King of the Castle

“Sorry to be rude to a lady, but your face, ma’am, says he is at home, and will not show up.”

“What do you want?”

The man looked sharply round, and his eyes rested on the ajar door of the safe, with its casing of books, its old purpose being now at an end.

“Way into another room,” he said to himself; “he’s there. – I want Mr Glyddyr,” he continued firmly. “Now, look here, ma’am; I can feel for you, though I am a police officer, but I have my duty to do.”

“Your duty?”

“Yes, ma’am, my duty; and Mr Glyddyr is in there; he may as well come out like a gentleman, and let it all be quietly done. He must know that the game is up, and that any attempt at getting away from me is worse than folly. Will you let me pass?”

“Stop!” cried Claude excitedly, as, like lightning, thought after thought flashed through her mind; for at that moment she heard a cough and a step that she recognised only too well. And this man – police – it must be to arrest.

“Tell me,” she cried quickly, “what is it? Why have you come?”

“I’ll tell Mr Glyddyr himself, ma’am, please. Stand aside. I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve got my duty to do, and do it I will.”

He passed Claude sharply, brushing against her arm, and seized the thick door to draw it open, while the thought flashed through her brain —

“I am his wife. I prayed for a way to win his love – to give him mine. This man will arrest him, and I must save him if I can.”

Without pausing to consider as to the folly of her impulse, she turned on the man as he threw open the door and bent forward, and, thrusting with all her might, she sent him staggering in.

The door closed upon him with a loud clang.

“He is my husband,” panted Claude, mad with dread and excitement. “O Heaven help me! what has he done?”

At that moment, wild with jealous rage and doubt, Glyddyr came into the room, and ended, as she clung to him, speechless with emotion, by striking her savagely with such force as he possessed.

Claude uttered a low moan, and fell insensible across the entrance to the safe; while, after wrenching out the key, Glyddyr hurried panting from the library, closed and locked the door, and stood thinking.

“Yes,” he said, with a malignant look; “I’ll do that. Witnesses – witnesses! They shall all know.”

He crossed the hall to the drawing-room, and dragged at the bell so violently that, as he returned, the servants came hurrying through the swing-door.

“Here, quick, I want you,” he said hoarsely. “Ah, just in time,” he cried, as at that moment the entrance door was darkened, and Mary Dillon entered, with Trevithick trying to detain her, and closely followed by Sarah Woodham. “Better and better,” he said, with a grin. “This way – this way, witnesses, please.”

He unlocked and threw open the library door, and drew back for the others to go past.

“John Trevithick, quick! there is something wrong,” cried Mary, as she ran in – to shriek wildly and loudly, “Help! he has murdered her!”

“You villain!” roared Trevithick, seizing Glyddyr, but he wrested himself free.

“Bah! great idiot!” he cried. “There, look, she is only fainting – with joy, can’t you see?” he continued, as Claude uttered a sigh, and moved one hand. “Now then, witnesses,” he cried, with a savage laugh, “I have been out; I have just returned. This is my dear wife, who wishes for a divorce; and this,” he almost yelled, as he threw open the great book-covered door of the safe, “is our dear friend Mr – ”

He ceased speaking, with the malignant grin frozen upon his face, as the quick, stern-looking man staggered panting, half-suffocated from the safe, stared wildly for a few moments, and then, before Glyddyr could realise his position, recovered himself sufficiently to clap his hand upon the scoundrel’s shoulder.

“Mr Parry Glyddyr,” he cried, “you are my prisoner. I arrest you for murder!”

Volume Three – Chapter Nineteen.

Two Wives

Chris Lisle caught Trevithick, too, by the shoulder as he was leaving Danmouth that day, and, half wild with excitement, implored him to say whether the rumour was true.

“True enough, Mr Lisle. Mr Glyddyr is arrested, and his friend, who is believed to be an accomplice, was taken yesterday in London.”

Chris fell back, staring like one who has received some mental shock, and then walked slowly along the main street of the place to get to the bridge and go up the glen, so as to try and think quietly of all that it might mean to him.

As he went along he became dimly conscious of the fact that first one and then another touched his cap, or gave him a friendly nod; but he was too much dazed to pay any heed, and he could only come to one conclusion: that there must be as great a mistake here as there was over the rumour about himself.

“It is too horrible to be true,” he said, with a shudder.

At the Fort, Claude lay prostrate, unable to realise the truth of what had taken place, and shuddering from time to time as the terrible scene kept coming back.

“I would have spared her if I could,” Trevithick had whispered to Mary before leaving; “but it was better that she should suffer sharply for a time than all her life.”

Mary could not speak – she dared not trust herself for fear of saying words of which she would afterwards repent, for there was a great joy in her heart now that she knew the reason for Trevithick’s silence, and she could not even go to Sarah Woodham’s side, lest she should open her heart there.

Then came days of wild excitement in the place, with event after event occurring to keep the gossip at white heat. There were the examinations of Glyddyr, at which he preserved a stubborn silence. And a fresh excitement in the presence, at the second examination, of a handsome, sharp-looking woman fashionably dressed, who took up her abode after the examination at the hotel.

She had seated herself in the court by the help of a friendly – made friendly – policeman, where she could face Glyddyr; and when, at last, their eyes met, he started and changed colour, but composed himself directly, for another trouble was but a trifle compared to that overhanging his life.

It was no friendly look that he had encountered, neither was the keen glance directed at Gellow, who, upon the second morning, was placed beside Glyddyr in the dock. For Denise showed her teeth slightly in the malicious smile, watching and listening intently to the end.

“I did not know that I should find him through the newspapers,” she said to herself. “I was fooled by that man into believing that he was gone abroad, when I might have come down and seen this madam whom he has married. But it is well.”

Then came fresh fuel to keep the excitement at white heat. A gentleman was down from London, and it was known that orders had been given from high quarters that Gartram’s remains were to be taken from the vault. That there was to be a post mortem examination, and a great chemist in London was to assist in bringing the crime home to the prisoner under remand.

This was true enough, and Doctor Asher and his colleague were called upon to assist. Two other doctors were also going to be present, on behalf of the prisoner and the Government.

When Asher received his instructions he shuddered, and the paper dropped from his hand.

“It is too horrible!” he muttered. “I will not be dragged into it again.” But he had hardly uttered the words when his colleague arrived to talk the matter over with him.

“It is as horrible as it is absurd,” Asher said.

“Yes, but we have received our instructions, and cannot refuse.”

“But we performed our examination for the inquest,” protested Asher. “It is so unnecessary. The man is innocent. We know well enough the cause of death.”

The other shrugged his shoulders, and finally went away; while the next night it was being whispered, with bated breath, that the examination had been made, and there was talk of sealed bottles and the analytical chemist in London.

A week later, while the prisoners were lying under remand at the county gaol, Mrs Sarson tapped softly at Chris Lisle’s door, and entered.

He did not move, for he was thinking deeply of how he would give the world if he dared go to the Fort as a friend and say a few words to Claude.

“And I can make no sign; I dare make no sign,” he was muttering, as his landlady’s hand was laid upon his arm.