That Jervis Lexton had died as the result of a foul crime on the part of some man or woman who had a strong motive for wishing him to be obliterated had appeared plain to the man in charge of the case, even before he had interviewed any of the people concerned with it.
But if Ivy, unknowingly, had reason to be grateful to Nurse Bradfield, Nurse Bradfield just now had cause to be very grateful to Ivy. It meant a great deal to her that she could stay on here, in this luxurious flat, living in quietude and comfort, instead of going back to the hostel which was her only “home” between her cases.
She had already learnt, and great was her dismay thereat, that she would become an important witness for the Crown, should the mystery be so far cleared up as to bring about a trial for murder. Small wonder that today she felt too upset and too disturbed to eat, and she watched, with surprise, Ivy’s evident enjoyment of the good luncheon put before them.
The nurse was the more secretly astonished at the newly made widow’s look of cheerfulness because she was well aware that “little Mrs. Lexton” was most uncomfortably short of money.
All that morning, and especially during the latter half of that morning, there had come a procession of tradespeople to the flat requesting immediate payment of their accounts. Some of them had been interviewed by the cook, others by Nurse Bradfield herself. As for Ivy, she had absolutely refused to see any of them. “I have no money at all just now,” she had observed sadly. “But of course everybody will be paid in time.”
Nurse Bradfield had even begun to wonder if she would ever be repaid a certain ten pounds which she had lent Mrs. Lexton a few days before. But she was not as much troubled by that thought as some of Ivy Lexton’s fairly well-to-do friends might have been. She even told herself that, after all, she was now receiving far more than ten pounds’ worth of comfort and quiet.
As if something of what she was thinking flashed from the nurse’s mind to hers, Ivy said suddenly, “I shall have plenty of money soon, Nurse. And the moment I’ve got anything I’ll give you back that money you were kind enough to lend me.”
There was a tone of real sincerity in her voice, and Nurse Bradfield felt reassured.
“I only want it back,” she said quietly, “when you can really give it me conveniently, Mrs. Lexton. Of course ten pounds is a good deal of money to me. But now that I know poor Mr. Lexton was not insured, I realise that things must be very difficult for you.”
“It’s going to be quite all right,” exclaimed Ivy impulsively.
Oh! what a difference to life Rushworth’s cable had made! She felt almost hysterical with joy and relief.
And then, as there came a ring at the bell, she said quickly to the maid who was waiting at table, “Do tell whoever it is that I shall be able to pay up everything soon—I hope even within the next few days.”
But this time the visitor was not an anxious tradesman. He was a tall, thin, elderly man, with a keen, shrewd face, who gave his name as “Mr. Oram.”
After a few moments spent by him in the hall, he was shown into the drawing-room, there to wait for the lady concerning whom he already felt a keen curiosity.
XIII
John Oram was an old-fashioned solicitor of very high standing. His firm had always managed all the private business of the Rushworth family, and he was a personal friend of the client from whom he had received a long and explicit cable about two hours ago. The receipt of that cable, and above all the way it had been worded, had induced Mr. Oram to come himself to Duke of Kent Mansion, instead of sending one of his clerks. He felt intensely curious to see this newly made widow in whom Miles Rushworth evidently took so intimate and anxious an interest.
Rushworth’s cable to John Oram had been nearly three times the length of his cable to Ivy; and the purport of it had been that the solicitor was to help Mrs. Lexton in every way in his power. The last words of the cable had run: “Find out from Mrs. Lexton the name of her bankers, and place two thousand pounds to her credit.”
After reading the cable, Mr. Oram had sent for his head clerk, an acute, clever man named Alfred Finch, who was some twenty years younger than himself.
“Can you tell me anything of some people of the name of Lexton, who live in Duke of Kent Mansion? I gather there’s some sort of legal trouble afoot.”
The answer had been immediate, and had filled him with both surprise and dismay.
“Yes, sir, I know all there is to be known. It’s not very much, yet. A Mr. Jervis Lexton died some days ago in one of the Duke of Kent Mansion flats. And, as the result of a postmortem, it has been discovered that death was occasioned through the administration of a large dose of arsenic.”
The speaker waited a moment. His curiosity was considerably whetted, for he had seen a look of astonishment, almost of horror, come over his employer’s usually impassive face.
Alfred Finch went on, speaking in a more serious tone:
“This Mr. Jervis Lexton must have been a man of means, for you may remember, sir, that he drew up the lease of a flat in Duke of Kent Mansion for the Misses Rushworth about eighteen months ago.”
“Aye, aye, I
