THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson
he exclaimed. "They might try to trace you through the cabman."
She made a weary gesture of assent, and the rest of the journey was accomplished in silence. A few rapid enquiries established that a train was about to start for Sevenoaks, and chancing the possibility of a return connection, Jimmie took two first-class singles. His suggestion of a train journey was not entirely prompted by the wish to blind the trail. That would have been as satisfactorily achieved merely by entering a station. He wanted to get at the bottom of the mystery surrounding the girl, and though he was no admirer of the compartment system of British railways, he recognised the advantages that an empty compartment would afford for a confidential interview.
The girl had rapidly regained her self-possession and her abstraction vanished as the train started. She flashed a half smile on him. "You will think me very foolish to have given way like this, Mr. Hallett. It's been good of you to take such trouble to serve a comparative stranger. I can't thank you properly."
"There's nothing to thank me for. I acted from purely selfish motives. I wanted to satisfy my curiosity you remember I have only half your story."
She met his eyes steadily. There was still only the faintest touch of colour in her cheeks. She had taken off her gloves and was mechanically twisting them in her lap. He leaned forward and possessed himself of one of her hands. She tore it sharply away and a gush of crimson swept over her face.
"You mustn't do that," she said hastily.
"I beg your pardon," he muttered. "I forgot. You are married."
The crimson in her cheeks deepened and she took a long breath. Her blue eyes took on a new alertness. He had half expected, half hoped that she would deny it. Even the marriage certificate had not convinced him entirely, and her being with Ling that night had scarcely affected his hope. Yet he was a man of more than ordinary acuteness and common sense. He was ready to believe that there had been some incredible mistake.
"I am married," she repeated. "And you know. How did you learn?" He could hear her breath catch as she waited for his reply.
"I have seen the marriage certificate," he answered simply.
"And the police," her words came incisively, "they know?"
He nodded. "It was through them I learnt."
A revulsion of feeling was coming to him. Somehow her fresh manner had broken the spell. There was something of calculation about it of the fencer standing with weapon poised for offence or defence. Hithertofore he had viewed her through a mist content to accept what she had told him as the truth, and with faith that the inexplicable things would in time be made clear and her innocence apparent. He had brushed aside the suspicions of Menzies as the natural tendency of the police officer to put the worst construction on everything.
Now he began to wonder if after all Menzies had been right. Was she merely a cunning adventuress who had all along deluded him and laughed at his folly behind his back with her criminal confederates. Looking at it coolly, he told himself, he could see a score of reasons why it should be so. A couple of deep lines bit into his forehead. He had helped her escape and her first words had shown her solicitude for Ling. Afterwards she had tried to dismiss the impression she had created or erected by an assumption of the mysterious. Quite possibly her whole intention since they met in the police station had been to use him as a stalking-horse.
He had been gazing unseeingly straight in front of him. A light touch recalled his wandering thoughts. "What are the police doing?" she asked. "You have not told me how they knew that Ling and I would be there."
His face hardened. She was taking it for granted that she could pump him. "That is their secret," he answered bluntly, "as much theirs as your secrets are yours."
"I--I'm sorry," she stammered timidly. "You think I am taking advantage."
"I think, miss "he corrected himself "Mrs.
Ling, that there are several matters you should answer yourself before putting questions to me."
She winced at the stress he laid on the name and drew herself together. "I am to suppose that you distrust me," she said haughtily.
"That's a quaint way of putting it. Exactly what reason is there that I should trust you?" He spoke brutally. He felt the occasion was not one for delicacy of language. "You have told me a story that I then believed to be true a story of devotion to a scalywag brother. You said nothing about a greater motive for loyalty to your gang your marriage to one of the most notorious criminals in the world. I shall see something to laugh at in the way I've been strung sometime."
Her lips were parted and her breast was heaving. Undeniably pretty she was with her flushed face and her eyes lighted till they looked like blue flame. There was neither shame nor contrition within their depths. "Why did you help me to-night, then?" she asked.
"Because "He wavered. "Oh, because I was a fool, I suppose. I thought there might be some explanation. I see now "he made a gesture with his hand "there can't be. You vanished as soon as Scotland Yard got a hot scent. You were afraid I might get dangerous and you played on me with a note to get me into the hands of your pals. I fell for it all right, all right."
She stared at him dumbly. "You got my note, then?" she said after a pause.
He laughed shortly. "Yes, I got it all right. No mistake about that. And Gwennie Lyne got me."
She was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, troubled thought in her face. "Gwennie Lyne? But you never came. And I don't know Gwennie Lyne. i... What address did you go to?"
"The address you gave 140 Ludford Road, Brixton."
"That wasn't it." She passed her hand over her brow. "There's been some trickery I don't understand. It was quite another place. I wanted a friend. ... You didn't come.... I thought oh, I didn't blame you- There was no reason why you should run any risks to help me...."
He watched her with obvious disbelief.
"You think I'm lying," she said with another change of manner. "Very well. You shall see and learn for yourself. I will prove to you that I am not lying that I have not tricked you. You can keep your own counsel. All I ask is that you will not betray mine."
"You may rely on me," he said icily.
The train ran into Sevenoaks and they alighted. There was a return train within a quarter of an hour and this they caught. Both were grimly silent on the return journey and for the most part JimmJe kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the blank blackness of the window. Once he surprised her watching him with an air of wistfulness. "A consummate actress," he thought and shifted his gaze again to the window. To question her would be only to invite another series of lies.
At London Bridge she took command, piloting him to the Bank and stopping a motor bus with an imperative wave of the hand. They ran through into the gloomy heart of the East End. "This is Shadwell," she said. "We get off here."
It was hard to reconcile the dainty figure in the neat grey costume with the slums and squalor into which they entered. Through narrow, desolate streets she led him, past here and there a drunken man or a riotous group racing from one public-house to another. At last she paused and tapped with her bare knuckles on the unpainted door of a tumble-down house. He was not without courage, but he hesitated.
"Are you going in there?"
"Yes. Are you afraid?" she taunted.
"I am," he admitted. "I may tell you I am armed."
Her lips curled. He got a vague glimpse of a slatternly old woman with curious eyes staring at them, and then the girl, without stopping to see whether he would follow, led the way within. He followed, mentally calling himself a fool. The old woman closed the door and they were left in darkness.
"Take my hand," she said, "I know the way. The fourth stair up is broken."
The hand he groped for and found was ice cold. He dragged his pistol out of his pocket and held it ready for instant use. There was going to be no repetition of the Gwennie Lyne