CHAPTER VI.

The Blue Room into which Mr. Tom Starkie had been shown was at the back of the house, and its windows looked into a quaint old-fashioned garden with clipped hedges and shady alleys. In order to reach this room, visitors had to cross the entrance hall, then proceed along a wide corridor which intersected the house, with doors opening on either hand, after which they found themselves in a second hall almost as large as the first. An archway, from which depended a heavy _portièr_ divided this hall from the Blue Room. This second hall, which was lighted by a cupola, was hung with a few family portraits, some arms pertaining to various countries and various epochs, together with sundry trophies of the chase.

A broad, shallow, oaken staircase, black with age, led to an upper floor, at the foot of which, on either hand, stood a man in armour with his visor down, grasping in his mailed right hand a lance half as tall again as himself. Tropical plants in tubs were disposed here and there.

Gerald Brooke, pushing aside the _portière_, advanced and shook hands with his visitor. Mrs. Brooke and her aunt had remained behind. It was just possible that Mr. Starkie might have something of a private nature to communicate to Gerald. "Brooke, what's this confounded mess you seem to have got yourself into?" he began, without a word of preface. He was a red-haired, open-faced, good-natured-looking young fellow of three or four and twenty. "Have you heard that Von Rosenberg is dead, and that you are accused of having murdered him?"

"Yes, I have heard," answered the other quietly. "Is that the affair about which you have come to see me?"

Mr. Starkie looked thunderstruck. "As if by Jove! it wasn't enough! But, unfortunately, there's more behind."

Gerald touched the bell. "There is no reason why my wife and her aunt should not hear anything you have to say," he remarked. "They know already of what I am accused."

When the ladies came in, they shook hands with Mr. Starkie. Clara and he had known each other for years.

Gerald having explained the nature of their visitor's errand as far as he knew it, turned to the young man and said: "And now for your narrative, dear boy; we won't interrupt you oftener than is absolutely necessary."

"I'll cut what I've got to say as short as I can," rejoined the other, "because, don't you know, there's no time to lose." He cleared his voice and drew his chair a few inches nearer Gerald. "About three-quarters of an hour ago," he began, "I happened to be with my dad in his office talking over some private matters, when Drumley, our new superintendent of police, was ushered into the room. He horrified both my dad and me by telling us that the Baron von Rosenberg had been found murdered--shot through the heart in the little _châlet_ which stands in the grounds about a hundred yards from the house; and he shocked us still more by telling us that he had come to apply to my father, as the nearest J.P., for a warrant authorising the arrest of Mr. Gerald Brooke as being the supposed murderer. As soon as my father could command himself, he demanded to know the nature of the evidence which tended to implicate a gentleman like Mr. Brooke in a crime so heinous. Then Drumley, to whom every credit is due for the smart way in which he has done what he conceived to be his duty, adduced his evidence item by item. Item the first was the finding of a curious pistol, inlaid with gold and ivory, which was picked up a few yards from the _châlet_. It had been recently discharged, and was recognised by some one at Beaulieu as being, or having been, your property."

"There can be no dispute on that point," said Gerald. "The pistol in question is mine. I lent it to the Baron the last time he was here, ten weeks ago. He wanted it for a certain purpose, and promised to return it in the course of four or five days. As it happened, he was summoned by telegram next day to Berlin, and, as you may or may not know, he only returned to Beaulieu yesterday. Hence the reason why my pistol was still in his possession."

"How unfortunate!" answered Starkie. "But perhaps you had some witness, perhaps some one was there at the time who saw you give the pistol to the Baron?"

Gerald considered for a moment. "No," he said; "we were alone--the Baron and I; no one else was in the room when I gave him the pistol. He would not let me send it over by a servant, but persisted in taking it himself."

"That is more unfortunate still," said the young man. "The next item of evidence was that of two of the Baron's men, who deposed to having seen you making your way through the plantation in the direction of Beaulieu; and to having seen you returning by the same way some twenty minutes or half an hour later, and not many minutes after they had heard the sound of a gun or pistol shot."

"That fact also will admit of no dispute," answered Gerald. "I left home with the intention of calling on the Baron on a matter of importance; but at the last moment I changed my mind and determined to write to him instead. I, too, heard a shot; but as the Baron has a range for pistol-practice in his grounds, I thought nothing of it."

Very glum indeed looked Mr. Starkie. "And now we come to the last item of evidence, which is perhaps the most singular of all. Had you not, a little while ago, a groom in your service of the name of Pedley?"

"I had. About two months ago, I had occasion to discharge him for insolence and insubordination."

"And a few days later he came to you for a character, telling you that he had a chance of getting into the employ of the Baron von Rosenberg?"

"He did; and as I thought he was sorry for his behaviour, I gave him a note to the Baron's man, whose name I don't just now remember."

"The day Pedley came to see you, do you recollect whether you left him alone in the room where the interview between you took place?"

"Now you mention it, I believe I did leave him alone for a couple of minutes while I went into the next room to write the note I had promised him."

"He seems to be a dangerous sort of customer. According to his account, it would appear that during your absence from the room, observing a half-burnt piece of paper in the fender, he took it up and carefully opened it. He had only just time to glance at its contents before you returned; but what he saw was sufficient to induce him to take the paper away with him so as to enable him to decipher it at his leisure."

"May I ask the nature of the contents of the paper in question?" said Gerald, who had turned a shade or two paler in spite of himself.

"When Pedley heard that you were suspected, he spoke to Drumley, and came along with him to see my father. There he produced the half-burnt piece of paper, the contents of which he stated to be in your writing, though how he should be able to speak so positively on the point is more than I can understand. Anyhow, Brooke, if the document should prove to be in your handwriting, it seems a somewhat singular composition, to say the least of it. I had only time to glance hurriedly over it; but from what I could make out, it appears to be a sort of warning addressed to Von Rosenberg, telling him that his life is in great and imminent danger, and that he has been condemned to death; and then there was something about escaping while there was yet time; but the whole thing was so fragmentary, and here and there there were such gaps in the sequence of the sentences, that I may perhaps scarcely have gathered the right sense of what I read. As there seemed to be no time to lose, I did not wait to hear more, but had my mare saddled at once, and rode straight across country, taking everything as it came, in order that I might be the first to bring you the news, bad as it is, and so put you on your guard."

Gerald grasped his hand. "You are a true friend, Starkie, and I thank you from my heart," he said. Then he added: "I trust you will take my word when I say that, however black the evidence may at present seem against me, I am as innocent of this man's death as you are."

"I believe it, Brooke--with all my heart I believe it!"

"Now for an explanation of the half-burnt letter. That it is in my writing I don't for one moment doubt." Mr. Starkie gave vent to a little whistle under his breath. "It is perfectly true that Von Rosenberg's life was in imminent danger. His enemies were powerful and implacable, and nothing short of his death would satisfy them. He was to be assassinated--murdered in cold blood. In what way I came to know all this I am not at liberty to say. The half-burnt paper picked up by Pedley was a letter of warning to the Baron which I never finished, and afterwards, as I thought, burnt to ashes. Von Rosenberg was at Berlin at the time, and I knew that the danger which menaced him lay here, and not there. Finally, I decided not to write to him, but to await his return and seek a personal interview. He reached Beaulieu last night, and this afternoon I made up my mind to call upon him. I had nearly reached the house, when, coward that I was, my heart failed me, and I came back determined that, after all, I would break my news by letter. And now it is too late!"

"But," exclaimed the other, "don't you see that what you have just told me, if told in a court of justice, would only serve to make the case seem a hundredfold blacker against you?"

"I can quite understand that," answered Gerald sadly. "Nevertheless, the truth is the truth, and nothing can alter it."

Mr. Starkie looked at his watch. "I have not a moment to lose," he said. "The police may arrive at any minute, and it would never do for them to find that my father's son had been here before them and given you the 'tip.'"

"Oh, Mr. Starkie, what would you advise Gerald to do? What a horrible accusation to have brought against him!" exclaimed Clara.

"It is that, and no mistake; but it is scarcely in my province, Mrs. Brooke, to advise your husband what to do."

"Supposing you were in his place, Mr. Starkie, what would _you_ do?"

"Upon my word, I hardly know. On the face of it one must admit that the case looks very black against him, so many bits of circumstantial evidence being piled one on the top of another; but I have no doubt in my own mind that further inquiry will in the course of a few hours go far to substantiate his innocence. In fact, I think it most likely that before this time tomorrow the real murderer will have been arrested."

"Then you would advise?"---- She paused, and looked at him with eyes full of entreaty.

"Well, Mrs. Brooke, I think--mind you, I only say I think--that if I were in Brooke's place would make tracks for a little while.--I beg your pardon," he resumed in some confusion, "what I mean is, that I would be suddenly called from home on business, or pleasure, or what not, so that when the police arrived I should be _non est_. Only, if you decide to do as I suggest, it must be done without a minute's loss of time. In the course of a day or two or even earlier, the mystery will no doubt be cleared up, and in the meantime Brooke will escape the unpleasantness of being in quod.--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Brooke; I mean in prison."

"You hear, Gerald--you hear!" cried his wife.

Mr. Starkie took Gerald aside and said something to him rapidly in a low voice, to which the other replied by an emphatic shake of his head. "No--no," he said; "I cannot consent to anything of the kind."

"Well, you know best, of course," replied Mr. Tom; "but I think I would if I were you. In any case, I'll not fail to be on the lookout; only, don't forget the directions." Two minutes later he had said his hurried adieus and had ridden rapidly away.

No one spoke till the noise of his horse's hoofs was lost in the distance. A sort of stupor of dismay had settled on the little party. Gerald felt as if he were shut in by a net of steel, which was being slowly drawn round him closer and closer. The mental anguish he had undergone since Karovsky's visit, combined with all the varied and fluctuating emotions of the last few hours, were beginning to tell upon him. It seemed to him as if some hinge in his brain were being gradually loosened--as if the fine line which divides the real from the imaginary and fact front fantasy were in his case being strained to tenuity.

Mrs. Brooke was the first to break the silence. She crossed and sat down by her husband and took one of his hands in hers. "Gerald, dearest, you must fly," she said with a sob in her voice. The eyes he turned on her caused passionate tears to surge from her heart, but with all her might she forced them back.

"Why should an innocent man fly?" he asked.

"You heard what Mr. Starkie said. For a little while it may not be possible for you to prove your innocence, and in the meantime you will escape the ignominy of a jail."

"But if I do not stay and face this vile charge, all the world will believe me guilty."

"No one who knows you can possibly believe that.--O Gerald--husband--my dearest and best--listen to me!"

"Clara, you would make a coward of me."

"Oh, no, no! But consider how strong the evidence is against you. Less than that has brought innocent men to the scaffold before now."

"Come what may, I must stay and face this out."

"Again I say no. A few days, perhaps a few hours even, may bring the real criminal to light. As Mr. Starkie said, you must go on a little journey--a journey where no one can trace you. For my sake, Gerald--for your wife's sake!"

"Oh, my dear boy, do, pray, listen to her," put in Miss Primby, who up to the present had scarcely uttered a word.

"To-morrow will prove my innocence."

"How devoutly I hope so! But can we be sure of it? Days, weeks even, may elapse before the murderer is discovered, and meanwhile what will become of you! Gerald--dear one, think--think!"

"I have thought, Clara. You are asking an impossibility."

"I am asking you to save your life. You must fly--you must hide, but only for a little while, I trust. You must leave me here to help to hunt down the murderer--to fight for you while you are away."

"She speaks the truth, Gerald. Oh, do listen to her!" pleaded Miss Primby with quivering lips.

"Again I say, you would persuade me to act like a coward."

"Let the world call you what it will. While you are in hiding, your life will be safe. Will it be safe if you stay here?"

Before more could be said, Margery burst without ceremony into the room. "O mum, they're coming!" she cried; "the polis is coming! There's five or six of 'em in two gigs."

"It is too late--we are lost!" cried Clara in anguished accents.

"I ran down to the little hill in the park, 'cos it's getting too dark to see very fer,'" continued Margery; "and when I see 'em come round the corner of the road, a quarter of a mile away, I bolted like a hare, and got the old woman at the lodge to lock the gate, and told her not to open it to anybody for her life. It'll take 'em seven or eight minutes longer to drive round by the other gate," concluded Margery with a burst of witch-like laughter.

"Good girl! brave girl!" ejaculated Miss Primby.

"Then there may yet be time," said Clara. She dropped on one knee, and clasping one of her husband's hands, pressed it passionately to her lips. "O Gerald--if you love me--for my sake!" she cried again.

"You are persuading me to this against my will and against my conscience."

"I am persuading you to save your life, which to me is more than all the world besides."

"Be it as you wish," he answered with a sigh. "I feel as if whatever may happen now cannot greatly matter."

Clara rose, and as she did so, a strange eager light leapt into her eyes. "Come with me--quick, quick!" she exclaimed. "I have thought of a plan. Even now there may be time." Then turning to Miss Primby "You will stay here, aunt, will you not? I shall not be more than a few minutes away."

The spinster nodded; her heart was too full for speech. Then Clara, passing an arm through her husband's, lifted the _portière_, and they went out together.

Margery had already disappeared.