Chapter Thirty-five

As the gates burst open violently and the car lurched on to the road, Lizzy pulled her companion back to the shadow of the wall. At that moment a man came flying through the gateway and leapt upon the running-board. Again the car slowed perceptibly.

“He’s there,” whispered Lizzy fiercely. “Quick--luggage rack!”

In an instant she was flying after the machine, caught the iron rail of the rack and sprang on. The car was gathering speed as Selwyn Moron stumbled forward, his hand gripping the rail, his legs moving faster than nature had intended. Kneeling down, Lizzy caught him by a garment which ladies do not mention, let alone grab, and hauled him up to her side, breathless, almost dead.

“Hold tight!” she squeaked in his ear, and there was need for the caution, for the car was bumping from side to side over the uneven road, at a speed beyond her computation.

“A thousand miles an hour!” she jerked into his ear, and he nodded his complete agreement.

Now they were on the post road. The bumping had ceased, and the machine was going even faster. Lizzy held tight to the luggage support and adopted an attitude of passive fatalism. Once a motorcyclist snapped past, going in the other direction, and she had a glimpse of a uniform cap. It was a policeman, but by the time she realised the fact he was out of sight.

The seat was most uncomfortable. She began to realise the sensations of a herring on a gridiron and wondered if the luggage rack would leave the same marks.

Selwyn was trying to whisper to her; he had recovered most of his breath and all his sense of obligation.

“What about that car of ours? We hired it by the hour,” he whispered hoarsely, and she put her lips to his ear.

“Shaddles will pay,” she said gaily, and found a delight in the prospect.

A little while later the car stopped, and the two unauthorised riders got ready to jump. Peeping round the back of the machine, Lizzy saw the cause of the delay. They had pulled up at a sort of sentry box and one of the party was unlocking the door. She knew that the hut was an automobile station equipped with a telephone, before she heard a muffled voice speaking. Presently the telephoner came out.

“All right,” he said, as he climbed in and the car started again.

They had not gone twenty miles when, to her surprise, the machine slackened its speed again, slowed almost to a halt, and then turned suddenly through a pair of old gates that had been opened for them. She felt a communicated excitement from her companion as he bent over towards her.

“Old family estate,” he whispered. “Country seat and all that sort of thing! Knew it as soon as I saw the gates.”

“Whose?” she asked cautiously.

“Mine,” was the surprising reply.

And then, feeling that he had overstated the case, he added:

“Her ladyship’s really. Beastly house--never liked it. Moron Court, Newbury. Rum place----”

They passed up a long avenue of elms, going slower and slower. Selwyn tapped her on the shoulder and dropped off the rack, and, recognising his wisdom, she followed, darting into the shadow of an elm only just in time, for at that moment the car stopped and the voice of Lady Moron sent a shiver down the back of her son.

“Go to the west entrance: you’ll find nobody there. What were you doing in Somerset, Chesney?”

“I will tell you later,” he said shortly.

The car passed on and the two watchers saw the tall woman walking slowly in its wake. How had she known they were coming? And then Lizzy remembered the car stopping at the telephone box on the side of the road.

“Queer old crib, eh?” Moron was whispering. “See that bump in the roof? That’s the alarm bell--works from the music-room… in case of fire and all that sort of thing.”

They waited till Lady Moron had disappeared from sight, then they followed cautiously. The west entrance was reached through a glass-covered porch, and the door was closed when they came up to it. Moron smiled benignly at the girl, and took a small object from his pocket.

“Pass-key,” he whispered, so loudly that he would have been heard if there had been a listener.

Inserting the key, he turned it and signalled the girl to follow. Before them stretched a vista of red-carpeted corridor; a light burnt in a ceiling lamp at the farther end. Moron crept along with extravagant caution, and he was half-way up the passage when he stopped and raised a warning finger, pointing energetically to a door before he beckoned her past it. A little farther along was a broad marble staircase. Up this he went, with Lizzy, feeling like a conspirator, at his heels.

They must have presented a terrifying sight. White from head to foot, their faces were masks of dust. Lizzy’s crumpled hat hung drunkenly over one ear. At the top of the stairs was another corridor, with the same meagre illumination. He drew her head to his.

“That is the gallery of the music-room!” He indicated a small door. “For heaven’s sake don’t make a row,” he implored her, and opened the door an inch at a time.

The door itself was shadowed by the broad musicians’ balcony from the light in the room below. They heard voices talking as they came in, and, keeping flat to the wall, they edged forward until it was dangerous to go any farther. Then Selwyn gave a start that nearly betrayed their presence. Turning, he communicated what he had seen.

“She’s not there--Miss Reddle, I mean. It’s an elderly lady with white hair.”

“So you have seen your daughter, Mrs. Pinder?”

“Yes, madam, I have seen Lois.”

Lois! Lizzy clapped her hand over her mouth. Lois Reddle’s mother, and her name was Pinder!

“A very beautiful girl,” said Lady Moron suavely.

“A dear, sweet girl! I am very proud, whatever happens to me.”

“What do you think will happen to you?”

“I don’t know, but I am prepared for anything now.”

Lizzy glanced at her comrade. He was staring open-mouthed into the hall below.

“She is too pretty a daughter to lose. Now, Mrs. Pinder, I am going to make you an offer. I want you to take your daughter to South America. I will pay you a yearly sum, more than sufficient for your needs. If you undertake to do that, you will never be troubled again.”

Mary Pinder smiled and shook her head.

“Madam, your offer comes too late. Had it been made whilst I was still a prisoner, had it been supported by any efforts to obtain my release from that cruel punishment, I would have gone on my knees and thanked you and blessed you. But now I know too much.”

“What do you know?” asked Lady Moron.

And then Mrs. Pinder began to speak, and as she went on, Lizzy gripped the hand of the man at her side, and laid her face against his arm. He turned round once during the narrative, his weak face transfigured and smiled down at her, as though he read in her gesture all that her heart conveyed. Mrs. Pinder spoke without interruption, and, when she had finished:

“You know a great deal too much for my comfort, madam,” said her ladyship’s voice, “and much too much for the safety of my friends.”

“So I realise,” said Mary Pinder gravely.

“I repeat my offer. I would advise you to think well before you reject your chance of safety.”

“Look here, Leonora----” began Chesney Praye.

“Be silent. I have found one friend to-night--one I can trust. It is not you, Chesney. The doctor has told me all that has happened. You thought you would go behind my back and forestall me. To-night you will do as you’re told. Now, madam--do you accept my offer?”

“No,” was Mrs. Pinder’s reply.

Lady Moron turned to the red-faced doctor. He nodded.

“Now, Mrs. Pinder,” he said, advancing to her, his tone jovial, his manner friendly, “why can’t you be sensible? Do as her ladyship asks you.”

“I will not----”

He was near to her now. Suddenly his hand shot out and strangled the scream in her throat. She struggled desperately, madly, but there was no denying those relentless hands. Chesney Praye took half a step forward, but Lady Moron’s arm barred him.

And then came the interruption. A wild-looking, dust-stained man, unrecognisable to any, leapt from the balcony and gripped the doctor by the shoulders from behind. As Tappatt staggered back, releasing his hold upon his victim, Selwyn sprang to the long red bell-cord that hung on the side of the wall, and pulled. From overhead came a deafening clang. Again he pulled.

“You fool, you madman, what are you doing?”

His mother rushed towards him, but he pushed her back. Presently he ceased.

“That’s the alarm bell. We’ll have all the house and half the village in here in a minute. And I don’t want to say before them what I’m saying to you now.” He pointed an accusing finger at his mother. “You think I’m a fool, and perhaps you’re right. But I’m not a wicked fool, and I’m going to send you and your damnable friend before a judge!”

“Get him away quick!” screamed the countess, as a patter of feet came along the corridor. “I can say it was an accident.”

“Don’t touch him!”

A girl, almost as great a scarecrow as the panting Selwyn, was leaning over the balcony.

“You can tell them what you like, but you can’t tell them anything they’ll believe after they’ve heard me!”

The door was pushed open at that moment, and a man half-dressed came running in, and stopped dead, gaping at the scene that met his eyes. Almost immediately the doorway was filled with dishevelled men and women.

“Is there any trouble, my lady?”

“None,” she said sharply, and pointed to the door. “Wait outside.”

She looked up at the girl in the gallery.

“I think you would be well advised to ask my son to change his plans,” she said, in the same calm, even voice which Selwyn knew so well. “The matter can be adjusted to-morrow. Selwyn, go back to your friend and take this lady with you.”

Mrs. Pinder was sitting on a chair, her frail frame shaking convulsively, while Selwyn strove to comfort her. At Lady Moron’s words she stood up, and, with the man’s arm about her, passed into the crowded corridor, and in a few seconds Lizzy Smith had joined them.