The Master of the Priory (14 page)

Barbara drew him down to her. “There is some one here to-night who must be got away without anyone knowing. She shall come down to you in a minute dressed in my things. Will you do this for me, Algy?”

“I would do much more than that to help you,” young Turner responded warmly. “And this sounds as if it might be jolly fun.”

Barbara caught her breath. “It isn't fun at all,” she said desperately. “It is dead earnest, and it is only fair to tell you, Algy, that you may get into awful trouble about it. But I don't know who else to turn to. I must have help to-night at once.”

“Bless you, don't you worry about trouble for me,” Algy laughed. “I'm always in it, more or less, a bit extra will run easily enough off my shoulders. They are broad enough to stand it.”

Barbara patted his arm. “You are a good boy,” she said gratefully. “Then I will send her downstairs to you at once. You understand, Algy. You will pretend she is me, and you will be ready to start as soon as she comes, in case anyone should try to stop you.”

“I should be sorry for them if they tried to interfere with my new car,” Algy said grimly. “That is all right, Barbara. Nobody shall stop me between here and the lodge and I will drive your friend wherever she wants to go.”

Your friend! The irony of that expression almost made Barbara smile. But she sprang back and ran up the steps.

“Only half an hour and you will have to bring me back safely,” she called out gaily.

“Oh, I will bring you back all right,” Algy promised cheerfully. “Don't you be half an hour putting your coat on, Barbara.”

“I won't be a minute,” the girl assured him laughingly.

In the hall she paused a moment, yet there was a good deal to be done and not much time to do it. There were two people who must be got out of the way for the next ten minutes, Sybil Lorrimer and the schoolroom maid. It was fairly easy to Barbara's fertile brain to think of a way to get rid of Sybil. She tapped at the door of the study.

“Oswald, don't you want any letters written to-night?”

“No, I don't think so, thanks,” Sir Oswald answered, raising his head in some surprise.

“Oh, but you must!” Barbara contradicted.

“Anyhow, I wish you would ask Sybil to write some for you. I want to be sure that she is quietly in here for the next half-hour.”

Sir Oswald laughed. “If it is to oblige you,” he began. Then blind though he was, he seemed to divine some of the real anxiety that underlay the lightness of the girl's tone. “I have rather an important letter that I was going to ask Miss Martin to answer for me,” he said quietly. “But I daresay Sybil would be kind enough to do it instead.”

“I am sure she would,” Barbara agreed with a sigh of relief. “And you will send for her at once, Oswald? You will ask her to do it now?”

“Instantly.” Sir Oswald touched the bell. “Will that satisfy you, Barbara?”

“Thank you very much,” the girl said gratefully. She hurried out into the hall, almost running into Sybil Lorrimer as she did so.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” that young lady inquired. “Is that Algy Turner outside? I want to speak to him.”

Such a desire on Sybil's part had never occurred to Barbara; for a moment she thought her whole scheme might be wrecked. Then she said quickly, “Do keep him patient while I put on my coat, I am going for a spin in his new car. Oswald wants some one to write a letter for him. Do you know whether Miss Martin is in the schoolroom?”

“I don't know.” Sybil turned back on her way to the front door. “Don't bother about her, I will go to Oswald.”

Barbara ran upstairs. There was still the schoolroom-maid to be disposed of, and this might be a more difficult matter than getting Sybil out of the way. Nothing had occurred to her when outside the passage leading to the schoolroom apartments she met Latimer. Barbara had earned for herself a very warm place in Latimer's heart. The maid had been devoted to Sir Oswald's young wife, and she did not forget the warm friendship that had subsisted between the two girls.

Barbara took quick counsel with herself. Latimer could give her the help she craved.

“Latimer,” she said quickly, “I want to have a little talk with Miss Martin, just a little private talk, and I am sure that the new schoolroom-maid, Susan, listens. Could you—”

“I am not at all sure that you are not right, miss,” was Latimer's unexpected rejoinder. “It seems to me the girl is always poking and prying about. If I can do anything for you, miss—”

“You could do this, Latimer,” Barbara said smilingly, earnestly putting her hand on the woman's arm. “Susan is putting Miss Maisie to bed, but she keeps making excuses to come into the schoolroom. If you have a quarter of an hour to spare could you go up and help with Miss Maisie's undressing and keep the door shut and Susan in the room? I will explain all to-morrow. I can't to-night.”

“Bless you, miss, I don't want any explanations,” Latimer said heartily. “I shall be glad enough of the chance of going through Miss Maisie's wardrobe. Her ladyship said the other day it ought to be done. And I won't give Miss Susan much time for looking after what don't concern her. I can promise you that.”

“You are a jewel, Latimer,” and the girl gave her arm an affectionate pat.

She heard Maisie's bedroom door shut with a decisive bang before she went into the schoolroom.

The governess was sitting in a huddled up heap in the chair by the fireplace. She lifted up a white, terrified face, her great grey eyes glancing fearfully from side to side.

“Have they come for me?” she questioned hoarsely.

“Come? No,” Barbara said, “and long before they come you will be safe away. I told you I had thought of a plan.”

She briefly related her arrangement with young Turner. Then she drew the governess into her own room.

“Put on this short, plain coat,” she said hurriedly. “And this close-fitting hat; you are to wear my big dust-coloured motoring coat over it all, and turn the collar up, do you see? Then when you get out of the car leave the coat with Algy and you will look quite different. Now all you have to do is to run downstairs as quickly as you can and get into the car. Algy will manage everything else.”

Elizabeth's face was muffled up so that it was not easy to see that she was not Barbara, and the big, light motoring coat was known to all the household. Barbara pushed her to the door.

“Be quick! Be quick! You must go alone, and remember that everything depends on you now.”

The other girl paused a moment, then she stooped and pressed her hot, fevered lips to the little hands that had been working so hard for her.

“I must thank you and bless you for all you have done for me,” she said brokenly. “Even though I know that it was for his sake.”

Then she turned very quickly and drawing the cloak more closely round her ran lightly down the stairs. None of Barbara's plans miscarried. Sybil Lorrimer and Susan were neither of them to be seen, and the footman who held the door open was giving all his attention to the car.

Algy made an admirable accomplice. Directly he caught sight of the figure on the stairs he called out in his cheerful, boyish tones: “Now then, Barbara, hurry up. I thought you were only going to be a minute. I like your idea of time.”

He sprang out of the car and helped her in, then, taking his place beside her, in a trice they were spinning down the drive.

Barbara, in her own room, standing by the window from which she dared not lift the blind, drew a deep breath of relief as she heard them reach the lodge gates, and knew they had not been stopped. Now, provided that Elizabeth could reach the refuge she had spoken of so confidently, she was safe.

At any rate Barbara could do no more. With a sudden realization of the past hour she sank into the sofa that was drawn up before the fire. She drew out Frank Carlyn's letter again. Less than ever did Carlyn seem to belong to her now, and yet the feeling that she had been doing something for him gave her a strange sense of peace.

She was still lying there, with her hands pressed over her eyes, and trying to still the intolerable aching of her temples, when she heard the sound of a car in the drive. In a moment she realized what it meant. Elizabeth had not escaped a moment too soon. The detectives were here.

She waited for the summons to the front door, but the car turned to the side, to a door that was used mainly by Sir Oswald's tenants and people coming to see him on business. Then Barbara caught the sound of an authoritative knock, she heard the bell ring clearly.

F
OUR MEN
got out of the car that had drawn up at the side door of the Priory, Mr. Marlowe, a couple of officers from Scotland Yard, and a man in plain clothes.

Mr. Marlowe had his hand on the knocker when one of the Scotland Yard men stopped him.

“One moment, Marlowe. You must ask for Sir Oswald first. In common courtesy we must explain matters to him before we make an arrest in his house.”

“As you please, of course,” Marlowe said sullenly. “But you must remember that she is a very cute one, inspector.”

Inspector Church of Scotland Yard permitted his grim face to relax in a smile.

“She will be cute if she escapes us now, Mr. Marlowe.”

The young footman who answered the door looked surprised at being confronted by four men. Inspector Church and Mr. Marlowe stepped inside.

“We wish to speak to Sir Oswald Davenant,” the inspector said authoritatively.

The man looked uncertain. “I am not sure that Sir Oswald is disengaged.”

“Please say that Inspector Church, of Scotland Yard, would be glad to see him on important business,” was the inspector's response. “My men will wait here,” he added, motioning them inside the hall.

The man went away with a scared face and presently returned saying that Sir Oswald would see them.

They found him alone in his study, but the letters on the table and one only half written on the blotter showed that his secretary had only just left him.

The inspector's keen eyes took in so much at a glance. He began at once.

“I am here on unpleasant business, Sir Oswald.” Sir Oswald was standing on the hearthrug with his back to the fireplace. “I am sorry to hear it,” he said quietly. “What is it, inspector?”

The inspector judged it best to come to the point at once.

“You have in your employment as governess to Miss Davenant a Miss Martin, Sir Oswald.

“Certainly.” Sir Oswald's tone grew perceptibly colder. “But I do not understand.”

“I hold a warrant for her arrest,” the inspector went on rapidly. “I am sorry to have to execute it in your house, Sir Oswald, but I have no choice.”

“For Miss Martin's arrest,” Sir Oswald repeated in a tone of stupefaction. For one moment he really did not think he could have heard aright. “What do you say?” he demanded. “Whose arrest?”

“Miss Martin's,” the inspector repeated stolidly. “Leastways the young woman who has passed here as such. Perhaps it will save time, Sir Oswald, if I tell you at once that I hold a warrant for the arrest of Elizabeth Winter, alias Martin, for the murder of her husband, John Winter, in May of last year.”

Sir Oswald stood for a moment as if stunned, then, for the time oblivious of his blindness, he made a hasty step forward.

“You must be mad,” he said hoarsely. “How dare you come here and make so infamous a charge?”

“Well, if there is any mistake about it, Sir Oswald, the lady has only got to prove it,” the inspector rejoined.

He had expected a considerable amount of surprise on Sir Oswald's part, but he had not been prepared for this agitation. His trained eye saw at once that some strong feeling must be behind, and he recognized that it might make his task one of more difficulty.

“I am sure no one will be better pleased than I shall if she turns out to be innocent,” he went on. “If you will kindly allow us to see her, Sir Oswald—”

“Impossible,” Sir Oswald exclaimed. He really hardly knew what he was saying. That such a charge should be brought against the woman he had learned to love, who was daily becoming dearer, more necessary to him, was preposterous, unheard of. Not for one instant did he believe that there was the smallest ground for it; but, out of the general feeling of chaos it engendered, one idea formulated itself. If such an accusation were brought against Elizabeth, at least she should not meet it alone. He would stand by her side, he would proclaim his love and belief in her to the world.

“If you have to see Miss Martin, it must be in my presence,” he said haughtily. “I could not allow her to meet such an absurd charge alone. If you still persist in it, I will ask her to come here, she shall know how utterly I disbelieve it.”

The inspector bowed.

“As you please, Sir Oswald. I have no choice but to make the arrest.”

“It is a monstrous thing,” Sir Oswald said, his right hand clenched and taut, the muscles showing hard through the tightening skin. The impulse to throw the inspector and his man out of the house was strong upon him, but his common sense told him that any attempt to prevent the execution of the warrant now would only recoil upon Elizabeth.

He rang the bell.

“Ask Miss Martin if she will be good enough to come here for a minute,” he said to the man who appeared with remarkable celerity.

There was an awkward interval while they waited. Sir Oswald leant against the mantelpiece, stern and forbidding-looking. The inspector regarded his finger-nails with much interest, and Mr. Marlowe fidgeted about from one foot to the other, keeping his eyes on the door meanwhile. He had time to grow exceedingly restless, even Sir Oswald was obviously listening impatiently when at last steps were heard returning.

“If you please, Sir Oswald,” the footman said, opening the door. “Miss Martin is not in the schoolroom and we can't find her, nobody knows where she is.”