But it was growing dimmer, she ceased to struggle, she was sinking again, deeper and deeper, right into eternity.
Chapter XXIX
"Gentleman to see you, sir."
"A gentleman to see me. Didn't I tell you I was engaged?" Mr. Lennox, alias Inspector Furnival, looked up angrily.
But his words came too late. The little rosy-cheeked maidservant was already standing back to allow the tall man behind her to pass in.
"Not too much engaged to spare me a few minutes, I hope," a familiar voice said pleasantly.
With a quick exclamation Furnival started to his feet. "Mr. Lawrence, sir! I had no idea—"
"No idea I was in the neighbourhood," the new-comer finished for him with a smile. "Well, I was not until ten minutes ago, when I arrived at the station. I have come down from the chief, Furnival. He is getting impatient."
"So I gathered, sir." The inspector frowned as he looked at the papers on the table before him, and pulled his red beard thoughtfully.
His visitor smiled a little as he watched him. Mr. Frank Lawrence was a well-known figure in the Criminal Investigation Department. Though his only official recognized position was that of junior secretary to the chief, he was rapidly becoming a power to be reckoned with by virtue of his quick brain, of his almost uncanny power of seeing the right path to be pursued through the many intricate problems presented to the department. In person he was rather above the middle height, of slim build, with slightly rounded shoulders, and a keen, dark face with a high Roman nose, on which a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses were perched.
"Yes; the chief is anxious to hurry things up a bit," he went on easily. "Going to ask me to sit down, inspector? Thanks!" sinking down lazily into the chair which Furnival with a word of apology drew forward.
"Have you seen this paragraph in one of the evening papers, inspector? I met with it on my way down. It may interest you. This is the sort of thing that makes the chief mad." He handed the paper to Furnival, who read it slowly:
THE ABBEY COURT MURDER
"The extra inactivity, not to say stupidity, which the police are exhibiting with regard to this case is exciting universal comment. It is an open secret that the lady who visited the flat on the night of the murder was very shortly afterwards identified, and yet no steps whatever in the matter appear to have been taken by the authorities. A feeling is gaining ground that this is not entirely owing to official incapacity, but that strong social influence has been brought to bear in order to have the matter hushed up. True or not, this impression is greatly to be regretted inasmuch as it introduces a new and disagreeable element into our public life. Hitherto, English justice has been deemed to be beyond and above corruption; it is to be hoped that speedy action in the Abbey Court case may show that the tradition remains with us that retribution, though slow, is sure."
Furnival threw the paper down contemptuously. "Who would notice a rag like that?"
"No one, perhaps; if it were an isolated case!" Frank Lawrence said in his lazy drawling tones. "But the whole press has been full of such innuendoes lately. You must have seen them, inspector?"
Furnival nodded. "Oh, yes; I have seen them, as many as I have time for. So the chief thinks I have been negligent?"
"Scarcely; or I should not have been sent down," Frank Lawrence corrected softly. "But he does not understand why the warrant has not been applied for and the arrest made before now."
"I didn't, want to make a fool of myself!" The inspector's face was very grim. "But the warrant is applied for now. You are just in time to be in at the finish, Mr. Lawrence. You will be able to tell the chief it isn't quite such plain sailing as he fancies."
Mr. Lawrence raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"
The inspector glanced at the clock. "It is a long story sir. And I am due at Heron's Carew in half an hour. I went up there earlier this afternoon. And perhaps I need hardly tell you my men are on guard there now."
Mr. Lawrence looked momentarily astonished.
"Really! Then you may as well say the end is at hand. I shall stay here until the arrest."
Inspector Furnival smiled meaningly. "I expect the arrest to take place to-night or to-morrow morning at the latest."
"I am glad to hear it," Mr. Lawrence said hastily. "It was time it was made, Furnival, quite time. Between ourselves, I have never known the chief so impatient. And now I suppose we shall have what the papers call a cause célébre."
The inspector's smile deepened a little. "I suppose we shall," he assented.
The younger man did not speak again for a minute or two. "It will be a nine days' wonder, the trial," he said at last. "And no knowing how it will end after all, in spite of our evidence. For she will fight to the bitter end of course, and the Carew influence and the Carew money will go far—"
The inspector pulled his sandy beard and watched the dark clear face.
"Lady Carew will make no fight, sir; she confessed to me this afternoon."
"What!" Young Lawrence stared at him, for once thoroughly taken aback. "Lady Carew confessed to you that she had committed the Abbey Court murder! Impossible!"
"Quite possible and quite true!" the inspector affirmed. He looked across at the grandfather clock in the corner. Very soon Sir Anthony would be expecting him up at Heron's Carew. "As a matter of fact," he added, his mouth twisting in a curious smile, "Lady Carew's is not the only confession of guilt I have had today in the matter of the Abbey Court murder!"
Mr. Lawrence took off his pince-nez and stared at him. "I can't understand you to-night, Furnival. Can't you be a little more explicit? It is impossible that you can mean that two people can have told you that they committed the murder in Abbey Court?"
The inspector nodded. "That is just what I do mean. Lady Carew says that Warden forced her by some power he had over her to come to his flat, that she took her husband's revolver for her protection, and that, stung by Warden's insults, she shot him with it."
Lawrence's interest manifestly quickened. "Much as the chief has always surmised. But you said—"
"On the other hand," the inspector went on very deliberately, "Sir Anthony Carew states that he discovered his wife was going to Warden's flat, that he followed, and watched her, and that when Lady Carew had gone he went in, quarrelled with the fellow and in his rage—I dare say you have heard of the Carew temper, sir—he shot him. Sounds a likely story, doesn't it, Mr. Lawrence? And it is by no means incompatible with our evidence."
"But—but—" objected Lawrence, wiping his brow. "They can't both be telling the truth."
Again that curious smile came into the inspector's eyes.
"So much is self-evident, sir. The only question to my mind now is—is either of them?"
Young Lawrence's astonishment deepened.
"You mean—"
The inspector leaned forward confidentially.
"Lady Carew fancied that I was about to arrest Sir Anthony when she came forward with her confession. Sir Anthony, on his part, was beside himself with fear at the peril in which his wife was placed, when he took the responsibility of the crime on his own shoulders. Therefore the situation