“Pretty desperate fellow, Charles,” Andrew remarked encouragingly.
“Afterwards I undressed and went to bed, wondering what I could do to help him. Then, whilst I was half asleep, a terrifying thing happened. Some one called out my name. I sprang up. The door of my bathroom was thrown open, and De Besset stood there. Something gripped my throat, and there was a singing in my ears. I could not speak. I could not hear what De Besset called out to me. But I could see—horrible things. I saw some one—the burglar— with a mask upon his face, crawling through the window, and I also saw—something else!”
There was a break in her voice. Her hands had become as cold as ice. He laid his cheek against hers.
“Don’t hurry, darling,” he whispered. “Rest for a little time. You can tell me later.”
She seemed scarcely to hear him. Her fingers gripped his. Her eyes, round and glazed with fear, were fixed upon the wall.
“It was the figure of a man—a blurred shape, leaning against the other side of the dressing table,” she went on. “He was leaning over the place where I had left my jewels. Andrew, I thank God that I could not see his face, for all the time that hideous fear has been with me—it may have been Charles. He may never have left my bedroom. He may have hidden in the cupboard—the cupboard Sir Richard asked questions about. Whoever it was, he must have seen De Besset, and he may have fired that shot. The flash seemed to come from there. I saw it—a little pencil of red flame. Then I fainted.”
Andrew smoked his pipe thoughtfully for a moment.
“I always felt there was something like that, dear,” he acknowledged. “You mustn’t take it too seriously, though. Remember that the tragical side of the situation has gone, now that we know the truth about the young man. Of course, it won’t be pleasant for you to have to go into the box and tell the whole story, especially now that Charles turns out to be no relation at all, but every one will understand, and what does that matter against a man’s life? You just tell the truth, dear, and Mr. Charles must take his chance. I fancy he’s a wrong ‘un, anyway. I know I had jolly hard work to keep myself from pounding him, when I saw him with his arm around your waist, after that dancing lesson. I knew there must be some sort of explanation, of course, but it made me see red for the moment.”
“You were simply wonderful,” she whispered. “I was so proud that you trusted me.”
There was a moment’s silence. Félice sprang up, lit a cigarette, and returned to her place. She curled herself up with a little sigh of content. Already her mercurial temperament was reasserting itself. Andrew knew everything. Once more she was happy.
“I think the best thing we can do is to see Dick,” Andrew decided. “He’d better have the whole story. I don’t think you need worry, dear. You see, you can’t swear to anything. You can’t say for certain that there was any one else in the room. On the other hand, your evidence will immensely weaken the case against Drayton. He’ll get off, without a doubt, and, unless some one saw Charles leave your room after the shot was fired, I don’t see that there’ll ever be any evidence against him either.”
There was a knock at the door. A servant entered, with a formal-looking missive reposing upon a tray.
“This has come from Scotland Yard, my lord,” he announced. “Parkins thought you had better have it, as it was marked ‘important.’”
Andrew tore open the envelope. Félice read it over his shoulder:
The Chief Commissioner of Police begs to inform Lord Glenlitten that his necklace has been returned, and the reward of ten thousand pounds is claimed. The Chief Commissioner will be glad if Lord Glenlitten will arrange to identify the necklace some time to-morrow. The person claiming the reward is a private detective—Mr. Felix Main.
“Well, I’m damned!” was Andrew’s only comment.
CHAPTER XXX
Sir Richard Cotton and Haslam had met by accident, walking down Pall Mall early that evening. They were standing upon the pavement engaged in a somewhat disjointed conversation, when they became aware of a taxicab stopping with dangerous suddenness against the kerbstone by their side. A tall young man alighted and advanced eagerly towards them.
“Our Russian acquaintance!” Sir Richard remarked drily. “He appears to have something to say to us.”
Haslam studied the newcomer through his deepset eyes without change of countenace.
“In the interests of your client, Max Drayton, I should listen to whatever the young man chooses to tell you,” he advised.
Charles approached, a little breathless, otherwise apparently normal, except that his collar was somewhat crushed and one of his sleeve links seemed to be missing.
“Sir Richard,” he confided, “I have something important to say to you. Is there anywhere we can be alone for a moment? Believe me, you will not regret it.”
The lawyer hesitated. Haslam whispered in his ear.
“Never mind whether it’s professional or not, do as he asks, if you wish to save Max Drayton from the scaffold,” he insisted.
“We will step into the waiting room of my club,” Sir Richard suggested. “It is next door here. I will certainly hear what you have to say.”
“There is great need for haste,” Charles continued feverishly.
“Do you mind Mr. Haslam coming along?” Sir Richard asked. “If what you have to say has anything to do with a certain night, his presence might be an advantage.”
The young man signified assent with a hasty gesture.
“You must give me a drink,” he begged, as soon as they had reached the waiting room. “It will be worth your while.”
Sir Richard ordered a brandy and soda, half of which the recipient drank before he began his statement.
“On the night you speak of, at Glenlitten Hall, that little fool of a woman, who had been gulled into believing that I, the son of her father’s old servant, was her brother, gave me a few minutes’ interview in her sitting room. We were interrupted by footsteps outside—yours, I believe, Mr. Haslam. She waved me away, imagining I would leave by the bathroom and through her bedroom. I did nothing of the sort. I concealed myself in a portion of her wardrobe. I had come to Glenlitten to steal the jewels and I meant to have them.”
He paused for another drink and went on, the choked words stumbling hurriedly from his lips.
“What happened was ridiculous, as real fact, although one might swallow it in a film picture. I—the devil’s own luck—passed through the bedroom too quickly to notice the jewels lying upon the dressing table, and it was not until after I was hidden in the wardrobe that I realised, peering through a crack above the hinges, that I might have walked straight away with the necklace. My supposed sister was in bed then, so I had to wait until she was asleep. When at last I thought the moment had come, I stole out, just as Drayton was peering in through the window. Whilst I was wondering what to do, De Besset burst into the room. I had gone too far for retreat, and the necklace was within a few inches of me. I shot De Besset with a revolver which will be found on or near me very shortly, and I should have shot the burglar too, if he hadn’t scrambled down his ladder, half dead with fright. I escaped downstairs, owing to the burglar’s scheme of darkness, with the necklace in my trousers pocket, and was dancing before any alarm was given. This is to say, in brief, that it was I who