“Now Lissen—” the stranger spoke with authority—“I don’t know what methods you’ve used to persuade Miss Coleridge to accompany you—they were certainly very effective—but she still seems to be under some misapprehension. I would like you to have a word or two with her. Oh, by the way, you’d better call me Mr Jones.”
“Yes, sir.” The deference in Mr Lissen’s tone was as great as it was unexpected.
Mary could keep silent no longer.
“Mr Lissen,” she said, “you knew my father and you promised to help me. What is the explanation of all this?”
The man looked at her steadily. There was a hint of severity in his manner which astounded her.
“Miss Coleridge,” he said, “I never knew your father. I do not come from Wickham. All these things you must have known perfectly well during our brief conversation together. My advice to you is to be reasonable. Otherwise you are up against very powerful——”
“That’ll do, Lissen,” the man who preferred to be called Mr Jones cut in hastily. “We don’t want any threats on either side. We both understand each other perfectly well. It’s only that Miss Coleridge prefers to be a little more cautious than I think necessary.”
Mary heard this extraordinary statement, but her mind did not grasp its significance. She was only aware that the man she had thought to be her friend was repudiating her.
“But I told you,” she said. “I told you what happened to me. I told you all my story.”
For the first time since he had entered the room George Lissen permitted himself a smile.
“My dear young lady,” he said, “you certainly told me a very extraordinary story, so extraordinary that I have not troubled to tell His—I mean, Mr Jones—the full details.”
“But didn’t you believe it? It’s true!”
George Lissen shrugged his shoulders.
“A marriage to a dying man, a prisoner, another girl buried in your stead—don’t be ridiculous. That sort of thing does very well in fiction, but this is real life, Miss Coleridge, and I am a reasonable businessman. That is the sort of story to tell to old ladies—some old ladies—not to me. Take my advice. If you are a free agent, as you seem to be, accept the proposition which is put up to you. If not …” He paused significantly, and again “Mr Jones” intervened.
“Thank you very much, Lissen. You might wait for us in the next room, will you?”
Lissen took his dismissal gracefully and returned through the door by which he had entered. The man with the cadaverous face turned to Mary with a smile.
“There you are,” he said. “You see. Are we beginning to understand each other, or are you still being very careful?”
Mary sat down in the chair again. Her head was reeling.
“But it’s true,” she whispered. “It’s true. Look, there’s the wedding ring on my finger.”
He laughed. “A very pretty, touching piece of verisimilitude. Over the engagement ring too, I see. Really, Miss Coleridge, you ought not to go in for this sort of—adventure, shall we call it? It’s not your line at all. Now shall we get down to business? We’ve wasted a lot of time, you know.”
He was standing there smiling at her, and Mary marvelled at him. His poise and his ease were both magnificent. He spoke with that authority which is only achieved by those who have been used to it all their lives. And yet he was wrong. That was the thing which took her breath away. He was utterly, completely wrong.
Gradually, as she recovered from the shock, her mind began to work again.
She sat very still and waited. The man noticed her change in demeanour and beamed.
“That’s very sensible,” he said. “I thought we should get to understand each other eventually. We do understand each other, don’t we?”
Mary hesitated. She did not understand, of that she was perfectly sure, but she also realized the impossibility of making him believe her when she said so. She shrugged her shoulders therefore.
“Yes,” she said.
“Splendid,” said Mr Jones, taking up his position with his back to the now brightly burning fire. “Well, Miss Coleridge, this is the offer. We—I and my friends—are prepared to give you the sum of three thousand pounds and your passage to Canada on condition that you go there immediately, signing an undertaking not to return for at least ten years. You must also promise not to communicate with anyone in this country or to enter into any litigation of any sort whatsoever during that time. When you arrive in Canada employment will be found for you in some capacity in which you are likely to succeed. There now, Miss Coleridge, you cannot say we have been ungenerous.”
Mary did not speak. She could hardly believe that she had heard the words uttered so casually and pleasantly by the man in front of her.
Mr Jones misunderstood her hesitation.
“After all, you have not so much to worry about,” he said. “I know it’s a great hardship to leave one’s own country for ten years, but you do see our point of view. In this way we safeguard ourselves completely. Do you agree?”
To get away! The words danced in front of Mary’s eyes. To escape Mrs de Liane forever. To be safe from persecution! To start afresh with the dreadful nightmare of the last three days banished forever! It seemed too good to be true.
She looked at the man dubiously.
“I don’t know why you should do this for me,” she said.
“Still cautious?” He laughed. “Ah well, it’s a very good fault. However, am I to take it that you accept?”
Mary hesitated. To her astonishment the person who came into her mind was the man she had married. But she put all thought of him from her instantly. Richard de Liane had proved himself despicable over and over again.
She thought of Peter and of his unexpected appearance. He had seen her in very compromising circumstances, however, and to the best of her belief he had run away from her in the first place because he had been afraid that she was growing fond of him.
There was nothing, therefore, to keep her in England. Rather, everything combined to persuade her to seize the first chance she received to get out of the country. Mrs de Liane had forced her to take part in a serious swindle. Her only hope was to escape the woman forever.
“Suppose we make it four thousand pounds?” said the man who called himself Mr Jones, softly. “That is a great deal of money. Will you go?”
“Yes,” said Mary, startled by her own decisive tone. “Yes.”
“Splendid.” Mr Jones’ manner became more and more friendly. “I’m sure it’s a step you’ll never regret. When I said you were not the type to be mixed up in this sort of affair I meant it. You’re not. We shall have to take precautions with you, of course, but you won’t object to that.”
“No …” said Mary dubiously. “What are they?”
To her surprise the man laughed at her. He seemed genuinely amused.
“I’ve never met such a suspicious person in all my life,” he said. “You have had good training, of course. Still, in that case you will appreciate our own caution. As soon as you leave this office I want you to go to an address which I will give you. When you get there you will find a lady waiting for you. She will expect you and will know your name but not your affairs. She will engage you as a companion-help for her voyage to Canada beginning on Friday and will agree to pay you a salary. She will arrange your passport, and once you arrive in Canada will obtain a suitable post for you. When you leave this office I need hardly tell you that you will be followed, and once you have entered the employment of the lady to whom I am sending you you will not be permitted to make any communication whatsoever with anybody outside. Do you still accept?”
“Yes,” said Mary. The fates seemed to be playing into her hands. She had no proof, of course, that the man was sincere, but on the face of it there seemed no conceivable reason why he should go to the trouble of making such a proposition if he had not a very good reason for it. Most convincing of all, he was obviously a person of importance, not used to wasting his
time.
She made one last effort in the cause of sanity.
“I—I still don’t understand you, Mr Jones,” she said. “I accept your offer because it suits me, but I don’t understand it and I see no reason at all why you should have made it. I do not know how you got to know so much about me, and the story I told to Mr Lissen, although it is extraordinary, happens to be true.”
He held out his hand, and his eyes danced with amusement.
“Splendid,” he said. “Game to the last. A little obstinate, perhaps, but a good fault. Now may I rely upon you to be a good girl and not attempt any monkey tricks? You will find that I’ll keep my side of the bargain as long as you keep yours. When you arrive in Canada the money will be paid to you in lump sums over a period of three years—a further precaution—but if you are sensible you won’t give us any cause to regret the line we took. Here is the address.”
He sat down at the desk and, pulling a blank sheet of paper towards him, scribbled a name and address upon it.
“There,” he said. “You will leave here in a taxi, which will be followed by another taxi. Mrs Mortimer will be waiting for you. Excuse me, but have you any money?”
“No,” said the girl. “None at all.”
Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked a drawer in the desk. A few moments later he had counted ten new pound notes into her hand.
“There you are,” he said. “That’s a first instalment. Anything you will require for the journey will be given to you by Mrs Mortimer. Good-bye, Miss Coleridge. You’ll find a taxi waiting outside the door downstairs.”
He accompanied her to the lift.
“Good-bye,” he said again. “Play fair, Miss Coleridge, play fair.”
Mary walked out of the office in a daze, the money and address slip clutched in her hand. The cab was waiting, as Mr Jones had predicted. She gave the man the address from the paper in her hand: 12, Bacon Gardens. As the cab slid away from the curb she peered out through the little back window just in time to see another cab pull away from a dark doorway a little farther down the street.
CHAPTER XIV
Search
“YOU should have stayed there.” Mrs de Liane, seated at a desk in the living room of her London flat, hung up the receiver of the telephone which she had been using and looked at her elder son coldly.
Edmund Beron flushed.
“I saw the landlady and made all arrangements. If the girl shows up there she will phone you immediately. I assure you, Mother, we can trust that woman.”
“Trust her!”
Old Mrs de Liane’s pale, beautiful face was transformed into a mask of furious contempt. She made a very impressive picture sitting there in her grey dress against a background of deep Indian-red velvet curtains. Her small hands looked as though they were made of ivory, and her bright blue eyes were no longer dancing but hard and inexpressibly cold.
“I told you to stay there. We can trust nobody.”
She touched a little bell on her desk, and when Louise appeared she sent the Frenchwoman for Ted de Liane, who came immediately. He looked paler and more dissolutely unhappy than ever. His hands trembled, and his eyes were shifty.
“No sign of her, I suppose,” he began querulously. “Now you’ve done it, Eva! I don’t know why you’re waiting here. Let’s get out. Let’s get out of here at once. We can leave the country, can’t we?”
“With what?” demanded his wife coldly. “Your pittance, my jewellery, and heaven knows what charges hanging over our heads? You’re a fool and a coward, Ted. I don’t know which I hate most. We must find the girl, or when someone else finds her we must be ready with our story. Now pull yourself together. I have work for you to do.”
The man stepped back. “Not me,” he said. “I’m finished. I’ve stood by you on some mad schemes, but this is too much.”
“Very well. Get out.”
It seemed incredible that the words, spoken with such vituperant bitterness, should have come from that gentle mouth on which a sad, sweet smile so often lingered.
Ted de Liane crumpled. “I’m sorry, Eva. I’m rattled, that’s all,” he said abruptly.
“My good man, aren’t we all?” There was a hint of the old arrogance in the woman’s tone. “But we haven’t all lost our heads, thank goodness. Now look here; you’re to go down to that boardinghouse where she lived. Call yourself by some other name and take a room there. Spend your time sitting in the lounge and wait for her. As soon as she appears take her straight out of the house, put her into a taxi and bring her here. You can do that, can’t you?”
“I don’t know. The girl may refuse.”
“It’s your business to see that she doesn’t refuse. Hurry. Every moment’s precious.”
The old man still hung back. “I quite like the girl. She’s a nice girl. What d’you want to badger her for? She’d have played fair with us if we’d played fair with her. She was a nice girl.”
“All the more reason to take care of her,” said his wife impatiently. “Hurry. And remember this, Ted: if you fail, if you let her slip through your fingers …” She paused expressively, and for a moment their eyes met.
Ted de Liane went out quietly, and the old woman returned to the list of names upon her desk.
“I’ve been in touch with every hospital,” she said quietly, and Beron, who had stood silent during her interview with her husband, strode restlessly up and down the room.
“It’s the drug!” he said explosively. “It’s the drug that’s worrying me. I didn’t see her, you know. You say she behaved quite well with Latcher?”
“Perfectly,” said Mrs de Liane complacently. “There was no sign of weakness then. What are you thinking? That she may have collapsed somewhere?”
“I don’t know,” said the man huskily. “My God, Mother, do you realize that if she has it’ll be—murder?”
For some moments Mrs de Liane was silent. Then she shrugged her shoulders.
“Your nerves are getting bad, Edmund,” she said. “That girl is as strong as a horse and perfectly well. I only hope she may have lost her memory or been taken ill. Then we shall find her all the more quickly.”
Beron opened his mouth to reply. There were deep lines round his eyes, and his heavy face no longer looked handsome. He was silenced, however, by the unceremonious arrival of his brother.
Richard de Liane threw open the door and strode into the room. There was a new tenseness about his tall, lean figure, and the high cheekbones stood out prominently in his brown face. He glanced at his mother questioningly, and on receiving her unspoken message threw himself down into an armchair and lay back, his lips compressed.
Alone in that household the old lady remained quiet, self-possessed and unshaken.
She looked at her younger son and laughed. There was a tinge of something that was almost jealousy in her gentle voice when she spoke.
“Quite the brokenhearted husband …” she said. “You really do it amazingly well, my dear boy.”
A dark flush spread over the young man’s face, and he rose to his feet and came quietly over to the desk, where he stood looking down into his mother’s face.
“She had no money,” he said. “No friends. And she was still dizzy from that filthy concoction Edmund had pumped into her arm. It was raining. It was the rush hour, and it was London. Good heavens, anything may have happened to her!”
The old woman’s bright blue eyes darkened.
“It certainly makes a very pathetic picture when you put it that way,” she said. “I only hope that she is not seated in some sympathetic policeman’s office giving evidence that will send quite a number of people to jail, including her husband. I don’t think you can have made very much of an impression upon her, my dear Richard. It’s not a very complimentary thing to have happened, your young bride running away from you at the first opportunity.”
Beron looked up sharply. “D’you think she may have gone to the police?”
“No,” said Mrs de Liane calmly, �
�and if she has it doesn’t matter. Fortunately she has a loving husband who is willing to take her back and forgive all. The only person I hope she hasn’t gone to is Latcher.”
Beron took a convulsive breath.
“Good heavens! Suppose she has? What do we do then? I’m almost inclined to say with Ted, let’s get out of the country.”
Mrs de Liane’s blue eyes opened wide.
“And leave three hundred thousand pounds?” she said. “My dear Edmund, don’t be absurd.”
“She won’t go to Latcher,” said Richard from the hearthrug. “Poor kid! I don’t suppose she even knows she ever went there. She was drugged and silly. She just walked out of the place and disappeared into the traffic.”
Mrs de Liane looked at her younger son sharply, and Beron seized upon his words.
“There’s a great deal in that. She wouldn’t remember anything about the interview, you know, once the anæsthetic had passed off.”
Mrs de Liane was not listening to him. Her eyes were still upon her younger son.
“We’ve got to find her,” she said softly. “You’ve got to find her for your own sake, Richard.”
Something in the quiet tone made him look up, and after seeing the expression in her eyes a new wariness crept into his own.
“I see that,” he said slowly. “What shall I do? Go round to the police? Explain my wife is a stranger to London? I realize we must be very careful.”
Mrs de Liane sighed, and there was relief in the little sound.
“Not yet,” she said. “Wait till tomorow morning. We’ve got to be careful of Latcher, you see. You do realize our position, don’t you, Richard? It would be better that she were dead than—well, than some eventualities.”
The man met her gaze squarely, and the callousness in his face equalled her own.
“I agree with you,” he said.
But afterwards, when he went out of the room and saw Mrs de Liane’s satchel lying open on the hall table, he took up the passport which lay among the other papers and, turning it over, looked at the portrait within. Evidently what he saw there did not please him, for he threw it down again with a gesture of irritation and, taking up his hat and coat, strode out into the rain.
The Shadow In The House Page 13