By Wit of Woman by Arthur W. Marchmont (book series for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

right in the suggestion—I am thinking what may have been done with my brother's body."

He thought this would scare and frighten me but I only laughed. "No you are not. You are thinking only how you can connect me with what didn't occur?"

"Where is my brother?"

"Didn't I tell you that Madame d'Artelle fled last night; and did I say she went alone?"

"I don't believe you," he growled, sullenly.

"'Of the laughing eyes,' indeed," I cried, with a shrug. "Your laughter seems to be dead, even if your brother is alive—perhaps it is because of that."

He very nearly swore again; but he was recovering his wits, if not his temper, and managed to sneer instead.

"The oath would have been more natural," I said, promptly. "But since you are shaking off some of your chagrin, you may be ready to listen to me. I have something to say—to propose."

"I ought not to listen to you."

"There is time—until the police come, at any rate. I will confess to one crime—forgery. I wrote that letter to you in Madame d'Artelle's name. I wished to bring you here at once; and I prepared, carefully, this little stage effect for your benefit. Shall I tell you why?"

He waved his hand to imply indifference.

"No, you are not indifferent, Count Gustav. I wished you to understand how really dangerous I am to you—as well as to witness your brotherly grief at seeing Count Karl's dead body"—and I touched the sofa pillow.

He was able to smile now with less effort, and his lip curled contemptuously.

"I am dangerous—although I can jest. Your brother is safe, quite safe, where you will not think to look for him. I knew what you purposed to do, and I alone prevented it. You don't believe me. I will give you proofs. Two days ago when we were at Madame's house you went to Colonel Katona to tell him I was too indisposed to see him, and you came and told me you had said that. You did not say that. On the contrary you told him I would send him the information he needed of the identity of the man who had wronged Gareth."

"It is an easy tale," he said, with a shrug.

"Yes, easier than you frequently find it to tell the truth. You yourself sent in my name the proofs which the Colonel needed—one of the letters which Gareth—little, trusting Gareth,—had written to you, believing you to be your brother—Karl, Count von Ostelen."

"It is false."

"I have the letter;" and I held it up before him.

I got right home with that blow, and all the malignant cruelty in him was expressed in his eyes as he made a quick but futile attempt to snatch it from me.

"It is only another of your forgeries," he said.

"Gareth will not deny it;" and at that he winced. "You did not name your brother—that was too open a course for you—but you told Colonel Katona that the man was going to run away with another woman; and you named the hour and the place where he might be seen—last night in the Radialstrasse at nine o'clock—and that they were coming to this house—'Unter den Linden.' Do you still say it is false?"

He made no reply, but sat with a scowl tugging at his long fair moustache.

"When you led your brother to the carriage last night, you looked about you to make sure that the Colonel was there; and as the carriage started, he spoke to you and asked if the man he had seen you put in the carriage was indeed your brother Karl."

He shrugged his shoulders again. "You may as well go on."

"I am going on. Fearing lest, even at the last moment, the plan should miscarry, you came here yourself; and yourself, finding your brother lying nearly unconscious on the couch, opened the window so that the watcher in the garden might see where his helpless victim lay; and then—you left the window open to make his entrance easy and certain."

"You tell a story well," he said, when I paused. "I told you once before you should write plays. You have admirable imagination." He was quite himself again now. He spoke lightly, lit a cigar, and took a couple of turns across the room.

"It appears to have interested you."

"Naturally. I suppose now I can pick up the rest from what you said before?"

"Yes. The sofa pillow has done duty before."

"A very likely tale, of course—and your witnesses?"

"No one knows all this except myself."

"Very fortunate—for them, if not perhaps for you."

"There is nothing fortunate or unfortunate in it. It is the result of my intention. I alone hold the secret, and can make terms with you for keeping it."

"I had scarcely dared to hope that. What are your terms?" He put the question in a bantering tone.

"Last time I mentioned three conditions. Two of them are pointless now, because Madame d'Artelle has fled and your brother is aware of your—shall I term it, policy?"

"I am not much concerned at your phrases," he snapped.

"These are no mere phrases. The third condition stands—you must make Gareth your wife, legally."

"Well?"

"And the fresh condition is that the mystery of my father's ruin is cleared at once, and justice done to his name."

"And if I refuse, I suppose you are going to bring all these trumped-up charges against me. It is almost laughable."

"I do not think many people will see much humour in it."

"Possibly not—but then they may never have an opportunity of hearing the story. You have been very clever—I pay you that compliment—but you have also been very foolish. You should have made sure that there was more than your word for all this."

I gave a little half-nervous start, as though I realized my mistake, and then said, quickly: "I have evidence—this letter of Gareth's."

"You will not have it long, Miss von Dreschler. I could almost be sorry for you; in fact I sympathize with you deeply. Your belief in the imaginary story of your father's wrongs has, I fear, preyed upon your nerves until they have broken down. He deserved his fate, as the murderer of the young Count Stephen; and now you come here to threaten first my brother and then myself. As the daughter of such a man, it was perhaps to be expected; but it is quite sad."

"Are you not forgetting what you said when we last spoke of the subject?"

"Oh, no, not in the least. I said then that I would do my utmost to help you—knowing of course that no help in such a matter could be given. The truth can only be the truth; but I hoped that time and thought and kindness would lead you to see your delusion. I fear I was wrong."

I would have laughed, had I not known that I had now to show signs of nervousness.

"And Gareth?"

"You appear to have hidden that poor girl; but she will of course be found and then she too must be convinced of your unfortunate delusions."

"And will no appeal to your chivalry avail to make you do justice to her? You said you cared for her."

"I was anxious, and I think, rightly anxious, to soothe what I saw was a cause of serious and therefore dangerous excitement in you. She also has misled you; no doubt inadvertently; and your prejudices against my family have warped your judgment until you are really incapable of seeing anything but what is black in me. I am truly distressed for you, believe me." His assumption of pity was almost too much for my sense of humour.

"If by black you mean dishonour and cowardly treachery, I agree. I think you are one of the vilest men that ever lived."

He smiled blandly and spread out his hands. "I am afraid you do; it is very painful. Happily, others know me better."

I heard a carriage drive up rapidly, and understood that the crisis had come with it. I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past eleven. I had timed matters aptly.

I rose, my hand on the inkstand which I had kept all the time in readiness.

"So far as we are concerned now and here, Count Gustav, there is no more to be said. I will take my story to those who will know how to investigate it."

"I am deeply sorry, but you cannot be allowed to leave the house. Those are the agents of the police."

Footsteps and men's voices were in the hall.

"They dare not keep me here!"

"While your delusions remain, I fear they will not let you go. But if you give me that letter, I will do what I can for you."

"If I could believe you," I cried with agitation; and I took another paper from my pocket.

"I should like to be your friend, and will," he said, hurriedly.

I gave him the false letter, and cried, "I can escape this way. Detain them here."

I ran towards the window, tripped intentionally, and half-falling flung the inkstand through the glass.

"Stop," cried Gustav, in a loud voice. "This is not what I want."

The crash of the glass brought the men into the room, and one of them ran and placed himself between the window and me.

Glancing out, I saw James Perry pass the house, running at full speed. My ruse had succeeded. The signal had been heard, although Gustav suspected nothing, and all I had now to do was to waste a little time while I waited for his Excellency.

I took advantage of my apparent fall to thrust Gareth's letter into my bosom. Brutal as the police might be, they still had women searched by women; and my one piece of tangible evidence was safe for the time.

I got up, holding my handkerchief to my hand, as though I had cut it in falling, and sitting down breathed hard, as one does in pain or agitation.

"This lady attempted to escape by the window, Lieutenant Varga, and has apparently hurt herself in consequence," said Count Gustav, to the man who was seemingly in charge of the party.

It was best for me of course to say nothing; so I just gripped my hand and swayed backwards and forwards in imaginary pain.

"It is a case for us then, Excellency?" asked the man.

"Let your men see that this lady does not leave the room, and I will explain the matter to you as we go over the house."

Nothing could have suited me better. The two left the room, and I threw myself on the couch. I did not care thirty cents what story he concocted.

They were absent a few minutes, and the official returned alone, bringing my hat and cloak.

"I shall have to ask you to accompany us, madam," he said, with some touch of pity in his tone. "I have no doubt all can be explained. But you have a letter I must ask you to give me."

"I shall not give it you. And I shall not go with you."

"You will only make my duty more painful by refusing."

"I can't help that."

He signed to his men, and as they came and stood by the couch I heard another carriage drive up to the door.

"On second thoughts, I will go with you," I said, and got up.

"I am obliged to you," was the reply, with a grave bow. He waited while I put on my hat. I was really listening for General von Erlanger's voice. I heard it at length.

"I am ready," I declared; and he opened the door, only to start back in surprise and to draw himself up stiffly as his Excellency entered.

"What is this?"

"Ah, I am glad your Excellency has arrived in time to see me being arrested as a lunatic," I said, sweetly, as I put my hand in his. "Good-bye."

The General gave me first a grim smile, and then glanced round at the police officials.

Count Gustav, not knowing who had arrived, came in then, and the General turned to him slowly, but with instant appreciation of the position.

It was indeed a very interesting situation; and Count Gustav looked