The Red Window Part 13

"Murder!"

"Eh! What's that? Murder, Alice!" The old lady's ruddy cheeks grew white, and she stretched out her hand for the paper. "Show me!" she said resolutely.

Alice did not hand her the paper. She seemed almost incapable of understanding what was said.

"Bernard is dead!" she moaned.

"Dead! Great Heavens!"

"He is drowned. It's all in the paper. It's all--Oh--oh!"

Breaking off suddenly she dropped the paper, and fled towards the house like a creature suddenly aroused to life. Miss Berengaria did not lose a moment. With an activity wonderful in a woman of her years she sprang to her feet, and hurried up the path round to the front of the house, following in the wake of the weeping girl. She saw Alice disappear into the porch and enter the breakfast-room, where the meal was already waiting. There, on the hearth-rug, Alice fell p.r.o.ne. Miss Berengaria knelt down and took her hand. She had not fainted, but, cold and s.h.i.+vering, was sobbing as though her heart would break. And perhaps it would, under this unexpected and terrible calamity. Bernard was her idol, and now he was dead, and his memory fouled with the accusation of an awful crime.

Finding that Alice still had her senses Miss Berengaria nodded and sat down. "The best thing for you, my dear," she said in a soft voice. "Weep your heart out, while I read the paper."

These words sound rather heartless, but the old lady did not intend them to be so. She realized that tears would relieve the strain on the almost stunned girl, and welcomed them gladly. Alice knew that her friend spoke for the best, but she gave no sign as, lying p.r.o.ne on the rug, she concealed her agonized face, while Miss Berengaria adjusting her spectacles, glanced through the paper. Already the gong had sounded, the meal smoked on the table, and there was no fear of interruptions by the servants. But neither Miss Berengaria nor Alice was able to eat in the face of this bolt from the blue.

"Where is it, my dear?--oh, here! Murder and Suicide. A nice heading, upon my word. Rubbis.h.!.+ I don't believe a word of it."

"Read! Read!" moaned the girl at her feet.

"Alice," said Miss Berengaria, severely, "before reading a word I tell you that I don't believe a word of it. Bernard, though a silly boy, would not kill a fly, nor would he kill himself. Murder and Suicide! Oh, rubbish--rubbis.h.!.+"

"But you know, and I know, he quarrelled with his grandfather."

Miss Berengaria looked at the girl's white face as she half crouched, half sat on the rug, with her eyes wild and her brown hair in disorder.

"I don't see what Sir Simon has to do with it," said she, tartly.

"He is dead."

"Dead!"--Miss Berengaria s.h.i.+vered. "You don't mean to say that."

"Read! Read! Everything is against him--everything. Oh, how can I bear my life? How can I live?"

"Alice," said the old dame again, although she was very white, "if this lying paper means to say that Bernard murdered Sir Simon, I tell you again that I don't believe a word of it. You, who love him, ought to believe in his innocence."

"But the evidence."

"A fig for evidence. Circ.u.mstantial evidence has hanged an innocent man before now. Bernard Gore kill that old tyrant----?"

"Hus.h.!.+ He is dead!"

"And so we are to speak well of him," snapped Miss Berengaria. "Oh, well"--she rubbed her nose--"we'll tell lies about him like the majority of tombstones do of those who lie below, but I tell you, foolish girl that you are, Bernard did not kill the old man, nor did he kill himself."

"But the paper says----"

"I don't care what the paper says," said Miss Berengaria, resolutely.

"No, indeed. I am a better judge of character than any paper. That poor boy was vilely treated by that--there! there! I won't say a word against Sir Simon. He's dead, and we must be lenient. But Bernard Gore is innocent. Before I read I tell you that."

"I hope it may be so," cried Alice, clasping her hands.

"It is so," said the other, sharply and in a truly feminine way. "All I know is that Sloppy Jane adored him, and she's not the dog to adore anyone who would shed blood."

Alice could not but see that this reasoning was not based on facts. But, all the same, ridiculous though it was, she derived a certain comfort from it. Miss Berengaria, who had been thus optimistic to quieten the poor girl, nodded, when Alice took a seat in the opposite chair more composed, and addressed herself to mastering the facts of the case.

Alice, with clasped hands, stared at the old lady as she read silently but with frequent raising of her eyebrows and sometimes a sniff. The paper stated that Sir Simon and his grandson, Bernard, were enemies, that the young man, having been hanging round the house for a fortnight courting the housemaid, had secured an interview with the elder when Miss Randolph was at the theatre. He had evidently quarrelled with Sir Simon, and, having chloroformed him, had quietly strangled him with his own handkerchief, after which he left the house. Then followed an account of the pursuit and failure to capture Gore. "He escaped the officers by plunging into the river," said the journal. "Next morning his khaki coat and hat were found on the opposite bank, so doubtless he got rid of them when attempting to swim. But what, with the cold and the fog, undoubtedly he must have succ.u.mbed to the force of the current."

Finally the paper stated that an inquest would be held within two days on the dead body. At the conclusion of this somewhat bald article, Miss Berengaria gave a short laugh and threw down the paper. "I don't believe a word of it," she said, folding her arms, "and I'm going up to London."

"What for, aunt?"

"To see into the matter myself. I believe that Beryl creature is responsible for the whole thing."

"But see," said Alice, picking up the paper, "he was at the theatre with Lucy and a Mrs. Webber."

"I don't care. Failing Bernard, Julius comes in for the money."

"He comes in for it even without that," said Alice, bitterly. "Don't you remember that Sir Simon disinherited Bernard because he would not give me up? I implored Bernard, for his own sake, to break our engagement, but he refused. He gave up all for me, and now he is dead--dea--dead.

Oh," sobbed Alice, "how unhappy I am!"

"How foolish you are," said Miss Berengaria, her eyes hard and bright.

"Do you think a man, who could act towards you in so n.o.ble a way, would commit a cowardly murder, and then s.h.i.+rk the consequences? Not at all.

I'm ashamed of you. I once loved," said the old lady, rising and marching energetically about the room, "and my lover was a fool and a villain. Bernard is neither. He is a fine fellow, G.o.d bless him and bring him safely out of this trouble! He shall have my help--yes, my best help," added Miss Berengaria nodding.

"But he is dead."

"He is not dead, you weak-minded, silly, hysterical girl. That sort of man has as many lives as a cat. He's alive, to vindicate his reputation and to bring home the crime to the real a.s.sa.s.sin."

"But who can that be?" asked Alice, comforted by this a.s.surance.

"I don't know," said Miss Berengaria, taking a seat at the table. "Come and pour out my coffee, and eat."

Alice dragged herself to the table and took up the silver pot. "I can't eat," she said faintly.

"Yes, you can; and, what's more, you're going to. No nonsense with me, miss. You and I have a hard task before us."

"What is that?"

Miss Berengaria laid down her knife and fork with which she was about to carve a piece of bacon. "Well, I am astonished," she said, glaring. "In my young days a girl in love would have been ashamed to make such a speech. Why, bless me! haven't we got to prove Bernard's innocence?"

"Will that bring him to life?" said Alice, bitterly.

"It would, if it were necessary; but it isn't. Bernard's in hiding."

"Can you be sure?"

"Alice Malleson," said the resolute old dame, "if you were younger I would shake you and send you to bed on bread and water. You don't deserve to be loved by such a man. He gave up all for you, and you believe the worst of him."

"Bernard has a temper, and he might have--"