The Angel of Terror Read online

  Chapter III

  The man who had opened the door was a short, stoutly built person ofmiddle age. He took the girl's arm gently, and without questioning sheaccompanied him to the car ahead, the man in the raincoat following. Noword was spoken, and Lydia was too bewildered to ask questions until thecar was on its way. Then the younger man chuckled.

  "Clever, Rennett!" he said. "I tell you, those people are super-humanlybrilliant!"

  "I'm not a great admirer of villainy," said the other gruffly, and theyounger man, who was sitting opposite the girl, laughed.

  "You must take a detached interest, my dear chap. Personally, I admirethem. I admit they gave me a fright when I realised that Miss Beale hadnot called the cab, but that it had been carefully planted for her, butstill I can admire them."

  "What does it mean?" asked the puzzled girl. "I'm so confused--where arewe going now? To the office?"

  "I fear you will not get to the office to-night," said the young mancalmly, "and it is impossible to explain to you just why you wereabducted."

  "Abducted?" said the girl incredulously. "Do you mean to say thatman----"

  "He was carrying you into the country," said the other calmly. "He wouldprobably have travelled all night and have left you stranded in someun-get-at-able place. I don't think he meant any harm--they never takeunnecessary risks, and all they wanted was to spirit you away for thenight. How they came to know that we had chosen you baffles me," hesaid. "Can you advance any theory, Rennett?"

  "Chosen me?" repeated the startled girl. "Really, I feel I'm entitled tosome explanation, and if you don't mind, I would like you to take meback to my office. I have a job to keep," she added grimly.

  "Six pounds ten a week, and a few guineas extra for your illustrations,"said the man in the raincoat. "Believe me, Miss Beale, you'll never payoff your debts on that salary, not if you live to be a hundred."

  She could only gasp.

  "You seem to know a great deal about my private affairs," she said, whenshe had recovered her breath.

  "A great deal more than you can imagine."

  She guessed he was smiling in the darkness, and his voice was so gentleand apologetic that she could not take offence.

  "In the past twelve months you have had thirty-nine judgments recordedagainst you, and in the previous year, twenty-seven. You are living onexactly thirty shillings a week, and all the rest is going to yourfather's creditors."

  "You're very impertinent!" she said hotly and, as she felt, foolishly.

  "I'm very pertinent, really. By the way, my name is Glover--John Glover,of the firm of Rennett, Glover and Simpson. The gentleman at your sideis Mr. Charles Rennett, my senior partner. We are a firm of solicitors,but how long we shall remain a firm," he added pointedly, "dependsrather upon you."

  "Upon me?" said the girl in genuine astonishment. "Well, I can't saythat I have so much love for lawyers----"

  "That I can well understand," murmured Mr. Glover.

  "But I certainly do not wish to dissolve your partnership," she went on.

  "It is rather more serious than that," said Mr. Rennett, who was sittingby her side. "The fact is, Miss Beale, we are acting in a perfectlyillegal manner, and we are going to reveal to you the particulars of anact we contemplate, which, if you pass on the information to the police,will result in our professional ruin. So you see this adventure isinfinitely more important to us than at present it is to you. And herewe are!" he said, interrupting the girl's question.

  The car turned into a narrow drive, and proceeded some distance throughan avenue of trees before it pulled up at the pillared porch of a bighouse.

  Rennett helped her to alight and ushered her through the door, whichopened almost as they stopped, into a large panelled hall.

  "This is the way, let me show you," said the younger man.

  He opened a door and she found herself in a big drawing-room,exquisitely furnished and lit by two silver electroliers suspended fromthe carved roof.

  To her relief an elderly woman rose to greet her.

  "This is my wife, Miss Beale," said Rennett. "I need hardly explain thatthis is also my home."

  "So you found the young lady," said the elderly lady, smiling herwelcome, "and what does Miss Beale think of your proposition?"

  The young man Glover came in at that moment, and divested of his longraincoat and hat, he proved to be of a type that the Universities turnout by the hundred. He was good-looking too, Lydia noticed with feminineinconsequence, and there was something in his eyes that inspired trust.He nodded with a smile to Mrs. Rennett, then turned to the girl.

  "Now Miss Beale, I don't know whether I ought to explain or whether mylearned and distinguished friend prefers to save me the trouble."

  "Not me," said the elder man hastily. "My dear," he turned to his wife,"I think we'll leave Jack Glover to talk to this young lady."

  "Doesn't she know?" asked Mrs. Rennett in surprise, and Lydia laughed,although she was feeling far from amused.

  The possible loss of her employment, the disquieting adventure of theevening, and now this further mystery all combined to set her nerves onedge.

  Glover waited until the door closed on his partner and his wife andseemed inclined to wait a little longer, for he stood with his back tothe fire, biting his lips and looking down thoughtfully at the carpet.

  "I don't just know how to begin, Miss Beale," he said. "And having seenyou, my conscience is beginning to work overtime. But I might as wellstart at the beginning. I suppose you have heard of the Bulford murder?"

  The girl stared at him.

  "The Bulford murder?" she said incredulously, and he nodded.

  "Why, of course, everybody has heard of that."

  "Then happily it is unnecessary to explain all the circumstances," saidJack Glover, with a little grimace of distaste.

  "I only know," interrupted the girl, "that Mr. Bulford was killed by aMr. Meredith, who was jealous of him, and that Mr. Meredith, when hewent into the witness-box, behaved disgracefully to his fiancee."

  "Exactly," nodded Glover with a twinkle in his eye. "In other words, herepudiated the suggestion that he was jealous, swore that he had alreadytold Miss Briggerland that he could not marry her, and he did not evenknow that Bulford was paying attention to the lady."

  "He did that to save his life," said Lydia quietly. "Miss Briggerlandswore in the witness-box that no such interview had occurred."

  Glover nodded.

  "What you do not know, Miss Beale," he said gravely, "is that JeanBriggerland was Meredith's cousin, and unless certain things happen, shewill inherit the greater part of six hundred thousand pounds fromMeredith's estate. Meredith, I might explain, is one of my best friends,and the fact that he is now serving out a life sentence does not makehim any less a friend. I am as sure, as I am sure of your sitting there,that he no more killed Bulford than I did. I believe the whole thingwas a plot to secure his death or imprisonment. My partner thinks thesame. The truth is that Meredith was engaged to this girl; he discoveredcertain things about her and her father which are not greatly to theircredit. He was never really in love with her, beautiful as she is, andhe was trapped into the proposal. When he found out how things wereshaping and heard some of the queer stories which were told aboutBriggerland and his daughter, he broke off the engagement and went thatnight to tell her so."

  The girl had listened in some bewilderment to this recital.

  "I don't exactly see what all this is to do with me," she said, andagain Jack Glover nodded.

  "I can quite understand," he said, "but I will tell you yet another partof the story which is not public property. Meredith's father was aneccentric man who believed in early marriages, and it was a condition ofhis will that if Meredith was not married by his thirtieth birthday, themoney should go to his sister, her heirs and successors. His sister wasMrs. Briggerland, who is now dead. Her heirs are her husband and JeanBriggerland."

  There was a silence. The girl stared thoughtfully into the fire.


  "How old is Mr. Meredith?"

  "He is thirty next Monday," said Glover quietly, "and it is necessarythat he should be married before next Monday."

  "In prison?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "If such things are allowed that could have been arranged, but for somereason the Home Secretary refuses to exercise his discretion in thismatter, and has resolutely refused to allow such a marriage to takeplace. He objects on the ground of public policy, and I dare say fromhis point of view he is right. Meredith has a twenty-years sentence toserve."

  "Then how----" began Lydia.

  "Let me tell this story more or less understandably," said Glover withthat little smile of his. "Believe me, Miss Beale, I'm not so keen uponthe scheme as I was. If by chance," he spoke deliberately, "we could getJames Meredith into this house to-morrow morning, would you marry him?"

  "Me?" she gasped. "Marry a man I've not seen--a murderer?"

  "Not a murderer," he said gently.

  "But it is preposterous, impossible!" she protested. "Why me?"

  He was silent for a moment.

  "When this scheme was mooted we looked round for some one to whom such amarriage would be of advantage," he said, speaking slowly. "It wasRennett's idea that we should search the County Court records of Londonto discover if there was a girl who was in urgent need of money. Thereis no surer way of unearthing financial skeletons than by searchingCounty Court records. We found four, only one of whom was eligible andthat was you. Don't interrupt me for a moment, please," he said, raisinghis hand warningly as she was about to speak. "We have made thoroughinquiries about you, too thorough in fact, because the Briggerlands havesmelt a rat, and have been on our trail for a week. We know that you arenot engaged to be married, we know that you have a fairly heavy burdenof debts, and we know, too, that you are unencumbered by relations orfriends. What we offer you, Miss Beale, and believe me I feel rather acad in being the medium through which the offer is made, is fivethousand pounds a year for the rest of your life, a sum of twentythousand pounds down, and the assurance that you will not be troubled byyour husband from the moment you are married."

  Lydia listened like one in a dream. It did not seem real. She would wakeup presently and find Mrs. Morgan with a cup of tea in her hand and aplate of her indigestible cakes. Such things did not happen, she toldherself, and yet here was a young man, standing with his back to thefire, explaining in the most commonplace conversational tone, an offerwhich belonged strictly to the realm of romance, and not too convincingromance at that.

  "You've rather taken my breath away," she said after a while. "All thiswants thinking about, and if Mr. Meredith is in prison----"

  "Mr. Meredith is not in prison," said Glover quietly. "He was releasedtwo days ago to go to a nursing home for a slight operation. He escapedfrom the nursing home last night and at this particular moment is inthis house."

  She could only stare at him open-mouthed, and he went on.

  "The Briggerlands know he has escaped; they probably thought he washere, because we have had a police visitation this afternoon, and theinterior of the house and grounds have been searched. They know, ofcourse, that Mr. Rennett and I were his legal advisers, and we expectedthem to come. How he escaped their observation is neither here northere. Now, Miss Beale, what do you say?"

  "I don't know what to say," she said, shaking her head helplessly. "Iknow I'm dreaming, and if I had the moral courage to pinch myself hard,I should wake up. Somehow I don't want to wake, it is so fascinatinglyimpossible."

  He smiled.

  "Can I see Mr. Meredith?"

  "Not till to-morrow. I might say that we've made every arrangement foryour wedding, the licence has been secured and at eight o'clockto-morrow morning--marriages before eight or after three are not legalin this country, by the way--a clergyman will attend and the ceremonywill be performed."

  There was a long silence.

  Lydia sat on the edge of her chair, her elbows on her knees, her face inher hands.

  Glover looked down at her seriously, pityingly, cursing himself that hewas the exponent of his own grotesque scheme. Presently she looked up.

  "I think I will," she said a little wearily. "And you were wrong aboutthe number of judgment summonses, there were seventy-five in twoyears--and I'm so tired of lawyers."

  "Thank you," said Jack Glover politely.