A Complex Crime

Evening Star, Issue 20089, 1 February 1929, Page 2

A Complex Crime

By Cecile V. Sayer

Author of ‘ Kindred Souls,’ ‘ The Folly of Dudley Vere,’ 1 Another Man’s Shoes,’ etc. [All .Rights Reserved.]

CHARTER XXL A SHATTERED IDOL. For, looking at me Irpiu the picture »vas the very woman whom till now 1 had deluded myself into believing was tlie mere plmntasy of imagination, Llio woman whom i was now certain 1 had met in the verandah of the “Mena House Hotel” 'at Cairo, m company with her husband, who, 1 could almost swear now, had been none other than Darrell. i glanced down at the bottom of the sketch, which bore the initials “ H.D.,” the date (which tallied with that mentioned by Dacre as being the period of Darrell’s former marriage), and the name of the place where the picture was painted, which was .Naples. There was a Christian name beneath the likeness—evidently that of the original—“ Sybil.” Sybil. Was that not the very name of the girl or woman whom, according to the artist’s statement, Darrell had married? Could there, in the taco of all these circumstances, longer exist any doubt as to the true facts of the case? Rut why should the mere fact of any former marriage have so strange un-in-fluence on Darrell’s present fife? Was there some secret guilt attached to it ? The recent words of the it j d-liaired woman recurred to me. Had not she hinted at crime in connection with hexemployer? Try as 1 could, I could find no solution to so much mystery. And, tteu then, Fate must have been laughing at me, for most of my conjectures tell wide of the real truth. When 1 raised my eyes from the sketch T met those of my host fixed upon me with a look oi haired. Marion stood by, speechless and appalled at the sudden change m tne Husband she loved, who till now Lad never spoken a harsh word to her, however disagreeable he had made himself at times to others. •With a sympathetic glance at, her pale, troubled lace, f silently Landed the sketch back to her husband, who flushed from brow to chin, at the look of contempt 1 gave him. . His temper had cooled down a bit, I suppose, for, laying down the sketen, he advanced a' step towards the v ile he had insulted. . “1 forgot myself—forgive me: ho said in Jow tones. And i, thinking it would be better to leave them alone, quietly left the library. I was boiling with inward wrath and indignation. What in tlie world did the man mean, 1 wondered, by ins conduct? Was not such an action as tlnu of which he had just been guilty more likeiy to arouse his wife’s suspicious against him?. Had he made some casual explanation of tlie pictuxo wlnJl his wife had accidentally chanced upon she would naturally have thought no more about it. As it was, all mannei of awkward suppositions might arise in her mind, winch would probably end finally m her unearthing her husband s carefully guarded secret about that former marriage of his. f Within a quarter ot an houi of my leaving the library Manon joined me I was sitting, deep in thought, with my hands clasping my knees, staring into the lire, and did not observe hei entrance until her hand touched m.y shoulder. Looking up into the sweet face bent over me I noted the quivering lips an.d the sad, though tearless eyes. A lump rose in my throat as m.v eves dwelt upon my friend. 1 did not speak, but taking her by the hand, I drew her down into the chair at my side. ~ , „ , “What am I to think of my husband’s strange conduct, Carmen.'' she asked. “ Could, anything have been more uncalled for than such a display of temper and abuse?. What was the girl to him, 1 wonder, that he should resent a harmless question concerning her picture? Why has he never told me that ho was an artist, for there is real genius exhibited in that sketch. I should have thought that the possession of such a gilt would have been a source of pri.de to him But he seems ashamed of- it; and ho never even attempts to paint anything now. Is it, do you think, because some sad memory is connected with that picture, and that art has lost its charm for him on that account ?” . . I could see what she was aiming at. She was under the impression that her husband had loved the girl called Sybil so well that, having presumably lost her, he no longer cared to cultivate his taste for painting. Her next words verified my suspicions. “ Until to-day,” she continued, without waiting for an answer, “ 1 believed myself to bo the sole possessor of my husband’s heart. I’d no idea that ho had been the least bit in love with anyone before he met me.” “There are very few men, my dear, who, at your husband’s time of life, have not had some lovo affair. on mustn’t let the knowledge of that upset you.” “ It’s not likely that I should bo so sillv. What I do object to is the deception. If Harry had merely said, when I asked him whose the picture was, that the original had been dear to him in the past, 1 should have thought no more about it. But Jus violent conduct has impressed mo with many strange ideas. 1 feel a different sort of woman from what 1 did a couple of hours ago. 1 seem to have lost something, and 1 foci that 1 shall never know how to set about finding it again.” . . . . / She stared into tne fare, and 1 knew slio was suffering, as only those quiet, even-tempered women can suffer. Her idol had fallen. And if ho was not altogether shattered in the InH, he, would .never again be raised to, tne same place in her estimation. “It is very unpleasant for you, Carmen,” she remarked after a while. “ 1 feel ashamed, downright ashamed —to think that you as my guest, should have witnessed such behaviour on the part of my husband, and that he should have so far forgotten himself as to swear at me in your presence—and all for nothing.” She covered her face with her hands and her breast heaved with suppressed emotion, “ Do not let the fact of my Inlying been a ■ witness of Mr Darrell s behaviour distress you, dearest,” 1 said consolingly. “If you can overlook it, it is not for an outsider to give opinions or to interfere. 1 lancy ha must have taken a little too much wine. No doubt ho is sorry enough by now.” My one idea was to make peace between the two, although 1 knew that my friend was not one who would keep up any sort of open feud with her husband. But, all the same, I” know that the affair would rankle with her for many a long day/ Her love and her faith alike had been deeply wounded. . • a . ... Our conversation was presently interrupted by the luncheon hell.

Darrell did not join us at tiro meal, making the excuse that he was. occupied and did not wish to be disturbed. He sent the message by Gustave, who added that his master would take lunch in his own room. Neither Marion nor I could cat much, and the various dishes were taken away almost untouched. There was, however, quite an unexpected diversion during the afternoon, in the shape of a . visitor, in spite of the-depth of snow.' Marion and 1 were alone in the drawing room, when a servant entered and handed his mistress a card. “ Mr Sidney St. Ormc,” she said, with slightly lowering brows; and, to the servant, ‘ You can show the gentleman in, Crump.” As the man -withdrew to do her bidding, she turned a perplexed face to me. “What in the world can have induced him to call?” she said. “ Why, the man is almost a complete stranger To me. And in all this snow,- too.” I smiled as I replied. “ Conceit, 1 should imagine.” For I recollected Sir Guy Ormond’s account of the gentleman. An instant later the bloated, but still handsome, husband of the dowdy little woman was ushered in. , Ho was faultlessly attired, and his moustache was elaborately waxed. It was with difficulty that I managed to repress a smile at his well-studied appearance. He bowed with courtly grace, first to Marion and then to me, and a bland smile overspread his countenance. “ You must pardon the liberty I have taken in calling upon you, Mrs Darrell,” he said. “ But—er—the fact is. you know, I was so very much—er—impressed by, your graciousness to me at the Towers that T could not resist taking the first convenient opportunity of renewing your charming acquaintance, also that of your friend here ’’— inclining his head towards me. “I trust that T am not unwelcome? ’ , “ I am not aware that I was particularly gracious to you on the night of which you speak, Mr St. Of me, remarked ray friend, with an amused look on her expressive face. But, or course, any friends of the Orrnonds are welcome to Darkleigh. Pray be seated.” , , . , . . He obeyed with alacrity, taking a scat very close to hers. And then ho entered into a silly sort of conversation, mainly about himself and the wonders ho fancied he had accomplished. At any other time, perhaps, knowing the man’s . character, neither Marion nor I could have been tolerant towards him as on this occasion, when Ins idiotic talk appeared to distract my friend’s mind from the unpleasant recolleccions of the morning. St. Orme stayed to tea. But again Darrell absented himself, although Marion sent him -word of the guest’s presence. “ You must excuse my husband’s absence, Mr St. Orme,” she remarked. “ He is engaged with some business connected with his estate, and it has occupied him nearly all day. Do you take cream and sugar in your tea?” “ Both, thanks. Er—l am not likely to take offence at Mr Darrell’s nonappearance, you know, so don’t let that upset you. I get on, in fact, so much better, er—with the ladies., I am a regular ladies’ man, you know.” Ho ogled first one and thou the other of us, and made himself so ludicrous that I felt inclined several times to laugh outright. If he was so much a. ladies’ man, as he called himself, it was a pity he didn’t make himself more agreeable to his poor, meek little wife, I thought; for she must be about the only lady who thought tho world of him. I could not imagine any woman of spirit, or even common sense, losing her heart to this great, empty-headed sot, in spite of his good looks; although, according to his own account, he had broken more hearts than he cared to keep count of. It was close upon 6 o’clock when our visitor rose to take his leave. His home, or rather his wife’s home, was situated within a mile or so of Ormond Towers; hut he spent most of his time in London or on the Continent. ’Hint was how it was, I supposed, that the Darrells had not made his acquaintance until that night of the All Hallows E’en ball, at the Towers. At present he was pleased to consider himself infatuated with my friend, and he dropped a hint to the effect that ho should spend the coining winter in Yorkshire, in order to cultivate the acquaintance so pleasantly begun. “ When you come again,” said Marion, pointedly, “ you must persuade Mrs St. Orme to accompany you.” “Thanks, er—dear Mrs Darrell. It’s awfully kind of you, you know; but the fact is, er—Mrs St. Orme very seldom visits at all. She is so very reserved, you know.” “ Wo must try and prevail upon her to break some of that reserve, then,” replied my friend, sweetly, and evidently much to her visitor’s chagrin; for, naturally, it was not part of his plan that his wife should bq included in possible future visits to Darkleigh. "I’m afraid, er—that your efforts will be useless,” he said. “But your wife visits the Orrnonds,” continued Marion, looking tho man straight in the face; “and from what I hear she always seems to enjoy herself there. At all events, I intend to ask her to come and see me.” St. Orme bit his lip, but merely bowed and said no more. An instant later he took bis departure. When the door had closed upon hiin, Marion turned to me and smiled, but it was a smile that had more of tears than of laughter in it. “I’m beginning to think that ther’s some logic in your principles regarding marriage, Carmen,” she said. Some men, it would seem, take an absolute pleasure in marrying a woman and then slighting and neglecting her. That St. Orme is one of them, but ho won’t meet with any encouragement here. If lie does not wish me to receive his wife, I cannot receive him. And now, dear. I suppose we must go and dress.” Darrell joined us at dinner that evening, hut it was a gloomy meal throughout, and T, for one, felt heartily glad when it was over. Marion tried to be her usual bright self, but failed dismally. Her husband, who was ill at case and morose, drank so freely of the different wines that he was half intoxicated by the time Marion and I rose from tlio table to repair to the drawing-room, leaving him £o his solitary cigar and more wine. He left ns to amuse ourselves in our own way for the rest of the evening, and took himself off to the billiardroom with Gustave as an opponent; Every now and again we could hear him laughing so loudly—a rare event ; with him —that my friend became quite 1 alarmed. I “ I can’t understand Harry’s be-,

haviour at all fo-day,” she remarked. “He doesn’t seem like the same,man. 1 wonder if- there is anything wrong. He was all right before he went to London. Hark! Why ho’s actually singing a comic song—a thing i’vo never known him to do before.” “ The truth is, ray dear,” I said calmly, “ ho is ashamed of this morning’s behaviour, and has drowned his thoughts in wine; hence his hilarity. Don’t worry.” “ Sing to me, Carmen,” she said, rapidly turning her thoughts from her husband. “It will soothe me.” 1 went to the piano and almost unconsciously commenced' to sing from memory ‘ The Song of the Brotherhood,’ because of its merry refrain. As 1 struck tiie finishing chords L wheeled round on the music-stool and smiled at Marion. Her face was flushed and her eyes had darkened with feeling. As her glance met mine she rose from her chair and swept across the room to my side. She suddenly dropped on her knees, and, placing her arms about me, buried her face on my breast, and burst into a storm of tears. It was so unlike her that, for a second, 1 was spellbound. Her pent-up feelings had at last given way, and I let her have her cry out. Clasping ray arms about her I held her close, but di.i not speak a word until her sobs ceased and she looked up at me, smiling through her tears. “ What a fool you must think me,” she said, “ but I could not help myself. The rue has entered into my life, and I have a presentiment that it will stay. Never since our marriage has rny husband treated me as he has done to-day; and I cannot forget it—l cannot forget it—for I have loved him so! He is showing his penitence, too, in a strange way, is he not? Ah, yes—love is often a curse. It is our punishment, 1 suppose, for loving one frail mortal before the God who made us all. But friendship—yes, true friendship—will endure, I verily believe, for all time. 1 hat is, such friendship as yours and mine. Oh, my dear, my dear, I pray that I may not lose you too!” I could tell from her wild words that her nerves were overwrought. My only answer was to press the lair head down again to my breast and to pass my hand soothingly over the rippling hair. No mother could have loved her child better than I did this friend of mine; and my heart throbbed \ in sympathy with hers in its misery. She calmed down somewhat as it drew near bedtime, and was full of contrition for having upset me, as she termed it. “ There is no one like a true woman to turn to in a time of trouble,” she said. “ What should I have done without the comfort of your presence, dearest? I think my heart would nigh have broken when Harry spoke as he did to me to-day. But there—l will not go over that again- You aro tired, Carmen; you had scarcely any rest last night, I know. So come, dear; we’ll go to bed. It’s evident that Harry doesn’t intend showing up again to-night. It is close upon halfpast 10 now.” As wo passed the billiard room on our wav upstairs WO could hear the click of the balls. Bu i - Marion did not enter the room, « she would have done on any other occasion, to bid her husband good-bye. She called out from the landing, and Darrell responded curtly without coming to tho doer. My friend’s face was as white as a sheet when ihe reached her can room, and I hardly liked to have her What on earth l.ad come to her husband? I wondered, angrily. I had hitherto given him credit inr his marked devotion towards his wife. He was adding insult to injury. Was it not she who had cause to forgive 9 The least he c-old have done woum have been ‘o show h:s sorrow loi his conduct of t]p3 morning. Instead of which he had shaa himself up ail day, in the sulks, with his valet. Had he been tender and loving—us had been his wont —with Marion, it would have gone a long way m helping to erase the impression caused by his hurst of violent ill-humour.

“Shall I sk-rp with you to-i:ehi, dear?” I asked her. “ You do net seem yourself. ’ “ Yos—do,” was the eager reply. "It will keep me trom thinking.” And I, amor m> oxpovionce of the previous night, was glad to comply. Foiq truth to tell, although I seldom suffered with an attack of the nerves, I rather feared being alone another night just then. And from Maron’s room there was no view of tlie path which led past my windows to the west wing. CHAPTER XXII. THE WOMAN' (IE CAIRO. Christmas had come and gone; and it was the last day but one of the old year. On the morrow a hall was to be given at Da rkleigh in my honour; as on the third day of the coming year my' viaic to tlio Manor would end. I had arranged to return to london in company with the Ormouds Marion and her husband, to all outward seeming, appeared to be on the old, devoted terras again; but I knew that there was a gulf of estrangement between them that could never entirely be hi dged. As tho mid of my stay drew near ray host took it into his head to make himself conspicuously agreeable to me. Tho sudden change was so apparent and the reason so clear that L could scarcely refrain on occasions from laughing in his face. Had he been anyone but the husband of Marion 1 should have long since resented his churlish behaviour, and left his house. It was only for my friend’s sake that I had consented to prolong my stay at the Manor to so lengthy a period.

Never before during my &tqy had the gloomy Manor House presented so gay an aspect as it did on this, tho last night o_f the old year. Dancing was in full swing, and the huge ballroom—so lung silent and disused—with its rich but laded arras, its domed ceiling, and polished oak floor, once more echoed to the sounds of revelry and mirth. The room was decorated with festoons of flowers and illuminated with many coloured lamps. An invisible orchestra discoursed sweet music for the revellers, and from an alcove could be heard the murmuring of fountains. As the hours advanced Sir Guy Ormond, who had held somewhat aloof all the evening, approached me. , “ 1 have been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you, Miss Sylvester,” he said gently; “will you grant me a feW words in private?” He had grown much thinner and paler since I had seen him last, and my conscience smote me as I noted tho fact. “Of course .1 will,” 1 replied, m answer to his question. “ Shall we go to the picture gallery? We are not likely to be disturbed there.” He bowed assent, and we left the room together. The picture gallery at Darkleigh was situated on the left of the ballroom, and was approached by a long, narrow corridor and a flight of stairs. It was a lengthy apartment, hung on cither side with portraits of dead ,

and gone Castrellos, who looked down, some with smiling faces and somo with lowering brows. At tho farther end was a lofty window that looked out on to tho flower gardens. . , There was a seat in the recess ol this window, almost hidden from view by massive tapestry hangings. And o this nook the young baronet and 1 betook ourselves. There was silence between us at first. Then Sir Guy said abruptly; “Is it true, Miss Sylvester, that you are going abroad for an indefinite period? “ Perfectly true. Why?” “Why?”- he echoed reproachfully, “why? Because, oh! I don’t think that I have till now realised how utterly lost you are to me. Because have been hoping against hope that your heart would relent towards me- that my great love would win you yet. And you aro going to place the seas between us. 1 cannot bear it—l cannot. If you go abroad I must go, too. I will follow you to the ends of tho earth. Oh, my love, do not banish me entirely; I cannot live without you!” He covered his face with his hands, and hard, tearless sobs shook him from head to foot. It was terrible to sec a man give way thus. And I—alas! I could find no words to comfort him. Unless 1 were utterly false to myself, 1 could not give him the answer that ho prayed for, for I did not love him. After a moment’s hesitation 1 took tho step that I thought would be wisest and feigned a sternness I did not feei. Better that he should think me heartless and cruel than that I should spoil' his life for ever, “ You forget yourself, Sir Guy, I rejoined coldly. ‘“I told you when you asked me this question before that I had no lovo to give you, and that it was hopeless to think of me in any light but that of a friend. I beg that you will no longer distress yourself on iny account, for my decision will never change.” . . , I turned my face from him and stared out at the night. The moon had just risen and was flooding the gardens with radiance. And just then the house clock struck the hour of 12. The new year had commenced. Glad of the diversion, I turned once more to my companion. “A Happy New Year, Sir Guy,” I said, holding out mv hand to him.

He clasped my fingers closely in his own’and raised them to his lips. “ And to you. God bless you, my ” He checked himself suddenly and hit his lips. “God bless you!” he repeated. Am! then was silent. “ Had we not better be returning to tiro ballroom” I asked. “It does not look well to he absent at this moment.” “ I beg your pardon—no—of course not.” He offered me his arm, and we were about to leave the picture gallery when our attention was attracted by two figures in the garden. Involuntarily, we both paused, and stood still to watch their movements. The garden paths were fearfully muddy, for the heavy snows which had fallen in the earlier part of December had been followed by days of rain, all of which had tended to make the grounds like a bog. Tho two mysterious beings, however, whom Sir Guy and 1 were watching, appeared not to notice the state of the walks, but continued promenading to and fro, to and fro, as though their lives depended on it. The baronet passed bis fingers through bis hair and looked perplexed. “ Who the dickens can they be, Miss Sylvester?” be queried. “They look like women. Is it any of the servants, do you think? _ Ah! they’re coming nearer. IVhat in the world can their game be ?” . 1 glided in front of him and strained by eyes to catch sight of the pair. And as my gaze fell upon tho nearest of them, 1 started violently, for it was the red-haired woman. Her companion —good heavens !—her _ companion was none other than the original of tho picture which Marion had chanced to find in the old chest in the library. My heart gave a sudden bound, and then spemed to stand still. Like a cold wave sweeping oveu me. came memories; the memory of the honeymoon couple I had met in Cairo; the bride, who was tho exact counterpart of the woman out yonder; and the bridegroom, whose resemblance to my friend’s husband was undeniable. How came these two under the same roof? Tho man was masquerading as Marion’s husband, but it was very apparent that his first wife was still living, and that sho was a captive in tho homo which should legally be hers. Had I not feared this before? But I had put aside the fear as next to impossible; only to find how true it had been all along. And still the Fates were laughing at mo. ,

I hnd no desire, however, that Sir Guv should share ray suspicions with regard to Darrell, although ray sense of "justice revolted against the continual practice of screening what 1 knew well enough was wrong. My only excuse must he the love I boro the iriend whom I was so anxious to spare the pain of knowing hew deeply her husband had wronged her. “No doubt they are some of the servants,” 1 replied, in answer to ray companion. ‘ M’m—that big woman looks like a servant, but the other—look _at her, Miss Slyvester Surely that little slip of a thing is not a menial ? Great Scott!”—as the red-haired woman’s face became more clearly visible in the moonlight—“ what a repulsive countenance that female has! She is dragging that poor little creature along against her will. You brute!” he ejaculated, as Gustave’s wife suddenly raised -her hand ami struck her companion a blow across tho face. “We must interfere in this, Miss Sylvester,” he continued hotly. “ I’m certain that Mrs Darrell wouldn’t brook such brutality as that from one servant in her employ towards another. I shall make it my business to make this affair known.” , I placed ray hand upon his arm. “ You must do nothing of the kind. Sir Guy,” I remarked calmly. “ That woman, the red-haired one, has been drinking. She is not like that at any other time.” He opened his blue eyes and looked at me in mute astonishment. And I continued—- “ Strange as the request must seem to you, I must beg of you no t* mention to anyone what yu have just seen. Y m may be sure that I have a good reason for making such a request. But for the sake of others my lips are sealed. Can you trust me sufficiently to feel assured that, according to my own judgment, I am acting far tho best? Can yon trust me, and keep silent about what you have seen? ” “ I ha-'e every faith in your discretion,” was the emphatic reply. “ Whatever reason you have for your request T am confident that it is a good one. It goes against me to screen that monster out there, whoever she may be - but your wishes must be my law. And, dear (hi voice softening), if anything ever troubles yon, and you want a friend and i strong arm to fight for any cause of yours, remember that I am always at your service. My hfe is yours, to command at any time. I bowed by head silently. I was too much touched to be able to speak. . I did not dream then how, at no very distant day, he was to keep his promise. (To be. continued.)