Читать книгу The Glenlitten Murder - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 5

Table of Contents

There are seconds, even minutes, in one's life which one loses forever. Andrew Glenlitten was never able to remember crossing the room or setting down the candlestick, as he must have done, with steady fingers by the side of the bed. He remembered only his first convulsive clasp of that still, inanimate form, his low cry of passion as he folded his arms around her. Of the dead man lying behind, he took no note. It was like a minor incident which had passed from his apprehension.

"Félice, you aren't hurt, dear? Open your eyes! Félice!"

She gave a little moan, and a great relief swept into his heart. He heard the maid sobbing to herself behind him, and he spoke to her without turning his head.

"Get down below as quickly as you can," he ordered. "Fetch Doctor Meadows and Sir Richard Cotton. Don't make any mistake, mind. The doctor and Sir Richard."

"I cannot pass," the woman half sobbed, half shrieked. "Upon the carpet there! It is Monsieur le Comte. He is dead. There has been a crime!"

Glenlitten turned fiercely around, seized her by the shoulders and half pushed, half carried her to the corridor door. He unlocked it and thrust her out into the candle-lit gloom. . . .

"Do as you are told," he insisted sternly. "The doctor—he is about somewhere—and Sir Richard is playing bridge in the library. Say nothing to any one else. Don't let any one else come up."

Back to the room. It seemed to him that Félice had stirred slightly. He kissed her eyes and her lips, and he felt a warm breath come faintly out. Suddenly she moved a little and raised one arm, which found its trembling way round his neck.

"Félice, my love!" he murmured. "Lie still. Soon you will be better."

She moaned once more, but this time there seemed to be something more of relief than pain in the strangled murmur. He held her tightly until he was conscious of approaching footsteps, and the two men entered the room. He turned around.

"This way, Meadows," he cried. "Quick!"

He disengaged himself gently from her arms, which, feeble though their strength was, seemed to cling. The doctor took his place. Glenlitten looked on anxiously during his brief examination.

"Ring for hot water, sal volatile, or brandy," the doctor enjoined. "She'll be all right presently."

Glenlitten touched the bell. Annette, recovered, was already at hand. The news was spreading.

"Keep every one out of the room," the doctor insisted. "Give her another five or ten minutes."

"There's no wound, or hurt of any sort?" Glenlitten asked.

"Nothing at all," the doctor replied reassuringly. "Shock—nothing but shock. She'll do all right now. Let me pass, please."

Glenlitten stood reluctantly on one side. In those few moments the greater tragedy scarcely existed for him. It was only when he saw the gentle rise and fall of Félice's bosom, watched the colour stealing back to her cheeks, that he turned around and joined the doctor and Sir Richard.

"De Besset!" he muttered, as he looked down at the body of the dead man. "In here! How on earth?"

As swiftly as the vague horror had rushed into his brain, he rejected it. Whatever had happened, it was not that.

"It seems useless to guess at what has happened," Sir Richard pronounced, "until Lady Glenlitten can tell what she knows. So far as one can see, either De Besset has shot himself, or been shot by some one else. We had better telephone for the police. We can't do anything more until Meadows has made his examination."

Glenlitten nodded. His brain was still cloudy, but dimly he was beginning to remember. He made his way stealthily back to the communicating door between his own and his wife's bedroom, turned the key softly, with a backward glance at Sir Richard, did the same thing to the other door, and gave orders to his own servant whom he found standing with a little throng around the banisters.

"Clear all these people away, Brooks," he instructed, "and don't let any one else come upstairs for the present. No one is to enter these rooms. Try to keep the servants as quiet as you can, and telephone at once to the police station, and ask the sergeant to come up."

"Very good, my lord."

"What happened to the lights? Has any one found out yet?"

"The cable seems to have been cut, my lord—wilfully cut," Brooks confided, as he hurried off. "I have sent down to the engineer's shop for some one to come up and see what they can do."

"The cable cut from outside." The words seemed to contain little of significance to Glenlitten's numb brain, and yet in a way they were a relief. The tragedy had spread farther, at any rate, than those four walls. He made his way back to Félice's bedroom and, pausing by the side of the dead man, looked down at him thoughtfully. He remembered with a little pang that he had been rather inclined to dislike him at Deauville, when Félice had first shyly introduced him, had found his manners too elegant, his speech too stilted, his attentions to Félice a trifle too eager, his talk about women a little too loose and free. These things lay far away now, however. His only feeling was one of great pity. De Besset had loved life so much, had been so gay upon his arrival, so happy at the prospect of joining in the English sport. Less than an hour ago he had been dancing— and now he lay there crumpled up, dead, shot, murdered. By whom? A wave of insurgent horror swept once more into Glenlitten's brain. A tragedy like this in the bedroom of his wife! He was a proud man, and for the first time there was something personal in his horror. He looked towards the bed. Félice was sitting up, and the doctor beckoned to him.

"Sit by her side," he whispered, "but don't ask her any questions yet."

He took the doctor's place. Her arms slipped round his neck. He sank upon his knees by the side of the bed. He smoothed her hands, raised them to his lips and kissed them, but kept silent. Then, for the first time, she spoke. She pointed feebly towards Sir Richard, who had been opening and closing the doors of the wardrobes and was now leaning out of the wide-flung window.

"Please send him away," she faltered. "I do not want any one else in the room. The doctor may stop, but not—not Sir Richard Cotton."

He kissed her forehead.

"There is a reason," he assured her, "why Sir Richard had better stay for a little time."

She turned her head away. It was almost a child's attitude of pouting. The doctor took her wrist between his thumb and fingers, and Glenlitten rose to his feet. Sir Richard was standing in the corner by the window, with his back to the wall, studying the room as though he wished every detail of it photographed in his memory.

"What sort of a man is your local police sergeant?" he asked, in a low tone.

"Fairly intelligent, I think."

"There is no doubt," Sir Richard pointed out, "that an entry has been made to the room by this window from below."

"An entry through the window?" Glenlitten gasped. "But why?"

"Your wife's jewels, of course," Sir Richard answered, a little impatiently. "What else do you suppose? Where are they?"

"Damn the jewels! I don't know. Her maid would see that those were put away, I expect."

Sir Richard shook his head. He patted his host's shoulder.

"Andrew," he said, "you must pull yourself together. Her ladyship is recovering from her faint. The doctor has no anxiety about her at all. Listen. There has been a murder or a suicide committed here, and we must do our best to get to the bottom of it. Let us go into your bedroom and send for your wife's maid. She will be able to tell us where she put the jewels when she undressed her mistress. Remember, your wife was wearing the famous diamonds."

Glenlitten cast one longing look towards the bed. The doctor waved him away, but this time with a smile and a nod of reassurance.

"You'll be able to talk to your wife in five minutes," he promised. "I just want her to have a spoonful more brandy and then close her eyes."

The two men tiptoed their way to Glenlitten's bedroom and closed the door. In response to Sir Richard's order, Brooks, who was waiting outside, hurried away to fetch the maid. He returned with her almost at once.

"Can I go to her ladyship, milord?" Annette begged.

"Not just yet," Sir Richard insisted. "Tell me, will you, where are her ladyship's jewels kept?"

"In the safe, monsieur. It is let into the wall," the woman explained. "Milord can open it from his side, or milady from hers."

"Stop, I don't quite follow her," Sir Richard interrupted. "My French is rotten. What does she say, Glenlitten?"

"We have a safe," the latter explained, "built with double doors, one in her room, and one in mine, so that either of us can open it. There it is, you see."

"Ask her if she put the jewels there when she undressed her ladyship to- night?"

Glenlitten framed the question. The girl looked at him, her black eyes round with wonder.

"But to-night," she explained, "I did not undress her ladyship at all. I have not seen her jewels. She sent word that she did not wish for my attendance. I was dancing in the servants' hall, and milady desired me to remain there."

"I didn't notice any jewels lying about in the room," Sir Richard remarked, "but I watched your wife coming downstairs. Surely she was wearing Queen Charlotte's necklace."

Glenlitten nodded.

"Yes, I think she was," he assented carelessly. "She may have put them away herself. I'll get my key and see presently."

"Does her ladyship often undress herself?" Sir Richard persisted, in stumbling French.

"Mais jamais, Monsieur," the maid replied? "Never, never, never! J'étais même étonnée, mais milady a insisté."

They made their way back to the bedroom. Félice smiled at them both when they entered. Then her husband thought no more about the jewels. He hurried over to her side. Once more her arms went round his neck and her head rested upon his shoulder.

"Andrew," she murmured, "I have been so frightened—so terrified. There was shooting—here, in this room. And the lights all went out. Who is it that is hurt?"

"You shall hear everything presently, dear," he assured her. "You and I are not hurt, at any rate, or any one we care much about. Let us be selfish, dear, until you are a little stronger."

She clung to him convulsively. Suddenly the newly arrived colour began to fade from her cheeks. Behind her husband she saw Sir Richard standing gravely in the background.

"May I ask one question?" the latter begged. Her arms tightened round Glenlitten's neck until they seemed as though they would choke him.

"Andrew," she pleaded, "I cannot think. Send him away."

"Oh, damn the necklace!" Glenlitten muttered, turning angrily around. "Can't you see, Dick, Félice is not fit to be questioned."

"The necklace," she repeated. "It is on the dressing table with my rings and bracelets. I took everything off quickly. I was frightened. My head ached, and I was in a hurry to get into bed."

Sir Richard turned away without further speech. Outside there were voices in the corridor, and a heavy footfall. The doctor leaned over the bed.

"That is probably the sergeant outside," he announced. "He will have to come in and make his examination. Why not take your wife into your room?"

"Sure it won't hurt her?" Andrew asked anxiously.

"It will hurt her less than to see the police sergeant in the room, and to hear him asking questions."

Glenlitten took a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it round her eyes.

"But what is this that you do to me?" she cried softly.

"I want you to forget this room for a little time, dearest," he explained. "Now see, I am going to carry you into mine."

He took her into his arms. She was, after all, the lightest possible weight. He carried her across the room, past that terrible object upon the floor, into his own apartment, and laid her upon the bed. The maid had followed them.

"Now I must go and talk to this fellow from the village," he said. "You must lie here. Annette will stay with you, and Doctor Meadows will be in the next room."

"I'll make her up a sleeping draught presently," the latter promised, "and she'll be quite all right in the morning."

She leaned towards her husband.

"Tell me before you go, Andrew," she begged, "who is it that is hurt?"

He hesitated, but she caught hold of his hand and drew him towards her.

"I must know," she insisted. "Tell me. Is it Raoul?"

"Raoul?" he repeated wonderingly.

"Raoul de Besset," she faltered.

There was once more a momentary return of that chill fear. He shook it off. "Raoul de Besset." To his knowledge it was the first time he had heard the young man's Christian name.

"Yes," he acknowledged, "it was De Besset."

She sank back upon the pillows. Her great eyes were fixed upon the ceiling. The doctor, with his fingers upon her pulse, motioned to Glenlitten, who turned and left the room....

In the next apartment a sergeant—in mufti, for he had been summoned from his bed—was kneeling upon the ground, making a brief examination of the prostrate body. Sir Richard touched his host upon the shoulder and pointed towards the dressing table.

"Of course you realise," he whispered, "that the necklace has gone."