Читать книгу The Golden Rose - Fred M. White - Страница 10

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At first Lethbridge did not appear to grasp the question. He was too much upset by the inspector's message to think of anything else. He still cherished feelings of respect and affection for the old man who had treated him so badly. There came back to him now, as always at such times, recollection of the earlier days when Jasper Payn had been more than a father to him, and before he had come under the spell of the gambling spirit which had led to his downfall. For Jasper Payn's experiments had been gambling pure and simple. He had wasted his time and money in a series of hazardous adventures which had never promised to repay the care and attention laid out upon them.

And yet when everything looked at its worst, Fortune had chosen to throw to Jasper Payn the happiness for which he had striven so hard. The old man's early kindnesses and attentions came back to Lethbridge and flashed before his eyes one by one like so many streaks of lightning.

And then Lethbridge began to understand. His first impulse was to resent the apparent impertinence of the question, but that was before its full significance flashed upon him. It was all done in the twinkling of an eye, but the seriousness of it was by no means lost upon John Lethbridge.

"What do you mean?'" he stammered.

"I think my question is plain enough, sir," Wilkinson said civilly. '"I merely asked where you got that flower."

"I know you did. But, why?"

Wilkinson shrugged his shoulders. There was something in the gesture that irritated Wilkinson.

"It was my duty to ask it," Wilkinson began. "Here is Mr. Payn, possessed with the idea that some one is trying to rob him of a certain flower. Personally, I did not believe in it. I thought it was an old man's fancy. For, between ourselves, Mr. Payn has been very queer of late, and it has occurred to me more than once that his brain was going. He has just come to the time of life when people take up delusions of that kind. He is a nice old gentleman, and I have been very glad to do all I could to help him, for we are both lovers of flowers. I am an enthusiast in my way, but Mr. Payn has forgotten more about it than ever I shall know. I didn't take much heed of what he said when he asked me to put on a special constable in his neighbourhood, though I don't mind confessing that I promised to do so. Anyway I didn't. And when you came for me to-night, I didn't feel in the least disposed to go as far as Mr. Payn's house. I don't suppose I should have gone, only he has been hinting a great deal to me lately about a marvellous new bloom, and I thought perhaps I might get a sight of it."

"Did you?" Lethbridge asked eagerly.

Wilkinson pointedly evaded the question.

"We'll come to all that in due course, sir," he said. "I went over to the old gentleman's house, and he told me a long rigmarole about being attacked by some mysterious stranger earlier in the evening. I didn't believe a word of it, but I had to listen all the same."

"Oh, it's true enough," Lethbridge said eagerly. "You can take my word for that. It so happens that Miss Grover came in here to shelter from the storm, and I walked home with her afterwards. I was just saying good-night to her at Mr. Payn's gate when we heard his cries for assistance, and I hurried to the spot. Undoubtedly the ruffian has been there with an eye to plunder, and the consequences might have been serious but for any presence. The place bore every evidence of a struggle, but Mr. Payn did not seem to have the least idea what his assailant was like. He must have been a man of resource and courage, for on any approach he dashed clean through the side of the greenhouse and disappeared into the night. The fellow must have been cut about a good deal. I am telling you this because the facts may be useful to you later."

"I daresay," the inspector said drily. "Meanwhile, I shall be glad to know, sir, where you got that flower!"

But Lethbridge was only half listening. He was trying to recall the appearance of the greenhouse when he entered it and found signs of a struggle.

"It is my own," he answered vaguely. "I grew it myself. But I will tell you all about that presently."

Wilkinson's features grew suddenly hard and stern. It was obvious he did not believe a word that Lethbridge was saying.

"I don't want to be officious, sir," he said, "but you see I have my duty to consider. Something very like murder has been committed, and I should not be acting my part if I missed anything in the way of a clue. Are you quite sure, sir, that that yellow flower came out of your own greenhouse?"

"Why should I tell a lie about it?" Lethbridge asked coldly.

"Why indeed?" Wilkinson agreed. "That being so, you can easily produce the plant it came from."

Lethbridge was conscious of a queer sensation in the back of his throat. Wilkinson's every observation tended in one direction. Every glance of his shrewd grey eye was lit up with suspicion. And with the instinct of his tribe he had gone at once to the root of everything. He had asked for the one thing in proof of Lethbridge's statement which the latter could not produce. He realised now the extraordinary danger and delicacy of his position.

And yet how could he tell this man everything. How could he go through the whole history of his past merely to gratify the curiosity of a police officer! And, besides, the man would not believe him. No sane person in England would credit a narrative like that. It was impossible seriously to consider that two men living so close together could have propagated identically similar flowers at exactly the same moment. The truth that Lethbridge had destroyed his own Golden Rose was prosaic enough, but in the circumstances no one would have believed it. Everybody would jump to the conclusion that Lethbridge had stolen it from his uncle's in a moment of rage and jealousy, and that he had half murdered the old man to get possession of it. Afterwards, in a fit of cowardice or prudence he had destroyed the flower, leaving no trace of it behind. Lethbridge could see all this plainly. The history of his relationship to Jasper Payn would come out, the reason why they had quarrelled would be told, and, no doubt, plenty of witnesses would be forthcoming who would testify to the fact that he had been turned out of his uncle's house in disgrace. Old servants would be looked up who would be prepared to swear that Lethbridge had left the old home under a cloud and without making the slightest attempt to clear himself. It would be argued naturally enough that no innocent man could have taken a course like his. He had robbed his benefactor years ago, and now he had repeated the process in a worse fashion, adding the crime of murder to his other failures.

It was astonishing how vividly and clearly Lethbridge traced his conviction step by step. He could see that everything was against him; the mere fact that Jasper Payn had kept his great discovery to himself was one of the worst pieces of evidence in his disfavour. Already he was as good as condemned by a jury of his fellow-countrymen. And here was Wilkinson waiting for him to speak. "I can't produce the plant," he said, "because, unfortunately enough, I destroyed it a little time ago."

"Indeed, sir," Wilkinson said drily, "and why did you do that? I understand that you are a professional grower of flowers. They told me that you came to this neighbourhood to make certain experiments, because you thought that the climate was suitable to your purpose. If you actually discovered the Golden Rose, I should like to know why you destroyed it. Before long other people will be asking the same question."

"It would be mere affectation on my part to pretend not to understand you," Lethbridge replied, "but I assure you that I am telling nothing but the truth. I certainly did discover the Golden Rose, and I certainly did burn my plant. A few hours ago and I should have smiled at the mere suggestion of doing such a thing. If I told you why I did so you would not appreciate my reasons. But now let me ask you a question by way of a change. What do you know about the Golden Rose?'"

"Well, I might say nothing," Wilkinson responded modestly. "I never heard of such a thing till you called at my house tonight. I did not dream that such a flower existed until Mr. Payn showed it to me. He showed it to me, because he gathered from my manner that I regarded his story as a mere hallucination. To convince me that he had a treasure to guard he showed me the Golden Rose. I was deeply interested, and made a careful examination of the plant. A little time ago there were three blooms on it; one of them had been recently cut. It wasn't for me to ask what had become of this cut flower, but without offence, sir, I think I may claim to have a good idea where it is at present."

"You think this is it?" Lethbridge asked.

Wilkinson nodded. The time was past for mere politeness.

"I am afraid you hardly understand the situation," he said. "Try to put yourself in my place. What would you think if you were me? You were in Mr. Payn's house to-night. You probably saw his marvellous rose bush. As a fellow expert you would know its exact value. Besides, you had every reason to believe that Mr. Payn had kept his discovery entirely a secret. If anything happened to him you could walk off with this discovery and nobody would be any the wiser. I don't say you can't explain matters satisfactorily. I have been too long in the force to judge by appearances, black as they may be. It is possible we shall find that rascally neighbour of Mr. Payn's at the bottom of it yet."

Lethbridge started, and the colour came into his face.

"I can, perhaps, save you that trouble," Lethbridge said coolly. "Evidently you have heard the story from Mr. Payn's lips. I suppose it is natural to you to conclude that this unfortunate nephew might be connected with the outrage and the robbery."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Wilkinson muttered.

"Perhaps not. It wouldn't be the first time a man has been accused of a crime he never committed. But I am wasting your time and mine. As a matter of fact, I am John Lethbridge, and Mr. Jasper Payn is my uncle. In the days when he was rich and prosperous I lived in his house. It was always understood that some day or another I should inherit his money, but you see he had no money to leave; he had wasted it all upon idle experiments. When he accused me of robbing him of a certain valuable discovery I was too hurt and disgusted to defend myself. I left his house without a word, and from that day till to-night I have never seen him. I had not the remotest idea that he was living here, the whole thing is a strange coincidence. There is one thing I will ask you—to say nothing about my being connected with the Golden Rose. I don't want people to know that the discovery belonged to two of us."