Annie Haynes Premium Collection – 8 Murder Mysteries in One Volume. Annie Haynes

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СКАЧАТЬ own shoulders. Therefore the situation stands thus: Lady Carew says that she is guilty; Sir Anthony says he is—each, as far as I can judge, believing the other to be. Now do you see the position of affairs? Each is trying to save the other."

      "But—" Mr. Lawrence rubbed his hand through his hair. "I don't understand, Furnival. Which of them is guilty?"

      The inspector looked at him. "Neither of them," he said curtly. "If each of them thinks the other is, doesn't that prove to you that both of them are innocent? Oh, it hasn't been as easy a task as you folks at Scotland Yard expected, to get to the bottom of the Abbey Court murder." He got up, looked at his watch, and compared it with the grandfather's clock. "I am afraid I must be starting, sir. I promised to be at Heron's Carew, by eight, and I don't want to keep Sir Anthony waiting."

      Mr. Lawrence rose too. "I will walk up with you. If this is your opinion, inspector, how is it that you told me just now that you were about to apply for a warrant for the arrest of the Abbey Court murderer?"

      "That I had applied," the detective corrected, as he opened the door leading into the garden, and they went down the path.

      "But whose arrest have you applied for?" Lawrence questioned, as they unlatched the garden gate, and let themselves out into the village street.

      "Whose?" The inspector glanced on either side of him, behind and before. "Ah, that is my little secret for the present, sir. You will soon know all."

      They walked on briskly. The church clock chimed eight, the inspector quickened his step. "I was afraid we were late. We will take the short cut through the Home Wood if you don't mind, Mr. Lawrence."

      As they passed the Dower House they heard voices, and caught a momentary sight of Peggy and Crasster pacing up and down the drive together. The inspector's face brightened as he looked after them.

      It was fairly light in the street, but in the Home Wood it seemed almost dark. The two men walked along quickly, their feet making little sound on the pine-needle covered path.

      As they came near the Heron's Moat they became aware of footsteps coming from the opposite direction. A man was running, sprinting as if for dear life, towards them; at the same moment Inspector Furnival caught sight of a tall figure in a dark gown on the other side of the pool. He started forward with a quick exclamation of dismay.

      Simultaneously, there was a splash, a loud cry rang out. The tall figure had disappeared beneath the waters of the pool. Inspector Furnival ran for all he was worth, the man who had been racing down the path towards them ran too. But some one was before them, some one who sprang into the pool, and, as they reached the spot, reappeared, holding an inanimate burden, endeavouring to keep her head above water.

      With a sharp cry the man who had been running, tossing off his coat as he ran, threw himself into the water, and swam to the other's help. Inspector Furnival and Mr. Lawrence, racing their hardest, arrived on the scene in time to assist at the landing.

      The two men who had been in the water, and whom Furnival now recognized as Sir Anthony Carew and his own subordinate, Barker, laid their inanimate burden on the bank. Judith's face was white, her eyes were closed, her golden hair lay dank on the grass. Sir Anthony bent over her in agony.

      "She—she can't be dead!"

      "No, no!" the inspector said soothingly. "She was not under the water a minute. I have had some experience of first aid. If you would let me come nearer." He stooped over her. "She has fainted from the shock, that is all," he said quietly. "There is a keeper's cottage close at hand, Sir Anthony, we had better take her there, and the man can fetch Dr. Bennett."

      Sir Anthony assented dumbly. His heart had given a great suffocating twist of relief at hearing that Judith lived. And yet assuredly, Anthony Carew said to himself, as he gathered her unconscious form in his arms and, refusing all other help, strode off with her to the cottage, it would have been well for Judith if by any means she could have escaped the calamity that was coming upon them.

      As they neared the gamekeeper's he felt the fluttering of her breath, her eyelids wavered, then opened, the lovely eyes looked up into his.

      "Anthony!" she said.

      Spite of all his dread of the future, his horror of the past, his heart leapt with thankfulness to hear the beloved voice again. He bent his head lower.

      "Judith, my darling."

      A faint colour flickered for a moment in the white cheeks. "Am—am I dead?" she questioned. "Is this heaven, Anthony? Do you forgive me for—"

      Anthony pressed his lips to the fair hair. "Everything, my darling."

      "It is my fault—all of it. If I had not dropped the paper that told you where I was going; if I had not taken your pistol," the weak voice went on, unheeding the look of astonishment that spread over her husband's face as she proceeded, "you would not have been tempted; you could not have used it against him!"

      A strange sound burst from Anthony Carew as he laid her on the couch in the keeper's front room.

      "Judith! Does this mean that you think I was guilty?"

      "I—I never blamed you," she returned incoherently. "Oh, Anthony!"

      There was a strange glad light in Sir Anthony Carew's face as the gamekeeper's wife, with her willing helpers, took possession of Judith. "She thought I was guilty," he repeated to himself. "Then surely she, she was—she must be innocent."

      Chapter XXX

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      It was one of those chilly mornings that come sometimes in early autumn. The white mist from the park seemed to rise like a pall right up to the window of the morning-room at Heron's Carew; a bright fire burned in the grate, making the weather outside look more damp and cheerless by contrast. Lady Carew was leaning back in her favourite low reclining chair near the fire-place; Sir Anthony was standing on the hearthrug. The front door bell rang, their eyes met in a smile of perfect confidence. Then Judith began to shiver.

      "Oh, Anthony, I am frightened! Do you think they really know who shot Cyril? I don't see how they can I—Suppose—suppose they are only trying to make us incriminate ourselves?"

      Sir Anthony's face was a little overclouded. "I can't tell, dear. But I feel inclined to trust Inspector Furnival, and he tells me that if we speak out we have nothing to fear. Anyhow, the truth must be the best policy, and, at any rate, we both know that the worst dread of all that has haunted each of us these past terrible months has been only a delusion; don't we, Judith?"

      "Yes, yes!" she whispered, looking up at him with dewy eyes. "Oh, Anthony! How could I have been so foolish?"

      He caught his breath. "You couldn't help it. How I—" He broke off as three men were ushered into the room: Stephen Crasster, Inspector Furnival, and Mr. Lawrence.

      Sir Anthony greeted them all courteously, and invited them to be seated.

      "Lady Carew and I have decided to take your advice," he began, addressing Furnival. "We will tell you our story—our stories, rather—without any reservation. And, if you can find any loophole to help us; I am sure we need not assure you of our boundless gratitude. I think we are all here now—except Mrs. Rankin. Ah, СКАЧАТЬ