“I see.”
He said no more, but I saw him pick up a pencil, as though to write. Then he seemed to remember my presence and laid the pencil down.
Winter re-entered the room. As he gave the case into my hand —
“I shall want you again,” I said, “so wait within call.”
“Very good, sir.”
As he left the chamber, I held a paper up. “The statement,” I said. “A copy of the first of the statements your brother made. The second does not concern you, because it only deals with the secret of Brief.”
The man half rose from his chair, but I bade him sit still. Then I stepped to his side and laid the paper before him, for him to read…
I am glad to record that in the next three minutes that black-hearted parricide paid a part of his debt.
As he read, I saw him writhing, and the sweat fell down from his forehead, to blur the ink.
It was a frightful indictment.
My twin-brother was under arrest, on a charge of forgery.
It was perfectly clear that, if Ferdinand stood his trial, he would be sent to prison for several years.
My brother fell on his knees…
He had put this into my pocket – to gain his terrible ends.
So he and I changed places.
He took my father’s title and all that was mine, and I was sent to prison for seven years.
My daughter became his daughter, my life became his life.
And Ferdinand was careful. He even denied my cheque for five hundred pounds. He said that I had forged it…
Twice, while he read, he dropped his head to the table and cried aloud, and when he had done, he fairly burst into tears and laid his head down on his arm and sobbed like a child.
To me, it is a terrible thing to see a grown man break down and weep as he used to weep in his mother’s arms, for it means that his heart has thrown back to the age of innocence, to which, because he is adult, his mind can never return, of which he can have no comfort, because he is now too old. But, if I am to be honest, it did me good to see so vile a being in such distress, for the pitiful statement before him revived for me the full horror of Gering’s life and death
So I changed my name and sought work – I had to have bread.
Gering was earning his bread in Red Lead Lane, while his brother was paying his chef five hundred a year.
I drew the statement from under his sprawling arm. Then I picked up a pen and wrote…
When I had done, I called Winter.
“Fetch Mr Parish,” I said.
Lord Ferdinand started up, lifting a visage that made even Winter blench.
“Parish? Her Grace’s page? What has he –?”
“To witness your signature. I shall witness it, and so will my man. But Parish is independent, and—”
“No, no. I never consented to any such thing.”
“As you please,” said I, and folded the statement up. “Turn out the car, Winter. I want to be at Gabble within the hour.”
“Very good, sir,” said Winter, and turned.
“No, no. Not that,” cried the other, and savaged his thumb.
“Parish or Gabble,” said I. “It’s for you to choose.”
After a frightful struggle —
“To witness my signature only. You’ll cover the statement up?”
“Yes.”
“Very…well.”
I turned again to Winter.
“Fetch Mr Parish,” I said…
Whilst we waited, he got to his feet and went to a glass and generally did what he could to pull himself into some shape, and I looked out of the window, with folded arms.
As he came back to the table —
“What name did he take?” he said. “I – I saw the initials ‘MG’?”
“He is known as Matthew Gering,” I said.
To my surprise, he nodded.
“I thought as much,” he said slowly. “I thought as much. That was the name of a tortoise…we used to have. And he always used to pretend that he was a prince – transformed. And he used to say spells above him…in the hope of changing him back. … Of course, we were very small then…” With a sudden, savage movement, he brushed the vision away. Then he dragged his chair to the table and snatched up a pen. “He was always the dreamer,” he snarled. “Where d’you want me to sign?”
I made no answer at all, but when he looked up, he saw the look in my face… And I think this sobered him, for he laid the pen down again and made no further movement, except with his eyes.
Five minutes later, the thing was over and done.
The damning endorsement is lying before me now.
I have read this statement through from beginning to end, and I hereby confess that all that it says is true.
Ferdinand Elbert Virgil
for twenty-two years supposed to be Count of Brief
Signed of his own free will
On the 22nd of July, 1936
In the presence of us:
Richard Exon
Samuel Parish
George Winter
As Winter laid down his pen —
“That’s all,” I said, “thank you.” Parish inclined his head and turned to the door. “You can take my dispatch-case, Winter, and – pack my things. We leave for Innsbruck together at four o’clock.”
“Very good, sir,” said Winter, obediently.
I blotted the precious indorsement and folded the statement up. Then I put it into my pocket and faced the man I had bluffed.
“You’ve done your part,” I said, “and I shall do mine.” As one who is listening intently, he kept his eyes upon mine and greeted every phrase with a nod of his head. “I will recommend that you be allowed to disappear – to go, to change your name, and never come back. As I’ve told you, I don’t think they’ll do it” – a hand went up to his mouth – “the punishment doesn’t matter: it’s a question of righting a wrong. And that is why I think they’ll insist that the case must proceed. But I shall know on Friday: and on Sunday I shall be back.” I hesitated. “If I were you, I should put your things in order, for whether—”
In evident apprehension he cut me short.
“They wouldn’t pursue me, Exon? They wouldn’t do that? You’d tell them I wasn’t worth it…”
He laid a hand on my arm, and I shook it off.
“They wouldn’t try to find you,” I said, “so long as you kept out of sight.”
“Even if they hadn’t – No, no. Never mind. Tell me this. I’ve – I’ve saved a little money…that Percy knows nothing about. Not very much – very little. It’s in a bank in England, under another name.”
His head was going again. Plainly, the thought of penury hit him hard.
“If the estate is in order, I expect they’d let that go.”
“Quite so,” he said, “quite so. Besides, it’s so very little…”
“A man can live,” I said grimly, “on thirty-five shillings a week. That was your brother’s wage for seventeen years.”
He winced at that. Then he took his handkerchief out and wiped his eyes.
“Very sad,” he said, “very sad. If only I’d known… You’ll tell them I’m failing, won’t you? You’ll ram it home?”
Consumed with disgust and indignation, I turned on my heel…
As I opened the door, I looked back – to see his outstretched hand whip back to his side. As though I had noticed nothing I left the room.
I have no doubt at all, that before the door had closed, he had picked the timetable up.
As I took my way to the tower, I laid my plans.
I had to leave Brief at four – no question of that; for, though we had the game won, it was highly desirable that ‘the Count’ should take the departure which he had planned. If he fled, to avoid arrest – as, at present, he intended to do – he would indeed disappear for good and all, and would never more be heard of, because he could not take such a risk: but if he had reason to think that he had been bluffed,
though now we could force his hand, he would stand upon the order of his going and would certainly be a nuisance for as long as he happened to live.
And so ‘the plain-clothes man’ must ‘leave for London’ at four.
And there I stood still in my tracks, for all of a sudden I saw that here was my chance to do what sooner or later I had to do – that is to say, to walk out of my lady’s life.
As I saw it, I think I aged, for while my whole being revolted from a plunge ten times as awful as that into Palfrey’s well, I knew in my heart that I must take it, because such a chance would never occur again.
Disappearance was in the air, and – my work was done. The play was over. Though nobody knew it but I, the curtain was down: and so I was free to be gone. An epilogue was to follow, but I had no part in it. I had been offered a part – a very shining rôle, for which I had lately rehearsed. But I could not take the part. And since I cared for no other, it was plainly best to be gone.
‘If it were done when’t is done, then’t were well
‘It were done quickly.’
The famous words settled the matter. My mind was made up.
I glanced at my watch. The time was a quarter to ten. Once my decision was taken, I could have wished that the time was a quarter to four…
I had already determined that no one must know what had happened till after ‘the Count’ had fled: and now I perceived that all that I had to do was to leave a note for the Duchess, to be delivered as soon as my victim was gone.
I entered my room, to find Winter, suitcase in hand.
“Leave the packing for the moment,” I said. “I’ll tell you when to begin. I want you to send off a wire.”
I sat down and wrote it out – addressed to myself.
“Turn out the Rolls and take this to Gabble at once. And on the way back you might get rid of that suit.”
“Very good. sir. Excuse me – you know Mr Virgil’s not here.”
“So I’ve heard,” said I. “I rather imagine he’s gone while the going is good.”
“That’s what they’re saying downstairs, sir. I can hardly believe it myself, but they’ve got the idea in their heads he won’t never come back. ‘Rats leavin’ a sinkin’ ship’ is what one of them said. An’ when I asked what he meant, ‘You wait an’ see,’ he says. ‘ ’Er Grace ain’t here for nothing – not after last night.’”
“That’s the style,” said I. “And now you get off with that wire.”
“Very good, sir. And breakfast is served – in the morning-room. It’s been ready since half-past nine. Mr Herrick’s gone down.”
Old Harry looked round.
“And now…” she said – grimly enough.
Luncheon was over and coffee had been served in her suite. For the first time for fifteen hours Elizabeth, Herrick and I were alone with the Duchess of Whelp.
She was plainly out of humour, and I had an uneasy feeling that she knew more than I was prepared to tell.
Herrick climbed on to the altar, moistening his lips.
“Madam,” he said, “quite frankly, I’m out of my depth.”
“That,” said the Duchess shortly, “I am quite prepared to believe. But I am made otherwise. I don’t know what it means to be out of my depth and I’ve never yet seen the flood that I couldn’t ford. The trouble here is – there’s no flood. I ought to be knee-deep in water, and here I am on dry land. Where’s that dangerous felon Virgil? And why does my host keep his room? If he’s ill, he’s breaking a record: for never before has indisposition denied me the courtesy due to my state.” She slapped the arm of her chair. “What’s the use of an empty pit, when you’re out to bait bears?”
“They say,” began Herrick…
“I mistrust that phrase,” snapped Old Harry. “It suggests that the source of your news wells out of the servants’ hall. So please understand that, however refreshing and rare you may find its waters yourself, no one has ever yet dared to commend them to me.”
Herrick inclined his head,.
“I should have known better, madam.”
“You should. Never mind. Are there any hard facts I don’t know? Facts, not gossip, mark you. The enemy has retired. I’m not at all deceived, for this is a fight to the death – but I want to know what he is doing and when and where he is going to reappear.”
“Cherchez la femme,” said Herrick. “What of the maid?”
Old Harry looked at my lady.
“You heard what he said,” she declared. “Why the devil don’t you tell us the truth?”
Elizabeth glanced at the door.
“That’s quite all right. Godolphin is standing outside and she knows no English at all.”
My lady took a deep breath.
“Last night an attempt was made to put me to death. My maid admitted my cousin into my suite. Richard came to my help – and walked into a trap. But by his wit and courage he saved us both… That is why my cousin and Elsa have disappeared.”
Herrick’s face was a study, but the Duchess of Whelp merely nodded and then picked up her cup and drank what coffee was left. As she set it down —
“That’s more like it,” she said. “I mean, that is credible. I knew your life was in danger, yet what could I do – except trust in Richard Exon? Courage and wit be damned – I’ll lay his instinct saved you, and nothing else.” She, turned upon me. “Did you take my advice this time? Or did your better judgment impel you to spare his life?”
“Madam,” said I, “he is dead.”
“Well done,” said Old Harry. “Well done. But you shouldn’t drop shirts about, when a lady lets you out of her bedroom at half-past three.”
Elizabeth started and clapped a hand to her mouth.
“Madam,” I said, “I see you’ve received a note.”
“Yes,” said the Duchess, “I did. And I’ll make you a present of this – I dismissed its contents at once, as being untrue. But when I heard that Elizabeth’s maid was gone – well, I knew there was something behind them and hoped for the best. And now what about you? I understand you had a note? Why didn’t you, er, act upon it?”
“Madam,” said I, “I preferred to hope for the best.”
The piercing grey eyes held mine.
“Did you indeed? Now I should have gone to see the writer…at once.”
I knew that Parish had told her as much as he knew.
“Madam, forgive me. With great respect – I’ve a delicate hand to play.”
“How long shall you wait?”
“Till tomorrow morning, madam. No longer than that.”
“It’s up to you,” said Old Harry. “And there goes another record. Never before have I used that disgusting phrase. But I’m under the weather today, and it’s – devilish eloquent.” She threw a defiant glance round – to see Herrick open-mouthed, with a hand to his head. “And what’s the matter with you?”
“Everything,” said Herrick. “A very little more, and I shall burst into tears. I’m not only out of my depth. I’m floundering about in the water under the earth.” He covered his eyes. “I am given to understand that, whiles I slept last night, certain action took place. Men came and went in – in violence: and, unless my ears have betrayed me, one will return no more. Very well. Out of that soul-shaking fact, two burning questions arise – to pierce the scum now floating upon my brain. I mean, I’m no ‘Scourge of God’, but I am a practical man…”
“Go on,” said Old Harry, twinkling.
“Well, the first is this. I hardly like to ask after Elsa’s health, but—”
“I believe it to be excellent,” said I.
“I’m much obliged,” said Herrick. “And that brings me direct to the second. Virgil has been bumped off. Was Elsa in on that deal?”
“No, she wasn’t,” said I.
“Thank you very much,” said Herrick. “That’s all I wanted to know. Of course, if, upon reflection, you should feel disposed to divulge any further, er, reactions which bear upon the matter in which I believed
I was concerned – well, I shan’t refuse to listen. But pray, don’t put yourself out. Besides, I expect you’re busy. A murder a day keeps the doctor away. What time are you taking the Count for a drive?”
“Leave him alone,” said old Harry. “If I can wait, so can you. Richard Exon has taken the bit in his teeth – I saw as much the moment he entered the room. And there it can stay for me – till he’s ready to let it drop. He’ll take his fences all right. But don’t forget this – a man can’t say very much, when he’s got the bit in his teeth.”
I never was so grateful for any words, for, true or no, they showed an understanding of which I stood in great need. Craft is not my strong point, and the effort I had made that morning seemed to have tired my brain. Then again, though success seemed certain, ‘the Count’ was still in his seat, and I was forever fearing that something or other would happen to make him change the decision to which I was sure he had come. Above all, my own decision to disappear hung, like some loathsome monster, upon my neck, insisting upon my attention and gleefully indicating the several lovely features of the paradise I was to lose. Had I been cross-examined, or even been asked to relate what had happened the night before, I should, I believe, have burst out and disgraced myself, for the present was so overwhelming and the future so very bleak that to deal with the past was like going into training when you are condemned to death.
And there the maid Godolphin came in with my telegram.
Crawley’s case fixed for Friday he counts upon you.
Forsyth
“My God,” I said, and got to my feet.
Elizabeth stifled a cry, but the Duchess sat perfectly still. As for Herrick…
“I must go to London,” I said. “I must leave for Innsbruck at once – at least, as soon as I’ve packed. I must catch the evening train.”
Elizabeth let out a cry.
“Richard!”
“My dear, I’ve no choice. Six weeks ago the servant I had before Winter was charged with theft. I had always found him honest and I said that I’d swear as much whenever he stood his trial. And his case has been fixed for Friday… I can’t let him down. But I can be back on Sunday.” I turned to the Duchess of Whelp. “Will you excuse me, madam? I must make certain arrangements. I shall ask you to see me again before I leave.”
She Painted Her Face Page 23