CHAPTER XXV
[HUGH MORICE EXPLAINS]
So soon as Mrs Forrester had gone Mr Morice asked a question.
"What tale has that woman been telling you?"
"She actually says that people have seen me walking about the woods in the middle of the night in my nightdress. That a postman, named Briggs, saw me doing so last night. I believe I am supposed to have been walking in my sleep. Of course it is only some nonsensical rigmarole. I won't say the whole thing is an invention of Mrs Forrester's own brain, but it's the sort of thing she's fond of."
"That's true enough. It is the sort of tale she's fond of; but, for once in a way, she is justified by fact. Since we are on the subject I may as well inform you that, four nights or rather mornings, ago I myself saw you, at two o'clock in the morning, in Cooper's Spinney, in some such costume as that which you describe."
"Mr Morice!"
"I do not know that I should have told you if it had not been for Mrs Forrester; but, since she has intervened, I do so. In any case, it is perhaps as well that you should be on your guard."
"Are you sure you saw me?"
"I am not likely to make a mistake in a matter of that sort."
"But are you sure it was me?"
"Certain."
"What was I doing?"
"You were under the beech tree--our beech tree. You appeared to me to be looking for something on the ground--something which you could not find."
"But four nights ago? I remember it quite well. I was reading and writing till ever so late. Then I fell asleep directly I got into bed. I certainly never woke again until Evans called me."
"The probability is that you got out of bed directly you were asleep. It struck me that there was something singular about your whole proceedings. A doubt crossed my mind at the time as to whether you could possibly be in a somnambulistic condition. As I approached you retreated so rapidly that I never caught sight of you again."
"Do you mean to say I was in my nightdress?"
"As to that I cannot be certain. You had on something white; but it struck me that it was some sort of a dressing-gown."
"I have no white dressing-gown."
"On that point I cannot speak positively. You understand that I only saw you for a few seconds, just long enough to make sure that it was you."
She put her hands up to her face, shuddering.
"This is dreadful! that I should walk in my sleep--in the woods--and everyone see me--and I know nothing! What shall I do?"
"There is one thing I should recommend. Have someone to sleep in your room--someone who is quickly roused."
"That is what Mrs Forrester advised. I will certainly have that done. A bed shall be put in my room, and Evans shall sleep in it to-night. Is it to make this communication that you have favoured me with the very unexpected honour of your presence here, Mr Morice?"
"No, Mrs--I beg your pardon, Miss Arnott--it is not." As she noticed the slip she flushed. "The errand which has brought me here is of a different nature, though not, I regret to say, of a more pleasant one."
"Nothing pleasant comes my way. Do not let unpleasantness deter you, Mr Morice. As you are aware I am used to it."
There was a bitterness in her tone which hurt him. He turned aside, searching for words to serve him as a coating of sugar, and failing to find them.
"Why," he presently asked, "did you instruct Ernest Gilbert to defend Jim Baker?"
She stared in amazement; evidently that was not what she expected.
"Why? Why shouldn't I?"
"For the simple but sufficient reason that he was the very last man whose interference you should have invited in a matter of this particular kind."
"Mr Stacey was of a different opinion. It was he who gave me his name. He said he was the very man I wanted."
"Mr Stacey? Mr Stacey was not acquainted with all the circumstances of the case, Miss Arnott. Had you consulted me--"
"I should not have dreamt of consulting you."
"Possibly not. Still, I happen to know something of Mr Gilbert personally, and had you consulted me I should have warned you that, in all human probability, the result would be exactly what it has turned out to be."
"Result? Has anything resulted?"
"Something has--Mr Gilbert has withdrawn from the case."
"Withdrawn from the case! What do you mean?"
"Here is the £500 which you sent him. He has requested me to hand it back to you."
"A cheque for £500? Mr Morice, I don't understand! Why has Mr Gilbert returned me this?"
"I will tell you plainly. We are, both of us, in a position in which plainness is the only possible course."
"Well, tell me--don't stand choosing your words--tell me plainly! Why has Mr Gilbert sent me back my cheque through you?"
"Because Jim Baker conveyed the impression to his mind that he--Jim--saw you commit the crime with which he stands charged."
"I don't understand."
"I think you do. Gilbert's position is that he finds himself unable to retain your money when his duty to Baker may necessitate his putting you in the dock on the capital charge."
"Mr Morice! It's--it's not true!"
"Unfortunately, it is true. Lest, however, you should think the position worse than it actually is, part of my business here is to reassure your mind on at least one point."
"Reassure my mind! Nothing will ever do that--ever! ever! And reassurance from you!--from you!"
"If matters reach a certain point--before they go too far--it is my intention to surrender myself--say, to Granger--our local representative of law and order--as having been guilty of killing that man in Cooper's Spinney."
"Mr Morice! Do you--do you mean it?"
"Certainly I mean it. Then you will have an opportunity of going into the witness-box and giving that testimony of which you have spoken. That in itself ought to be sufficient to hang me."
"Mr Morice!"
"What we have principally to do is to render it impossible that the case against me shall fail. A very trifling accident may bring the whole business to an end; especially if Ernest Gilbert puts ever such a distant finger in the pie. Against the possibility of such an accident we shall have to guard. For instance, by way of a beginning, where's that knife?"
"Knife?"
"The knife."
"I've lost the key."
"Lost the key? of what?"
"I put it in a wardrobe drawer with my--my things, and locked it, and, somehow, I lost the key."
"I don't quite follow. Do you mean that, having locked up my knife in a drawer with some other articles, you have mislaid the key of the lock?"
"Yes, that's what I mean."
"Then in that case, you had better break that lock open at the earliest possible moment."
"Why?"
"The answer's obvious, in order that you may hand me back my knife. If I'm to be the criminal it will never do for my knife to be found in your possession. It would involve all sorts of difficulties which we might neither of us find it easy to get over. Give me the knife. I will hide it somewhere on my own premises, where I'll take care that, at the proper moment, it is found. Properly managed, that knife ought to make my guilt as plain as the noonday sun; mismanaged, the affair might assume quite a different complexion."
For the first time a doubt entered the girl's mind.
"Mr Morice, do you wish me to understand that you propose to surrender merely to save me?"
"I wish you to understand nothing of the sort. The position is--in its essence--melodrama; but do let us make it as little melodramatic as we conveniently can. Someone must suffer for the--blunder. It may as well be me. Why not?"
"Do you wish me--seriously--to believe that it was not you who--blundered?"
"Of course I blundered--and I've kept on blundering ever since. One blunder generally does lead to another, don't you know. Come--Miss Arnott"--each time, as she noticed, there was a perceptible pause before he pronounced the name to which she still adhered--"matters have reached a stage when, at any moment, events may be expected to move quickly. Your first business must be to get that drawer open--key or no key--and let me have that knife. You may send it by parcel post if you like. Anyhow, only let me have it. And, at latest, by tomorrow night. Believe me, moments are becoming precious. By the way, I hope it hasn't been--cleaned."
"No, it hasn't been cleaned."
"That would have been to commit a cardinal error. In an affair of this sort blood-stains are the things we want; the pièces de conviction which judge and jury most desire. Give me the knife--my knife--that did the deed, with the virginal blood-stains thick upon it. Let it be properly discovered by a keen-nosed constable in an ostentatious hiding-place, and the odds are a hundred to one as to what the verdict will be. A hundred? a million! I assure you that I already feel the cravat about my neck." Hugh Morice put his hand up to his throat with a gesture which made Miss Arnott shiver. "Only, I do beg of you, lose no time. Get that drawer open within the hour, and let me have my hunting-knife before you have your dinner. Let me entreat you to grasp this fact clearly. At any moment Jim Baker may be out of Winchester Gaol; someone will have to take his place. That someone must be me."