The Stowmarket Mystery Part 8

"I am mistress here," she cried, "Giovanni, remain silent or leave us. How dare you, of all men, speak thus to my cousin?"

Certainly the effect of the barrister's straightforward statement was unlooked-for. But Brett felt that a family quarrel would not further his object at that moment. It was necessary to stop the imminent outburst, for David Hume and Giovanni Capella were silently challenging each other to mortal combat. What a place of ill-omen to the descendants of the Georgian baronet was this sun-lit library with its s.p.a.cious French windows!

"Of course," said the barrister, speaking as quietly as if he were discussing the weather, "such a topic is an unpleasant one. It is, however, unavoidable. My young friend here is determined, at all costs, to discover the secret of Sir Alan's murder. It is imperative that he should do so. The happiness of his whole life depends upon his success. Until that mystery is solved he cannot marry the woman he loves."

"Do you mean Helen Layton?" Margaret's syllables might have been so many mortal daggers.

"Yes."

"Is David still in love with her?"

"Yes."

"And she with him?"

David Hume broke in:

"Yes, Rita. She has been faithful to the end."

A very forcible Italian oath came from Capella as he pa.s.sed through the window and strode rapidly out of sight, pa.s.sing to the left of the house, where one of the lines of yew trees ended in a group of conservatories.

Margaret was now deadly white. She pressed her hand to her bosom.

"Forgive me," she sobbed. "I do not feel well. You will both be always welcome here. Let no one interfere with you. But I must leave you. This afternoon--"

She staggered to the door. Her cousin caught her.

"Thank you, Davie," she whispered. "Leave me now. I will be all right soon. My heart troubles me. No. Do not ring. Let us keep our miseries from the servants."

She pa.s.sed out, leaving Hume and the barrister uncertain how best to act The situation had developed with a vengeance. Brett was more bewildered than ever before in his life.

"That scoundrel killed Alan, and now he wants to kill his own wife!"

growled Hume, when they were alone.

Brett looked through him rather than at him. He was thinking intently. For a long time--minutes it seemed to his fuming companion--he remained motionless, with glazed, immovable eyes. Then he awoke to action.

"Quick!" he cried. "Tell me if this room has changed much since you were last here. Is the furniture the same? Is that the writing-table? What chair did you sit in? Where was it placed? Quick, man! You have wasted eighteen months. Give me no opinions, but facts."

Thus admonished, scared somewhat by the barrister's volcanic energy, Hume obeyed him.

"There is no material change in the room," he said. "The secretaire is the same. You see, here is the drawer which was broken open. It bears the marks of the implement used to force the lock. I think I sat in this chair, or one like it. It was placed here. My face was turned towards the fire, yet in my dream I was looking through the centre window. The j.a.panese sword rested here. I showed you where Alan's body was found."

The young man darted about the room to ill.u.s.trate each sentence. Brett followed his words and actions without comment. He grabbed his hat and stick.

"We will return later in the day," he said. "Let us go at once and call on Mrs. Eastham."

"Mrs. Eastham! Why?"

"Because I want to see Miss Helen Layton. The old lady can send for her."

Hume needed no urging. He could not walk fast enough. They had gone a hundred yards from the house when Brett suddenly stopped and checked his companion.

Behind the yew trees on the left, and rendered invisible by a stout hedge, a man was running--running at top speed, with the labouring breath of one unaccustomed to the exercise. The barrister sprang over the strip of turf, pa.s.sed among the trees, and plunged into the hedge regardless of thorns.

He came back instantly.

"There is a footpath across the park, leading towards the lodge gates.

Where does it come out?" he asked, speaking rapidly in a low tone.

"It enters, the road near the avenue, close to the gates. It leads from a farmhouse."

"A lady is walking through the park towards the lodge. Capella is running to intercept her. Come! We may hear something."

Brett set off at a rapid pace along the turf. Hume followed, and soon they were near the lodge. Mrs. Crowe saw them, and came out.

"Stop her!" gasped Brett.

Hume signalled the woman not to open the gate. She watched them with open-mouthed curiosity. The barrister slowed down and quietly made his way to the leafy angle where the avenue hedge joined that which shut off the park from the road.

He held up a warning hand. Hume stepped warily behind him, and both men looked through a portion of the hedge where briars were supplanted by hazel bushes.

Capella was standing panting near a stile. A girl, dressed in muslin, and wearing a large straw hat, was approaching.

"Great Heavens! It is Helen!" exclaimed Hume.

Brett grasped his shoulder.

"Restrain yourself," he whispered earnestly. "Luckily, Capella has not heard you. I regret the necessity which makes us eavesdroppers, but it is a fortunate accident, all the same. Not a word! Remember what is at stake."

They could not see the Italian's face. His back was heaving from the violence of his exertion. Miss Layton was walking rapidly towards the stile. Obviously she had perceived the waiting man, and she was not pleased.

Her pretty face, flushed and sunburnt, wore the strained aspect of a woman annoyed, but trying to be civil.

It was she who took the initiative.

"Good day, Mr. Capella," she said pleasantly. "Why on earth did you run so fast?"

"Because I wished to be here before you, Miss Layton," replied the man, his voice tremulous with excitement.

"Then I wish I had known, because I could have beaten you easily if you meant to race me."

"That was not my object."

"Well, now you have attained it, whatever it may have been, please allow me to get over the stile. I will be late for luncheon. My father wished me to ascertain how Farmer Burton is progressing after his spill. He was thrown from his dog-cart whilst coming from the Bury St. Edmund's fair."

It was easy for the listeners behind the hedge to gather that the girl's affable manner was affected. She was really somewhat alarmed. Her eyes wandered to the high road to see if anyone was approaching, and she kept at some distance from the Italian.

"Do not play with me, Nellie," said Capella, in agonised accents. "I am consumed with love of you. Can you not, at least, give me your pity?"

"Mr. Capella," she cried, and none but one blind to all save his own pa.s.sionate desires could fail to note her lofty disdain, "how can you be so base as to use such language to me?"