A Duel
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 30: Mrs. Lamb in Search of Advice
On the evening of that same day, at the door of Mr. Isaac Luker’s little house in that cul-de-sac near Stamford Street, some one knocked, in a rather unusual manner, as if after a prescribed fashion, then whistled half-a-dozen sharp, shrill notes up the scale. This performance was repeated thrice before anything happened to show that it had attracted attention within. Then a window was opened above; the solicitor’s head came out.
“Who’s there?”
A feminine voice replied--
“It’s me--Isabel. I want to speak to you. Don’t keep me waiting out here. Come down! let me in at once.”
There was a brief pause before the answer came, as if the man of law was endeavouring to see as much of his visitor as he could.
“Not much--I won’t have you in this house; don’t you think it; I’m not a fool. If you won’t go without a fuss I’ll soon get those who’ll shift you.”
“You are a fool. I don’t want money from you, or anything of that kind. I want to tell you something--that’s all.”
“Then tell it me from where you are; I’m listening.”
Mrs. Lamb’s voice dropped, so that her words were only just audible to the man above.
“Cuthbert Grahame’s money’s found.”
Another pause, possibly of doubt.
“Is that a lie?”
“I’ll swear it isn’t; it’s as true as I stand here.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s in his house”
“His house? What house? I didn’t know he’d got a house.”
“His house at Pitmuir--where I met him--where he died.”
“How do you know it’s there?”
“I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll let me in.”
“You’ll tell me before I let you in.”
“Margaret Wallace--that girl--you know--she came this morning and told me it was there.”
“I don’t believe it. Why should she, of all people, come and tell you a thing like that? Tell that for a tale.”
“She did; I swear she did. The money’s there--I know just where--a quarter of a million at least.”
“A quarter of a million?”
“At least! If I was there I’d have it in my hands inside two minutes. I’m as sure of it as I am that I’m alive. Don’t be silly; let me in, and let’s talk where we can be alone. I’m on the square--I swear it. I don’t want anything from you; I just want your advice--that’s all.”
There was another pause.
“Mrs. Lamb, I’ve got a telephone installed in these premises. I’m going to telephone to a friend that you’re here; I’m going to ask him to step round in a few minutes. If, when he comes, you’ve been making trouble, there’ll be trouble for you--you’ll be the sorriest woman that ever lived. I give you my word; when I give you my word on a point like that you know it goes. You wait there until I’m ready.”
The head was withdrawn; the window closed; the lady waited, impatiently enough. Her patience was sufficiently tried. It seemed to her that she waited an hour; she certainly did wait twenty minutes. More than once she was on the point of sounding a loud rat-a-tat on the knocker by way of a little reminder. It was only with an effort she restrained herself, being conscious that possibly Mr. Luker’s decision still hung in the balance, and that it needed but little to turn the balance against her. She had just arrived at a final conclusion that he had played her false, or, at any rate, intended to ignore her existence, when the door was opened, on the chain.
“I’ve telephoned to my friend; he’s coming; so, if you’re in an argumentative frame of mind, you’d better take my strong advice and stay outside. No argument will be allowed in here.”
It seemed to Mrs. Lamb that the wary Mr. Luker was carrying his wariness almost a trifle too far. She was unable to altogether conceal that this was her feeling.
“Bless the man! I don’t want to argue! I just want to explain exactly how the matter stands. When you’ve opened that door you’ll find that I mean just what I say, neither more nor less.”
“My friend, when he arrives, will see that you don’t mean more; you can take my word for that. Come inside!”
Mr. Luker removed the chain; the lady entered; he led the way to a room on the ground floor at the back. It was much better furnished than the exterior of the house, and its occupant’s appearance, might have led one to expect. A telephone, on its bracket against the wall, was one of the most prominent objects the room contained. Mr. Luker called her attention to its presence.
“You see? I’m not so much alone here as you might think; I’m in constant communication with my friend; and as he’ll be here very shortly, perhaps you’ll say what you have to say as quickly as you can.”
“It’d have been said already, if you hadn’t kept me cooling my heels outside while you were playing the fool in here with your telephone.”
As clearly and succinctly as possible--she could keep to the point when she liked--Mrs. Lamb told her tale, exhibiting Margaret’s drawings, partly by way of corroboration and partly to elucidate certain points which needed explanation.
“And you believe it?”
“Believe that the money’s inside that mantelpiece? I’m as certain of it as I am that I see you.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“His will was hidden in one corner of the room. All along I’ve felt sure that there were more hiding-places in it than one. I shouldn’t be surprised if there were half a dozen. It’s just the kind of room, and he’s just the kind of man. As for the mantelpiece, I’ve been bothered all along by a feeling that there was something about it which I ought to understand, and didn’t. Now I know what it is. Cuthbert Grahame’s money’s there as certainly as you are here. I tell you he was just the sort of curiosity--he wasn’t a man when I knew him!--who might be expected to play a trick like that.”
“But why should the girl come and tell you the tale when it was to her advantage to keep it dark--especially from you?”
“That’s more than I can say. I know she’s a white-faced little devil, and that I hate her. I lay she didn’t do it out of any love for me.”
“That, I think, we may take for granted--which makes the puzzle more. It looks to me as if she expects you to walk headlong into a trap which she has carefully baited.”
“Curse her traps! What do I care for her traps? She can’t set one which will catch me. The money’s there, and the money’s mine--and I’ll get it.”
“Then get it. It will be useful to you just now, even if there’s less than a quarter of a million.”
“Useful!--my God!--useful!” Stretching out her arms on either side, she drew a long breath. “But, Luker--that’s the mischief!--it’s in his room; the one in which he died.”
“Well; you’ve told me that already--what of it?”
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