Читать книгу The Lonely Bride - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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All the blood seemed slowly to recede from Grace's heart, her breath came quickly; just for a moment the whole room swam round her, and the stars danced before her eyes. It was a new sensation for the girl who had never known illness or fear before. Then with a great effort she rose from the bed, and sat facing her maid. It was fortunate, perhaps, that the latter had seen nothing of her mistress's terrible agitation. Everything was coming back to Grace now with blinding force. She saw in her mind's eye the figure of her father coming up the stairs, she noticed the blood stains on his shirt, and the terrible anguish of his face. If Helen had stood up there and roundly denounced Mark Anstey as the murderer of his cashier, Grace could not have been more frightened. It seemed almost impossible to believe that her father, above all men, had committed this dreadful crime; but circumstances certainly pointed that way. Grace forced herself to speak.

"But what brought Mr. Holder in the bank last night?" she asked. She was surprised at the evenness of her own voice. "Mr. Holder has always been so methodical a man."

"No one quite seems to know, miss," Helen replied. "When Mr. Walters came this morning and opened the bank he found Mr. Holder lying there in front of the counter apparently dead. There was a wound in his forehead, and he had been bleeding freely. Possibly he had been attacked from behind, though that is uncertain. The skull was fractured, but that might have been caused by a fall after the wound was inflicted by his assailant. Again, it was possible that the poor gentleman attempted to commit suicide. That is all I can tell you, miss; but they say that there is very little hope of the poor old man's recovery."

Grace shuddered as she listened. It seemed to her that she must cry aloud and tell the world all she knew of this terrible crime. She did not for a moment doubt that she could lay her finger on the culprit. In the light of last night's happenings there could be no question as to where the blame lay. And yet Grace had read of things as bad as this; her newspaper reading told her that it was possible for men and women to lead long and honorable lives, and then commit some dastardly act at the finish.

But for her father's sake she must be silent. She would have to go downstairs presently and face him at the breakfast table, she would have to discuss this awful thing as if she were entirely ignorant of the past few hours.

"Was anything missing?" Grace asked. "Was robbery the motive of this shocking business? I am sure that Mr. Holder——"

"Nothing was missing at all," Helen explained. "There was no sign of a struggle, nothing had been disturbed, and none of the safes had been opened. I am told that the only thing is missing is Mr. Holder's duplicate key. They tell me it is impossible to open a safe unless master and Mr. Holder were there together. If this is so, it is very strange that the key should be missing."

Grace felt that she could discuss this thing no longer. She allowed herself passively to be dressed, and then went down to breakfast to face her father and play the sorry part that she had cast for herself. What a difference the last few hours had made. Here was the old house she loved so well looking just the same, and yet so strangely different. Anything would have been preferable to this gilded splendour, any broken-down ruin, so long as peace and contentment went with it. The mere sight of the well-appointed breakfast table filled Grace with a sense of nausea. The sight of food was distasteful. Before the empty grate stood Mark Anstey. He said nothing as Grace entered, he expressed no opinion and gave no sign of surprise as Grace proceeded to her place without the morning kiss she had given him ever since either of them could remember. Then there was a long and painful silence between them, so that Grace was forced to speak at length.

"I have heard everything," she murmured. "How is that poor man?"

It was some time before Anstey replied, indeed, he did not appear to hear Grace's question. He looked up with a guilty kind of start, his face was terribly old and grey in the strong morning light.

"I can't tell you," he stammered. "The shock has been so great that I have not recovered myself yet. I have just seen both the doctors, and they have considered it advisable to take poor Holder to Leverton Infirmary. It is the only chance they have of saving our old friend's life."

"There is no clue," Grace asked. "Nothing has been found I suppose to identify the culprit?"

"There is no clue whatever," Anstey replied. "We shall never discover who did that awful business."

"Oh, I am glad of that," Grace said hoarsely. "I am glad of that."

Anstey started as if something had stung him. He had taken in the full significance of Grace's strange speech. Anybody else might have wondered what she meant, but Anstey knew. For a full minute father and daughter sat looking into each other's eyes as if searching to peer into the depths of their own souls. There was a greyer tinge on Anstey's face as he forced himself to speak.

"What do you mean?" he whispered. "Why should you be glad to know that there is no chance——?"

"Oh, you know, you know," Grace said wildly. She crossed the room and closed the door gently. "Why should this shameful secret be made a mystery between you and me? During the last few hours I have lost everything that makes life dear. I have lost my lover, I have lost my father, though I am pledged to a life of misery for his sake. But I cannot play the hypocrite; I cannot sit opposite you day by day and carry out the miserable pretence of ignorance."

Anstey's face bent lower and lower over his plate. He had given up the farce of pretending to eat, the mere sight of food filled him with loathing.

"I must ask you to explain yourself," he whispered hoarsely.

"Is there any reason for explanation?" Grace asked. "You told me last night that you were on the verge of ruin, you told me that I should have to marry a man whom we both dislike and despise, so that the old name and the old house should be saved from disgrace. That was bad enough, but there is worse to come. When we parted a few hours ago you said that it was possible that I might be spared the sacrifice yet. But I was not easy in my mind; I could not shake off the impression that Mr. Cattley made upon me. When I saw him standing in the library he aroused vague memories. I could not forget that I had seen somewhere before the quaint pearl stud he was wearing in his shirt. Heaven knows why so small a thing made a great impression upon me, but there it was. It seemed to revive some unpleasant memories of my childhood——"

"For goodness sake, get to the point," Anstey cried irritably.

"That is the starting point of it all," Grace said. "I was worried and distressed, I could not sleep. I could not get that man out of my mind, and then it seemed to me that I heard footsteps. I watched and waited—I saw you go downstairs into the bank premises, and presently I saw you return. Your face was that—but I dare not describe your face. And on your hands and on the front of your shirt were spots—hideous spots—of blood."

But no reply came from Anstey, he seemed to have suddenly shrunk to the similitude of an old, old man. What reply he might possibly have made was prevented by the entrance of a young man who half apologised for his intrusion.

"You can come in, Mr. Walters," Grace said, with a faint smile. "Have you any fresh news to tell us?"

"I think we have found something, at any rate, Miss Anstey," Walters said. "I have just been to see poor Mr. Holder's landlady. I was desirous to find out if she happened to know what time he left the house last night. So far as Mrs. Pearson could tell she had not the remotest idea that he had left the house at all. As you may possibly be aware, Mr. Holder's rooms are exceedingly good ones; in fact, he has the best sitting-room at Pearson's Farm. There are two French windows in the room leading out on the lawn. Mr. Holder was a man of exceedingly regular habits, and invariably he spent the evening after dinner in reading. Being a student, he did not go to bed particularly early; indeed, not till long after the Pearsons as a rule. Pearson had gone into Leverton market yesterday; he did not return till late, so his wife was sitting up for him. As the night was warm Mr. Holder had the door open as well as the window, so that if anybody had been in the room besides himself Mrs. Pearson must have known it. She says that just after eleven she heard Mr. Holder talking to somebody, though she took little notice of the incident, thinking perhaps that Mr. Holder's visitor had entered by means of the window. He could not have come in by the front door, for the reason that the chain was up. So far as Mrs. Pearson could gather, the conversation was all one-sided, for she never heard the voice of the visitor at all. But she is prepared to swear to the fact that Mr. Holder said something to the effect that it was all right, and that he would see to the matter at once. Moreover, she heard him distinctly tear open an envelope as if somebody had brought him a letter. I could not find any more out than that, nor was there any sign of a note to be seen."

Grace did not dare to glance at her father during the recital of this story. It was not till Walters had left the room again that she spoke, and then in a whisper.

"That note must be found," she said. "Oh, it is no use your looking at me in that stupid way. I know what that note was—it was sent by you to Mr. Holder at the suggestion of Mr. Cattley, and 'Poor Billy' took it to Pearson's Farm."

Anstey looked at his daughter with an almost pitiful expression on his face. Grace proceeded in low and rapid tones.

"I overheard your quarrel. I came down for a piece of music, and certain words came to my ears. It is not for me to advise you what to do, it is enough that I am your daughter, and that I wish to save you from the consequences of this terrible crime. That note must be found, at any hazards you must get possession of it."

Anstey shook his head with the air of a man who finds fate too strong for him. His trembling hands sought Grace's, his touch was cold and clammy. She suffered it for a moment.

"I am prepared to swear to you," Anstey said in a voice scarce above a whisper. "In the presence of my Maker I am prepared to swear that if Holder dies the guilt will not lie on my soul. I want you to believe this, my child. I want you to feel that this disgrace is none of mine. Won't you believe me?"

Grace hesitated just for a moment, then she hardened her heart again. It seemed impossible in the light of common sense to doubt that Anstey was at the bottom of this thing.

"If you are innocent," she said, "then prove it. Surely it is easily done. Oh to think that I should sit here and judge the actions of my own father. I would give ten years of my life to undo the past few hours; but if you are guiltless, then tell me who the criminal is. Tell me what you were doing downstairs last night; tell me why your hands were stained with blood."

But Mark Anstey had no reply. He walked aimlessly about the room, he started at every sound outside. A servant came in presently with a message to the effect that the inspector of police from Leverton desired to see Mr. Anstey. As her father left the room Grace crossed over to the window and walked on to the lawn. She had absolutely no breakfast, she felt as if she would never want to eat again. As she stood there, with the fresh air of the morning blowing about her aching head she could see that Max Graham was coming up the drive. No words passed between them for a moment. Indeed Max was too shocked by Grace's white strained face to say anything. He could only hold her hand in his and look down into her grey eyes. For a time they walked up and down the terrace in silence. It was Max who spoke at length.

"This is a very sad business," he said. "I only heard it an hour ago. As I was riding along I met the ambulance going into Leverton, and they told me that poor Holder was in an exceedingly bad way. What has your father got to say about it?"

Grace controlled herself with a great effort. She felt a wild desire to tell Max everything. It seemed impossible to go on like this with no one to confide in. But even with Max such an act would be impossible. She replied in a dull, mechanical way that her father was greatly distressed by the extraordinary incidents of the night before.

A crowd had gathered round the outside of the bank premises proper, a policeman's helmet or two stood out from the group. Inside the bank were Inspector Baines, from Leverton, and a detective or two in plain clothes. Baines was talking earnestly to Anstey as Max Graham entered the bank. He said something to Anstey, but the latter did not appear to heed. There was no sign of the tragedy now, all that had been removed as soon as the body of the unfortunate man had been conveyed to Leverton.

"I hope you have a clue, inspector," Max asked. "This is a really terrible affair. Had you not better keep away, Grace?"

Grace had followed her lover into the bank, and was looking about her as if trying to reconstruct the dramatic scene of the night before. Inspector Baines turned from Anstey and shook his head. He was frankly and candidly puzzled.

"Not a trace of a clue, sir," he said. "A more mysterious affair I never tackled. And Mr. Holder of all persons in the world, too. He comes down to the bank at a most extraordinary hour, he finds somebody here who very nearly murders him, and yet so far as I can see there is not the slightest motive for crime. There is nothing missing, nothing has been tampered with, and if we could only find Mr. Holder's duplicate key, I should not be able to place my finger on any cause for this brutal crime. If you will excuse me gentlemen, I think I'll take a step over in the direction of Pearson's farm. I may find something there."

So saying Inspector Baines went off, followed by his satellites. Anstey walked out of the bank as if he saw nothing, and Graham followed him. One or two of the junior clerks were behind the counter by this time, attending to the routine business of the day, a few customers were there waiting to be attended to. Grace glanced about her, looking from the polished mahogany counters down to the plain brown linoleum with which the floor was covered. There was an ugly patch in the centre of it, and Grace shuddered as she averted her eyes. A tiny shining disc lay close to the bottom ledge of one of the counters. In some vague way it seemed familiar to Grace. She stooped and picked it up and held it to the light. She gave a sudden gasp; her heart was beating to suffocation. She clasped the tiny object in her hand, and made rapidly for the house.

For the thing that she held in her hand was the pearl stud she had noticed in Cattley's shirt-front the night before.