The Great Impersonation, E. Phillips Oppenheim [finding audrey TXT] 📗

glad of a short conversation with you before you go down to Dominey.”

“With regard to anything in particular?”

“With regard to Lady Dominey,” the lawyer told him a little gravely.

A shadow rested on his companion’s face.

“Is her ladyship very much changed?”

“Physically, she is in excellent health, I believe. Mentally I believe that there is no change. She has unfortunately the same rather violent prejudice which I am afraid influenced your departure from England.”

“In plain words,” Dominey said bitterly, “she has sworn to take my life if ever I sleep under the same roof.”

“She will need, I am afraid, to be strictly watched,” the lawyer answered evasively. “Still, I think you ought to be told that time does not seem to have lessened her tragical antipathy.”

“She regards me still as the murderer of Roger Unthank?” Dominey asked, in a measured tone.

“I am afraid she does.”

“And I suppose that everyone else has the same idea?”

“The mystery,” Mr. Mangan admitted, “has never been cleared up. It is well known, you see, that you fought in the park and that you staggered home almost senseless. Roger Unthank has never been seen from that day to this.”

“If I had killed him,” Dominey pointed out, “why was his body not found?”

The lawyer shook his head.

“There are all sorts of theories, of course,” he said, “but for one superstition you may as well be prepared. There is scarcely a man or a woman for miles around Dominey who doesn’t believe that the ghost of Roger Unthank still haunts the Black Wood near where you fought.”

“Let us be quite clear about this,” Dominey insisted. “If the body should ever be found, am I liable, after all these years, to be indicted for manslaughter?”

“I think you may make your mind quite at ease,” the lawyer assured him. “In the first place, I don’t think you would ever be indicted.”

“And in the second?”

“There isn’t a human being in that part of Norfolk would ever believe that the body of man or beast, left within the shadow of the Black Wood, would ever be seen or heard of again!”

IV

Mr. Mangan, on their way into the grill room, loitered for a few minutes in the small reception room, chatting with some acquaintances, whilst his host, having spoken to the maître d’hôtel and ordered a cocktail from a passing waiter, stood with his hands behind his back, watching the inflow of men and women with all that interest which one might be supposed to feel in one’s fellows after a prolonged absence. He had moved a little to one side to allow a party of young people to make their way through the crowded chamber, when he was conscious of a woman standing alone on the topmost of the three thickly carpeted stairs. Their eyes met, and hers, which had been wandering around the room as though in search of some acquaintance, seemed instantly and fervently held. To the few loungers about the room, ignorant of any special significance in that studied contemplation of the man on the part of the woman, their two personalities presented an agreeable, almost a fascinating study. Dominey was six feet two in height and had to its fullest extent the natural distinction of his class, together with the half military, half athletic bearing which seemed to have been so marvellously restored to him. His complexion was no more than becomingly tanned; his slight moustache, trimmed very close to the upper lip, was of the same ruddy brown shade as his sleekly brushed hair. The woman, who had commenced now to move slowly towards him, save that her cheeks, at that moment, at any rate, were almost unnaturally pale, was of the same colouring. Her red-gold hair gleamed beneath her black hat. She was tall, a Grecian type of figure, large without being coarse, majestic though still young. She carried a little dog under one arm and a plain black silk bag, on which was a coronet in platinum and diamonds, in the other hand. The majordomo who presided over the room, watching her approach, bowed with more than his usual urbanity. Her eyes, however, were still fixed upon the person who had engaged so large a share of her attention. She came towards him, her lips a little parted.

“Leopold!” she faltered. “The Holy Saints, why did you not let me know!”

Dominey bowed very slightly. His words seemed to have a cut and dried flavour.

“I am so sorry,” he replied, “but I fear that you make a mistake. My name is not Leopold.”

She stood quite still, looking at him with the air of not having heard a word of his polite disclaimer.

“In London, of all places,” she murmured. “Tell me, what does it mean?”

“I can only repeat, madam,” he said, “that to my very great regret I have not the honour of your acquaintance.”

She was puzzled, but absolutely unconvinced.

“You mean to deny that you are Leopold Von Ragastein?” she asked incredulously. “You do not know me?”

“Madam,” he answered, “it is not my great pleasure. My name is Dominey⁠—Everard Dominey.”

She seemed for a moment to be struggling with some embarrassment which approached emotion. Then she laid her fingers upon his sleeve and drew him to a more retired corner of the little apartment.

“Leopold,” she whispered, “nothing can make it wrong or indiscreet for you to visit me. My address is 17, Belgrave Square. I desire to see you tonight at seven o’clock.”

“But, my dear lady,” Dominey began⁠—

Her eyes suddenly glowed with a new light.

“I will not be trifled with,” she insisted. “If you wish to succeed in whatever scheme you have on hand, you must not make an enemy of me. I shall expect you at seven o’clock.”

She passed away from him into the restaurant. Mr. Mangan, now freed from his friends, rejoined his host, and the two men took their places at the side table to which they were ushered with many signs of attention.

“Wasn’t that the Princess Eiderstrom with whom you were talking?”