Mrs. Povy was delighted to see Calliston back again but she was not going to betray any exultation, as she did not think him worthy of it, so received him with great dignity and formality. Lord Calliston, a tall, slender, dissipated young man, noticed the restraint of her manners and commented thereon at once.
"What's the matter with you, Totty," he asked, jocularly. "You are as cross as two sticks--anyone been proposing to you?"
"I wouldn't have them if they had," snapped Totty. "No, my lord, there ain't nothing the matter with me as far as I'm aware."
"Now, Mrs. Povy, that's nonsense," returned Calliston, disbelievingly. "You're cross about something."
"Which ain't to be wondered at," burst out Totty, wrathfully. "Not 'avin' bin brought up to being badgered and worrited by policemen."
Calliston turned round in his chair, and looked at her keenly.
"What do you mean?" he asked, sharply.
"What I say, my lord," replied Totty. "After you 'ad gone some policeman, called Dowker, or Bowker, came here and wanted to know all about you."
"Oh, Dowker!" said Calliston, thoughtfully, "that's the detective that arrested poor old Myles."
"You know all about it then, my lord?" said Totty, quickly.
"I couldn't be in London twenty-four hours without knowing something of the Jermyn Street affair," replied Calliston, coolly. "I know that a woman was found dead, and they arrested my cousin as the murderer, thinking the woman was Lena Sarschine."
"And 'aint she?" gasped Mrs. Povy.
"No, it was Lady Balscombe that was murdered."
"But I thought she went off with you?"
"Well, she didn't--shows I'm not as black as I'm painted," replied the young man, "but the worst of it is they seem to think I'm mixed up in the affair, and the detective was down at Brighton yesterday to see me. I quite expect a call from him this morning to find out what I know about the row."
"You don't think Mr. Desmond guilty, do you, my Lord?" asked Mrs. Povy, anxiously.
"Pish! what a question to ask," said Calliston, contemptuously, "you've been with our family for a long time, Mrs. Povy, and you ought to know our character by this time--Hullo!" as a knock came to the door, "who's that?"
The door opened and his valet entered, soft-footed and deferential.
"A gentleman to see you, my lord," he said, handing Calliston a card.
"Humph! I thought so," said Calliston, glancing at the card; "show Mr. Dowker up, Locker."
Locker retired, and Mrs. Povy was about to follow his example when Calliston stopped her.
"Don't go, Mrs. Povy," he said, authoritatively, "you saw this man before, so you can hear our interview--I may have to ask you something."
Totty acquiesced obediently, and went over to the window while Locker, showing Mr. Dowker into the room, retired, closing the door after him. Calliston opened the conversation at once.
"Your name is Dowker--you are a detective--you want to see me about the Jermyn Street murder?"
"Quite correct, my lord," replied Dowker, quietly, though rather astonished at the business like tone assumed by Calliston. "I want to ask your lordship a few questions."
"Indeed!" said Calliston, abruptly. "Oh, so you didn't find out everything from the lady you saw on board the yacht?"
"How do you know I was down at Brighton?" asked Dowker.
"Simply enough," answered Calliston. "I received a telegram from my sailing-master informing me of your visit. You saw Miss--Miss----" here he glanced at Totty as if doubtful to announce his marriage, "Miss Sarschine?"
"Yes, I saw Miss Sarschine," replied Dowker, with an emphasis on the last word.
"And she doubtless told you of her visit to Lady Balscombe's house?"
"She did."
"And of Lady Balscombe's visit to these rooms?"
"Correct."
"Then what do you want to know from me?" demanded Calliston.
Mr. Dowker ran his hand round the brim of his hat.
"I want an account of your lordship's movements on that night," he said smoothly.
Lord Calliston sprang to his feet with a burst of laughter.
"Good Heavens!" he cried. "Surely you don't think I killed Lady Balscombe?"
Dowker said nothing, but looked discreetly on the ground, upon which Calliston frowned.
"Don't carry the joke too far," he said, harshly. "I am a very good-natured man, but there are limits to one's good-temper--in some cases I would decline to answer your very impertinent questions, but as I want to save my cousin's life, if possible, I will tell you what I know--be seated."
The detective bowed and took a seat, while Calliston turned to Mrs. Povy.
"You can go now," he said quietly, "and don't let me be disturbed until I ring the bell."
"Wait a minute," observed Dowker, as Mrs. Povy passed him. "You told me it was Miss Sarschine visited Mr. Desmond on that night?"
"And so it was," retorted Totty, defiantly, pausing at the door. "If I was massacred this minute I'd swear it."
"How are you so certain?"
"Because I saw her face--as if I didn't know it, and another thing, she wore the same dress and jacket as she did when she were here in the afternoon--get along with you," said Totty, viciously, "telling me I'm telling lies, an' am old enough to be your mother, only my sons 'ud be men and not skeletons," and with this sarcastic allusion to Dowker's leanness, the indignant Mrs. Povy departed.
"Ah!" said Dowker, thoughtfully, not paying any attention to her last remark, "it was the resemblance and the change of clothes made her make the mistake--humph----"
"Now, then, Mr. Dowker," said Calliston, tapping the table impatiently, "where do you want me to begin from?"
"From the time your lordship arrived at 'The Pink 'Un.'" Calliston stared at him in astonishment.
"How the deuce did you know I was there?" he asked.
"Easily enough," replied the detective, coolly; "the little urchin you gave money to told me."
"The devil!" said Calliston, in a vexed tone. "One seems to be surrounded with spies--perhaps you can tell me how I spent the rest of the night?"
"No, I leave that to your lordship."
"Then it's easily done," retorted the young lord, coolly. "I left these rooms intending to go to Shoreham by the ten minutes past nine train from London Bridge."
"Was Lady Balscombe to meet you there?"
"No--she intended to go first to the Countess of Kerstoke's ball in order to avert suspicion, and then was to come down to Shoreham by the first train in the morning--about five forty-five. At all events, I left here about eight o'clock in order to go down, when I looked in at my club for a few minutes, and heard of a sparring match coming off at 'The Pink 'Un,' and was induced by some friends to go. I thought I'd not bother about going down by the nine-ten train, as I could catch the early train in the morning, and go down with Lady Balscombe, so I went to 'The Pink 'Un,' and saw the match--then I thought I'd go home to my rooms. Just as I got to them a woman came out of the doorway, and rushed away like a mad thing. If you remember, it was a foggy night, but I was close enough to recognize the dress, and thought it was Lena Sarschine. Just as I was puzzling over her sudden appearance, a man passed me quickly, and went after the woman--they both disappeared in the fog, and I thought I'd better follow and find out what was up. I lost myself in the fog, and after wandering about for about a couple of hours I managed to get a cab and go to my club; there I met some fellows, and as I had to catch an early train, did not think it worth while to go to bed. I fell asleep, however, on the sofa, and the end of it was I went down to Shoreham by a late train, and came on board the yacht. They told me Lady Balscombe was on board, so I ordered the yacht to start at once, and it was only when we were right out that I found out my mistake--until I came back to England, I had no more idea than you that Lady Balscombe had been murdered."
Dowker listened to all this with the deepest interest, and then asked Lord Calliston a question.
"Who was the man who passed you in pursuit of the woman?"
"How should I know?" replied Calliston, fidgeting in his seat.
"You did not know him?"
"How could I recognise any one on such a foggy night?"
"Had you any idea who it was?" persisted Dowker.
"Well, I had," said Calliston reluctantly. "It is only fancy mind, because I did not see the man's face, but I thought his figure and bearing resembled some one I know."
"And the name of that some one?"
"Sir Rupert Balscombe."
Dowker uttered an ejaculation of astonishment and summed up the whole thing in his own mind.
"Cock-and-bull story," he muttered to himself. "He has learned since it was Lady Balscombe whom he saw and wants to put the blame on to the husband--pish!"
"Well," said Calliston anxiously.
"It's a grave accusation to make," said Dowker.
"I'm not making any accusation," retorted Calliston, violently. "I only think it was Sir Rupert. I'm not accusing him of anything. Is that all you want to know? If so, you'll oblige me by leaving my rooms."
Both men arose to their feet and looked at one another, and so absorbed were they that they did not hear the door softly open behind them.
"Not yet, Lord Calliston," said Dowker calmly. "I want to know what you did those two hours you were in the fog."
"Do! nothing, except walk about looking for the woman I thought Lena Sarschine."
"And you found her?"
"No."
"Bah! what jury would believe that?"
"Do you mean to accuse me of this murder?" asked Calliston furiously, clenching his fists.
"I accuse you of nothing," retorted Dowker coolly. "I merely put a case to you--here is a man, yourself, going to run off with another woman, when his mistress, as he thinks, comes to stop him--he sees her leave his chambers in a furious rage, follows her--what is more natural than that he should meet her, and she heaps reproaches on him----"
"Wait a minute," interrupted Calliston with a sneer, "your picture is very tragic but quite wrong. Suppose I did meet the woman who left my chambers, I would find not Lena Sarschine but Lady Balscombe, the very woman I wanted to meet."
Dowker rubbed his head, being for once in his life nonplussed by a man as clever as himself.
"It does sound wrong I confess," he said ruefully, "still you are in an awkward situation. If you did not kill Lady Balscombe, what is the name of the person who did?"
"Lena Sarschine!"
It was a third voice that uttered the name, and both men turned round to see Lena Sarschine looking at them with blazing eyes.
"Yes!" she said, advancing towards Dowker. "I knew you suspected Calliston when you came to the yacht yesterday, and I came up to prevent him meeting you. I am too late for that, but not too late to prevent you arresting an innocent man. You want to know who murdered my sister--I did--I was mad with rage and jealousy, I followed her from her own house and saw her leave these rooms, we met and she told me she was going down to Shoreham and defied me, so I killed her with this dagger," and throwing a small silver mounted stiletto at the detective's feet, her unnatural strength gave way and she sank on the floor in a dead, faint, while the two men stood looking blankly at one another.
"My God!" said Calliston, "this is terrible!"
"Yes," replied Dowker, "if it is true."
"Don't you believe it?"
"Not one word!"