"I wish I could. But my father declares that he came out to see the girl, and found her already dead on the grave face downwards. She had been killed during the time he waited behind. He saw that there was a danger of his being accused of the crime, since he had asked her to leave the church. Thus it was that he lost his presence of mind and called on me to save him. I did so on the impulse of the moment, and thus it all came about."
"Where is your father now?"
Anne thought for a moment.
"I would tell you if I knew," she said seriously, "as I know you will not betray him. But I don"t know where he is. Since I have been here I have not heard a word from him."
"Your uncle?"
"If my uncle knew, he would hand my father over to the police. He hates him; but he is always kind to me."
"Anne, I wonder if your uncle killed Daisy to inherit the money?"
"No; he was in Italy at the time. I am sure of that."
"Has your father any suspicion who killed Daisy?"
"No. He says he has not."
"Why did he ask her to leave the church? And how did he manage it?"
"He wished to speak to her about George Franklin, who would inherit the money if she died. I believe he intended to warn her that George was dangerous, for he hates my uncle."
"Did your father know that the money had been left at the time?"
"No. It was only because he was on the spot that he wished to see Daisy.
He wrote on a sc.r.a.p of paper that he wished to see her about the money, and she came out."
"She was always eager after that miserable money," said Ware sadly. "But your father did know that Powell was dead at the time, Anne." And he told her of his discoveries in connection with the office boy. "So you see your father was in England masquerading as Wilson," he finished.
"Yes," said Anne, with a shudder, "I see now. But he told me nothing of this. Indeed, I can"t understand my father at all."
"Do you know the meaning of the Scarlet Cross?"
"No; he refuses to tell me. He won"t say why he pretended to be dead; and in every way he is most mysterious. But I am fond of my father, Giles, although I know he is not a good man. But he did not kill Daisy; I am sure of that. And even at the time I thought he had done so I saved him. After all he may be as bad as possible; but he is my father, and I owe him a daughter"s affection."
Giles would have argued this, but at the moment Anne started to her feet. She heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and without a word to Giles she flew over the low wall and darted across the park. He was too astonished by this sudden departure to say a word. He had lost her again. But he knew where she was after all.
CHAPTER XVIII
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT
Giles left the churchyard slowly, with his brain in a whirl. Anne had departed in hot haste, taking shelter in her hiding-place, and he dare not follow unless he wanted it to be discovered. He never knew who it was, whose footsteps had startled her away. When she left him he remained for quite ten minutes where he was, in a kind of dazed condition. The footsteps were not heard now. So intent had he been upon Anne"s flight, and on the amazing things she had told him, that he had not noticed when they ceased. Then it occurred to him that they had retreated--just as though a person had been listening and had hastily gone away. But of this he could not be sure. All he did know was that when he rounded the corner there was not a soul in sight. And nothing remained but to go home.
Olga and her mother did not put in an appearance on this night, so Giles had ample time to think over his meeting with Anne. He did not see how he could help her, and the story she had related bewildered, instead of enlightening him. After a time he rearranged the details, and concluded that, in spite of all denial, her father was the guilty person, and the crime had been committed for the sake of the Powell money.
"Whether the Scarlet Cross indicates a political society or is the symbol of a thieves" a.s.sociation," said Giles to himself, "I can"t say until Steel is more certain of his ground. But this Alfred Denham, or Walter Franklin, or whatever he chooses to call himself, is evidently a bad lot. He has sufficient love for his daughter to keep his iniquities from her, and that is why Anne is so much in the dark. I quite believe that she thinks her father innocent, and saved him on the spur of the moment. But he is guilty for all that."
And then Giles proceeded to work out the case as it presented itself to him. Walter Franklin--as he found it most convenient to call him--was a scoundrel who preyed on society, and who by some mischance had a pure and good daughter like Anne. To keep her from knowing how bad he was--and the man apparently valued her affection--he sent her to be a governess. She believed in him, not knowing how he was plotting to get the Powell money.
Certainly Walter had resided in Florence under the name of Denham. Ware quite believed this, and guessed that he did so in order to keep an eye on his brother George, who was to inherit the Powell money. Probably he knew beforehand that Powell was ill, and so had feigned death that he might carry out his scheme without Anne"s knowledge. That scheme was to impersonate his brother; and Giles trembled to think of how he proposed to get rid of George when the time was ripe. He must have intended to murder him, for since he had slain Daisy with so little compunction, he certainly would not stick at a second crime.
However, thus Giles argued, the first step to secure the money was for him to feign death and thus get rid of Anne. Then he came to London, and as Wilson stopped with Mrs. Benker in order to spy on the Ashers through Alexander. As soon as he knew for certain that Powell was dead and that the money was coming to Daisy, he came down to Rickwell on the errand of serving the summons, and then had lured the girl outside of the church to kill her. But for Anne following him, he would have disappeared into the night and no one would have been the wiser.
But the appearance of his daughter in the library upset his plans. She followed him into the church and came out to find him near the dead body. He certainly made an excuse, but Giles believed that such was a lie. If he had confessed to the crime, even Anne might not have stopped with him. But here Giles remembered that at the time of the flight Anne really believed that her father was guilty. At all events he had made use of her to get away, and thus had reached the yacht at Gravesend. It was waiting for him there, in order that he might fly after the crime was committed. Perhaps he intended to walk to Tilbury, and crossing the Thames get on board the yacht before the hue-and-cry was out. Anne hampered his plans in some measure and then, by means of the stolen motor-car, a.s.sisted them. Thus the man had got away, and by the murder of the girl had opened the way to George inheriting the money.
"They went to Paris," mused Giles, "then to Florence. I daresay this Walter intended to send Anne away on some excuse and to murder his brother in Florence. Then he could slip into the dead man"s shoes, and come to inherit--as George--the property of Powell. Probably George left Florence before Walter arrived, and thus escaped death. He is safe so far, but how long will he be safe?"
Then a terrible thought occurred to Giles. He wondered if Walter had placed his daughter at the Priory so as to have an opportunity of coming to see his brother, and thus seizing his chance of killing him. Anne, innocent as she was of the real meaning of these terrible schemes, might be a decoy. If her father came, George would be murdered. Walter, who was able to disguise himself with infernal ingenuity, might slip into the dead man"s shoes, and thus the money he had schemed for would come to him. Evidently the last act of the tragedy was not yet played out.
The more Giles puzzled over the matter, the more bewildered he became.
He could see--as he thought--what had been done, but he could not guess how the last act was to be carried out. Yet Walter Franklin was hiding somewhere waiting to pounce out on his unsuspecting brother, and the second crime might involve Anne still deeper in the nefarious transactions of her father. Finally Giles made up his mind to seek George Franklin at the Priory and tell him what he thought. The man should at least be put on his guard. It may be said that Ware fancied he might be permitted to see Anne as a reward for his kind warning.
Before calling on Franklin he went to see the foreign ladies. To his surprise both had left by the early morning train. There was a note from Olga, which informed him that her mother had insisted on returning to town, finding the country cold and dull. The note added that she--Olga--would be glad to see him at the Westminster flat as soon as he could come to London, and ended with the remark that he had yet to give his answer to her question. Giles was relieved when he read this.
Olga was gone, and the two days of probation were extended indefinitely.
He might find some way of releasing Anne before he need give this dreadful answer. Again and again did he bless the selfishness of the elder Princess, which had removed the obstacle of Olga from his path.
Meanwhile he put her out of his mind and went on to the Priory. He called in on the way to see Morley, but learned that the little man had gone to town. Mrs. Morley looked more worn and haggard than ever, and seemed about to say something as Giles was taking his leave. However, she held her peace and merely informed him that she missed her children dreadfully. "But I"m sure that is not what she meant to say," thought Ware, as he departed. On looking back he saw her thin white face at the window and concluded--as Mrs. Parry did--that the poor lady had something on her mind.
In due time he arrived at the Priory and was shown into a gloomy drawing-room, where George Franklin received him. Giles apologized for not having called before, and was graciously pardoned.
"And, indeed, I should have called on you, Mr. Ware," said Franklin, "but I am such a recluse that I rarely go out."
"You call on Mr. Morley, I believe?"
"Yes; he is a cheery man, and won"t take no for an answer. I find that his company does me good, but I prefer to be alone with my books."
There were many books in the room and many loose papers on the desk, which Giles saw were ma.n.u.scripts. "I write sometimes," said Franklin, smiling in his sour way. "It distracts my mind from worries. I am writing a history of Florence during the age of the Renaissance."
"A very interesting period," Giles a.s.sured him.
"Yes; and my daughter Portia helps me a great deal. You have met her, Mr. Ware. She told me."
"Yes; we met in the park. She was looking for something, which I found; but I gave it to--to----" Giles hesitated, for he was on dangerous ground. "To another lady," he finished desperately, and waited for the storm to break.
To his surprise the man smiled. "You mean my niece Anne," said he in the calmest way.
"Yes; I do mean Miss Denham. But I did not know that--that----"
"That I wished you to know she was under my roof. Is that it?"
"Yes," stammered Giles, quite at sea. He did not expect this candor.
Franklin rather enjoyed his confusion. "I did not intend to let you know that she was here. It was her own request that you were kept in ignorance. But since you met her----"