The Talleyrand Maxim, J. S. Fletcher [books to read fiction TXT] 📗

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE WOMAN IN BLACK

 

Nesta Mallathorpe, who had just arrived in Barford when Eldrick caught

sight of her, was seriously startled as he and Collingwood came running

up to her carriage. The solicitor entered it without ceremony or

explanation, and turning to the coachman bade him drive back to

Normandale as fast as he could make his horses go. Meanwhile Collingwood

turned to Nesta. “Don’t be alarmed!” he said. “Something is happening at

the Grange—your mother has just telephoned to the police here to go

there at once—there they are—in front of us, in that car!”

 

“Did my mother say if she was in danger?” demanded Nesta.

 

“She can’t be!” exclaimed Eldrick, turning from the coachman, as the

horses were whipped round and the carriage moved off. “She evidently

gave orders for the message. No—Pratt’s there! And—but of course, you

don’t know—the police want Pratt. They’ve been searching for him since

noon. He’s wanted for murder!”

 

“Don’t frighten Miss Mallathorpe,” said Collingwood. “The murder has

nothing to do with present events,” he went on reassuringly. “It’s

something that happened some time ago. Don’t be afraid about your

mother—there are plenty of people round her, you know.”

 

“I can’t help feeling anxious if Pratt is there,” she answered. “How did

he come to be there? It’s not an hour since I left home. This is all

some of Esther Mawson’s work! And we shall have to wait nearly an hour

before we know what is going on!—it’s all uphill work to Normandale,

and the horses can’t do it in the time.”

 

“Eldrick!” said Collingwood, as the carriage came abreast of the Central

Station and a long line of motorcars. “Stop the coachman! Let’s get one

of those cars—we shall get to Normandale twice as quickly. The main

thing is to relieve Miss Mallathorpe of anxiety. Now!” he went on, as

they hastily left the carriage and transferred themselves to a car

quickly scented by Eldrick as the most promising of the lot. “Tell the

driver to go as fast as he can—the other car’s not very far in

front—tell him to catch it up.”

 

Eldrick leaned over and gave his orders.

 

“I’ve told him not only to catch him up, but to get in front of ‘em,” he

said, settling down again in his seat. “This is a better car than

theirs, and we shall be there first. Now, Miss Mallathorpe, don’t you

bother—this is probably going to be the clearing-up point of

everything. One feels certain, at any rate—Pratt has reached the end of

his tether!”

 

“If I seem to bother,” replied Nesta, “it’s because I know that he and

Esther Mawson are at Normandale—working mischief.”

 

“We shall be there in half an hour,” said Collingwood, as their own car

ran past that in which the detectives and Byner were seated. “They can’t

do much mischief in that time.”

 

None of the three spoke again until the car pulled up suddenly at the

gates of Normandale Park. The lodge-keeper, an old man, coming out to

open them, approached the door of the car on seeing Nesta within.

 

“There’s a young woman just gone up to the house that wants to see you

very particular, miss,” he said. “I tell’d her that you’d gone to

Barford, but she said she’d come a long way, and she’d wait till you

come back. She’s going across the park there—crossin’ yon path.”

 

He pointed over the level sward to the slight figure of a woman in

black, who was obviously taking a near cut up to the Grange. Nesta

looked wonderingly across the park as the car cleared the gate and went

on up the drive.

 

“Who can she be?” she said musingly. “A woman from a long way—to see

me?”

 

“She’ll get to the house soon after we reach it,” said Eldrick. “Let’s

attend to this more pressing business first. We should know what’s afoot

here in a minute or two.”

 

But it was somewhat difficult to make out or to discover what really was

afoot. The car stopped at the hall door: the second car came close

behind it; Nesta, Collingwood, Eldrick, Byner, and the detectives poured

into the hall—encountered a much mystified-looking butler, a couple of

footmen, and the groom whose services Esther Mawson had requisitioned,

and who, weary of waiting for her, had come up to the house.

 

“What’s all this?” asked Eldrick, taking the situation into his own

hands. “What’s the matter? Why did you send for the police?”

 

“Mrs. Mallathorpe’s orders, sir,” answered the butler, with an

apologetic glance at his young mistress. “Really, sir, I don’t

know—exactly—what is the matter! We are all so confused! What happened

was, that not very long after Miss Mallathorpe had left for town in the

carriage, Esther Mawson, the maid, came downstairs from Mrs.

Mallathorpe’s room, and was crossing the lower part of the hall, when

Mrs. Mallathorpe suddenly appeared up there and called to me and James

to stop her and lock her up, as she’d stolen money and jewels! We were

to lock her up and telephone for the police, sir, and to add that Mr.

Pratt was here.”

 

“Well?” demanded Eldrick.

 

“We did lock her up, sir! She’s in my pantry,” continued the butler,

ruefully. “We’ve got her in there because there are bars to the

windows—she can’t get out of that. A terrible time we had, too,

sir—she fought us like—like a maniac, protesting all the time that

Mrs. Mallathorpe had given her what she had on her. Of course, sir, we

don’t know what she may have on her—we simply obeyed Mrs. Mallathorpe.”

 

“Where is Mrs. Mallathorpe?” asked Collingwood. “Is she safe?”

 

“Oh, quite safe, sir!” replied the butler. “She returned to her room

after giving those orders. Mrs. Mallathorpe appeared to be—quite calm,

sir.”

 

Prydale pushed himself forward—unceremoniously and insistently.

 

“Keep that woman locked up!” he said. “First of all—where’s Pratt?”

 

“Mrs. Mallathorpe said he would be found in a room in the old part of

the house,” answered the butler, shaking his head as if he were

thoroughly mystified. “She said you would find him fast asleep—Mawson

had drugged him!”

 

Prydale looked at Byner and at his fellow-detectives. Then he turned to

the butler.

 

“Come on!” he said brusquely. “Take us there at once!” He glanced at

Eldrick. “I’m beginning to see through it, Mr. Eldrick!” he whispered.

“This maid’s caught Pratt for us. Let’s hope he’s still–-”

 

But before he could say more, and just as the butler opened a door which

led into a corridor at the rear of the hall, a sharp crack which was

unmistakably that of a revolver, rang through the house, waking equally

sharp echoes in the silent room. And at that, Nesta hurried up the

stairway to her mother’s apartment, and the men, after a hurried glance

at each other, ran along the corridor after the butler and the footmen.

 

Pratt came out of his stupor much sooner than Esther Mawson had reckoned

on. According to her previous experiments with the particular drug which

she had administered to him, he ought to have remained in a profound and

an undisturbed slumber until at least five o’clock. But he woke at

four—woke suddenly, sharply, only conscious at first of a terrible pain

in his head, which kept him groaning and moaning in his chair for a

minute or two before he fairly realized where he was and what had

happened. As the pain became milder and gave way to a dull throbbing and

a general sense of discomfort, he looked round out of aching eyes and

saw the bottle of sherry. And so dull were his wits that his only

thought at first was that the wine had been far stronger than he had

known, and that he had drunk far too much of it, and that it had sent

him to sleep—and just then his wandering glance fell on some papers

which Esther Mawson had taken from one of his pockets and thrown aside

as of no value.

 

He leapt to his feet, trembling and sweating. His hands, shaking as if

smitten with a sudden palsy, went to his pockets—he tore off his coat

and turned his pockets out, as if touch and feeling were not to be

believed, and his eyes must see that there was really nothing there.

Then he snatched up the papers on the floor and found nothing but

letters, and odd scraps of unimportant memoranda. He stamped his feet on

those things, and began to swear and curse, and finally to sob and

whine. The shock of his discovery had driven all his stupefaction away

by that time, and he knew what had happened. And his whining and sobbing

was not that of despair, but the far worse and fiercer sobbing and

whining of rage and terrible anger. If the woman who had tricked him had

been there he would have torn her limb from limb, and have glutted

himself with revenge. But—he was alone.

 

And