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

chair and covered his face with his hands. Chapter XVI The Cousins

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Brett was the only person present who kept his senses. Margaret was too shocked, the lovers too amazed, to speak coherently.

“Mr. Hume-Frazer has allowed himself to become run down,” said the barrister, with the nonchalance of one who discussed the prospects of to-morrow’s weather. “What he needs at the moment is some soup and a few biscuits. You, Mrs. Capella, might procure these without bringing the servants here, especially if Miss Layton were to help you.”

Without a word, the two ladies quitted the room.

Robert looked up.

“You ring like good metal,” he said to the barrister. “Is there any liquor in the dining-room? I feel a trifle hollow about the belt. A drink would do me good.”

“Not until you have eaten something first,” was the firm answer. “Are you so hard up that you could not buy food?”

“Well, the fact is, I have been on my beam ends during the past week. To-day I pawned a silver watch, but unfortunately returned to my lodgings, where my landlady made such a fiendish row about the bill that I gave her every penny. Then I pawned my overcoat, raising the exact fare to Stowmarket. I could not even pay for a ’bus from Gower Street to Liverpool Street. All I have eaten to-day was a humble breakfast at 8.30 a.m., and I suppose the sun and the journey wore me out. Still, you must be jolly sharp to see what was the matter. I thought I kept my end up pretty well.”

David sat down by his side.

“Forgive me, old chap,” continued Robert. “It broke me up to see that you were happy after all your troubles. You are engaged to a nice girl; Alan is dead; I am the only unlucky member of the family.”

The man was talking quite sincerely. He even envied his murdered cousin. Nothing in his words, his suspicious mode of announcing his presence, the vague doubts that shadowed his past career, puzzled Brett so greatly as that chance phrase.

The ladies came back, laden with good things from the kitchen, which they insisted on carrying themselves, much to the astonishment of the servants.

All women are born actresses. Their behaviour before the domestics left the impression that some huge joke was toward in the library.

The tactful barrister drew Hume and Helen outside to discuss immediate arrangements. David promised faithfully to return from the rectory in fifteen minutes, and Brett re-entered the library.

Robert Hume-Frazer gave evidence of his semi-starvation. He tried to disguise his eagerness, but in vain. Biscuits, sandwiches, and soup vanished rapidly, until Margaret suggested a further supply.

“No, Rita,” said her cousin; “I have fasted too often on the Pampas not to know the folly of eating too heartily. I will be all right now, especially when Mr. Brett produces the whisky he spoke about.”

The barrister brought a decanter from the dining-room. The stranger was still an enigma. He placed bottle and glass on the table, wondering to what extent the man would help himself.

The quantity was small and well diluted. So this member of the family was not a drunkard.

“How did you come to be in such a state?” asked Margaret nervously. “It is hardly six months since I sent you £500; not a very large sum, I admit, but all you asked me for, and more than enough to live on for a much longer period.”

Robert laughed pleasantly. It was the first token of returning confidence. He reached for a cigar, and sought Margaret’s permission to smoke.

“My dear girl,” he answered, “I am really a very unfortunate person. I own a hundred thousand acres of the best land in South America, and I have been in England nearly two years trying to raise capital to develop it. If I owned a salted reef or an American brewery I could have got the money for the asking. Because my stock-raising proposition is a sound paying concern, requiring a delay of at least three years before a penny of profit can be realised, I have worn my boots out in climbing up and down office stairs to no purpose. Out of your £500, nearly £400 went out at once to pay arrears of Government taxation to save my property. Of the remaining hundred I spent fifty in a fortnight on dinners and suppers given to a gang of top-hatted scoundrels, who, I found subsequently, were not worth a red cent. They hoped to fleece me in some way, and their very association discredited me in the eyes of one or two honest men. Oh, I have had a bad time of it, I can assure you!”

“Why did you not write to me again?”

He looked at her steadily before he explained:

“Because you are a woman.”

“What has that got to do with it? I am your relative, and rich. How much do you want? If your scheme is really sound, I imagine my solicitors might sanction my co-operation.”

Again he hesitated.

“Thank you, Rita. You are a good sort. But I am not here on a matter of high finance. I want you to lend me, say, £250. I will return to the Argentine, and take twenty years to accomplish what I could do in five with the necessary capital.”

“Come and see me in the morning. The sum you name is absurdly small, in any case. Perhaps Mr. Brett will accompany you. His advice will be useful to both of us. Come early. I leave here to-morrow.”

“Going away! Where to?”

“To Whitby, in Yorkshire.”

“Well, that is curious,” said Robert, who clearly did not like to question her about her husband.

“Mr. Capella is in Naples,” she added. “I cannot say when he will return.”

Her cousin’s look was eloquent of his thoughts. He did not like the Italian, for some inexplicable reason, for to Margaret’s knowledge they had never met.

The barrister naturally did not interfere in this family conclave. He listened intently, and had already drawn several inferences from the man’s words. For the life of him he could not classify Robert Hume-Frazer. The man was either a consummate scoundrel, the cold-blooded murderer of Margaret’s brother, or a maligned and ill-used man.

Within a few minutes he would be called upon to treat him in one category or the other. A few questions might elucidate matters considerably.

The hiatus in the conversation created by the mention of Capella gave him an opportunity.

“Did you endeavour to raise the requisite capital for your estate in London only?” he inquired.

“No; I tried elsewhere,” was the quick rejoinder.

“Here, for instance, on the New Year’s Eve before last?”

“Now, how the blazes did you learn that?” came the fierce demand, the speaker’s excitement rendering him careless of the words he used.

“It is true, then?”

“Yes, but—”

“Robert!—” Margaret’s voice was choking, and her face was woefully white once more—“were you—here—when Alan—was killed?”

“No, not exactly. This thing bewilders me. Let me explain. I saw him that afternoon. We had a furious quarrel. I never told you about it, Rita. It was a family matter. I do not hold you responsible. I—”

“Hold me responsible! What do you mean? Did you kill my brother?”

She rose to her feet. Her eyes seemed to peer into his soul. He, too, rose and faced her.

“By God,” he cried, “this is too much! Why didn’t you ask your husband that question?”

“Because my husband, with all his faults, is innocent of that crime. He was with me in London the night that Alan met his death.”

“And I, too, was in London. I left Stowmarket at six o’clock.”

“Having reached the place at 2.20?” interposed Brett.

The other turned to him with eager pleading.

“In Heaven’s name, Mr. Brett, if you know all about my movements that day, disabuse Margaret’s mind of the terrible idea that prompted her question.”

“Why did you come here on that occasion?”

“The truth must out now. My two uncles swindled my father—that is, Margaret, your father led my Uncle David with him in a most unjust proceeding. My father took up some risky business in City finance, on the verbal understanding with his brothers that they would share profits or bear losses equally. The speculation failed, and your father basely withdrew from the compact, persuading the other brother to follow his lead. Perhaps there may have been some justification for his action, but my poor old dad was very bitter about it. The affair killed him. I made my own way in the world, and came here to ask Alan to undo the wrong done years ago, and help me to get on my feet. He was not in the best of tempers, and we fell out badly, using silly recriminations. I went back to London, and next day travelled to Monte Carlo, where I lost more money than I could afford. Believe me, I never even knew of Alan’s death until I saw the reports of Davie’s trial.”

“Why did you not come forward then?”

“Why? No man could have better reasons. First, it seemed to me that Davie had killed him. Then, when the second trial ended, I came to the conclusion—Lord help my wits—that there was some underhanded work about the succession to the property, and my doubts appeared to receive confirmation by the news of Margaret’s marriage. In any case, if I turned up to give evidence, I could only have helped to hang one of my own relatives.”

“It never occurred to you that you might be suspected?”

“Never, on my honour! The suggestion is preposterous. You seem to know everything. Tell Margaret that I did leave Stowmarket by the train I named, that I stayed in the Hotel Victoria the same night, and left for the Riviera at 11 a.m. next day. Margaret, don’t you believe me? You and I were sweethearts as children. Can you think I murdered your brother? Why, dear girl, I refrained from seeing your husband lest I should wound you by revealing my thoughts.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked at her with such genuine emotion that she lifted her swimming eyes to his, and faltered:

“Forgive me, Robert, though I can never forgive myself. Your words shocked me. I am sorry. I am not mistaken now. You are innocent as I am.”

“You have also convinced me, Mr. Frazer,” said Brett quietly.

Robert gazed quickly from one to the other. Then he laughed constrainedly.

“I have been accused of several offences in my time,” he said, “but this notion that got into your heads licks creation.”

“What is the matter now?” said David Hume, entering through the window.

Chapter XVII “Cherchez La Femme”

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The three men drove to Stowmarket in the same vehicle, the grooms returning in the second dog-cart.

On the way Robert Frazer—who may be designated by his second surname to distinguish him from his cousin—was anxious to learn what had caused the present recrudescence of inquiry into Alan’s death. This was easily explained by David, and Brett took care to confine the conversation to general details.

Frazer was naturally keen to discover how the barrister came to be so well posted in his movements, and David listened eagerly whilst Brett related enough of the stationmaster’s story to clear up that point.

Hume broke in with a laugh:

“That shows why he was so unusually attentive when I arrived this evening. He spotted me getting out of the train, and would not leave me until I was clear of the station. He was evidently determined to ascertain my exact identity without any mistake, for he began by asking if I were not Mr. David Hume-Frazer, laying stress on my Christian name. It surprised me a little, because I thought the old chap knew me well.”

“Are you both absolutely certain that there are no other members of your family in existence?” asked Brett.

“It depends on how many of our precious collection you are acquainted with,” said Robert.

“The only person Mr. Brett is not acquainted with is my father,” exclaimed David stiffly.

“I was not alluding to