For close on fifteen minutes the man paced backwards and forwards, while French grew stiff in his cramped position. Then light footsteps were heard on the path alongside the clump and a woman cleared her throat. The man moved out and said something in a low voice, to which the other replied. Then French heard Pyke say: “Come behind the shrubs. There is no one about and we shan’t be heard.”
They moved close to French, though not so near as he would have liked. Listening intently, he could hear a good deal, though not all, of their conversation. The woman was Mrs. Berlyn and she was saying: “He suspects something; I’m sure of it. I’ve been just sick with terror all day. I thought I must see you, and this seemed the only way. I was afraid he might follow me if I met you publicly.”
There was a murmur of Pyke’s voice, but French could not distinguish the words nor could he hear Mrs. Berlyn’s reply. Then he heard Pyke say: “I don’t think so. The note was there on the chimneypiece, but I’m quite certain it hadn’t been opened. I examined it carefully.”
Mrs. Berlyn’s intonation sounded like a question.
“Yes, I rang up Ganope and he said that no enquiries had been made,” Pyke rejoined. “It’s all right, Phyllis, I’m sure. Why, French explained that he had frightened you deliberately in order to find out your real opinion of Domlio.”
They seemed to turn away, for during some moments French could only hear the murmur of their voices. Then apparently they approached again.
“… I thought it was Charles he suspected,” Mrs. Berlyn was saying; “then today I thought it was myself. He knows a lot, Jeff. He knows about Colonel Domlio’s letter and the photograph.”
“Yes, but that’s all immaterial. He doesn’t know what really happened that night and he won’t know.”
“But if he arrests us?”
“Let him! As far as I am concerned, he can do nothing. He can’t break down the evidence of all those people in Manchester with whom I spent . You, I admit, haven’t such a watertight alibi, but it is impossible that he can prove you committed a crime of which you are absolutely innocent. And he can’t connect you with Charles. Remember that we’ve no reason to suppose he has the least idea that Charles is alive.”
“If he finds that out, he’ll suspect Charles, and then he’ll suspect me as his accomplice.”
“I dare say,” Pyke admitted, “but he won’t find out. Poor old Charles! I said to him on that last day …”
The two moved off again, for Pyke’s voice died down into an unintelligible murmur. Again for some moments French could not distinguish what was said, then the words came more clearly.
“No,” Pyke was saying. “I have a better plan than that. Tomorrow I’ll call at the Yard to see French and I’ll confess to the murder. I’ll say that my misery through remorse and suspense is worse than anything I could afterwards suffer, and that I just can’t bear it any longer. Lots of murderers have done that and he’ll suspect nothing. He’ll of course arrest me. Admittedly, he may arrest you also. This, of course, I should infinitely regret, but you will agree there is no other way. He’ll then think he has solved his problem and he’ll look no further afield. Before going to the Yard I’ll communicate with Charles and Charles can make his getaway. Then when Charles has had time to get out of the country I shall produce my Manchester witnesses and prove my innocence. The case against you will then break down.”
“That’s all right except for two things,” Mrs. Berlyn returned. “If Charles believed he could get out of the country he would have done it long ago. Secondly, why, if you prove your innocence, will the case against me break down?”
“Those are easily answered. By the time Charles was well enough to travel suspicion had been aroused and every policeman in the country was on the lookout for the Ashburton murderer. If I confess, the watch at the ports will be relaxed. Besides …”
Again the words became unintelligible. There was a faint sound of slowly pacing feet and the voice dwindled. But after a short time the footsteps again grew louder.
“… under the circumstances,” Mrs. Berlyn was saying, “but, of course, if Charles is taken we shall be accused of being his confederates.”
“Very possibly. But, Phyllis, what can we do? We know old Charles is innocent, though things look so badly against him. We can’t let him down. We must do what we can to help him and take the risk.”
“I know. I know. But isn’t the whole thing just awful! What have we done that we should get into such a position? It’s too much!”
Her voice, though carefully repressed, was full of suffering, and French could picture her wringing her hands and on the verge of tears. Pyke comforted her, though not at all in the tone of a lover, then went on:
“It’s time that we went back, old girl. Until I get the warning to Charles we mustn’t risk being seen together, therefore you’d better go on by yourself. I’ll follow in ten minutes.”
They bade each other an agitated farewell and then Mrs. Berlyn’s light footsteps sounded on the path. For another quarter of an hour Pyke remained among the trees, his presence revealed by occasional movements and
