Chapter 15

JADBY PLAYS A CARD.

Mrs. Blexey's communications certainly afforded Lord Prelice ample food for reflection. What she had said about Madame Marie—as the young man mentally termed her—implied that the fortune-teller was somehow implicated in the tragedy of Sir Oliver's death. Yet he had been a good friend to the lady, and by his death she lost a valuable client. It was impossible to think that she had killed the baronet herself, or had been a consenting party to his death. But undoubtedly, according to Mrs. Blexey's firm asseveration, she had given Lanwin the roots and leaves of the Sacred Herb, and from using these in the prescribed way to induce a trance, Sir Oliver had been rendered helpless. Had he not been chained hand and foot by the fumes of the herb he could not have been killed, as, in spite of his lost leg, he was no despicable antagonist. The herb, therefore, was the main factor in the tragedy, and Madame Marie had placed the same in the man's hands.

Of course, it was just possible that someone—name unknown—had found Sir Oliver helpless, and so had taken the opportunity to kill him. Madame Marie may have discovered the guilty person, and, to recompense her for the loss of a wealthy friend, had been bribed by the same person to silence. This pointed to the guilt of Captain Jadby, who might have been anxious to get rid of the baronet so as to enter into his heritage. But the assertion of the housekeeper about the new, unsigned will went far to show that the sailor was innocent. Captain Jadby assuredly would have destroyed the will which gave the property to Mona, and not an unsigned document, which mattered nothing to him.

Much puzzled by the new aspect of the case, Prelice sought out Mr. Martaban, and related what he had heard in the kitchen garden. The solicitor at first scoffed at the idea of the unsigned will being destroyed, but later cautiously ventured the remark that there might be something in it.

"Though, mind you," he remarked thoughtfully, "Mrs. Blexey does not prove her case, as we say in legal circles. She states that Sir Oliver made a new will in his own handwriting, but she cannot prove that this was the particular will which was burnt."

"But Sir Oliver's handwriting would be recognised," urged Prelice.

"It was," replied Martaban tersely; "the will leaving the property to Miss Chent was in my late client's handwriting also. He always preferred to write out his own testaments."

"To draw them up you mean."

"Not in this especial instance, my lord. The will leaving all to Captain Jadby, and made in the South Seas years ago, is a personal document, since I have seen it. The unsigned will also was personal, as so far as I know Sir Oliver did not employ any lawyer to draw it. But I drew out the document by which Miss Chent inherited, and Sir Oliver copied it himself, and had it signed by Mrs. Blexey and Agstone. So you see that we can't actually say which will was burnt, as there is not sufficient remaining of the document. From some of the scraps found, which alluded to Miss Chent as 'my dear niece,' it would seem that the will in her favour must have been destroyed, since Sir Oliver when angered would not have spoken kindly of her in the document alluded to by Mrs. Blexey."

Prelice nodded absently. "I presume that the new will would also have been signed by Mrs. Blexey and Agstone as witnesses?"

"I think so, since Sir Oliver trusted both, but according to the housekeeper the will was not witnessed. For all we know, it may not even have been signed."

"Mrs. Blexey says that it wasn't."

"I think she is right," said Martaban thoughtfully, "since the testator has to sign in the presence of the witnesses, and Mrs. Blexey would probably have been one."

"What about Captain Jadby?"

"He was absent on many occasions, and had he signed as a witness he would not have benefited."

"Madame Marie Eppingrave?"

"Humph!" Martaban considered. "She and Agstone might have signed certainly, but in that case she would have come forward to state to whom the new will left the property. It could not have been Jadby, since the old will held good, if the second was destroyed."

"Madame Marie may have been bribed by Jadby to hold her tongue about the third will, so that the first could stand."

"Which points to the fact that the second must have been destroyed. Yet Mrs. Blexey says that it was not."

"I agree," admitted Prelice; "but, as you say, she does not prove her case."

Martaban nodded. "The sole way in which the case can be proved is by the production of the second will."

"Or of the third," remarked Prelice quietly. "The assassin of Sir Oliver burnt one will—we know not which—and holds the other. He will produce it when he is ready."

"And so lay himself open to arrest," ended Martaban neatly. He paused, and went on deliberately: "I advise a waiting game."

"A waiting game?"

Martaban nodded. "Let the other side move first."

"Do you mean Captain Jadby?" asked Prelice abruptly.

"And this unknown assassin, who holds one of the last two wills. Jadby, we know, retains the first, which gives the property to him. He will probably come down to insist upon his rights. I shall refuse to let him have the Grange or the income until the other wills are proved to be destroyed, or at least until he proves that the burnt will is the one giving the property to Miss Chent."

"That was proved at the trial."

"Quite so; but Mrs. Blexey's story requires that the case should be reopened."

"Not for the trial of Miss Chent!" cried Prelice in alarm.

Martaban laughed heartily. "You can make yourself easy on that score, my lord. No one can be tried twice for the same offence. Well?"

"I agree with you that it is best to wait and see what Jadby does, and then we can checkmate him, as you suggest. Meanwhile I shall go to London, and call on Madame Marie in New Bond Street. She may know of something likely to elucidate the mystery of the Lanwin Grange crime."

"If she does," said Martaban, with a chuckle, "she certainly will not speak out. A clever woman, Madame Marie."

"I can deal with clever women," said Prelice, rather conceitedly.

"Deal with Miss Chent then," finished the lawyer, and the conversation ended for the time being.

It was all very well for Martaban to suggest dealing with Mona, but that young lady was much too feminine for Prelice to tackle. He could make nothing of her. Sometimes she was kindness itself to him, and then she would hold him at arm's length with freezing politeness. Even as yet he could not determine her relations to Ned, otherwise than that an official engagement existed. She gave him no chance of learning the exact truth. When he praised Ned she would assent cordially to the most enthusiastic eulogiums, and yet when he hinted—and being in love, he could not help hinting—that Ned did not behave as a lover should, she entirely agreed. In desperation, he would have spoken to her about Constance Rover, but a feeling of loyalty to his absent friend prevented his doing this. Once or twice Prelice determined to leave for London, and wash his hands of all these mysteries, of which Miss Chent was not the least. But he was so deeply in love that, awkward as the position was, he could not tear himself away. Yet, like a true gentleman, Prelice never revealed by word or deed, or even look, that he was at Mona's feet.

It was with a feeling of relief that Prelice came one day to the Grange, and found Lady Sophia officially established as Mona's friend. All day long the young man had been walking off his feelings on the Downs, trying by violent exercise to calm his agitated nerves. He tore along at top speed for miles, cursing himself for a fool in submitting to be lured by a will-o'-the-wisp, since, seeing how matters stood between Mona and Ned, he could not hope to make the girl Lady Prelice. But however far he went, the loadstone of the Grange, magnetised by Miss Chent's mere presence, always drew him back to her dainty feet, there to sigh hopelessly for the moon. On this occasion he arrived back to afternoon tea, and was greeted effusively in the drawing-room by his aunt.

"Though I can't say that you look well, Prelice," said Lady Sophia, putting up her lorgnette. "What have you been doing with yourself? Late hours and indigestible suppers, no doubt."

"Ask Miss Chent," replied Prelice, somewhat sulkily; "she knows what a rake I am."

Mona, who was presiding over a well-provided tea-table, glanced at the dark circles under the young man's eyes, at his lack of colour, and noted his cross looks. The survey, for some reason, appeared to give her a large amount of satisfaction. "I don't know Lord Prelice's character," she observed demurely.

"He's a dormouse—always asleep," said Lady Sophia, sipping her tea.

"So Ned told me, and his nickname also. But he's a very energetic dormouse, surely, in exploring the world as he has done."

"Humph! It would be much better if he stayed at home and married."

Prelice could not stand this observation in Mona's presence. "That is entirely a personal matter, Aunt Sophia," he snapped.

"Not at all," answered the lady coolly; "as you are the head of the house, its members should have some say in your marriage. Unless you marry a nice girl, I sha'n't call on her."

"Have some more tea, Lord Prelice," said Mona, sorry to see how very annoyed he was, yet secretly pleased, Heaven knows for what reason.

"Thank you." He passed his cup. "I am glad to see you, Aunt Sophia, and surprised," he ended with emphasis.

Lady Sophia put up her lorgnette again. "One is always surprised to find virtue in unexpected places," she remarked coolly. "I plagiarise that from Moli�re, my dear. Yes, I am virtuous coming over into these wilds on a hot day, and I want the reward of my virtue."

"What reward do you want?" asked Prelice gruffly.

"The right to look after this dear girl." Lady Sophia patted Mona's arm. "I propose that she shall come abroad with me for a few months. Then next year we can return, and I can present her again at Court. I never believed the rubbish that people talked, my sweetest Mona, so you can safely trust yourself under my wing."

"I shall be delighted," said Mona, giving the elder lady's arm a little affectionate squeeze. "But don't you think I ought to remain here until the truth is found out?"

"You silly child, the truth has positively been shouted from the housetops. Everyone knows that you are innocent—not," added Lady Sophia in her usual inconsequent fashion, "that I should blame you if you were guilty. I never liked Sir Oliver."

"He was very kind to me," said Mona impetuously; "he meant well."

"That condemns him. People one doesn't like always mean well. However, he's dead, so we'll say no more about him. But you'll come to Germany with me, my dear. I'm going to some Bad—I can't tell you the name exactly—it's too long, and sounds too much like swearing. But it's a new Bad that has to do with the new disease."

"And have you got the new disease, Aunt Sophia?"

"I never was healthier in my life, my dear boy; but there's a cave near this Bad, with bones and skulls of the Stone Age. I want to see what like the poor, dear things were, in those happy times."

"They won't look pretty as merely bones," said Prelice dryly.

"Perhaps not. Only dogs like bones. But I daresay there will be some dear little axes, with which they cut off the heads of animals that lived before the flood. And beads too, perhaps. Fancy, beads. It brings the poor, dear things so near to us to think they wore beads."

While Lady Sophia rattled on thus, talking about everyone and everything to set Mona at her ease, the girl herself was listening. "I hear a fly," she said, starting to her feet expectantly.

"Where?" asked Lady Sophia, looking up at the ceiling. "What sharp ears you must have, child."

"Hark!" Miss Chent walked to the drawing-room door, opened it, and passed through. A moment later, they heard her voice raised in joyful welcome, and Prelice tried hard to suppress his jealousy. He did not need Lady Sophia to tell him that it was that "Shepworth man." All the same, he contrived to be fairly amiable, when Ned entered with greetings.

"How do you do, Lady Sophia? Dorry, I am glad to see you. What a hot day it has been! Thank you, Mona, I shall be glad to have a cup of tea."

Prelice stared, as Ned sat down in a comfortable chair near Miss Chent, for he could not understand Shepworth, who had so lately escaped peril, chatting in this silly fashion. The barrister did not look well either, as his face was pale and his eyes sunken. "I expected you down here before," growled Prelice after a pause.

"I could not get down," rattled on Ned, stirring his tea. "Another lump of sugar, please, Mona. There was much to do. But now that Agstone has been buried, and my character cleared, I have come down to circumvent our friend Captain Jadby."

Mona started nervously. "Oh, Ned, is there anything wrong?"

"Not at present, but Jadby will try and put things wrong. He will be here in a quarter of an hour."

"Here!" Mona rose in dismay. "Are you sure?"

Shepworth nodded, and cast a hasty glance at Prelice. "He came to me yesterday, and said that he was coming down to see you for a certain purpose. As Prelice is here, and I know very well what Jadby wants to say, I thought it best to come down too. By watching at the station I found what train he was going by, and nipped in also. At Hythe I secured the only fly, and so have got ahead of him." Shepworth glanced at his watch. "He'll soon be here; and then——" He paused.

"And then?" queried Lady Sophia, astonished. "Bless me, Mr. Shepworth, what then? How mysterious you are. You surprise me."

"Captain Jadby will surprise you more," rejoined Shepworth dryly. "And so I am glad that you are here, Dorry."

"Why?" demanded that young gentleman, who was as astonished as his aunt.

Shepworth merely nodded mysteriously, and whispered to Mona, who nodded in reply with very bright eyes, and with another glance at the puzzled Prelice. He could not understand, even in the presence of the engaged couple, if they really were in love. Shepworth was certainly attentive, and Mona was extremely amiable. But there was something wanting in their behaviour. They had not kissed, for one thing, as engaged lovers surely would do. But perhaps that sign of future marriage had taken place in the hall. Lady Sophia, also puzzled, would have asked questions which her more diffident nephew was afraid to put, but that the footman brought in a card.

"Captain Jadby," said Mona, reading the same. "Ned, must I see him?"

"It will be as well," rejoined Shepworth significantly, "and in the presence of Martaban."

"He has gone out for a walk, and won't be back for some time," explained the girl nervously, "but I feel safe with you and Lord Prelice."

"Why with me?" Prelice asked, when the footman departed to usher in the South Sea sailor.

"You are always so kind," she observed in a low voice, and cast down her eyes, blushing scarlet, much to Prelice's amazement. He really did not know what to make of all this.

But Mona's sudden colour ebbed from her cheeks when Captain Jadby entered, for she appeared to be rather afraid of the buccaneer. Jadby, halting, and bowing on the threshold, did look rather lawless in spite of his civilised flannel garb. He had arrayed himself in white, and wore a scarlet cummerbund and a scarlet tie. These touches of too vivid colour, added to his smooth, dark face with fiery black eyes and curly black hair, and general hint at foreign blood, bespoke him the buccaneer from the fringes of the Empire. His manners also left something to be desired, for after bowing to Lady Sophia and Miss Chent, and greeting Prelice with a sullen nod, he turned towards Shepworth. Then his eyes flashed, and his mouth grew hard.

"You have stolen a march on me," he declared, coming forward.

"As you see," replied Shepworth very coolly; "after what you told me yesterday it was necessary."

"I wonder that you are not afraid to come," said Jadby, sneering viciously.

"Why should Mr. Shepworth be afraid?" demanded Mona, catching at Lady Sophia's hand to keep up her courage.

"Ask him," snarled the captain, posing picturesquely.

"Why should you be afraid?" Mona reiterated, turning to her lover.

"Captain Jadby can explain," replied Shepworth suavely.

"And may I suggest," said Prelice politely, "that in explaining, Captain Jadby might remember that there are two ladies present."

The buccaneer shrugged his shoulders, and pointedly turned his back on Prelice, a rudeness which that young gentleman noted carefully, intending to rebuke Jadby later for the same. "You are, I understand, Miss Chent, engaged to Mr. Shepworth," he said to Mona insolently.

She glanced at Shepworth, but kept her temper. "Everyone knows that news! It is common property."

"And I love you," he went on steadily.

"Rather a public place to speak like that to me, Captain Jadby."

"I am true to you, and he," pointing to Shepworth, "is false. He loves another woman."

"And I forbid you to mention that woman's name," cried Shepworth meaningly.

"Then you admit it!" cried the sailor triumphantly.

"He does," said Mona unexpectedly, "because I know it."

"What?" Jadby recoiled in dismay. His thunderbolt had fallen and failed.

"My engagement," pursued Miss Chent, "is merely official."