Then the coal, consumed by its own power, fell together in a formless heap and the picture vanished. Louisa closed her eyes, for the heat in them was intolerable. But only for a moment: for now her mind was made up.
Ever since she had parted from Luke, one thought had been dominant in her mind, one memory had obtruded itself beyond all others, taking definite shape in the visions conjured up by the glowing embers of the fire--that night in Brussels!--the great unforgettable night, on which her whole life"s history seemed to find its birth-time.
One great resolve, too, had now taken definite shape.
Louisa rang for her maid, and asked for hat and cloak. The maid--somewhat horrified that her mistress should think of going out alone at so late an hour--was too well drilled to offer advice or make comment. She brought a warm wrap and a closely fitting, simple hat, and respectfully wished to know when she should expect her mistress home.
"In about an hour"s time," said Louisa. "Come down into the hall with me, and tell the porter to call me a cab."
Then she went down, accompanied by her maid. A cab was called, and she directed the driver to 56 Chester Terrace.
The address was that of Lady Ryder"s town house. The maid--feeling more satisfied--went up stairs again.
CHAPTER x.x.xVI
PEOPLE DON"T DO THAT SORT OF THING
Lady Ryder was out of town. She was staying at a country house in the Midlands, chaperoning her nieces--Louisa"s twin-sisters--but Sir Thomas Ryder was at home.
It was for him that Louisa had asked when the butler opened the door in answer to her ring.
"Sir Thomas is in the library, miss," said the man. "Will you come into the drawing room? and I"ll tell Sir Thomas you are here, miss."
"No!" she said, "don"t announce me. I"ll go to the library."
Sir Thomas put down the paper which he had been reading, when his niece entered. He did not seem at all astonished to see her. No doubt the exercise of his profession had taught him never to be surprised at anything in life. He rose when he recognized who it was, and carefully folded his eyegla.s.ses and slipped them into their case and into his waistcoat pocket. Then he said:
"My dear Louisa, this is quite unexpected! Is your father with you?"
"No," she replied, "I came alone. May I sit down?"
"Certainly, my dear child," he said genially, and himself wheeled a capacious arm-chair round to the fire.
"I am not disturbing you, Uncle Ryder?"
"No! no! Take off your cloak, won"t you? I was only at the evening paper, preparatory to turning in early."
She glanced at the paper on the table: that page was uppermost that bore the startling headline, in unusually large type: "The Murder in the Taxicab. Sensational Developments." The chief of the Criminal Investigation Department studied the accounts in the newspapers, the opinion of pressmen and reporters. Everything interested him: he weighed everything in his mind; no silly advice, no empty t.i.ttle-tattle, was ever dismissed by him without its due meed of consideration.
Uncle and niece now sat opposite each other, facing the hearth. He looked straight into the fire, knowing that she would not wish him to see the misery in her face.
"Will you have something, Lou?" he asked kindly. "A cup of tea or something?"
"No, thank you, uncle. We had dinner, and father has gone to the club.
I came to see you about Luke."
"Yes?" he said.
"All along," she continued, "ever since father saw you yesterday, I wanted to speak to you. Silly conventionality kept me back."
"It certainly is not usual----" he began.
"No," she broke in quickly, "I know it is not. But this is an unusual case, far too serious for silly ideas of tact or convention to creep in. The man whom I love best in all the world is falsely accused of a most abominable crime. He was arrested--by your orders I suppose--about an hour ago."
He put up his hand in gentle deprecation.
"Stop a moment, my dear," he said quite kindly, but very decisively.
"If you have any idea at the back of your head, that I, personally, have any influence at my command with regard to Luke de Mountford"s fate, then the sooner you get that idea out of your head the better.
If you came here to-night with the notion that by pleading with me you could save Luke from the consequences of his crime, then get that notion out of your head, my dear, and save us both from a very painful interview. Luke de Mountford was not arrested by my orders: I am only an automaton of the law, which takes its own course, without any personal interference on my part. Officially I--as an automaton--did just as duty and the law of this country directs. Personally, I sent through your father some sound advice to Luke de Mountford."
She listened, impa.s.sive and silent, to his reproof, and then said simply:
"I beg your pardon, Uncle Ryder: I must have expressed myself badly. I knew quite well that you, personally, bear no animosity against Luke: why, indeed, should you? I had no intention whatever, in coming to see you to-night, of making a scene of lamentation and supplication. On the contrary I knew quite well that--acting from the best of motives--you advised Luke to fly from justice, since in your opinion his condemnation is a foregone conclusion. Father hadn"t the chance of pa.s.sing your advice on to Luke, because when we got to Fairfax Mansions, Edie told us that he was packing up his things, meaning to catch the night boat to Calais."
"Then why the d.i.c.kens did he miss his train?" exclaimed Sir Thomas gruffly.
"It was not altogether his fault," she replied. "Our arrival delayed him a little, but he would have had plenty of time even then, only the police came, you see, and it was too late."
"I know. It was silly, officious blundering on the part of one of my subs. I meant de Mountford to have plenty of time to get away, and I could have managed it somehow to leave him unmolested if he kept some distance away from England. The whole thing has been most unfortunate."
"I don"t think so, uncle," she said quietly, "I am glad, very glad, that Luke has been arrested."
"Are you?" he retorted dryly. "The outlook for him is not pleasant."
"I know that. But at any rate now there is a chance that he can prove his innocence."
Sir Thomas Ryder gave a quick sigh of impatience.
"My dear child," he said gently, "do try and be reasonable about that.
You only lay up for yourself further stores of misery and of disappointment. De Mountford is guilty, I tell you. He practically confessed at the inquest, and he practically confessed to our fellows after his arrest."
"Practically," she said with strong emphasis, "but not really. Luke has never confessed that he committed a murder."
"Well, he admits that the stick with which the murder was done was his stick; that he had it in his hand the night that the murder was committed; that he went out, with it in his hand, five minutes before the other man was murdered."
"I know all that," she rejoined, "but let me tell you this, Uncle Ryder. Luke has admitted all that, as you say; but he has never admitted that he killed Philip de Mountford--or Paul Baker--whoever he may be. Luke, Uncle Ryder, is allowing the awful accusation to rest upon him, because he wishes to shield the real perpetrator of the crime."
"Nonsense!" broke in Sir Thomas curtly.
"Why nonsense?"
"Because, my dear Lou," he said slowly and firmly, "people don"t do that sort of thing. The consequences of having taken another person"s life--otherwise a murder--are so terrible that no one will bear them for the sake of any one else on earth."
"Yet I tell you, uncle," she reiterated with firmness at least equal to his own, "that Luke never killed that man, and that he pleads guilty to the crime in order to shield some one else."