"I am taking you to my friend, Andrew McTavish, who has a commodious residence in Mecklenburg Square--just handy. There, over a gla.s.s of whisky, Mr. Lamb will be able to tell us just what his wife told him. He"ll find us interested listeners."
There was a dryness in the doctor"s tone which was lost upon the gentleman at his side, who occupied the short distance they had to traverse by protestations of the regard he had always felt for the old acquaintance whom fortune, or destiny, had again thrown across his path.
That night Mr. Brown was his partner"s guest at dinner. Both gentlemen were still smarting from the outrage to which Mrs.
Gregory Lamb had subjected them that afternoon. Dinner was finished; they were in the library, planning schemes of vengeance, when the servant announced that Dr. Twelves was outside, and was desirous of seeing Mr. McTavish. Before the servant was able to explain that the visitor was not alone, the doctor himself marched in with his retinue. The partners rose from their chairs in surprise.
"McTavish--Brown--I have the honour to introduce you to Miss Margaret Wallace, a young lady of whom you have heard a good deal, and whom I am sure you"ll be delighted to know. This is Mr. Harry Talfourd, of whom you may have also heard something.
And this, gentlemen--this is Mr. Gregory Lamb, the husband of the lady of whom, I fancy, you have perhaps heard rather too much."
If the look upon the partners" faces meant anything, there could be no doubt upon the latter point. Both Mr. McTavish and Mr.
Brown stared at Mr. Lamb as if he were not only the strangest, but also the most unwelcome, object they had ever beheld. Then Mr. McTavish turned to the doctor, with a gasp.
"I"d have you to know, Dr. Twelves, that you"re taking a great liberty. You"re presuming on our friendship in venturing to bring this individual to my house, and at this time of night.
Brown, I"ll trouble you to ring the bell. Mr. Lamb shall be shown to the door, before we have him behaving as his wife did this afternoon."
Mr. McTavish had become rubicund with agitation; the doctor remained placid.
"In less than five minutes, Andrew, you"ll be acknowledging that I"ve done you a very considerable service in bringing Mr. Lamb to this house, and you"ll be begging my pardon for the remarks which you have just made."
Mr. Brown, obedient to his partner"s request, had rung the bell.
A servant appeared. Him Dr. Twelves addressed before Mr.
McTavish had a chance of speaking.
"You"ll have the goodness to bring a decanter of whisky, and the other necessaries, at once."
When the man looked at his master for an endors.e.m.e.nt of this order the doctor explained.
"Andrew, Mr. Lamb has a communication to make which I think you will find of interest; he proposes to make it while enjoying a gla.s.s of prime whisky."
"I cannot imagine what Mr. Lamb has to say which can be of interest to me, but, since you wish it--John, bring the whisky."
A decanter being placed upon a table, the doctor prepared a potent mixture which he handed to Mr. Lamb.
"I think, Mr. Lamb, I understood you to say that Mrs. Lamb was married to you before she met Cuthbert Grahame?"
"Of course she was--ever so long. She was never his wife; that was only her bluff. This is something like whisky. Gentlemen, your very good health, and the lady"s--never overlook a lady."
"You perceive, Andrew, that Mrs. Lamb was already Mrs. Lamb when she encountered your late client, Mr. Cuthbert Grahame, and, therefore, any doc.u.ment in which she is described as his wife is, I believe, on the face of it, null and void."
Mr. McTavish made as if about to speak, but a movement of the doctor"s left eyelid seemed to act as a check. The doctor turned to Mr. Lamb, grimly affable.
"You like this whisky, Mr. Lamb?" Judging from the fact that that gentleman had already emptied his tumbler it seemed as if he did. "Allow me to fill your gla.s.s." The speaker suited the action to the word; he did very nearly fill the gla.s.s with neat spirit. "From what you said I should imagine that you have recently had rather a singular scene with your wife, Mr. Lamb.
You were about to tell us what occurred. Was it anything very remarkable?"
"I should think it was remarkable. Your very good health, gentlemen. After the stuff she forced down my throat this is something like whisky; ether she forced down my throat--rank poison. Why, do you know she sees things--actually sees things--give you my word--makes your blood cold to hear her talking. She made out we were in a bedroom--Cuthbert Grahame"s bedroom she called it; it was only the boudoir. She talked about the things which were in it just as if they were in it, when of course they were nothing of the kind--just the ordinary furniture! "You see that bed?" she said. Of course I didn"t; there wasn"t a bed to see; not even the ghost of a bed. "That"s Cuthbert Grahame lying in it. You see how he"s propped up by pillows?" The idea of such a thing in a boudoir! "Now I"m going to pull away those pillows from under his head." She actually pretended to be pulling at pillows, or something--positive fact!
"Now," she said, "you see how his head"s fallen? You hear what a noise he makes in trying to breathe? He"s choking. I"ve only got to leave him like that for a time and he"ll be dead. He almost choked to death when a pillow slipped the other day, so I know."
Quite serious she was all the time--frightfully serious; made me all over creeps to hear her--give you my word."
"Do we understand you to tell us that she said, "Now I"m going to pull away those pillows from under his head," and that then, in pantomime, she went through the action of pulling them?"
"Certainly; that"s just what she did do--just exactly. Then she pretended to drop them on to the floor, and talked about the noise he made in trying to breathe. Awful!--really awful!"
"Was that all she said? or did?"
"I should think not; there were all sorts of things; she kept on for a devil of a time. But I can"t remember just what they were just now--strange how you do forget things. Oh yes! there was one thing--I remember one thing!--most extraordinary thing. She said, "You see that fireplace". Of course there wasn"t a fireplace; she was standing right back in front of a window.
Absurd! But she saw it--stake my life she saw it--you could tell. "There"s something about that fireplace which I ought to see, but I can"t think what it is; something which I ought to understand, but I can"t. If I only could!" You never heard anything like the way she said it; you never heard anything more impressive on the stage--positive fact! "You see those two wooden posts," she went on. Of course I saw nothing of the kind, because, as I"ve told you, there was nothing to see--I don"t see things. "Those two pillar things, I mean, which have been carved out of the woodwork of the mantelpiece, one on either side, just near the bottom. Do you know, Gregory, I believe that there"s something about those two posts which I ought to see, which I ought to understand! But I can"t! I can"t!" Give you my word that she began to cry; twisted her hands together and went on like anything--actually. Seemed so silly! "I believe," she cried," that if I could only see, if I could only understand, I should know where Cuthbert Grahame"s money is, that I should find the quarter of a million which is lost.""
As Mr. Lamb gave a dramatic imitation of his wife"s manner, which, considering all the circ.u.mstances, was not so bad, Margaret, who hitherto had remained in the background, came to the front with a question.
"Are you sure she said that there was something about those two posts which--if she saw, if she understood it--would make known to her where Cuthbert Grahame"s money was?"
Mr. Lamb had something of an aggrieved air as he replied.
"Am I sure? Of course I"m sure; I shouldn"t say she said it if I wasn"t sure. My statements are absolutely to be relied upon, Miss Whoever-you-are."
The doctor glanced from Mr. Lamb to Margaret.
"What"s he mean, or what"s she mean about two wooden posts? It"s all double Dutch to me; I don"t understand in the least. Is it any plainer to you?"
"I think that it is all quite plain to me; that I can understand what she doesn"t; that I can see what she can"t." Her voice sank. Although she spoke gently her tones, to adopt Mr. Lamb"s word, were most "impressive". "I believe that, unwittingly, she has delivered herself into my hands; that the duel which she and I are fighting has advanced another stage; that soon we shall be exchanging shots; and that then there will be but one of us two left to tell how it all fell out."
CHAPTER XXIX
MARGARET PAYS A CALL
The next morning, between eleven o"clock and noon, Margaret went out visiting. She had paid much attention to her costume, more than she was wont to do. Her mind travelled back to the day on which she had been repulsed from Cuthbert Grahame"s door; she endeavoured to recall what on that occasion she had worn. Women have a mnemonic system of their own; with them clothes and events are inseparably a.s.sociated. They recall one by a reference to the other. Miss Wallace had no difficulty in recollecting precisely what garments she had worn; she had even a fair perception of how she had looked in them. She made it her immediate purpose to look again as much as possible as she had looked then. Almost providentially, as it seemed, the dress itself was still in existence, hidden away at the bottom of a box. She had never worn it since. First, because, although cheap enough, it was fashioned of very delicate material, and the hot water which had been poured upon her had blotched it here and there with stains which she had found it impossible to attempt to conceal. Then it was connected with an episode which, whenever she saw it, would instantly recur. The recurrence afforded her no pleasure. As, after excavating it, she surveyed its many creases, she meditated.
"It almost looks as if, from the first, I had preserved it with a particular end in view, with the intention of producing it, when the mathematical moment arrived, as what the French call a _piece de conviction_. It"s ages behind the fashion, but that will only serve to impress its significance more forcibly on her."
She contrived something in the way of head-gear which was reminiscent of the hat she had worn that day. Her nimble fingers reproduced the various trifles which in a woman"s attire are of such capital importance; she even dressed her hair in a fashion which was obsolete. When, fully costumed, she surveyed herself in a looking-gla.s.s, it seemed to her that the results were most surprising.
"Wonderful how the modes do change! It is not so many years ago, and I am sure that then I was up-to-date; but now I look as if I had come out of the ark; I might be in fancy-dress. I shall have to take a cab; I should never dare to walk through the streets like this; they"d take me for a guy. When Mrs. Gregory Lamb sees me, if she"s still in anything like the state of mind which that charming husband of hers described last night, it won"t be wonderful if she takes me for a ghost."
She put in a portfolio certain drawings which she had risen at a very matutinal hour to make; the portfolio she placed beneath her arm, and, thus equipped, she sallied forth upon her errand.
The street in which she had her lodging being of modest pretensions, was but little frequented by cabs. She had a five minutes" walk before she found one. And during that short promenade she was the object of so much attention, especially from the females as she pa.s.sed, that she was glad when, seated in a hansom, she was at least partially concealed by the friendly ap.r.o.n.
She found the door of Mrs. Lamb"s residence in Connaught Square wide open. On the steps stood a shabbily dressed man, with his hands in his trouser pockets, an ancient bowler pressed tightly down upon his head, and a clay pipe between his lips. When Margaret addressed him he moved neither his hat, nor himself, nor his pipe.
"Is Mrs. Lamb in?"
"From what the governor told me I shouldn"t be surprised but what she"s gone back to bed."
Margaret considered the man"s words. His manner was not exactly rude, it was peculiar.