CHAPTER TWENTY

“A very terrible affair, Lord Wraysbury,” were his first remarks. “Very terrible for all parties concerned. Zillah has been to me; she is distracted. They had an awful scene after you went, and the same evening Edwards left the house. He raved that he would not spend another night under the same roof with her. Much as I deplore her conduct, I could not help pitying her.”

Mr. Glenthorne seemed to make no secret of his belief in the guilt of the parties. “Of course, she swore to me that her husband had no ground for his suspicions, that unfortunately appearances were against her, that she was perfectly innocent. Well, any woman in her position would naturally say the same thing.”

“Mrs. Edwards has simply told the truth,” answered Wraysbury, speaking with the warmth he felt. “She is innocent, and so am I.”

“Lord Wraysbury, you will understand that I should espouse my niece’s cause if I felt I had a leg to stand upon,” said the usually taciturn man. “In that case, I would go to her husband and force him to hear reason. But how can I, in the face of such strong circumstantial evidence? How would it appear to you, if I told you the same story of somebody else? Her husband away, as she was quite sure, the servants packed off to the theatre, she alone in the house! What would a jury say?”

It was on the tip of the young man’s tongue to answer that he was convinced that it was an elaborate plot, engineered by one or both and carried out with scrupulous regard to detail. But he could not say this very well to the woman’s uncle, at any rate till he had received capable advice. He took refuge in silence, till suddenly what he considered a bright idea struck him. It was his general rule to destroy all correspondence that he considered of little importance, and at the time he had certainly classed Mrs. Edwards’ letter under that category. But by the merest accident he had preserved it, and he showed it to his visitor with the observation, “If that doesn’t prove to you my visit was an innocent one, nothing will.”

The grave-faced man read it with the closest attention, and in due course handed it back. “This cuts both ways, my lord. You probably are not possessed of what we call the legal mind. I am, being in the profession of the law myself, I am a solicitor. If I were acting as your counsel, I should urge this as an almost convincing proof of your innocence. But how would the counsel on the other side argue? He would say that letter was written with a purpose, as the result of an agreement between both parties, the purpose being to avert suspicion if, by an unforeseen accident, you were discovered together. He would also say that if the visit were a perfectly innocent one, there would be no necessity to get the servants out of the way. Mind you, I am endeavouring to show you what would present itself to the legal mind. It would give me the greatest pleasure to prove Edwards in the wrong, but I fear that letter won’t help me.”

It might be a mere coincidence, but he was using just the same argument that the husband had employed. Having once allowed the suspicious side of his nature to develop itself, Wraysbury suspected this grave-faced man.

“What is the object of this visit, Mr. Glenthorne?” he asked sharply.

“My deep concern for my niece’s welfare,” was the reply. “It is an awful thing to contemplate a beautiful young woman’s career being blasted almost before it has begun, as it must be if this affair comes into court.”

“Had you not better show that letter to Edwards, and point out to him the consequences of the step he is taking?”

Mr. Glenthorne spoke, Wraysbury thought, in a less assured tone.

“Unfortunately Edwards is a very obstinate man, a very vindictive one. The only thing one could appeal to, perhaps, would be his cupidity. He is very fond of money for its own sake, not because he hasn’t plenty of his own.”

Wraysbury repressed a smile. Sharpened by his experience of recent events, he divined that this solemn-faced, not very prepossessing person had come as an emissary. Realizing the delicacy of his mission, he experienced some embarrassment in coming to the point. He was now evidently on the road to it.

“Will you speak a little more plainly, sir? I am not a very subtle person myself. Will you tell me what is in your mind?”

And Glenthorne told him. “If this matter comes into court, Lord Wraysbury, it will not only ruin my niece for life, it will be a very serious thing for you, it will damage you greatly, and cause terrible grief to your most worthy parents. I think it is worth a considerable sacrifice, even from your own point of view, to prevent it reaching that stage.”

The man was showing his hand very plainly now. Wraysbury, with a face as grave as his own, led him on. “In plain English, you suggest this injured husband, as he pretends to be, can be bought off?”

Glenthorne lowered his voice. “Between ourselves, my lord, I believe it might be possible. As I have told you, he is a very greedy man; I believe greed to be the predominant feature in his character. He will, of course, go for heavy damages, and, with your well-known wealth, he is likely to obtain them. I think it possible that, if you anticipated those damages, as it were, made him a firm offer, he might withdraw from the action. Of course, I cannot speak positively, but I think it would be worth trying.”

“I could say nothing on that point until I had consulted with my own solicitors, Shelford & Taylor. You will understand that.”

“Quite,” agreed Glenthorne. “Shelford & Taylor, a most respectable firm, their reputation is second to none. But, although I have the highest respect for my profession, may I suggest that, in certain cases, lawyers are not always the best judges? I think in the present instance the advice of a man of the world would be more helpful to you. Of course, for all I know to the contrary, this firm may be men of the world as well as solicitors. In that case I have very little doubt as to how they would advise you.”

“You think they would advise me to pay hush-money to this person. And do you happen to know at what price he values his fancied wrongs?” asked Wraysbury in a sarcastic tone. The reply confirmed his conviction that Glenthorne was in the plot as well, and had come for the purpose of sounding him.

“I can give you some indication, I think. When my niece told me the painful story, I felt it incumbent on me to do something, to use my best endeavours to avert the impending catastrophe. Edwards is staying at the _Cecil_, that was the address he sent to me the day after he had left Curzon Street. I did not call upon him at once; I thought it wiser to give him time for his anger to cool down. I used all the arguments I could think of to dissuade him from the drastic course he had resolved upon. I met with a very stubborn resistance, as I expected. But my impression when I left was that he would abandon the idea of a divorce, if a sufficient sum were offered him. In that case he would never live with his wife again, but settle upon her a quite decent income.”

“And what is his idea of a sufficient sum?” queried Wraysbury.

“I am sorry to say a very high one. For my own part, I thought an amount round about fifty thousand would meet the case. He laughed at me, and said he wouldn’t move for twice that. If two hundred thousand were offered, he would probably consider it, nothing less.”

At this point in the interview, Wraysbury rose, controlling his indignation with a great effort. “In an hour I am going to see Shelford, and shall tell him what has passed between us.”

Mr. Glenthorne took the hint and prepared to depart. “If the suit goes on, I shall act for my niece, and all communications as regards Edwards and yourself will be conducted by your own firms. But if you entertain the idea of the course I have suggested, it might be as well to deal through me. Edwards is a touchy fellow, and requires a good deal of handling. Here is my card.”

Wraysbury afterwards saw Shelford. When the whole details were explained to him, including the tentative suggestion of Glenthorne, whose name as a practising solicitor was unknown to him, he at once agreed that it was a put-up job, out of which this shady practitioner was to have his bit. They talked for a long time, and then the idea of Grewgus occurred to Shelford. These people most probably belonged to the underworld of which the detective had a considerable knowledge. He advised him to see Grewgus at once, and fixed up the appointment.

“So now you have the whole story,” said the unfortunate young nobleman when he came to the end of it. “Two alternatives face me, and only two; either I must pay this big sum to this infamous set of swindlers, or suffer my name to be dragged through the mire.”

“Which course does Shelford advise?” asked the detective.

“He is almost as undecided as myself. I don’t pretend that the two hundred thousand would break me; they know that as well as I do. But it is unspeakably humiliating to pay such a big sum for what was not even an act of folly, rather an absence of discretion. On the other hand, if the action goes on----”

The young man paused a moment to conquer his emotion. “You see, Mr. Grewgus, I have a very vulnerable place and these thieves know it. I am the only child of my parents, God-fearing, devout souls who have lived lives unspotted from the world. If I alone were concerned, conscious of my innocence, I would brave the shame and scandal of it. But it would break their hearts. They would believe me, because they know my good points as well as my bad ones, but they would know half our world wouldn’t share their belief, and they would never hold up their heads again.”

And then Grewgus spoke. He had great sympathy with this manly young fellow; he had heard his voice tremble when he spoke of his mother and father. Thoughtless and careless perhaps, like many young men of his age, but a loyal and affectionate son.

“I don’t want to send you away from this office in a too optimistic frame of mind; I cannot absolutely promise to get you out of the clutch of these cunning blackmailers, but I’m going to have a devilish good try. It is a most fortunate thing that Shelford has sent you to me, instead of to one of my confrères, for it happens that through my investigations on behalf of another client I know a great deal about all these people which they would be very sorry to have come to light. I think--mind you, I cannot be sure--that what I know will be sufficient to deter them from going any further. Leave it to me. I will arrange with Shelford to allow me to act upon your behalf. When I have got that formal permission, I will see this man Edwards, and throw my bombshell into his camp.”

Lord Wraysbury was delighted with the turn of events. “But this is simply wonderful,” he cried. “Do you know something of every one of them?”

Grewgus was delighted too, to such an extent that he relaxed his habitual reticence. “Not so much about Edwards, except one very damaging thing, but a good deal about Stormont, Mrs. Edwards, even the smooth-tongued Glenthorne, who, of course, paid you that visit in the interests of his pals. Well, good day, Lord Wraysbury. I shall lose no time, I assure you. I expect to fire my bombshell to-morrow, and after the interview I shall at once let you know what I expect the result will be.”

The young nobleman departed in much better spirits than he had entered. Being a very generous fellow, he resolved that if Grewgus did extricate him from his unpleasant position, he should receive a fee that would astonish him.

Having conferred with Mr. Shelford over the ’phone, the detective sent a note to the _Hotel Cecil_ addressed to Edwards, in which he told that person he was acting on behalf of Lord Wraysbury in a certain matter and begged the favour of an appointment.

The boy who took the letter was to wait for an answer, if Edwards was in. He returned with it.

“Dear Sir,” wrote the _débonnaire_ person who belonged to so many respectable clubs,--“In reply to yours, I beg to say that I shall be at your disposal any time between eleven and twelve to-morrow. Yours faithfully, Bertram Edwards.”

The detective smiled grimly as he wondered if this elegant crook had any idea of what was in store for him. Hardly. He probably conjectured that the detective was paying him a visit for the purpose of beating him down.

Before he went to the _Cecil_, he paid a flying visit to Lydon at his office and told him what had passed between himself and Wraysbury on the previous day. He had no hesitation in doing this, as it had been agreed that he should watch what was going on at Curzon Street on Lydon’s behalf.

It was, of course, what they had expected from the day when the young nobleman had attended Mrs. Edwards’ reception.

“I’m glad we have got confirmation,” remarked the detective. “But I do wish we could have directly implicated Stormont in it, that he had, for instance, taken the rôle in it played by Glenthorne, alias Whitehouse.”

“We can guess he was at the back of it anyhow,” continued Grewgus. “Rather amusing his being at that first dinner. I expect he couldn’t resist the pleasure of hobnobbing with such a distinguished person as Wraysbury. But I think we have got enough against Stormont now, with the help of our venal friend Newcombe. He has kept himself pretty well in the background in this affair, but we have sufficient proof that he is the friend of blackmailers. And a man is known by the company he keeps.”

“Quite true. Well, now that I know this, I shall tell Jasper Stormont at the earliest opportunity. I am staying with him at Brighton. I haven’t told you before, but I may as well tell you now, I am engaged to Jasper’s daughter. He is a bank official in China and she has been living with her uncle since she was a child. She is now with her parents at Brighton, and she must never return to the criminal atmosphere of Effington.”

Grewgus had learned the fact of the engagement from Newcombe, but he affected to hear it for the first time. He fully concurred in the young man’s determination that she should not return to Effington.

Later on, he was shown into a private sitting-room where he found Mr. Bertram Edwards, looking as smart and gentlemanly as ever. He could not help thinking that this elegant young crook, with his charming manners, must be a great asset to the gang. If he did not move in the most select circles like Wraysbury, it was evident, from what Lydon had told him of the Curzon Street party, that he had a foothold in quite respectable society.

“You have come about this wretched Wraysbury matter, I understand?” he said in his pleasant, urbane tones.

The detective intimated that this was the object of his visit.

“And have you anything to propose, Mr. Grewgus?”

“My client, Lord Wraysbury, has received a sort of unofficial intimation from a man named Glenthorne, who claims to be the lady’s uncle, that if the sum of two hundred thousand pounds is paid to you, you will abandon proceedings. I beg to tell you, Mr. Edwards, I shall advise his lordship not to pay you a single farthing.”

Edwards tried to assume an expression of indifference, but it was easy to see he was taken aback by this blunt declaration.

“In that case, sir, the action will proceed, and I shall go for heavy damages. I am not going to permit a young sprig of the nobility to violate the sanctity of my home, without making him smart for it in the only place where he can feel it--in his pocket.”

Grewgus bent upon the dandified man his very penetrating and expressive glance. “This is a business interview, Mr. Edwards, and there is no necessity for heroics. You know as well as I do that Lord Wraysbury is quite innocent of any desire to violate the sanctity of your home, or, for the matter of that, the home of anybody. He’s not that sort of man. Let me warn you that if you do proceed with this action, it is at your own peril and that of the lady who bears your name.”

“My own peril! What the devil do you mean?” blustered Edwards. But, in spite of his assumed bravado, Grewgus saw an unhealthy pallor creeping over his usually high-coloured cheek.

Again that penetrating gaze, that distinct and deliberate utterance: “I don’t know very much about you at present, Mr. Edwards; I have no doubt I shall add something more to my knowledge shortly. One little thing I do know, that you were in Paris a short time before the discovery of the dead body of Léon Calliard in the river Meuse. And that every day you were meeting the woman who is now Mrs. Edwards in the outskirts of the city.”

He paused, expecting a bold-faced disclaimer. But it did not come. For the moment, the man was stricken dumb.

“Of the woman now calling herself your wife, I know a great deal more, under her different names of Elise Makris, Zillah Mayhew, Miss Glenthorne. I also know a fair amount about your friend Stormont. And the same applies to another friend of yours, Glenthorne, otherwise John Whitehouse. Have I said enough?”

Still there was no reply; the man could not find speech, and he had aged in those few seconds.

“Please understand me once and for all. If, in a reckless moment, you persist in this baseless charge against my client and your wife, who is your accomplice in the matter, I go to Scotland Yard and give my information, which, as I have told you, is rather extensive.”

Edwards rose to his feet and pointed with a shaking hand to the door.

“Leave the room, you wretched spy. Tell your client the action will proceed,” he shouted with a last attempt at bravado.

Grewgus laughed derisively, and flung at him a Parthian shot as he left.

“Don’t forget when you reckon up the pros and cons that the Paris police are still investigating the case of Léon Calliard, the murdered jeweller.”

As he walked along the Strand, Grewgus felt very satisfied with himself. In spite of Edwards’ bluff, he felt sure that he had won the day.

And presently a man brushed past him as he was within a few yards of Charing Cross Station, walking at a rapid pace; it was the man he had just left.

As he hastily crossed the road at Villiers Street, Grewgus had a sudden idea that he was going to the telegraph office to dispatch a wire. He could have sent it from the _Cecil_, of course, but no doubt he had good reasons for not doing so.

Grewgus was a past-master in the art of shadowing. Behind the hurrying man came the tall, thin form of the detective. And over his shoulder, as he wrote the message, Grewgus read the words: “Stormont, Effington, Surrey. It must be dropped. See me to-morrow without fail--Edwards.”

After reading it, Grewgus crept stealthily away, and was in the street again, while Edwards, unconscious that he had been watched, was presenting the telegram at the counter.

Circumstantial evidence, it is true, but of the very strongest character. What did that wire mean? One thing, and one thing only. Edwards had been so thoroughly frightened that he was afraid to go on with the Wraysbury affair, had advised his friend Stormont of the necessity of dropping it, and urged him to see him to-morrow to tell him what had happened. It was convincing proof that Stormont was in the plot.