CHAPTER XXII
Both husband and wife were in a whirl of excitement so intense that for a little while they could do nothing, say nothing, but look at each other and exchange muttered and incoherent thanksgivings.
Then Gerard said:—
“Look here. We’re in a tight place still, though I think we shall get out of it. But we must be careful, very careful. And we must keep our mouths shut. Do you think you are clever enough to keep a straight face while I fall on the neck of Candover, and receive him as if he were a long-lost brother?”
“Oh, Gerard, could you?”
“Yes,” snarled Gerard. “I could do anything to bring to book the scoundrel who has pretty well wrecked my life and who tried his hardest to wreck yours!”
They had exchanged these words in whispers, and now they remained silent, keeping close together, and instinctively looking round them as if in fear of being overheard.
“What are we going to do?” said Audrey helplessly.
Gerard hesitated.
“In the first place,” he said at last, “we must not leave this place, either of us, just yet. They want to get rid of you, Audrey, and I’ve not the slightest doubt that they would like to get rid of me, but they can’t do it as long as we’re both together. But on the other hand, we must have advice. This is too big a business for us to tackle without help. This Candover seems to be about as artful a rascal as they make ’em. For remember, so far, though we’ve found out a good deal about different members of the gang, we’ve got nothing whatever to convict him by.”
“There’s what his wife said!”
“That doesn’t count—as evidence. Don’t you know that a wife can’t give evidence against her husband?”
“Well, I heard the poor woman—the White Countess, call out ‘Eugène’!”
“But you didn’t see him?”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid that wouldn’t count for much—unless you could prove that you told the story to other people as soon as it happened.”
“I—I think I may have told the doctor!”
“What, the doctor who was so like Johnson, the card-sharper!”
Audrey uttered a low cry.
“Why! Do you think he too was one of the gang?” she asked, almost giddy with these revelations, following so swiftly the one upon the heels of the other.
“I think it most likely. However, we’ll have a hunt in the directory in the morning. In the meantime I’m going to write to my cousins. They’re a rackety pair, and will welcome the chance of being in any shindy. And I’ll get them to come here and help us through with this business.”
“Oh, Gerard, what are you going to do? I feel so frightened! I feel as if we—you and I—were standing together on the edge of a precipice.”
“And I,” whispered Gerard back, with his face aglow, “feel as if I had escaped from the edge of the precipice and as if I had my hand on the rascal who drove me there!”
There was silence for a few minutes. Neither had even dared to mention yet the thought that was uppermost in the minds of both—that the crime of which Gerard had been accused and convicted, was the work of the man, whom they had known as Reginald Candover, and whom Audrey had heard of also under the name of Eugène Reynolds.
The possibility of tracing the crime to its author, of clearing Gerard from the stain upon his own honour, was so bewildering, so overwhelming, that both the young husband and his wife felt almost crazy at the exciting prospect.
But Gerard felt so strongly that the man in whose hands they had both been as clay in the potter’s fingers was an adversary of consummate strength and craft, that he was anxious not to discuss the glorious prospect which he began dimly to see glimmering in the distance, lest some chance word should be overheard and carried to the ears of the arch-conspirator himself.
Even if they were really alone now, it was better by over-reticence to school themselves to a prudence that should leave no loophole of danger, and even, if possible, to behave as if they did not believe in the momentous discovery which both were sure they had made.
So Gerard sat down to write a short note to his cousin Edgar, and, as he could not feel sure whether the young men had stayed the night at their father’s place or whether they had returned to their chambers in town, he duplicated the note, and directed the one copy to their own address and the other to the Hampshire house. The question then was how to get these letters posted. They could neither leave the premises nor leave each other; so at last they went down the stairs together, and waited at the door on the chance of lighting upon a trustworthy messenger.
They were lucky in the passing of a tradesman’s boy known to Audrey; he not only took the letters to the post for them, but fulfilled for them certain small commissions which resulted in their being able to enjoy, in the little back-room to which they retreated after they had made all secure for the night, a somewhat casual but none the less welcome meal of slices of boiled ham, penny rolls, cream tarts, baked potatoes and bottled stout these being the various viands selected by the boy on being told to bring back “anything he could get” in the way of food and drink.
So uneasy and suspicious were the two young people, that they took it in turns to rest on the sofa, while the other sat up in a chair by the fire.
No amount of prowling about the first floor, of peering into corners and listening at doors, sufficed to render them perfectly at ease in their minds while on the premises where things so uncanny had already happened.
When morning came it was resolved that the presence of Gerard should, if possible, be kept a secret from every one but the woman who swept out the rooms and lit the fires: she was old, deaf and uncommunicative, and could be trusted not to chatter.
Within an hour of the beginning of work for the day, Audrey, who was on the watch, heard a hansom dash up to the door, and met the two young Angmerings at the head of the staircase.
Both were surprised to find themselves welcomed with effusion by Audrey, who forgot all possible causes of disagreement in the joy of finding that they had responded so quickly to Gerard’s appeal.
“I—I thought—Is Gerard here?” asked Edgar, as he shook hands.
Audrey put her finger on her lip.
“Yes, but we are keeping the fact as quiet as we can. He wants to see you both. Come in here.”
She glanced as she spoke at the door of the little room. It was ajar; a hand pulled it gently open and Gerard peeped out.
In another moment the young Angmerings were shut in the room with their cousin, and his wife, who kept watch near the door while the story was rapidly and succinctly unfolded to the astonished young men.
Whatever they might think, whether they believed in Audrey’s complete innocence and in Candover’s guilt or not, they both took the affair as a huge “lark,” and entered with zest into the part which they were required to play.
“In the first place,” explained Gerard, “we want advice. Now we don’t dare leave these premises together, or we should never be allowed to get in again; and we daren’t let one of us go without the other, as we don’t feel ourselves to be in particularly safe quarters.”
“What are you afraid of?” said Geoffrey.
“I’m afraid,” said Gerard, “that some further attempt will be made by Candover and his gang to get rid of us. The more so that I think it very possible Gossett knew that I recognised him. Now if we could once prove that the man who swore I gave him the cheque to cash is the same man that came here last night masquerading as a detective, and pretending to have a warrant for the arrest of my wife, we are in a fair way to lay some of these rascals by the heels. But from what we know of Candover, he won’t allow himself to be unmasked without a struggle. So we can’t be too careful, we can’t have too many to help us, and we can’t have too much pluck.”
“Right you are. Tell us what we’re to do,” said Geoffrey.
“Well, I want you, Edgar, to take my wife to my solicitor’s, and to wait there till he’s heard everything, and to take his advice as to what we are to do. Perhaps he’ll come here at once and see me. Or perhaps he’ll go to the police, and get Audrey to make a statement about last night’s affair. I don’t think Gossett knew I recognised him, but I can’t be sure. If he did, I’m afraid he may have got out of the way. At any rate, we mustn’t lose any time.”
“All right,” said Edgar, as Audrey seized her hat and fur stole and prepared to go with him.
“And what am I to do?” asked Geoffrey in a disappointed tone.
“I want you to stay with me in case I have to receive any more dubious visitors.”
“All right,” said Geoffrey eagerly. “Have you got anything for me to knock ’em on the head with?”
A burst of subdued laughter met this speech, in spite of the tension of feeling from which his hearers were suffering. Geoffrey put his hands in his pockets and tilted back his head.
“Oh, you may sneer and you may laugh,” said he. “But it’ll be odd if we get off without a bit of a shindy. Disappointing too,” he added reflectively. “I must say I should like to crack a skull or two, if these fellows are really all members of a gang and partners of those rascals Johnson and Diggs!”
Gerard took him good-humouredly by the shoulder.
“It’s not likely to be a question of blows, Geoff,” said he. “On the contrary, if only I can get hold of Candover, I want to persuade him that I’m deeply indebted to him for his constant kindness to my wife, and to apologise to him for her rudeness to him the other day.”
Geoffrey opened wide eyes and whistled softly.
“If you were to talk like that to him before me,” said he, “I should give you away. I couldn’t stand still and smile at the man whom I knew to be a scoundrel.”
“Then you’ll have to keep away,” said Gerard. “For our only chance of running him to earth is to make him think we have no suspicion of him, at any rate.”
Geoffrey looked bewildered.
“Remember,” said Gerard, “we have no proof against him yet—of actual crime on his part. We only suspect. Now that’s not enough.”
“I don’t think myself,” said Edgar, who was less impetuous than his brother, “that you ever will get any proof. To me it seems absurd to think that a man in Candover’s position would be concerned with cheats and card-sharpers.”
“Well, then,” said Gerard, “that’s a very good reason why we should treat him civilly to begin with.”
“What makes you think he’ll come here at all?” asked Geoffrey, who could ask pertinent questions when he was in the mood.
“Well, if we’re wrong in believing that he’s the head of this gang, he won’t come,” said Gerard concisely. “There will be nothing to come about. But if, as I think, he is the head of it, he’ll be bound to turn up, to find out what we think about last night’s affair.”
“Then he won’t come,” said Edgar with decision.
“Now, I think he will,” said Geoffrey.
Gerard and Audrey remained silent on the point, and, with many injunctions to Gerard to take care of himself and to Geoffrey to take care of him, Audrey accompanied Edgar downstairs and out of the house.
Then Gerard and his cousin had a long conversation. Geoffrey, who was by far the more intelligent, if he was also the wilder, of Lord Clanfield’s two sons, was more and more inclined to share his cousin’s views as they discussed the whole matter from various points of view.
But he was also inclined to think that the man who had been concerned in the disappearance of the white lady might use other means than strategy, and again he deplored the absence of a revolver or other weapon in case Candover should show fight.
Gerard laughed at him, and was secretly glad that no such dangerous means of offence or defence were at hand.
Both the young men kept their voices low, and their ears on the alert, and presently both raised their heads at the same moment when, hearing a footfall on the stairs, they caught the sound of Mr. Candover’s voice and that of one of the assistants in the showroom answering him.
Gerard, with a sign to his cousin to remain where he was and to be quiet, went out of the room and met the visitor at the top of the short flight of half a dozen stairs, which lay between the little back room and the showrooms.
Nothing could have been heartier than the greetings on both sides. Each held out a hand, each uttered the usual commonplaces, and Mr. Candover overwhelmed the younger man with congratulations on his freedom. He did not, however, take the precaution to lower his voice as he said this, so that the curious young women in the showroom a few paces away were all made aware in the course of his remarks that the pale young gentleman with the curly fair hair had been only recently undergoing a term of penal servitude.
Whereat there was a little alarmed rush towards the inner recesses of the premises, and much excited comment.
Gerard, who was quite aware of this manœuvre, which was calculated to confirm his suspicions, invited his too effusive acquaintance into the little back-room, where he expected to find his cousin. He was annoyed to discover that Geoffrey had disappeared, and he conjectured that, with his usual impetuosity, Geoffrey had gone off to invest in a revolver or a thick stick.
He was angry with his cousin for this unexpected defection, but there was no help for it, and he asked his suspicious guest to take a chair by the fire, while he himself took one on the opposite side of the hearth.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” said Mr. Candover, when they had exchanged comments upon the weather, which was cold and wet. “I understood that you were staying at your uncle’s place.”
“So I was till yesterday, when I found out my wife’s address, and came here at once to see her.”
“By-the-bye, what have you done with her? It was to see her I came. I’m in sad disgrace with her, for having introduced some people to her, some of whom turned out to be rather less strait-laced than she cared for her friends to be. I suppose she told you about it?”
And Mr. Candover threw at the young man a piercing look.
“Yes. I told her she was silly and ungrateful.”
“Where is she?”
“I’ve sent her to see my solicitor. A most unpleasant thing happened here last night. Two sham detectives came with a pretended warrant for her arrest.”
“You don’t say so!”
Gerard was sitting with his face to the light, while Mr. Candover was in shadow. The elder man, therefore, had the advantage, in that he read the face of the younger like a book, while Gerard was not even aware of the curious and furtive movements by which his visitor had taken something out of one of his pockets and was holding it against his breast, just covered by his overcoat.
But Gerard, feeling uneasy that his own expression had betrayed him, and that the red blood was rushing into his face, looked down at the fender, and as he did so, perceived that the poker was missing.
At once suspecting something, he looked up and round the room, believing that his cousin Geoffrey was in hiding somewhere.
As he turned his head, he saw a sudden movement on the part of Mr. Candover, and then, almost at the same moment, there was a crash, a thud, and some one burst out of the cupboard close to the visitor’s chair; the next moment Mr. Candover was lying on the floor, stunned and motionless, with a great wound in his head, from which the blood was flowing, while Geoffrey, flushed and excited, was standing over him with his own weapon, the poker, bent and stained, in his right hand, and in his left the revolver which he had wrenched from Mr. Candover’s hand.
“I’ve settled him, I think!” said Geoffrey hoarsely, as he bent over the motionless body of the adventurer.
“I’m afraid you have, by Jove!” said Gerard, in an awestruck whisper.