This was rather a facer, and I felt angry with Jim!

"Oh, Jim!" I said carelessly. "He's almost as blind as a mole, and he's no judge of likenesses. Why he always declares that Gertie Millar's the living image of Edna May, and he can't tell a portrait of one from the other without looking at the name (this was quite true, and we had often chipped Jim about it). There was a superficial likeness of course; I saw it myself at the time."

"You didn't mention it."

"Why, no, I didn't think it necessary."

"And the initials?"

"A mere coincidence. They stand for Anna Petrovna. Von Eckhardt told me that. I saw him in Berlin. She's a well-known Nihilist, and the police are after her in Russia. So you see, if you or any others are imagining there's any connection between her and Miss Pendennis, you're quite wrong."

"H'm," he said enigmatically, and I was immensely relieved that a warder opened the door at that moment and showed in Sir George Lucas.

"Oh, here you are, Lucas," said Southbourne, rising and shaking hands with him. "This is your client, Mr. Wynn. I'll be off now. See you again before long, but I'll give you a bit of advice, with Sir George's permission. Never prevaricate to your lawyer; tell him everything right out. That's all."

"Thanks; I guess that's excellent advice, and I'll take it," I said.

CHAPTER XXVI

WHAT JIM CAYLEY KNEW

I did take Lord Southbourne's advice, partly; for in giving Sir George Lucas a minute account of my movements on the night of the murder, I did not prevaricate, but I made two reservations, neither of which, so far as I could see, affected my own case in the least.

I made no mention of the conversation I had with the old Russian in my own flat; or of the incident of the boat. If I kept silence on those two points, I argued to myself, it was improbable that Anne's name would be dragged into the matter. For whatever those meddling idiots, Southbourne or Jim Cayley (I'd have it out with Jim as soon as I saw him!), might suspect, they at least did not know for a certainty of her ident.i.ty as Anna Petrovna, of her presence in Ca.s.savetti's rooms that night, or of her expedition on the river.

Sir George cross-examined me closely as to my relation with Ca.s.savetti; we always spoke of him by that name, rather than by his own, which was so much less familiar; and on that point I could, of course, answer him frankly enough. Our acquaintanceship had been of the most casual kind; he had been to my rooms several times, but had never invited me to his.

I had only been in them thrice; the first time when I unlocked the door with the pa.s.s-key with which the old Russian had tried to unlock my door, and then I hadn't really gone inside, only looked round, and called; and the other occasions were when I broke open the door and found him murdered, and returned in company with the police.

"You saw nothing suspicious that first time?" he asked. "You are sure there was no one in the rooms then?"

"Well, I can't be certain. I only just looked in; and then ran down again; I was in a desperate hurry, for I was late, as it was; I thought the whole thing a horrible bore, but I couldn't leave the old man fainting on the stairs. Ca.s.savetti certainly wasn't in his rooms then, anyhow, and I shouldn't think any one else was; for he told me afterwards, at dinner, that he came in before seven. He must have just missed the old man."

"What became of the key?"

"I gave it back to the old man."

"Although you thought it strange that such a person should be in possession of it?"

"Well, it wasn't my affair, was it?" I remonstrated. "I didn't give him the key in the first instance."

"Now will you tell me, Mr. Wynn, why, when you left Lord Southbourne, you did not go straight home? That's a point that may prove important."

"I didn't feel inclined to turn in just then, so I went for a stroll."

"In the rain?"

"It wasn't raining then; it was a lovely night for a little while, till the second storm came on, and my hat blew off."

"And when you got in you heard no sound from Mr. Ca.s.savetti's rooms?

They're just over yours, aren't they? Nothing at all, either during the night or next morning?"

"Nothing. I was out all the morning, and when I came in I fetched up the housekeeper to help me pack. It was he who remarked how quiet the place was. Besides, the poor chap had evidently been killed as soon as he got home."

"Just so, but the rooms might have been ransacked after and not before the murder," Sir George said dryly. "Though I don't think that's probable. Well, Mr. Wynn, you've told me everything?"

"Everything," I answered promptly.

"Then we shall see what the other side have to say at the preliminary hearing."

He chatted for a few minutes about my recent adventures in Russia; and then, to my relief, took himself off. I felt just about dead beat!

In the course of the day I got a wire from Jim Cayley, handed in at Morwen, a little place in Cornwall.

"Returning to town at once; be with you to-morrow."

He turned up early next morning.

"Good heavens, Maurice, what's all this about?" he demanded. "We've been wondering why we didn't hear from you; and now--why, man, you're an utter wreck!"

"No, I'm not. I'm getting round all right now," I a.s.sured him. "I got into a bit of a scrimmage, and then into prison. They very nearly did for me there; but I guess I've as many lives as a cat."

"But this murder charge? It's in the papers this morning; look here."

He held out a copy of _The Courier_, pointing to a column headed:

"THE WESTMINSTER MURDER.

ARREST OF A WELL-KNOWN JOURNALIST,"

and further down I saw among the cross-headings:

"_Romantic Circ.u.mstances._"

"Half a minute; let's have a look," I exclaimed, s.n.a.t.c.hing the paper, fearing lest under that particular cross-heading there might be some allusion to Anne, or the portrait. But there was not; the "romantic circ.u.mstances" were merely those under which the arrest was effected.

Whoever had written it,--Southbourne himself probably,--had laid it on pretty thick about the special correspondents of _The Courier_ obtaining "at the risk of their lives the exclusive information on which the public had learned to rely," and a lot more rot of that kind, together with a highly complimentary _precis_ of my career, and a hint that before long a full account of my thrilling experiences would be published exclusively in _The Courier_. Southbourne never lost a chance of advertis.e.m.e.nt.

The article ended with the announcement: "Sir George Lucas has undertaken the defence, and Mr. Wynn is, of course, prepared with a full answer to the charge."

"Well, that seems all right, doesn't it?" I asked coolly.

"All right?" spluttered Jim, who was more upset than I'd ever seen him.

"You seem to regard being run in for murder as an everyday occurrence!"

"Well, it's preferable to being in prison in Russia! If Freeman hadn't taken it into his thick head to fix on me, I should have been dead and gone to glory by this time. Look here, Jim, there's nothing to worry about, really. I asked Freeman to wire or 'phone to you yesterday when we arrived, thinking, of course, you'd be at Chelsea; then Southbourne turned up, and was awfully good. He's arranged for my defence, so there's nothing more to be done at present. The case will come before the magistrate to-morrow; so far as I'm concerned I'd rather it had come on to-day. I don't suppose for an instant they'd send me for trial. The police can't have anything but the flimsiest circ.u.mstantial evidence against me. I guess I needn't a.s.sure you that I didn't murder the man!"

He looked at me queerly through his gla.s.ses; and I experienced a faint, but distinctly uncomfortable, thrill. Could it be possible that he, who knew me so well, could imagine for a moment that I was guilty?