Who? Read online

  WHO?

  by

  ELIZABETH KENT

  Author of "The House Opposite," etc.

  G. P. Putnam's SonsNew York and LondonThe Knickerbocker Press1912

  Copyright, 1912By G. P. Putnam's Sons

  The Knickerbocker Press, New York

  "Here, quick, I hear footsteps on the stairs!"

  From the drawing by John Cassel, (Chapter XX)]

  CONTENTS

  I. THE WOMAN IN THE COMPARTMENT

  II. "MRS. PETER THOMPKINS"

  III. THE TRIBULATIONS OF A LIAR

  IV. ON THE SCENE OF THE TRAGEDY

  V. THE DETECTIVE DETECTS

  VI. THE MYSTERIOUS MAID

  VII. THE INQUEST

  VIII. LADY UPTON

  IX. THE JEWELS

  X. THE TWO FRENCHMEN

  XI. THE INSPECTOR INTERVIEWS CYRIL

  XII. A PERILOUS VENTURE

  XIII. CAMPBELL REMONSTRATES

  XIV. WHAT IS THE TRUTH?

  XV. FINGER PRINTS IN THE DUST

  XVI. THE STORY OF A WRONG

  XVII. GUY RELENTS

  XVIII. A SLIP OF THE TONGUE

  XIX. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

  XX. "I KNOW IT, COUSIN CYRIL"

  XXI. THE TRUTH

  XXII. CAMPBELL RESIGNS

  Who?

  CHAPTER I

  THE WOMAN IN THE COMPARTMENT

  It was six o'clock on a raw October morning, and the cross Channel boathad just deposited its cargo of pale and dishevelled passengers atNewhaven. Cyril Crichton, having seen his servant place his bags in afirst-class compartment, gazed gloomily at the scene before him.

  It was the first time in three years that he had set foot on his nativeshore and the occasion seemed invested with a certain solemnity.

  "What a mess I have made of my life! Yet God knows I meant well!" Hemuttered in his heart. "If I hadn't been such a good-natured ass, Ishould never have got into all this trouble. But I won't be made a foolof any longer. I will consult Campbell as to what--" He paused. Itsuddenly occurred to him that he had forgotten to let the latter know ofhis impending arrival. "I will send him a wire," he decided.

  The telegraph-office was farther off than he expected, and to Crichton'sdisgust, he found it shut. He had forgotten that in well-regulatedEngland, even matters of life and death have to wait till the officesopen at eight A.M.

  He was still staring at the closed window, when he was startled by theguard's whistle, and the slamming of the carriage doors. Turningquickly, he ran back, trying to find his compartment, but it was toolate; the train was already moving. Flinging off a porter's detaininghand, he jumped on to the foot-board and wrenched open the nearest door.The impetus flung him headlong into the lap of a lady,--the soleoccupant of the carriage. To his horror and amazement, instead oflistening to his apologies, she uttered a piercing shriek and fellforward into his arms. For a moment Crichton was too dazed to move.There he knelt, tightly clasping her limp form and wondering fearfullywhat would happen next. At last he managed to pull himself together, andstaggering to his feet, laid her gently on the seat near the window.Strangely enough, he had had no idea, so far, as to the appearance, oreven the age, of the lady with whom fate had thrown him into suchintimate contact: consequently he now looked at her with considerablecuriosity. Her slight, graceful figure proclaimed her youth, but herface was completely concealed by a thick, black veil, which preventedhim from so much as guessing the outline of her features. As shecontinued to show no sign of returning consciousness, Crichton lookedhelplessly around for some means of reviving her. More air was what sheneeded; so with much trepidation he decided to unfasten her veil. Hisfingers fumbled clumsily over their unaccustomed task, but finally thelast knot was disentangled, the last pin extracted. The unknown provedto be even younger than he expected, and to possess beauty of the kindwhich admits of no discussion. At present, however, it was sadly marredby a red welt, probably the result of a fall, Crichton decided, whichdisfigured her left cheek. A minute before he had been cursing his luck,which invariably landed him in strange adventures, but at the sight ofher beauty, our hero suddenly ceased to find the situation annoying. Hisinterest, however, increased his alarm. What if she were dead or dying?Heart attacks were not uncommon. Bending over her, he laid his hand onher heart, and as he did so, the long lashes lifted, and a pair ofsapphire blue eyes looked straight into his. Before he had time to move,she threw out both hands and cried: "Oh, let me go!"

  "Don't be alarmed. Notwithstanding my unceremonious entrance, I assureyou, I am a perfectly respectable member of society. My name isCrichton."

  The girl staggered to her feet. "Crichton?" she gasped.

  He looked at her in surprise.

  "Yes, Crichton. Do you know any member of my family by any chance? Mycousin, Lord Wilmersley, has a place near here."

  "No," she faltered, "I--I am quite a stranger in this part of thecountry."

  He was sure she was lying, but what could be her object in doing so? Andwhy had his name caused her such alarm? What unpleasant connection couldshe possibly have with it? The only male members of his family who boreit, were, a curate, serving his probation in the East End of London, anda boy at Eton.

  "That is a pity," he said. "I hoped we might find some mutual friendswho would vouch for my inoffensiveness. I can't tell you how sorry I amto have given you such a fright. It was unpardonably stupid of me. Thefact is, I am rather absent-minded, and I should have been left behindif I had not tumbled in on you as I did. Please forgive me."

  "On the contrary, it is I who should apologise to you for having madesuch a fuss about nothing. You must have thought me quite mad." Shelaughed nervously.

  "Madam," he replied, with mock solemnity, "I assure you I never for amoment doubted your sanity, and I am an expert in such matters."

  "Are you really?" She shrank farther from him.

  "Really what?" he inquired, considerably puzzled.

  "A--a brain specialist? That is what they are called, isn't it?"

  He laughed heartily.

  "No, indeed. But you said----"

  "Of course! How stupid of me!"

  "Why should you know that I am a soldier?"

  She blushed vividly. "You don't look like a civilian."

  "At all events I hope I don't look like the keeper of an insane asylum."

  "No, indeed. But you said----"

  "Oh, as to being an expert. Was that it? I must plead guilty to havingattempted a feeble joke, though as a matter of fact, it so happened thatI do know something about lunatics."

  "Aren't you dreadfully afraid of them?"

  "On general principles, of course, I am afraid of nothing, but I fancy afull-grown lunatic, with a carving knife and a hankering for my blood,would have a different tale to tell."

  "Oh, don't speak of them!" She covered her eyes with her hands.

  "I beg your pardon."

  "Why should you beg my pardon?" she asked looking at him suspiciously.

  "I really don't know," he acknowledged.

  "I know that I am behaving like a hysterical schoolgirl. What must youthink of me! But,--but I am just recovering from an illness and am stillvery nervous, and the mere mention of lunatics always upsets me. I havethe greatest horror of them."

  "Poor child, she must have been through some terrible experience withone," thought Crichton.

  "I trust you may never meet any," he said aloud.

  "I don't intend to." She spoke with unexpected vehemence.

  "Well, there is not much chance of your doing so. Certified lunaticsfind it pretty difficult to mingle in general society."

  "I know--oh, I know--" Her voice sounded almost regretful.

&nbs
p; What an extraordinary girl! Could it be--was it possible that sheherself--but no, her behaviour was certainly strange and she seemedhysterical, but mad--no, and yet that would explain everything.

  "I am sure it was the horrid crossing which upset you--as much asanything else," he said.

  "I didn't cross, I--" She stopped abruptly, and bit her lip.

  It was quite obvious that for some reason or other, she had not wishedhim to know that she had got in at Newhaven. He knew that politenessdemanded he should not pursue a subject which was evidently distastefulto her. But his curiosity overcame his scruples.

  "Really? It is rather unusual to take this train unless one is comingfrom the continent."

  "Yes. One has to start so frightfully early. I had to get up a littlebefore five." That meant she must live in Newhaven, and not far from thestation at that--but was it true? She had about her that indescribablesomething which only those possess whose social position has never beenquestioned. No, Newhaven did not seem the background for her. But then,had she not herself told him that she did not live there? She might havegone there on an errand of charity or--After all, what business was itof his? Why should he attempt to pry into her life? It was abominable.

  She settled herself in a corner of the carriage, and he fancied that shewished to avoid further conversation. Serve him jolly well right, hethought.

  During the rest of the journey his behaviour was almost ostentatiouslydiscreet. If she feared that he was likely to take advantage of thesituation, he was determined to show her that he had no intention ofdoing so. To avoid staring at her he kept his eyes fixed on the rapidlychanging landscape; but they might have been suddenly transported toChina without his observing the difference. In fact, he had not realisedthat they were nearing their destination, till he saw his companionreadjust her veil. A few minutes later the train stopped at Hearne Hill.

  Crichton put his head out of the window.

  "There is something up," he said, a moment later turning to her. "Theremust be a criminal on board. There are a lot of policemen about, andthey seem to be searching the train."

  "Oh, what shall I do!" she cried, starting to her feet.

  "What is the matter?"

  "They will shut me up. Oh, save me--save me!"

  For a moment he was too startled to speak.

  Was it possible? This girl a criminal--a thief? He couldn't believe it.

  "But what have you done?"

  "Nothing, nothing I assure you. Oh, believe me, it is all a mistake."

  He looked at her again. Innocent or guilty, he would stand by her.

  "They will be here directly," he said. "Have you enough self-control toremain perfectly calm and to back up any story I tell?"

  "Yes."

  "Sit down then, and appear to be talking to me."

  "Tickets, please." The guard was at the door, and behind him stood apolice inspector.

  Crichton having given up his ticket, turned to the girl and said: "Youhave your ticket, Amy."

  She handed it over.

  "From Newhaven, I see." The inspector stepped forward:

  "I must ask the lady to lift 'er veil, please."

  "What do you mean, my man? Are you drunk?

  "Steady, sir. Do you know this lady?"

  "This lady happens to be my wife, so you will kindly explain yourextraordinary behaviour."

  The inspector looked a little nonplussed.

  "Sorry to hinconvenience you, sir, but we 'ave orders to search thistrain for a young lady who got in at Newhaven. Now this is the only ladyon board whose ticket was not taken in Paris. So you see we have got tomake sure that this is not the person we want."

  "But, man alive, I tell you this lady is my wife."

  "So you say, sir, but you can't prove it, can you, now? You'reregistered through from Paris, and this lady gets in at Newhaven. How doyou explain that?"

  "Of course, one doesn't travel about with one's marriagecertificate--but as it happens, I can prove that this lady is my wife.Here is my passport; kindly examine it. Mrs. Crichton returned toEngland several months ago, and went down to Newhaven last night so asto be able to meet me this morning. As to lifting her veil, of courseshe has no objection to doing so. I thought it idle curiosity on yourpart, but as it is a question of duty, that alters the case completely."

  "Thank you, sir." The inspector opened the passport and read aloud."Cyril Crichton--Lieutenant in the--Rifles, age 27 years, height 6 ft.,1 inch, weight 12 stone. Hair--fair; complexion--fair, inclined to beruddy. Eyes--blue. Nose--straight, rather short. Mouth--large.Distinguishing marks: cleft in chin." And as he read each item, hepaused to compare the written description with the original.

  "Well, that's all right," he said. "And now for the lady's. Will youkindly lift your veil, m'm?"

  To Crichton's surprise, the girl did so quite calmly, and her face,although deadly pale, was perfectly composed.

  The inspector read: "Amy Crichton, wife of Cyril Crichton, age--26years--H'm that seems a bit old for the lady."

  The girl blushed vividly, but to Crichton's infinite relief she smiledgaily, and with a slight bow to the inspector said: "You flatter me."

  Crichton breathed more freely. Her manner had done more to relieve thesituation than anything he had said. The inspector continued in quite adifferent tone.

  "'Height--5 ft., 4 inches.' You look a bit shorter than that."

  "Measure me, if you doubt it." She challenged him.

  "Oh, well, I am sure it is all right. 'Weight--9 stone, 4 lbs.'" Hepaused again, but this time made no comment, although Crichton felt surethat his companion weighed at least ten pounds less than the amountmentioned. "Hair--black. Complexion--fair. Eyes--blue. Nose--straight.Mouth--small. Oval chin. Distinguishing marks--none. All right, m'm!Sorry to 'ave disturbed you, but you understand we 'ave got to be verycareful. We'd never 'ear the last of it if we let the party we're afterslip through our fingers."

  "What is the woman you are looking for accused of?" asked Crichton.

  "Murder," replied the inspector, as he closed the door.