Possibly the cloud on Enid's frank face prompted Reggie to come to a decision more than half formed already.

"But," he went on without giving her time to reply, "one doesn't in this wicked world always do what one ought, p.u.s.s.y."

"I never do," rejoined the girl, omitting to pretend to resent the use of the once familiar nickname. "I don't see why we should now."

"Nor, on the whole, do I," Reggie relieved her with his a.s.sent. "You see, it might put Chermside into the deuce of a hole, since he was undoubtedly acquainted with this chap Levison. He will have to own to that, anyhow, as he called on Levison once or twice at the _Plume_, and the police are sure to have got hold of that. But, though there's something mysterious about him, Chermside is a gentleman. I cannot imagine him carving a little Jew all to pieces simply because of a difference of opinion. He couldn't have had any real motive for doing such a horrible thing, since they say at the club that he's simply rolling in coin. And I don't suppose Levison can have been a rival for the hand of the peerless Violet."

"That suggestion is nothing short of sacrilege, you rude, crude sailor-man!" protested Enid. "Well, we are to lie low, then, and keep a stiff upper lip?"

"That's about the ticket," Reggie agreed, rising and stretching himself. "I don't see that one is even called upon to mention that we were on the marsh and heard that scream. Come, let's clear out of this and go up to the links. A little golf will be a tonic after the gruesome parliament we have been having."

So they went together, dismissing the unpleasant subject with the facility of youth, and in happy ignorance that a pair of sunken, hungry orbs were glaring after them from a tiny flaw in the privet hedge--a spy-hole which Mr. Lazarus Lowch had specially constructed for the purpose of keeping an eye on the comings and goings of his neighbour. He had returned from achieving his purpose of being summoned on the jury in time to hear the last words spoken by Reggie. The contortion which did duty with him for a saturnine smile creased his facial muscles.

"So they heard a scream on the marsh and don't mean to say anything about it, eh? I'll see about that," he muttered, rubbing his scraggy hands in a transport of malevolent triumph.

The inquest on Levi Levison was held that afternoon in the long room at the _Plume Hotel_--an apartment in much request for public functions of all kinds, from Volunteer dinners to sombre occasions like the present. According to precedent Mr. Lowch was chosen foreman, and, licking his lips with antic.i.p.ation, went away with his brother jurors to gloat over the corpse of the little Hebrew. On their return the coroner at once announced that an adjournment would be necessary, as it had been found impossible as yet to trace the relations, if any, of the deceased. He would, however, take such evidence as was forthcoming that day, and leave the police to complete their investigations before the next occasion.

The first witness was the landlord of the _Plume_, who identified the body as that of a guest who had been stopping at the hotel for a week.

Mr. Levison, he avowed, had been very reticent about the reason of his coming to Ottermouth, and he seemed to know n.o.body except a gentleman--a visitor of the name of Chermside--who had called on him twice during the week. The deceased had spent a good deal of time out of the hotel, especially in the evenings.

Leslie Chermside was then called and sworn. In answer to the coroner, he stated that he knew very little of Levison, but that the latter had made certain business proposals to him, and had, he believed, come down to Ottermouth with the express purpose of making them. Levison came from London, but he did not know his address there.

"Have you any objection to informing the jury of the nature of the business he had with you?" asked the coroner suavely.

Leslie faced his interrogator squarely, a slight frown of intelligible annoyance contracting his brows. "I should prefer not to," he made answer. "The business was of a very private nature."

"You can, perhaps, at least state to the Court what his occupation was?"

"I believe he called himself a financial agent," was the reply.

"One more question I am bound to ask you, Mr. Chermside," pursued the coroner with a deprecatory wave of his hand: "Were you in the company of the deceased on Wednesday evening last?"

"Most certainly I was not," said Leslie firmly. "I have not spoken to or been with Levison since the morning of the previous day, when he called for me at the club, and we discussed our business during a short walk."

The word had gone round that the bronzed young soldier from India, who occupied the best-furnished apartments in the town, was very wealthy, with a steam yacht lying at Portland, and this had been communicated to the coroner by the police sergeant. Leslie was therefore politely informed that he might stand down, though it might be necessary to recall him at the adjournment.

The next witness was Mr. Mallory. In brief snappy sentences he briefly described how he had found the body in the pool on the marsh while strolling about after the picnic-tea given by the tenant of the Manor House. Mr. Mallory's manner was distinctly that of the old official, who was aware of the fact that he was a merely formal witness. If only the coroner could have penetrated the thoughts which that sphinxlike demeanour veiled he would have started his officer hot-foot to fetch certain witnesses who were not in the room, even as spectators. Travers Nugent was playing pool at the club, and Mademoiselle Louise Aubin was attending to her young mistress's wardrobe a couple of miles away at the Manor.

Then followed the doctor, who described the dead man's injuries, and in doing so cleared the ground of all doubt as to it being a case of murder. Not only had Levi Levison been slain, but he had fallen by the hand of some one who had literally "savaged" him to death. For the gash in the throat was but an item in a whole series of wounds inflicted on the hapless Jew's body. He had been stabbed three times in the back and once in the chest, any one of the wounds being in itself sufficient to kill.

Sergeant Bruce, in charge of the local force, and a singularly intelligent specimen of the provincial police officer, added his testimony, most of it being concerned with the condition of the ground.

A careful examination had led him to adopt the theory that the fatal blows had been struck while the victim was on the footpath, and that the murderer had then carried the body across the swamp to the foot of the railway embankment, and had there flung it into the pool.

"That," said the coroner, "is as far as I propose to take the case to-day."

But it was not, it appeared, as far as Mr. Lazarus Lowch proposed to take it. Bobbing up from his seat like a jack-in-the-box, the foreman wagged a minatory finger at Reggie Beauchamp, whom he had singled out among the audience.

"Before we adjourn, sir, I should like to ask Mr. Beauchamp there a question. I have reason to know that he is concealing a material piece of evidence," Lowch declaimed in his husky voice, lowering at his prey.

Mr. Mallory, wedged in, alert and watchful, near the door, gazed thoughtfully across at his young friend. The lieutenant was already shouldering his way towards the witness-stand, and the old diplomatist noted not only a burning anger in the usually good-humoured boyish face, but a trace of something like consternation. The former sentiment he could understand, for it was nothing new for the methods of Lazarus Lowch to provoke wrath, but what could account for the dashing sailor's palpable nervousness?

At a nod from the coroner Reggie was sworn, and confronted the foreman with a defiant: "Well, sir, I presume that you were eavesdropping behind my mother's garden hedge this morning?"

Lowch ignored the innuendo. "Were you on the marsh late on Wednesday evening, Mr. Beauchamp?" he demanded, in the tone of a grand inquisitor.

"I was," admitted Reggie, shrugging his shoulders.

"In the company of a young lady?"

"Yes," with a scowl for the friendly t.i.tter that ran round the room.

"As a gentleman, I abstain from pressing for the lady's name, though doubtless it can be guessed by many in this a.s.semblage," proceeded Lowch pompously. "Let me ask if you and your companion heard a scream on the marsh that night?"

"I am glad you labour the point of your being a gentleman," said Reggie sweetly. "Yes, we heard some kind of a cry. I thought it was a sea-bird, or possibly a snared rabbit."

"Then why did you not come forward when you knew that a murder had been committed and inform the police of what you had heard?" came the supplementary query.

Mr. Mallory's wise old head was c.o.c.ked a little on one side to catch the answer. From his att.i.tude he seemed to set considerable store by it.

"Because," said Reggie slowly, "I didn't think that the cry necessarily had anything to do with the case. I know from experience that there are all sorts of queer noises on the marsh after dark--hooting owls, barking foxes, and a hundred things."

Lazarus Lowch subsided suddenly into his seat with an air of great achievement, and Reggie, perceiving that he had exhausted his capacity for making himself disagreeable, turned with an engaging smile to the coroner. "I hope I have done nothing serious, sir," he said cheerily.

"This person seems to accuse me of some terrible misdemeanour, but you will understand that unless one's evidence is really vital to the issue one doesn't want to be needlessly dragged into these little turn-ups."

The coroner, a good fellow with a taste for salt.w.a.ter "breeziness,"

smiled in friendly fashion, and promptly adjourned the Court.

But Mr. Vernon Mallory was not so easily satisfied. "The boy is concealing something," he muttered as he allowed himself to be carried with the human stream out into the sunlight.

CHAPTER X

THE LURE OF LOVE

Leslie Chermside walked away from the inquest like a man in a dream. It was only a few steps to the house where he lodged, and he at once sought the seclusion of his own sitting-room--a shady apartment with long windows opening on to a cool verandah, whence there was a distant view of the headland at the river's mouth and of the sea beyond.

"At any rate, I do not think that I am an object of suspicion--yet," he murmured with a bitter laugh when he had stood staring from one of the windows with unseeing eyes for some minutes. "And, as I more than half expected, Travers Nugent did not disclose my appointment with that wretched little scally-wag."

Turning away, he lit his pipe and flung himself into a long chair to review the situation. At the best his position was a perilous one, and he was very conscious of the necessity of not lulling himself into a false security because of that day's immunity. But he had at least obtained a reprieve, and for the present he was free to concentrate all his energies on keeping watch and ward over Violet. That Travers Nugent had not abandoned his compact with the Maharajah because of his own defection he felt sure. For, looked at by the light of the event of that afternoon, the inactivity of Bhagwan Singh's agent seemed ominously sinister--the more so as it was entirely problematical.

If Nugent had played the obvious card of revealing what he knew about the meeting on the marsh arranged between Levison and Leslie, the latter would almost certainly have been arrested, and so had his wings clipped for further opposition to Nugent's plans. But this obvious and drastic course would have laid Nugent's flank open to the counter-attack of full confession by a desperate man, and he had been far too cunning to run that risk. No, he must be working by subtler and more tortuous methods towards the attainment of his purpose--the embarkation of Violet Maynard on board the turbine yacht _Cobra_.

Leslie gave his antagonist full credit for cold calculation of all the chances. He was under no illusion as to the apparent complaisance with which his rebellion had been accepted, and as to Nugent's quiescence in the matter of Levison's murder. He was a.s.sured that he was only sitting there at liberty because he was of more use to Mr. Travers Nugent in the freedom of that comfortable room than he would have been in a cell at the police-station charged with murder.

Rising from his chair with a sudden impulse, Leslie knocked the ashes out of his pipe. As always happens to the man in love, he had persuaded himself that the wisest course to pursue was the one which jumped with his inclinations.