I had loved Muriel too long and too well to be put out of my recognition of her because of the muffling coat that she was wearing.
IX
What was Muriel Piercy doing here with Ormond Ormes?
That she was his mistress was my immediate conclusion. Well, of course it was! In a flash it came to me that I had been hired for this preposterous task and brought here at Muriel’s instigation. We had parted and she had divorced me, but I could believe she kept enough of the old feeling to have persuaded her lover to offer me this haven for a little while, during which I might save some money and get in position to face the world with renewed strength and courage. Yes, I undoubtedly owed my job to Muriel’s beauty and to Ormes’s admiration of it. But why had he brought her here? If she knew that she must encounter me at Ormesby, it was not like her to come. Ormes himself—why should he have risked such a scene as he must have known might very well ensue when he confronted me with her? Yet, whatever the reason of her being here, I could not think that it was a light one, nor that she could have lent herself to any wish on Ormes’s part to humiliate her former husband. But I would return to the house, keep out of sight for an hour or two, and in some way learn the cause of this visit. Besides, I must return to the house in any case. Agnes’s murder ought to be reported there without any more delay.
And yet . . . and yet . . . if Muriel was Ormes’s mistress, how dared he bring her into his wife’s home? Whatever might be the state of feeling between the man and Agnes, it was scarcely in her—I reasoned as if Agnes were still alive—it was scarcely in her very human nature to endure such an affront as she must consider this to be. Had they come, then, to announce to Agnes and to all the women of Ormesby that Ormond was abandoning them? That he was leaving with Muriel? But in that event, would he not have come alone? If I knew Muriel as I thought I knew her, she would not have accompanied him on any such errand, not because she lacked courage, but simply because she would not have been sufficiently brazen.
But what of the dead woman in the car? I thought of flight. Suppose I were to slip from the garage, keeping among the trees and out of sight of anyone who might be looking from the house, and walk to the village, where I could perhaps obtain some means of leaving the country.
Could I? How? I had sixty-eight cents in my pocket—less than that, since I had bought cigarettes last evening in Tiltown while waiting for time to keep my engagement with Gray in the library. Again, Hobbs knew that I had left the house ostensibly in search of his wife’s attacker. He would testify that I had asked him to arm me. Suspicion of having committed this murder in the garage must naturally fall first of all on me. I already saw the headlines in the New York papers, and heard the gossip among those clubmen whom I had once called friends. I might, in time, establish my innocence. There were bloody finger and palm prints enough on Agnes’s flesh and clothing to prove that I had not touched her after her death. But all this would require time. All this would require money. I knew something of the chances an innocent man takes when facing the police and courts without money or influence. And if I left the scene clandestinely the very fact of my flight would fasten upon me a guilt I might with difficulty disprove, the guilt of having been, in some measure, accessory to this crime.
All this spun through my head while I stood peering out through a slit in the door of that garage, unable to make up my mind whether to run boldly to the front door of the house and boldly enter it, or to find my way in furtively and unseen by any eyes, save perhaps those of the man Hobbs.
It was the latter course that I finally decided upon. And what decided me was the realization that, if Muriel did not know of my presence at Ormsby, an open entry must be even more embarrassing to her than to myself. The dogs had retired to some distant part of the grounds, as I said previously. I slid back the door, slipped through it, dragged it shut, then scurried for the entrance to the kitchen of the house. The door was unfastened. Hobbs was in there, bustling about, preparing to cook breakfast for the household. I threw him a glance, shaking my head. Then I strode into the short passage leading to the dining room. Were Ormes and his guest there? It occurred to me that he would not yet have taken her there, seeing that the meal was still far from being ready to serve. Perhaps they were in the library. There were other rooms, but they were seldom used. I entered the dining-room, crossed it, and advanced toward the front door. As I did so, Hobbs came into the room behind me.
I was about to warn him to keep my presence from knowledge of the others, but an intuition warned me not to do so. It is always best, in such a position as I occupied, to let your adversary act first, until he has done something to give you the advantage. Besides, Hobbs was not my servant, though I felt him to be quite willing to act under my orders in the matter of capturing the family maniac. But I would question him.
“I see that Mr. Ormes has come home, Hobbs. Is he in the library?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s a lady with him, isn’t there?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“Probably I was mistaken,” I said. “It’s of no consequence, of course. Has Doctor Barnes arrived?”
“No, sir. Not yet, sir.”
“That’s rather queer, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, you might say so, sir.”
I made as if to turn away. His eyes begged me.
“No,” I said, understanding him. “I didn’t see anything. Are you sure she isn’t now in the house?”
“Quite sure, yes, sir.”
“Well, I looked everywhere for her, outside. It’s mighty strange.”
Was I wrong not to inform him of the fact of Agnes’s murder? I could not decide that without taking further thought.
“I fancied I heard Miss Ormes’s voice in Miss Barbara’s room when I passed there a little while back,” I said, trying to gain time and think what was best to do.
“Hardly, sir. I was there just a few minutes ago.”
“Ah! But where is Mrs. Ormes, Hobbs?”
“Gone to the village, I believe, sir. I can’t say why, since none of the shops will be open so early.”
I left Hobbs and went swiftly up the stairs and into my own chamber. Barbara’s door was still fast shut when I came opposite to it. I had heard no sound of voice or movement. I wondered why the doctor had not yet come.
When ought I to break in upon this family’s intrigues with the announcement of my discovery of murder in the garage? But I had a means of learning something of what went on down there in the library. It would be eavesdropping, of course. Do you think I hesitated because of that?
Flinging the torch and dog whip onto my bed, I slipped through the closets and passages and down the winding stairs that led to the little narrow door opening into the library. I heard voices as soon as I had passed the swinging door, but they came from the far end of the long room and I could not distinguish the words, though I recognized Ormes’s voice and Muriel’s clear tones. Then I opened the panel. The words were now much more plainly to be heard, though occasionally I lost a line or so. She appeared to be remonstrating with him.
“I don’t see why you insist on it,” she was saying. “I simply can’t do it, and I won’t!”
He replied with something I could not catch. I peeped cautiously around the edge of the panel to see them seated in the same chairs Gray and I had occupied the evening before. Muriel still wore her coat, though she had unbuttoned it and thrown it back from her face and breast. Ormes’s overcoat and hat lay on another chair. They had been driving by night and in rain, I reflected, which accounted for the wraps in June.
“No,” said Muriel again, and even more emphatically. “I’ve come so far. I will see her and tell her what you want me to. I’ll explain why I am entitled to this money and why I must have it at once. And if it’s necessary, I’ll go to the lengths we agreed on to force her to give it to
me. But I won’t be a party to what you propose. And I won’t . . . well, I’ve told you that before, I’d rather not go into it again.”
He leaped from his chair, flinging up his hands in a gesture of chagrin and helplessness, turning toward me as he did so. I skipped swiftly back into the passage. I believed he had not seen me.
“At least wait until after you’ve had a talk with Agnes,” he said, louder than he had yet spoken. “Will you stay here? We’ll have some breakfast, shortly. I’ll go now and see if my wife’s awake. Will you wait? Do you want anything?”
I did not hear her reply, which consisted of a good deal more than a simple negative or affirmative.
“I’ll have my man bring some coffee to you here,” he said.
Judging that he was about to leave the room, and that, since he would then have his back to me while she would naturally be looking at him, it was safe to do so, I again stepped close behind the panel and peeped around it. Ormes walked to where his coat and hat were lying on a chair near the fireplace. He took them up. Muriel had also risen and, as I had thought she would be, stood facing him. He strode toward the door, having to pass close by her on his way. Then, without warning of any kind, so far as I could see, he dropped hat and coat and sprang upon her. In an instant he had flung his arms about her, had bent her head back, and was kissing her face and neck, striving to reach her lips. She struggled. It was a real struggle and no pretense. It was evident that she did not want to be kissed. I was out from behind the panel and advancing toward the group before I remembered my wish to remain concealed until I could learn the cause of this outrageous visit.
But my interference was not required. Muriel summoned her strength and pushed him violently from her, so that he staggered and almost fell. I darted back to my panel and got behind it. I remembered very well Muriel’s ability to look out for herself. Ormes, swaying slightly before her, though I did not suppose him to be intoxicated, grinned sheepishly and adjusted his rumpled hair and necktie. Then he shrugged, picked up his hat and coat, bowed mockingly in her direction, and left the room. She had not appeared to be frightened nor greatly surprised at his attack. She also remained standing after he had gone, putting back loosened strands of her brown hair and then calmly proceeding to powder her nose with a puff she carried in the tiny bag dangling from her wrist. From my place of concealment I concluded that they probably had kissed before, but that she objected to doing it under this roof.
I suppose that the senseless bitterness within me at that moment was a very human bitterness. It was none the less inexcusable for all of that. If we are to overlook and forgive all that is human within us, we shall be condoning our deepest crimes and our most egregious follies. The woman was no longer my wife. I had no slightest right to interfere in any love affair she might be having with Ormond Ormes, or with any other man. And I could not rid myself of a notion that she had put forth her feminine hand, in the only way most women can, to help me by making Ormes give me a job and pay me for doing it. Nevertheless, for all that, she may not have known that my work had brought me to Ormesby. I had just been witness, moreover, to such a scene as convinced me that she was not yet utterly shameless. She would not permit embraces within the walls of his wife’s home. All that passed through my mind, and I used it as an argument against the emotion of jealousy that urged me to confront Muriel where she awaited this Ormond Ormes, demanding that she leave the house with me, shaming her for having come here, persuading her, with such passion as I knew in that moment that I could summon, to come with me again for old sake’s sake.
Ah, that, then, was the fundamental reason for my bitterness! I had not succeeded in putting Muriel entirely out of my heart, as I had put her more and more from my thoughts of late. We had parted. I had suffered pique. I had good reason to suppose that she was earning her living as such women commonly earn it. Oh yes, and I had been temporarily glad, as any married man might have been, of my unaccustomed freedom. I had said to myself that I was well quit of her. Hereafter, traveling alone, I should go farther, whether “down to Gehenna or up to the Throne.” And I had all but given my heart to Gray. Yet now, seeing the love of my youth before me, seeing her in another man’s arms, seeing her under his roof, undoubtedly his accomplice in some more or less shady intrigue, and perhaps his mistress to boot, I knew that I still wanted her again as I had always wanted her. I knew now why I had not succeeded of late in arousing to any emotion strong enough to drive me to accomplishment. I grew aware, at long last, that without knowing it my life had come very near such aimless drifting as must have brought me, in the end, upon the rocks.
But I could not stand there musing upon such things. Ormes, if he had gone to his wife’s room, must very soon discover that she was not within it. A search would be made about the house. It would extend into the grounds. Probably someone would go to the garage to learn whether she had left Ormesby in her car. The body would be discovered. The authorities must then be notified. There would be strangers, crowds, horrible, curious, gaping mobs of men and women, prying in and about the house. It was not unlikely that we should all be arrested and held for questioning. And all the while the real murderer was still at large, running naked and wild, so far as I could say, over the countryside.
But my God! What a nest of murderers, maniacs and villains I had stumbled into! And Muriel had stumbled into! The thought of her being here and in as imminent danger as I, danger of arrest, humiliation and shame! It was that thought, I suppose, more than any other, which decided me to show myself at once to Muriel, offering my aid, such as it was, to effect our escape together. I forgot that she had been journeying by night in Ormes’s company. I forgot that she had come to his country house with him, the very house which sheltered his lawful wife and his sister, for the purpose of forcing someone within it, probably either that wife or that sister, to comply with some demand involving the payment of money. And I forgot the possibility that she had come here, knowing that she might very well encounter me and cynically indifferent to such humiliation as she must thus impose upon the man she had once professed to love. I remembered only that she probably stood in some danger and that I must endeavor to help her out of it. Even today I am not wholly ashamed that I recalled no more than that. Yes, I would go out to her at once.
But a sound delayed me. I have taken some time in the telling of all that passed through my mind, but Ormes had really been gone only a few seconds. He could scarcely have visited his wife’s room. If he had met Hobbs he may have learned of her absence from the servant. Perhaps it was that. Or he may have learned of Gray’s madness and of her doings of the night, and that may have affected his plans. Whatever the reason for his swift return, he was already at the door. I had heard the sound of his footsteps along the passage. In one moment he would enter the library. No doubt he would invite her to have breakfast, provided, of course, that no news of Gray had yet reached his ears. And I suppose that Hobbs would not eagerly seek an opportunity to speak of the matter. Indeed I had a feeling that Hobbs was going to leave that duty entirely up to me. I proposed, therefore, to leave at once along the way of the secret passages, gain to my own room, then descend the front stairs boldly and march to the breakfast I had a perfect right to expect awaited me. I slipped back into the space behind the bookcases and drew the panel into place. Yet for just a second I hesitated. The two in the library seemed to be approaching that very panel. The floor was of parquetry, as I have said, and I heard their feet moving rapidly across it. Also, now, I heard the nearing murmur of Ormond’s voice as he explained to her, perhaps, some alteration in plan. And now they were just before the panel.
Why was he taking her upstairs that way? It could not be for the purpose of keeping her presence here a secret. Hobbs knew of it, for all that he had lied about his knowledge. Others must shortly learn of it. Ormes had said that he intended apprising Agnes of it. The way was a shorter way than that up the front stairs, but the saving
in distance hardly compensated for the persuasions he must be using to get her to accompany him through so suggestive a series of doors and passages. It did not occur to me that Muriel might have been here before, and that she might be as familiar with Ormsby as I had tried to make myself. As it turned out, however, this was not the case, and the murmuring of Ormond’s voice, as he approached my place of concealment, was made up of the words he was using to lull suspicion in her that he might be intending treachery.
I had no wish to be surprised eavesdropping. I ran noiselessly along the passage and turned down the stairs, descending several of them so as to be well out of sight when Muriel and Ormes should have come through the opening. But then I saw that, standing as I did in deep shadow, I could risk going back to the corner and laying an eye to it, and I did so. I shall not claim that the thought, as I stood there, of the Lady in Mauve possibly coming up those stairs behind me did not make me shiver!
I saw Muriel enter, turning to look expectantly at her companion. Was she afraid of him? I could not know. But many a woman has come to grief, even when she entertained no fear of a man who meditated treason in such a place of concealment. I gripped the butt of my revolver and told myself that if he tried again to put his fat hands upon her, as he had done in the library, I would drive him away from her at the point of the gun, regardless of its being his house and regardless of all consequences. And let her, after that, refuse to go away with me if she would. Yet whether she might so refuse, I did not much think. As a matter of fact, I suppose I lived those moments emotionally only and did not think at all.
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