Chapter XXXV: For Sylvie’s Sake

Richard went off to Maida Vale with no very clear or precise idea of what it was that he wanted Frances Leverton to do for him--all that he was really conscious of was that he had a vague desire to save the woman who had taken refuge under his roof and that it was necessary to have another woman’s help. He was too much agitated at the moment to recollect that Frances Leverton had no love for Mrs. Walsingham: all that he remembered was that he knew no other woman in London to whom he could turn; he therefore set off to the one he did know with a certain blind confidence. All the chivalry in his nature had been aroused by the sight of Sylvie’s distress, and it seemed to him that Frances, being a woman, must share it. He fully believed Sylvie’s story that the shooting of Werrick had been unintentional, and, if he could compass it, he meant to save her.

Frances, at the moment when Richard Shrewsbury was announced, was discussing the matter with Lizzie Bryce. The report of the detective agency with respect to the doings of Carsdale on the previous day lay on her desk; numerous newspapers, giving more or less complete circumstantial accounts of the affair at Marengo Mansions, were scattered about the room. And Frances knew that probably nothing but the shooting of Sydney Werrick had prevented the flight of both Carsdale and Sylvie Walsingham with the greater bulk of Richard’s money. She was pondering over this fact when her maid came in to announce that Mr. Shrewsbury was there and begged to see her.

Frances looked round at Lizzie Bryce in sheer wonder and dismay. She believed Richard to be in Paris, and she was sure that his coming to her implied some extraordinary turn of events. And Lizzie Bryce recognized the situation and prepared to quit the room. Before Frances had recovered her wits, Lizzie had spoken.

“I’ll go, Frank,” she said. “Mr. Shrewsbury will want to see you on business.”

“No--don’t,” exclaimed Frances. “I--I haven’t any business with him.” Then, remembering that the maid was still waiting, she looked uncertainly at Lizzie and said, “I don’t know what to do!”

“You will see him, of course,” said Lizzie. “You may be sure it is important business. Tell Jane to bring him in at once.”

Frances made a sign to the girl, and Lizzie Bryce disappeared into an inner room. And Richard, entering hurriedly, found Miss Leverton, seated at her desk, turning over papers and letters with an energy which a closer observer than the visitor would have quickly seen to be assumed. She looked up; even then Richard was too much preoccupied with his business to notice her heightened colour. He hurried towards her desk; Frances tried to look at him with professional coolness.

“Miss Leverton,” he began, without preface or greeting. “I----” But there he stopped, looking anxiously around him.

“Good morning,” said Frances. “What can I do for you, Mr. Shrewsbury?”

She was anxious that he should feel that she looked upon his call as a purely business one, and the assumed frigidity of her tone struck a chill to him. He began to wonder what she would say when she heard what he wanted her to do.

“I wanted to speak to you,” he said, feebly. “I suppose we are alone.”

“I see no one else in the room,” said Frances, half-satirically. “What is it, Mr. Shrewsbury?”

“You must pardon me if I seem flustered, or--or queer, you know,” he said. “I only got in from Paris at half-past five this morning, and I’ve been rushing about ever since.”

“Then you’d better sit down,” she said, pointing to a chair.

“Thank you,” said Richard, dropping into the nearest chair with a profound sigh. “The fact is--I’ve hurried to you because I want some help, and--I thought of you first.”

Frances affected great interest in her letters.

“Would not Captain Burgoyne--or Captain Blair--be more likely?” she suggested.

“No!” replied Richard. “I--I want a woman’s help. Look here--I’m going to be frank with you, because--well, because I believe in you. I’ll try to be as plain as possible, though I’m an awful hand at explaining things. You see, I feel in a muddle, because it’s only just now that I’m beginning to learn the truth. I see that you’ve read the newspapers, so you know what happened at--at Marengo Mansions last night?”

“I know,” answered Frances.

“Of course, I hadn’t a notion of--anything,” said Richard. “It seems, however, that Burgoyne and Blair had found out a lot, and Burgoyne got me over to Paris to tell me all about it. And--then, I insisted on coming back, and we travelled all night, and we went into the _Charing Cross Hotel_ on arrival, and very soon we saw the morning papers, and read--all that. And about Carsdale, too. And then I drove to my bank, and had that confirmed. Then Burgoyne went to Blair, and I went home to Berkeley Square. And--I know you will wonder what it is that I am explaining to you, but I wanted to make everything quite clear--there, at home, I found----”

“Mrs. Walsingham,” said Frances, quietly and suddenly.

Richard started.

“How--how did you know that?” he exclaimed.

“I didn’t know it--I guessed it,” she said. “I suddenly realized what you were leading up to. Am I right?”

“You are quite right,” he answered quietly. “I found her there. It appears that she came there after dark last night, and Kedgin admitted her, and she took possession of a room. Yes--she is there. I have seen her.”

“Well?” said Frances, with well-assumed indifference. “And what then?”

Richard leaned forward and looked at her gravely.

“You know how I have been deceived,” he said. “I--I don’t understand it all, but I suppose I have been a great fool ever since I came to England. But I don’t bear her any grudge, you know, or ill-will, and I don’t like to see a woman hunted. She told me this morning that she shot that man unintentionally, and though she’s lied to me so much, I believe she told me the plain, real truth about this affair. And, if I can, I want to get her away--to help her to escape.”

“And why have you come to me?” asked Frances, looking steadily at him.

“Because I want you to help me,” he replied. “You’re clever--you can think of things, of ways of doing it. I couldn’t take her off in that nun’s dress she’s wearing--I thought you could suggest something in the way of disguise--that I could get her away in to-night, don’t you know.”

Frances laughed--intentionally. She wanted to know what Richard Shrewsbury was really thinking.

“That seems a very cool and calm request,” she said. “I think you forget that, in the first place, you are asking me to commit a crime, and, in the second, that Mrs. Walsingham and I are--enemies. Why should I do this for a woman who has injured me more than once?”

Richard looked at her for a moment. Then his face changed, and he slowly rose from his chair.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I thought----” But then he stopped and began to move towards the door. “At any rate you’ll forgive me for bothering you about the matter.”

With his hand on the door, he suddenly heard Frances’ voice.

“Mr. Shrewsbury!” she said.

Richard turned quickly.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Is it really because you only pity this woman that you want to help her?” she asked.

Richard stared.

“It is certainly for nothing else,” he replied. “I’m sorry for her--as I would be for anybody placed as she is.”

Frances bent over her letters.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” she said in low tones. “But--do you realize what it means? You know that the police are scouring London for her, that all the railway stations and seaports are being watched, and that there is very little chance of her getting away. And to aid and abet her in it--well, whoever does that, and is detected, will run great risks. If I help you, we’re both liable to punishment, and all our professions of pity for her won’t palliate our offences.”

“I don’t want you to run any risk,” said Richard quickly. “That mustn’t be! What I wanted you to do was to help me about getting her some other clothing, or some disguise, or----”

At that moment the maid entered and glanced at her mistress. “Captain Blair,” she said.

“Show Captain Blair into the breakfast-room for a moment,” said Frances. She turned to Richard when they were alone again. “Mr. Shrewsbury,” she continued earnestly, “do take some good advice from me. Tell this to Captain Blair. He will respect your confidence, and he will know what ought to be done. Indeed, you don’t know what a serious matter this is--don’t be rash about it. And don’t think that I was unsympathetic with you, just now,” she added hurriedly. “I think it’s very good of you to feel like that about it, but--do tell Captain Blair.”

Richard looked at her steadily.

“Since you say so,” he said, “I’ll tell him. I’m surprised he’s here--I thought he was with Burgoyne. Yes--I’ll tell him.”

Blair, coming in, explained that Burgoyne had been with him, but had left soon after getting Richard’s telephone message, and that he himself had been about to call on Richard after seeing Miss Leverton.

“And Shrewsbury may as well know that I wanted to see you about Carsdale, Miss Leverton,” he said, “and I think you’ll have to tell him what you know and have taken trouble to find out.”

Frances looked a little annoyed and a good deal disturbed.

“Time enough for that, Captain Blair,” she said. “I think Mr. Carsdale is safe enough at present. Mr. Shrewsbury has something to tell you which he has just been telling me.”

And Richard told Blair everything of what he had discovered at the flat and of what he wished to do. But Blair, having listened quietly and attentively, shook his head.

“My dear boy,” he said, “that’s very good and disinterested of you, and all that sort of thing, but you can’t do it. Supposing you dress this unfortunate woman in anything Miss Leverton procures for you, how are you going to get her away? Drive her in your own motor to some quiet seaport? That would never do--the descriptions are everywhere, and the quieter the place the more likely that detection would follow. Do what you may, the fact that you were engaged to be married to her will come out--has, of course, come out to the police by now, through the maid, Sophie Guyner--and you will see that you will be interviewed and questioned and probably watched. I don’t think you’d get her out of London without being stopped.”

“Then what am I to do?” asked Richard. “Whatever she may have been or have done, she turned to me for shelter and help. Am I to open my door, and turn her out to the police, or turn them in upon her? Those things don’t appeal to me, either of them!”

“The best thing to be done,” said Blair, “is to quietly persuade her to give herself up. If she gives her explanation of how this affair occurred, it may be accepted--at present I don’t see any risk of her life, or even of heavy punishment. It is quite conceivable that, being alarmed at the presence of a strange man in her flat, she shot at and killed him. But she will do no good by flight. Better far to give herself up and state her version of the matter.”

“Will you come and talk to her, then?” asked Richard, gloomily. “I’m a poor hand at persuading--besides, I’m in the position of host to her, anyway.”

“Very well,” answered Blair. “I’ll go with you. Then our conversation,” he continued, turning to Frances, “must wait a few hours. You think there is no danger of Carsdale--that he’ll be detained awhile?”

“I think Carsdale is quite safe,” replied Frances, meaningly. “Quite safe.”

Blair nodded, and went off with Richard to Berkeley Square. And at the door of his rooms they found a stranger, a big, pleasant-faced man, who, after one sharp look at them, addressed Mr. Shrewsbury by name.