Fergus Hume - The Secret Passage

Juliet was dark and rather little, not at all like her Junoesque mother. She was extremely pretty and dressed to perfection. Having more brains and a stronger will than Mallow, she guided him in every way, and had already succeeded in improving his morals. With so gentle and charming a mentor, Cuthbert was quite willing to be led into the paths of virtue. He adored Juliet and she loved him, so it appeared that the marriage would be quite ideal.

"Much as we love one another," said Cuthbert when the lovers were seated on the sofa. "I wonder you can talk of anything but this horrid murder."

"Because there is nothing to talk of," rejoined the girl impatiently; "according to Basil, the case is most mysterious, so it is useless for us to worry over it until something tangible is discovered. But I want to speak to you seriously – " here Juliet hesitated.

"Well, go on," said Cuthbert, taking her hand.

"Mother says – " began Juliet, then hesitated again. "Promise me you will keep to yourself what I am about to tell you."

"Certainly. I never was a fellow to chatter."

"Then mother says that this murder will put a stop to our marriage."

Mallow stared, then flushed up to his ears. "What on earth does she mean by that?" he asked aghast.

Juliet looked searchingly at him. "Do you know of any impediment?"

"I? Of course I don't. I am sorry for the death of your aunt, but I really don't see what it has to do with you and me."

Juliet drew a breath of relief. "Mother hints that she knows who committed the crime, and – "

"What! She knows. How does she know?"

"I can't say. She refuses to speak. She was not on good terms with Aunt Selina and they never saw one another for over fifteen years. But mother is much disturbed about the murder – "

"That is natural. A sister is a sister however much one may have quarrelled. But why should this death stop our marriage?"

"I know no more than you do. Here is mother. Ask her yourself."

It was indeed Mrs. Octagon who entered the room. She looked very pale, but otherwise was perfectly composed. In silence she gave her hand to Cuthbert, and kept her black eyes fixed steadily on his face. The young man flushed and turned away, whereat Mrs. Octagon sighed. Juliet broke an embarrassed silence.

"Mother," she said, "I have told Cuthbert what you said."

"Then you had no right to," said Mrs. Octagon sternly.

"Oh, I think she had," said Mallow, rather annoyed. "Seeing you hint that this crime will stop our marriage."

Mrs. Octagon did not answer. "Is your uncle in town?" she asked.

"Yes. He arrived from the continent a day or two ago."

"I thought so," she said, half to herself, and strove to repress her agitation. "Mr. Mallow, my daughter can't marry you."

"Why not? Give your reason."

"I have no reason to give."

"But you must. Is it on account of this murder?"

"It is. I told Juliet so. But I cannot explain."

The lovers looked at one another in a dazed fashion. The woman's objection seemed to be senseless. "Surely you don't think Cuthbert killed Aunt Selina?" said Juliet, laughing in a forced manner.

"No. I don't suspect him."

"Then whom do you suspect?" demanded Mallow.

"That I decline to say."

"Will you decline to say it to the police?"

Mrs. Octagon stepped back a pace. "Yes, I should," she faltered.

Cuthbert Mallow looked at her, wondering why she was so agitated, and Juliet stole her hand into his. Then he addressed her seriously.

"Mrs. Octagon," he said, "your remark about my uncle leads me to think you suspect him."

"No I don't. But you can't marry Juliet on account of this crime."

"Then you hear me," said Mallow, driven into a corner, "from this moment I devote myself to finding out who killed your unfortunate sister. When the assassin is discovered you may consent to our marriage."

But he spoke to empty air. Mrs. Octagon had left the room, almost before the first words left his mouth.

Cuthbert was considerably perplexed by the attitude of Juliet's mother. She had always been more than kind to him. On the announcement that he wished to marry her daughter, she had expressed herself well pleased, and during the engagement, which had lasted some six months, she had received him as Juliet's intended husband, with almost ostentatious delight. Now, for some inexplicable reason, she suddenly changed her mind and declined to explain. But rack his brains as he might, Cuthbert could not see how the death of a sister she had quarrelled with, and to whom she had been a stranger for so long, could affect the engagement.

However, there was no doubt in his mind that the refusal of Mrs. Octagon to approve of the marriage lay in the fact that her sister had met with a violent end. Therefore Mallow was determined to see Jennings, and help him to the best of his ability to discover the assassin. When the criminal was brought to justice, either Mrs. Octagon's opposition would be at an end, or the true reason for its existence would be revealed. Meantime, he was sure that she would keep Juliet out of his way, and that in future he would be refused admittance to the "Shrine of the Muses." This was annoying, but so long as Juliet remained true, Cuthbert thought he could bear the exclusion. His betrothed – as he still regarded the girl – could meet him in the Park, at the houses of mutual friends, and in a thousand and one places which a clever woman like her could think of. And although Cuthbert knew that Mrs. Octagon had frequently regretted the refusal of her daughter to marry Arkwright, and would probably try and induce her to do so now that matters stood thus, yet he was not afraid in his own heart. Juliet was as staunch as steel, and he was certain that Mr. Octagon would be on his side. Basil probably would agree with his mother, whose lead he slavishly followed. But Mallow had rather a contempt for Basil, and did not count his opposition as dangerous.

On leaving the "Shrine of the Muses," the young man's first intention was to seek out Jennings and see what progress he was making in the matter. But on reflection he thought he would call again on his uncle and question him regarding his knowledge of Mrs. Octagon. It seemed to Cuthbert that, from the woman's question as to whether Lord Caranby had returned from abroad, and her remark on hearing that he had, some suspicion was in her mind as to his being concerned in the crime. Yet, beyond the fact that the unfinished house stood behind the cottage where the crime had been committed and belonged to Lord Caranby who had known the dead woman in the past, Cuthbert could not see how Mrs. Octagon could constitute a latter-day connection between her dead sister and her old friend. But Lord Caranby might be induced to talk – no easy matter – and from what he said, the mystery of Mrs. Octagon's attitude might be elucidated. Only in the past – so far as the perplexed young man could conjecture – could be found the reason for her sudden change of front.

Cuthbert therefore sent a wire to his uncle, stating that he wished to see him after eight o'clock on special business, and then went home to dress.

While thus employed, he thought over means and ways to make Caranby open his mouth. The old lord was a silent, grave man, who never uttered an unnecessary word, and it was difficult to induce him to be confidential. But invariably he had approved of his nephew's engagement, although he had never seen Juliet, so it might be that he would speak out – if there was anything to say – in order to remove any impediment to the match. It depended upon what information he received as to how Mallow would act.

At half-past eight he drove to the Avon Hotel and was shown up at once to his uncle's sitting-room. That he should live in an hotel was another of Caranby's eccentricities. He had a house in town and three in the country, yet for years he had lived – as the saying is – on his portmanteau. Even the villa at Nice he owned was unoccupied by this strange nobleman, and was usually let to rich Americans. When in England he stopped at the Avon Hotel and when in the country remained at any inn of the neighborhood in which he might chance to find himself wandering. And wandering is an excellent word to apply to Lord Caranby's peregrinations. He was as restless as a gipsy and far more aimless. He never appeared to take an interest in anything: he was always moving here, there and everywhere, and had – so far as Cuthbert knew – no object in life. His reason for this Cainlike behavior, Caranby never condescended to explain.