CHAPTER XV A RECOGNITION

If Mrs. Ward expected to startle Derrington into a confession she was never more mistaken in her calculations. Lord Derrington had not moved in diplomatic circles all his life without knowing how to guard against the display of emotion. With an utterly expressionless face he looked at the stiletto. It was a slender steel blade with a silver handle of Renaissance workmanship, evidently a valuable and curious relic of the Middle Ages. It might have been made by Cellini himself and have been worn by Cesare Borgia. But Derrington stared at it as though he knew nothing about it.

"Well," said Mrs. Ward, sharply, and rather disappointed he did not grovel on the instant, "what do you say?"

Derrington looked at her in rather a humorous manner. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. "Confess that I killed Mrs. Jersey and then brought this weapon carefully home in my pocket for you to discover and use against me?"

"That is a subterfuge," said Mrs. Ward. "You did not expect to find me waiting for you, and you never meant that dagger to be discovered, Lord Derrington."

"I certainly never did," he assented heartily. "I cannot imagine how you came to know more than I did."

"What do you mean?" asked the little woman, sharply.

"Well, you see," said Lord Derrington, quietly, "this is a very clever bit of business on your part, but so far as I am concerned it has nothing to do with me. I never saw that weapon before."

"Oh, that's rubbish!" said Mrs. Ward with a mirthless laugh. "I found it in the pocket of your fur coat on the very----"

"You say you found it there," said Derrington, meaningly.

"Do you deny that it was in the pocket?"

"Certainly. Had it been in the pocket I should have known it was there. But it was not in the pocket."

Mrs. Ward stared. "You are very brazen," she said; "you knew it was there all the time."

"In the pocket?" asked Derrington, politely and perfectly calm.

Mrs. Ward hesitated. Then she faced him defiantly. "I am so sure of my ground," she declared, "that I don't mind saying it wasn't exactly in the pocket. There was a hole in the pocket and the dagger had slipped down into the lining between the inside fur and the outer cloth. It lay sideways, and what with its position and the heavy fur----"

"I could not have known it was there," finished Derrington, balancing a paper-cutter on his forefinger. "You have found a mare's nest, my dear Mrs. Ward, and if this is your trump card I am sorry to say it won't take the trick you wish to secure. I did not know that this--" he touched the stiletto--"was in the lining of my fur coat."

"Then it was, and Mrs. Jersey was stabbed with it."

"Isn't that taking a great deal for granted?" said Derrington, with raised brows. "Mrs. Jersey, according to the doctor, if I recall the report of the inquest rightly, was certainly stabbed with a weapon similar to this. But why do you say this is the one?"

"Because I believe you were in the house on that night."

"Which house? Be explicit, please."

Mrs. Ward was growing angry at this calm defiance. "In the house in Amelia Square. You went there to prevent that Brendon creature from making Mrs. Jersey confess."

Lord Derrington laughed. "You would not make a good lawyer," said he. "By your own showing I did not know that Brendon was to be at Mrs. Jersey's on that night."

"I certainly came to tell you," said Mrs. Ward, feeling that she had missed a point, "but you could easily have heard it elsewhere."

"Who from? Brendon did not advertise in the papers that he was stopping with Mrs. Jersey on the night in question."

"Then Mr. Train----"

"I met Mr. Train for the first time at your house the other night."

"Dorothy told you," said Mrs. Ward, determined not to surrender any advantage she might have gained.

"You can ask your daughter and she will tell you that I had not seen her all that week. Is there any one else, Mrs. Ward?"

The little woman rose to her feet with an artificial laugh and shook out perfume from her silken skirts. "You are very clever and obstinate, Lord Derrington, but how will you explain this--" she pointed to the stiletto--"to the authorities?"

"There will be no need for me to do that," said Derrington, and took up the weapon. Mrs. Ward stretched out her hand.

"My property, if you please, Lord Derrington."

The old gentleman opened a drawer, dropped the weapon into it, and closed the drawer with a snap. "It's locked now," he said coolly. "I shall take charge of this."

"How dare you? I insist----"

"Oh, dear, no! You insist on nothing." Lord Derrington rose, looking like a giant as he towered over the little woman. "My dear Mrs. Ward," said he, quietly, but in his deepest tones, "I have been very patient with you, but this thing must end. You must promise to hold your tongue about Brendon and----"

"And about you, I suppose," she sneered.

"About me?" Derrington's tone expressed surprise. "What have you to hold your tongue about as regards me?"

Mrs. Ward stamped, though as a rule she was not given to betraying violent emotion. "Oh, it's too ridiculous!" she said furiously. "I can say to the police how I found the stiletto in your coat, I suppose."

"I should advise you not to talk to any one about a thing which exists only in your imagination."

"The stiletto----"

"What are you talking of, Mrs. Ward?"

"It's in that drawer." She pointed to the table.

"Oh, dear, no, it isn't," said Derrington, blandly; "there is no stiletto, there never was one. We have had a nice talk--shall we say about chiffons?" In spite of her rage at being outwitted Mrs. Ward gave a hollow laugh at the thought of Lord Derrington discussing chiffons. "A nice talk, I say, and now we must part."

"Not before I have had my say," said Mrs. Ward, savagely. "I see perfectly well that I have been foolish to let that stiletto get into your hands. But I thought I was dealing with a man of honor."

"Ah, Mrs. Ward, few of us can aspire to your high principles!"

The sneer infuriated her. "You can deny the stiletto if you like to the public, but you dare not do so to me."

"Why not? For the sake of argument we will admit the existence of the weapon. You come here with it in your hand and state that you found it in my coat--in the lining of the coat."

"And I did--I did--you know I did."

"Indeed, I know nothing of the sort. I deny that the stiletto was ever in pocket or in lining. I did not see you take it out."

"I waited till you were out of the room before I examined the coat."

"Of course, but by doing so you have defeated your own object. Had you produced the weapon from the coat and showed it to me at the very moment, your accusation might have held water. As it is, the thing is simply ridiculous. You come here, you accuse me of a crime----"

"I did not accuse you," said Mrs. Ward, beginning to find that Derrington was too much even for her. "I believe Brendon killed the woman--oh, yes! You went to the house and you saw him. He and Mrs. Jersey had words, as she would not confess, and Brendon killed her with the stiletto. Then you came in, and to save him you put the dagger into your pocket, sent him up to bed, and promised to hold your tongue, and----"

Derrington laughed. "You have a most vivid imagination, Mrs. Ward," he said, with a shrug; "but, as it happens, you are talking nonsense. I was not at Amelia Square that evening, but at my club, as any member then present can assure you. I can prove what is called an alibi, Mrs. Ward, which means that I can account for every moment of my time, from the minute I left this house to the minute I returned to find you here. As to the stiletto you say you took out of my pocket, that is rubbish. On the whole, I think you had better hold your tongue."

"If I go to the police they will open that drawer."

"Oh, no! An Englishman's house is his castle, you know, and a man in my position cannot be treated in the way you suggest with impunity. Moreover, Mrs. Ward, there is ample time to destroy the stiletto."

"Which you will do," she said, recovering her composure, now that she found it was useless to protest.

"No. I wouldn't even mind showing it to the police and saying how you brought it here with an accusation. If the police can prove that this is the weapon with which Mrs. Jersey was stabbed, and if you and the police can prove that the stiletto was in my pocket on the night of the murder, then you and the police--" Derrington made an ironical bow--"are extremely clever."

"Oh, very well," said Mrs. Ward, realizing her defeat, "I shall say nothing about you. But Brendon----"

"You will hold your tongue about him also. I quite understand how you proposed to hold this stiletto, and the tale of its being discovered in my pocket, over me. If I did not consent to the marriage of Miss Ward and Walter--eh?"

"I must do the best for my child."

"Even going so far as threats. Well, I have too high a respect for Miss Ward to ask her to marry such a worm as Walter. She would do better to take Brendon."

"She shan't marry him."

"Why do you hate the man so?" asked Derrington, looking into her eyes. "I know he is a strong man, and for the money's sake you do not want him to be your son-in-law. But even this does not account for your hatred. Why do you hate him?"

"I have nothing to say," retorted Mrs. Ward, who had flushed and paled alternately during this speech. "Please see me to the door."

Derrington walked to the door and opened it with a bow. "Willingly. I think we understand one another."

"I think we do," said Mrs. Ward, with an artificial laugh. "You do credit to your reputation, Lord Derrington."

"Praise from Mrs. Ward is praise, indeed," said the ironical old gentleman as he descended the stairs side by side with the woman who could have found it in her heart to kill him. "I am sorry to ask you to leave me so soon, as our conversation was most enjoyable. But I have to see a certain Mr. Ireland----"

"Is that Brendon's guardian?" asked Mrs. Ward, coming to a sudden stop in the hall.

"His former guardian," corrected Derrington. "How do you come to know of him, Mrs. Ward?"

"I think Dorothy mentioned the name," she said in rather a faltering tone. "Dear me, how my face burns! I wish I had a veil."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Ward, but the late Lady Derrington's veils are not modern enough for you."

"What nonsense!" said Mrs. Ward, who appeared flurried. "Please tell your man to call a cab. I sent away the carriage."

"Let me send you home in mine."

"No! No, I want to go at once," and she approached the door quickly. "When did you say Mr. Ireland was coming?"

Derrington glanced at his watch. "He is due now," he said, and looked at her, wondering why she asked the question.

Mrs. Ward's face was turned away. She was dressed in furs and carried a muff. When the door was opened by the footman a gentleman appeared on the threshold. Mrs. Ward lifted her muff to her face, but not before the stranger had caught sight of her face and had uttered an ejaculation of surprise. "You!" he said, stepping forward.

"What do you mean?" said Mrs. Ward, with her face still hidden. "Lord Derrington, this friend of yours is making a mistake. Tell that man to be quick calling a cab." And she moved past the stranger.

"Pardon," he said politely, "but I wish to speak with you."

Derrington bent his bushy brows. "Let the lady pass," he said; "who are you, sir, to stop the egress of my guests?"

"My name is Rodger Ireland," said the stranger, quietly, "and I have been looking for that lady for over thirty years."

"What does the man mean?" asked Mrs. Ward, haughtily, but looking disturbed.

"Lord Derrington," said Ireland, "I think if you will permit this lady and me to have a talk----"

"There seems to be some mistake," said Derrington. "Mrs. Ward, will you not wait until we rectify it?"

"No. The man is mad. Let me pass, sir. There is the cab."

She would have stepped out but Ireland again placed his bulky form in her way. It was all done so tactfully that the footman on the pavement did not notice anything unusual. The man was waiting by the cab to assist Mrs. Ward in. But Ireland would not let her pass.

"Lord Derrington," he said softly, lest the footman should overhear, "this is the lady who was with your son when he was murdered."

Derrington was not easily startled, but he turned suddenly white. Mrs. Ward shrank back into the hall. Now that the truth was told she seemed to recover from her fears and to regain all her tact. "I shall not want the cab at present," she said to the footman. "Tell the man to wait. Lord Derrington, if you do not wish these private affairs to be discussed in the presence of the servants we had better return to the library."

Lord Derrington could only stare, being confounded at her coolness. He was much moved by the unexpected mention of his dead son, and without a word went up the stairs again, while Mrs. Ward followed, and Ireland came at her heels. She looked as though she were a prisoner between two guards.

When they found themselves in the library Derrington closed the door and went to his seat. He looked much older, having aged in a most extraordinary manner under the shock of Ireland's information. Mrs. Ward was perfectly cool, and resumed her former seat. As to Ireland, he let himself carefully down into the most capacious armchair he could find. Mrs. Ward opened the conversation at once.

"You say you saw me at San Remo?" she asked.

"I did," replied Ireland, in his heavy voice. "I was there at the time Mr. Percy Vane was murdered--" Derrington groaned--"and I was at the masked ball where----"

"The Veglioni," said Mrs. Ward. "Well, you were there. You say you saw me?"

"In a blue domino."

"There were plenty of blue dominoes at that ball--at least I should think there were."

"Yes, but you wore a sprig of yellow holly. That was why I recognized you when you were masked."

"How did you know it was I?"

"Because early in the evening you went into a box. I was there talking to the Marchesa Beltrami, to whom the box belonged. You removed your mask and I had ample opportunity to observe you."

"What reason had you to observe me?" asked Mrs. Ward, just as though she were counsel examining a witness.

"Well," said Ireland, smoothing his face, "you see I knew Mr. Vane very well. He married a woman of whom I was fond." Derrington shifted restlessly in his chair. "Do not be afraid, Lord Derrington, I do not intend to talk of Rosina Lockwood----"

"You are talking to me at present," said Mrs. Ward, sharply. "You can talk to Lord Derrington later."

"I rather think, ma'am," said Ireland, "that Lord Derrington will want to talk to you."

"At present I say nothing," was his lordship's reply, and he watched the two faces before him with close attention.

"You saw me unmask in a certain box," said Mrs. Ward, quickly. "Do you mean to say that after all these years--over thirty years--that you recognize me again? I was a girl then; I am a--a----" She was about to say old woman, as being more emphatic with the adjective, but her vanity made her swallow the word. "I am a woman now."

"Quite so. But you have a mole on your forehead just above the left eyebrow. I knew you by that; and then I have a splendid memory for faces, and yours--" Ireland bowed gallantly--"is too beautiful to forget easily."

Mrs. Ward shrugged her shoulders. She did not want compliments, but she wished very much to get out of the trouble in which she found herself involved. "It's a most remarkable memory," she said.

"It is, madam," assented Ireland; "my memory was always considered remarkable. And the fact is that I was thinking of the murder almost at the moment I entered the hall. Consequently your face was in my mind's eye. That made the chance of recognizing you more sure. Had I not been thinking of old days I might not have guessed so readily who you were."

"Why were you thinking of the murder, then?" asked Derrington.

"Well, my lord, you sent for me to speak with me about George--" Mrs. Ward gave a short laugh, and Derrington smiled--"so I was naturally thinking of George; such a thought led to my thinking of his parents, and finally I remembered the circumstance of your son's death, as I thought you might wish to talk of it, and therefore desired to get my memory in order. In this way did I recognize the lady."

"This is all very well," said Mrs. Ward. "You say you recognize me, Mr. Ireland. Is that your name?"

"It is, but your memory is not so good as mine. We met only once." Derrington was not so sure if Mrs. Ward's memory was not good, for he remembered how she had tried to get away before the arrival of Ireland. "Go on! Go on!" he said irritably. "I wish to know the worst."

"The worst is that I am supposed to have killed Percy Vane," said Mrs. Ward, coolly. "So you accuse me of that?" she asked Ireland.

"By no means. But you were at that ball----"

"I was. In a blue domino with a sprig of holly at my breast."

"And you were with Mr. Vane?"

"No, I was not!"

"You went out with Mr. Vane."

"I did not. It was my sister."

"Your sister!" said Derrington. "Hah!" and he relapsed into silence. Mrs. Ward shot a suspicious look at him, but his inscrutable face betrayed nothing.

"I remember," said Ireland, in a slow, prosy way, "that there were two Miss Howards at San Remo--at the Hotel d'Angleterre. They were with their father, General Howard. I never met them, but Mr. Vane went frequently to call at the house."

"He did," said Mrs. Ward, "if by house you mean the hotel. The fact is, my sister Jenny was in love with Captain Vane----"

"I heard it was you," said Ireland, distrustfully.

"It was my sister," said Mrs. Ward, coldly. "We thought Mr. Vane would marry her, but he certainly showed no signs of proposing. I suppose he was too fond of his dead wife," and she shot a sneering look at Lord Derrington, who winced.

"Don't say a word against Rosina Lockwood," said Ireland, quickly.

"You see what he calls her," said Mrs. Ward to Derrington. "There was no marriage."

"Ma'am!" cried Ireland, rising.

"Oh, never mind," replied Mrs. Ward, waving her hand. "There is no need for you to lose your temper, my good man. I am not going to speak of the woman----"

"She was an angel."

"And a woman--that's the generic name for the sex. However, it was my sister Jenny who loved Percy Vane. She would go to the ball, and persuaded me to go with her. We slipped out of the hotel and went without a chaperon. Our father would have been shocked had he known, but it was merely the escapade of two schoolgirls. I went with a friend, and Jenny looked about for Mr. Vane. We agreed to meet after an hour and go home. As there were other blue dominoes at the ball we each wore--" and Mrs. Ward repeated the word to emphasize the fact--"each a sprig of yellow holly. I went to a box to have supper with a certain cousin of mine and my sister then departed with Mr. Vane."

"Why did she leave the ballroom?" asked Derrington.

"Because Mr. Vane was shocked. He recognized her voice and made her unmask. He insisted on taking her home first, and then intended to return for me, as he could not find me at the moment. They went out together, Mr. Ireland, and that is the last I saw of Mr. Vane."

"What was the last your sister saw of him?"

"She was at the hotel and in our bedroom when I returned, which I did after looking vainly for her. She said that Mr. Vane had escorted her to the hotel and had left her at the gate at her earnest request, as Jenny was so afraid lest my father should hear of our escapade. She said good-night to Mr. Vane and then went to her room. When we heard of the murder next morning she became very ill and my father took her away. But she always declared to me that she did not know who murdered Percy Vane."

"Did your father ever know that she was in Vane's company on that night?" asked Ireland.

"Never! We kept our folly a profound secret from him."

"Did any one else know?"

"You did," said Mrs. Ward sharply; "and Mr. Vane did, and a servant at the hotel--an English servant who attended to us. In fact, it was she who procured the yellow holly by which Jenny and I were to identify one another."

"What was her name?" asked Derrington, quickly, and raising himself in his chair with eagerness to hear the answer.

"Eliza Stokes."

"Ah! I thought so. Mrs. Jersey?"

"Yes, Mrs. Jersey. And now, Lord Derrington, you know how I come to take such an interest in the death of that woman."

"Yes. But I cannot understand how you came to know that Mrs. Jersey was Eliza Stokes."

"That's my business," flashed out Mrs. Ward. "Or why," pursued Derrington, unmoved, "why you sent her the yellow holly?"

"Because I was not quite positive if she really was Eliza Stokes. I thought that the yellow holly, being connected in her mind with the death of Mr. Vane, would make her betray herself."

"It did in a way--but to Brendon. He would not have told you."

"He would doubtless have told Dorothy, and she would have told me."

Ireland, in his thoughtful, ponderous way, turned this matter over in his own mind. "Where is your sister now?" he asked.

Mrs. Ward replied with some reserve. "I can't tell you that. She went out of her mind for a time after the murder of Mr. Vane, and after she came out of the asylum we were all afraid to live with her. My father put her under some one's charge, and when he died she was allowed an annuity. Her guardian died and my sister vanished. We made no attempt to find her, and it was supposed that she had put an end to herself."

Ireland looked at Derrington. "Did you ever meet Miss Jenny Howard, my lord?" he asked.

"No," said Derrington, "but I have known Mrs. Ward for many, many years."

"Quite twenty," said Mrs. Ward, with an artificial laugh. "We grow old. No, Mr. Ireland, Lord Derrington never met my sister. Why you ask I cannot conceive!"

"Because Lord Derrington is under a wrong impression. He has met your sister, and in this very room."

"I beg your pardon," began Derrington. "I----"

Ireland cut him short. "She called to see you here about the renewal of the Amelia Square lease."

"Miss Bull?" said his lordship. "I thought there was something familiar about her face. So Miss Bull is Mrs. Ward's sister?"

"She told me so herself," was Ireland's reply.