Читать книгу The Ends Of Justice - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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Everything was forgotten in that moment. Russet clung to her lover, her eyes were on his face, her arms about his neck as if she could never let him go again. They were no longer standing alone in the midnight in a deserted street—they might have been in some paradise for all they knew or cared. It was a long time before either of them spoke. Cathcart could feel the girl's heart beating against his own, her warm breath was on his cheek, the pressure of those soft arms was infinitely soothing. The gaol was close behind him, but he felt the shadow no longer.

"Russet, where did you come from?" George asked.

"From no great distance," the girl answered. "I have been away in Paris, and only heard of your trouble a day or two ago. Then I returned to my uncle's house at Lewton, only to find that you were to be tried here. My uncle is Mr. Lockwood Mostyn, remember."

"Your uncle is remotely connected with my trouble, dearest. But as yet I am utterly bewildered. This morning it seemed as if I had been absolutely deserted. Then all at once friends spring up in every direction. Russet, who is the brown-faced man with the tarry thumbs?"

"My dearest boy, I have not the slightest idea what you mean!"

Cathcart proceeded to explain, Russet following with rapt attention. Some great force was working on the side of the injured man, but the mystery only deepened in the telling. The man was a barrister beyond doubt, but why had he played so daring a game?

"It must be the stranger who wrote me an anonymous letter last week," Russet said thoughtfully. "It was a typewritten letter, and spoke of the relationship existing between you and me. In the letter were Bank of England notes to the value of five hundred pounds. My maid, Lottie Fair, was to make herself agreeable to Samuel Gem, the warder in charge here, who, as the writer said, greatly admired Lottie. And Lottie was to come here to-night and offer Gem the five hundred pounds to allow you freedom for a few hours. You are free, George, and I can scarcely realise it as yet, dearest. But take courage, we have a man of no ordinary mind behind us. Yet it is hard to see what use you can make of your liberty after you have been to Langdean Cross?"

"Where is that, and why am I to go?" George asked.

"I forgot," Russet replied. "Here is a slip of paper that came for you inside my letter. The paper contains instructions, evidently. Oh, I hope, I hope that you will be safe!"

George shook his head doubtfully. It seemed to him that he could not be much worse off than he was at present. He was like a castaway from a ship, with no compass to guide him and no knowledge of locality.

"And who lives at Langdean Cross?" he asked.

"Why, your Judge, Sir Cyril Bath. He had been dining with my uncle tonight. And I have heard strange things George—things so strange that I dare hardly repeat them to you. And you are to go to Langdean Cross, which looks as though our mysterious friend knows as much as we do ourselves."

"If he does not know more, I am ruined," George replied. "If you had only been in court to-day, and heard how the evidence went against me! And I am innocent. I took out the Lone Star partly as a private venture and partly as a trading concern. And they say I cast her away because I was a party to a fraud to obtain the insurance on a rotten craft, whose cargo consisted of boxes of bricks. There was foul play somewhere, the ship's charts and instruments were all wrong, and then the Lone Star was cast away. She foundered in deep water where the currents were strong so that we shall never know whether her cargo was bogus or not. The people who began to talk, and the rascal who pulled the strings, had to see to their own safety. I was to be the victim, and I am. Unless a miracle happens, I shall be back in yonder gaol to-morrow for good and all."

"Tell me about it, George."

"My darling. I cannot, for the simple reason that up to the present I am hopelessly bewildered myself. If I could only find one man, the man whom I know has played the villain. Only bring me face to face with James Stevens—"

Cathcart paused, and a steely glitter came into his eyes. His fist closed: all in imagination he had the scoundrel by the throat. Russet watched him with a sense of fear, of coming misfortune upon her. She had never seen her lover look like this before. And she knew very little about him either. Their engagement had only been a short one, and that in secret. Was it possible, after all, that George really was—

Perhaps Cathcart read something of this passing disloyalty in the girl's eyes, for he drew her almost fiercely to his side.

"My darling," he whispered hoarsely. "Heaven knows where I may be, or what may become of me before this time to-morrow. My name may be cleared by then: on the other hand, I may be deeper in the morass. But, Russet, I swear that I am innocent; I swear that my soul is as free from guilt as your pure heart. You believe me?"

Russet looked up, and her doubts dissolved in tears. It was impossible for her to meet Cathcart's clear gaze and believe him to be a scoundrel. She wound her soft arms about his neck.

"I believe you from the bottom of my heart," she said. "And others believe you too, or you would not be talking to me like this at this hour. George, I am sure this is going to be an eventful night for both of us. Before morning it is just possible the veil may be lifted. If you stand before the world a free man, come to me at once. Come and tell me everything, for the present I have to keep up a pretence before my uncle, whom I shrewdly suspect to be a bad man. But I shall be rich some day, and he has no control over my money."

"But Mr. Mostyn is a great capitalist."

"He is a pauper; nothing is paid for. He is an adventurer, who, some day, may be wealthy. For the present—What is that?"

Nothing more than footsteps flashing down the street. George drew Russet back into the shadow, where she remained but for a moment.

"It is my maid," she said. "Lottie, what is wrong?"

"You have been missed," Lottie gasped. "Your uncle says he wants to see you most particularly. I said that you were undressing, and that I would go and fetch you. Sir Cyril is just starting. Come!"

Russet murmured to George that there was no time to be lost. Yet she was loth to go, and he was loth to part with her. Lottie turned discreetly away. George caught Russet round the waist.

"Good-bye, my darling," he whispered fervently, "and God bless you. Whatever happens, one way or another. I shall contrive to let you know what happens to-night. An hour ago I was cast down in the depths of despair, now I feel ready to face the world for the sake of your love and my good name."

There was a long, silent embrace at last broken by an impatient noise from Lottie. The lovers sprang apart. There was the noise of carriage wheels in the distance. Then a brougham and pair of horses, with the lamps flashing on the silver-mounted harness, rushed by.

"Sir Cyril's carriage," Lottie said. "How fine it looks!"

Russet grasped her lover by the arm.

"After it," she whispered hastily. "You have to go to Langdean Cross tonight, and time is precious. If you hang on behind you will save an hour or more. It is too dark for anyone to see you. Go!"

With one backward glance, George rushed away. The noise of the flashing hoofs drowned his footsteps. He reached the bar of the carriage, and swung himself upon it as the lights of Lewton were fading away. The motion, the fresh air, raised George's spirits wonderfully.

"The Judge inside, the prisoner behind," he murmured. "Nothing ever like it before! I have had some strange adventures in my time, but nothing like this. And where is it all going to end?"