“Out.”
Clara did not say anything further. She went into the hall, opened the hall door, and let herself out. Walking somewhat unsteadily and feebly, swaying now and then from side to side, she got as far as the end of the street. Here she hailed a hansom, and desired the man to drive her to Paddington. When she got there she took the next train to Haversham.
About half-way down the line she took a letter out of her pocket. It was directed to her husband. She gave it a queer look, and there was an ominous glitter in her eyes. When she reached a large junction she called a porter to her, gave him sixpence and asked him to post her letter. The man promised to obey. Clara sank back in her seat with a sigh of relief, and the train moved on.
She arrived at Haversham late that evening. It was only a wayside station, and there were no cabs. She had to walk the entire distance to Great Pelham. The night was a wet one, and the heavy rain penetrated through Clara’s cloak. She was damp through and through. She reached the “Pelham Arms” about ten o’clock. When she got there she spoke to one of the waiters.
“Get some tea at once in the coffee-room, and order a cab. I want to drive to Pelham Towers,” she said.
The man looked eager when she pronounced the name, for already strange news was beginning to be whispered with regard to Pelham Towers. The account of the trial had come down in the evening papers, and the whole country rang with the news.
The tea was brought, and Clara drank it off, for she was parched with thirst and fever. In less than ten minutes she was driving to the Towers. She got there about half-past ten. She desired the man to take her to the side entrance. One of the servants came out and stared when she saw her.
“I have called to speak to a person who I believe is here—a person of the name of Ives,” said Clara.
“There is a little lady of that name in the house. She’s in the housekeeper’s room,” said the woman.
“I wish to see her immediately.”