The Ashiel mystery: A Detective Story Page 23

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Sir Arthur Byrne took his adopted daughter back to Belgium on thefollowing day, since, although she would have to return to England togive evidence against Mark in due course, some time must elapse beforehis trial came on, and he judged it best to remove her as far as possiblefrom a place whose associations must always be painful.

  Then ensued a series of weary long weeks for Juliet, in which she had notrouble in convincing herself that David had forgotten her. She heardnothing from him directly, though indirectly news of him filtered throughin letters they received from Lady Ruth and Gimblet. He had not, itappeared, taken his cousin's guilt as proved so readily as Mark hadaffected to do in his own case, refusing absolutely to hear a word of theevidence against him, and maintaining that the whole thing was a mistakeas colossal as it was ghastly.

  Only when he was persuaded unwillingly, but finally, that it was Juliet'sword which he must doubt if he were to continue to believe in Mark'sinnocence, did he give in, and sorrowfully acknowledged himselfconvinced.

  All this Lady Ruth wrote to the girl, together with the fact that SirDavid was still in attendance on his mother, now happily recovering fromthe nervous shock she had sustained.

  From Gimblet, and from Messrs. Findlay & Ince, they heard that by thewill which the detective had found all Lord Ashiel's money and estatewere left to the adopted daughter of Sir Arthur Byrne, known hitherto asJuliet Byrne, with a suggestion that she should provide for his nephewsto the extent she should think fit.

  The will, though not technically worded, was perfectly good and legal,and Juliet could have all the money she was likely to want for thepresent by accepting the offer of an advance which the lawyers begged tobe allowed to make.

  Gimblet wrote, further, that the list of names of members of the Nihilistsociety entitled the "Friends of Man" which he had discovered at the sametime as the will and, contrary to Lord Ashiel's wishes, sent off byregistered post to Scotland Yard, had been communicated to the heads ofthe police in Russia and the other European countries in which many ofthose designated were now scattered, with the result that a large numberof arrests had been quietly made, and the society practically wiped out.The foreign guest of the Crianan Hotel was still at large. The name ofCount Pretovsky was not on the list and nothing could be proved againsthim. He had moved on to another hotel farther west, where he was lyingvery low and continuing to practise the gentle art of the fisherman. Amember of the Russian secret police was on his way to Scotland, however,and it was likely that Count Pretovsky would be recognized as one of thepersons on Lord Ashiel's list who were as yet unaccounted for.

  Gimblet told them, besides, that he had succeeded in finding the widow ofthe respectable plumber named Harsden, whom Julia had mentioned as beingher father. Mrs. Harsden corroborated the story, and said that it wascertainly the Countess Romaninov to whom Mrs. Meredith had consigned thelittle girl they had given her.

  Widely distributed advertisements also brought to light the nurses of thetwo children; both the nurse who had taken Julia out to Russia and thewoman who had been with Mrs. Meredith when she took over the charge ofthe McConachan baby, quickly claiming the reward that was offered fortheir discovery. There was no longer any room for doubt that Juliet Byrnewas the same person as Juliana McConachan, or that Julia Romaninov hadbegun life as little Judy Harsden.

  All this scarcely sufficed to rouse Juliet from the apathy into which shehad fallen. To her it seemed incredible to think with what excitement anddelight such news would have filled her a few months earlier.

  Now, since David plainly no longer cared for her, nothing mattered anylonger. Her depression was put down to the shock she had suffered, andefforts were made to feed her up and coddle her, which sheungratefully resented.

  She had nothing in life to look forward to now, so she told herself,except the horrible ordeal of the trial which she would be obligedto attend.

  It was in the dejection now becoming habitual to her, that she sat idlyone fine October morning in her little sitting-room at the consulate. Shehad refused to play tennis with her stepsisters, not because she hadanything else to do, but because nothing was worth doing any more, andbecause it was less trouble to sit and gaze mournfully through the openwindow at the yellow leaves of the poplar in the garden, as from time totime one of them fluttered down through the still air.

  How unspeakably sad it was, she thought to herself, this slow falling ofthe leaves, like the gradual but persistent loss of our hopes andillusions, which eventually make each human dweller in this world ofchange feel as bare and forlorn as the leafless winter trees.

  On a branch a few feet away, a robin perched, and after looking at hercritically for a few moments lifted up its voice in cheerful song.

  But she took no heed of it, and continued to brood over her sorrows.

  All men were faithless. With them, it was out of sight, out of mind, andshe would assuredly never, never believe in one again. The best thingshe could do, she decided, was to put away all thought of such things,and forget the man whom she had once been so vain as to imagine reallycared for her.

  And just as she told herself for the hundredth time that she had given upall hope and had resigned herself to the role of broken-hearted maiden,the door opened, and David was shown in.

  By good luck, she was alone. Lady Byrne was not yet down, and herstepsisters were out; so there was no one to see her blushes and add toher embarrassment.

  In the surprise of seeing him, all her presence of mind vanished, leavingher speechless and trembling with agitation.

  For his part, David approached her with a confusion as obvious as herown.

  "Juliet," he stammered as soon as they were left alone together, "I knowI oughtn't to have come, but I simply couldn't keep away."

  "Why oughtn't you to have come?" was all she could ask foolishly.

  "Because I know you can't want to see me," said the absurd young man,"though I do think you liked me pretty well before, didn't you? whenMaisie Tarver tied my tongue; or ought to have, I'm afraid I should say.But she had enough sense to drop me when I was arrested. She couldn'tstand a man arrested for murder any more than you or anyone else could?"

  He said the last words with an air of shamefaced interrogation.

  "Why," said Juliet, who was being carried off her feet on the top of arapturous flood, "what nonsense! You were as innocent as I was. Whatwould it matter if you were arrested twenty times!"

  "Well, I shouldn't care to be, myself," said David, without apparentlyderiving much satisfaction from such a suggestion. "Once is enough forme. And anyway," he added inconsequently, "you can't very well marry afellow who is first cousin to a man who's as good as hanged already!"

  "Oh, David, David," cried Juliet; "as if that mattered! But who doyou suppose I am--don't you know that he's my first cousin just as heis yours?"

  "By Jingo," said David, "I never thought of that, somehow. Thenwe're both in the same boat!" And he stepped forward and caught herby the hands.

  "Yes, David," she said, as he drew her to him tenderly, "both in the sameboat. And what can be nicer than that?"

  THE END