“I quite understand,” said Collins, “and I will get a box for Gilbert and Sullivan’s. I know the management there, and it is just what you want, something soothing and not too gay. Now, I know you will want to go to Leveson Square. I will go and see that everything is all right for you there. Come on, in about half an hour’s time.”
He saw with a thrill of pleasure the look of gratitude come to her expressive eyes.
After he had taken his leave, she turned to Sanders.
“I think you might be a little more gracious to Mr. Collins, he is most kind.”
“You seem to have made great friends with him at short notice,” he said, churlishly.
She bridled up. “And if I have, I suppose I can choose my friends.”
“And forget the old one for the new.”
“What nonsense. You are behaving like a spoilt child. I have watched you all the time.”
“What do you know of this fellow, anyway? He is only a sort of policeman. I suppose he didn’t tell you that?”
“If it is any satisfaction to you, he did, and perhaps we had better stop discussing Mr. Collins any more.”
He got up and wandered round the room.
“I suppose I had better go,” he said.
Her lip curled with contempt. “You can please yourself, but I should hardly have thought that my oldest male friend would have deserted me at such a time.”
“Forgive me. I will say no more. Of course I will stay with you.”
“All right. It is time we started for Leveson Square.”
“What a brute I have been,” he said. “I ought to have thought of you.”
“Would you fetch a taxi?” she said.
Collins was at the door when they drove up.
He bowed slightly to Mabel, in the deferential but not subservient manner of a courtier.
“Everything is ready for you,” he whispered. “I brought your old nurse with me. I knew you would like to have her here. She is waiting in the bedroom.” She felt a sense of pleasure at the thoughtfulness.
“I will go up,” she said.
The two men were left alone in the hall.
“I suppose you know this place well,” said Collins, carelessly.
“Of course. I was private secretary to Sir James,” said the other, stiffly.
Collins lit a cigarette, and offered his case. The other could not well refuse. “Thanks,” said he.
“This is a wretched business,” said Collins.
“It is very terrible, but of course you are used to these crimes in your profession.”
“Yes,” he said solemnly, “and we get used to all kinds of criminals,” and he looked into the empty library.
“Have you any theory as to who did the murder?” said Sanders.
“I never allow myself the luxury of theories,” said Collins.
“Prig,” said the other under his breath.
“It is strange how the murderer escaped, isn’t it?” said Collins. “I wonder if you ever heard tell of any secret doors, or trap doors, or anything of that sort?”
“Oh, really, are we back in the Middle Ages? This is a modern, London house. Besides, by the look of things your men have had a pretty thorough hunt.”
“When did you see Sir James last?” said Collins, lighting another cigarette from his old one.
“Oh, I was with him at the Home Office in the morning of the day.”
“Fancy, and you little thought then that you would never see him again alive,” said Collins musingly.
The other was silent.
“Do you know,” continued Collins, “you mentioned the Middle Ages. How much easier detection was then. All you did was to parade suspects in front of the departed, and when the right man arrived blood gushed out from his mouth, and you spotted a winner every time.”
“What a horribly morbid mind you must have,” said Sanders with a shudder.
“I am glad I am not mixed up with crime.”
“I have not any great sense of horror of crime, murder least of all. There are so many reasons for that,” and he looked straight at the other man.
“Miss Watson will be down soon. I hope it has not upset her too much. You are an old friend. Wouldn’t you like to go up and see.”
“No, thanks. I would rather not. But I will knock at the door.”
He went up the stairs, and Collins followed him with his eyes.
“I wonder if that blood would gush out,” he said to himself.
Miss Watson stayed in London until the inquest was over. This was hurried forward out of deference to the position of the deceased. She had to give evidence of identification.
There was nothing fresh in spite of the efforts of those engaged on the case. Tremendous excitement was aroused, not only because of the fact that the murdered man was a Cabinet Minister, but on account of the bizarre events which had surrounded the mystery.
All efforts to trace the ownership of the revolver had failed. Lewis’s landlady could only state that she thought it was his, as it looked like it. But a Webley is so common a type that this did not count for much. The number was an old one, and the weapon had probably passed through many hands.
The police did not press their case against any particular individual, and the jury returned the usual verdict against some person or persons unknown.
Collins had been most assiduous in his attempts to make Miss Watson’s part as small a one as possible, and had endeavoured to keep her spirits up, without intruding himself. Sanders, in spite of all his efforts, was still sulky, and plunged into the work of going over Sir James’ papers, which fell to his lot.
The ordeal was over, and all those women of Society who had crammed themselves into the court were trying to sort themselves out again. Opinion was about equally divided between Lewis and a lunatic as the villain of the piece.
Collins sought the back room where the witnesses had gone.
His face was stern. He walked directly to
