CHAPTER XVII
[MORE MYSTERIES]
It was with a triumphant smile on her lips that Lydia heard what Maria said about the ring and visit. When Torry was assured of the truth, she spoke to him with composure and some insolence.
"You see, sir," said she, "I did not wear my ring on that day, nor did I visit Mr. Ghent's chambers. You owe me an apology for your doubts."
"It would seem so," replied Torry with affected humility. "Do you think I owe Mr. Leighbourne one also?"
"Mr. Leighbourne?" echoed Miss Hargone coolly. "You mean the elder?"
"I mean the younger, the one from whom you received a telegram."
The unexpectedness of this query threw Lydia off her guard. "How do you know I received a telegram from him?" she asked.
"I met the telegraph boy and he told me."
"Told you that I had received a telegram?"
"Yes," said Torry truthfully.
"From Mr. Leighbourne, junior?"
"Yes," said Torry falsely. "Of course, you'll deny it?"
"No," said Lydia with brazen assurance; "why should I deny it?"
"Why indeed, miss, seeing that Mr. Frederick Leighbourne loves you."
"Does he, indeed? That is news to me."
"Ah!" sneered the detective, "will it be news to Mr. Blake?"
"Sir!" cried Miss Hargone, rising, with a flush of anger, "you are insolent!"
"No," said Torry, who wished to make her lose her temper that she might speak incautiously, "I am only candid. Donna Maria will agree with me, miss, that you are a very lucky young lady to be loved by three men. To be sure," added Torry, as to himself, "there are only two now."
Donna Maria, who had sat pale, calm, and silent during their conversation, darted a flaming glance at Lydia but said nothing. The look made the governess quail, but retaining her self-command, she pretended ignorance. She had a difficult part to play, but she played it well.
"I do not quite understand," said she quietly. "Perhaps, sir, you will explain. Who are my lovers?"
"Mr. Blake to whom you are engaged; Mr. Frederick Leighbourne, with whom you have some understanding; and the late Mr. Grent."
Lydia grew red. "I am engaged to Roderick Blake," she said, "and he trusts me too much to believe your insinuations. With Mr. Leighbourne I have nothing to do."
"Save in the way of telegrams," put in Torry drily.
"That telegram contained an intimation that Mr. Leighbourne had found a situation for me," cried Lydia hotly. "I asked him to interest himself on my behalf."
"In that case you will not mind shewing me the telegram, miss?"
"I cannot; I tore it up."
"You can collect the pieces, and----"
"I cannot; I threw the pieces into the fire."
"Really? A fire in summer time--how strange."
At this last thrust Miss Hargone lost her temper. "Understand, Mr. Torry," she cried, "that the telegram concerns me and no one else. I decline to shew it to you."
"I quite believe that, as it has to do with this murder."
"You dare to accuse me of that?" gasped Lydia, jumping up.
Torry shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said coolly, "I don't think you killed the man yourself; but you know who did."
"It is a lie," said the governess in a passionate voice, and sat down again.
"It is the truth," said Donna Maria gravely, and when Lydia turned an amazed face towards her she repeated solemnly: "It is the truth."
"Oh, oh," chuckled the detective, rubbing his hands at the idea of a quarrel between the two women, "now we shall hear something amusing."
At first Lydia could not believe that her friend was in earnest, and stammered out something about not understanding. To this Maria made a prompt and sharp reply.
"You understand well enough. My aunt complained of your conduct with Mr. Grent. I did not believe that you would behave so with a married man old enough to be your father. It was to show that I believed in your innocence that I asked you down here. My aunt objected to the invitation, but I insisted upon its being sent. You accepted; you came; you are here."
"Here, to save you trouble," cried Lydia venomously. "You would not have asked me had it not been to get something out of me."
"You judge me by yourself," said Donna Sandoval coldly. "I asked you here to reconcile you, if possible, with my aunt, but she refuses to be reconciled, as she believes that you let Mr. Grent make love to you."
"It is not true; It is not true. Remember," said Lydia with a sneer, "it was not I who called at Mr. Grent's chambers."
"I know it; but it was you who sent my maid Julia to see Mr. Grent in Mortality-lane."
"Ha!" cried Torry, much surprised. "Are you sure of that?"
"I am. I can prove it."
Lydia was pale and uneasy, and avoided the eye of the detective. Nevertheless, as the situation was awkward, and even dangerous, she assumed a defiant air to mask the fear she felt.
"How can you prove it?" she demanded.
"By means of that fawn-coloured mantle trimmed with black lace."
"Your mantle?" said Torry, recollecting a previous conversation with Maria.
"No, not mine; it belongs to Miss Hargone."
"But you said--"
"I know what I said," interrupted Maria, reddening slightly--"that the mantle was mine. I lied in order to shield Lydia. Yes," she continued, addressing Miss Hargone directly, "I was your friend, and as such defended you against the aspersions of my aunt, but now, as I find that you trapped me by that ring into confessing that I visited my uncle in London; when I see that, to save yourself, you are willing to sacrifice me, I renounce your friendship, and I order you to leave this house. Never dare to show your face here again."
Lydia, who had turned red and pale by turns, now rose to her feet, with a malignant expression on her face. "I shall go," said she slowly "and only too willingly; but first--"
"First," interrupted Torry, "you must explain how Julia Brawn became possessed of your mantle."
"I gave it to her, in the same way that Donna Maria presented her with the hat. If," she continued insolently, "articles of cast-off clothing are to be taken as evidence of my connection with the crime, Donna Maria is as guilty as I am."
"Not so," corrected the Spanish girl. "I gave the hat to Julia a long time ago--in fact, a week before she left my service, and she left that quite seven days before the murder. But as to your mantle, when I was up in London, on the day when the crime was committed--Saturday----"
"Pardon, the murder, took place on Sunday morning after midnight," said Torry precisely.
"Well on the day before the murder I saw Miss Hargone in Piccadilly. She wore that mantle."
"I did not!" contradicted Lydia very pale.
"You did. Mr. Vass was with me, and can prove it. I believe you gave that mantle to Julia, so that she might meet Mr. Grent and delude him into the belief that she was you."
"Ah!" cried Torry, recollecting the double ticket. "Then you, Miss, were the woman with whom Mr. Grent intended to travel to Genoa?"
"No! no! no!" cried Lydia in her turn. "I utterly deny it. Why should I have met Mr. Grent? I swear I did not meet him."
"No," sneered Maria, "you sent Julia in your mantle."
"I did not. Julia came to my lodgings that day and told me she was going to be married the next. As a wedding present I gave her the mantle, for which I had no further use. Julia said nothing about meeting anyone. When I heard of her death I was as astonished as anyone. But I shall no longer remain to be insulted here," she cried in a fury. "I shall pack my box and leave at once."
"The best thing you can do," said Torry, who was scribbling in his notebook.
"But before I go," said Lydia, turning at the door with a venomous look, "I should advise you, Mr. Torry, to ask Donna Maria why she visited her uncle--secretly!" And, spitting out the last word like an angry cat, the fair Lydia, disgraced but impenitent, left the room.
"All in good time," remarked Torry, tearing a leaf out of his book. "Will you kindly send a servant with this to the telegraph office, miss?"
Donna Maria touched the bell, a servant appeared, and to him Torry delivered the leaf which he had scribbled on.
"Send someone with this to the telegraph office at Wraybridge Railway Station?" he said. "If anyone of you can ride a bicycle, make him the messenger. I wish this wire despatched as promptly as possible."
When the servant retired Donna Maria asked with some curiosity for details of the important message which was to be sent off in such haste. Torry replied to her prompt and frankly:
"It is a message to my friend, Mr. Darrel, miss, telling him to take a detective with him and await Miss Hargone's arrival at Waterloo Station."
"What! do you intend to have her arrested?"
"Not yet," replied Torry with significance. "I intend to have her watched. The detective will not lose sight of her, so, if she is really concerned in this murder, she will sooner or later betray herself by some indiscreet action. But now, miss," added the detective cheerfully, "You must answer me a few questions."
"Certainly," replied Donna Maria with an embarrassed look. "You know I am only too happy to assist you in every way."
"H'm!" said Torry doubtfully. "What about Mr. Vass? You met him on that day?"
"Yes; in Piccadilly."
"Was it by appointment?"
"No, by accident."
"Did he see your uncle?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then what was he doing in the West End so far from the bank?"
"He casually mentioned that he was executing a commission for Mr. Frederick Leighbourne."
"Do you know what the commission was?"
"No," replied Maria haughtily, "I do not."
"You saw Mr. Grent, I believe?"
"Yes; for some ten minutes or so."
"On business?"
"On private business," said Maria with emphasis.
"H'm! Would you mind explaining what that private business was about?"
"I mind very much."
"You refuse to explain?"
"Yes!" said Miss Sandoval. "I refuse--absolutely."