“What was on it?”
“Mr. Standing’s endorsement-Greta recognised his writing at once: ‘Our declaration of marriage. E.S.’ I think she had signed it too, because something had been rubbed out-initials, I think, like his. I thought the second one was a B. You could only just see the marks.”
“There was nothing inside the envelope?”
“Nothing at all.”
The drawer that had been locked was full of tumbled papers. Margaret began to straighten them. As she lifted one, a snapshot of Charles looked up at her. She covered it quickly. That old boyish smile was gone.
“Here, let’s put these things away.”
Charles spoke from just behind her. She did not know whether he had seen the photograph or not. He helped her to put the drawers away. It was strange to be doing these things with Charles; strange and yet extraordinarily natural to be talking to him in her flat at midnight. It was the first time since their parting that they had talked without bitterness. The hour comforted Margaret. He would go away, and he would marry Greta; but at least there would have been this moment when he didn’t hate her. Perhaps when he was married to Greta he would stop hating her altogether. The thought touched something that lay dead, and the old vehement, passionate Margaret woke.
All at once she was so intensely aware of Charles and of herself that they might have been new creatures in a new world. The colour came into her cheeks.
Charles looked at her in astonishment. The sad pale ghost of Margaret was gone. This was Margaret herself.
They looked at one another in silence. The little green clock which he had given her ticked from the mantelpiece. Charles pushed the last drawer home and rose to his feet. She was only a yard away, but there were four years between them still.
“Why did you do it?” he said. It was the third time that he had asked the question; he had not meant to ask it now.
“I told you,” said Margaret with her head up.
“It wasn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I’ve got.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth four years ago?”
“What was the good? There was no way out.”
“There’s always a way out. We could have made one together.” He spoke with extreme vehemence; the flood of it carried him beyond his own control. “You never loved me. That’s the truth.”
Margaret looked at him. The tide of passion rose and ebbed again. She would not protest that old dead love to the Charles of today. She looked at him, and the strange sense of newness passed away. This was the flat, unprofitable every-day to which all romance came in the end. You had to go on and do your best without it-you had to go on. The colour and the fire went from her. She looked very tired.
Charles became intensely aware of having made a fool of himself. He gave a short angry laugh.
“It’s a bit late in the day for scenes-isn’t it? I don’t know why I dug that up-it’s rather a poor thing in ghosts. I meant to talk business with you. I’d like to still, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s very late.” The words came slowly. Charles was quite right-it was very late-it was four years too late.
“I won’t keep you long. I wanted to ask you about those statements you signed. Have you any idea who’s got them?”
“I suppose Grey Mask has got them.”
“You don’t think it possible that Freddy has them?”
“Oh no-I’m sure he hasn’t. He told me he had to satisfy the others.”
Charles frowned.
“Those statements must be got back. I can’t move whilst you’re compromised-and I’ve got to move for Greta’s sake.”
Margaret leaned against the mantelpiece.
“I’m afraid there’s no way of getting them back. You had better leave me out of it.”
“How can I?”
“Very easily.”
Charles looked at her coldly.
“I call that unintelligent. Do you really expect me to do anything that would land you in a police court?”
A bright flame burned her cheeks.
“I don’t ask to be considered. Do you suppose I care what happens to me? Do you suppose I want you to risk Greta?”
Charles’ frown darkened.
“I haven’t any choice. Please be practical. Freddy got you into the mess, and Freddy ought to get you out of it. When is he off?”
“He moved out of the house today. You heard what he said-he may be off any day. He hates to be tied.”
“I see. All right, I’ll be going.”
He went as far as the door, then turned, strode back, and jerked a sudden question at her;
“Who’s Grey Mask?”
“I don’t know,” said Margaret.
“You’ve no idea? None?”
She shook her head. She was frightfully pale.
“Does Freddy know?”
“I don’t believe any of them know,” said Margaret in a whisper.
CHAPTER XXXVI
At eleven o’clock that night the Standing house in Grange Street was in darkness. On the three upper floors blinds were down, curtains drawn, and lights switched off; in the hall a faint glimmer from the small shaded bulb which burned all night over the telephone.
A man entered Grange Square by Caton Walk and proceeded at a slow and leisured pace round two sides of it until he came to the dark square house at the corner. Here he stood quite still. The railings which enclosed the plane trees, empty flower beds, and grass plots of Grange Gardens were at his back.
It was a black night, and he stood where the shadows were blackest. He watched the house for ten minutes or so, then walked across the road and up the steps. Here again he stood and waited.
The house was as quiet as a house might be. The basement windows showed no glimmer. The man opened the door with a latch-key and passed into the hall. It was quite pleasantly warm after the cold in the square. The tiny bulb over the telephone made the darkness here seem less dense than the dark outside.
The man crossed the hall and stood a moment by the study door listening. Then he opened the door very softly and went in. It was about ten minutes before he came out again. This time he went up the stairs, which crossed the back of the hall in a double flight. He had reached the landing, when the front door opened and closed again softly. The man on the stair put his right hand in his pocket, and then moved without haste into the angle made by the stair as it continued its upward way. He listened for the sound of another foot on the marble steps. The only sound that came was the click of an electric switch.
Instantly the hall below was lighted from end to end, and against this light the outline of the balustrade, showed black. The man on the stairs came forward, leaned on the balustrade and looked over into the hall. He saw the black and white tesselated floor all empty, and on the left the open dining-room door. As he looked, the light went on in the dining-room, and at the same time he heard a faint shuffling sound. It was the sound of someone moving, of someone coming downstairs; but not down these stairs-the sound was too faint for that. If the man had not possessed phenomenally acute hearing, the sound would not have reached him at all.
Someone was coming down the back stairs. He had only to stand where he was, to be unobserved. It appeared, however, that he not only desired to remain unseen; he wished, nay, he intended, to see. He moved quickly along a passage to the right until he reached a door that opened upon the back stairs. Here he waited, listening. The soft snuffling footsteps were below him. He opened the door. The stairs were dark. He followed the footsteps down into the darkness.
At the foot of the stairs there was a baize door. He opened it cautiously. The long passage was black, but even as he looked, light showed at the far end. A second door swung open, a man’s figure showed against the light, and then the door swung to again.
After a moment the man followed. At the second door he listened. There was no sound, but the room beyond was lighted. He peeped cautiously. The lighted room was empty. He had come to the butler’s pantry. A door led out of it through a short length of passage to the dining-room. He took this way with some assurance, and at the dining-room door the sound of voices gave him pause.