it said a great deal for audrey's presence of mind that she lay quietly where she was, and did not at once leap from her bed to denounce eddy vail. but the girl, although she appeared delicate, and was inexperienced, had a commonsense way of looking at things, which helped her greatly in this emergency. she rapidly reviewed the situation, and saw that it would be wiser, for the present, to hold her tongue. when she laid the matter before ralph, it would be time enough to consider what was the best course to pursue. it was necessary to obtain further proofs of vail's guilt, as for the moment it rested merely on the statement of badoura. and if badoura changed her mind and became reconciled to eddy, she might deny that she had made any remark about the clock. finally, seeing that she was indebted to her aunt for a night's lodging, if for nothing else, audrey did not wish to make trouble in the pink shop. already the murder had given the place a bad name, and if there was any more scandal madame coralie's business would be ruined entirely.
but audrey could rest no more, and when she heard madame coralie go into the still-room to talk with her scampish husband she quietly rose and closed the bedroom door. then she dressed rapidly, and soon came out, looking much her usual self, although she was decidedly pale. her aunt was still talking to eddy, and had just handed him a letter. the scampish husband looked more pretty and dandified than ever, and threw a glance of leering admiration at the charming newcomer. when audrey remembered that badoura accused him of strangling her mother, she could scarcely address him politely. yet she was forced to do so for the sake of appearance, as madame coralie introduced her to him.
"miss branwin, this is my husband, mr. edmund vail."
"i hope you are well, miss branwin," said mr. vail, politely, and bowed in a most deferential manner. he even held out his hand, but audrey declined to see it--she could not bring herself to greet him in this way.
"i am quite well, mr. vail," she said coldly, "thanks to a good night's rest."
"you are stopping here, miss branwin?"
"mind your own business, eddy!" snapped madame coralie, shortly. "you have nothing to do with my customers. miss branwin is stopping here for treatment, so say no more about it. take that letter to sir joseph branwin at once."
audrey started, and looked at her aunt. "to my father?"
"yes," said madame coralie, arranging her yashmak. "i have written to sir joseph asking him to send your boxes here, as your treatment will take some time."
"but will my father send my boxes?" asked audrey, nervously.
madame coralie gave her a warning glance, as eddy's cherubic face was alive with curiosity. "of course he will, miss branwin," said the proprietress of the pink shop, easily. "he knows that ladies cannot do without at least a dozen frocks. never fear," she nodded encouragingly, "i shall send you back to camden hill as plump as a partridge."
"if i may be permitted a remark," said eddy, impudently, "miss branwin does not require figure treatment. she is--perfection," and he grinned.
"eddy, you can go," said madame coralie, quietly, and pointed imperatively to the door. "lose no time."
"au revoir, miss branwin," said the rogue, and walked out of the still-room as delicately as agag before his execution.
"what a horrid man!" said audrey, involuntarily, then coloured when aware of her remark. "i beg your pardon, aunt flora, i forgot he is your husband."
"i never can forget it," said madame coralie, calmly; "and you are quite right, my dear. eddy is a horrid young man, conceited and impudent, whose one idea in life is to hunt women and spend money. that's two ideas, though, isn't it, my dear?" ended madame coralie, with a grim look in her eyes. "oh! what a fool i was to marry him."
"perhaps he will improve, aunt flora, and i am sure he ought to be grateful to you for keeping him the way you do."
"my dear child, gratitude and eddy vail are far apart. he's a rogue and i'm a fool, so we are well matched. don't let us talk any more about him. i have sent a letter to your father saying you are staying with me, and asking him to send on your boxes."
"did you mention if you knew why i came to you, aunt?"
"yes, i did, and i signed myself flora arkwright."
"why not flora vail?"
"because joseph does not know me by that name; but he knows who flora arkwright is," said madame coralie, still grimly. "and he will certainly send on your boxes, my dear, as he has been waiting for a chance to get rid of you."
audrey looked pained. "why should he desire to get rid of me? i am sure i have always tried to be a daughter to him."
"he doesn't want a daughter, but another wife. you were an obstacle in the way of his marrying rosy pearl, and, as he could not induce you to marry lord anvers, he seized the opportunity of your making that rash visit to mr. shawe to turn you out of house and home. but he shall make you an allowance, audrey"--madame coralie's eyes flashed--"i'll see to that."
"he will not unless he is forced to," rejoined the girl, mournfully.
"then he shall be forced, my dear. i can manage him."
"in what way, aunt flora?"
"never mind. i know things about joseph branwin which he would not like the world to become aware of."
it was on the tip of audrey's tongue to ask if the things in question had to do with sir joseph's presence in the house on the night of the murder; but her aunt gave her no time to speak.
"there's a gentleman waiting in the lane to see you," she said abruptly.
audrey ran to the window. "ralph!" she said quickly and joyfully.
"yes. he has come in spite of my prohibition, silly fellow that he is. i don't want your stay here to be talked about. however, as he will not go away unless he sees you, i think, my dear, you had better go to him and ask if he will take you out to breakfast. there's a very good restaurant in the high street. i can't give you the meals to which you have been accustomed, my dear girl."
audrey took her hand, and madame coralie quivered at the gentle touch. "you have taken me in when i had no home," said the girl, tenderly, "and i shall never forget it, aunt flora. i wish you would remove that horrid yashmak and let me kiss you."
madame coralie drew aside the dark veil, and allowed audrey to press a kiss on her mouth. then she dropped the yashmak again over the disfiguring birthmark, and turned away in silence to busy herself with some tiny boxes containing ointments. "you had better go, dear," she said at length, in a low voice, "mr. shawe is waiting."
audrey wondered why her aunt should be so moved by a simple caress; but guessing that she did not wish to converse at the moment quietly left the room, and ran down the stairs. as she passed through the shop the quartette of assistants, who were busy in various ways, looked up with bright smiles. one and all, enlightened by badoura, had seen the lover pacing the lane, and sympathised with audrey's haste. the girl blushed and laughed as she left the shop, and ran across the narrow roadway holding out her hands.
"my dear--my darling!" said ralph, tenderly, and audrey saw how lean and anxious his face looked. "i have been worrying about you all the night."
"you needn't have," said audrey, as they walked down the lane. "i have been all right, and the sleep has done me a lot of good. but you can worry about me now, ralph, because i am dreadfully hungry, and want my breakfast."
"what!" shawe was rather indignant. "hasn't madame coralie given you food?"
audrey shook her head. "she suggested that i should breakfast with you, since you refused to go away without seeing me. i could have got food in the house had i chosen. but, ralph"--she put her arm in his confidentially--"i agreed to see you because i have much to say."
"what is it? any new discovery?"
"yes, and a very important one. but i can't talk until i have eaten. remember, dear, i have had nothing in the way of food since dinner last night, and i have undergone a great deal."
"you poor darling!" cried ralph, with great compunction. "you shan't say another word until you have had breakfast. i shall have mine also, for, to tell you the truth, audrey, i could eat nothing this morning. now that i have seen you my appetite is reviving."
he proved this at the sumptuous meal they ordered at the restaurant in high street. it was an excellent place with an excellent cook, and the two young people chose exactly the dishes they enjoyed most. in the middle of the meal audrey laughed, as it struck her as strange that people so troubled as they were could eat and drink so freely.
"no one would think that i was a pauper turned out of house and home by a hard-hearted father," said audrey, smiling.
"i am glad you see the humour of it," said ralph, drily.
"oh, don't be angry, dear. i thank heaven that i have a gift of humour to enable me to see these troubles in their true light. aunt flora has sent for my boxes, and has written to tell my father that i am to stop with her for the time being. she hinted that she could force him to allow me an income."
"how can she force him?" asked shawe, quickly. "does she know that he was in the pink shop on that night?"
"no; she did not say so, nor did i mention the subject. besides, papa said in your rooms that although he was in the lane he did not enter the shop."
"i don't see what else you could expect him to say," replied ralph, with a shrug. "if he was in the shop, he certainly would not incriminate himself by admitting it."
"after all, we have only parizade's evidence regarding that scent of harris tweed to go upon," said audrey, thoughtfully.
"seeing that your father is so fond of wearing that particular cloth, i must say that the evidence is very strong," retorted ralph.
"yet you declared that it would not stand in a court of law."
"perhaps yes, perhaps no; it is a difficult thing to say, audrey. however, since you now know what i wrote the anonymous letter to keep from you, there will be no further hesitation on my part in searching for the true assassin. if he proves to be your father i shan't be sorry, seeing how brutally he has behaved to you."
audrey shook her head. "if i thought that papa was guilty i would ask you to stop searching, and to leave him to the punishment of his conscience."
"he hasn't got one, my dear," said shawe, scoffingly. "and if he isn't guilty, who is, may i ask?"
"eddy vail," said audrey, without a moment's hesitation.
ralph pushed back his chair and looked at her in astonishment. the restaurant was almost empty, and they had a corner table entirely to themselves, so they could speak very freely, so long as they kept their voices low. "on what grounds do you make that assertion, audrey?" he asked sharply.
"i overheard a conversation between badoura and eddy vail this morning."
"oh, and you learnt enough to make you suspect vail?"
"i learnt plainly that vail is guilty, if badoura is to be believed."
shawe remained silent through sheer astonishment. "tell me exactly what you did overhear," he remarked at length.
miss branwin thereupon lowered her voice still more, so that no whisper could be overheard by other people, and detailed the words which had passed between badoura and madame coralie's husband. "i saw him afterwards with aunt flora," finished audrey, "as she sent him with the letter to my father. he is a nasty impertinent little man, and wished to converse with me. he even offered me his hand"--she shuddered--"as if i could touch it. well, ralph, and what do you think of the matter?"
"badoura's declaration certainly endorses what you said about the time madame coralie came down to see you at the door," remarked shawe, thoughtfully. "if eddy vail came up at five minutes to eight and put the clock back to 7.30, that would account for the twenty-five minutes."
"it was certainly nearly half-past eight before i saw aunt flora," said audrey, quickly.
"then if she came down immediately after entering the still-room, as was stated at the inquest," said shawe, "the clock must have been wrong. eddy vail himself, madame coralie, and badoura all say that it was five minutes after eight when madame came down to you. of course, eddy putting the clock wrong would account for the extra time."
"but why did he put the clock wrong?" asked audrey, bewildered.
"badoura supplies the answer to that question, my dear," said ralph, grimly. "he wished to provide an alibi. badoura and madame coralie could both swear that he was in the still-room at eight o'clock, when it was really five-and-twenty minutes past eight. he had all that time--seeing that, according to the medical evidence, your mother was murdered at or about eight--to commit the crime. yes, eddy vail may be guilty."
"then my father is innocent, and was not in the pink shop."
"of course. and going by the evidence of the clock, when mrs. mellop saw your father in walpole lane your mother had already been dead for some twenty minutes, more or less. of course"--ralph looked thoughtful--"he may have killed her, and then have slipped round by the court--the key was in the outer door, remember--to walpole lane, guessing that you would call there, and thus he could provide himself with a very good alibi. did he know that you were going to call for your mother?"
"yes. i told him when i got home. but i really can't think that he is guilty, ralph, especially as badoura accuses eddy vail."
"but why should eddy kill your mother?"
"because of the diamonds."
"madame coralie said that her sister had given those to her. if that is a lie, it makes out madame coralie to be an accomplice after the fact. she must have known that her husband had murdered lady branwin."
"oh, dear, it is impossible aunt flora can be guilty. she is so good."
ralph had his own idea of madame coralie's goodness; but it was no use communicating the same to the girl, seeing how kind her aunt had been to her. he thought for a few moments, then raised his head.
"in order to learn positively what took place in the house on that night," he said decisively, "we must find another and independent witness."
"can we?" asked audrey, faintly, for she was greatly bewildered.
"i think so. rosy pearl."
"oh!" audrey stared. "but she will know nothing."
"i am not so sure of that. she was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom."
"probably she was asleep."
"and it might be that she was awake," said shawe, quickly. "at all events, it is strange that the woman whom your father desires to marry should be in the house where the obstacle to that marriage met with her death. and on the selfsame night, too," ended ralph, with a nod.
"what is to be done?" asked audrey, astonished at this new development.
"this. say nothing about badoura's conversation with eddy vail and wait patiently until i see rosy pearl. i shall do so this very day."
"i wonder if she is guilty?" queried audrey. but shawe could not answer this question, which was scarcely to be wondered at.
