[CHAPTER VI.]
MY RIVAL
Had I not been in love--and with a face, instead of the flesh and blood woman--I suppose I would have gone off at once to Dredge to announce my discovery and show what I had found. But, in spite of evidence to the very strong contrary, I could not believe that Gertrude Monk was guilty of her old nurse's murder. She might have locked me in, she might have run off with my car and practically wrecked it, and she might have hidden in the hedge these incriminating garments: but she assuredly had not--in my now terribly biassed opinion--thrust the hat-pin into Mrs. Caldershaw's heart. Unless she confessed her guilt to my face, I resolutely declined to believe that she had perpetrated a sordid crime.
However, it was useless to stand in that chilly field weighing pros and cons, when I knew nothing of the woman, save that she was exquisitely lovely, and had captured my fancy against my will, as it were. I had a natural revulsion of doubt; then believed in her more than ever, even to the extent of vowing, that if by chance she were guilty, she should never go to the scaffold through me. But if I wished to prevent that, there was no time to be lost in getting rid of that infernal cloak and veil, for Inspector Dredge with unexpected insight might come nosing about the field. Not that I credited him with such perspicuity, but--as I swiftly determined--it was just as well to be on the safe side. I therefore rolled up veil and cloak into as small a compass as possible, and thrusting them under my overcoat--I wore one as the morning was breezy--I regained the road and hastened my return to Murchester Barracks. I felt that I was compounding a crime one minute, and exulted the next that I was saving the life of an innocent woman. And yet, on the face of it, she was surely guilty.
Luckily, when I arrived at Cannington's quarters he was still absent on duty, so I unpacked a portmanteau, which had been sent down from London, and stowed away the incriminating evidence at the bottom of some books, manuscripts, shirts, and pyjamas. Then I strapped and locked the portmanteau, so that Cannington's soldier servant should not officiously wish to pack my belongings. He could use the other portmanteau, I thought. Just as I completed my task, Cannington entered unbuckling his sword.
"Ouf! I am tired," said he pitching himself into a chair. "What a bore it is sitting on court-martials."
"What was the punishment?" I asked, lighting my pipe, and asked more for the sake of regaining my self-control, shaken by my discovery, than because I took any interest in Private Tommy Atkins.
"Five days C. B. It was only a drunken fight. Throw me over the cigarettes, Vance. Thanks, awfully." He fielded the case deftly. "Wait till I change, and we'll go to luncheon. I'm shockingly hungry. Where have you been? Fighting with the Barracks cat I should say, from the scratches."
But I did not intend to say too much even to Cannington. "I went for a cross-country walk," I answered carelessly, "and met some brambles on the way. What are you doing after luncheon?"
"Well, I was just coming to that," said the boy, who was now busy changing his kit, smoking the while. "I have to run up to town for three or four hours, as my lawyer wants to see me. I'm trying to raise some cash for a Christmas spree." He grinned. "Hope you won't mind my leaving you. But there's Trent, of course, who can look after you."