will proceed in grip as it proceeds," Lawrence murmured.
"I was interested too.
This, I say in effect to myself, is a splendid woman in a halo of mystery.
I must study her with a view to a future heroine.
I see her in the park where I can study her features.
After a time I come to the conclusion that I have taken up a magnificent adventuress."
"Never a truer word in your life," Leona sneered.
"Well, I am glad not to have offended you.
Incidentally I am not the less interested because my young relative Hetty Lawrence holds a position of some trust in the house of the heroine of the story.
I say to myself that I must know the Countess Lalage.
We become quite friends, in fact."
Leona smiled in a queer, strange way.
"Oh, yes," she said slowly.
"We were friends.
I bear you no malice.
But if I had only guessed--well, we should have seen something fresh in the way of obituary notices."
"You would have removed me," Lawrence asked.
"Ay, I should.
I should have put you from my path.
Make no mistake about that.
But it is no use repining over that.
Go on."
"Well, I study you.
Then I begin to see my way.
It was only the kind of idea that would creep into the brain of a novelist who does not scruple to endow even his most intimate friends with ferocious qualities for business purposes.
But I allowed myself to think that the reason why you had come to Lytton Avenue was because you were in some way interested in the Corner House.
There you have the first faint indication of the shaping of the story.
"Here in the dull and gloomy Corner House, with its dark and gloomy tragedy, cheek by jowl with the hardness and glitter and brilliancy of Lytton Avenue.
If my adventurer wants a big dark cupboard to hide things, where can she have a better one than the Corner House!
If I bore you----" "Bore me!"
Leona cried.
"Never more interested in my life.
Subtlety of this kind always appeals to me.
Proceed."
"Again, it is a little strange that I have already built a romance round the Corner House before the heroine came along.
I told you once that I had known the owner of the Corner House before the tragedy.
I
had my heroine and I had my plot.
A plot of vengeance and wounded pride.
"But stranger still to say, the live heroine, yourself, is more deeply interested than I imagined.
We will say that she did a foolish thing.
She fell in love with one of her own guests--Dr. Bruce, to be plain."
Leona quivered but said nothing.
It was only by a motion of her hand that she signalled Lawrence to proceed.
"Well, this love came--the wild, unreasoning passion of the South.
Dr. Bruce was pushed on, his fortune was being rapidly made.
Then my heroine makes a discovery in strict accordance with the conditions of the game.
Her governess and the doctor are affianced to one another."
"It is always thus in books," Leona said, with a hard smile.
"Inevitably.
But you were not in a book, unfortunately.
You were flesh and blood and you took your own way.
You thought you had been slighted.
You made up your mind to get your revenge at any price.
All the same, you could not see your way.
You wanted a neat plot to get Bruce into trouble, for he had bad taste in not caring for you.
You used the simple expedient of stealing mine."
CHAPTER LXI. LOGIC.
