Chapter XXVII: Plain Truth

The man and the woman, meeting thus suddenly in the silence of the big, barrack-like building, paused involuntarily, and looked at each other in a questioning surprise. To the man, all the difficulty, the delicacy, the undoubted unpleasantness of his position rose up with new and telling force; he realized how thankful he would be to run away from his self-imposed task, and it was only when he thought of the seriousness of that task that his face grew set and his eyes stern. It needed no second glance at set face and stern eyes to tell the woman that trouble stood in her path; she had felt that as soon as she saw the military figure, rendered more striking by the vacant sleeve which was pinned up to the square, well-thrown-out chest advancing upon her. For a moment she blanched, and a sudden pang shot through her heart. She noted it with a vague curiosity, wondering, amongst all her other thoughts, if her heart had become affected. But her woman’s wit, the sense of her own danger, the knowledge that she herself, having got Sophie Guyner out of the way, had only come to the flat to obtain certain articles before leaving it for ever, steeled her nerves. She summoned up a smile of astonishment.

“Captain Blair!” she exclaimed.

Captain Blair made a stiff and ceremonious bow.

“Good evening, Mrs. Walsingham,” he said politely. “I have just called at your flat, but I could get no response to my ring. May I see you for a few moments?”

“Certainly, Captain Blair,” answered Mrs. Walsingham. “I’m sorry you got no answer, but I believe my maid has gone to the theatre. I am usually home before this time, but I’m a little late to-night.”

“I am informed that you were generally to be found at home about a quarter to eight,” said Blair following her along the corridor.

“As a rule,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She produced a latch-key, and opening the door of her flat, motioned her visitor to enter. “Come in, Captain Blair,” she said, and she pointed to the open door of the drawing-room.

Blair walked in, again wishing that he could run away. He glanced rapidly around him and noted the abundant evidences of refinement and taste--the books, the pictures, the old china and glass. But he suddenly remembered another side of his hostess’s character, and he became ice-cold to all but the needs of the moment, which were, after all, that he should speak plainly and firmly.

“Sit down,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She dropped into an easy chair, with her back to the light, and looked at her visitor. And it seemed to Blair that in her eyes there was something of an amused speculation, if not of a careless defiance.

“Mrs. Walsingham,” he began. “I--I have called to see you upon business which is--er----”

“Unpleasant!” she said quickly. “Unpleasant!”

“How do you know that?” asked Blair.

“Because I cannot suppose you would call on any other business,” she answered. “Well, let us discuss it, then--I am pressed for time, for I have to go out again.”

Blair looked at her steadily. He saw that he was dealing with a woman who would probably care little for anything he might say--it would be best, then, perhaps, to be brief and plain, even to the verge of brutality.

“I have called, Mrs. Walsingham, on behalf of my friend, Captain Burgoyne,” he said. “You are doubtless aware that Captain Burgoyne is very much attached to young Mr. Richard Shrewsbury, to whom you are engaged to be married?”

“Well?” said Mrs. Walsingham.

“Captain Burgoyne,” continued Blair, “does not approve of that engagement.”

Mrs. Walsingham laughed.

“He would be glad to see Mr. Shrewsbury released from it,” said Blair.

Mrs. Walsingham laughed again.

“In fact,” said Blair, “Mr. Shrewsbury must be released from it. Must!”

Mrs. Walsingham ceased to laugh. She sat up, and an angry spot showed itself in each cheek.

“Must!” she exclaimed. “And why ‘must,’ Captain Blair? What right has Captain Burgoyne to say ‘must’ to me?”

“I am here to explain to you why Captain Burgoyne says ‘must,’” answered Blair. “The fact is, Mrs. Walsingham, Captain Burgoyne, whether you know it or not, has got what is commonly called the whip hand.”

“Over me?” she said.

“Over you!” said Blair, quietly. “Over you. Unmistakably and undoubtedly, over you. So he gives you an alternative. Either you will give up, dismiss, get rid of--anything you like to call it, so long as the reality is there--young Shrewsbury, or----”

“Or--what?” she demanded sharply.

“Or you go to prison,” answered Blair. “To prison.”

Mrs. Walsingham drew in her breath sharply. She favoured her visitor with a cool and a long stare. Finally she shook her head.

“I am not good at riddles, Captain Blair,” she said. “Will you have the goodness to tell me what this is about.”

“I am quite sure that you know what it is about,” answered Blair. “What I think you do not know is that Captain Burgoyne knows more than you think he knows. You made a false step, Mrs. Walsingham, when you allowed young Shrewsbury to buy the imitation necklace from his friend.”

Mrs. Walsingham showed no sign of agitation or fear. By that time she was ready and prepared for anything, and she turned apparently innocent and wondering eyes on her visitor.

“This is so much Greek to me,” she said lightly. “Be plain, if you please, Captain Blair.”

“Very good,” responded Blair. “Then perhaps I had better tell you what we know----”

She interrupted him with an arch laugh.

“‘We!’” she repeated. “Oh--so you, too, are concerned. I thought as much, the other night.”

“I speak as Captain Burgoyne’s friend,” continued Blair. “What we know is this--Before he left England for South America, three years ago, Captain Burgoyne deposited with your late employer, Mr. Barclay Leverton, a diamond necklace as security for a loan of five thousand pounds. That necklace Mr. Leverton placed in his safe. You abstracted that necklace from that safe very shortly afterwards; you had a facsimile of it skilfully manufactured, and you put the facsimile where the real article should have been. Then you----”

“Wait a minute, if you please,” said Mrs. Walsingham, interrupting him with a lifted hand. “Is this all surmise or is it knowledge?”

“That you shall see for yourself,” replied Blair, “Let me go on. You then went to a well-known jeweller and pawnbroker, who is quite prepared to give evidence against you--ah, I thought that would surprise you, Mrs. Walsingham!--and you pawned the real necklace for a thousand pounds on a special contract, under the terms of which you paid so much interest every six months. Frequently, that jeweller endeavoured to buy the necklace from you, but you would never consent to a sale, and eventually you redeemed the necklace by paying back the thousand pounds which had been lent to you. That was quite recently. You had a deep scheme in your mind. And you believed, Mrs. Walsingham, that Captain Burgoyne was unaware that what had been delivered to him by the late Mr. Leverton’s executors was mere paste! But Captain Burgoyne was not unaware. He discovered that fact almost at once. And--he quickly suspected you. And then, a trap was laid for you. You are a very clever young woman, but you walked into that trap as easily as we could wish.”

Mrs. Walsingham made no answer. She had none to make. For one of the few times in her experience, she was genuinely surprised. She had firmly believed that her dealings and transactions with Mr. Wiertz were sacredly secret--yet here was this man with the stern eyes fully cognizant of them. It might be that he was also cognizant of what had taken place between her and Mr. Wiertz that morning. So she remained silent, listening intently.

“I say you walked into that trap,” continued the level-toned voice. “We were sure that you had the genuine necklace, and so we contrived that you should have the sham one also. We knew that when you had both in your possession you would feel safe. We also knew that you would be sure to begin wearing the real necklace. And we gave you an opportunity of wearing it, and you did wear it. Then, of course, we knew all. It would make a very pretty story in a criminal court, Mrs. Walsingham.”

Mrs. Walsingham gazed at her persecutor with sullen eyes.

“I believe you engineered all that,” she said suddenly. “I’m sure you did. Burgoyne hasn’t the brains to have done it. But you can’t prove anything of it. Whatever it was that Burgoyne sold the boy, the boy bought for genuine, and Burgoyne sold for genuine, and the boy paid his money--ten thousand pounds. What do you say to that, pray?”

“Only that Mr. Richard Shrewsbury’s cheque for ten thousand pounds has never been presented by Captain Burgoyne, and never will be, and that we can prove that what was handed to him was the imitation necklace which you had caused to be manufactured and of which, at that very moment, you possessed the original,” answered Blair. “It’s no use quibbling, Mrs. Walsingham--the case against you is complete. You had better take our terms while we are inclined to be merciful.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

Blair drew out his pocket-book.

“A mere written acknowledgment of the fact that you abstracted the necklace from Mr. Leverton’s safe will do,” he said, producing a sheet of note-paper on which some lines were written. “Perhaps you will read this.”

Mrs. Walsingham looked the confession over.

“I will sign that,” she said. “I did take the necklace.” And she took up a pen from her writing-desk close by and dashed off her signature, and handed the paper back. “And I suppose that’s all?” she asked.

Blair was more than a little astonished at her coolness. The matter seemed to be one of absolute indifference to her. He began to wonder if she was tricking him in some way. Yet--there was her signature.

“All,” he said, “except--the return of the genuine necklace. You must give me that.”

But Mrs. Walsingham shook her head.

“No!” she said firmly. “I shall do no such thing. It is not yours, at any rate. If I give it back to anybody it will be to its legal owner, whether that’s Captain Burgoyne or Dick Shrewsbury. It may belong to one of the two, but it certainly doesn’t belong to you.”

“Captain Burgoyne is at present in Paris,” said Blair.

“And so is the boy,” she remarked. “And I dare say I can guess what has taken him there--now. Burgoyne has got him over so that you could do this dirty work in his absence. All right!--but you’ll get nothing out of me. If either of them want the thing, let them come to me for it.”

“You understand,” said Blair, speaking very slowly, “you understand that this paper which you have signed will be shown to Mr. Shrewsbury. It is scarcely probable that he will care to see you after he has read it and realized what it means.”

Mrs. Walsingham burst into a peal of silvery laughter.

“What do I care whether he cares to see me or not?” she retorted defiantly. “That’s all over and done with. But I can tell you this, you solemn-faced old goose, that in spite of that paper, and in spite of what you say, and in spite of Burgoyne, and of all of you, if I cared to lift a finger, I could have the boy at my feet again--yes, and keep him there! Do you hear that, Captain Blair?”

“I hear it, and I doubt it,” replied Blair.

“Well, I don’t, then,” she said. “However, I’m not going to argue with you. I have business to attend to, and I want to go out. I dare say you can open the door for yourself.”

Blair unconsciously moved a little towards the door.

“I think that even now you scarcely appreciate your position,” he said.

“I appreciate it only too well,” she replied. “Am I to ask you to leave me? Or can’t you take a hint?”

“The necklace----” began Blair, “the necklace----”

“Isn’t yours,” she retorted. “Now, go!”

Blair shook his head, went to the door, let himself out, and left her alone. She sprang to the door and locked it after him. Then, moving quickly, she went into her bedroom, and opening a small safe which was let into the wall, she took from it certain articles of jewellery which she had no mind to leave behind her, together with a pocket-book which contained money.

Suddenly, as she placed these things in her bag, Mrs. Walsingham heard a slight sound in the room she had just left. She turned, and in the gathering gloom saw the door being slowly pushed open towards her. Round its edge were the fingers of a man’s hand--square-nailed, strong, suggestive. She looked, hesitated; then her own hand stole into a pocket of her gown, and her fingers grasped the tiny revolver which she always carried.