Inspector Furnival's Most Mysterious Cases. Annie Haynes

Чтение книги онлайн.

       "The inquest on the man known as C. Warden was resumed this morning before Mr. Gwynne Bargrave. No further evidence was offered by the police, who stated that, so far, the clues in their possession had led to nothing tangible. The jury returned a verdict of 'Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown.'"

      That was all.

      Judith drew a long breath of thankfulness. She had but little knowledge of the law's procedure in criminal cases; and it seemed to her that the Leinster Avenue case was finished now, that she had nothing more to fear.

      She let her clasped hands fall on the paper with the gesture of one who had escaped from an intolerable bondage; then, looking up, her eyes met Sir Anthony's. He had the baby on his knee still, but over its fluffy yellow head his eyes were watching Judith eagerly, with a certain furtiveness. He dropped his heavy lids, but not before Judith had surprised an expression of keen watchfulness. It had the effect of a sudden shock upon her, it was as if he had purposely placed the paper there, as if he had been waiting to see the result upon her.

      The next minute he had risen with Paul in his arms; he was tossing the delighted child in the air. Judith told herself that she must have been mistaken, that her nerves were overstrained, that she was foolishly fanciful, but the unpleasant impression remained.

      She got up and crossed the lawn hurriedly. As she neared the house, Jenkins, the urbane, appeared, preceding a black-robed figure.

      "Lady Palmer has called, my lady. She asked to see both your ladyship and Sir Anthony."

      "Lady Palmer!" Judith repeated in a puzzled tone, then her face altered. How could she have forgotten? This was the widowed Lady Palmer, the Sybil Carew of Anthony's youth—free, now, while he was bound.

      The slender graceful woman in black came up to her quickly. Both Judith's hands were caught. Two liquid brown eyes gazed into hers.

      "You are my cousin Anthony's wife, I am sure. How—how beautiful you are! You must forgive my frankness. Anthony will tell you I am nothing if not unconventional."

      Judith felt suddenly tongue-tied. She had heard much of Sybil Palmer, of her, beauty, of Anthony's mad love for her. She had heard that the breaking off of his engagement had embittered all his early manhood; she knew that the meetings between the two had since been few and far between. She knew also that her husband had written to Lady Palmer on hearing of her husband's fatal accident.

      "You will give me a welcome, won't you?" the sweet pathetic voice went on wistfully. "Ah, there is Anthony." With a final lingering pressure Judith found her hands dropped, and Lady Palmer turned to Sir Anthony, who was coming across the lawn towards them, Paul perched on his shoulder.

      "Sybil!" he uttered in an amazed tone. "Hoy in the world did you come here? We had no idea—"

      "I know you had not." Lady Palmer's beautiful eyes grew moist; her sweet tones were reproachful. "But I was staying with the Wiltons, and I told them I must come over. I thought you would give me a welcome, Anthony, for the sake of old times."

      The last words were uttered in a low voice, but they reached Judith's ears as she waited.

      "Of course we have a welcome for you—of course we are delighted to see you," Sir Anthony answered, a certain breeziness in his voice that contrasted curiously with Lady Palmer's languid tones.

      "Ah, things have altered since we last met," she went on with a little catch in her breath. "Then my dear husband was with me, do you remember? And it was before your marriage. Now you have your wife, your child, and I—I have lost everything."

      "I was—we were so grieved to hear of your loss," Sir Anthony said with some embarrassment.

      Judith, waiting, felt with a vague tinge of wonder, that Sybil Palmer was an absolute surprise to her. She scarcely realized as yet the subtle charm of the deep brown eyes, of the transparent pallor of the skin, of the pathetic curves of the lovely mouth.

      "Oh, what a beautiful boy!" Lady Palmer was trying to coax the child to come to her arms.

      Judith felt an unreasonable thrill of pleasure when Paul, usually so good with strangers, turned obstinately away and held out his tiny arms to his mother. "Mum, mum!"

      "Ah, well! he will make friends with me later. Children always do," Lady Palmer said easily, though Judith saw that she did not look quite pleased as she turned back to Sir Anthony. "Dear old Heron's Carew! How often I have dreamt of it! The love of it is in the Carew blood." She sighed. "Dear Lady Carew, I know you will let me ask my cousin's advice, you will not grudge it to poor little me, for I am in such trouble now, Palmer made such a complicated will. You will help me, won't you, Anthony?"

      "If I can, I shall be delighted," Sir Anthony said courteously, but with a certain reserve in his tone. His gaze had wandered from the eyes raised so appealingly to his, to his wife's graceful figure.

      Lady Palmer's eyes followed his. "How lovely she is," she murmured. "An ideal Lady Carew, Anthony. And yet, and yet—" she broke off musingly.

      "And yet?" There was a slight touch of hauteur in Sir Anthony's voice.

      Lady Palmer bit her lip, and then laughed. "How absurd of me! I was trying to think—I fancied I had seen her before. I remember now, it was at Monte Carlo. We were there, Palmer and I, and there was a terrible scene. A young man was missed, he had shot himself."

      "And there was somebody there who reminded you of my wife." Sir Anthony frowned as he looked at her.

      Lady Palmer laughed. "Well, yes! I did see a face that reminded me of Lady Carew's. At least I thought so at first, the resemblance is not quite so striking now when I see more of Lady Carew. Do you know Monte Carlo, Lady Carew?"

      "No!" But if Lady Palmer could have seen the face bent so closely over Paul's head, she would have noticed that it turned several degrees paler.

      The flute-like voice trickled off into laughter. "But of course it could not have been you; I must have been mistaken, though at first I thought it was the same face."

      "Of course you were," Judith said hurriedly. "Of course you were mistaken."