He understood now, understood too clearly, the meanings of Ravengar's strange utterances on the telephone. The man had determined to commit suicide, and he had chosen a way which was calculated with the most appalling ingenuity to ruin, if anything would ruin, Hugo's peace of mind for years to come—perhaps for ever. For the world, Ravengar was drowned. But Hugo knew that his body was lying in that vault.
'Louis had an accomplice,' Hugo reflected. 'Who can that have been? Who could have been willing to play so terrible a rôle?'
CHAPTER XXII
DARCY
That night, when he was just writing out some cheques in aid of charities conducted by Lady Brice (née Kentucky-Webster), Simon entered with a card. The hour was past eleven.
Hugo read on the card, 'Docteur Darcy.'
He had nearly forgotten that he had sent for Darcy; in fact, he was no longer quite sure why he had sent for him, since he meant, in any case, to hasten to Belgium at the earliest moment.
'You are exceedingly prompt, doctor,' he said, when Darcy came into the dome. 'I thank you.'
The cosmopolitan physician appeared to be wearing the same tourist suit that he had worn on the night of Tudor's death. The sallowness of his impassive face had increased somewhat, and his long thin hands had their old lackadaisical air. 'You don't look at all the man for such a part,' said Hugo in the privacy of his brain, 'but you played your part devilish well that night, my pale friend. You deceived me perfectly.'