“The secret is a disgraceful one in a sense, and will give pain to his family. But it would be an infinitely greater disgrace that he should be executed for murder. The stigma in that case would involve all those who bear his name. The shame of the truth will, I fear, in this very unjust society of ours, rest more upon the witness to his alibi than upon himself.”
“Can you in that case expect the witness to come forward?”
“To prevent the condemnation of an innocent man? Yes, I think I may venture to expect even that.”
“I repeat—why are you telling me all this?”
“Because, Mrs. Grimethorpe, you know, even better than I, how innocent my brother is of this murder. Believe me, I am deeply distressed at having to say these things to you.”
“I know nothing about your brother.”
“Forgive me, that is not true.”
“I know nothing. And surely, if the Duke will not speak, you should respect his reasons.”
“I am not bound in any way.”
“I am afraid I cannot help you. You are wasting time. If you cannot produce your missing witness, why do you not set about finding the real murderer? If you do so you surely need not trouble about this alibi. Your brother’s movements are his own business.”
“I could wish,” said Wimsey, “you had not taken up this attitude. Believe me, I would have done all I could to spare you. I have been working hard to find, as you say, the real murderer, but with no success. The trial will probably take place at the end of the month.”
Her lips twitched a little at that, but she said nothing.
“I had hoped that with your help we might agree on some explanation—less than the truth, perhaps, but sufficient to clear my brother. As it is, I fear I shall have to produce the proof I hold, and let matters take their course.”
That, at last, struck under her guard. A dull flush crept up her cheeks; one hand tightened upon the handle of the churn, where she had rested it.
“What do you mean by proof?”
“I can prove that on the night of the 13th my brother slept in the room I occupied last night,” said Wimsey, with calculated brutality.
She winced. “It is a lie. You cannot prove it. He will deny it. I shall deny it.”
“He was not there?”
“No.”
“Then how did this come to be wedged in the sash of the bedroom window?”
At sight of the letter she broke down, crumpling up in a heap against the table. The set lines of her face distorted themselves into a mere caricature of terror.
“No, no, no! It is a lie! God help me!”
“Hush!” said Wimsey peremptorily. “Someone will hear you.” He dragged her to her feet. “Tell the truth, and we will see if we can find a way out. It is true—he was here that night?”
“You know it.”
“When did he come?”
“At a quarter past twelve.”
“Who let him in?”
“He had the keys.”
“When did he leave you?”
“A little after two.”
“Yes, that fits in all right. Three quarters of an hour to go and three quarters to come back. He stuck this into the window, I suppose, to keep it from rattling?”
“There was a high wind—I was nervous. I thought every sound was my husband coming back.”
“Where was your husband?”
“At Stapley.”
“Had he suspected this?”
“Yes, for some time.”
“Since my brother was here in August?”
“Yes. But he could get no proof. If he had had proof he would have killed me. You have seen him. He is a devil.”
“M’m.”
Wimsey was silent. The woman glanced fearfully at his face and seemed to read some hope there, for she clutched him by the arm.
“If you call me to give evidence,” she said, “he will know. He will kill me. For God’s sake, have pity. That letter is my death-warrant. Oh, for the mother that bore you, have mercy upon me. My life is a hell, and when I die I shall go to hell for my sin. Find some other way—you can—you must.”
Wimsey gently released himself.
“Don’t do that, Mrs. Grimethorpe. We might be seen. I am deeply sorry for you, and, if I can get my brother out of this without bringing you in, I promise you I will. But you see the difficulty. Why don’t you leave this man? He is openly brutal to you.”
She laughed.
“Do you think he’d leave me alive while the law was slowly releasing me? Knowing him, do you think so?”
Wimsey really did not think so.
“I will promise you this, Mrs. Grimethorpe. I will do all I can to avoid having to use your evidence. But if there should be no other way, I will see that you have police protection from the moment that the subpoena is served on you.”
“And for the rest of my life?”
“When you are once in London we will see about freeing you from this man.”
“No. If you call upon me, I am a lost woman. But you will find another way?”
“I will try, but I can promise nothing. I will do everything that is possible to protect you. If you care at all for my brother—”
“I don’t know. I am so horribly afraid. He was kind and good to me. He was—so different. But I am afraid—I’m afraid.”
Wimsey turned. Her terrified eyes had seen the shadow cross the threshold. Grimethorpe was at the door, glowering in upon them.
“Ah, Mr. Grimethorpe,” exclaimed Wimsey cheerfully, “there you are. Awfully pleased to see you and thank you, don’tcherknow, for puttin’ me up. I was just saying so to Mrs. Grimethorpe, an’ asking her to say goodbye to you for me. Must be off now, I’m afraid. Bunter and I are ever so grateful to you both for all your kindness. Oh, and I say, could you find me the stout fellows who hauled us out of that Pot of yours last night—if it is yours. Nasty, damp thing to keep outside the front door, what? I’d like to thank ’em.”
“Dom good thing for unwelcome guests,” said the
