‘I understand.’ A cold smile crept into Elizabeth’s face. ‘Then Inspector Tripp has been discussing me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And am I supposed to be flattered at his interest in me?’
‘No, scarcely flattered,’ said Alan quietly.
Elizabeth’s hands clenched, and she took a quick step nearer.
‘Inspector Tripp’s no fool,’ replied Alan in a steady voice. ‘Is it likely that he’s going to talk freely to any one outside Scotland Yard, like myself? But I know this much, Elizabeth. I know that a man called Julius Brown is in Holmdean to-night.’
He could hear the quick catch of her breath.
‘You’ve seen him?’
‘Yes.’ Alan pointed through the window. ‘I saw you with him over in these woods this evening. And Inspector Tripp saw you too.’
‘Tripp! Inspector Tripp is here?’ A trembling hand went to her lips. Her eyes darted to the window, then returned to Alan Gilmour’s face.
‘I’m afraid Inspector Tripp knows a lot more than either you or I imagine,’ he replied slowly. ‘That’s all I want to tell you.’ His voice dropped to a lower note; and although he felt that a further appeal to her would be useless, he decided to make it: ‘For God’s sake, Elizabeth, tell me what’s happening!’
She turned away, her fingers interlaced. Though he could not see her face, he clearly perceived her distress.
But before she could reply there was an interruption.
The door was opened by an elderly maidservant. Apparently she had been out of doors and had just come in, for she still wore a coat over her apron. Perceiving a stranger, she drew up and stemmed the excited flow of words that were obviously on her lips.
‘I’m sorry, miss. I wondered if you wanted anything else to-night.’
Elizabeth, too, had seen the woman’s confusion. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
The woman in the doorway made no further attempt to conceal her excitement.
‘I’ve just got back from The Dean, miss—I was helping in the kitchen at Mrs. Prideaux’s.’
‘Yes?’ cried Elizabeth eagerly.
‘There’s been a raid, miss; and they say it’s Lord John. The police are there—all round the house—dozens of them. He can’t escape! They’ve got him this time, miss, so they say—they’ve got him——’
A little cry at Alan’s side made him look swiftly at Elizabeth, but with a sudden effort the girl recovered.
She murmured a few words to the maid, then dismissed her, and turned to Alan.
‘Please do what I ask you,’ she said, pointing to the open window. ‘Please go!’
CHAPTER XXVI
SIR RICHARD TEMPLETON’S ULTIMATUM
When Sir Richard Templeton came down to breakfast next morning he glanced at the newspapers, which had just arrived, and saw that only one of them contained even the baldest account of the Lord John episode of the previous night. Most of the others had a brief Stop Press notice. He flung them down with a shrug and took his place at the table.
There was a crisp touch of autumn in the air, and the morning sunshine made pleasant patterns of colour among the glowing beds of chrysanthemums massed across the lawn, and formed mosaics of gold among the leaves of the beeches. Templeton rose from breakfast humming lightly under his breath, and, lighting a short cigar, settled down to glance through the Law Reports in The Times. As a rule he permitted himself exactly twenty minutes to browse among the newspapers; but this morning he felt disinclined for the work that was awaiting him; and ten o’clock struck before he rose from his arm-chair beside the cheerful blaze of the log-fire and strolled through into his study.
He touched a bell, indicating that he was ready for his secretary, and a minute or two later Elizabeth appeared.
‘How is Mrs. Marlowe this morning?’ he asked.
Elizabeth and her mother had been allotted their own quarters in the west wing of the house, and since their arrival the older woman had kept closely to her own room. Templeton had indeed caught no more than a glimpse of her in the distance, and he came into contact with Elizabeth only during working hours.
‘A little better, I think, Sir Richard. But she never talks about herself.’
Templeton nodded. ‘Now that she’s here, don’t you think it would be a good idea if the village doctor saw her? Newton’s a good fellow—understands people. . . .’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I’m sure Mother would rather not. I think she just wants to be alone. She’d prefer not to see any one.’
‘Including myself?’ Templeton shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better leave it at that. You’ve heard the news about last night, I suppose?’
‘A raid at Mrs. Prideaux’s dance? Martha was over helping in the kitchen—she brought word back.’
‘Lord John’s latest exploit,’ nodded Templeton.
‘Martha said the police were there.’
‘Quite right. They were there—in considerable numbers. They kept the guests in the house until nearly three o’clock this morning.’ He looked at her inquiringly, noting the tremor of her lips. ‘What’s worrying you, child? Is this Lord John business getting on your nerves?’
Elizabeth was grasping the arm of her chair. ‘Did the police . . . arrest any one?’ she asked in a low perturbed voice.
Sir Richard Templeton shook his head; and then smiled as he saw her expression change.
‘Upon my soul,’ he exclaimed, ‘you look relieved—positively relieved! Well, I suppose it’s natural enough. We’re bound to have a certain sympathy for a criminal who’s been clever enough to evade the police so often. But don’t forget this, Elizabeth. Lord John is one of the most dangerous men Scotland Yard has ever tried to hunt down. You’ve surely gathered that from my correspondence with Inspector Tripp and the Assistant Commissioner? If they catch him, you know what he’ll be charged with? Not merely robbery with violence.’
She was nervously fluttering the pages of the shorthand note-book on her knee, and did not reply.
‘Murder!’ The barrister spoke ina subdued voice. ‘It’s a horrible business, Elizabeth. Murder—and murder’s aftermath! Somebody asked me the other day how many men I’ve sent to the gallows. Shall I tell you my reply? I have never sent a man to the gallows, I told him, but I felt that I had sent myself. . . . Never once have I been able to sleep a wink the night when a man I have prosecuted is waiting for the hangman. Never once. The condemned cell, dawn breaking, the prison chaplain——’ Brushing his hand across his eyes, he rose to his feet. ‘But why am I talking like this? It’s morbid! Let’s forget the grisly business.’ He picked up some documents and unfolded them.
But before he began to dictate Elizabeth asked another question:
‘Will they—capture him in the end?’
Sir Richard Templeton, who had been about to seat himself in his chair, straightened up. ‘Capture Lord John in the end.’ He repeated the words softly to himself, his eyes half-closed. ‘No!’ He brought his fist down with a thud on the desk. ‘They will never capture Lord John!’
She was staring at him, open-eyed.
‘Never!’ he repeated, almost passionately. ‘Inspector Tripp knows my views—I’ve made no secret of them. Criminals of Lord John’s calibre are caught only because they go too far—or remain in the game too long. Lord John is too clever for that. One of these days he’ll disappear, and London will hear of him no more.’ He smiled. ‘And nobody—least of all the police—will dream that some respectable gentleman, living quietly in the West End, is the man who successfully challenged all the forces of law and order—and won.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Now for work.’