CHAPTER XIX
[THE BUTTONS OFF THE FOILS]
Outwardly she was the calmer of the two. She stood upright and motionless; he was restless and fidgety, as if uneasy both in mind and body. She kept her eyes fixed steadily upon his face; he showed a disposition to elude her searching glance. When she spoke her tone was cool and even.
"You have accused me of playing the hypocrite. It is true, I have. I have allowed the world to regard me as a spinster, when I was a married woman; as free when I was bound. I have told you that I should have ceased before this to play the hypocrite, if it had not been for you. You have--pretended--to doubt it. Well, you are that kind of man. And it is because you are that kind of man that I am constrained to ask if you wish me now to cease to play the hypocrite and save Jim Baker's life?"
"Is not that a question for your consideration rather than for mine?"
"You propose to place the responsibility upon my shoulders!"
"Would you rather it were on mine?"
"That is where it properly belongs."
"In dealing with you I am at a serious disadvantage, since you are a woman and I am a man. The accident of our being of different sexes prevents my expressing myself with adequate precision."
"You appear to be anxious to take refuge even when there is nothing behind which you can hide. The difference in our sexes has never prevented you from saying to me exactly what you pleased, how you pleased--you know it. Nor do I intend to allow your manhood to shelter you. Mr Morice, the time for fencing's past. When life and death are hanging in the balance, words are weightless. I ask you again, do you intend to save Jim Baker's life?"
"I have yet to learn that it is in imminent peril."
"Then acquire that knowledge now from me. I am informed that if someone is not discovered, on whom the onus of guilt can be indubitably fixed, the probabilities are that Jim Baker will be hanged for murder."
"And you suggest that I should discover that--unhappy person?"
"I ask you if you do not think the discovery ought to be made, to save that wretched creature?"
"What I am anxious to get at, before I commit myself to an answer is this--presuming that I think the discovery should be made, do you suggest that it should be made by you or by me?"
"Mr Morice, I will make my meaning plainer, if the thing be possible. When--that night--in the wood it happened, I thought that it was done for me. I still think that might have been the motive; partly, I confess, because I cannot conceive of any other, though the misapprehension was as complete as it was curious. I did not require that kind of service--God forbid! And, therefore, thinking this--that I was, though remotely, the actual cause--it appears to me that I was, and am, unable to speak, lest it would seem that I was betraying one whose intention was to render me a service."
"For all I understand of what you're saying you might be talking in an unknown tongue. You speak of the futility of fencing, when you do nothing else but fence! To the point, if you please. What service do you suppose was intended to be rendered you that night in Cooper's Spinney?"
There was a perceptible pause before she answered, as if she were endeavouring to summon all her courage to her aid.
"Mr Morice, when you killed my husband, did you not do it for me?"
His countenance, as she put this question, would have afforded an excellent subject for a study in expression. His jaw dropped open, his pipe falling unnoticed to the ground; his eyes seemed to increase in magnitude; the muscles of his face became suddenly rigid--indeed the rigidity of his whole bearing suggested a paralytic seizure. For some seconds he seemed to have even ceased to breathe. Then he gave a long gasping breath, and with in his attitude still some of that unnatural rigidity, he gave her question for question.
"Why do you ask me such a monstrous thing? You! you!"
Something in his manner and appearance seemed to disturb her more than anything which had gone before. She drew farther away from him, and closer to the stile.
"You forced me to ask you."
"I forced you to ask me--that!"
"Why do you look at me so? Do you wish to frighten me?"
"Do you think I didn't see? Have you forgotten?"
"See? Forgotten? What do you mean?"
"Oh, woman! that you should be so young and yet so old; so ignorant and yet so full of knowledge; that you should seem a shrine of all the virtues, and be a thing all evil!"
"Mr Morice, why do you look at me like that! you make me afraid!"
"Would I could make you afraid--of being the thing you are!"
"It's not fair of you to speak to me like that I--it's not fair! I'm not so wicked! When I married--"
"When you married! No more of that old wife's tale. Stick to the point, please--to the point! You whited sepulchre! is it possible that, having shown one face to the world, you now propose to show another one to me, and that you think I'll let you? At anyrate, I'll have you know that I do know you for what you are! Till now I have believed that that dead man, your husband, Mrs Champion, was as you painted him--an unspeakable hound; but now, for the first time, I doubt, since you dared to ask me that monstrous thing, knowing that I saw you kill him!"
She looked at him as if she were searching his face for something she could not find on it.
"Is it possible that you wish me to understand that you are speaking seriously?"
"What an actress you are to your finger-tips! Do you think I don't know you understand?"
"Then you know more than I do, for I myself am not so sure. My wish is to understand, and--I am beginning to be afraid I do."
He waved his hand with an impatient gesture.
"Come, no more of that! Let me beg you to believe that I am not quite the fool that you suppose. You asked me just now if I intend to save Jim Baker's life? Well, that's where I'm puzzled. At present it's not clear to me that it's in any serious danger. I think that the very frankness of his story may prove to be his salvation; I doubt if they'll be able to establish anything beyond it. But should the contrary happen, and he finds himself confronted by the gallows, then the problem will have to be fairly faced. I shall have to decide what I am prepared to do. Of course my action would be to some extent guided by yours, that is why I'm so anxious to learn what, under those circumstances, you would do."
"Shall I tell you?"
"If you would be so very kind."
"I should send for Granger and save Jim Baker's life."
"By giving yourself up?"
She stood straighter.
"No, Mr Morice, by giving you up."
"But again I don't understand."
"You have had ample warning and ample opportunity. You might have hidden yourself on the other side of the world if you chose. If you did not choose the fault was yours."
"But why should I hide?"
"If you forced me, I should tell Granger that it was you who killed Robert Champion, and that I had proofs of it, and so Jim Baker would be saved."
Again he threw out his arms with the gesture which suggested not only impatience, but also lack of comprehension.
"Then am I to take it that you propose to add another item to your list of crimes?"
"It is not a crime to save the innocent by punishing the guilty."
"The guilty, yes; but in that case where would you be?"
"I, however unwillingly, should be witness against you."
"You would, would you? A pleasant vista your words open to one's view."
"You could relieve me of the obligation--easily."
"I don't see how--but that is by the way. Do you know it begins to occur to me that the singularity of your attitude may be induced by what is certainly the remote possibility that you are ignorant of how exactly the matter stands. Is it possible that you are not aware that I saw you--actually saw you--kill that man."
"What story are you attempting to use as a cover? Are you a liar as well as that thing?"
"Don't fence! Are you denying that I saw you kill him, and that when you ran away I tried to catch you?"
"Of course I deny it! That you should dare to ask me such a question!"
"This is a wonderful woman!"
"You appear to be something much worse than a wonderful man--something altogether beyond any conception I had formed of you. Your suppositional contingency may be applied to you; it is just possible that you don't know how the matter stands, and that that explains your attitude. It is true that I did not see you kill that man."
"That certainly is true."
"But I heard you kill him."
"You heard me?"
"I heard you--I was only a little way off. First I heard the shot--Baker's shot. Then I heard him go. Then I heard you come."
"You heard me come?"
"I heard you strike him; I heard him fall. Then I saw you running from the thing that you had done."
"You saw me running?"
"I saw you running. The moon was out; I saw you clearly running among the bushes and the trees. I did not know who it was had come until I saw you, then I knew. After you had gone I was afraid to go or stay. Then I went to see what you had done. I saw your knife lying on the ground. I picked it up and took it home with me."
"I can easily believe you took it home with you."
"I have it now--to be produced, if need be in evidence."
"Of what?"
"Of your guilt! of what else?"
"She asks me such a question! Now let me tell you my story. If it lacks something of the air of verisimilitude which gives yours such a finish, let me remind you that there are those who lie like truth. After we had parted I discovered that I had left my knife behind--the one with which I had cut our initials on the tree. It was a knife I prized--never mind why. When I had allowed sufficient time to enable you to have reached home I returned to look for it. To my surprise, as I approached our trysting-place I heard voices--yours and a man's. You were neither of you speaking in a whisper. At night in the open air sound travels far. When I came a little nearer I saw you and a man. So I withdrew till I was out of sight again, and could only hear the faint sound of distant voices. Presently a gun was fired. I rushed forward to see by whom, and at what. When I came near enough there was a man staggering about underneath the tree. I saw you come out from among the bushes and look at him. You picked up a knife from the ground--my knife. I saw you drive it into his chest. As he fell--for ever--you ran off into the forest and I ran after you."
"You ran after me! after me?"
"After you; but you ran so quickly, or you knew your way so well, or I blundered, or something, because, after you had once disappeared in the wood, I never caught sight of you."
"And have you invented this story--which you tell extremely well--to save your neck at the expense of mine?"
"What an odd inquiry! Referring to your own tale, may I ask what motive you would ascribe to me, if you were asked what you suppose induced me, a peaceful, law-abiding citizen, to kill at sight--under circumstances of peculiar cowardice--an inoffensive stranger?"
"I imagined that you knew he was my husband, and that you killed him to relieve me. You see I credited you with something like chivalry."
"Did you indeed. And you would prostitute the English language by calling conduct of that sort chivalry! However, it is plainly no use our pushing the discussion further. We appear to understand each other now if we never did before. Each proposes to save Jim Baker's life--at a pinch--by sacrificing the other. Good! I must hold myself prepared. I had dreamt of discovering means of saving you from the consequences of your crime, but I had scarcely intended to go the lengths which you suggest--to offer myself instead of you. But then I did not credit you with the qualifications which you evidently possess. In the future I shall have to realise that, even if I save your life, I cannot save your soul, because, plainly, you intend to perjure that lightheartedly, and to stain it with the blood of two men instead of only one. Let me give you one warning. I see the strength of the case which your ingenious--and tortuous--brain may fabricate against me. Still, I think that it may fail; and that you may yourself fall into the pit which you have digged for me, for this reason. They know me, hereabouts and elsewhere; my record's open to all the world. They don't know you, as yet; when they do they'll open their eyes and yours. Already some unpleasant tales are travelling round the country. I myself have been forced to listen to one or two, and keep still. When my story is told, and yours, I am afraid that your story will prove to be your own destruction; it will hang you, unless there comes a reprieve in time. I saw you kill your husband. You know I saw you; you know that I can prove I saw you. Therefore, take the advice I have already tendered, go back to Lake Como and further. Lest, peradventure, by staying you lose your life to save Jim Baker's. Henceforward, Mrs Champion, the buttons are off our foils; we fight with serious weapons--I against you and you against me. At least we have arrived at that understanding; to have a clear understanding of any sort is always something, and so, good-day."