“Yes!” said Mr. Priestley, in a low, tense voice. “There is just one hope for us. Consider the circumstances. Nobody except you saw me shoot him. Without you, there is no evidence against me except the constable’s, and I am told that a clever lawyer could make hay of that. It is you who are the stumbling-block, Laura.”
“Oh!” squeaked Laura, aghast at the implication of his words. “You’re not—you’re not going to shoot me too?”
Mr. Priestley hurriedly turned his face away. His shoulders quivered slightly. When he turned round again he had recovered his composure.
“No, Laura,” he said, neither sternly nor gently but with a curious blend of the two. “No, that is not what I meant. Fortunately there is no need to go to such extremes. It suits our case well enough to remember that a wife cannot give evidence against her husband, nor a husband against his wife.”
“A—a—a——”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Priestley gravely. “I have made all the necessary arrangements, and I have a special licence in my pocket. You are going to marry me at the registry office in Albemarle Street at ten o’clock to-morrow morning—if we are both still at liberty!”
Chapter XVII.
Awkward Predicament of Some Conspirators
On Wednesday Cynthia had taken another trip to London. She made no secret of it. She said quite plainly that she wanted to get away from this atmosphere of intrigue and anxiety, and she was therefore going up to see Edith Marryott, whom she hadn’t seen for simply ages. It is to be regretted that Cynthia had no intention whatever of going within two miles of Edith Marryott.
She took Alan with her, gave him ten shillings at Paddington, and told him to meet her there on the 5.49. Alan made a bee-line for the nearest call-box and had the ineffable joy of arranging to take a chorus-girl out to lunch. That the chorus-girl afterwards firmly insisted on paying both for her own lunch and for Alan’s too was a point which need not be laboured in subsequent conversations with Colebrook and Thomson minor.
Alan squandered five and ninepence of his ten shillings afterwards on a seat at the Jollity matinée, and later waited at the stage-door, thrilled to the soles of his boots. His beaker of heady pleasure was completed after that by being allowed to take his chorus-girl out to tea and pay for it, though the A.B.C. to which she insisted upon going did not seem quite to fit. The lady, however, assured him gravely that when not refreshing themselves with champagne and oysters, chorus-girls invariably go to A.B.C.’s, and it was all quite in order, and he accepted this information from her still excitingly grease-painted lips. Alan had the day of his life, and caught the 7.15 back to Duffley.