The Stowmarket Mystery, Louis Tracy [best romance novels of all time .txt] 📗

in London, driving through Regent Street in a hansom, when I saw him on the pavement. I stopped the cab, and asked him to come to luncheon. We have no town house, so I was staying at the Carlton alone. Yet how stupidly compromising circumstances can occasionally become! I returned to Beechcroft. I did not mention my meeting with Robert because, indeed, Giovanni and I were hardly on speaking terms. One day, in the library, I was sorting a number of accounts, when I was summoned elsewhere for a few minutes. On top of the pile was my receipted hotel bill. My husband came in, glanced at the paper, and saw a charge for a guest. When I returned he asked me whom I had been entertaining. I told him, and could not help blushing, the affair being so flagrantly absurd.”

“Is that all?”

“I declare to you, Mr. Brett, that you are now as well informed as I am myself concerning our estrangement.”

“There is, I take it, no objection on your part to the inquiry I have undertaken—the fixing of responsibility for your brother’s death, I mean?”

Margaret was silent for a few seconds before she said, in a low and steady voice:

“We are a strange race, we Hume-Frazers. Somehow I felt, when I first saw you and Davie together, that you would be bound up with a crisis in my life. I dread crises. They have ever been unfortunate for me. I cannot explain myself further. I know I am approaching an eventful epoch. Well, I am prepared. Go on with your work, in God’s name. I cannot become more unhappy than I am.”

Chapter XV An Unexpected Visitor

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A clock in the church tower chimed the half-hour.

“We dine at seven,” said Mrs. Capella. “Let us return to the house. I told the housekeeper to prepare a room for you. Would you care to remain for the night? One of the grooms can bring from Stowmarket any articles you may need.”

Brett declined the invitation, pleading a certain amount of work to be done before he retired to rest, and his expectation of finding letters or telegrams at the hotel.

They walked more rapidly up the avenue, and the barrister noted the graceful ease of Margaret’s movements.

“Is it a fact” he asked, “that you suffer from heart disease?”

She laughed, and said, with a certain charming hesitation:

“You are both doctor and lawyer, Mr. Brett. My heart is quite sound. I have been foolish enough to seek relief from my troubles in morphia. Do not be alarmed. I am not a morphinée. I promised Nellie yesterday to stop it, and I am quite certain to succeed.”

The dinner passed uneventfully.

As Brett was unable to change his clothes, neither of the ladies, of course, appeared in elaborate costumes.

Helen wore a simple white muslin dress, with pale blue ribbons. Margaret, mindful of the barrister’s hint concerning her attire, now appeared in pale grey crêpe de chine, trimmed with cerise panne velvet.

When she entered the drawing-room she almost startled the others, so strong was the contrast between her present effective garments and the black raiment she had affected constantly since her return to Beechcroft after her marriage.

“The reform has commenced,” she cried gaily, seeing how they looked at her. “My maid is in ecstasies about the proposed visit to my dressmaker’s. She insisted on showing me a study for an Ascot frock in the Queen.”

“Ah, she is a Frenchwoman?” said Brett.

“Yes; and pray what mystery have you elucidated now?”

“Not a mystery, but a sober fact. A Frenchwoman must be in the mode. Anybody else would have told you to copy yourself. Fashions are a sealed book to me, but I do claim a certain taste in colour effect, and you have gratified it.”

“And have you nothing nice to say to me, Mr. Brett?” pouted Helen.

“So much that I must remain dumb. I have a vivid recollection of Mr. Hume’s tragic air when he asked me to give you ‘his kind regards.’”

“The dear boy! You have not yet told us why you left him in London.”

In view of Mrs. Capella’s outspokenness concerning her cousin, this was a poser. Brett fenced with the query, and the announcement of dinner stopped all personal references. The barrister’s eyes wandered round the dining-room. The shaded candles on the table did not permit much light to fall on the walls, but such portraits as were visible showed that David was right when he said the “Hume-Frazers were all alike.” They were a handsome, determined-looking race, strong, dour, inflexible.

The night was beautifully fine. The day seemed loth to die, and the twilight lingering on the pleasant landscape tempted them outside, after the butler had handed Brett a box of excellent cigars.

They went through the conservatory into the park, and sauntered over the springy pastureland, whilst Brett amused the ladies by a carefully edited account of his visit to the Jiro family.

An hour passed in pleasant chat. Then Miss Layton thought it was time she went home, and Brett proposed to escort her to the Rectory, subsequently picking up his conveyance at the inn.

They walked obliquely across the park towards the house, regaining it through a clump of laurels and the conservatory.

It chanced that for a moment they were silent. Margaret led the way. Helen followed. Brett came close behind.

When the mistress of Beechcroft Hall stepped on to the turf in front of the library, a man who was standing under the yews a little way down the avenue moved forward to accost her.

She uttered a little cry of alarm and retreated quickly.

“Why, Davie,” cried Helen, “surely it cannot be you!”

The stranger made no reply, but paused irresolutely. Even in the dim light Brett needed no second glance to reveal to him the astounding coincidence that this mysterious prowler was Robert Hume-Frazer.

“Good evening,” he said politely. “Do you wish to see your cousin?”

“And who the devil may you be?” was the uncompromising answer.

“A friend of Mrs. Capella’s.”

“H’m! I’m glad to hear it. I thought you could not be that beastly Italian.”

“You are candour itself; but you have not answered me?”

“About seeing my cousin? No. I will call when she is less engaged.”

He turned to go, but Brett caught him by the shoulder.

“Will you come quietly,” he said, “or by the scruff of the neck?”

The other man wheeled round again. That he feared no personal violence was evident. Indeed, it was possible Brett had over-estimated his own strength in suggesting the alternative.

The Argentine cousin laughed boisterously.

“By the Lord Harry,” he cried, “I like your style! I will come in, if only to have a good look at you.”

They approached the two frightened women. Margaret had recognised his voice, and now advanced with outstretched hand.

“I am glad to see you, Robert,” she said in tones that vibrated somewhat. “Why did you not let me know you were coming?”

“Because I did not know myself until an hour before I left London. Moreover, you might have wired and told me to stop away, so I sailed without orders.”

The position was awkward. The new-comer had evidently walked from Stowmarket. He had the appearance of a gentleman, soiled and a trifle truculent, perhaps, but a man of birth and good breeding.

Helen was gazing at him in sheer wonderment. He was so extremely like David that, at a distance, it was easy to confuse the one with the other.

Brett, too, examined him curiously. He recalled “Rabbit Jack’s” pronouncement—“either the chap hisself or his dead spit.”

But it behoved him to rescue the ladies from an impasse.

“When you reached Stowmarket did the stationmaster exhibit any marked interest in you?” he inquired.

“Well, now, that beats the band,” cried Robert. “He looked at me as though I had seven heads and horns to match. But how did you know that?”

“Merely on account of your marked resemblance to David Hume-Frazer. It puzzled the stationmaster some time ago. By the way, you appear to like the shade of the yew trees outside. Do you always approach Beechcroft Hall in the same way?”

The ex-sailor’s bold eyes did not fall before the barrister’s penetrating glance.

“What the deuce has it got to do with you?” he replied fiercely. “Who has appointed you grand inquisitor to the family, I should like to know? Margaret, I beg your pardon, but this chap—”

“Is my friend, Mr. Reginald Brett. He is engaged in unravelling the manner and cause of poor Alan’s death. He has my full sanction, Robert, and was brought here, in the first instance, by David. I hope, therefore, you will treat him more civilly.”

“I will treat him as he treats me. I owe him nothing, at any rate.”

They were talking in the ill-fated library, having entered the house through the centre window. The unbidden guest faced the others, and although the cloud of suspicion hung heavily upon him, the barrister was far too shrewd an observer of human nature to attribute his present defiant attitude to other than its true origin—a feeling of humiliated pride.

Brett understood that to question him further was to risk a scene—a thing to be avoided at all costs.

“No doubt,” he said, “you wish to speak privately to Mrs. Capella. I was on the point of escorting Miss Layton to her house. Shall I return and drive you back to Stowmarket? I will be here in fifteen minutes.”

“It would be better than walking,” replied Robert wearily, settling into a chair with the air of a man physically tired and mentally perturbed.

Again there was a dramatic pause. Helen, more alarmed than she wished to admit, gave Margaret a questioning look, and received a strained but reassuring smile.

“Then I will go now—” she began, but instantly stopped. Like the others, she heard the quick trot of a horse, and the sound of rapid wheels approaching from the lodge.

“Who on earth can this be?” cried Margaret, blanching visibly,

The vehicle, a dog-cart, drew nearer. They all went to the window. Even the indifferent Robert rose and joined them.

Helen startled them by running out to the side of the drive.

“This time I am not mistaken,” she cried hysterically. “It is Davie!”

The proceedings of the gentleman who jumped from the dog-cart left no doubt on the point. He brazenly kissed her, and in her excitement she seemed to like it.

She evidently whispered something to him, for his first words to Brett were:

“How did you find out—”

But the barrister was not anxious to let the cousin from Argentina into the secret of the search for him.

“I have found out nothing,” he interrupted. “I have been at Beechcroft all the afternoon and evening. Meanwhile, you must be surprised to meet Mr. Robert Hume-Frazer here so unexpectedly.”

David luckily grasped his friend’s intention. Such information as he possessed must wait until they were alone. “How d’ye do, Bob?” he said, frankly holding out his hand. “Why have you left us alone all those years, to turn up at last in this queer way?”

The young man’s kind greeting, his manly attitude, had an unlooked-for effect.

Robert ignored the proffered hand. He reached for his hat.

“I feel like a beastly interloper,” he growled huskily. “Accept my apologies, Margaret, and you, Miss Layton. I will call in the morning. Mr. Brett, if you still hold to your offer, I will await you at the lodge, or any other place you care to name.”

With blazing eyes, and mouth firmly set, he endeavoured to reach the open window. Brett barred his way.

“Sit down, man,” he said sternly. “Why are you such a fool as to resist the kindness offered to you? I tried to make matters easy for you. Now I must speak plainly. You are weak with hunger.”

He had seen what the others had missed. The colour in Robert’s face was due to exposure, but he was otherwise drawn and haggard. His clothes were shabby. He had walked from Stowmarket because he could not afford to hire any means of conveyance.

The abject confession compelled by Brett’s words was too much for him. He again collapsed into a