The Poisoned Goblet

Chapter II.—Larose Draws First Blood-1

Chapter II.—Larose Draws First BloodLady Ardane was certainly a very pretty woman and as she sat in the lounge of the Royal Hotel that evening, warming her feet before one of the big fires, all the men who passed through, and not a few of the women, too, thought how attractive she looked.

With good chiselled features and a beautiful pink and white complexion, she had large, clear blue eyes and the glorious, burnished copper hair of a Raphael-painted angel. She was of medium height and her figure was graceful and well-proportioned.

Ordinarily of a rather imperious expression, just now she looked annoyed as well, and she tapped impatiently with her foot every time she glanced at the watch upon her wrist.

“Seven minutes late, already,” she murmured, “and he told me to be sure and be there on time.”

Suddenly then, she saw a smartly dressed youngish looking man enter the lounge at the far end and turn his head interestedly around. His glance fell upon her, and immediately he began to thread his way through the chairs in her direction.

“But that can't be he,” she thought instantly. “That man is much too young and not a bit like a detective. He looks educated.”

But the young man approached unhesitatingly, and then with a bow and a pleasant smile, pulled a chair up close and sat down beside her.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” he said, speaking in low and modulated tones, “but there was a little bother in getting a place for my car. Still, I'm only eight minutes behind. It hasn't struck six yet.”

Her heart beat unpleasantly, and with a little catch in her breath, she regarded him without speaking. He was alert and intelligent-looking, with keen blue eyes and a good chin. He smiled as if he were amused.

“Oh! it's quite all right,” he said. “I'm Mr. Larose.”

She spoke at last, and holding herself in, asked coldly, “And how am I to know that!”

He laughed lightly. “Well, you left the Abbey at five minutes to five; you motored here alone; your carburettor needs adjusting, and that”—he pointed to a roll of brown paper in her lap—“is the plan of the Abbey that I asked you to bring with you. Also”—and he took a letter from his pocket—“this is the introduction from Mr. Naughton Jones.”

She frowned. “And in that case,” she said quickly, “I must tell you that I am rather troubled, for I believe I have been followed here. There was a car behind me all the way, and it made its pace to mine. When I slowed down, it slowed down, too, and when I accelerated——”

“That's quite all right,” he interrupted. “You needn't worry there. It was I who was behind you. I wanted to make sure you were not going to be followed, and so drove over to the Abbey this afternoon and waited among that clump of trees, just as you turn into the road, to see you come out.” He shook his head. “But it was unwise of you to come alone, for they are just as likely to try to get hold of you.”

Lady Ardane flushed. She was annoyed at having expressed any anxiety, and yet at the same time comforted at this proof of the thoroughness of the man who had been sent to help her.

“I am sorry that I made you uneasy,” smiled Larose, “and I kept a long way behind, hoping that you would not notice me.” He saw her embarrassment and went on, “But that carburettor of yours certainly wants adjusting, for as you slowed down, coming out of the Abbey ground, you were back-firing badly.”

“Yes,” she nodded, with an effort to appear unconcerned. “I saw my engine was running hot.”

He looked up at the clock. “Well, what about going in to dinner? I'm hungry and we can talk better there. I have booked two seats in a corner, where we shall not be overheard.”

She shook her head coldly. “No, thank you,” she replied. “I want to get back as soon as possible. I'm not interested in meals in these times and I'm not at all hungry.”

“Nonsense,” said Larose. “I saw you getting a piece of chocolate out of the automatic machine just now, and besides, I can't think properly if I'm not fed.” He laughed. “We can both pay expenses for ourselves, or else I'll pay and put it down in the expenses. So, you'll be under no obligation to me, either way.”

She hesitated a moment, and then rising reluctantly from her chair, preceded him into the dining room.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked, when they were seated at the far end of the long room. “It's my birthday to-day, and I'm 29, so I feel inclined to celebrate it.”

“Anything will do for me,” she replied, all at once becoming most annoyed that she was going to dine tete-a-tete with a detective from Scotland Yard. She ought to have persisted in her refusal, she told herself, and would let him see most plainly that she was in no way interested in any of his conversation, except that strictly appertaining to the matter that had brought them together.

But she had been really hungry, and the dinner being a good one, under the mellowing influences of the food and wine, she soon found herself unable to keep up the haughty attitude she had decided upon.

The detective had at once assumed the role of host, and critical as she was, she had to admit that he filled it very well.

He was quite easy and natural, and in his manner there was nothing lacking in what she was accustomed to in her own circle. Apart from that, indeed, he was far more interesting and entertaining than most people she was usually brought in contact with. He was entirely unassuming, too, and with all his obviously would-be friendliness, there was not the slightest familiarity about him, and if she saw, as she did, that from time to time he was appearing to be taking her in admiringly, there was yet evidently no intention on his part that he wanted her to be aware of it.

He talked of books and plays, of race meetings and the places he had visited in England; he told her about Australia, and the differing conditions of life and climate there, and altogether she soon realised she was far from finding his company disagreeable.

He seemed just a light-hearted and easy-going young fellow, with no cares or troubles at all.

But the instant the waiter had served the coffee and left them, his whole manner changed. His face hardened his chin seemed to become firmer an his eyes lost their smiling look.

“Now, Lady Ardane,” he said sharply, “we'll talk business, and please only answer my questions, for you must be starting for home in half an hour. I shall return with you, and come back by the late train from Burnham Market. No, I insist upon that, and you must, please, bow to my judgment. It was foolish of you to come here quite alone, for with all your courage you are a woman, and also, incidentally would be quite as valuable a hostage as your child.”

“But I could not have brought an army,” she retorted, “and against a gang, surely one companion would have been of no use at all.”

“I don't know so much about that,” he replied, “for they might hesitate about murder, with you as an eye witness. Well,” he went on quickly, “about these kidnappers, I take it the only motive for them wanting to get your child can be that of ransom? You have no enemies, and it is not a question of revenge? Oh! none that you know of, and no one would benefit either by the death of your son. Yes, Mr. Jones told me the baronetcy would die out then. Now, how did Sir Charles leave his money?”

She looked annoyed at this line of questioning, and hesitated, but after a moment replied coldly.

“Equally between me and my son, his portion being, of course, held in trust until he comes of age.”

“And the estate was a large one?”

She nodded. “I am quite well to do.”

“I only asked that,” said Larose, “to assure myself that the ransom they are after may be large enough to induce them to persevere, for you see a number of men with cars and a motor yacht require some financing.” He shook his head. “The man behind all this must have ample means at his command.” He looked sharply at her. “Now, another question, please, it is three years since you lost your husband is it not!” He spoke in cold, level tones. “Well, in your circumstances I expect you have had suitors since?”

Lady Ardane's eyes flashed. “Because of my money, you mean?” she asked sharply.

“Not necessarily,” replied the detective, repressing a smile, “but you have had them, of course.”

“Plenty,” she replied laconically, then she added, “but I have no intention of remarrying, and all my friends know it.”

“Then is it not possible,” suggested Larose, “that in rejecting the advance of some one of these suitors, you may have incurred his enmity?”

Her eyes flashed again. “Not for a moment,” she replied. She tilted her chin disdainfully. “My friends are gentlemen, Mr. Larose.”

The detective ignored the rebuff as if he were quite unaware one had been intended. “Now to another side of the matter,” he said, “and although I am quite sure Mr. Jones will have gone over the ground here, still I must satisfy myself upon one or two points.” He regarded her intently, making a mental note how pretty she looked when she was angry, and spoke very slowly. “Now, after you had told the head nurse when the child was with you that night, that she should take him upon the sands on the morrow, I understand she is certain she made no mention of the matter to any one until she was in the act of getting into bed, and then she told the other nurse. That is so?”

Lady Ardane nodded, and the detective went on. “And both nurses are sure it was not referred to again until the maid was clearing away the nursery breakfast, which would be about half past eight.”

Lady Ardane nodded again. “And the girl who cleared the breakfast away,” she added, “is positive she did not speak about it to anyone until she went down into the servants' hall for morning lunch, which would make it about half past ten. She was busy with her rooms, upstairs, and would have had no opportunity of speaking to anyone until then.”

“And where were you that evening when the child was bidding you good night?” asked the detective.

“Where I generally am, for a few minutes, every evening about that time,” she replied, “in my writing room, a little boudoir that leads out of my bedroom. I attend to any private letters then that have come in the late afternoon post-bag, and need answering by the mail that night.”

“Could your instructions to the nurse by any possibility have been over-heard?”

“Most improbable, for the door would almost certainly have been shut, and the window is eighteen to twenty feet above the ground.”

“And about the bringing of those riflemen from Hunstanton,” asked Larose, “when did you decide upon that?”

“About half past ten the next morning.”

“Did you discuss the matter with anyone?”

“Yes, I was in the library, with my father, Senator Harvey, Sir Parry Bardell, a great friend of mine who lives near the Abbey and is the co-trustee with me of the Ardane Estate, and Admiral Charters, another old friend. Then I sent for my head chauffeur, the one who was with the car that afternoon upon the sands, and he was back before noon, with everything arranged.”

“And where were you when he told you what he had done?”

“In my boudoir again, with my secretary, Miss Wingrove.”

A short silence followed and then Larose went on. “And I understand from Mr. Jones that since this trouble began every telephone call has been checked at the exchange, and every one satisfactorily accounted for. There is no possible chance then that whoever is acting as the spy inside the Abbey can have passed on his information through that channel.”

“No, we can be quite certain of that,” replied Lady Ardane.

“And I see from these notes Mr. Jones has given me, that as a Mr. Ernest Maxwell, the friend of your cousin, I have come from Australia, and am supposed to have made a fortune in sheep out there.” He smiled. “Very nice, if it were only true.”