Corner House — Chapter XV, Lawrence Prophesies Again; Chapter XVI, Mr. Charlton Speaks
CHAPTER XV. LAWRENCE PROPHESIES AGAIN.
The puzzled and slightly dissatisfied audience poured out of the inquest hall with a feeling that they had been defrauded.
There was no chance of a verdict of murder against Bruce after the last two bits of startling and quite unexpected evidence.
Two credible witnesses had proved that one of the people who had called Bruce to the corner house had remained after he had left.
The case was just as fascinating, and at the same time as puzzling as ever.
The real culprit as yet might have to be found, but there was no getting away from these facts about the stolen banknotes.
Still, the coroner's jury were not called to try that question, and at the suggestion of Prout the matter was adjourned for a month.
Bruce was allowed to take his own way, a result he had not confidently expected.
The vulgar curiosity of the passing crowd annoyed him.
Standing outside the vestry hall was a carriage and a pair of horses.
Leona Lalage, seated inside, smiled brilliantly on Bruce and his companion, and the footman opened the door.
"I managed to get inside," the Countess said.
"Did anybody ever hear so foolish a fuss?
And that silly juryman!"
"I am afraid I should have shared his opinion under similar circumstances," said Bruce.
"You see my guilt----" "I shall not listen to a word of it," the Countess cried.
"The mere suggestion is revolting to one's common sense.
Fancy you committing a vulgar crime like that!
Jump in, and let us get away from this awful crowd.
Where shall I drive you?"
It was all the same to Hetty so long as she got away from the insolent people.
They must go back and have tea at Lytton Avenue.
There would be nobody present, and the Countess would not be at home to anybody.
Nothing could be sweeter or more sympathetic than her manner.
To lounge there in that dimly-lighted and perfectly appointed room was soothing and restful.
Bruce carried his head a little higher as he made his way home.
There was a smell of tobacco in his room and a vision of Lawrence with his heels on the mantelpiece smoking a cigarette.
He was looking at a paragraph in an early edition of the _Globe_ that seemed to give him satisfaction.
"So you've got back," he said.
"Rather a sensational bit of copy for the papers over the inquest, eh?
That pompous juryman's face was a study when Hetty and that reporter chap knocked him out of time."
"I didn't see you," said Bruce.
"All the same I was there all the time.
I fetched the Countess Lalage in.
As I entered I bought a copy of the _Globe_.
The first thing that took my eye was the very strange advertisement inside by the theatrical notices."
Bruce glanced carelessly at the paragraph.
Then his eye brightened.
It ran as follows: "Danger.
--The danger lies in the second floor back bedroom of the corner house.
--Z."
"Toujours the corner house," Bruce cried.
"What do you make of it?"
Lawrence looked at his friend with a twinkle.
"I'll tell you my opinion later on," he said.
"I think that after an exhibition of my marvellous powers, you can safely leave the matter to me.
Should you like to have a little bit of an adventure this evening?"
Bruce replied that he was just in the frame of mind for something of the kind.
He was far too restless to settle down to anything.
"It may be lively and it may be the reverse," said Lawrence, "but it is nothing more or less than an hour or two spent in the corner house.
We are going there after ten, and I prophesy that we shall catch something; if we are very lucky it may be the being with the secret."
"In other words you propose to drag my unlucky self into house-breaking?"
"Nothing of the kind.
I have procured the key to the back part of the premises from Prout, who has the profoundest respect for my sagacity.
When I pointed out that notice in the _Globe_ to him he proposed to have the house watched, which is so like a policeman's intellect."
It was a little past ten when the two friends set out upon their errand.
There was nothing of note until the house was reached.
The blinds were all closely drawn, so that the adventurers had to grope their way from room to room, the suggestion of a light being out of the question.
"We'll sit in the hall," said Lawrence.
"We'll take it for granted that the owner is a hospitable man, and permit ourselves the luxury of tobacco."
It was a long and weary vigil, and when the clock struck midnight Bruce heartily wished himself out of it.
It was a strain on the nerves, too, sitting in that dark silent house waiting for something that might not come.
Lawrence did not usually display any bulldog qualities, but he sat on grimly now.
The traffic grew quieter, only a solitary pedestrian or a tramping policeman passed the house.
Then came a firm footstep that paused before the house, with a suggestion of listening or waiting for someone on the part of the wayfarer.
Bruce's heart beat a little faster as he heard a scuffling on the step and the muffled rattle of a latchkey in the door.
There was a breath of welcome fresh air in the stuffy place, the impact of two bodies, and Lawrence rushed upon the newcomer.
There was a muttered curse and a fall.
"Got him," Lawrence cried.
"I knew we should.
Or he's got me.
Light the gas, Gordon; we'll have to risk it this time."
Bruce fumbled for the bracket, and found it at length.
There was a flaring rush and then dazed eyes made out a tall man with a pair of blazing angry dark eyes, and a beard quivering with rage.
"Come my man, what's your name?"
Lawrence panted.
"My name, sir," said the other coolly and clearly, "is Mr. Garrett Charlton, the owner of this house.
And who are you?"
CHAPTER XVI. MR.
CHARLTON SPEAKS.
For once in his life Lawrence was utterly taken aback.
He could do no more than stammer out an apology and assure the stern dark-eyed stranger that nothing in the way of a liberty was intended.
"You see, I have found something out," he said.
"I rather hoped--indeed, I have still hopes--that the culprit----" "What on earth are you talking about?"
Charlton asked impatiently.
"But, surely, my dear sir, the tragedy that took place here so recently----" "So recently!
Ah, this is a veritable house of tragedies.
I must get you to explain.
I have come here direct from Paris to get certain papers.
Put the gas out and come into the dining-room where the shutters are up.
We don't want the police fussing about.
You can tell me everything.
If I don't make a mistake you are Mr. Gilbert Lawrence, the novelist."
"And I remember you now," Lawrence replied.
"So you know nothing of what has been happening lately?"
The story was told at length, Charlton listening with a certain amount of interest.
He looked like a man under the cloud of a great sorrow, the contemplation of which was never far from his eyes.
"This is an accursed house," he said presently.
"My father went mad here and committed suicide.
My wife did the same thing, but then she was the victim of one of the greatest fiends that ever took mortal guise."
Mr. Charlton's melancholy eyes seemed to be fixed on space.
Just for the moment he had forgotten that he was not alone.
Lawrence gave a sympathetic cough.
As a matter of fact, he had not yet explained what he was doing there, and the longer the explanation was postponed the better he would be pleased.
"You remember the case of my wife?"
Charlton asked suddenly.
"Ah, I see you do.
Well, I am going to tell you my story.
You are a man of sentiment and feeling, or your novels greatly belie you.
And a doctor always respects confidence.
When my wife died there was an inquiry extending over many days.
The great question was: Had she poisoned herself, did she take poison by misadventure, or did I kill her?
Nine people out of every ten believed I was guilty.
I let them believe it at the risk of my neck, and why?"
The speaker asked the question quite fiercely.
"Because you loved your wife and respected her memory," said Lawrence.
"Correct.
You are a man after my own heart, sir.
My wife committed suicide because she thought I no longer loved her, and that I had transferred my affections to the woman who acted as her companion.
"That woman was perhaps the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.
We never dreamt the depth of her wickedness, that she was a gambler and a forger.
But she was.
And when the gaol loomed before her she took my wife's jewels to sell and so save herself from exposure.
"But she never got those jewels out of the house.
She was found out by a piece of good luck--whether good or bad luck I shall leave you to guess.
She had barely time to throw the gems down the well which is in the little courtyard behind the house, and my wife saw it all.
The woman was informed that on my return from a journey I should be told everything.
She knew that investigation would follow.
And what did that fiend of a woman do.
She forged a letter from me in which I made the most violent love to her and asked her to fly with me.
Mind you, that letter was posted and delivered here.
It was very easy to contrive that it should find its way into the hands of my poor wife;
it was safe to reckon upon her emotional temperament.
She read the letter; she took from a drawer a phial of some sleeping draught, and she poisoned herself."
Charlton paused and wiped his forehead.
He spoke quite calmly and collectedly, but the great drops stood on his face.
"I got home sooner than expected, got home in time to find my wife dead and that fatal letter in her hand.
The woman who was the cause of all the mischief entered the room just too late to get the letter back.
She was off her guard for the instant, and I saw it all in a flash.
The part about the jewels I got later from one of the servants who had been afraid to speak before.
"I said nothing--for my dear wife's sake I was silent.
You see I could prove nothing.
No jury would have got anything out of the fiend who brought this about.
The letter I carefully concealed.
I took the risk of hanging, and as people blamed me my wife's good name was saved."
"I am afraid I don't follow your reasoning," Bruce said.
"I do," Lawrence observed.
"At the time it was quite natural.
But it seemed a pity to let that woman get off scot free."
A queer, hard smile came over Charlton's face.
"Nemesis is slow but sure," he said.
"My turn will come.
That letter is locked up in the safe yonder.
Would you like to see it and compare it with my own ordinary handwriting?
Oh, that was a wonderful woman!"
Charlton proceeded to open a safe in the wall and took from it two letters.
"There," he exclaimed.
"That is the letter, the other sheet is my own handwriting.
Did you ever see a more marvellous imitation?
There are times when I feel as if I really must have written the letter myself.
Look at it, Mr. Lawrence."
Lawrence had pounced upon it eagerly.
His lithe little frame was thrilling with excitement.
He held his head back as if sniffing at some pungent odour.
"Here's a discovery," he said, excitedly.
"Here's a perfect revelation.
Mr. Charlton, will you trust me for four and twenty hours with this letter?
I've found out something that fairly takes my breath away."
"As you please," Charlton said, indifferently.
"All discoveries are the same to me now.
But why do you smell that letter?"
"I'm on the scent," Lawrence laughed.
"All the same, if I am correct it will be no laughing matter for somebody before long."
