CHAPTER LIX. LIGHT IN THE CORNER HOUSE.

Gilbert Lawrence had put away his books and papers with the air of a man who means to take a holiday. He did not seem in the least surprised.

"Are you astonished?" Hetty asked. "Well, no," Lawrence said. "You see, the woman was taken by surprise, she was quite destitute so far as money was concerned at the time, and she must hide somewhere. At the same time we must not forget the cleverness of the woman with whom we are dealing. She would argue to herself that until she could communicate with some or another of her many accomplices there could be no safer hiding-place than the Corner House. The very audacity of it would put everybody off the scent. Charlton hates the place and does not go near it--nobody wants to go near it, in fact. So therefore it seems to me to be a natural thing to do."

Hetty permitted herself the luxury of a smile at Gilbert's expense.

"Then why did not you suggest a search there?" she asked.

"That is a very fair question," Lawrence admitted.

"I put that out of my mind because, as I told you before, the main scheme of the tragedy was taken from my skeleton plot. In that plot the cause of all the mischief goes back to hide in the very spot where the mischief was done. Now, in the course of my diplomacy I had to let the Countess know I had discovered that somebody had used my brain for inspiration. Under the circumstances she might not have carried the thing to the end."

"An additional proof of her clever and wonderfully logical mind," said Hetty.

"On the whole you are doing her no more than justice," said Lawrence. "Still, we do know where she is now, and I am going to see her. If she falls into the hands of Prout now, we shall never get her to speak, and therefore we shall have no end of trouble to clear Bruce's name as it should be cleared. I'll just run round and get Charlton to accompany me. And then for a thrilling interview."

Charlton complied without enthusiasm. In a few days he was going to have everything in the Corner House sold, and subsequently dispose of the property altogether. It was a little after four o'clock that he put his key in the latch, and the two entered. A casual glance did not disclose any marks of occupation, but there were traces of food in the kitchen and some utensils had evidently been used.

"Look at the bottom of those saucepans," said Lawrence. "See how they are smoked; at the same time there is no soot on them. Our quarry has not dared to light a fire by reason of the smoke. It is quite plain that Hetty was not mistaken when she said she saw a hand holding a kettle over the gas. And, by Jove, this kettle is warm still!"

For a long time a search of the house disclosed nothing. Up and down they looked, but no trace of Leona Lalage could be found. Under the tiles of the roof was a small closet, and in a vague kind of way Lawrence poked his stick in there. Something soft yielded to his touch.

"Will you kindly step out?" he suggested politely.

A dirty, grimy figure emerged, as unlike the dashing, brilliant Countess Lalage as could be well imagined. Her face was white and drawn, but nothing could dim the fire and flash of those wonderful dark eyes.

Ill and worn as she was she carried herself upright as if her black dress had been a Paris gown. There was a bitter little smile on her face. She was going to make the best fight she could under the circumstances, but she was beaten. She had come to the end of her resources, and nobody knew it better than herself.

"I expected this," she said. "I knew that it must come sooner or later. I am sorry that I cannot receive you in better fashion. Well, you have hunted me down. What do you propose to do now?"

"To listen to your story," said Lawrence.

"And if I refuse to tell you any story?"

"In that case I shall ask you to listen to mine with what patience you can. I have no desire to be in the least vindictive; it is a matter of indifference to me whether you stand in the dock or not. Personally I would go out of my way to save any woman from that indignity. But if you will have it you must."

"But I do not share these views," said Charlton. "I recognise this woman now, though she no longer wears any disguise. There stands my wife's murderess. I shall never be content till the world knows that."

"I prefer to regard the lady for the present as Countess Lalage," said Lawrence. "But we can find a better place for discussion than this."

He stood aside politely for the woman to pass. She led the way in her imperious fashion as if they had been honoured guests of hers. She carried her dingy dress magnificently. In the drawing-room, Lawrence drew the blinds so that they could see better. The garish light of day shone on Leon Lalage's pale face, and disclosed the deep black lines under her splendid eyes. Only the flick and tremor of her lips betrayed her feelings. With her hands folded in her lap she waited.

"Are you not going to speak first?" Lawrence asked.

"No, I am not," came the slow reply. "Oh, you are a clever man, without doubt, and you have the air of one who holds all the cards. It will be a pleasure for me to listen to what you have to say."

Charlton rose; the woman's coolness and nerve were inflammable to him.

"I cannot stay here," he cried. "That woman maddens me. It brings back all the recollections that I am trying to forget. I shall forget myself----"

Lawrence laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Patience, a little patience," he whispered. "It is not for very long. You will please stay here and see a confession signed."

"My confession!" Leona Lalage cried.

"Even so, Madame. I make no idle boast. Before I leave here the name of an innocent man will be cleared."

Leona Lalage smiled unsteadily. Her lips twitched horribly.

"Go on," she whispered. "Go on, mine enemy."