CHAPTER XVI.

HELP FROM WITHOUT

When the doctor finished speaking he looked at his two listeners; and, if he expected to see surprise on their faces, he was not disappointed. Wilfred looked at him as if partly satisfied and yet partly amazed and perplexed. Mr. Benson looked at him in frank astonishment.

“Who were they, these people?” he asked. “Had you seen them before? Have you seen them since? Why on earth did you not accept my invitation to tell me what you knew, because you knew perfectly well that I was not acting for the police, but for Lady Evenden and Frank Gough?”

“I had never seen them before,” declared Laidlaw. “Nor have I seen them since. You see how hopeless was my position. If you don’t believe me, how much less would the police?”

“Yes, that’s all right,” said Mr. Benson, who was rapidly recovering his poise, “but what have you to give as evidence that there were indeed any people there at all, except your word? You say that you saw a man and a woman. What do you suggest was the reason of their visit there? How do you suggest that they knew of the existence of the secret passages? Your story is very thin, Dr. Laidlaw. Very thin.”

“Mr. Benson,” said the unhappy little doctor, “whether you believe me or not, I have told you the exact truth. You say you cannot accept my word. Very well, I will put the alternative to you. Tell me, if you don’t believe me, how do you account for the murder? If I, as you suggest, murdered Sir John Evenden, why did I do it? So far as I can see, from my knowledge, there is only one other person upon whom suspicion could possibly fall, and that is Lady Evenden. Do you, in your suspicion, suggest that she did it? If she did, why should she?”

“I do not suggest for a moment that she did,” replied Mr. Benson. “On the other hand, I am quite sure that she did not. But you do not clear the ground quite so easily as that. Don’t forget that the most mysterious thing about this murder is the presence of some curious poison in the brain of the late baronet. I am a layman, and profoundly ignorant of these matters, but it strikes me with irresistible force that some person with a considerable knowledge of medicine, and poisons, was responsible for the crime. I am not concerned to impute motives. I am concerned with facts.”

“I can only say that I have told you the exact truth,” said Laidlaw wearily. “You can do what you like. You can murder me in cold blood if you like, for I am helpless. But you will be committing a ghastly murder. I saw the man and I saw the woman--I know I saw them. That is all I know. Lady Evenden had nothing to do with the murder--nor had I.”

“Would you like to know what I think?” asked the old lawyer, standing up and bending over the shaking doctor. “I’ll tell you what I think happened. You probably went up that staircase, and through the Prior’s Room, for some reason best known to yourself, and at the point of safely leaving the room you were met by the late Sir John, returning from his visit to Mr. Frank Gough’s room. He, knowing of your sinister relation with his stepmother, grabbed you and insisted upon your telling him the truth. You probably tried to get away, and seized something and struck him. Probably, to give you your due, you did not intend to kill, but when you found that you had done so, you sought to confuse the issue by injecting some of your filthy poison into the dead man’s brain. I wouldn’t mind betting that I’m not far out in my calculation.”

“You are utterly wrong,” said the doctor earnestly. “I assure you that there were the man and the woman there, and that the murder had been committed before I came upon the scene. I did not even examine the dead man; I hurried away as quickly as I could.”

“I think I’d better have a word with you,” said Wilfred to the lawyer. Mr. Benson looked at him sharply, saw that his young friend had obviously something to say of importance, then went to the door.

“Joe,” he called, and almost as soon as he spoke Joe Litt and one of his assistants appeared.

“Watch him!” the lawyer instructed, and Wilfred and he left the room. They went out into the farmyard, and it was not until they were well out of earshot of the house that Wilfred spoke.

“He’s not telling the exact truth,” he said. “But, on the other hand, he’s telling some truth.”

“Surely by now,” said Mr. Benson, “you must see the advisability of taking me into your confidence?”

“I am determined to keep to my policy of absolute silence,” replied Wilfred stubbornly. “But I will tell you enough to enable you to check Laidlaw’s account. This is the serious divergence between what he says and what I know happened. He says that Lady Evenden went as far as the staircase leading to the scene of the tragedy. There he is wrong--both she and he went into the room. They remained there for perhaps three minutes, during which time there was a sound of some scuffling overhead, and after that Lady Evenden certainly came down alone. He followed--perhaps two minutes after that.”

“You saw all this?” asked the lawyer.

“Yes, I saw it,” replied Wilfred.

“Then what do you think of his story about a man and a woman who were, I take it, the actual murderers?” asked Mr. Benson.

“I can’t say,” Wilfred replied slowly, gazing across the marsh. “I certainly saw no man, but immediately after Lady Evenden came down the staircase, crossed the crypt, and went out through the entrance to the lawn, a woman followed her. I saw no man.”

“Where were you?” asked the lawyer.

“In the crypt,” Wilfred replied.

“What did you do when you saw Lady Evenden come out? And this other woman? What sort of a woman was she?” The lawyer frowned as he put the question.

“It would be very difficult to say,” Wilfred replied. “I saw Lady Evenden leave, and I identified her because Miss Kilby was with me. She had followed her mistress out and had met me on the lawn. We descended the staircase after her, and first of all heard her talking to Laidlaw in the crypt. Then, as we heard them move to the other staircase, we followed. We hid in that little vestry place where all of us hid last night. I repeat, the first person to come downstairs was Lady Evenden, then another woman came down and went out. I saw her silhouetted against the moon light as she went up the stone staircase to the lawn. Then, after that, Laidlaw came.”

“But how did you know that Lady Evenden was ever in the Prior’s Room?” The lawyer surveyed his young friend, and noted the troubled look on his face.

“Well, as I told you, I was with Miss Kilby,” he said, after a pause. “When Laidlaw and Lady Evenden disappeared up the staircase to the Prior’s Room, Jill followed. She got as far as the wardrobe, then she came down again--terrified. Now that’s all you must ask me.”

“But, my dear chap, I differ from you,” said Mr. Benson. “I’m the last person in the world to cause any trouble for your fiancee or yourself, but don’t you see that you have said too much for the matter to be left there? Don’t you see that your fiancee’s evidence can probably clear Frank Gough and be sufficient to exonerate Lady Evenden? My dear chap, that evidence must be given.”

“That’s just the difficulty,” said Wilfred, in some excitement. “You really must not pursue this matter by ingenious roundabout ways such as I suppose lawyers delight in. Believe me, Mr. Benson, you will regret it to the last days of your life, if you do. I might be able to produce sufficient evidence to clear Frank Gough. But there is certainly not enough evidence to clear Lady Evenden, who, mark you, is, in my opinion and in Jill’s opinion, just as innocent of the murder.”

“Well, surely there is also her word,” said the lawyer. “She can testify to having seen this other mysterious woman and possibly the mysterious man that Laidlaw says was there, can’t she?”

“No, she can’t,” said Wilfred decidedly. “She doesn’t remember a thing about the whole affair.”

“How on earth do you make that out?” asked Mr. Benson, stopping in his walk, and turning to face Wilfred, bewilderment in his eyes.

“It will take me a long time to explain the exact circumstances governing the relations between that little doctor and Lady Evenden,” he said. “But in the meantime it is sufficient for me to tell you that there is a process, not unlike hypnotism, whereby a strong character--and Laidlaw is that, despite his appearance--can obtain a complete control of a weaker. Now that process is tremendously accelerated where circumstances permit of the exercise of some definite lever for the stronger to hold over the weaker. In this case the lever is obviously the unfortunate circumstances of Lady Evenden’s past.

“Laidlaw is probably letting the unfortunate lady believe that she murdered her first husband--I wouldn’t be surprised if he is, anyhow--hence the blackmail. Now, then, don’t you see that, having established that mental control, making her believe a certain thing, he can easily extend that and make her believe something else? The whole thing boils down to this. If Laidlaw were to be apprehended for this murder, it wouldn’t surprise me if we were to be confronted by a confession by Lady Evenden that she had done it.”

“God bless my soul!” The old lawyer was flabbergasted at the prospect.

“There you have the whole difficulty,” said Wilfred. “And there you have the keynote to my policy. Until you can table the evidence to convict either Laidlaw or some one else, Then, for the sake of Lady Evenden, who is manifestly in Laidlaw’s power, you must say nothing, and I, for my part, will not be moved to say anything. There it is.”

For ten minutes after Wilfred had finished speaking, they walked about the yard in silence; then Mr. Benson said.

“But you say that he is not telling the whole truth, even now? That is a sign of guilt, isn’t it?”

“Yes--it might be,” Wilfred partially agreed. “On the other hand, there is not a very great discrepancy between what he says and the truth. He might have wanted to emphasize that Lady Evenden was not actually in the room, purely in her interest. He is right about the strange woman. But if there was a man there as well, the question is, where did he get to? Miss Kilby and I saw no man.”

“For the love of heaven, what did Miss Kilby see?” asked the lawyer, removing his hat and mopping his brow.

“I shall certainly not say that, or allow her to say what she saw,” Wilfred replied. “You may be certain of this--she did not see the actual murder committed, she saw no other man but Laidlaw, and she certainly saw a woman standing with her back towards her, who afterwards came down the stairs--that’s all.”

Again there was silence. Presently the lawyer appeared to make a decision.

“Very well,” he said. “Come along.”

They went back through the farmyard to the kitchen, and through to the room where Laidlaw was sitting anxiously awaiting his fate.

“I have discovered a way of testing your story,” said Mr. Benson. “You will remain here until I decide to release you. Look after him, Joe,” he said, turning to Joe Litt. “See that he is under constant guard, and I’ll see you to-morrow.”

Wilfred and the lawyer rode home across the marsh almost in silence. Wilfred looked at the face of his companion, from time to time, and could not make out a certain look of almost triumphant satisfaction that he saw there. Arrived at the Priory, the horses were immediately given over to the groom, and the lawyer invited his companion to a late lunch, which was readily accepted. All through the meal Mr. Benson spoke but little, and immediately afterwards he suggested that perhaps Wilfred would like to see Jill, which offer was also accepted, more readily still.

So, for some time Jill and Wilfred strolled about the lawn together, talking over things that interested only themselves, forgetting even the tragic events so closely connected with them.

Meanwhile Mr. Benson was at his papers and on the telephone. He had called a London number, and soon the call came through.

“Is that Sir Francis Waveryon?” asked Mr. Benson. “Ah! this is Chris Benson! How are you, old man? Oh, yes, fit as a fiddle, and likely to be when your grandchildren are suffering from rheumatics in their old age. Look here, old man, do you know anything about this psycho-analysis business--hypnotism--strong-willed doctors governing patients who are inclined to be a bit on the mental side? Yes? Well, look here, who is the best--the very best man? Can you get him for me immediately? Ah, yes, my dear chap, but this is not a case of etiquette. Look here, I mean this--this is actually a case of life and death--a murder trial, no less, and a diabolical mess. You will? Thanks very much. Tring--Rushton Tring. I see. He’ll be here to-morrow, will he? Early? Oh, yes--any fee. To-night would be all the better. That’s the thing. What? Well! well! I’ve been so busy, Francis. You shall have a brace of the best to-night, sure. Good-bye, old man.

“That’ll do the trick,” said Mr. Benson to himself as he hung up the receiver and went to see Lady Evenden.

Lady Evenden was very much better, and received Mr. Benson in her boudoir as soon as he presented himself. He talked cheerfully of various subjects, spoke optimistically of the coming trial, and never referred to Dr. Laidlaw at all. He remained with Lady Evenden for half an hour, then returned to the library, where he went through a number of papers connected with the coming trial and saw the latest copy of the amended brief for Sir Courtney Caldecott, which awaited his initialing.

“I won’t initial the thing at all yet; let’s see what another day brings forth,” said Mr. Benson to himself. He saw Wilfred for a moment at five o’clock, when the young doctor presented him with a fully-written foolscap statement of what Dr. Laidlaw had said. Mr. Benson thanked him.

“Now look here, my young friend,” he said. “I’m going to be busy for the rest of the evening, and I don’t want you or anyone else to disturb me. I have someone coming down from London, and he and I will dine together. You get hold of your Mary Ellen, or Jill, or whatever your cunning little girl’s name is, and spend a bit of time with her. I’ll see you in the morning, and it is possible I may see you later to-night, though not probable. In any case, you have the room next to me if I do want you last thing, haven’t you?” Wilfred agreed to follow the old man’s advice, which was very palatable to him, and left the library, leaving the old man studying the statement he had written out.

At ten minutes past eight Mr. Rushton Tring arrived, and was shown immediately into the library, where he was greeted cordially by Mr. Benson. Mr. Tring was a tall man. He stood over six feet, three inches in his socks, and he wore very apparent socks--deep red with brown rings. He had a remarkable head, long and pointed. His forehead was high, but narrow; and his eyes, which were never still, were guarded by a pair of large gold-rimmed spectacles. His mouth was so thin that it rarely could be seen. There was just an indication of a sort of crease instead of a definite lip line. Mr. Tring’s nose was long and sharp--an inquisitive nose--but the whole effect of his features was good-humored. His eyes danced about, and though you could not see it, you felt that there was a perpetual smile somewhere hidden away on the face of Mr. Rushton Tring, the greatest alienist and psycho-analyst in London.

Dinner was throughly enjoyed by Mr. Tring. He complimented Mr. Benson on the Bordeaux, he complimented him on the pheasants, the port sent him into ecstasies, while he found no words with which to describe the old liqueur brandy. During the meal not a word was spoken of the case in hand. But, afterwards, when he was comfortably seated in the library opposite his host, Mr. Tring listened very carefully to all that Mr. Benson had to say.

Nothing was kept from him; he heard all that Mr. Benson knew, and very carefully read the statement of Dr. Laidlaw. When he had heard everything he asked unexpectedly:

“Have you a photograph of the lady? And another of the doctor?”

“I can get you one of Lady Evenden immediately,” said the lawyer, and left the room. He returned from the drawing-room with a studio-portrait of Lady Evenden, which he handed to the great psychologist.

“H’m!” said the great man, “H’m! Not a note of music! Not a scrap of art--a heart which obviously directs her head! Terribly strong capacity to feel, ruinously strong, and nowhere to divert the energy when customary channels are blocked. H’m! Very dangerous; very dangerous, indeed!”

He continued gazing at the portrait in silence, after making his first remarks; then he said:

“Well, now, we’ll find some excuse for taking our friend Lady Evenden out for a drive to-morrow. We’ll take her to your curious old farm in the marshes, and we’ll see what happens when I confront the two.”

“But, my dear chap,” said Mr. Benson, “she’s very awkward to deal with just now. What if she won’t go?”

“No one is awkward at all,” said Mr. Rushton Tring quietly. “We only imagine each other’s awkwardness. She will come the very minute I ask her.”