The Whispering Lane/Chapter 5

was no doubt that the presence of Hustings and his eminently common-sense method of dealing with her stormy mood, improved Aileen into a better frame of mind. Good food, and cheerful conversation, did wonders towards strengthening her to meet with equanimity what further troubles the future might hold. Recognizing that tears and wordy lamentations would hinder, rather than help, the girl addressed herself with calm resolution to the task in hand. “Before we begin to talk,” she informed her co-worker, “it will be best to get Jenny to clear away, as we don’t want any interruption,” and she forthwith summoned the domestic to do what was required.

Jenny obeyed with cumbersome jocularity, greatly gratified that her cooking had been appreciated. “Left nothing but the dishes, you ’ave,” said Jenny, tramping out of the parlour with a laden tray and when alone on the hither side of the door, she murmured a benediction on the young couple. “And I do ’ope as they’ll tork of themselves, ’stead of ’er, as is only gitting wot she’s bin arsking fur. Them two dears is well rid of ’er, I don’t think!” She chuckled hoarsely and glanced longingly at the key-hole. The temptation to peer and listen was great; but, as she regarded herself as the fairy godmother of the lovers, the temptation was nobly withstood. “Shouldn’t like sich poll-prying meself, when I’m with ’im,” was her conclusion, and she plunged heavily along the passage into the kitchen.

The sympathetic damsel would have been woefully disappointed had she lingered to overhear the prosaic conversation of her godchildren. “You can smoke,” said Aileen, five minutes later, after making herself comfortable on the sofa.

“And you?”—Hustings, in the arm-chair opposite, held out his cigarette-case.

She shook her head seriously. “I have not that redeeming vice.”

“Glad of it,” said Dick, shortly, “not that it’s wrong for a woman to smoke, but somehow it doesn’t fit in with my conception of an angel.”

“Oh!” said Aileen with innocent malice, “does your angel smoke then?”

He was quite equal to her. “She has just informed me that she doesn’t.”

This rash speech was rebuked with a frown. “We are brother and sister,” she reminded him, pointedly, then ran her fingers through the feathery gold of her hair with a shame-faced look. “Oh, how can I talk such nonsense and hear you talk it, when Edith is in such trouble. I feel a selfish cat.”

Dick lighted a cigarette and leaned back in his arm-chair. “If you will compare yourself to that animal, remember that cats are sensible as well as selfish. The nonsense you speak of has done you good.”

“I do feel quieter,” she confessed.

“That is the state of mind to which I have endeavoured to bring you. Now that success has crowned my efforts we can discuss this rotten business. Tell me all about it. Begin at the beginning and go on straightly to the end, without leaving out anything you have seen or heard.”

Aileen obeyed to the letter, and detailed all that had happened from the time when she sat at breakfast with Edith down to the moment when her listener found her sleeping on the sofa. She made no comment on what she told, saying neither “yea” or “nay,” but simply gave the bald facts, thereby winning the approbation of the lawyer. “You will make an excellent witness,” he said.

“Not in Edith’s favour,” she returned, sadly, and wiping her eyes.

“I speak with reference to the clear way in which you have set forth all you know!” Hustings threw away his cigarette and lighted another, “I must say that your evidence is very much against Miss Danby,” he concluded, meditatively.

“Then I shan’t give it.”

“You will be forced to give it. Don’t be silly. Any hesitation on your part would only make matters worse. Speak the truth, the whole truth, and”

“But you said just now that what I say is dead against Edith,” she interrupted.

“I say it again. It’s no use mincing matters, Aileen. Your friend is in a very dangerous position. If possible you and I must get her out of it.”

“How?”

“There you have me! I don’t agree with your theory that Miss Danby killed the man, in a fit of rage, or under the influence of opium. The crime was planned deliberately—executed deliberately. Slanton was drugged, his forehead was tattooed when he lay insensible, and finally he was strangled.”

“Strangled?” Aileen started up from the sofa, aghast.

“I made it my business to see the doctor—the Divisional-surgeon attached to the Tarhaven police-service. He is an old friend of mine, and let out more than perhaps was wise at the moment. I told him that I would be at the inquest to watch the case on Miss Danby’s behalf.”

“Oh you are good,” said the girl, gratefully, “but this strangling?”

“Oh it’s plain enough. There are the marks round the man’s throat, showing a remarkably strong grip. That doesn’t sound to me like a woman’s work. Nor do I understand why the name ‘Cain’ was tattooed. Cain suggests the first murderer, so the person who branded the poor devil must have some reason to believe that his victim was a murderer.”

“Then you think the criminal is a man?”

“At this stage I can’t offer any opinion on that point. I am only seeking for a clue. The crime looks to me like one of revenge.”

Aileen spoke in a low tone and her voice quavered, “Edith hated the man.”

“Yes. But I don’t think she would have revenged herself upon him so coarsely. If she found him a nuisance she could easily have gone to America, as she suggested. Why should she risk her neck, when there was such an easy way of escape?”

“It does seem strange,” pondered the girl, with her eyes on the carpet. “Also if Dr. Slanton was drugged and branded and strangled in this room, I certainly would have heard some noise.”

“And you heard nothing?”

“Not a sound. Nor did Jenny, who sleeps upstairs in the attic at the back of the house. Of course the walls are very thick—all the same, it seems impossible that Edith could have executed such a crime without one of us hearing something likely to bring us downstairs.”

“Was Miss Danby her usual self when you joined her at breakfast?”

Aileen shrugged her shoulders. “It is hard to say, she has so many selves. One thing she confessed— that she had been smoking opium.”

“Also, she cried to you not to go into the wood,” mused the lawyer, harking back to Aileen’s story. “She must have known that the body was in the wood.”

“But how could she have dragged the body there, or, indeed, have strangled the man? Edith was a strong woman, once, but worry and the opium-smoking have made a wreck of her. And, apart from her physical weakness, her mind is not strong enough for the same reasons to plan and execute such a crime.”

“Well, the man was drugged with opium, and we know that Miss Danby possessed opium. Then the lacquer-box?”

“I never saw that until Mr. Trant found it in the book-case. Nor did Edith, I feel convinced. What on earth would she do with a box of tattooing instruments, unless she got them for this purpose? And, as I say, she hasn’t sufficient will-power to do what she is accused of doing.”

“Well!” Hustings rose and began to pace the room leisurely, “it comes to this: that Miss Danby is innocent, but that some enemy of hers and Slanton has brought about this devilment to do away with him and get her out of the way. It is a case of killing two birds with one stone,” he turned suddenly to face the girl. “Had she any enemies?”

“Only Dr. Slanton, whom she hated. I know of no others.”

“Then we must look into Slanton’s past and find out who desired his death, and who wished that death to implicate Miss Danby. What do you know of the man?”

“Very little. He was a bad-tempered beast, greedy and selfish and reckless to a degree, when he wanted to get his own way. I am sure he had some hold over Edith and was blackmailing her.”

“You told me that your brother left Miss Danby two thousand a year?”

“Yes!”

“And it was that money Slanton was after?”

“Yes. Edith said so.”

“Couldn’t he have forced her to give up the money without marriage?”

“I can’t say. Anyhow, Edith refused to give him anything, notwithstanding all his threats, so he thought that the only way to get the money was to marry her.”

“What threats did he use?”

“I can’t tell you. Edith told me nothing. I advised her to seek the protection of the police, but she refused.”

“Odd,” mused Hustings, chin in hand, “very odd. If Slanton had such power over her that she dared not invoke the aid of the law, it is strange that he did not succeed either in marrying her, or in wresting the money from her without marriage. It seems to me,” he summed up, “that if Slanton knew something against Miss Danby, Miss Danby knew something against Slanton. They were both in it.”

“Both in what?” asked Aileen, impatiently.

“In some mess, in which both were equally culpable. Neither one could split on the other.”

The girl set her mouth firmly, “I can’t believe that Edith ever did anything wrong,” she said, after a pause.

“My dear young innocent, Miss Danby was kind to you and evidently attractive enough to gain the affections of your brother. But, if I am not mistaken, she has a temper stowed away somewhere?”

“I never saw it.”

“Perhaps not. But remember you knew her of late as a broken woman.”

Aileen nodded with a sigh. “Yes. Ten years ago, so far as I can recollect, she was a bright-natured, brilliant, hard-working secretary to my father.”

“Then since that time she must have got herself into some hobble along with Slanton, and so took to the drug which has wrecked her.” Dick paused, and after a turn up and down the room, faced Aileen again. “Are you sure that your father is dead?” he asked, pointedly.

“No. He is missing, but there is no positive knowledge to show that he is dead.”

“I wish he would return. He might throw some light on the subject.”

“But—but”—Aileen stared—“what can Father possibly know of this matter?”

“He knew Miss Danby years ago, and may be able to tell us something of her past. In that past is to be found the reason for her commission of this crime.”

“Oh! You believe then, that she is guilty?”

“Trant does, and very thoroughly,” replied the young man. “No. What with one thing and another I fancy she is innocent. But why on earth doesn’t she speak out and proclaim her innocence?”

“I can’t say,” the girl looked disconsolate, “all the same I believe that she is innocent.”

“Just because you like her; because she has been kind to you. That is a very feminine reason.” Hustings shrugged his shoulders and resumed his perambulation. “Hanged if I can see into this,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Oh don’t say that, Dick. We must do something.”

“We’ll do something right enough, but the thing is how to begin—what trail to follow. If Miss Danby would only speak out.”

“She won’t. I have done all I can to make her speak.”

“Well I shall watch over her interests at the inquest, and afterwards, when the verdict is given against her”

“Oh, Dick! Dick!” Aileen covered her face with trembling hands, rocking and wailing with many shudderings.

Hustings, checked in his stride, glared angrily at this exhibition of nerves, and sat down on the sofa to shake her into strength—that strength which arises from indignation. “If you are to work long-side me you must get over showing any feminine weakness. I have no use for squealers!” and he shook her again—this time very thoroughly.

“You—you are—are a brute.” Aileen pulled herself away and her eyes blazed.

The young man laughed, jumping up briskly as he did so. “That’s better. You have lots of pluck, tucked away somewhere. Summon every ounce of it to your aid, to my aid, for we are both up against it, and no mistake.”

“You—you needn’t have shaken—shaken me.”

“I’ll shake you again, and yet again, if it’s for your good,” Dick assured her, grimly, “you are my associate in this damnable business and must obey orders, if we are to pull it off. When you allow me to love you and marry you, I’ll be as—er—sloppy as you like.”

“Love you—marry you!” she glared in her turn. “You expect that when you go on like this?”

“I’m a cave man, pulling the rough stuff. This isn’t any Romeo and Juliet affair, so far. That’ll come in time.”

“It won’t,” cried Aileen, angrily, “I don’t like sloppy love-making.”

“Oh that’s all right. I have other ways, when asked for,” said this audacious lover, lightly, then suddenly became serious, as he glanced at his wrist-watch. “Don’t fool round, partner. What I say is, that when Miss Danby has a verdict of wilful murder brought against her at the inquest—and I’m hanged if I can see the jury deciding otherwise—I’ll interview her, where-ever she may be locked up, and ask her to accept me as her solicitor.”

“She won’t have anything to do with the Law, I tell you,” insisted the girl.

“And I tell you that she’s jolly well got to cut her coat according to her cloth. Only a servant of the Law, such as I am, can get her out of the grip of the Law. I’ll make her speak out,” he ended, confidently.

“You can’t. If she wouldn’t tell me, she certainly won’t tell you.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Hustings, dryly. “I rather think she will, when she fully realizes that silence means hanging. Also, there is a sure way of forcing her into confession.”

“What way is that?” asked Aileen, breathless with hope.

“You are the way, my dear girl. Think of your position: free on sufferance only while your father’s friend, Trant, continues to act like the brick he is. If Miss Danby loves you—and she says she does—she won’t risk your being dragged into her gutter-doings, and so will own up.”

“I refuse to hear you talk of gutter-doings in connection with Edith.” Aileen spoke with marked dignity and loyal devotion.

“You have heard my talk already, and I’ll repeat the same if you like,” said Dick, calmly brutal. “Strong measures are required to break down Miss Danby’s wall of silence,” he paused for a moment: then, “Well?”

“I think she loves me sufficiently to save me from danger,” faltered the girl much distressed, “but I don’t wish to be free at the risk of her condemnation,” and Aileen broke down, crying softly.

“There! There!” Dick patted her shoulder with extreme tenderness and only wished that he dare offer the consolation of a warm embrace, “Buck up; never say die. When bravely faced, things are never so bad as they seem. My handkerchief!”

“Thank you, I have one of my own,” sobbed Aileen, refusing the offer resentfully.

Hustings laughed, although in his heart of hearts he was far from feeling in any way gay. His studied bullying was merely intended to arouse the girl to action. And action immediate and strong was required if Edith Danby was to be saved—against her will, as it would seem. Hustings was immensely sorry for the unfortunate woman, struggling so helplessly in the coils of circumstance, and honestly wished to free her, if possible, from their tangle. But, as things were, it was hard to know what to think—how to act. “This dead man—this Slanton?” he asked, abruptly, casting about for some kind of a beginning, “What was he like? I never set eyes on him, you know.”

Aileen dried her eyes, regaining composure under the stress of the moment. “He was tall and thin and dark, with a lean savage-looking face, clean-shaven and really cruel in expression. His hair was so curly that I think he must have had black blood in him. Oh—and he had very white teeth, which showed like a wolf when he was angry. He snarled,” she went on, energetically, “snarled horribly, as if he was one of those werewolves we read of.”

“And which belong to fiction,” said Hustings the materialist. “How did he dress? One can learn much of a man’s character from the way in which he dresses.”

“I don’t think he differed much from the ordinary man,” said Aileen, closing her eyes to call up a picture, “a grey tweed suit with a cap to match and brown shoes. And an orange neck-tie—he said that orange was his colour—with a turquoise-set swastika as a tie-pin.”

“Ho!” Dick pinched his chin, reflectively, “orange was his colour was it: and a swastika tie-pin. Both those things suggest occult leanings. A trifle of Hindoo blood, may be. The fakir stunt—clairvoyance—and—and such-like.”

“I don’t know,” said the girl thoughtfully, “he certainly believed in spiritualism. Table-turning, automatic-writing, and”

“Yes! Yes! I understand. He was one of those charlatans who pretend to superphysical powers.”

“No! to be honest Dick, I don’t think he went that far. But he was a spiritualist, I know, and talked a lot about Edith being his soul-mate.”

“I hope the blighter didn’t rope you into his silly foolery?”

“Don’t be jealous, Dick. He had no eyes for me when Edith was about. I hadn’t any money to attract him.”

“A spiritualist,” murmured Hustings, reassured as to the direction of the dead man’s attentions, “that’s something of a clue. I’ll travel round London and look up the caste. From some member I may learn something about Slanton’s shady past. For shady it is, I swear, going by the description you give.”

“Is that all you can do?” said Aileen, rather dismayed at this weak termination to their interesting conversation.

Dick shrugged his square shoulders. “All I can do at present. We must go slowly—inch by inch, my dear, line upon line. Rome wasn’t built in a day. The chief thing is to learn what connection there is between Miss Danby and this black scoundrel. When we know that, we shall know who killed him.”

“Not Edith!” Aileen rose, indignantly, “Not Edith!”

“I hope not, but—one never knows. There! There! Don’t get into a wax. I don’t deny but what there may be some other person in the business.”

“If there is, and I truly believe there is, that person brought the lacquer box into the house,” said the girl, decisively.

“How do you know? It may belong to Miss Danby.”

“No. That was one of the few things she confessed—that the box did not belong to her. And I think she speaks truly. I never saw the box before, and I have opened the glass-doors of that book-case again and again, when I wanted something to read.”

“It was found in the book-case?”

“Yes. And by Mr. Trant. The moment he opened the door the box fell out. Someone must have placed it there, and, if so, that someone is the guilty person.”

“But how could anyone have got into the house? By the door, by the window? If this thing is what the Americans call ‘a frame-up,’ it must be the window.”

“Perhaps!” said Aileen, doubtfully, and glancing towards the window with its noticeably low sill, “any one could get into this room by pushing up the lower sash. There’s only a snick to keep it down.”

By this time Hustings was across the room examining the window, which was closed and fastened. “So I perceive! Aileen,” he turned suddenly, “was this window snicked safely last night?”

“Yes. I closed it myself. I always do.”

“Was it snicked this morning?”

“Oh!” as the doings of the breakfast hour occurred to her, she ran across the parlour to join the young man. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Are you positive—sure—certain?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I opened the window to let in the cool air as the room was so hot with the fire. The sash went up quite easily,” she reflected. “No, I am certain that it wasn’t snicked. But then,”—her face fell—“Edith was at breakfast before me and may have opened it before I joined her.”

“We’ll ask her. But I rather think,”—Dick manipulated the snick and pushed up the lower sash—“that someone has tinkered with this,” he pointed to the frame of the upper sash, seen through the glass of the lower one. The ancient white paint was broken here and there, and one long sliver of wood was shaved off cleanly. “A knife has been used here,” said Dick hurriedly, “thrust in between the upper and lower sashes to push back the snick. Aileen, I begin to believe that there is another person concerned in this matter.”

“So do I,” she sparkled, all vivacity and intense interest, and that other person hid the lacquer-box in the book-case to incriminate Edith.”

Hustings nodded. “After using its contents to tattoo Slanton! Miss Danby’s past—Slanton’s past—we must look there for the person in question.”

“Oh Dick, Dick! She is innocent,” Aileen clasped his arm excitedly.

“Go slowly. One swallow doesn’t make a summer. But—we’ve made a beginning.”