the next day dora excused her absence to joad on the plea of a visit to a friend living the other side of canterbury, and stated furthermore that she would not return until late that evening. it was absolutely necessary to make some such statement, as she knew not what conclusion would be drawn by the old man did he learn that her true destination was london. she suspected him of knowing more of lady burville than he chose to confess; and, with such knowledge, he might guess her intention. if so, it might be that he would warn lady burville, did he know her address, which was by no means unlikely; therefore dora was resolved to keep him in ignorance of her plan. to blind joad was no easy task, as he was artful, dangerous, and--she more than suspected--merciless.
to avert all suspicion, she rode to selling on her bicycle, and there caught the early train to london. resolved on economy, she purchased a third-class ticket, and had just time to stumble into a carriage before the train started. then she became aware that she had but one companion in the compartment--a man. he turned his head as the train began to move, and she saw with astonishment and some annoyance that it was mr. pride. "never mind," she thought, returning his greeting with a stiff nod; "he can tell joad on his return if he pleases. it will then be too late for the old man to do anything, as i shall have seen lady burville."
like joad, this man was another protégé of edermont's, who had procured for him a small post in a private school at chillum. pride was not unlike his late patron, being short and insignificant-looking, with a white beard, hardly so luxuriant as that of edermont, and silvery-white hair. in the distance the resemblance was striking, but a closer inspection showed the difference between the two men, as pride was plump and rosy, with mild eyes and a good-natured smile. he rubbed one fat hand over the over, and saluted miss carew in his usual cheery fashion.
"i am glad to see you looking so well, miss carew," he said brightly. "you go to london?"
"only for the day, mr. pride," replied dora coldly.
"ah! no doubt you wish to get away from those pests who swarm round the red house in the hope of gaining a fortune."
"those amateur detectives?" said dora quietly; "do you think they will discover the truth?"
"who knows?" was pride's reply; "they will do their best to do so. fifty thousand pounds is worth the earning."
dora considered for a moment, then turned on him suddenly.
"you were at canterbury on the night the murder was committed?"
"till close on eleven," returned pride easily; "then i walked back to chillum."
"and you went into mr. joad's house?"
"i did. i was with him at one o'clock."
"did you meet anyone on a bicycle as you walked to chillum from canterbury?"
"why," replied the schoolmaster after a moment's pause, "i met two people, and each rode a bicycle. one, a man, was riding towards chillum; the other, a woman, was making for canterbury."
"did you know who they were?"
"i, my dear miss carew!" said pride in great surprise--"why, no. i took no particular notice of them, in the first place; and in the second, they flitted along so swiftly and noiselessly that i was hardly aware of their passing."
"i suppose you have no clue to the assassin?" said dora abruptly.
"no. if i had, i should not scruple to earn the fortune."
"can you conjecture the motive for the crime, mr. pride?"
"i--am--afraid--not," said pride slowly. "i knew mr. edermont well; but there was nothing in his past life likely to endanger his safety."
"he thought otherwise. mr. edermont was always haunted by the dread of a violent death."
"i knew that, miss carew. monomania, my dear lady--monomania."
"it could not be monomania if it came true," said dora impetuously.
"why not?" replied pride in an argumentative tone. "monomania is the dwelling on one particular idea until it fills the thoughts and life of the thinker. mr. edermont may have had reason to suppose that his life was in danger; but the original cause may have passed away. nevertheless, the habit may have continued; and so," added pride with a shrug, "we may reasonably ascribe our friend's death to a creature of his imagination."
"your argument is weak," replied dora spiritedly. "mr. edermont believed that he would die a violent death, and what he believed came to pass. that does away with all your sophistries."
"but, miss carew, the cause of his fear was done away with before your guardian died."
"how do you know that?"
"joad told me. we were discussing the possibility of the existence of this unknown enemy whom mr. edermont feared; and joad mentioned that mr. pallant had set that fear at rest."
"do you mean to say that mr. pallant told him his enemy was dead?"
"joad thought that such was the case."
"then you must see," cried dora triumphantly, "that such a supposition does away with your theory of monomania. evidently mr. edermont's fear was founded on no fancy, but on fact."
"well, i will agree with you for the sake of argument;" said pride hastily; "but granted that all you say is true, it brings us no nearer the solution of the mystery. admitting that the enemy whom mr. edermont feared really existed: if such enemy died, as we suppose mr. pallant told our poor friend, who killed him, and verified his lifelong prediction that he would come to a violent end?"
"i understand your meaning," was dora's reply; "but i do not think all the talking in the world will aid us to discover the actual assassin. what is your belief, mr. pride?"
"i cannot say that i have any particular belief, miss carew. these criminal problems are too intricate for me."
"don't you wish to earn the reward?"
"i should not mind doing so," replied pride, with a good-natured laugh. "no man in his senses would lose the chance of gaining fifty thousand pounds. all the same, i am not clever enough to win it. i do not see where to begin."
"do you think that the manuscript in the bureau was the motive for the crime?"
"no. why should anyone have killed mr. edermont to gain a worthless manuscript?"
"it might not have been worthless to the assassin," objected dora; "it contained the story of mr. edermont's past life."
"but what has his past life to do with his violent death?"
"everything. you forget that mr. edermont believed himself to be a threatened man."
"and so we get back to the starting-point of our argument!" laughed pride.
dora laughed also; and, finding that they were arguing in a circle, changed that particular line of conversation.
"you knew mr. edermont well?" she asked, after a pause.
"yes--for quite fifteen years. he was very good to me, and helped me to the post i now hold."
"did you know mr. edermont at christchurch?"
"christchurch?" repeated pride slowly. "no; i did not know him then. did he live there?"
"i believe so," said dora curtly, and closed the conversation.
evidently there was nothing to be learnt from pride. his knowledge of edermont only extended back fifteen years; and dora believed that the motive of the crime was to be found as far back as twenty. moreover, if he knew anything conclusive, he would be certain to utilize it for his own benefit, and thus gain the reward. under these circumstances dora hardly regarded pride in the light of an important factor in the course she was pursuing, and took no further notice of him from that point of view. they chatted on indifferent subjects until the train arrived at victoria station. here pride took his leave, and dora went forward on her mission.
jersey place was easily found by asking a convenient policeman. dora was impressed with the magnificence of the houses and by the aristocratic seclusion of the square. if possible, no. 22 was even more imposing than the surrounding mansions, and as dora rang the bell she could not help thinking that she was undertaking a difficult task. here was a rich and titled lady, evidently a power in society, fenced round, as it were, by wealth and position. yet she proposed to accuse this powerful personage of a crime; she intended to save her lover at the cost of casting down this formidable goddess from her pedestal. it was a dangerous, almost a hopeless, task, but dora did not shrink from its fulfilment. too much depended upon the issue of the coming interview for her to retreat at the eleventh hour.
she was introduced by the footman into a small anteroom on the left of the entrance-hall, and there she remained while he took her card up to lady burville. in a few moments he returned with the information that his mistress would see her. dora followed the man upstairs, and was shown into the drawing-room. it was empty at the moment, and she had ample leisure to survey the splendid room, and its still more splendid furniture. the apartment was sumptuous in the extreme. everything that art and luxury could supply was gathered together between these four walls. the east and the west had contributed to adorn this house. it was more like a palace than the residence of a private person, and gave dora large ideas of the wealth of sir john burville.
his portrait--as she guessed--hung in a conspicuous part of the room. a strong, burly man he appeared to be, with a shrewd, coarse face. parvenu was writ large on his whole personality, and dora could guess from his lowering looks that he possessed a violent temper. the portrait was not prepossessing, and she left it to look at the picture of a frail and delicate woman. this, without doubt, was lady burville, and her suspicion was confirmed in a few minutes, for as she was contemplating the portrait the door opened to admit the original.
lady burville was small, slender, and usually as daintily tinted as a statuette of dresden china. but at the present moment her face was pale, and her eyes, filled with alarm, looked apprehensively at dora from under the loose fringe of her golden hair. arrayed in a tea-gown of some white filmy material, she looked like a ghost as she glided towards the girl. dora put these terrified looks down to a secret knowledge of her guilt, and believed in her own mind that lady burville had really slain mr. edermont. but again, she thought, it was impossible that so frail a creature could have struck so deadly a blow. yet, why was she so terrified?
"miss carew, i believe?" said lady burville, trying to smile with white lips. "will you not be seated?"
"no, thank you, lady burville," replied dora stiffly. "i am obliged to you for granting me this interview."
"i am only too pleased. you are a ward of mr. edermont's, i believe?"
"i was his ward, lady burville."
"yes, yes; how stupid of me! i forgot about that terrible murder."
dora deliberately produced the pearl brooch from her pocket, and held it out towards the other.
"perhaps this will refresh your memory?" she said slowly.
"my brooch!" said lady burville in surprise. "how did you come by it? how did you find it?"
"i did not find it, but dr. scott did."
"really! where?"
"on the floor of the room in which mr. edermont was killed."
lady burville's face turned even whiter than it was before.
"i--i do not understand," she stammered, shrinking back.
"i can explain," continued dora pitilessly. "you visited the red house on the night of the second of august; you dropped this brooch there, and you there killed my guardian."
"no, no! i--i did not! who dares to say such a thing?"
"i dare," said dora calmly. "i say it again. you killed mr. edermont."
"what--what proof have you?" gasped lady burville, seizing a chair to keep herself from falling.
"the proof of this brooch; the evidence of dr. scott, who met you returning from the red house. you need not deny it, lady burville. i believe you to be guilty, and i shall denounce you."
"no, no! you cannot--you dare not!"
"why?"
lady burville fell at her feet in a passion of tears.
"i am your mother," she cried, "your unhappy mother!"
