Perhaps among all his friends Myles had no warmer supporter than Spencer Ellersby. The young man appeared to be genuinely sorry that his evidence about meeting Desmond in St. James' Street should be used against him.
"Hang it!" he said to Marton, as they were seated at their club, "if I had only known how it would have been twisted, I'd not have said a word, but that detective fellow got it out of me somehow--brute of a fellow--killed my dog, you know, Pickles."
"Well, I hear they'll not be able to prove the dagger in Desmond's possession was the one used," said Marton, "good for poor old Myles--hey!"
"I think it's d--d rubbish, the whole thing," retorted Ellersby, hotly; "what the deuce should Myles kill this woman for, she was nothing to him; more likely Calliston knows more about it."
"Well, he'll soon be asked at all events," said Marton, with a chuckle. "The Seamew's back at Brighton."
"What!" cried Ellersby astonished. "And Lady Balscombe?"
"Oh, she's on board also," said Marton. "Sir Rupert has gone down, I hear, to see his wife--what a deuce of a row there'll be, hey!" and the old reprobate rubbed his hands.
"Well, there is one thing to be said," observed Ellersby ringing for a brandy and soda, "Calliston can't marry Miss Penfold now."
"All the better for Desmond, dear boy, hey?"
"I don't see that," retorted Ellersby coolly, "even if Desmond's acquitted, he'll have a stain on his name--she won't marry him."
"Hey!" said The Town-crier, all on the alert for news. "What do you mean?"
"Simply this, that I'm going to have a look in at the heiress myself."
"Bosh!"
"Fact, the matrimonial stakes are open to any one, and I don't see why Miss Penfold shouldn't marry me."
"She might if Desmond was out of the way, but as it is--pish!"
"Well, we'll see," retorted Ellersby, lighting a cigarette. "I've fallen in love with her, and I'm going to ask her to be my wife.
"Bet you a hundred to one she don't have you," said Marton, producing his pocket-book.
"Done," and the bet was booked immediately.
"Why hang it," said Marton, when this little transaction was concluded, "you're not fit to marry--drink, dear boy--bad thing, hey?"
"Oh, I'll give all that sort of thing up when I'm married," replied Ellersby, carelessly.
"You'll have to give up half your life then," retorted his friend rudely, "for you always seem to be at the brandy bottle."
Ellersby laughed, in nowise offended.
"If you had had as many agues and fevers as I have, you'd be at it too; but you needn't be afraid, when I become Benedict I'll take the pledge. By the way, come and see my new rooms, I've got 'em all done up."
"Right, dear boy, right," said Marton, and the two gentlemen left the club chatting about the Piccadilly murder and the possible result thereof.
While this interesting conversation was going on, Sir Rupert, Dowker, and Norwood were all in a first-class carriage on their way to Brighton. As Marton had informed Ellersby, the Seamew had returned to England the previous day, and now the trio were going down to see if Lady Balscombe could give them any information likely to solve the mystery of the murder of Lena Sarschine. Of course Sir Rupert fully recognised the truth of the proverb "Every man for himself," but now the guilty passion of his wife appeared a secondary consideration to the desire of saving an innocent man from a shameful death.
On the way down, Norwood told Dowker the discovery he had made about the dagger, at which the detective was much astonished.
"If; as you say," he remarked, "the lodging-house servant can prove the broken dagger was in the house all the time, it certainly cannot have been the weapon used, and yet it corresponds in every particular with the other weapon I took from Cleopatra Villa. I can quite understand Miss Sarschine taking it and the manner in which it came into Desmond's possession, but if this was not the weapon used, where is the weapon that was."
"There are plenty of these daggers," suggested Norwood.
"Certainly--but the coincidence in this case is that the dagger found in Mr. Desmond's rooms, which came from the house of the murdered woman, was poisoned, and Lena Sarschine was killed by a poisoned instrument."
"There were no other daggers taken from the house I suppose?" asked Norwood.
"Not that I know of," replied the detective, "but I am convinced that the whole secret of this crime lies in the conversation between Mr. Desmond and Lady Balscombe."
"You do not say my wife is guilty of this murder?" said Sir Rupert angrily.
"I say nothing," replied Dowker evasively, "till I see Lady Balscombe."
When the trio arrived at Brighton it was growing late, so they went to the "Ship" Hotel and had something to eat. Finding out from the waiter that the Seamew was lying a short distance from the pier they went down, and hiring a boat rowed to the yacht. When they climbed up on to the deck they were accosted by one of the officers, who wanted to know their business.
"We want to see Lord Calliston," said Balscombe quietly.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," replied the officer, "as he went up to town to-day on business."
"Is there not a lady on board?" asked Norwood.
"Yes--you mean----"
"Never mind telling us her name," said Balscombe shortly, feeling a horror at hearing his wife's name mentioned. "Can we see her?"
"I will ask," answered the officer, and he went downstairs to the cabin, from which he soon reascended with the news that they could go down.
Dowker went first, followed by Norwood and Sir Rupert, all feeling in a strange state of excitement at the prospect of the coming interview.
The cabin was small, but luxuriously fitted up in pale blue silk, and the walls panelled in oak, with small medallions of seascapes around. A lamp hanging from the ceiling shed a soft mellow light over all, and on the table below was a work-basket and some embroidery.
"She has been working, I see," whispered Balscombe with a sneer as they entered into the cabin. No one was present, but suddenly they heard the rustle of a dress, and a curtain at the end of the cabin parted admitting a woman--a tall fair faced woman, with shining golden hair.
At this sight Norwood and Dowker turned to look on Sir Rupert, to watch the effect of the sight of his wife on him, when they saw he was pale as death and had made a step forward.
"You wish to see me?" asked the lady, advancing towards the group.
"You--you----" cried Sir Rupert in a choked voice. "You are not Lady Balscombe."
"I!" in surprise. "No!--I am not Lady Balscombe."
Dowker and Norwood turned suddenly.
"Who are you?"
"Lena Sarschine!"