Mr. Finch allowed himself to smile.
“There’s only one of them now, sir—the dead man’s widow. She’s said to be very attractive, and well known in smart society.”
“I see. That will do.”
It was no wonder that John Oram, while waiting in the drawing-room of the flat for Ivy to join him, gazed about him with a good deal of interest. Then, all at once, he recognised a fine picture which he knew to be the property of the Misses Rushworth, his clients, and Miles Rushworth’s cousins. In a moment what had appeared a mystery was to his mind cleared up. There must be, there was, of course, some sort of connection between the Rushworths and the Lextons; and the rich, precise, old-fashioned maiden ladies, who, he now remembered, were wintering abroad, had lent their flat to these family connections.
That would explain everything—Miles Rushworth’s urgent cable, as also his evident anxiety that everything should be done to help and succour Mrs. Lexton in her distress.
Just as he came to this satisfactory explanation of what had puzzled and disturbed him, the door of the drawing-room opened, and Ivy walked in.
She held out her little hand. “Mr. Oram?” she cried eagerly, “I’m so glad to see you! I had a cable just before lunch from Mr. Rushworth, telling me that you were going to help me. Everything is so dreadful, so extraordinary, that I feel utterly bewildered, as well as miserable—” and then tears strangled her voice.
For a moment her visitor said nothing. He was amazed at her exceeding loveliness, puzzled also, for he was very observant, by the expression which now lit up the beautiful face before him. Though tears were running down her cheeks, it was such a happy expression.
“Won’t you sit down?”
Her tone was quite subdued now; the hysterical excitement which had been there had died out of her voice.
He obeyed her silently, and there shot over Ivy Lexton a quick feeling of misgiving. Mr. Oram looked so grave, so stern, and he was gazing at her with so curiously close a scrutiny.
“It’s very kind of you to have come so soon,” she said nervously.
“I am anxious to help you in every way possible, Mrs. Lexton,” he answered quietly.
Though the old solicitor was exceedingly impressed by Ivy’s beauty, instead of being attracted, he felt, if anything, slightly repelled, by her appearance.
For one thing, he was sufficiently old-fashioned to feel really surprised, and even shocked, by her “makeup.”
Ivy had made up more than usual this morning, and before coming into the drawing-room just now she had used her lipstick quite recklessly. So it was that while Mr. Oram asked her certain questions, each one of which was to the point, and allowed for but very little prevarication on her part, he avoided looking straight at her.
How astounding, he said to himself with dismay, that such a woman should be a friend of Miles Rushworth! A direct question had shown him that she had no knowledge of, or even a bowing acquaintance with, the Misses Rushworth.
At last he said rather coldly, “I take it you are in possession of very little money?”
“Very little,” she answered, almost in a whisper.
“At the request of Mr. Miles Rushworth, I have a sum of money to place at your disposal. As a matter of fact, it is a considerable sum—two thousand pounds. If you will tell me who are your bankers, I—”
And then Ivy, keeping the joy she felt out of her voice, interrupted him:
“I have not got a banking account, Mr. Oram. I had one many years ago, before my husband lost all his money, but I have not had one for over three years. And oh! it’s been so inconvenient.”
A kinder look came into the lawyer’s grave face.
“In that case, Mrs. Lexton, I advise you to open an account at the local branch of the Birmingham Bank. It is close here, in Kensington High Street. Mr. Rushworth informed me in his cable that you would probably stay on in this flat for the next few weeks.”
“I should like to do that,” she said in a low tone.
“Your husband, I understand, was a great friend of Mr. Rushworth?”
“Yes, my husband was working in Mr. Rushworth’s office when he fell ill.”
“Was he indeed?”
That the Lextons could be what the sender of the cable had called “my closest friends” had surprised the solicitor. He had believed himself acquainted with all Miles Rushworth’s intimate circle.
Ivy had come across a good many lawyers in her life, and she had always found them bright, cheery, and pleasant. All of them, to a man, had admired her, and made her feel that they did so.
Very, very different was this lawyer’s attitude. She realised that he did not approve of her, and she even suspected that he regretted his client’s interest in her. That was quite enough for Ivy, and she began to long intensely for Mr. Oram to go away. She had already made up her mind that he was “horrid,” and she was sorry indeed that such a man should be Miles Rushworth’s representative.
“I will pay in the cheque to the Birmingham Bank tomorrow morning, Mrs. Lexton,” said the solicitor. “I will call for you, if I may, at eleven, for you will have to come too, in order that the manager may register your signature.”
At last he got up, and then he said suddenly: “Have you yet seen anyone from the police?”
“Yes, I saw a gentleman from Scotland Yard this morning.”
“I trust your legal adviser was present.”
“I have no legal adviser,” and she looked at him surprised.
“I’m sorry for that. I had hoped to learn that you had a solicitor, and that he had been present. However, I don’t suppose it will make any odds. I presume you told the gentleman from Scotland Yard everything
