Chapter 8

THE GRIEF OF IDA.

Vernon was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet when there was anything to gain by hurry. And in this case the happiness of his whole life was at stake. The visit of Lady Corsoon to enlist him on her side with the bribe of supporting his suit for her daughter was one of those unexpected cards which Fate deals us to win in the game of life. It was a veritable ace, with which Vernon hoped to trump Maunders' trick. Hitherto the handsome scamp had had everything his own way. Now he was to find serious obstacles in his path. With Lucy's love and her mother's support, the course of true affection might run smoother. The father might be gained over by playing on his instinctive dislike to Maunders and by the news, which Vernon had hitherto not thought worth imparting, namely, that he had a chance of becoming a baronet.

Moreover, since war had been declared between the two schoolfellows, Maunders would undoubtedly make himself disagreeable in any case. Already, acting treacherously, he had informed Lady Corsoon of the way in which Vernon earned his money, and it was probable that now he would inform others. Of course, the young man wished to prevent this, for, in spite of his defence of his profession, he was aware that the world does not look amiably on one who lives by learning the secrets of weak humanity, even when the aim is to preserve those same secrets from use by villains. But the difficulty was to seal Maunders' mouth, as the moment he noticed--and he certainly would, speedily--that Vernon was favoured by Lady Corsoon, he would spread the scandal with a zeal born of the knowledge that his empire was slipping from him. Also, he would strive to intimidate Lady Corsoon more openly, and it could not be denied but what her position towards her aggressively upright husband was a delicate one. Thus Maunders was the enemy both of Lady Corsoon and of Vernon: to crush him they therefore formed a secret partnership. In this unity lay their strength.

The weapon Vernon proposed to use towards his dangerous foe was that supplied by the chance remark of Lady Corsoon that Maunders might be The Spider. When she departed with the assurance that there was nothing to be afraid of for at least one month, Vernon sat silently in his chair, thinking over what had been said. After all, it did not seem impossible that Maunders should be this arch-scoundrel, for whom the police were so eagerly seeking. To Vernon's own knowledge, the young man did not receive large sums from Mrs. Bedge, and he had no other source of income. Yet, as Vernon had seen, he contrived to live like a prince on nothing a year. Perhaps, like the amiable and talented Mrs. Rawdon Crawley, he managed to keep up his princely appearance by spending other people's money--that is, by getting deeply into debt. But Vernon knew that Maunders did not owe one penny.

He came by the information by having, at the request of the late Mr. Dimsdale, searched into Maunders' private life some months previously. The old ex-police-commissioner, seeing that his daughter was infatuated with the young man, hoped to learn something to his discredit, and so asked Vernon--whom he knew already as Nemo--to make an examination. Of course, Vernon did not guess at the time that Mr. Dimsdale wished to find something to the discredit of an undesirable suitor, and merely thought that the old man was anxious to learn if Maunders was a fit husband for his daughter. In fact, Vernon believed that he was doing his old schoolfellow a good turn in probing his life. He certainly learned that Maunders owed nothing and always settled his debts scrupulously--presumably on money allowed by Mrs. Bedge; so he presented his report to Dimsdale with the remark that Maunders, at all events, was an honest man. Now the case assumed a different aspect with Mrs. Bedge's confession of poverty--a confession which was supported as true by her anxiety to become Ida's paid companion. Since Maunders paid his debts and lived like a millionaire in embryo, how did he manage to fill his purse? Lady Corsoon had provided a very reasonable reply to this serious question. He was The Spider.

"But, hang him, he's not clever enough," muttered Vernon, rising to pace the narrow confines of his office at this point of his meditations. "He's cunning and smart and observant and unscrupulous. But The Spider is a genius and manages his affairs in a far-seeing way, which does not suggest Maunders. Conny is shallow in many ways, and for the present would sacrifice the future. No, The Spider never does that. He waits and plans and arranges his operations in such a way that he can never be captured. No, feasible though it seems, I can't see Constantine as that master-criminal."

But again Vernon reflected that when the trap had been arranged between him and the dead man the window of the library had been open, and, as Mr. Dimsdale had mentioned in his subsequent letter, with wrath, Maunders had called at the moment. In fact, he had been round the corner of the bungalow nearest to the library with the two ladies. Now, it was not impossible that in passing the library, light-footed as he was (and Maunders trod like a cat), he might have lingered at the sound of voices. Thus he might have gained the necessary knowledge of the trap, which he had afterwards utilized to inveigle Vernon to the West Kensington house. That is, presuming he was The Spider; and the name of Lucy Corsoon used in the wire was the very name which Maunders, knowing Vernon's love for the girl, would employ. Finally, Maunders had been at the ball, and it would have been easy for him, masked and cloaked as he was, to steal into the library and commit the crime, afterwards mingling with the guests in all apparent innocence. On these grounds Vernon began to believe that Lady Corsoon might be correct in her assumption. But always there came the doubt that Maunders was too shallow to be the arch-rogue. He was clever, but certainly not a genius, whereas The Spider was a Napoleon amongst the criminal fraternity.

"In one way I can prove something," said Vernon to himself. "If Maunders did enter the library he must have been absent from the ballroom for some time. I shall go to 'Rangoon' and ask questions without letting it be seen why I ask them. Then I can learn for certain about his movements on that night. Moreover, I can interview Miss Dimsdale and learn how she is disposed towards the Colonel. Finally, I'll see if he is right in thinking that Miss Hest's influence is harmful to her in any way."

Having come to this decision, he repaired the ensuing day to Hampstead, fully determined to set his doubts at rest. A glance at the agony column of the _Daily Telegraph_ had assured him that Lady Corsoon had carried out his suggestion. Under the initial "X," she asked for one month's time to consider the matter of "S." This undoubtedly would be accorded to her, as it was The Spider's policy never to hurry his victims. He robbed them in a most graceful and easy-going fashion, and so dexterously, that his victims rather congratulated themselves that they had so honest a criminal tradesman to deal with. So Lady Corsoon's secret was safe for a month. Before the expiration of that period Vernon hoped to lay hands on the rogue who had baffled the police for so long. But in his heart he did not expect to find Maunders in the grip of the law.

At first Vernon was refused admittance by the butler, but on insisting and on sending in his card he was shown into the central hall. Shortly Miss Hest made her appearance with a smiling but somewhat serious face. She looked extremely tall and handsome in a black-browed way as she advanced towards the visitor.

"How are you, Mr. Vernon," she said, shaking hands politely; "is your business with Miss Dimsdale very important? She is not well to-day. I have just been bathing her forehead with eau-de-cologne."

"Oh, I have just come to make an afternoon call," replied Vernon easily. "I am sorry to hear that Miss Dimsdale is ill."

Frances sighed. "She has never been the same since her poor father's terrible death. She loved him as dearly as he loved her, you know, Mr. Vernon, so the shock was great."

"I quite understand. Still, after two months' more or less of quiet she surely must be recovering. At her age one does not remember for ever."

"No. At our age one has longer memories, Mr. Vernon. But it is kind of you to call. Ida likes you very much, especially as you were such a friend of poor Mr. Dimsdale's. I think you might come in for a quarter of an hour."

Vernon hesitated. "I don't wish to disturb Ida," he said doubtfully, "if she wants to be quiet."

"Oh, she left the decision to me when we got your card. I am acting as a kind of nurse to the poor darling. Ida is just like my sister, you know."

"But your professional engagements?"

"They don't matter. I have made a good deal of money in one way and another, Mr. Vernon, you know. I can afford to take a rest. I want Ida to come down to Bowderstyke with me and stop at the Hall."

It flashed into Vernon's suspicious mind that perhaps Frances wished Ida to fall in love with her brother. Ten thousand a year would be very acceptable to Mr. Hest, if Colonel Towton's story was to be believed. According to him the brother was not a millionaire, and what money he had he spent lavishly in helping the parish. He remarked about this to Frances as she led him through the door at the end of the hall and into the boudoir, where Ida was lying.

"I hear from Colonel Towton that your brother is quite a philanthropist."

Frances laughed. "Oh, the Colonel has been talking, has he? My brother would be quite annoyed, as he never liked to be praised."

"Then he's not human," said Vernon bluntly.

"He's human enough to be annoyed with me because I chose to earn my own living," said Frances bitterly. "However, let us see Ida, and then I'll tell you all about my brother. In fact, I want to ask your advice."

"Why should you think I was capable of giving advice, Miss Hest?"

"Oh, you are so grave," she replied with a smile and halting at the door of the boudoir, "and Mr. Dimsdale, poor man, always said that you were so clever in making suggestions. Besides, you don't know the opinion Ida has of you. Ida, dear," she passed into the room, "here is Mr. Vernon."

"Arthur," said the girl, who was lying on a couch near the window, "oh, I am so glad to see you. I'm glad Frances did not send you away. She's such a tyrant as my nurse."

"Perhaps you need a tyrant to manage you, Ida. You were always too impulsive and reckless of your health."

"I think I have changed since poor papa's death. I don't feel reckless in any way now. I shall never get over it; never."

Frances, who had taken some knitting to sit in a near chair, frowned as the girl spoke. "That's the way she goes on, Mr. Vernon. Isn't it foolish? I want her to go out and enjoy herself."

"As if I could when poor papa is dead only two months," cried Ida sighing.

"Oh, I don't mean you to lead a gay life. But you shouldn't stay here day after day without sunshine."

"I think Miss Hest is right, Ida," said Vernon, gravely scrutinising the pale face of the girl; "you are not looking well."

"I don't feel at all well," she replied peevishly.

"There's nothing organically wrong," put in Frances quickly. "The doctor said that Ida was perfectly healthy, and only needed to go out and lead a happy life to become quite strong."

"I shall never be happy again," said Ida with determination. Visitor and nurse--as Frances might be called--looked at one another. The girl evidently had made up her mind to be miserable.

This was not a sensible attitude to adopt, but then Ida was not a particularly sensible girl. She assuredly was not brilliantly clever, although she possessed a certain amount of brains. Pretty in a doll-like way, with her golden hair and blue eyes and creamy-pink complexion, she was an excellent type of a charming, modest, playful English girl, who would make a good wife and a devoted mother. But there was nothing original about her, and, being the spoilt darling of an elderly father, she was subject to moods. She was sick or well, merry or sad, just as the fit took her. At one time she would fatigue herself with theatres and dances and tennis-tournaments, and again, with a revulsion of feeling, would lie on the sofa all day, reading novels. Poets would have called her an April lady, of sunshine and rain, but an ordinary human being would have found her trying. It said a great deal for Miss Hest's true affection that she put up with so whimsical a being. A weathercock was nothing in comparison with Ida Dimsdale.

Why a sober, elderly, military man like Colonel Towton should desire to make such a featherhead his wife was a problem which Vernon was trying to solve as he stared at the girl on the sofa. Ida's mood since the death of her father had been to play the invalid. Certainly she had suffered a shock, as was natural; but time had softened the memory of the tragic death, and Vernon approved of Miss Hest's desire to get the girl away to Yorkshire.

"You ought to go to Gerby Hall, Ida," he remarked after a momentary silence; "a few weeks in the open air would do you all the good in the world."

"That's what I tell her," said Frances severely; "but she won't come down to Yorkshire, as I suggest. I shall end in going away altogether."

Ida stretched out a pretty hand and caught that of Miss Hest. "Oh, no, Frances, darling; you know that I cannot live without you. I must have a companion."

Vernon thought that this was a good opportunity to advance Mrs. Bedge's request which he had promised to bear in mind. "There is a charming old lady who offers to become your companion," he said gently. Ida stared and shuddered.

"I don't like old ladies. Who is she?"

"Mrs. Bedge. She asked me to speak to you because she has lost a lot of money, and is therefore willing to accept a salary as your companion."

Frances laid down her work and clasped her hands.

"Why, Ida, it's the very thing for you, dear. Mrs. Bedge is so old and so sedate. Then I can attend to my business, knowing you are all right."

"Frances," Ida sat up on the sofa and looked reproachfully at her friend, "how can you talk so? I like Mrs. Bedge, who has always been very kind to me, but there is no denying that she is extremely dull. Besides, I have told you that you can have whatever salary you like to ask to make up for losing all your engagements."

"And I replied that I wished to be independent," said Miss Hest stiffly; "I don't like living on anyone. That is why I left Gerby Hall. But about Mrs. Bedge, dear; it is really a capital idea."

"I shan't entertain it for one moment, and when Mrs. Bedge comes I shall tell her so--with thanks, of course," added Ida as an afterthought. "Why couldn't she speak to me direct?"

"Well," Vernon laughed, "it is rather a delicate subject. However, if you won't have her you won't, so there's no more to be said. And might I suggest, Ida, as you really are looking better with the colour that has come into your cheeks at the suggestion, that you should pull up the blind and make the room look more cheerful."

Ida jumped up lightly and did as he asked. Her mood had changed with the advent of this tactful young man. "Is there anything more your lordship requires?" she asked with a saucy curtsey.

"I should like a cup of tea; you are not hospitable," replied Vernon, delighted by the change in her manner.

Ida touched the button of the bell. "You were always greedy, Arthur." Then, when the footman appeared, she gave the necessary orders. "I believe you called less to see me than to get your tea," she ended, laughing quite in her old girlish fashion.

"Ida, I don't believe you are ill at all," said Vernon, scrutinising her.

"Her imagination makes her ill," put in Frances, who was knitting industriously. "She believes that she is sick, and therefore she _is_ sick."

"That is Christian Science," laughed Ida, sitting in a chair instead of returning to lounge on the sofa. "Perhaps you are right, dear. Of course, I have fretted a great deal over poor papa's death, but fretting will not bring him back," she ended with a sigh, and her face clouded over again.

"What you want is bright society," Vernon assured her hurriedly.

"And you suggest Mrs. Bedge," was Ida's ironical retort.

"No. I never thought that she was the right companion for you, as she is too staid and solemn; but I have discharged my conscience by putting her request to you. I never for one moment thought that you would entertain it."

Ida looked at him inquiringly. "You think that I am right?"

"Yes, I do. Miss Hest is a much better companion." Miss Hest bowed to the compliment with a grave smile.

"Oh, I mean what I say, my dear lady. Take Ida down to Gerby Hall and play the tyrant as much as possible by forcing her to keep in the open air all day. She will return quite cured."

"I don't think I should mind going to Yorkshire," said Ida pensively, as the tea was brought in; "and from what Frances says Gerby Hall must be a delightful old place. But then, my sojourn would be disagreeable, as Frances is not on good terms with her brother."

"Say that he is not on good terms with me," said Miss Hest coolly. "I have nothing against Francis, save that he objects to my being independent. But he is very just, and does not wish me to remain always absent from the Hall. I can go down, and can take any one down, on conditions."

"What are they?" asked Vernon, accepting a cup of tea.

"That I, and anyone I bring, bother Francis as little as possible. In fact, when I am at the Hall Francis usually goes to York while I remain; and even when he returns he sees almost nothing of me, as I keep out of his way. He isn't a bad fellow, and of course I should speak well of my twin brother."

"Are you very like one another, Frances, dear?"

"Extremely, in face and form. We can mystify anyone when we are seen together, but in disposition we are quite unlike one another. I am more egotistic than Francis. He is a philanthropist and devotes all his money to improving the parish. Six or seven villages owe everything to him."

"He keeps them all going, you mean?" suggested Vernon, idly leaning back.

"Not exactly. But two years ago there was a great dearth of water, which has frequently occurred during the dry weather. Francis determined that it should not occur again, so he obtained permission and engaged a clever engineer to construct a reservoir at the top of Bowderstyke Valley."

"That was a big work to undertake, and must have cost heaps of money."

"Francis can afford it," said Miss Hest indifferently. "Our grandmother, from whom he inherits the estates, left a lot of ready money, and Francis is a clever speculator. He works hard at stocks and shares and is always in touch with his broker in London. But all the money he makes he spends in improving the parishes around. He has repaired several churches, and has built a poorhouse, and also a small hall for entertainments. He and the vicar work hand in hand. Then, of course, this reservoir is his crowning work, as it supplied water to at least six villages."

"Oh, what a good man he must be," said Ida thoughtfully. "Here am I, with all my money, doing nothing."

Bearing in mind that he fancied Miss Hest wished to marry Ida to her brother, Vernon quite expected to hear her endorse this praise. Miss Hest, however, received the tribute very coolly. "Francis is vain," she remarked, "and desires public applause. Perhaps that is why he spends all his money in public charity."

"Does he never take any pleasure in other ways?" asked Vernon.

"I think he finds his pleasure in his home and surroundings. Still, he goes away to York and London and Paris for weeks at a time, and enjoys himself in some dull way. I am sure it is dull, as Francis hasn't got any spirit for a lively life. However, if Ida comes down she can judge him for herself. But I don't think we'll see much of him, and for my part I'm very glad. I always escape from Francis's society whenever I can. We don't get on well together at all; rather odd, isn't it, considering we are twins?"

"Oh, I don't know, Miss Hest. Twins often are the opposite in disposition as they are the replica of each other in looks."

Frances looked up with an approving smile. "You have described my brother and I to the life," she said nodding.

"Colonel Towton has a place near Gerby Hall, I believe?"

"Yes. The Grange, it is called, a quaint old mansion, three miles distant from my brother's property. Higher up the valley, in fact, and on a rise to the right of the reservoir. Colonel Towton wasn't pleased with the construction of the dam, as it spoilt the view from his house, and then he always declares that if the dam broke the valley would be swept from end to end by the force of the water. But I don't think any accident of that sort will happen," ended Frances emphatically; "The dam is extremely solidly built and will last for many a long day."

"I think I should like to go to Bowderstyke, if only to see Colonel Towton's house," said Ida unexpectedly; "He told me such a lot about it."

"I thought you didn't like Colonel Towton?" said Vernon smiling.

"There!" exclaimed Frances, dropping her knitting, while Ida flushed. "Didn't I say that Mr. Vernon would remark how fickle you are, Ida?"

"Fickle?" echoed the young man, looking puzzled.

"You know that Ida was in love with Mr. Maunders," went on Miss Hest, while Ida still blushed and appeared embarrassed. "She never gave her poor father any peace and always wanted to marry him. Well, since the death she has taken a positive dislike to him and can only find good in the Colonel."

"Ah!" said Vernon meaningly, "that would have pleased poor Mr. Dimsdale. He greatly desired to see Ida the Colonel's wife."

"I begin to think papa was right," said Ida in a low tone and turning away her face. "I did like Mr. Maunders very much. I suppose I really was in love with him in a way. But since papa's death he has scarcely been to see me and has not acted at all sympathetically. Now, the Colonel has called constantly, and has been so kind and so sweet that I--I----"

"That you love him," ended Miss Hest coolly.

"I'm not sure. He's awfully nice and is devoted to me. I daresay if I saw much of him I might--I might----"

"Well," Miss Hest interrupted again, "I hope you will, as I am sure Colonel Towton would make you an excellent husband. He is handsome and distinguished and sensible enough to guide you. My dear," Frances laid her hand on Ida's knee, "I shall be glad when you become Mrs. Towton, as then I shall be free to go back to my work. People are sure to say, if I stay with you, that I am actuated by mercenary motives."

"What nonsense," said Ida quickly; "why, you will not even let me give you a present."

"I can buy presents for myself," said Frances obstinately, "and, since I left Gerby Hall to be independent, I certainly don't intend to play the part of a bribed or paid companion."

Ida's eyes filled with ready tears. "How cruel you are, Frances," she wailed.

"I am sensible and reasonable," said Frances firmly, knitting with an obstinate mouth. "I really love you, dear, but I can't sacrifice my independence to be a hanger-on. All the same, until you have a husband I don't feel justified in leaving you, so feather-headed, to your own devices."

"I am not so weak-minded as you think," flushed Ida crossly.

"Yes, you are, my dear. You can't say whether you love Colonel Towton or Mr. Maunders. You don't know your own feelings."

"Yes, I do. I really believe I love Colonel Towton. I know that I did before Constantine appeared. Then I took a fancy to him. Now that fancy has gone, and I again love the Colonel. Yes," Ida paused meditatively, "I am sure that I love the Colonel."

"Pooh! Pooh! Just what I said: you don't know your own mind."

"I wish you would carry out your first impulse, Ida, and marry Colonel Towton. He's a good man and Maunders isn't." This came from Vernon.

"I feel that," muttered Ida, "but he fascinates me. And, after all, he is trying to learn who killed my father."

"So am I," said Vernon drily, "yet you don't love me. Not that I want you to," he added hurriedly and colouring. "But about Maunders; has he ever said anything to you likely to reveal the name of the assassin?"

"No. Why do you ask?" inquired Ida, and even Frances stopped knitting to look steadily at Vernon.

"Do you suspect that Mr. Maunders knows more than he admits?" asked Miss Hest.

"No! No! No! Of course I don't," answered Vernon hastily and leading cautiously up to the purpose of his visit; "but he was in the house when the murder took place and might have seen some stranger present who would be The Spider."

"I don't think so, and I don't see how he could, seeing that everyone was masked. If he had seen any suspicious character I certainly should have known of it at once."

"Why you, rather than anyone else?" asked Vernon quickly.

"Well, you see, Ida was in one of her freakish moods on the night of the ball and gave Mr. Maunders the cold shoulder, consoling herself with the Colonel all the evening."

"I did so because papa did not wish me to pass my time with Constantine."

"I daresay, Ida," responded Miss Hest rather acidly, "but you asked him to the ball notwithstanding your father objected. At all events, Mr. Vernon, as Mr. Maunders was cold-shouldered he came to me and I had the burden of him from ten o'clock up to the time Ida discovered the murder, at a quarter to midnight. Mr. Maunders never left me alone all that time, so if he had seen anyone suspicious he would have told me."

"Quite so, quite so," murmured Vernon absently and thinking that here was a very good _alibi_ for Maunders, and the stronger since it was given unconsciously by one who did not know the reason for putting it forward. "I daresay The Spider came in by the window," he remarked in louder tones.

Miss Hest made a significant gesture. "I don't know how he came or how he went," she said, nodding towards Ida, who had grown pale, "and the police seem to be able to discover nothing. But you might see Mr. Maunders and learn if he had any suspicions that a stranger was present."

"That would be useless in the face of what you tell me. He would have spoken to you had he been doubtful," said Vernon courteously, "and----"

"There, there! Don't say anything more. Don't you see that Ida is on the verge of fainting?"

Miss Hest caught Ida's hands. "Poor child, they are quite cold. You had better go, Mr. Vernon."

"Yes." He rose promptly. "I am sorry that I spoke of the murder. Don't think anything more about it, Ida, but go to Yorkshire and recover your health." Ida nodded faintly. "Yes; I shall go. It is best for me to get away from this tragic house." And Vernon quite agreed with her.