Читать книгу The Strange Countess - Edgar Wallace - Страница 7

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The clerks had gone, only Lizzy Smith remained. That young lady came flying to greet her, all of a twitter with excitement.

"Oh, you artful one! You picked him up, did you? Haven't you got a nerve to come back with him? Suppose old Shaddles had seen you! What have you done to the juggernaut? All the mudguard's bent. Lois, the countess is here! She's in with old Shaddles, and she's got the Queen of Sheba skinned to death! I'll bet that chinchilla coat she's got cost a thousand if it cost a tenner. And me wearing dyed fox, and glad to get it! Not that I'm struck on chinchilla—it doesn't suit my complexion, anyway—— And isn't Mike lovely?"

"Mike?" said Lois, puzzled.

"Didn't he tell you his name was Mike?" asked Lizzy contemptuously. "Of course it is! Michael Dorn. You don't mean to tell me that you've been joy-riding with him all these hours and never called him 'Mike' once?"

Lois hung up her coat and hat, and sat down wearily. Miss Smith regarded her with a gathering frown.

"You're not looking very bright, old dear," she said, "What's wrong?"

"The prison upset me," said Lois. "How long has the countess been here?"

"You haven't had a row with him, have you?"

"With him—whom? Oh, the man, you mean, Lizzy?"

"Of course I mean the man! Who else was there to row with? You can't start any backchat with a pre-war Ford."

Happily Lois was saved the embarrassment of an answer, for at that moment a buzzer sounded and Lizzy darted into Shaddles' office, to return with an uplifted and bending finger.

"The countess wants to see you!" she hissed fiercely, "and the thing attached to her is her little boy—the earl!"

Lois went into the room and closed the door behind her. Mr. Shaddles glared up from his table as she handed him the crumpled documents.

"What's happened to these?" he asked.

"We had an accident with the car," said Lois, a little incoherently. She was not a fluent liar.

"'We'? Who are 'we'?"

"I mean, I ran into another car," said the girl in some confusion.

Mr. Shaddles smoothed out the rumpled paper, glanced at the signature, and then:

"This is the girl, your ladyship."

For the first time Lois was conscious of the woman's presence. "Majestic" was a word which fitly described the Countess of Moron. She was tall and stoutly made. The long chinchilla cloak which covered her dress from head to heel was open to show the rich velvet brocade dress, but for the moment Lois had no eyes for the woman's apparel, or her looped pearls, or the jewels which glittered from ears and fingers. It was the face that held her. Big, dominating, in some indefinable way menacing. Black eyebrows that met above a masterful nose; a pair of eyes of so dark a brown that they seemed black. They were what are called full eyes; the vulgar would describe them as bulging. They were hard and bright and stared unwinkingly at the girl. The mouth was big, the lips thin, and the chin full and powerful. Lois found herself trying to guess her age. Whether it was due to artifice or not, her hair was a jet black, untouched by a vestige of grey; and later she was to learn this was natural.

"You are Miss Reddle?" said the countess. Her voice was almost as deep as a man's, and she had a slow, deliberate enunciation which was a little disconcerting.

Lois had the feeling that she was in a witness-box, under cross-examination.

"Yes, madam, I am Lois Reddle," she said.

For a moment the countess said nothing; then she turned to her companion.

"This is Miss Lois Reddle, Selwyn," she said.

He was a thin, bent man, with a weak face almost innocent of chin, and a drooping yellow moustache, the twirling of which seemed to occupy most of his spare time.

"May I introduce my son, the Earl of Moron?" said her ladyship, and Lois bowed.

"Glad to meet you," murmured the earl mechanically. "Rather nice weather we're having, what?"

Having made this speech, he seemed to have exhausted his vocabulary, for he was silent during the remainder of the interview.

Lady Moron withdrew her scrutiny and turned her eyes slowly to the lawyer.

"She seems entirely satisfactory, Shaddles," she said.

Shaddles pursed his lips.

"Yes, she's a very good girl," he said, "quite reliable."

He glanced disparagingly at the crumpled documents on his blotting-pad.

"Quite reliable. I've no doubt that Miss Reddle, in her anxiety to get back to interview your ladyship, has slightly damaged my car; that will be a matter for adjustment between your ladyship and myself."

He had glanced out of the window and had taken in with an assessor's eye the amount of the damage. Lady Moron looked at him for a time.

"She had no idea I was here, Shaddles. And of course I shall not be responsible for any damage to your car."

He squirmed in his seat.

"And, personally, I should doubt if the car has any value. At any rate, in my eyes it has none. Come, Selwyn."

For a moment Lois had the illusion that the young man was holding on to his mother's skirt, and she had an insane desire to laugh, as her ladyship went forth majestically, followed by what Lizzy had described, not unfaithfully, as "the thing attached to the countess."

Shaddles bustled through the outer office, opened the door for them, and went down to see her ladyship into her car before he returned.

"Now, what the devil do you mean by smashing up my car?" he grated. "And look at the condition of these documents. Is that the sort of thing that can go before a Master in Chambers? Pah!"

Before she could reply:

"Whatever are the cost of the repairs I shall send the bill to you, and I shall expect you to act in an honourable manner, for I'm not sure that you are not liable in law. You will have a good salary and you owe your position entirely to the fact that I happen to be her ladyship's solicitor."

"If there is any damage, I will pay for it, Mr. Shaddles," said the girl, and was glad to make her escape.

Lizzy Smith did not find her a very communicative companion, and she was responsible for most of the conversation on the way back to their lodgings. Lois was glad when her companion left her that night to join a girl friend who had two tickets for a theatre. She wanted to be alone, she wanted to think out this most terrifying problem of hers. There were other problems too, for suddenly she remembered the look of utter horror and amazement that had come to Michael Dorn's face when she told him she was going to the prison. Did he know, and was he dogging her footsteps for any other than the obvious reason—the young man's desire to get acquainted with the girl who had taken his fancy? That seemed impossible.

She was glad she was taking up a new post. She would have leisure, in the service of Lady Moron, and opportunities, perhaps, for meeting people who would be helpful to her in the conduct of her investigations.

A thought occurred to her as she was sitting before her untasted supper, and, getting up, she put on her hat and went eastwards to Fleet Street. She had been to the Daily Megaphone before to make searches on behalf of Mr. Shaddles, but now she found that the offices, which are usually open to the public, were closed. She sent up a note from the jealously guarded lobby of the editorial offices, and to her joy her request was granted, and a messenger conducted her to the file room.

Taking down one of the many big black volumes which filled the shelves on one side of the room and opening it at the date she had remembered, the messenger left her; and for two hours she studied the details of what she would ordinarily have dismissed as a sordid and wicked crime. She was half-way through the account of the trial when she saw a name that made her gasp. It was the name of a witness who had been called by the defence—Mrs. Amelia Reddle!

Then it was true! This was the kindly neighbour, about whom the prison governor had spoken. It was her mother, that tall, lovely woman who paced the prison flags with such unconcern. "A kind neighbour took the child"—Mrs. Reddle was the kind neighbour, and had brought her up in ignorance of her origin.

The printed page swam before her eyes as she sat, her hands tightly clasped, her mind confounded by the confirmation of this tremendous discovery.

Her mother was innocent. It was something more than a natural revolt against the thought that in her veins ran the blood of a murderess; it was a conviction, an inspiration, the faith which is knowledge.

She went back to her lodgings, calm and determined. She would prove her mother's innocence, devoting her life to that object.