She Painted her Face (5 page)

" 'D'you want to be taken?' he hissed. 'That cursed horse is back in the stables by now, and in two minutes' time the hue and cry will be raised. And if we're to be found, we're done. That Jew will show us no mercy— he'll lead the pack, and he'll hound us into prison for twenty years.'

"That brought the others up to their feet and into the car, and thirty seconds later the latter was out of my sight.

"Well, there you are. We know the whole truth of the matter from first to last, and, thanks to your enterprise, we have in our hands the remarkably beautiful subject of their activities. As I said two days ago, you're one of Fortune's pets; but you know how to use your luck— I'll give you that. It would never have entered my head to carry the lady off."

"Of course it would," said I.

"No, it wouldn't," said Herrick. "I might have rescued her, but after that I should have taken her home." He glanced at his watch. "It's eight o'clock now, and she'll probably sleep till lunch. D'you propose to tell her the truth this afternoon?"

"About her father? Why not?"

"Very good," said Herrick. "And then?"

I got to my feet.

"I'm going to suggest that she stays here. It's clear that Brief isn't safe. If she is to come by her rights, we've got to get Percy down. And we've stolen a march on him— if she doesn't go back. You see, he'll think that his bullies carried her off. There's nothing to show that they failed. And they're not likely to tell him from what you say."

Herrick stared and stared. At length:

"Young man," he said, "If you go on like this you'll be translated or something before your time. Such wisdom is not of this world. Talk about taking Time by the forelock— why, if you go on like this, the poor old chap'll be bald."

This was absurd, and I said so. One day your brain will work, and the next it will not. The astonishing luck I had had had whetted my wits, and I saw the obvious plainly, instead of passing it by. But I could see nothing more. And I had an uneasy feeling that we were going too fast. Before we had entered the field we had proved our utmost suspicions, had misled Percy Virgil and won the charge of the lady whom we had hoped to help— a handsome enough beginning, as anyone must have allowed. But peer as I would, I could not see how to go on. And the fairest advantage is useless unless you can follow it up.

Here Brenda came to say that our breakfast was served, and Herrick took occasion to tell her that no one must know that Lady Caroline Virgil was now at the farm.

"She has said so already," said Brenda. "No one will know."

"D'you think she's all right?" said I. "I mean, she was shaken up."

Brenda smiled.

"You need have no fear," she said. "Mother gave her one of her simples, and when she wakes she'll be perfectly well—" She hesitated. "But mother says that she will not know how she came here and will remember nothing that happened after her fall."

"Good Heavens!" said I. And then,

'But how can she tell?"

"From the look in her eyes," said Brenda. "She walked and talked, but she was not keeping a copy of what went on. That part of her brain was not working, so mother says." She smiled again. "But that is of no account. You can show her your copy, you see— and I will tell her that she may believe what it says."

We had finished lunch, but Lady Caroline Virgil was still asleep, so, since we were both of us tired, Herrick withdrew to his chamber and I went down to the meadows, to take some rest.

The spot was peaceful. A gentle stream was lacing the sunlit fields, which neighbouring woods made Into a private park; oak and elm and chestnut rose from the springing turf, and cows were contentedly grazing the clean-cut shadows they threw; on the other side of the water, three well-grown limes were spreading a fragrant tent, and there I lay down, to consider the comfortable prospect and relish the agreeable music the birds and the insects made.

And after a very few minutes I fell asleep.

I AFTERWARDS found that I had slept for an hour and a half, but when I awoke with a start— for I had meant only to doze, so that I might be in attendance directly my lady came down— Caroline was there sitting before me and waiting for me to wake up.

"Good Lord," said I. "Where's Brenda? I asked her to let me know the moment you waked."

Lady Caroline smiled.

"I overruled your orders," she said.

She had changed her clothes and was wearing a full-skirted frock which fell perhaps three inches below her knees. This was of linen, embroidered in red; and I afterwards found that it was the dress of the country and came out of Brenda's drawer.

I begged her to excuse me a moment and stepped to the stream. There I laved my face and my hands and then came back better fitted to tell my tale.

I took my seat before her and waited for her to begin.

"I'm told I can trust you," she said. "How do I come to be here, instead of at Brief?"

I took a deep breath. Though I had hoped she was wrong, it seemed painfully clear that Brenda's mother was right.

"I asked you," I said, "I asked you to let me bring you. And when I had told you why, you gave your consent."

Lady Caroline frowned.

"What was the reason you gave me? You see, I can remember nothing from the moment I took my toss. That's sometimes the way of concussion. Did you pick me up?"

"It's a curious story," said I. "May I tell it in my own way? And I'll answer what questions you like as soon as I've done."

"That's fair enough. Will you give me a cigarette?"

I did as she asked, and then I told her my tale, beginning from where we had sighted the closed and numberless car and ending with Herrick's account of its occupants' consternation on finding their victim gone. She never interrupted me once, but sat very still with her beautiful eyes on my face, and she showed no emotion at all, except that once or twice she knitted her brows.

When I had done, she lifted her head to the sky.

"I should like to thank you," she said, "before I say anything else. But for you— " A tremor ran through her. "That change of marked clothes sounds ugly. I was to be passed off as somebody else. Never mind. I'm very grateful. I think you've probably saved far more than my life."

"That's my good fortune," said I "I just had the luck to be there."

"I don't admit that. However how do you happen to know my cousin?"

"I don't," said I. "I only know him by sight. We were both in the same hotel about three weeks ago. In England, that was. And one doesn't forget his face."

"How did you know who I was?"

"I knew you existed," I said, "and I thought that you lived at Brief, and so the moment I saw you I guessed who you were."

She nodded, as though satisfied. Then she drew up her little feet and laced her delicate fingers about her knees.

"And now for the omnibus question -why were you and your friend on my father's estate— at four o'clock in the morning-taking care not to be seen?"

I put a hand to my head. Tremendous fences were coming: if I was to clear them all they must not be rushed.

"We were there," I said, "to try to discover some place from which we could watch the castle without being seen."

"Why did you want to watch the castle?"

"Because I had reason to think that between the count and your cousin your life was— well, not too easy— not what it ought to be."

Her eyes on the blowing meadows, Lady Caroline Virgil lifted her delicate chin.

"I want to be fair," she said quietly. "But don't sail too close to the wind I'd like to hear you out but you can't expect me to listen to— sheer impertinence."

"I know," I said, flushing. "I'm sorry. But will you please believe that I came from England on purpose to do what I've done today? I didn't know that your cousin would go so far. But I knew that he might. I knew that you stood in his way, and I knew that he and his father—"

"His father? His father is dead."

I got to my knees and put out my hands for hers.

"Take hold of them, please," I said. "I'm going to give you a shock."

Her eyes never left my eyes, but she did as I said:

"A year ago last April your father died in my arms. He was the Count of Brief. The man you call father is your uncle, and your cousin his only son."

Eyes shut, head back, her underlip caught in her teeth, she held to my hands as though she would never let go, and her breath was whistling in her nostrils and the blood was out of her face.

"What— proof— have— you— of these things?"

"I will go and get it," I said.

"No, no. Don't leave me just yet. After all, I've had proof enough ever since I could think for myself. Why didn't my mother live?"

"My mother died young," I said. "I was two years old."

"As I was." She covered her face with her hands and bowed her head. "Will you tell me about— my father?''

"He was very gentle," I said. "I had no money then, and neither had he. We lived and worked together for nearly two years, and he never once complained of his bitter fate. I never knew his story until the night he died."

"Did he charge you to come and tell me?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I saw your cousin. No one could see your cousin and not be sure that he was a dangerous man. And I knew that you stood in his way— that but for you he would one day be Count of Brief. By then my luck had changed, and I had money to spend and nothing to do. So I came to see for myself. If I'd found you safe and happy I should have kept my counsel and gone away."

"You say that— that this man is my uncle, and not my father at all: that he is Percy's father."

"Yes," said I.

"I can well believe it," she said. "But then you say that this man is not Count of Brief."

"He never was," said I. "He was and is Count Ferdinand, the younger twin. He dispossessed your father twenty-two years ago."

She drew in her breath.

"Does my cousin know this?"

"I shouldn't think so," said I. "That's the kind of secret which a man not only keeps but does his best to forget."

She nodded thoughtfully. Then:

"Will you show me the proof you spoke of? When you say that this man is my uncle, I know that's true. I mean it explains— everything. But I cannot realise that he is not the Count of Brief. And what of my mother? Wasn't he married to her?"

I got to my feet

"Your father's statement," I said, "will make everything plain."

I hesitated. "Only please don’t hope for too much. It'll prove what I've told to you, but it wouldn't cut much ice in a court of law."

"I don't care about that— I want to be sure myself."

"So you shall be," said I, and made my way to the house.

On the stairs I met Herrick, and told him what I had done.

"Good Heavens," said he. "You could teach a bull to rush in. And how did she take the news?"

'Wonderfully well," said I. "Will you appear in about a quarter of an hour?"

"I shall wait till I'm sent for," said Herrick. "And then I shall probably hide. There's a lot of the gazelle in my nature. And I'm shy of attending an inquest with which I have nothing to do."

"I had to open it," said I.

"I know. I know. But then you're exceptional."

THREE MINUTES later I faced my lady again.

"There are the papers," I said "One is your father's statement, which he had written and signed. The other is mine, which sets out what he told me before he died. Both of these are copies. The originals lie at my bank."

She read them through twice over Then she folded the sheets and lifted her head.

"I've no doubt now," she said quietly.

"I'm glad of that," said I. "I had nothing to go on, and yet I knew it was true. Your father was incapable of lying. I can't put it better than that."

With a sudden movement she clapped her hands to her temples and pushed back her excellent hair

"My Heaven!" she cried. "My Heaven, how he must have suffered! Sent down into hell by the man he was trying to save! Sent down for good— for ever! Sentenced to death— for life! And what of the man who did it?" Her eyes were aflame "What of that double traitor that saved his body by losing his brother's soul?"

"I'll go all lengths," said I, "to help you bring him down. I want to serve you; that I've wanted to from the moment I saw your face. And I'm not alone. I know I can count on Herrick. He's with me here. He knew your father and mother before you were born. And then I can count of my servant: he owes your cousin a grudge."

Lady Caroline glanced at the watch on her wrist.

"There's so much I want to say and so much I want to be told. But time's getting on, and if I'm to go back to the castle—"

"I beg that you wont," said I. "If you do, you'll throw away a very good card. Your cousin arranged your abduction, and now you have disappeared-according to plan. Why show him that his plan has miscarried?"

Finger to lip, my lady sat very still.

"That's sound," she said. "But it's awfully inconvenient. You'll have to lend me some money to buy some clothes."

"You must know I'd love to," I said.

"I wish I could remember what happened after my fall. I can't think how I consented to let you carry me off."

"You did," said I. "I swear it."

"You must have been very persuasive. I'd never seen you before and I didn't know anything then."

"I think it was written," said I. "Fate sent me to Brief this morning— this day of all days, and when I had put a spoke in your cousin's wheel Fate impelled you to grant my—unusual request."

"Fate brought you to Brief this morning, no doubt about that. But that is as much as she did. What you and I did thereafter, we did of our own free wm. I don't know why we did it, because my memory's gone. And I'm sorry for that, for I'd very much like to know why we did as we did. Of course, I can't answer for you. You may make a practice of making 'unusual requests.' But it isn't my way to grant them— to men I don't know."

"I've told you I— "

"I know. I don't value your opinion. As a man of action you're splendid. You really are. But motives are rather beyond you. You wouldn't know one If you saw it, and that's the truth." I suppose I looked crestfallen, for she laughed and laid a hand on my arm. "And I like you for that. Oh, and try to forget you're a stranger! Let's say we made friends this morning— in the dream that I can't recapture. Though you're not clear about it. I'm practically certain we did."

I thought of her sitting In the bracken, with her dark hair tumbled about her beautiful face, and of how she had said "I trust you," with her steady eyes upon mine.

"I'd like to believe that," I said. 'And so I shall, if you do."

Lady Caroline set her chin in the air.

"You speak as though we'd both had concussion. Or is your memory short?"

"No, it isn't," said I, and got up. "But I can't get away from the feeling that this morning oughtn't to count, because your memory's gone. It's difficult to explain. But we did make friends all right— without any ceremony, as children do."

"That s better." she said She put up her hands and I drew her up to her feet. "You see, if you're to finance me you've simply got to forget that I am the Countess of Brief."

I broke at that

"You're Caroline Virgil to me— and will be as long as I live!"

A glorious smile swept into her precious face.

"That's more like it," she said. 'And now you shall give me some tea. And I'd like to meet Mr. Herrick and hear if my mother was half as sweet as she looked."

We were, I suppose, some twenty yards from the house, when, happening to glance to the east, I saw a flash in the distance between the trees. One flash, that was all. But, as I saw it, I think that my heart stood still.

I knew what it was— that glitter, and whence it came. It was the screen of some car reflecting the afternoon sun. and it came from the road of approach that led to the farm.

THERE is at Raven a window, twelve feet from the farm's front door. Masked by one ; of its curtains, I watched a car approach and sweep to the foot of the steps. On the other side of the

window. Herrick was standing still, . with his back to the wall.

In the car were four men. Two were strangers to me, one seemed faintly familiar, and Percy Virgil himself had the driving-wheel.

I shot a glance at Herrick and wondered what was to come.

Virgil switched off his engine and wiped his sinister face. Then he followed his fellows out of the car.

I heard the front door opened and before they had reached the steps.

Then:

"Good evening. Brenda," said Virgil. "I'm afraid I've some serious news. My cousin's been taken kidnapped."

Brenda snapped at her cue.

"The Lady Caroline? Kidnapped?"

"It's true enough. I'm afraid. Her horse came in without her-this morning at six o'clock. At first we thought she'd been thrown, but it's worse than that. We found clear signs of a struggle in one of the rides."

I heard Brenda draw in her breath. Then:

"But who would—"

"That," said Percy, "is what we want to find out. This is a sergeant of police, with one of his men." He turned to the strangers. "This girl is Brenda Revoke."

The sergeant stepped forward.

"We are seeking to trace two strangers lately seen near Brief in a fine grey car.'' He Jerked his hand at the man whom I thought I knew. "This blacksmith saw them in Gola four days ago. And other people have seen them this side of Brief."

Brenda laughed.

"You mean our visitors?"

"There you are," said Virgil. "What did I say?"

"We do not lodge bandits," said Brenda coldly enough. "These are two English gentlemen who—"

"Since when have they been here?" said the sergeant.

"They came to us five days ago."

"And are they within?"

"I believe," said Brenda, "that they're taking their tea."

"Then tell them that the police would like to speak with them here."

"No. Wait a moment," said Virgil. "First show us their car." He turned to the police. "If this fellow identifies it—"

"I think, perhaps," said the sergeant, but Virgil cut him short.

"Can't you see," he said, "how much it'll strengthen your hand?"

"Very well," said the other reluctantly.

Brenda hesitated. Then she passed down the steps and led them away to the left and out of my sight.

In a flash we were both at the door, en route for our sitting-room. As we entered the hall, Lady Caroline Virgil slipped from behind the front door.

"And now?" she said.

"We may," said Herrick, "we may have to call upon you. We shan't if we can help it, but Percy— err— knows no law."

She smiled and nodded. "All right."

And then we were back in our room and had shut the door.

The position was delicate— and showed forth very clearly the infamous skill with which Percy had laid his plans.

He had, of course, been looking for some such arrival as ours, and the moment he heard that we had been seen in Gola he gave his waiting bullies the word to strike.

By fastening suspicion on us, he was making sure their escape with their precious goods, for time that is lost in such matters is irretrievably lost, and by the time a scent has been found to be false, the one which is true has faded and died away. And we had played straight into his hands. Our movements of the last tour days had been in all respects such movements as kidnappers make; our map of the district was marked as kidnappers would have marked it; and neither movements nor markings could be accounted for— except by the truth.

Quite apart from the fact that I could speak no German, Herrick was plainly the man to play our difficult hand. His wit was far quicker than mine, and he had, besides, an address which would have unsettled the hottest enemy.

"We've no time to discuss," he said, "the line we should take. But I think we must get dear Percy to help us out. This means giving something away, but charity sometimes comes off."

"You mean?" said I.

"I'm not quite sure," said Herrick. "I have an idea, but it's still in a state of flux. Should it take shape I have a horrid feeling that Percy is going to perspire. And now don't talk for a moment. If—?"

Here Brenda flew In with her summons, fairly aglow with excitement and ready for any mischief that we might command.

"Have they found a map?" I said, rising.

"They're now inspecting it, sir with their eyes half out of their beads."

"Good." said Herrick. "Where's Winter?"

"At tea in the kitchen, sir."

"Tell him to stay there," said Herrick. "And if he should be sent for, to tell the truth— except, of course, on one point. He's never seen my lady at any time."

Brenda nodded and fled, and we strolled out of the house and into the drive. The police and Virgil were there, but the smith was not to be seen. I afterwards found that he had been left with the Rolls— to raise the alarm in case we should try to make off.

I had wondered if Percy Virgil would know me again, for, while I had had good reason to study him and his ways, I had been to him no more than one of several guests at a country hotel. But he did— immediately. And though he would have concealed it, I saw him start.

Herrick was addressing the police "Good evening, gentlemen. I'm told that you wish to see us. Ii we can be of service in any way—"

The police seemed taken aback. I suppose that we did not resemble the men they had expected to see.

Then the sergeant took off his hat.

"The matter is serious," he said.

"Of course," said Herrick. "Otherwise you would first have asked us before inspecting our car."

The sergeant swallowed, and Virgil put In his oar.

"You may be strangers," he said, "but that doesn't put you above the law of the land."

"Nor, I trust said Herrick, "beyond the traditional courtesy of its Inhabitants. What is your rank in the police?"

Virgil flushed.

"I am not in the police," he said.

"Then why," said Herrick, "did you presume to address me?"

"My name is—"

"I have no desire," said Herrick, "to hear your name." He returned to the police. "You were saying that the matter was serious."

ready to burst, but the sergeant went straight to the point.

"I will be plain," he said. "A lady has been abducted— a lady of high degree. She was kidnapped early this morning upon her father's estate— at Brief— some ten miles from here." He held up our map. "I think you will hardly deny that you know where that is."

"I have known where Brief was," said Herrick, "for twenty-three years."

The others stared. Then:

"We are dealing with the present," said Virgil.

Herrick raised his eyebrows.

"Allow me to suggest," he said, "that you should keep to yourself such— err— discoveries as you may make."

He turned again to the police. "Yes, gentlemen?"

The sergeant cleared his throat.

"In view, sir, of what has occurred, I must ask you to explain the markings upon this map."

"With pleasure," said Herrick

"And I sincerely advise you to tell the truth."

"You will find," said Herrick, "that we have nothing to hide."

He fingered his chin.

"I stayed at Brief, as a child, in 1912. My mother and the Countess Rudolph were very close friends. Happening to be at Innsbruck a week ago, I felt a strong desire to visit the castle again. For various reasons I did not wish to leave cards. Much has happened, you know, in twenty-three years. My mother, the Count of Brief, and the Countess Rudolph have died, the Lady Caroline has been born, and, worst of all, I'm told that a vulgar blackguard, the son of an uncle of hers, has the run of the place."

Silence succeeded these moving words, the police regarding the gravel with goggling eyes and Virgil, dark red in the face, surveying Herrick with the glare of a baited beast.

Herrick continued agreeably.

"We, therefore, came here from Innsbruck on Sunday last. On Monday we started out to try to discover some spot from which we could view the castle, without going into the grounds. We only found one, and that was too far away. Determined not to be beaten, we tried for the next three days— with the aid of that map. And all in vain. Last night we reviewed the position, and found it thus: that we must either trespass or else go empty away.

"Now, I do not like trespassing; but neither, I frankly confess, do I like going empty away. And in the end we decided to rise very early in the morning, enter the park from the north, and have a good look at the castle before anybody was up. And so— we did."

For a moment I thought that Virgil was going to faint. All the colour was out of his face, which looked peaked and thin, and he did not seem to be breathing, but might have been turned to stone. Then a shiver ran through him. and a hand went up to his mouth.

But the police had no eyes for him. The two were staring at Herrick as though they would read his soul.

"At what times," said the sergeant, "did you enter and leave the estate?"

"We entered at four and we left about half-past six."

There was an electric silence. Then:

"I am bound to inform you," said the sergeant, "that what you have just admitted makes your position most grave. The outrage was committed this morning at six o'clock."