CHAPTER X.
[DONNA MARIA]
Wray House was a charming villa on the banks of the Thames. The view of the mansion from the river was singularly picturesque. From the banks a smooth green lawn of closely shorn turf, diversified by oval flower-beds, brilliant with scarlet geranium, sloped gently up to a terrace, bordered by a balustrade of white marble. On this plateau rose the house, a fairy edifice of two storeys, the upper smaller than the lower. A colonnade ran round the house, and supported an upper balcony, broad and spacious, on which opened the French windows of the bedrooms. French windows also gave access to the colonnade, which was liberally sprinkled with small tables and lounging chairs. The whole building painted a brilliant white had, in appearance and design, a tropical look, more suited to equatorial regions than to the cool green misty island of England. This miniature paradise was encircled by a belt of trees.
This particular summer, however, had proved particularly hot, so that Wray House was a perfect residence, during the sultry months of June and August. Used to the ardent heats of South America Donna Inez, as Mrs. Grent loved to be called, found the warmth delightful, and basked like a snake in the golden sunshine. In a large degree her niece was charmed with the unusual splendour of the summer, and the two Spanish women passed most of their time lounging in the colonnade, or swinging in silken hammock suspended from the branches of convenient trees. To them house and life and summer recalled the languid lazy existence of far distant Lima. There laziness is an art, and idleness has been reduced to a silence.
When the news came of Grent's tragic death, Donna Inez, a weak lymphatic woman, had given way to intolerable grief, and had shut herself up to indulge in it. The domestic economy of the house was thus upset for the moment, but was speedily restored to order by Maria Sandoval, who had much more character and self-control than her aunt. Mr. Leighbourne, senior, came hastily over from Paris on receiving the news of his partner's death, and at once paid a visit to Wray House. He could do nothing with Donna Inez, who was hysterical from grief, so he insisted that Donna Maria should take command of the household. This the young girl, not without misgiving, agreed to do, and satisfied on this point, Mr. Leighbourne returned to London in order to arrange the affairs of the dead man. So far as the will was concerned he, as one of the executors, took all the trouble on his shoulders, but at Wray house the responsibility of looking after her aunt and managing the servants devolved on Maria. Shortly she found that the task was too difficult, the more so as she was a foreigner, and a comparative stranger to English way, so she requested Lydia Hargone to come down and assist her.
Miss Hargone was a woman of twenty-seven, good-looking and extremely clever. She had been engaged to teach Maria English when the young girl first arrived from Lima, and had stayed nearly two years at Wray House. Then she had announced that Maria spoke the Anglo-Saxon tongue excellently well, and that, as there was no necessity for further teaching, she Miss Hargone, would seek another situation. Everyone in the house had protested against this, for Lydia was a general favourite and Maria was quite overcome with grief at the thought of losing her. However, Miss Hargone had her own way, as usual, and had departed some three months before the death of Grent, when the tragic circumstance and the urgent message of her former pupil recalled her to Wray House. It is to Miss Hargone's credit that she accepted the invitation at once, and strove in every way to pacify Donna Inez, and lighten the domestic burdens of Donna Maria. Things were in this position when Torry, accompanied by Darrel, paid a visit to the house of the dead man. And that visit was the first step in the dark and tortuous path which led to the discovery of the truth.
At first Darrel had been unwilling to come, or even to continue his partnership with the detective in following up the various clues now in their possession. He excused himself on the ground of incapabilities.
"I cannot assist you in any way," he urged. "I see now that the unravelling of an actual criminal problem is far more difficult and complex than I thought. I have not your indomitable perseverance, and the rebuffs which never daunt you, make me nervous and doubtful."
"Nonsense! nonsense!" cried Torry cheerfully.
"I've set my heart on your going through with this. After all, why should you be discouraged; we have found out a good deal."
"Have we?" said Darrel sceptically.
"Of course. We have learnt that the dead man's name was Jesse Grent; that he was attempting to fly with a woman and ten thousand pounds, and that he was killed, probably by the lover of the woman whose name we have yet to discover. Also, we have learnt that the stolen money belongs to a secret society who use the image of a Blue Mummy as a token. Come now, I think all these discoveries are very encouraging."
"They would be if you could prove them," replied Darrel, "but you are mingling fact and fancy. You cannot prove that Grent stole the money, and, indeed, on the face of it--if Vass is to be believed--he is innocent. Also you cannot say for certain if Grent intended to fly with a woman, or that he was killed by her lover. Finally, although I admit on the authority of Manuel that a secret society exists we don't know its aims, nor do we know that the Blue Mummy has anything to do with it."
"So there, now," cried Torry smiling, "you knock down my fine castle of cards with your relentless logic. Never mind, build it up with future discoveries, stronger than ever. Come and help me to lay the first card."
"The first card?"
"The first brick, if you are so particular," said the detective testily. "In plain English, come down to Wray House and assist me to question this young lady about the hat."
"She won't tell you the truth."
"Yes she will, provided she is not implicated in the matter, and I hardly think that likely. Though to be sure," added Torry to himself, "it is strange that her hat should be on the dead woman's head."
"I should like to know the truth of that, certainly," said Darrel, fired by sudden curiosity, "Yes, I'll go with you. When do we start?"
"In an hour. We take the mid-day train from Waterloo, I am not fanciful, you know," remarked the detective, nodding, "but I have an idea that this journey will be a lucky one."
Frank laughed, "We'll do our best to make it so," said he.
This being arranged they drove to Waterloo Station, and after a hasty luncheon in the restaurant, departed for Wraybridge by the 12.30 train. In a surprisingly short time considering the distance from town, they arrived at Wraybridge, and hiring a fly, drove at once to Wray House. The road which led, thereto, was singularly beautiful, as it passed through a small forest of pine and fir trees. Here and there were villas and mansions and cottages, and occasionally, through intervening trees, a glimpse could be caught of the smoothly-flowing Thames, winding its silvery way through flowery meadows. In twenty minutes the travellers arrived at Wraybridge village, a quaint and picturesque hamlet with old-fashioned houses, peaked roofed and many gabled. Through the narrow crooked thoroughfare, misnamed the High-street, they passed; emerged again into a stretch of open country marching with the river, and ultimately stopped before a pair of elaborate iron gates which gave admission to Wray House. Having arrived at their destination Torry paid off the cabman and, followed by Darrel, entered the grounds.
It must be confessed that Frank did not feel altogether easy in his mind. To visit unsuspecting people with the idea of worming secrets out of their inexperience seemed to him like getting into the house under false pretences. Torry not being a gentleman, was not troubled by these fine scruples. And indeed there was no need that he should be. He was an officer of the law; he was acting entirely in the interests of justice; and it was only natural that he should attempt by every means in his power to bring the wrongdoer to the gallows. Darrel mentally tried to assure himself of this, for the salving of his own conscience; but all the same, he felt uncomfortable, and devoutly wished that he had not embarked on a career which dealt with life in so underhanded a way. However, he had gone too far to retreat; so with some philosophy, he made the best of a bad bargain, and followed Torry up to the house. Here they found some difficulty in entering.
The servant brought back Torry's card, and announced that his mistress was too ill to receive anyone. Thereupon the detective requested permission to see Donna Maria; who also sent back a message that she was not to be seen. On this second refusal Torry lost his smiling demeanour, and at once became the stern officer of justice--sharp-tongued and peremptory.
"Tell your mistress," said he to the servant, "that if she will not see me herself, she must permit me to converse with Donna Maria Sandoval. I am a detective from New Scotland-yard, and have been charged to discover, if possible, the assassin of Mr. Grent. In my official character Donna Maria dare not refuse to see me."
Apparently this peremptory speech carried weight, for in a few minutes the servant returned and shewed the two men into a small room.
Here they waited, and Torry amused himself by admiring the beauty of the apartment, which was luxuriously furnished; and in contemplating the exquisite view from the open French windows which led on to the colonnade. The scene was worthy of his praise.
At the foot of the emerald lawn ran the great river flashing diamonds in the strong sunlight. On the further bank were a row of tall poplars, slender and stately in their leafy pride; beyond were smooth green meadows dotted with grazing cattle; lines of rugged hedges, clumps of trees, and occasionally a cluster of red-roofed houses, and the square tower of some village church. It was all very pastoral and peaceful; but Torry's eyes left the scene to gaze upon two people--a man and woman--who were walking to and fro on the gravelled path beside the river. Both were young, both were handsome, and both were deeply engaged in conversation.
"Wonder who they are?" speculated Torry
"Can't guess who the man is, but I daresay the lady is Donna Maria."
"Donna Maria is here," said a sweet voice behind him.
Torry and Darrel rose to their feet to behold a beautiful woman in the first blush of girlish beauty. Donna Maria was not very tall, but her figure was perfect; and she walked with the graceful, undulating gait peculiar to Spanish women. Her hair and eyes were as black as midnight; and she had a pale oval, olive-hued face, a charming mouth, and when she smiled, displayed a row of pearly teeth. Her air was haughty and imperious, and she looked at the visitors like a queen whose privacy has been intruded upon.
"I am Donna Maria," said she coldly. "May I ask, sir, why you insisted upon seeing me?"
She looked at Darrel, who did not respond, so amazed he was by her beauty; so after a glance of disapproval, the lady turned towards Torry, and repeated the question. The detective immediately unwrapped the parcel he carried, and held the hat out towards her.
"Is this hat yours?" he asked.
Donna Maria looked at it closely, then bowed. "It was mine," she admitted, "but some weeks ago I gave it to my maid."
"What was her name?"
"Julia Brawn; but you say, 'what was her name?' Why?"
"Because," replied Torry, looking steadily at her, "Julia Brawn has been murdered."