“As I know perfectly well?” the Countess stammered. “What have I got to do with it? Where do I come in?”
Maria Delahay threw up her hands with an impatient gesture. There was a steady gleam in her eyes now. She had lost all her listless manner.
“I was not there,” she said, “because I was somewhere else. That James Stevens saw someone with my husband on that morning is absolutely certain. It is absolutely certain, too, that he did not see me. Then who did he see whose likeness to me is so great as to deceive a pair of keen eyes under a brilliant electric light? It was you, you, Carlotta, who were walking with my husband at that hour in the morning. Now tell me what it all means.”
XIX
Carlotta’s Story
“Oh, this is terrible,” the Countess stammered.
“Of course it is,” Maria Delahay cried. “Why don’t you be candid with me? I have told you what my name is, and, besides, you already knew. When you saw my husband on that fatal night your likeness to me would have struck him at once, and explanations would have followed. Then why are you trying to deceive me now?”
“I hardly know what I am saying,” the Countess replied. “The whole thing is such a terrible complication. I don’t want to deceive you, Maria, and I will tell you all I can. You might believe me or not, but when I read of the death of Louis Delahay, for the moment I had quite forgotten you. You see it was a great shock to me when you came in just now, especially as I had not seen you for so many years. But I am getting muddled up again. I am beginning to wonder which of us is which. It seems to me that all this miserable business is merely the result of the strong likeness which exists between us.”
“Never mind that,” Mrs. Delahay cried. “If you will remember, in my evidence I said my husband had gone out, that he did not return all night, and that I found him dead in Fitzjohn Square in the morning. I was out of the hotel for nearly two hours trying to find you, after I had been so strangely put on your track by the chambermaid. Perhaps it was a foolish thing on my part to conceal my absence, but, of course, I never guessed the result of my folly. It never occurred to me till afterwards that my absence from the hotel could be so easily proved. Even that did not matter so much. And when the witness Stevens swore that he saw me with my husband at a time when I had said I was in my hotel, things began to look serious for me. I know perfectly well that I may be arrested at any moment on a charge of murdering my husband. How true that charge will be I leave you to judge for yourself. But the mystery was no longer a mystery to me when Stevens told the court most positively that he had seen me with my husband. I did not know that Louis was acquainted with you. He never mentioned your name, but directly Stevens had finished I knew that it must have been you who was with my husband; and now I must ask you to give me an explanation.”
“That is an easier matter than it seems,” Countess Flavio said. “I knew Louis Delahay, though he had no acquaintance with me.”
“That sounds impossible,” Maria murmured.
“Oh, I know it does, but it is true all the same; and to make my story plain I shall have to go back nearly eighteen years. The events which led to my making Louis Delahay’s acquaintance took place near Florence at the time I mentioned.”
“That is strange,” Mrs. Delahay murmured. “I was in Florence about then, too. Yes, I know I told you that I was practically a prisoner all those years, but there were times when I had a certain latitude. I was very ill about that time, and the doctor ordered me to Florence, saying that it was good for me to see people and mix with crowds. I was supposed to be there by myself, but there was no movement of mine which was not noted. I never took even the shortest walk without being dogged and spied upon. The people who called themselves my servants were, in reality, my gaolers. But why do I worry you with these trivial details when there is so much of importance to say? Go on with your story.”
“Well, as I was saying,” the Countess explained, “I was in Florence with my husband. We had been married then something like three years. We had rather a lonely villa on the outskirts of the town. Ours was not a happy life; indeed, it was most miserable. I daresay there were faults on my side, too; but one night we had a violent quarrel, and, on the spur of the moment, I made up my mind to run away. I managed to get all my jewels together. I managed to leave the house in darkness and steal through the grounds to the road. I was dressed all in black, and I