The position in which both the body and the cycle were found pointed to the conclusion that she was riding her machine when fired at, but dismounting instantly she had staggered a few uneven steps, and then sank dying.
From the gateway the mark of the cycle could be traced with ease away towards Burghfield; indeed, a few yards from where the unknown person had apparently met her there were marks of her quick footsteps where she had dismounted. For fully a quarter of an hour the detectives searched both inside and outside the gate trying to distinguish accurately the footprints of the stranger whom she had met, and in this they were actively assisted by the village constable and George, all being careful not to tread upon the weeds and dust themselves. But to distinguish traces of footprints at night is exceedingly difficult; therefore they searched long and earnestly without any success, until at last something half-hidden in some long rank weeds caught Georges eye.
Why, whats this? he cried, excitedly, as putting out his hand he drew forth a purely feminine object an ordinary black hairpin.
The detectives, eager for anything which might lead to the discovery of the identity of the assassin, took it, examining it closely beneath the light of one of their bulls-eyes. It was a pin of a common kind, and what at first seemed like a clue was quickly discarded, for on taking it back to where the body was lying and taking one of the pins that held the unfortunate girls wealth of fair hair, it was at once seen in comparison to be of the same thickness and make, although of a slightly different length.
Half a dozen pins were taken one by one from her hair and compared, but strangely enough all were about half an inch shorter than the one discovered by George.
Anything in this, do you think? one of the detectives asked the other, evidently his superior.
No, the man answered promptly. Women often use hairpins of different lengths. If you buy a box they are often of assorted sizes. No, that pin evidently fell from her hair when she put up her hands to tidy it, after dismounting.
So the vague theory that the person who joined her was a woman was dismissed. George had said nothing of his appointment with Liane at that spot, deeming it wiser to keep his secret, yet he was sorely puzzled by the fact that Nelly should have been there at the same hour that Liane had arranged to meet him. Perhaps his well-beloved had sent her with a message, as she had on previous occasions. If not, why had she returned from Burghfield by that lonely lane instead of riding direct along the high road, which was in so much better condition for cycling? He had only known her to ride along Cross Lane once before. Indeed, both she and Liane had always denounced that road with its flints and ruts as extremely injurious to cycles.
The assassin had got clean away without leaving the slightest trace. Even his footsteps were indistinguishable where all others were plainly marked, for during the day the dust had been blowing in clouds, carpeting the unfrequented lane to the depth of nearly half an inch, so that every imprint had been faithfully retained.
The detectives, after spending nearly two hours in futile search, were compelled at length to acknowledge themselves baffled, and preparations were made to acquaint Captain Brooker with the sad news, and to remove the body of Nelly Bridson to his house. At first it was suggested that George should go and break the sad tidings to the Captain, but he at once declined. He had never yet met Captain Brooker, and shrank from the unpleasantness of such a first interview with the man whose daughter he intended marrying. The duty therefore devolved upon the police, and the village constable was despatched with strict injunctions from George not to tell Miss Liane, but request to see the Captain himself alone. He knew what a blow it must prove to his well-beloved to thus lose under such terrible circumstances the fair-faced girl who had been her most intimate companion and confidante through so many years; therefore he endeavoured to spare her any unnecessary pain. Her father would, no doubt, break to her the sad truth best of all.
George thought it useless to seek her that night, therefore when the constable had left he took a long farewell glance at the white upturned face, and mounting, turned the mares head towards the Court. Onward he rode in the darkness across the open country to Broomfield Hatch, then turning to the right into the Grazely Road, cantered down the hill towards the lodge gates of Stratfield Court.
Its a strange affair, he muttered aloud. Strange indeed, that Nelly should have ridden along that bad road if not with the intention of meeting someone by appointment. Yet she would scarcely make an appointment at that spot, knowing that I had arranged to meet Liane there. No, poor girl, I cant help feeling convinced that she was awaiting me to tell me of Lianes inability to be there. Again, how came she possessed of the missing miniature? What motive could anyone possibly have in murdering her? Ah! what motive, I wonder?
Deep in thought, he allowed his mare to jog onward beneath the beeches which at that point nearly met overhead, rendering the road almost pitch dark. Once he thought he detected a slight movement in the impenetrable gloom, and pulling up, strained his eyes into the high bushes at the roadside. For a few moments he sat perfectly still in the saddle listening intently. Then, hearing nothing, he started forth again muttering:
I could have sworn I saw something white fluttering over there; but bah! Im unnerved, I suppose, to-night, and after all it was mere fancy.
Once he turned to glance back; then resolutely set his face along the dark avenue of chestnuts, homeward.
Little sleep came to his eyes that night. He was thinking of his own future, of Lianes love, and of her sad bereavement. Times without number he tried to formulate some theory to account for the miniature being in Nellys possession, and the foul assassination of the bright, happy girl, whose merry laughter had so often charmed him. Yet it was a mystery, absolute and complete.
The great house was quiet, for its irascible master was dead, and its son, held in esteem by all the servants from butler to stable lad, was ruined. The very clocks seemed to tick with unaccustomed solemnity, and the bell in the turret over the stables chimed slowly and ominously as each long hour passed towards the dawn. At last, however, still in his clothes, George slept, and it was not until the morning sun was streaming full into his room that he awoke. Then, finding that the two doctors had returned to London, he went to the library and wrote a brief note to Liane, asking her to meet him at the lodge gates at eleven oclock. Sir John was now no more, therefore in the Park they might walk together unobserved. At first he hesitated to invite her there so quickly, but on reflection he saw that he must see her at once and endeavour to console her, and that the leafy glades of his dead fathers domain were preferable to the highways, where they would probably be noticed by the village gossips.
At nine he sent the note down to the village by one of the stable lads, who brought back two hastily scribbled lines, and at the hour appointed she came slowly along the dusty road, looking cool and fresh beneath her white sunshade.
Their greeting was formal while within sight of the windows of the lodge, but presently, when they had entered the Park by the winding path which led through a thick copse, he halted, took her in his arms and imprinted upon her soft cheek a long passionate kiss. Her own full lips met his in a fierce affectionate caress, but their hearts were too full for words. They stood together in silence, locked in each others arms.
Then he noticed for the first time that her eyes were swollen, and that she wore a white tulle veil to conceal their redness. She had no doubt spent the night in tears. The tiny gloved hand trembled in his grasp, and her lips quivered.
At last he spoke softly, first lifting her hand reverently to his lips.
Both of us have experienced bereavement since last we met, two days ago, Liane. You have my sincerest sympathy, my darling.
Is Sir John dead? she inquired in a low husky voice.
He nodded.
Then our losses are both hard to bear, she said, sighing. Poor Nelly! I I cannot bear to think of it. I cannot yet realise the terrible truth.
Nor I, dearest, he answered, echoing her sigh. But we must nevertheless face the facts if we desire to discover the assassin.
They told me that it was you who first discovered her, she said falteringly, her eyes overflowing with tears. Tell me how it all happened.
There is very little to tell, he responded. I found her lying on the road dead, and went at once for the doctor and the police.
But what were you doing in Cross Lane? she inquired.
I went out to meet you as we had arranged.
But surely you knew that I could not meet you, she exclaimed, looking at him quickly.
How could I?
I sent you a letter telling you that my father had an unexpected visitor, and that we must therefore postpone our meeting until this evening.
A letter! he cried, puzzled. I have only this moment left the Court, and no letter has yet arrived.
But I gave it to Nelly to post before half-past twelve yesterday morning, therefore you should have received it at five. She must have forgotten to post it.
Evidently, he said. But have you yet ascertained why she went down Cross Lane? To the police the fact of her having ridden down there in preference to the high road is an enigma.
No. According to the inquiries already made it has been ascertained that she went to Talmeys at Burghfield, purchased some silk, and had returned nearly to Stratfield Mortimer when she suddenly turned, went back about half a mile, and then entered Cross Lane. She was seen to turn by two labourers coming home from their work on Sims Farm.
She was alone, I suppose?
Entirely, Liane answered. Like myself, she had no horror of tramps. Ive ridden along these roads at all hours of the day and night, and have never been once molested.
The tragedy was no doubt enacted in broad daylight, for the sun had not quite set when, according to the doctor, she must have been shot while riding. Have you any idea that she had incurred the animosity of anybody?
No; as you well know, she was of a most amicable disposition. As far as I am aware, she had not a single enemy in the world.
A secret lover perhaps, George suggested.
No, not that I am aware of. She had no secrets from me. Since we came to England she has never spoken of any man with admiration.
Then abroad she had an admirer? Where?
In Nice. Charles Holroyde, a rich young Englishman, who was staying last winter at the Grand Hotel, admired her very much.
And you were also living in Nice at the time?
Yes.
Do you know his address in England? he inquired.
No. Nelly may have done, but I did not. I met him with her on the Promenade several times, and he seemed very pleasant and amusing. The diamond brooch she wore he gave her as a present last carnival.
Now that I recollect, George exclaimed, she was not wearing that brooch when I discovered her.
No, answered his well-beloved. Strangely enough, that has been stolen, although no attempt was made to take the watch and bunch of charms she wore in her blouse.
Are the police aware of that?
Yes, Liane answered. I told one of the detectives this morning, and gave him a minute description of the brooch. At the back are engraved Nellys initials, together with his, therefore it is likely it may be traced.
If so, it will be easy to find the murderer, George observed, as they strolled slowly along together beneath the welcome shade, for the morning was perfect, with bright warm sun and a cloudless sky into which the larks were everywhere soaring, filling the air with their shrill, joyous songs. Have you any idea whether poor Nelly has corresponded with this man Holroyde since leaving Nice? he inquired, after a pause.
I think not.
Why?
Well, they had a slight quarrel I have never exactly known the cause they parted, and although he wrote several times, she did not answer.
George scented suspicion in this circumstance. The fact that this brooch, one of considerable value, should alone have been stolen was, to say the least, curious; but discarded lovers sometimes avenge themselves, and this might perchance be a case of murder through jealousy. As he strolled on beside the handsome girl, with her pale, veiled face, he reflected deeply, trying in vain to form some theory as to the motive of the crime.
Did the police tell you that beside her I discovered an old miniature of Lady Anne which has been missing from the Court for twenty years or more? he asked.
Yes, they showed it to my father and myself. We have, however, never seen it before. How it came into her possession we are utterly at a loss to imagine, she answered. It is a heavy blow to lose her, she continued, in a low, intense voice. We have always been as sisters, and now the fate that has overtaken her is enshrouded in a mystery which seems inexplicable. Father is dreadfully upset. I fear he will never be as happy as before.
But you have me, Liane, her lover said, suddenly halting and drawing her towards him. I love you, my darling. I told you nearly two months ago that I loved you. I dont know that I can add anything to what I said then.
She was silent, looking straight before her.
His breath came more quickly. The colour rose to his cheeks. At this decisive moment the words died in his throat, as they must for every honest lover who would fain ask the momentous question of her whom he loves. He remembered that he now had no right to ask her to be his wife.
Do you know, he said at last, again grasping her hand impetuously, that I think you the sweetest, most charming woman in the world? I want you to be my wife, and help me to make my life all it should be, only only I dare not ask you.
Liane did not withdraw her fingers. She remained perfectly still without meeting his glance. Yet, strangely enough, she shuddered.
I have not the power to say all I feel. My words sound so harsh and cold; but, Liane, Liane, I love you! God made not the heart of man to be silent, but has promised him eternity with the intention that he should not be alone. There is for me but one woman upon earth. It is you.
He looked imploringly into her face.
Yes, George, I feel that you love me, she said, with a sweet smile behind her veil. It is very nice to be loved.
He covered her hand with eager kisses; but she withdrew it softly, her lips compressed.
My darling! His arm was about her waist, and he kissed her lips. He spoke in strong suppressed agitation; his voice trembled. He recollected he was penniless.
She freed herself from his embrace. No, no, she murmured. We may love, but we must not marry. There are so many other girls who would make you far happier than I should.
He went on to tell her how much he reverenced her character, how good and pure and lovely she was, and how completely she fulfilled his ideal of what a woman ought to be.