things. We live only forto-day.
On our way back to Waterloo that night Dick earnestly discussed thesituation.
"And what's your opinion now?" I inquired, as he sat opposite me in thecorner of the railway carriage.
Dick smiled slightly. "Both mother and daughter are connected with theaffair, and are in deadly fear," he replied decisively. "While in thepunt with Mary Blain I had a long chat with her, and the conclusion I'veformed is that she knows all about it. Besides, she was very anxious toknow your recent movements--what you had been doing during the past weekor so."
"I wonder whether she suspects?"
"No, I don't think so," he answered. "Neither mother nor daughter dreamthat we are in possession of the secret. You see no one has returned tothe place since the fatal night, and, as nothing has appeared in thepapers, they naturally conclude that the affair has not yet beendiscovered."
"They evidently devour almost every morning and evening paper as itarrives down there. Did you notice the heap of papers in themorning-room?" I asked.
"Of course. I kept my eyes well open while there," he replied. "Did itstrike you that the plate used at dinner was of exactly the same patternas that on the table at Phillimore Place, and further, that among a pileof novels in the drawing-room was a book which one would not expect tofind in such a place--a work known mainly to toxicologists, for it dealswholly with the potency of poisons?"
"No," I said in surprise, "I didn't notice either of those things."
"But I did," he went on reflectively. "All these facts go to convinceme."
"Of what?"
"That we are working in the right direction to obtain a key to themystery," he responded. Then suddenly he added: "By the way, that girlGlaslyn is certainly very beautiful. I envied you, old fellow, when youtook her for a row."
I smiled. I had determined not to reveal to him her identity as thewoman whom I had first discovered lifeless, but his natural shrewdnesswas far greater than mine. He was a born investigator of crime, and hadnot Fate placed him in a newspaper office, he would, I believe, havebecome a renowned detective.
"Glaslyn? Eva Glaslyn?" he repeated, as if to himself. "Why, surelythat's the name of the girl you met in St. James's Park and followed toHampton--the woman whom you found dead on your first visit to the housewith Patterson? Is that really so?" he cried, in sudden amazement.
I nodded, without replying.
"Then, Frank, old chap," he answered in the low, hoarse voice of oneutterly staggered, "this affair has assumed such a devilishlycomplicated phase that I fear we shall never get at the truth. Toapproach any of those three women would only be to place them on theirguard, and without their assistance we can't possibly act with success."
"Then what do you suggest?" I asked.
"Suggest? I can suggest nothing," he answered. "The complications onevery side are too great--far too great."
"Only Eva Glaslyn can assist us," I observed. "Yes. She alone can mostprobably tell us the truth, but her friendship for the Blains is proofpositive that her secret is a guilty one, even though she was so nearbeing a victim."
"She was a victim," I declared. "When I saw her she was apparentlylifeless, lying cold and still in the chair, with every appearance ofone dead. But what causes you to think that her secret is a guiltyone?" I asked hastily.
"The Blains undoubtedly are implicated in the matter, and she, theirfriend, is in possession of their secret," he argued. "As a victim, shewould be prompted to expose them if she did not fear exposure herself.She's therefore held to enforced silence."
His argument was a very forcible one, and during the remainder of thejourney to London I sat back calmly reflecting upon it. It was a theorywhich had not before occurred to me, but I hesitated to accept it,because I could not believe that upon this woman who held me beneath thespell of her marvellous beauty could there rest any such hideous shadowof guilt. I remembered those clear blue eyes, that fair opencountenance, and that frank manner of speech, and refused to givecredence to my friend's allegation.
Slowly passed the days. Summer heat increased and in London thesilk-hatted world had already turned their thoughts towards the openfields and the sea-beach. The summer holidays were drawing near athand. How much that brief vacation of a week or fortnight means to thetoiling Londoner! and how much more to his ailing wife and puny family,doomed to live year after year in the smoke-halo of some black, grimystreet into which the sun never seems to shine, or in some cheap,crowded suburb where the jerry-built houses stand in long, inartistic,parallel rows and the cheap streets swarm with unwashed, shoutingoffspring! I had arranged to take my holiday in winter and go down tothe Riviera, a treat I had long since promised myself, therefore bothDick and I continued our work through those stifling days, obtainingfrom Boyd every now and then the results of his latest inquiries. Theseresults, it must be said, were absolutely nil.
I had agreed with Dick to keep our suspicions entirely to ourselves,therefore we gave no information to Boyd, preferring to carry out ourinquiries in our own method rather than seeking his aid. It was well,perhaps, that we did this, for the police too often blunder bydisplaying too great an energy. I was determined if possible to protectEva.
At Riverdene, Dick and I were welcome guests and were often invited toSunday river-parties, thus showing that any suspicions entertained of usin that quarter had been removed. Time after time I had met Eva, and wehad on lots of occasions gone out on the river together, exploring overand over again that winding shaded backwater, and picking lilies andforget-me-nots at the spot where on that memorable evening we had firstexchanged confidences.
I had received no invitation to The Hollies, but she had apologised,saying that the unusual heat had prostrated her mother, and that for thepresent they had been compelled to abandon their picnics. Many were theafternoons and evenings I idled away in a deck-chair on that well-keptlawn, or, accompanied by Mary, Eva, Cleugh and Fred Langdale, who, bythe way, turned out to be an insufferable, over-dressed "bounder" whowas continually dangling at Eva's skirts, we would go forth and payvisits to various house-boats up and down stream.
Langdale looked upon me with a certain amount of jealousy, I think, and,truth to tell, was not, as I had imagined, of the milk-and-water genus.Eva seemed to regard him as a necessary evil, and used him as a tamecat, a kind of body servant to fetch and carry for her. From herremarks to me, however, I had known full well from the first that therewas not a shadow of affection on her side. She had explained how shesimply tolerated him because companions were few at Hampton and he was afairly good tennis player, while he, on his part, was unconsciouslymaking an arrant ass of himself in the eyes of all by his efforts tocultivate a drawl that he deemed aristocratic, and to carefullycaressing his moustache in an upward direction.
Dick Cleugh, thorough-going Bohemian that he was, cared but little, Ibelieve, for those riparian gatherings. True, he played tennis, rowed,punted and ate the strawberries and cream with as great a zest as any ofus; nevertheless, I knew that he accepted the invitation with but oneobject, and that he would far rather have strolled in one of the parkswith Lily Lowry than row Mary Blain up and down the stream.
Lily often came to our chambers. She was about twenty-two, of a ratherSouthern type of beauty, with a good figure, a graceful gait, and adecidedly London _chic_. She spoke, however, with that nasal twangwhich stamps the true South Londoner, and her expressions were notabsolutely devoid of the slang of the Newington Butts. Yet withal shewas a quiet, pleasant girl.
Thus half the month of July went by practically without incident, untilone blazing day at noon, when, I went forth into Fleet Street for lunch,I unexpectedly encountered Dick, hot and hurrying, his hat tilted back.He had left home very early that morning to work up some "startlingdiscovery" that had been made out at Plaistow, and already hoarse-voicedmen were crying the "Fourth _Comet_" with the "latest details" he hadunearthed.
In reply to his question as to where I was going, I told him
that afterluncheon I had to go down to Walworth to make some trifling inquiry,whereupon he said--
"Then I wish you'd do a favour for me, old fellow."
"Of course," I answered promptly. "What is it?"
"Call at the Lowrys and tell Lily to meet me at Loughborough Junction ateight to-night, at the usual place. I want to take her to the CrystalPalace to see the fireworks. I was going to wire, but you'll pass herfather's place. Will you give her the message?"
"Certainly," I answered. "But is she at home?"
"Yes. She's got her holidays. Tell her I'm very busy, or I'd have comedown myself. Sorry to trouble you."
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