The Postmaster's Daughter Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  A CABAL

  Grant stared again at the card. A tiny silver bell seemed to tinkle asort of warning in a recess of his brain. The name was not engraved incopper-plate, but printed in heavy type. Somehow, it looked ominous. Hisfirst impression was to bid Minnie send the man away. He distrusted anyfirst impression. It was the excuse of mediocrity, a sign of weakness.Moreover, why shouldn't he meet Isidor G. Ingerman?

  "Show him in," he said, almost gruffly, thus silencing shy intuition, asit were. He threw the card on the table.

  Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, butnodded, or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation wasintended, because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited.

  Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master's callers were usually cheerfulBohemians, who chatted at sight. Then she caught Grant's eye, and wentout, banging the door in sheer nervousness.

  Still Mr. Ingerman did not speak. If this was a pose on his part, heerred. Grant had passed through a trying day, but he owned the musclesand nerves of an Alpine climber, and had often stared calmly down a wallof rock and ice which he had just conquered, when the least slip wouldhave meant being dashed to pieces two thousand feet below.

  There was some advantage, too, in this species of stage wait. It enabledhim to take the measure of Adelaide Melhuish's husband, if, indeed, thevisitor was really the man he professed to be.

  At first sight, Isidor G. Ingerman was not a prepossessing person.Indeed, it would be safe to assume that if, by some trick of fortune, heand not Grant were the tenant of The Hollies, P.C. Robinson would havehaled him to the village lock-up that very morning. It was not that hewas villainous-looking, but rather that he looked capable of villainy. Hewas a tall, slender, rather stooping man, with a decidedly well-molded,if hawk-like, face. His aspect might be described as saturnine. Possibly,when he smiled, this morose expression would vanish, and then he mighteven win a favorable opinion. He had brilliant black eyes, close set, andan abundant crop of black hair, turning gray, which, in itself, lent anair of distinction. His lips were thin, his chin slightly prominent. Hewas well dressed, and managed a hat, stick, and gloves with ease.Altogether, he reminded Grant of a certain notable actor who isinvariably cast for the role of a gentlemanly scoundrel, but who, inprivate life, is a most excellent fellow and good citizen. Oddly enough,Grant recognized in him, too, the type of man who would certainly haveappealed to Adelaide Melhuish in her earlier and impressionable years.

  Meanwhile, the visitor, finding that the clear-eyed young man seated inan easy chair (from which he had not risen) could seemingly regard himwith blank indifference during the next hour, thought fit to saysomething.

  "Is my name familiar to you, Mr. Grant?" he inquired.

  The voice was astonishingly soft and pleasant, and the accent agreeablyrefined. Evidently, there were surprising points about Mr. Ingerman. Longafterwards, Grant learned, by chance, that the man had been an actorbefore branching off into that mysterious cosmopolitan profession knownas "a financier."

  "No," said Grant. "I have heard it very few times. Once, about threeyears ago, and today, when I mentioned it to the police."

  The other man's sallow cheeks grew a shade more sallow. Grant supposedthat this slight change of color indicated annoyance. Of course, theassociation of ideas in that curt answer was intolerably rude. But Granthad been tried beyond endurance that day. He was in a mood to be brusquewith an archbishop.

  "We can disregard your confidences, or explanations, to thepolice," said Ingerman smoothly. "Three years ago, I suppose, mywife spoke of me?"

  "If you mean Miss Adelaide Melhuish--yes."

  "I do mean her. To be exact, I mean the lady who was murdered outsidethis house last night."

  Grant realized instantly that Isidor G. Ingerman was a foeman worthy ofeven a novelist's skill in repartee. Thus far, he, Grant, had been merelyuncivil, using a bludgeon for wit, whereas the visitor was making playwith a finely-tempered rapier.

  "Now that you have established your identity, Mr. Ingerman, perhaps youwill tell me why you are here," he said.

  "I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife's death."

  "A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at onetime you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs.Ingerman for three years--until last night, that is--so there is achance, of course, that husband and wife may have adjusted theirdifferences. Is that so?"

  "Until last night!" repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone. "Youadmit that?"

  Grant turned and pointed.

  "I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window," he said. "Shelooked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, butthe vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I wentstraight out and searched for her. Perhaps 'searched' is not quite theright word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, andlistened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing,and came in."

  "What was she doing here?"

  "I don't know."

  "She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told."

  "I heard that, too."

  "You imply that you did not meet her?"

  "No need to imply anything, Mr. Ingerman. I did not meet her. Beyondthe fanciful notion that I had seen her ghost last night, the first Iknew of her presence in the village was when I recognized her dead bodythis morning."

  "Strange as it may sound, I am inclined to believe you."

  Grant said nothing. He wanted to get up and pitch Ingerman into the road.

  "But who else will take that charitable view?" purred the other, inthat suave voice which so ill accorded with his thin lips and slightlyhooked nose.

  "I really don't care," was the weary answer.

  "Not at the moment, perhaps. You have had a trying day, no doubt. Myvisit at its close cannot be helpful. But--"

  "I am feeling rather tired mentally," interrupted Grant, "so you willoblige me by not raising too many points at once. Why should you imaginethat conversation with you in particular should add to my supposeddistress?"

  "Doesn't it?"

  "No."

  "Why, then, may I ask, do you so obviously resent my questions? Who hasso much right to put them as I?"

  Grant found that he must bestir himself. Thus far, the honors lay withthis rather sinister-looking yet quiet-mannered visitor.

  "I am sorry if anything I have said lends color to that belief," heanswered. "Candidly, I began by assuming that you forfeited any legalright years ago to interfere in behalf of Miss Melhuish, living or dead.Let us, at least, be candid with each other. Miss Melhuish herself toldme that you and she had separated by mutual consent."

  "Allow me to emulate your candor. The actual fact is that you weaned mywife's affections from me."

  "That is a downright lie," said Grant coolly.

  Ingerman's peculiar temperament permitted him to treat this graveinsult far more lightly than Grant's harmless, if irritating, referenceto the police.

  "Let us see just what 'a lie' signifies," he said, almost judicially. "Ifa lady deserts her husband, and there is good reason to suspect that sheis, in popular phrase, 'carrying on' with another man, how can thehusband be lying if he charges that man with being the cause of thedomestic upheaval?"

  "In this instance a hypothetical case is not called for. Three years ago,Mr. Ingerman, you had parted from your wife. Your name was nevermentioned. Apparently, none in my circle had even heard of you. MissMelhuish had won repute as a celebrated actress. I met her, in a sense,professionally. We became friends. I fancied I was in love with her. Iproposed marriage. Then, and not until then, did the ghost of Mr."--Grantbent forward, and consulted the card--"Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman intrude."

  "So marriage was out of the question?"

  "If you expect an answer--yes."

  Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips.

  "That isn't how the situation was represented to
me at the time," he saidthoughtfully.

  Grant was still sore with the recollection of the way in which thesuperintendent of police had forced him to confess the pitiful schemewhereby a woman in love had sought to gain her ends. He refused to sullyher memory a second time that day, even to gain the upper hand in thistroublesome controversy.

  "I neither know nor care what representations may have been made to you,"he retorted. "I merely tell you the literal truth."

  "Possibly. Possibly. It was not I who used the word 'lie,' remember. Butif you are ungracious enough to refuse to withdraw the offensive phrase,let it pass. We are not in France. This deadly business will be foughtout in the law courts. I am here to-night of my own initiative. I thoughtit only fair and reasonable that you and I should meet before we arebrought face to face at a coroner's inquest, and, it may be, in an AssizeCourt.... No, no, Mr. Grant. Pray do not put the worst construction on mywords. _Someone_ murdered my wife. If the police show intelligence andreasonable skill, _someone_ will be tried for the crime. You and I willcertainly be witnesses. That is what I meant to convey. The doubt in mymind was this--whether to be actively hostile or passively friendly tothe man who, next to me, was interested in the poor woman now lying deadin a wretched stable of this village."

  The almost diabolical cleverness of this long speech, delivered withoutheat and with singularly adroit stress on various passages, was revealedby its effect on Grant. He was at once infuriated and puzzled. Ingermanwas playing him as a fisherman humors a well-hooked salmon. The simileactually occurred to him, and he resolved to precipitate matters bycoming straightway to the landing-net.

  "Is your friendship purchasable?" he inquired, making the rush withoutfurther preamble.

  "My wife was, I was led to believe," came the calm retort.

  Grant threw scruples to the wind now. Adelaide Mulhuish was beingdefamed, not by him, but by her husband.

  "We are at cross purposes," he said, weighing each word. "Your wife, whoknew your character fairly well, I am convinced, thought that you wereopen to receive a cash consideration for your connivance in a divorce."

  "She had told me plainly that she would never live with me again. I wastoo fair-minded a man to place obstacles in the way when she wished toregain her freedom."

  "So it was true, then. What was the price? One thousand--two? I am not amillionaire."

  "Nor am I. As a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, it was aserious matter for me when my wife's earnings ceased to come into thecommon stock."

  "My first, if rather vague, estimate of you was the correct one. You area good bit of a scoundrel, and, if I guess rightly, a would-beblackmailer."

  "You are talking at random, Mr. Grant. The levying of blackmail connotesthat the person bled desires that some discreditable, or dangerous, factshould be concealed."

  "Such is not my position."

  "I--I wonder."

  "I can relieve you of any oppressive doubt. I informed the police somefew hours ago that you have appeared already in a similar role."

  "Oh, you did, did you?" snarled Ingerman, suddenly abandoning his pose,and gazing at Grant with a curiously snakelike glint in his black eyes.

  "Yes. It interested them, I fancied."

  Grant was sure of his man now, and rather relieved that the battle ofwits was turning in his favor.

  "So you have begun already to scheme your defense?"

  "Hadn't you better go?" was the contemptuous retort.

  "You refuse to answer any further questions?"

  "I refuse to buy your proffered friendship--whatever that may mean."

  "Have I offered to sell it?"

  "I gathered as much."

  Ingerman rose. He was still master of himself, though his lanky body wastaut with rage. He spoke calmly and with remarkable restraint.

  "Go through what I have said, and discover, if you can, the slightesthint of any suggested condonation of your offenses, whether avowed ormerely suspected. I shall prove beyond dispute that you came between meand my wife. Don't hug the delusion that your three years' limit willsave you. It will not. I wish you well of your attempt to prove that Iwas a consenting party to divorce proceedings. I came here to look youover. I have done so, and have arrived at a very definite opinion. I,also, have been interviewed by the police, and any unfavorable views theymay have formed concerning me as the outcome of your ex parte statementsare more than counteracted by the ugly facts of a ghastly murder. Youwere here shortly before eleven o'clock last night. My wife was here,too, and alive. This morning she was found dead, by you. At eleveno'clock last night I was playing bridge with three city men in my flat.When the news of the murder reached me to-day my first thought, after theshock of it had passed, was:--'That fellow, Grant, may be innocentlyinvolved in a terrible crime, and I may figure as the chief witnessagainst him.' I am not speaking idly, as you will learn to your cost.Yet, when I come on an errand of mercy, you have the impudence to chargeme with blackmail. You are in for a great awakening. Be sure of that!"

  And Isidor G. Ingerman walked out, leaving Grant uncomfortably aware thathe had not seen the last of an implacable and bitter enemy.

  It was something new and very disturbing for a writer to find himself inthe predicament of a man with an absolutely clear conscience yetperilously near the meshes of the criminal law. He had often analyzedsuch a situation in his books, but fiction diverged so radically fromhard fact that the sensation was profoundly disconcerting, to say theleast. He did not go to the post office. He was not equal to any moreverbal fire-works that evening. So he lit a pipe, and reviewed Ingerman'swell-rounded periods very carefully, even taking the precaution to jotdown exact, phrases. He analyzed them, and saw that they were capable oftwo readings. Of course, it could not be otherwise. The plausible rascalmust have conned them over until this essential was secured. Grant evenwent so far as to give them a grudging professional tribute. They held acanker of doubt, too, which it was difficult to dissect. Their veiledthreats were perplexing. While their effect, as apart from literalsignificance, was fresh in his mind, he made a few notes of differentinterpretations.

  He went to bed rather early, but could not sleep until the small hours.Probably his rest, such as it was, would have been even more disturbedhad he been able to accompany Ingerman to the Hare and Hounds Inn.

  A small but select company had gathered in the bar parlor. The two hoursbetween eight and ten were the most important of the day to the landlord,Mr. Tomlin. It was then that he imparted and received the tit-bits oflocal gossip garnered earlier, the process involving a good deal of playwith shining beer-handles and attractively labeled bottles.

  But this was a special occasion. Never before had there been aSteynholme murder before the symposium. Hitherto, such a grewsome topicwas supplied, for the most part, by faraway London. To-night theeeriness and dramatic intensity of a notable crime lay at the very doorsof the village.

  So Tomlin was more portentous than usual; Hobbs, the butcher, moreassertive, Elkin, the "sporty" breeder of polo ponies, more inclined to"lay odds" on any conceivable subject, and Siddle, the chemist, areserved man at the best, even less disposed to voice a definite opinion.

  Elkin was about twenty-five years of age, Siddle looked younger than hisprobable thirty-five years, while the others were on the stout andprosperous line of fifty.

  They were discussing the murder, of course, when Ingerman entered, andordered a whiskey and soda. Instantly there was dead silence. Looks andfurtive winks were exchanged. There had been talk of a detective beingemployed. Perhaps this was he. Mr. Tomlin knew the stranger's name, as hehad taken a room, but that was the extent of the available information.

  "A fine evenin', sir," said Tomlin, drawing a cork noisily. "Looks asthough we were in for a spell o' settled weather."

  "Yes," agreed Ingerman, summing up the conclave at a glance. "Somehow,such a lovely night ill accords with the cause of my visit toSteynholme."

  "In-deed, sir?"

  "Well, you and these othe
r gentlemen may judge for yourselves. It willbe no secret tomorrow. I am the husband of the lady who was found in theriver outside Mr. Grant's residence this morning."

  Sensation, as the descriptive reporters put it. Mr. Tomlin was dumbly butunanimously elected chairman of the meeting, and was vaguely aware of hisresponsibilities. He drew himself a fresh glass of bitter.

  "You don't tell me, sir!" he gasped. "Well, the idee! The pore lady'sletters were addressed to Miss Adelaide Melhuish. Perhaps you don't know,sir, that she stayed here!"

  "Oh, yes. I was told that by the local police-constable. Have I, by anychance, been given her room?"

  "No, sir. Not likely. It's locked, and the police have the key till theinquest is done with."

  "As for the name," explained Ingerman, in his suave voice, "that was amere stage pseudonym, an adopted name. My wife was a famous actress, andthere is a sort of tacit agreement that a lady in the theatricalprofession shall be known to the public as 'Miss' rather than 'Mrs.'"

  "Well, there!" wheezed Tomlin. "Who'd ever ha' thought it?"

  The landlord was not quite rising to the occasion. He was, in fact,stunned by these repeated shocks. So Hobbs took charge.

  "It's a sad errand you're on, sir," he said. "Death comes to all of us,man an' beast alike, but it's a terrible thing when a lady like Miss--Mrs. ----"

  "Ingerman is my name, but my wife will certainly be alluded to by thepress as Miss Melhuish."

  "When a lady like Miss Melhuish is knocked on the 'ead like a--"

  Mr. Hobbs hesitated again. He also felt that the situation was ratherbeyond him.

  "But my wife was flung into the river and drowned," said Ingerman sadly.

  "No, sir. She was killed fust. It was a brutal business, so I'm told."

  "Do you mean that she was struck, her skull battered?" came the demand,in an awed and soul-thrilling whisper.

  "Yes, sir. An' the wust thing is, none of us can guess who couldha' done it."

  "Lay yer five quid to one, Hobbs, that the police cop the scoundrel aforethis day fortnight," cried Elkin noisily.

  Then Mr. Siddle put in a mild word.

  "Gentlemen," he said, "let me remind you that we four will probably bejurors at the inquest."

  That was a sobering thought. Elkin subsided, and Hobbs looked criticallyat the remains of a gill of beer.

  Ingerman took stock of the chemist. He might easily induce the others tobelieve that Grant was the real criminal, but the quiet man in the blackmorning-coat and striped cloth trousers was of finer metal. He knewinstantly that if he could persuade this one "probable juror" of Grant'sguilt, the remainder would follow his lead like a flock of sheep.

  But there was no need to hurry. Next day's inquest would be a mereformality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.

  "You have said a very wise thing, sir," he murmured appreciatively. "Evenmy feelings must be kept under better control. But this is no ordinarymurder. Before it is cleared up there will be astounding revelations.Mark the word--astounding."

  Hobbs, whose heavy cheeks were of a brick-red tint, almost startled theconclave by a sudden outburst which gave him an apoplectic appearance.

  "You're too kind'earted, Siddle," he cried. "Wot's the use of talkin'rubbish. We all know where the body was found. We all know that DorisMartin an' Mr. Grant were a'sweet-'eartin' in the garden--"

  "Look here, Hobbs, just keep Doris Martin's name out of it!" shoutedElkin, smiting the table with his fist till the glasses danced.

  "Gentlemen!" protested Siddle gently.

  "It's all dashed fine, but I'm not--" blustered Elkin. He yielded toIngerman's outstretched hand.

  "I seem to have brought discord into a friendly gathering," came themournful comment. "Such was far from being my intent. Landlord, the roundis on me, with cigars. Now, let us talk of anything but this horror. If Iforget myself again, pull me up short, and fine me another round."

  Siddle half rose, but thought better of it. Evidently, he meant to usehis influence to stop foolish chatter.