The Brooklyn Murders

find that most of it was known to Marian already. Marian told her how Carter Woodman had come to see her, and asked her to use her influence to break the entanglement between Charis and John Prinsep, and how she had indignantly refused and had threatened to go and tell John straight out that he ought to marry her. Charis did not try to defend Prinsep: she realised that there could be no defence for what he had done; but she told Marian that she had loved him, and that she believed he had loved her⁠—in a way⁠—and would certainly have married her but for his fear of Sir Vernon’s opposition. She told Marian that it was quite clear from the inspector’s manner that he suspected Walter Brooklyn of one, if not of both, murders, and at last she told her of Walter Brooklyn’s visit to herself, and of the infamous threat he had made.

To Charis’s surprise, Marian Brooklyn altogether refused to consider the possibility of Walter’s guilt. She had seen him outside Liskeard House as they left on the Tuesday evening, and she agreed that he might possibly have gone there to carry out his threat of telling Sir Vernon. But she was quite convinced that he had had nothing to do with the murders, and she was very doubtful whether he would really have carried out his threat against Charis. “Walter Brooklyn,” she said, “is a thoroughly bad lot. In money matters you couldn’t trust him an inch. But I do not believe he would really have done a thing like that⁠—I mean, either murdered anybody, or really told Sir Vernon about you. He might threaten, but I don’t believe he’d do such a thing, when it came to the point.”

Then Marian Brooklyn realised what seemed to her the most horrible thing about the situation. “Poor Joan,” she said, “it will be simply terrible for her if Walter Brooklyn is really suspected. She has trouble enough with what has happened, already, and with Sir Vernon on her hands in such a state that nearly everything has to be kept from him. If her stepfather is going to be dragged into court, I don’t know what she will do.”

All Charis could suggest was that it would be best that she should know nothing about it until it could no longer be kept from her; but to this Marian Brooklyn did not agree. “I think, dear, she had better know at once. Joan is not easily frightened; and I am sure she would wish to be told.”

And so it was finally settled. Marian Brooklyn said that she would go to Liskeard House at once and try to see Joan. At first she suggested that Charis should come with her; but finally they agreed that she had better go alone. Charis, a good deal more at ease after her talk with her friend, went back to the theatre with every intention of appearing at the evening performance.

Marian Brooklyn found Joan at home. Indeed, since Tuesday she had not left the house, save for an occasional breath of air in the garden. With the police continually making inquiries, newspaper reporters laying constant siege to the house, and Sir Vernon so ill that the fact of George Brooklyn’s death had still to be kept from him, and George’s absence explained by all manner of subterfuges, Joan and Mary Woodman had been going through a terrible time, made the worse, in Joan’s case at least, by the sense of helplessness in face of a great calamity. Her duties in looking after Sir Vernon did not prevent her from thinking: rather they were such as to make thought turn to brooding. Her thoughts seemed to go round and round in an endless and aimless circle; and, as the days passed, the strain was telling on her far more than on Mary Woodman, who was not blessed⁠—or cursed⁠—with the faculty of imagination. Mary did her duty quietly and sympathetically, and with little sign of inward disturbance. Joan did her duty, too, but she was eating out her soul in the doing of it. Her face, as she came into the room to greet Marian, was haggard with lack of sleep. She had not quite lost that look of composure and self-possession that was normally hers; but it was easy to see that the strain on her had been severe.

Marian did not quite know how to begin what she had to say; but Joan saved her from her embarrassment by beginning at once to speak about Sir Vernon. He had been very bad indeed; he was still very bad, but she thought he was beginning to rally. It had been terribly difficult⁠—having to keep from him the news and prevent him from taking any part in the investigation. He had asked more than once to see the police; but the doctor said that absolute rest was indispensable, and that any further shock or excitement would almost certainly still be fatal to him. Joan told Marian that she and Mary had their hands so full that they knew little or nothing of what was going on, and had no idea what progress the police were making towards the solution of the mystery.

This gave Marian the opening for which she had been waiting. “It was about that, darling,” she said, “I came to see you. I did not want the police to come asking you more questions until you were prepared.”

Joan expressed her surprise. “Prepared, Marian⁠—prepared for what do you mean?”

“Well, dear, I thought I had better tell you. The police think they have a clue.”

“A clue? Do you mean they know who did it?”

“No, dear. I don’t mean that they know; but there is somebody whom they suspect. Of course, it is their business to suspect people; but I thought I ought to tell you.”

“Of course, it is their business to find out who did it. I am only glad it isn’t mine⁠—and yet I can’t help wondering.