Читать книгу The Sacred Herb - Fergus Hume - Страница 5

"I am delighted to see you, Dorry," said Shepworth, addressing Prelice by his Eton nickname, when the young man had been called "Dormouse," shortened as above, on account of his lethargic habits. "I want you very badly. Come and grub somewhere, and we can talk."

Prelice responded very cordially, as the two had been very close friends at the old school, and submitted to be led round the corner to a small hidden restaurant much affected by the gentlemen of the long robe. Here, when they were snugly ensconced in a corner, Shepworth ordered food for his friend, but contented himself with a cigarette, and a cup of strong coffee. "I can't eat a morsel," he protested when Prelice advised a meal. "I am too much bothered over this case. How the deuce did you come to the Court, Dorry?"

Prelice, who possessed a hearty appetite, tackled a plate of cold beef, and answered between mouthfuls. "My aunt Sophia bully-ragged me this morning as an idler, and advised me to hear you spouting. She wanted to make me ashamed of myself."

"And are you?" asked Shepworth aimlessly.

"Rats!" said his lordship inelegantly; "but I'm sorry, old man. This is a sinfully hard business for you. Why didn't you write me that you were engaged?"

"I didn't know where to find you, Dorry. Lady Sophia, whom I met once or twice, told me that you were scampering round the world. I have wanted you, Prelice, these last few months. Yes, and before that."

"Before the murder, do you mean?"

"Yes! I have never had a chum since I left school. Lots of friends, no doubt, good men all, but a chum," he laid his hand on Prelice's shoulder with a burst of emotion. "Oh, Dorry, what a mercy you are here, and that I have some safe person in whom to confide. I should have had to tell someone in the long run."

"Tell someone what?" asked Prelice soberly.

"About that poor girl."

"Miss Chent?"

"Yes! It is an awful position for her, and for me. No! Don't look at me like that, Dorry. I swear that I'm not thinking of myself. I'd give my right hand to save Mona."

"She is innocent, of course?" asked Prelice, pushing away his plate.

"Yes! I am certain that she is innocent, although——" He hesitated for a moment, then flung away his cigarette, leaned his arms on the marble-topped table, and looked earnestly at his friend. "You heard Belmain's speech?"

Prelice nodded. "You mean the prosecuting Counsel."

"Yes! He was fair enough in the beginning and in the middle, but he had no right to rub it into the jury about the knife and about Mona's guilt being so certain. That part should have been left to the time when he addressed the jury, and after the evidence on both sides had been heard."

"I thought it was rather prejudging the prisoner myself, Ned."

Shepworth shuddered. "Don't call Mona a prisoner," he expostulated. "Every time that infernal Belmain alluded to her so, I felt sick."

"It is rough on you undoubtedly," murmured Prelice; and not wanting any more food, for Shepworth's agitation had spoilt his appetite, he turned to the waiter and ordered coffee. Shepworth passed along his cigarette case. "Very rough on you, Ned."

"Oh, don't talk about me," rejoined the barrister, restlessly; "think of Mona, a young girl, gently born and bred, being accused of murder and being put into prison. It's horrible."

"She seemed to me to be the calmest person in Court."

"Because she knows that she is innocent. She's a religious girl too, and firmly believes that God will prove her innocence."

"Well, He will," said Prelice quietly. "I'm not a saint myself, but I know that God looks after us all."

"Yet innocent people have been hanged before now, Dorry!"

Prelice did not answer immediately. Lighting his cigarette, he meanwhile looked very straight at his friend. "You don't seem to have a good defence," he remarked suddenly.

"Yes and no," replied Shepworth, fidgeting. "Not only is there a very good reason why she should love her uncle, but a better one that she should wish him to have remained alive."

"What do you mean?"

"That will, you know, Dorry; the will made by Sir Oliver in favour of Mona?" Prelice nodded. "It has been destroyed," went on Shepworth; "bits of it were found in the grate. There was a fire burning in the library on that night, if you remember Belmain's speech. Well, the will had been torn up and thrown into the fire. A few bits fell under the grate, and these prove beyond all doubt that it is the will which Sir Oliver made in favour of Mona. Now, if guilty, why should she destroy a document which gave her ten thousand a year?"

"But I say," remarked Prelice thoughtfully, "towards the end of his speech Belmain distinctly stated that Miss Chent had killed her uncle so as to get the money. If he knows of the burning of the will——"

"Oh, the other side admit that a will was burnt, but deny that it was the one made in Mona's favour. They will try and prove that Sir Oliver was drawing up another will disinheriting her because she would stick to me, and that she burnt this will after killing the old man. We fight hard on that point, Dorry."

"Has the will in favour of Miss Chent been found?"

"No. The lawyers have not got it, as Sir Oliver kept it himself. It can't be found, and, of course, we say—that is, our side, Cudworth, Arkers, and myself—that the will was burnt."

"Presuming it is, who inherits?"

"Captain Jadby."

"What—the South Sea chap?"

Shepworth nodded. "It seems that Sir Oliver was a great friend of his father's at Tahiti, and made a will out there in favour of young Jadby. He brought it home with him, I believe. Of course, the will in Mona's favour invalidated the first document, so unless the second will had been destroyed, the first would not hold good."

"Which points to the fact," said Prelice quickly, "that Jadby had a reason to murder Sir Oliver."

"I say," Shepworth glanced around in alarm, "don't talk so loud. There isn't a shadow of evidence to connect Jadby with the crime. He was in London on that day, and only returned by the ten train. However, he claims the property, but until this trial is ended nothing will be done about that."

"Humph!" said Prelice reflectively. "I expect it was on account of the earlier will that Sir Oliver wished Miss Chent to marry Jadby."

Shepworth nodded. "He thought to kill two birds with one stone; to let them both have the money, and, so to speak, blend the two wills into one. Jadby loves Mona too, but she hates him."

"And, moreover, is engaged to you," mused Prelice, tipping the ash off his cigarette. "It's a queer case."

"Much queerer than you think, Dorry."

"Now what do you mean by that?" asked Prelice.

Shepworth glanced round again, and cautiously brought his lips to his friend's left ear. "I swear that Mona is innocent. She is a good, kind, religious girl, who would not hurt a fly, much less Sir Oliver, whom she loved in spite of that ridiculous quarrel. All the same——"

"Well, well, go on!" said Prelice impatiently.

"That knife," breathed Shepworth nervously.

"The jade-handled paper-cutter. Well?"

"She had it in her hand."

"When? Where?" Prelice could not grasp the true significance of this very serious statement.

"In the library, when she was unconscious in the chair."

"How on earth do you know, Ned?"

Shepworth looked round again, and wiped his face. "See here," he whispered. "I was in bed with that sprained ankle, as Belmain said. In our row I gave Jadby the worst of it, including a black eye, although he fought like a cat with nine lives. But I tripped, and hurt my foot, as Belmain said in his speech. It was swollen and painful, but not so much but what I could have got away to town."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because Mona asked me to stop and support her. She expected further trouble with her uncle. I lay awake, trying to bear the pain as best I could, for my ankle got worse when I lay down. About a quarter to ten I heard Mona pass my door and go down the stairs."

"How did you know that it was Miss Chent?"

"I would know her footstep amongst a hundred; and she admitted afterwards that she had gone down to the library at that hour. I wondered where she was going, but lay quiet, listening for her return. At length, some fifteen minutes or so after ten o'clock, I could bear the suspense no longer, and hobbled downstairs in my dressing-gown. I thought that she might have gone to the library to see her uncle, and that further trouble might be brewing. As I promised to stand by her, ankle or no ankle, it seemed right that I should learn what was going on."

"Very reasonable of you, Ned. Continue." Prelice was deeply interested.

"I opened the library door, and saw her seated in the armchair."

"Was there any sign of smoke?"

"No! But there was a peculiar smell in the room."

"What kind of a smell?"

Shepworth wrinkled his brows. "I can scarcely describe it," he said after some thought; "a sweetish, heavy, sickly scent—like a tuberose. That's as near as I can get. Mona told me afterwards that she also thought it resembled the thick perfume of a tuberose. It came from the smoke, of course—it must have come from the smoke."

"You believe in the smoke then?"

"Oh yes. Sir Oliver had evidently been trying some magical experiment."

Prelice looked doubtful. "Magic is all bosh," he remarked.

"I'm not so certain of that, Dorry. There are queer things done, even in this twentieth century."

"H'm! Then you believe Miss Chent's improbable story?"

"I do—because I saw her insensible in the chair."

His listener reflected. "Was Sir Oliver dead then?"

"Yes! Sitting in his chair and lying half on the desk. He had been stabbed in the back."

"Was the window, or one of the windows, open?"

"I never noticed. And remember, Jadby did not say that the middle window was ajar, but only that the latch had been unfastened."

"I remember that. What happened next?"

Shepworth explained. "I found Sir Oliver dead, and Mona unconscious."

"One moment, please." Prelice became quite like a cross-examining barrister himself. "Had she fainted?"

"It was more than a faint, Dorry. She was in a kind of trance—quite like a person seized with catalepsy. I know; I am sure; because I shook her, and pinched her, and tried my best to rouse her."

"You should have opened the window to admit the fresh air."

"I never thought of doing so. I was too agitated."

"Natural enough—natural enough," murmured the other absently, and cast his eyes round the restaurant idly while thinking of what next to say. His gaze fell on a slim, boyish-looking young man of medium height, who had just entered, and who was looking at the unconscious Shepworth with an undeniable scowl. "Who is that?" asked Prelice in a whisper. "He seems to know you."

Shepworth looked up and across the crowded room, whereat the man—he was dark and clean-shaven and somewhat Italian in his looks—scowled more than ever. "Jadby," said the barrister under his breath. "Captain Jadby!" And he stared hard at his enemy. On his part, the captain returned the stare with scowling interest, and dropped into a seat near the door, no great distance away.

"Looks like a half-caste," breathed Prelice, glancing furtively at the young man; "good-looking too, but with a bad temper I should say."

If expression went for anything, Jadby certainly did not possess a superlatively even temper. His mouth was hard, his eyes were filled with sombre fire, and he seemed to be an alert, wiry, impetuous man, who could hold his own excellently in a fight. Dressed in a well-cut frock-coat, with dark-stripped trousers, a white waistcoat, a highly-polished silk hat, and patent-leather boots with spotless spats, he looked a great dandy, quite of the Bond Street-Piccadilly-Pall-Mall type. All the same, there was a suggestion of the sea in the way he rolled in his gait and held his slim brown hands. "A dangerous man to have for an enemy," thought Prelice, looking furtively at the smooth, feline face and sullen eyes.

However, as Jadby busied himself in selecting a luncheon from the menu-card, Prelice, after taking in his picturesque personality, paid no further attention to him. Nor did Shepworth. He and the captain scowled grudging recognition of one another, and then ostentatiously looked in other directions. Lord Prelice lighted another cigarette, and resumed the conversation, which the episode of Jadby's entrance had interrupted. "You say that Miss Chent was holding the paper-cutter when you found her."

"Yes! It was a dangerous Indian dagger, and the blade and the hilt were stained with blood. Mona's hands and dress were also stained. I really believed for the moment that she had killed Sir Oliver, and my only thought was how to save her."

"A terrible situation," murmured Prelice, looking round again for Jadby, and then saw to his surprise that the man had disappeared. It was apparent that the captain, not liking to be in the same room with the barrister who had thrashed him, had gone out again. However, this was just as well, as Jadby could not listen. "So you removed the knife," said Prelice, eying his friend.

"Yes! It seemed the most reasonable thing to do. I took it away at once, seeing that I could not rouse her for an explanation. It was my intention to hide the knife in my bedroom, and then return to take Mona away. I ran upstairs with the knife, and concealed it in my mattress, and then cautiously came back to the library. When I reached the door, however, I heard someone moving in the room, so thought it best to go back. Don't think me a coward, Dorry. You must see that I was in as dangerous a position as Mona herself, after I hid the knife."

"I quite understand," replied Prelice swiftly. "I expect Captain Jadby was in the library."

"He was. I am certain he was, for just as I reached the first landing I heard the library bell ring. Remember that he said he rang it as soon as he found Mona insensible and Sir Oliver dead."

"What have you done with the knife?"

"It is concealed in my desk in my study in my flat. I dare not produce it, lest I should get into trouble. Besides, its production would do Mona harm, as would my evidence of finding it in her hand. I must hold my tongue, Dorry, and lie as best I am able. But now you can see how needful it was for me to hold my tongue and have you beside me. You must be silent and stand by me."

Prelice shook hands, and they rose to return to the Court. The action brought them round to face the door, and there—at the marble-topped table—they saw Jadby sipping coffee, as though he had never moved. "H'm!" said Prelice, rather puzzled. "The fellow comes and goes like a ghost. Just like a half-caste cat." And he stealthily glanced at the captain, who was ostentatiously reading a newspaper, and took no notice, even when the young men brushed past him to leave the restaurant.

"I say, Ned," remarked Prelice thoughtfully when they were outside, "do you think that Miss Chent will be proved guilty?"

"No. I suppress my evidence about the knife, remember; and then the destroyed will is in her favour. The sole chance for the prosecution to prove Mona's guilt is to find Steve Agstone. He declares that he was looking through the window, and saw Mona kill Sir Oliver."

"To whom did he say this?"

"To Mrs. Blexey, the housekeeper. She is a witness for the prosecution, and is nearly broken-hearted. She loves Mona, like everyone else."

"H'm! Do you believe Agstone's story?"

"No! The old man hated Mona for some reason or another, and besides, he was drunk when he confessed to Mrs. Blexey. I expect, when sober again, he found that he would be forced to prove his words, and knowing that he could not, made himself scarce. I hope that he won't be found, Dorry."

"What does it matter if he is telling lies?"

"I believe it is a lie, Dorry, and so do you; but will the judge and jury believe as we do, if Agstone appears and sticks to what he told Mrs. Blexey? No, hang him, I hope he'll not turn up."

"Who do you think murdered Sir Oliver?"

"I can't say. But remember that the middle window was unfastened. Anyone could have entered from the outside and stabbed him."

"You forget," said Prelice quickly, "Miss Chent herself confesses to having unfastened the window."

"Quite so; but recollect also that she did not know when she entered the library if her uncle was dead or alive. A quarter to ten that was."

"But he surely would have made some sign if——"

"No!" interrupted Shepworth decisively. "What of the thick white smoke at which everyone jeers? It probably rendered Sir Oliver insensible, as it did Mona."

"Can you explain the smoke?"

"I cannot, unless Sir Oliver was trying one of his infernal experiments in connection with the next world."

"What book was he reading when found dead?"

"There were several books open on the desk," explained Shepworth; "one was the first volume of Captain Cook's voyages; another Pierre Loti's 'Reflets sur la Sombre Route'; and the third 'Polly in Polynesia,' some silly book with a silly title by a silly feminine globe-trotter. I expect Sir Oliver had been refreshing his South Sea memory."

"Were the books open at pages dealing with any particular subject?" demanded Prelice after a pause.

Shepworth considered. "When examining Sir Oliver's body, I glanced down at the open pages, and saw something about Easter Island. I didn't take much notice, as you may guess; but an illustration of the Easter Island statues was displayed in Cook's voyages. But I'll tell you a queer thing, Dorry. Afterwards, when the murder was discovered, the three books were all closed."

"That is natural."

"I don't agree with you," rejoined Shepworth emphatically; "the desk should have been left in its original untidiness until the police came to take possession. But someone closed those books."

"What do you make of it?" demanded Prelice abruptly.

"Well, my theory is that someone—I can't say who—wished to prevent the police seeing that Sir Oliver had been reading about Easter Island. Why, I don't know; and perhaps I may be making a mountain out of a mole-hill."

"Mole-hills are important on occasions," said Prelice dryly; "witness the death of William III. Easter Island! Easter Island!" he went on in a musing way. "H'm! h'm! h'm! now what the dickens do I know about Easter Island in connection with this case?" But he asked this question in vain. His memory refused to supply information.