XIII

John Oram was an old-fashioned solicitor of very high standing. His firm had always managed all the private business of the Rushworth family, and he was a personal friend of the client from whom he had received a long and explicit cable about two hours ago. The receipt of that cable, and above all the way it had been worded, had induced Mr. Oram to come himself to Duke of Kent Mansion, instead of sending one of his clerks. He felt intensely curious to see this newly made widow in whom Miles Rushworth evidently took so intimate and anxious an interest.

Rushworth’s cable to John Oram had been nearly three times the length of his cable to Ivy; and the purport of it had been that the solicitor was to help Mrs. Lexton in every way in his power. The last words of the cable had run: “Find out from Mrs. Lexton the name of her bankers, and place two thousand pounds to her credit.”

After reading the cable, Mr. Oram had sent for his head clerk, an acute, clever man named Alfred Finch, who was some twenty years younger than himself.

“Can you tell me anything of some people of the name of Lexton, who live in Duke of Kent Mansion? I gather there’s some sort of legal trouble afoot.”

The answer had been immediate, and had filled him with both surprise and dismay.

“Yes, sir, I know all there is to be known. It’s not very much, yet. A Mr. Jervis Lexton died some days ago in one of the Duke of Kent Mansion flats. And, as the result of a postmortem, it has been discovered that death was occasioned through the administration of a large dose of arsenic.”

The speaker waited a moment. His curiosity was considerably whetted, for he had seen a look of astonishment, almost of horror, come over his employer’s usually impassive face.

Alfred Finch went on, speaking in a more serious tone:

“This Mr. Jervis Lexton must have been a man of means, for you may remember, sir, that he drew up the lease of a flat in Duke of Kent Mansion for the Misses Rushworth about eighteen months ago.”

“Aye, aye, I do remember that. I think the rent of their flat was four hundred a year, and the two ladies had to pay a considerable premium on going in. As you say, the Lextons must be well-to-do.”

Mr. Finch allowed himself to smile.

“There’s only one of them now, sir⁠—the dead man’s widow. She’s said to be very attractive, and well known in smart society.”

“I see. That will do.”

It was no wonder that John Oram, while waiting in the drawing-room of the flat for Ivy to join him, gazed about him with a good deal of interest. Then, all at once, he recognised a fine picture which he knew to be the property of the Misses Rushworth, his clients, and Miles Rushworth’s cousins. In a moment what had appeared a mystery was to his mind cleared up. There must be, there was, of course, some sort of connection between the Rushworths and the Lextons; and the rich, precise, old-fashioned maiden ladies, who, he now remembered, were wintering abroad, had lent their flat to these family connections.

That would explain everything⁠—Miles Rushworth’s urgent cable, as also his evident anxiety that everything should be done to help and succour Mrs. Lexton in her distress.

Just as he came to this satisfactory explanation of what had puzzled and disturbed him, the door of the drawing-room opened, and Ivy walked in.

She held out her little hand. “Mr. Oram?” she cried eagerly, “I’m so glad to see you! I had a cable just before lunch from Mr. Rushworth, telling me that you were going to help me. Everything is so dreadful, so extraordinary, that I feel utterly bewildered, as well as miserable⁠—” and then tears strangled her voice.

For a moment her visitor said nothing. He was amazed at her exceeding loveliness, puzzled also, for he was very observant, by the expression which now lit up the beautiful face before him. Though tears were running down her cheeks, it was such a happy expression.

“Won’t you sit down?”

Her tone was quite subdued now; the hysterical excitement which had been there had died out of her voice.

He obeyed her silently, and there shot over Ivy Lexton a quick feeling of misgiving. Mr. Oram looked so grave, so stern, and he was gazing at her with so curiously close a scrutiny.

“It’s very kind of you to have come so soon,” she said nervously.

“I am anxious to help you in every way possible, Mrs. Lexton,” he answered quietly.

Though the old solicitor was exceedingly impressed by Ivy’s beauty, instead of being attracted, he felt, if anything, slightly repelled, by her appearance.

For one thing, he was sufficiently old-fashioned to feel really surprised, and even shocked, by her “makeup.”

Ivy had made up more than usual this morning, and before coming into the drawing-room just now she had used her lipstick quite recklessly. So it was that while Mr. Oram asked her certain questions, each one of which was to the point, and allowed for but very little prevarication on her part, he avoided looking straight at her.

How astounding, he said to himself with dismay, that such a woman should be a friend of Miles Rushworth! A direct question had shown him that she had no knowledge of, or even a bowing acquaintance with, the Misses Rushworth.

At last he said rather coldly, “I take it you are in possession of very little money?”

“Very little,” she answered, almost in a whisper.

“At the request of Mr. Miles Rushworth, I have a sum of money to place at your disposal. As a matter of fact, it is a considerable sum⁠—two thousand pounds. If you will tell me who are your bankers, I⁠—”

And then Ivy, keeping the joy she felt out of her voice, interrupted him:

“I have not got a banking account, Mr. Oram. I had one many years ago, before my husband lost all his money, but I have not had one for over three years. And oh! it’s been so inconvenient.”

A kinder look came into the lawyer’s grave face.

“In that case, Mrs. Lexton, I advise you to open an account at the local branch of the Birmingham Bank. It is close here, in Kensington High Street. Mr. Rushworth informed me in his cable that you would probably stay on in this flat for the next few weeks.”

“I should like to do that,” she said in a low tone.

“Your husband, I understand, was a great friend of Mr. Rushworth?”

“Yes, my husband was working in Mr. Rushworth’s office when he fell ill.”

“Was he indeed?”

That the Lextons could be what the sender of the cable had called “my closest friends” had surprised the solicitor. He had believed himself acquainted with all Miles Rushworth’s intimate circle.

Ivy had come across a good many lawyers in her life, and she had always found them bright, cheery, and pleasant. All of them, to a man, had admired her, and made her feel that they did so.

Very, very different was this lawyer’s attitude. She realised that he did not approve of her, and she even suspected that he regretted his client’s interest in her. That was quite enough for Ivy, and she began to long intensely for Mr. Oram to go away. She had already made up her mind that he was “horrid,” and she was sorry indeed that such a man should be Miles Rushworth’s representative.

“I will pay in the cheque to the Birmingham Bank tomorrow morning, Mrs. Lexton,” said the solicitor. “I will call for you, if I may, at eleven, for you will have to come too, in order that the manager may register your signature.”

At last he got up, and then he said suddenly: “Have you yet seen anyone from the police?”

“Yes, I saw a gentleman from Scotland Yard this morning.”

“I trust your legal adviser was present.”

“I have no legal adviser,” and she looked at him surprised.

“I’m sorry for that. I had hoped to learn that you had a solicitor, and that he had been present. However, I don’t suppose it will make any odds. I presume you told the gentleman from Scotland Yard everything that it was within your power to tell him, concerning the mysterious circumstances surrounding Mr. Lexton’s death?”

“Yes, I did,” she said falteringly.

It seemed to her that he was looking at her with such a hard, cold look on his bloodless face. She even had a queer feeling that this Mr. Oram could see right through her, and she felt a touch of deadly terror.

But Ivy’s fears were quite unfounded. The solicitor’s view of Ivy Lexton was very much what “the gentleman from Scotland Yard’s” had been. But whereas Inspector Orpington had liked and pitied her, Rushworth’s lawyer already regretted that, if only as a matter of common humanity, he must now secure for her the best legal advice in his power.

John Oram had the faults of his qualities. His life’s work had brought him in contact with more than one skilful adventuress. But against such a woman, when she came across his path, the dice were already loaded.

Thus he had never had much trouble with the kind of girl who infatuates a foolish “elder son,” and then, maybe, tries to extract an enormous sum out of him by a threat of a breach of promise case. More difficult to deal with he had found, in his long career as a family solicitor, the sort of woman blackmailer who has letters in her possession. But, even in regard to that type of woman, Mr. Oram, with the law on his side, invariably came out of the duel triumphant.

He had never had to do, even remotely, with a case of murder, and the last thing that would have occurred to his mind was that this lovely young fribble of a woman⁠—for such was his old-fashioned expression⁠—could be a secret poisoner.

“I think you must authorise me to instruct counsel to represent you at the inquest which I understand is about to be held.”

“What is counsel?” asked Ivy.

She felt surprised and uneasy. Was this disagreeable old man going to run up what she knew was called “a lawyer’s bill” which she would have to pay out of Rushworth’s munificent gift?

Mr. Oram looked at her with scarce concealed contempt.

“A counsel,” he replied drily, “is any member of the Bar. But naturally some are better than others, and, with your permission, I will obtain for you the services of a gentleman who is thoroughly experienced in cases of this kind.”

The next morning Mr. Oram arrived at his office early, and, after glancing over his letters, he had just made out a cheque for two thousand pounds to “the order of Mrs. Ivy Lexton,” when a card was brought into his private room. But before he looked at the card he had already fully made up his mind that he could see no one, however important their business might be, till his return from Kensington.

Already the solicitor and his head clerk, Alfred Finch, had gone into the question of who should represent Mrs. Lexton at the inquest, and at the various other proceedings which were likely to take place in connection with Jervis Lexton’s mysterious death. Money, as the saying is, being no object, they had selected as her counsel one known to them to be by far the soundest man for that sort of watching brief.

The old lawyer was sorry indeed that Miles Rushworth had brought him in touch with what he termed to himself “this very unpleasant business.”

His feeling was not shared by his head clerk. Alfred Finch was already keenly interested in the Lexton case. He was an intelligent man, keen about his work whatever it might be, and he already had managed to make certain pertinent inquiries. Indeed, he very much startled Mr. Oram by a remark he made towards the end of their discussion.

“They do say, sir, that Scotland Yard as good as know already who poisoned Mr. Lexton. I think it quite probable that you will see the news of an arrest on the newspaper placards on your way to Duke of Kent Mansion.”

“What sort of person has been, or is to be, arrested, Finch? Have you discovered that?”

“Well, sir, I haven’t yet got hold of the man’s name. But I gather he’s a gentleman, and one who was described to me as⁠—” he coughed discreetly “⁠—a beau of Mrs. Lexton. Mrs. Lexton seems to have been a bit of a flyer, sir. She was out every night dancing at what they call a smart nightclub, or in some big hotel, during the days when her unfortunate husband was being slowly done to death by this friend of hers.”

“Have you heard anything serious against Mrs. Lexton’s character?”

Mr. Oram was very old-fashioned. The term “nightclub” signified to him something vaguely terrible, and utterly disreputable.

“Oh, no, sir, there’s nothing against her. On the contrary, the story goes that, though the man under suspicion was crazy about her, she only flirted with him, so to speak. Mrs. Lexton, it seems, gave him away, quite unknowingly, to the C.I.D. inspector who is in charge of the case.”

Finch smiled, “They say it’s likely to be the most important case of the kind there’s been at the Old Bailey for many a long day. The public are about ready for another murder mystery.”

“Not much mystery about it, if your information is correct, Finch,” observed Mr. Oram grimly.

“It’s Mrs. Lexton⁠—they say she is such a very pretty, smart little lady⁠—who will provide the mystery and the sensation, sir. She’ll be the principal witness for the Crown.”

Mr. Oram felt very much disturbed on hearing this piece of information.

“I do not regard myself as being in any sense Mrs. Lexton’s legal representative,” he said stiffly. “With regard to this lady, I am simply acting as Mr. Miles Rushworth’s solicitor.”

And now, just as he was reaching out for his hat and coat, feeling more perturbed than he would have cared to acknowledge, a client for whom he had a great regard called to see him. Though John Oram was not the kind of man who changes his mind lightly when he saw whose name was engraved on the card which had been brought in to him, the lawyer at once made up his mind that he must spare time for this visitor.

For one thing, her business must be serious, for she lived in the country, and this was the first time she had ever called on him without first making an appointment. Further, she was a widowed lady he had known since he was quite a young man, and for whom he had a very high esteem, and, it might almost be said, affection. But he had despised her husband, and he did not really like her son⁠—though the son had none of the faults which had brought his father to ruin. Lastly, Mr. Oram was willing to see this client because she was a woman of few words. She would tell him at once why she wished to see him, and then she would go away.

“Show Mrs. Gretorex in,” he said quickly.

“There is a young lady with her, sir.”

“A young lady?”

Did that mean that Roger Gretorex was thinking of getting married? If so, unless the girl had money, he would be doing a very foolish and improvident thing. Mr. Oram did not really think that this was at all likely to be the reason for Mrs. Gretorex’s unexpected visit; but a solicitor is apt to consider every possibility.

However, Mr. Oram’s old friend and client came unaccompanied through the baize door of his private room. Mrs. Gretorex had left Enid in the waiting-room, for there were certain things which she knew she would have to say, and which she felt she could only say when alone with the solicitor.

As she looked at her old lawyer’s stern face, though the expression on it was just a little softer than usual, even her high courage faltered.

“Perhaps you know, Mr. Oram,” she said in a low voice, “what it is that has brought me here this morning?”

“No,” he said, surprised, “I have no idea at all, Mrs. Gretorex⁠—”

He could see she was very much disturbed, and he drew forward a chair. After all, it wouldn’t hurt that frivolous little widow to wait for an extra half-hour or so for the two thousand pounds Miles Rushworth was so rashly presenting to her free and for nothing. Mr. Oram’s knowledge of human nature told him that probably a very great deal more money was coming Ivy’s way from the same source as this money came from.

Mrs. Gretorex bent a little forward. She fixed her sunken eyes, for she had not slept at all the night before, on the lawyer’s face.

“Roger has been arrested on the charge of having murdered a man called Jervis Lexton⁠—”

“Roger arrested on a charge of murder? God bless my soul!”

He took off his eyeglasses and began cleaning them mechanically with a small piece of wash-leather which he kept for that purpose.

Here was indeed a complication! And a very troublesome as well as a painful complication, from his point of view. His own connection with the Gretorex family was hereditary. His grandfather had been, not only the lawyer, but the very close friend and trustee, of Mrs. Gretorex’s father-in-law. As for the rich Rushworths, they were in Mr. Oram’s estimation mere upstarts compared to the ancient, if now impoverished, county family.

“If you don’t mind,” he said suddenly, “I’ll send for Finch. In a case of this sort two heads are better than one. Also Finch can take notes of any information you can give me about the matter.”

Mrs. Gretorex would much rather have told her story to this good old friend alone. But she saw the sense of his suggestion, and they both waited in silence till the head clerk came in.

Mrs. Gretorex rose and shook hands with Mr. Finch. She was well acquainted with him, and she had always liked him.

“May I tell Finch what you have just told me?” Mr. Oram asked.

She bent her head, overwhelmed with a passion of agony and shame.

“Mrs. Gretorex has brought bad news, Finch. Her son has just been arrested on the charge of having caused the death, I presume by the administration of arsenic, of Mr. Jervis Lexton. I take it”⁠—and he looked very straight into the younger man’s face⁠—“that you had no notion of this fact, when you told me, this morning, that you had heard that an arrest was about to be effected in connection with the Lexton affair?”

Alfred Finch prided himself on his self-control, and wise lack of emotion, where anything connected with business was concerned. But his face was full of dismay as he answered instantly, “No name at all was mentioned, sir. I was simply told that an arrest was imminent.”

He turned to Mrs. Gretorex. “When was it that Mr. Roger was arrested?” He had known “Mr. Roger” from childhood.

Tears welled up to her tired eyes. “Last evening,” she answered.

“I wish he’d sent for us at once,” Finch exclaimed. “It’s always important to get one’s blow in first, and especially over a matter of this kind.”

“My son was arrested at Anchorford House. I came up by the night train, as the police inspector from Lynchester said he would be brought to town the first thing this morning. I suppose he is in London by now.”

Finch looked at his employer.

“In that case, don’t you think, sir, that I’d better go off at once and try to find Dr. Gretorex? Let me see. Where would he be charged?”

Mentally he answered his own question. Then he observed, “I hope he made no statement to the police?”

“He wished to make a statement, but the inspector advised him not to do so.”

“You think, Finch, that you’d better go off now, instantly?”

“I’m sure of it, sir. Even now, I fear I shall be too late to stop his saying something he’d best keep to himself.”

“I feel quite sure he has nothing to hide,” said Mrs. Gretorex rather stiffly. But neither of the two men made any comment on that.

Mr. Oram was the first to break the silence.

“Very well, Finch. You go off,” he said. “Start at once! And of course no expense is to be spared?”

He glanced at his client, and she quickly nodded.

“Meanwhile, I’ll make rough notes of any information that Mrs. Gretorex is good enough to give me. But I don’t suppose she really knows very much.”

And then in a serious tone he asked her, “Were you yourself acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Lexton?”

He put the question just as the other man was leaving the room, and Mrs. Gretorex saw Finch stay his steps. It was clear that he wished to hear her answer.

“I’ve never seen Mr. Lexton; but Mrs. Lexton spent a weekend at Anchorford last winter.”

Both men noticed the somewhat embarrassed way in which Roger Gretorex’s mother answered that question.

At last, reluctantly, Finch shut the door. How useful it would be, sometimes, to find oneself in two places at once!

Being the manner of woman she was, Mrs. Gretorex did not try to conceal anything of what was in her heart from her old and trusted friend.

“I am absolutely certain, Mr. Oram, that Roger had nothing to do with Mr. Lexton’s death. On the other hand, it would be dishonest to conceal from you my conviction that he is in terrible danger.”

“What makes you think that, if you are certain he is innocent?”

“Because,” answered Mrs. Gretorex in a low tone, “he loves this woman, Ivy Lexton, desperately. He admitted as much to me last night, before we supposed there was any fear of an immediate arrest, but after he had already had an interview with someone from Scotland Yard⁠—”

“Roger in love with a married woman. That’s the last thing I should have expected to hear!”

Mr. Oram got up. “I have a bit of business I must attend to this morning, Mrs. Gretorex. But I suggest that you wait here till a telephone message comes through from Finch.”

As they shook hands, “I beg you, I implore you,” she said in a stifled voice, “to try and believe Roger innocent.”

Mr. Oram said to himself, “I will⁠—until he is proved guilty.” Aloud he exclaimed:

“Of course I believe him innocent! But, Mrs. Gretorex, I have something very serious to say to you; that is, I feel that this is not the kind of case of which I have the necessary experience, and I doubt if I should be able to afford your son the kind of legal assistance which he needs.”

He saw a look of terror and of fear flash over her face.

“Don’t desert me in my extremity!” she exclaimed. “You know as well as I do that I haven’t a single man relation in the world. You, Mr. Oram, are my only hope.” And he saw that tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“If you feel that, Mrs. Gretorex, then be assured that I shall do my best for Roger.”