"I see. So you were a lady"s maid once. In what families?"
Mrs. Benker was not at all averse to relating her better days, and did so with pride. "I was with the Countess of Flint, with Mrs. Harwitch, and with Lady Susan Summersdale."
"Ha!" said Steel, starting. He remembered that Morley had been concerned with Lady Summersdale about the robbery of her jewels. "Did you tell Mr.
Wilson this?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. We had long talks about aristocratic families."
She repeated several tales she had told Wilson, and Steel asked her many questions. When he took his leave he asked a leading one: "Did Mr.
Wilson wear a red cross as an ornament?"
"On his watch-chain he did," said Mrs. Benker, and Steel departed very satisfied with his day"s work.
CHAPTER X
ON A FRESH TRAIL
If Giles Ware had not been desperately in love and desperately anxious to find Anne Denham, he would scarcely have gone to Paris on such a wild-goose chase. The postmark on the letter showed that she was, or she had been, in the French capital; but to find her in that immense city was like looking for a haystack in a league-long desert. However, Ware had an idea--foolish enough--that some instinct would guide him to her side, and, therefore, as soon as he recovered sufficiently to travel he crossed the Channel with Trim. He left Rickwell about three weeks after his interview with Morley. Time enough, as he well knew, for Anne to change her place of residence. But he trusted to luck.
For quite a fortnight he explored the city, accompanied by the faithful old servant. Trim had sharp eyes, and would be certain to recognize Anne if she came within eyesight. But in spite of their vigilance and observation, the two saw no one even distantly resembling Anne.
Certainly if Giles had gone to the authorities, who take note of all who come and go, he might have been more successful. But knowing that Anne was wanted by the English police, he did not dare to adopt this method.
He was forced to rely entirely on himself, and his search resulted in nothing.
"It ain"t no good, Master Giles," said Trim for at least the tenth time; "we"ve lost the scent somehow. Better go back to London. I don"t want you to be ill over here, sir, with nothing but foreign doctors to look after you."
"I shan"t leave Paris until I am certain that she is not in the place,"
declared Ware resolutely.
"Well, sir, I don"t know how much more certain you wants to be. We"ve tramped them bullyvardes and Chamy Elizas till our feet are near dropping off. You"re looking a shadow, Master Giles, if you"ll excuse an old man as nursed you when you were a baby. She ain"t here. Now I shouldn"t be surprised if she were in London," said Trim wisely.
"What, in the very jaws of the lion? Nonsense!"
"Oh, but is it, sir? I always heard it said by them as knows that the jaws of the lion is the very last place any one expects to find them."
Trim did not state what "them" he meant. "If she went back to Rickwell she would be safe, especially if she laid up in some cottage and called herself a widder."
"Trim, you"ve been reading detective novels!"
"Not me, sir; I ain"t got no time. But about this going back----"
"We"ll go back to-morrow, Trim," said Ware, with sudden resolution. And Trim joyfully departed to pack.
It just struck Giles that after all Trim might be right, and that having thrown the police off the scent by going abroad in the yacht, Anne might return to London. She might be there now, living in some quiet suburb, while the police were wasting their time corresponding with the French authorities. Moreover, Ware thought it would be just as well to learn what Steel was doing. He had charge of the case and might have struck the trail. In that case Giles wanted to know, for he could then avert any possible danger from Anne. And finally he reflected that he might learn something about Anne"s friends from the people at the Governesses"
Inst.i.tute where Mrs. Morley had engaged her. If she returned to London it was not impossible that she might have gone to hide in the house of some friend. Any one who knew Anne could be certain that she was not guilty of the crime she was accused of, and would a.s.suredly aid her to escape the unjust law. So thought Giles in his ardor; but he quite forgot that every one was not in love with Anne, and would scarcely help her unless they were fully convinced of her innocence, and perhaps not even then. Most people have a holy horror of the law, and are not anxious to help those in danger of the long arm of justice.
However, Giles reasoned as above and forthwith left Paris for London. He took up his quarters in the Guelph Hotel, opposite the Park, and began his search for Anne again. Luckily he had obtained from Mrs. Morley the number of the Inst.i.tute, which was in South Kensington, and the day after his arrival walked there to make inquiries. It was a very forlorn hope, but Ware saw no other chance of achieving his desire.
The Inst.i.tute was a tall red-brick house, with green blinds and a prim, tidy look. He was shown into a prim parlor and interviewed by a prim old lady, who wore spectacles and had a pencil stuffed in the bosom of her black gown. However, she was less prim than she looked, and had a cheerful old ruddy face with a twinkling pair of kindly eyes. In her heart Mrs. Cairns admired this handsome young man who spoke so politely, and was more willing to afford him the desired information than if he had been elderly and ugly. Old as she was, the good lady was a true daughter of Eve, and her natural liking for the opposite s.e.x had not been crushed out of her by years of education. Nevertheless when she heard the name of Anne she threw up her hands in dismay.
"Why do you come here to ask about that unfortunate girl?" she demanded, and looked severely at Giles. Before he could reply she glanced again at his card, which she held in her fingers, and started. "Giles Ware," she read, drawing a quick breath. "Are you----"
"I was engaged to the young lady who was killed," said Ware, surprised.
Mrs. Cairns" rosy face became a deep red. "And you doubtless wish to avenge her death by finding Miss Denham?"
"On the contrary, I wish to save Miss Denham."
"What! do you not believe her guilty?"
"No, Mrs. Cairns, I do not. Every one says she killed the girl, but I am certain that she is an innocent woman. I come to ask you if you can tell me where she is."
"Why do you come to me?" Mrs. Cairns went to see that the door was closed before she asked this question.
"I thought you might know of her whereabouts."
"Why should I?"
"Well, I admit that there is no reason why you should--at least, I thought so before I came here."
"And now?" She bent forward eagerly.
"Now I think that if she had come to you for refuge she would get help from you. I can see that you also believe her guiltless."
"I do," said Mrs. Cairns in a low voice. "I have known Anne for years and I am certain that she is not the woman to do a thing like this. She would not harm a fly."
"Then you can help me. You know where she is?"
Mrs. Cairns looked at his flushed face, at the light in his eyes. In her shrewd way she guessed the secret of this eagerness. "Then you love her," she said under her breath. "You love Anne."
"Why do you say that?" asked Giles, taken aback. He was not prepared to find that she could read him so easily.
"I remember," said Mrs. Cairns to herself, but loud enough for him to hear, "there was a Society paper said something about jealousy being the motive of the crime, and----"
"Do you mean to say that such a statement was in the papers?" asked Ware angrily, and with a flash of his blue eyes.
"It was in none of the big daily papers, Mr. Ware. They offered no explanation. But some Society reporter went down to Rickwell; to gather scandal from the servants, I suppose."
"Off from Mrs. Parry," muttered Giles; then aloud, "Yes?"
"Well, this man or woman--most probably it was a woman--made up a very pretty tale, which was printed in _The Firefly_."
"A scandalous paper," said Ware, annoyed. "What did it say?"
"That you were in love with Anne, that you were engaged to Miss Kent, and that to gain you as her husband Anne killed the girl."
"It"s a foul lie. I"ll horsewhip the editor and make him put in an apology."