CHAPTER XIII
[A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE]
Having garnered all obtainable evidence, for the time being at Wray House; the detective and his coadjutor returned to town. Before their departure, however, Blake noted the address of his old schoolfellow, and promised to pay him a visit at an early date. Darrel, knowing that Roderick wished to assist in finding out the mystery, resolved to ask Torry if he would permit him to do so. This request he made when they were in the train on their way back to Waterloo.
"What do you think of my friend Blake?" he asked, abruptly.
"A nice fellow, but flippant," replied Torry. "Not much earnestness of purpose there."
"I am sorry you think so, as Blake is anxious to assist us in this matter. It seems that he was a great friend of Mr. Grent's, and is naturally angered by his cowardly assassination; also, he has nothing to do, and wishes to employ his time. What do you say?"
"Humph! Mr. Blake is the lover of Miss Hargone?"
"Yes he is engaged to marry her. Is that any bar to your utilising his services?"
"It may be, sir. You see, this Lydia Hargone is the woman who called at Grent's chambers on that Saturday."
"Are you sure?" said Frank, somewhat startled.
"As sure as one can be, in this world of mistakes," replied Torry drily. "At all events, she wears on the third finger of her right hand a silver ring set with three turquoise stones, Meek noticed that ring as worn by the veiled lady who visited Grent. At first, owing to the confused manner of Donna Maria, I fancied she might be the individual. However I was wrong. The evidence of the ring assures me that Lydia Hargone paid that visit. Why?"
"There is nothing peculiar in her paying a visit to her employer."
"Grent was not her employer then. She had left his service some time. Now, Donna Maria is----"
"I won't hear a word against that lady," interrupted Darrel hotly.
"Because she is beautiful; your romance again. Well as you please; but you must admit that it was strange she should faint at the sight of the Blue Mummy."
"Vass fainted in the same way."
"I know he did, and Miss Sandoval gives the same explanation for her fainting as he did. Both of them saw the Blue Mummy on Grent's desk, and its connection with his murder came so forcibly to their memories that they fainted. Now, I said before, and I say again that the explanation is feeble and untrue."
"But surely you don't think Donna Maria guilty of the crime?"
"No; don't jump to conclusions. I think both she and Vass are innocent enough, but I fancy they know something likely to clear up the mystery of the death, if they would but speak."
"Torry," cried Darrel earnestly, "I am sure Donna Maria wishes to discover the assassin of her uncle. You heard her say so?"
"Oh, yes I heard her say so. Words! words! words Why does she not own up?"
"Own up what?" inquired Frank obstinately.
"The truth."
"She doesn't know it."
"She may not know all of it, but she knows half, and Vass knows the other half. If those two would only put their halves together we might arrest this mysterious assassin."
"But why should they not speak out?" argued Darrel.
"Because they are shielding someone."
"Whom?"
Torry looked straight at the young man. "Let us say Donna Inez."
"You are mad!"
"Bah! I am only theoretical," retorted Torry coolly. "Listen. So far as I can see by the imperfect and scattered evidence we have collected, there is a choice of two motives to account for this crime One is that Grent was murdered for the sake of that ten thousand pounds."
"But you can't prove that he had the money. Vass says----"
"I know what Vass says--that the money was in the safe after Grent went. Well, that seems to dispose of the robbery motive. All the same, I would have you remember that when you met Grent he had on him some valuable which he fancied you might take from him. I suggested at our first conversation that it might be a jewel."
"Now, I know that if he carried anything to the rendezvous with Julia Brawn it was that stolen money."
"Rubbish! I say again that you can't prove how it came into Grent's possession."
"Vass might have taken it out of the safe and given it to his master next day."
"Torry," said Darrel gravely, "when Vass left the bank on Friday night the money was in the safe."
"Are you certain of that?"
"I am. Leighbourne told me that he saw it there before he left the office. Vass left the bank along with Leighbourne. The next day he was ill."
"Who was--Vass or Leighbourne?"
"The former. Don't you remember Leighbourne told us so?"
"Ah, yes," cried Torry, with a recollection of the conversation with the banker. "And I thought it was an unnecessary piece of information. Leighbourne said that Vass had been absent from the bank from Saturday till the day we called--that was Tuesday."
"Then," said Frank gravely, "you see how unjust your suspicions are. Vass could not have given Grent the money, since he--Grent--was murdered on Sunday morning."
"H'm! that disposes of the robbery theory. Still," cried Torry, striking his knee with open hand, "I am content to believe that Grent had the money on that night. However, let that pass, and let us come to the second motive--jealousy."
"Jealousy!" repeated Frank contemptuously; "surely you don't believe that Donna Inez was jealous of Julia Brawn?"
"No; but she might have been jealous of Lydia Hargone."
"Why, so far as I can see, Grent had nothing to do with the governess."
"So far as you can see," said Torry significantly. "Nevertheless, on the evidence of the ring, Miss Hargone paid a visit to Grent's chambers on the day, so to speak, of his murder."
"That doesn't prove that there was love between them."
"It proves that there was communication and understanding," retorted Torry tartly.
"Well," said Frank, wearied of the discussion, "we are only spinning ropes of sand in talking theory. What about Blake? Can I tell him the case, and say you'll let him assist?"
"Yes," replied Torry promptly. "He may help us by revealing the secret doings of Lydia Hargone."
"He'll never do that," rejoined Darrel coldly. "Blake is a gentleman, and is engaged to Miss Hargone."
"I dare say. I don't say that he'll assist us purposely in that way; but, my dear sir, your friend is a chatterbox and can't keep a secret. He'll say things he shouldn't say, and will regret revealing them afterwards. Tell him all, enlist his services, and," added Torry significantly, "let him talk."
"It seems rather a shabby thing to do," said Darrel reluctantly.
"All is fair in love and war and detective work, sir. Your conscience is too fine-spun."
"I am afraid it is," replied Darrel gloomily. "However, I promised to help you and I shall keep my promise."
That evening, as Torry was off on a man-hunt of his own, and did not require Darrel's assistance, the young man sat down, as usual, to his work. But, in spite of his resolution to write, he was unable to do so, for the beautiful face of Maria was constantly before his eyes, and her deep rich voice sounded always in his ears. Her image was indelibly impressed on his mind, and, notwithstanding all endeavours, he could not rid himself of that charming phantom. In place of scribbling realistic prose, he felt more inclined to compose amorous poetry, for he had entered into the kingdom of love, lured thither by a woman's loveliness, and was enduring, in no very patient spirit, the torments which are there inflicted on new-comers. A woman's face, a woman's voice, a woman's absence: of such parts were his torments composed.
Darrel recognised that it was impossible to write while in this vein, so he threw down his pen in despair, and wandered forth on his nightly quest for adventures. But the spirit to seek them did not move him, and in place of observing the life around him, he turned his eyes inward to contemplate the loved image of Maria Sandoval. Disappointed, worried, and racked with a thousand doubts, this lover of a day turned homeward, where he retired to bed and did his best to sleep. For the most part of the night he courted slumber in vain, but towards morning exhausted nature claimed her rights, and Darrel slept heavily until ten o'clock. While he was idling over his breakfast, with a tired face and no appetite, Roderick Blake was announced, and entered fresh as a rose to greet his friend.
"How are you my boy?" said the Irishman, who was in exuberant spirits. "You see, I haven't lost much time in looking you up. Breakfast, is it? Ham, eggs, and fish; a mighty good notion of a meal it is. Faith, I don't mind assisting you to clear the table."
"Sit down and welcome. I haven't got any appetite myself," said Darrel.
Blake required no second invitation, but, taking off his gloves, drew a chair up to the table and did wonders as a trencherman. The food melted like snow before his healthy appetite, and all the time he was chatting and laughing and making himself generally agreeable. His sunny clean-shaven face twinkled all over with humour, and his incessant flow of conversation, more or less trivial, did much to raise Darrel's spirits. He even acknowledged the service Blake had done him in banishing care.
"And I'm glad to see," he added, "that you have not lost the appetite for which you were renowned at school."
"Faith, no! but it's little chance I've had of satisfying that appetite," replied Blake airily.
"What! have you been hard up?"
"No; but I'm hard up now."
"Yet you talk of marrying," said Frank reprovingly.
"Not at present. Lydia will wait till I am rich," replied the other. "We are both young and can wait."
"How do you intend to become rich?"
"Not by working, my dear boy," rejoined Blake lighting his pipe, "but by inheritance."
"Another Irish uncle!"
"Faith, no; a grand aunt, who is mighty ill at present. I'll come in for her money when she takes the last vacancy for an angel."
Darrel could not help laughing at the oddity of the remark, the more especially as it was accompanied by a sly wink. Then he became grave.
"I'm afraid you are an awful scamp, Blake."
"Just so," said Roderick complacently. "I'm a rolling stone; and, faith, I've been rolling all over the world these ten years."
"Oh!" remarked Frank, with a recollection of the case; "have you been in South America?"
"You bet, sir; in every part of it."
"In Peru?"
"Yes."
"In Lima?"
"Rather; for two years."
"You know a good deal about the place, I suppose?"
Blake shrugged his shoulders. "I knew more than was good for me," he said with a gloomy look.
"Have you ever come across this sort of thing?" asked Darrel, and produced the Blue Mummy.
"Heaven and earth!" cried Blake, his florid face growing white. "Where did you get that accursed image?"