Red Money by Fergus Hume (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📖

Chapter 11 ( Blackmail) Pg 103

Lambert,  And Would Leave The House By The Blue Door. Sir Hubert Went To

Watch And Prevent The Elopement. In That Way He Came By His Death,  Since

Lord Garvington Threatened To Shoot A Possible Burglar. Of Course,  Sir

Hubert,  When The Blue Door Was Opened By Lord Garvington,  Who Had Heard

The Footsteps Of The Supposed Burglar,  Threw Himself Forward,  Thinking

You Were Coming Out To Meet Mr. Lambert. Sir Hubert Was First Shot In

The Arm By Lord Garvington,  Who Really Believed For The Moment That He

Had To Do With A Robber. But The Second Shot," Ended Silver With

Emphasis,  "Was Fired By A Person Concealed In The Shrubbery,  Who Knew

That Sir Hubert Would Walk Into The Trap Laid By The Letter."

 

During This Amazing Recital,  Lady Agnes,  With Her Eyes On The Man's

Face,  And Her Hands Clasped In Sheer Surprise,  Had Sat Down On A Near

Couch. She Could Scarcely Believe Her Ears. "Is This True?" She Asked In

A Faltering Voice.

 

Silver Shrugged His Shoulders Again. "The Letter Held By Chaldea

Certainly Set The Snare In Which Sir Hubert Was Caught. Unless The

Person In The Shrubbery Knew About The Letter,  The Person Would Scarcely

Have Been Concealed There With A Revolver. I Know About The Letter For

Certain,  Since Chaldea Showed It To Me,  When I Went To Ask Questions

About The Murder In The Hope Of Gaining The Reward. The Rest Of My Story

Is Theoretical."

 

"Who Was The Person Who Fired The Shot?" Asked Lady Agnes Abruptly.

 

"I Don't Know."

 

"Who Wrote The Letter Which Set The Snare?"

 

Silver Shuffled. "Chaldea Loves Mr. Lambert," He Said Hesitating.

 

"Go On," Ordered The Widow Coldly And Retaining Her Self-Control.

 

"She Is Jealous Of You,  Lady Agnes,  Because--"

 

"There Is No Reason To Explain," Interrupted The Listener Between Her

Teeth.

 

"Well,  Then,  Chaldea Hating You,  Says That You Wrote The Letter."

 

"Oh,  Indeed." Lady Agnes Replied Calmly Enough,  Although Her Conflicting

Emotions Almost Suffocated Her. "Then I Take It That This Gypsy Declares

Me To Be A Murderess."

 

"Oh,  I Shouldn't Say That Exactly."

 

"I Do Say It," Cried Lady Agnes,  Rising Fiercely. "If I Wrote The

Letter,  And Set The Snare,  I Must Necessarily Know That Some One Was

Hiding In The Shrubbery To Shoot My Husband. It Is An Abominable Lie

From Start To Finish."

 

"I Am Glad To Hear You Say So. But The Letter?"

Chapter 11 ( Blackmail) Pg 104

 

"The Police Will Deal With That."

 

"The Police? You Will Let Chaldea Give The Letter To The Police?"

 

"I Am Innocent And Have No Fear Of The Police. Your Attempt To

Blackmail Me Has Failed,  Mr. Silver."

 

"Be Wise And Take Time For Reflection," He Urged,  Walking Towards The

Door,  "For I Have Seen This Letter,  And It Is In Your Handwriting."

 

"I Never Wrote Such A Letter."

 

"Then Who Did--In Your Handwriting?"

 

"Perhaps You Did Yourself,  Mr. Silver,  Since You Are Trying To Blackmail

Me In This Bareface Way."

 

Silver Snarled And Gave Her An Ugly Look. "I Did No Such Thing," He

Retorted Vehemently,  And,  As It Seemed,  Honestly Enough. "I Had Every

Reason To Wish That Sir Hubert Should Live,  Since My Income And My

Position Depended Upon His Existence. But You--"

 

"What About Me?" Demanded Lady Agnes,  Taking So Sudden A Step Forward

That The Little Man Retreated Nearer The Door.

 

"People Say--"

 

"I Know What People Say And What You Are About To Repeat," She Said In A

Stifled Voice. "You Can Tell The Girl To Take That Forged Letter To The

Police. I Am Quite Able To Face Any Inquiry."

 

"Is Mr. Lambert Also Able?"

 

"Mr. Lambert?" Agnes Felt As Though She Would Choke.

 

"He Was At His Cottage On That Night."

 

"I Deny That; He Went To London."

 

"Chaldea Can Prove That He Was At His Cottage,  And--"

 

"You Had Better Go," Said Lady Agnes,  Turning White And Looking

Dangerous. "Go,  Before You Say What You May Be Sorry For. I Shall Tell

Mr. Lambert The Story You Have Told Me,  And Let Him Deal With The

Matter."

 

Silver Threw Off The Mask,  As He Was Enraged She Should So Boldly

Withstand His Demands. "I Give You One Week," He Said Harshly. "And,  If

You Do Not Pay Me Twenty-Five Thousand Pounds,  That Letter Goes To The

Inspector At Wanbury."

 

"It Can Go Now," She Declared Dauntlessly.

Chapter 11 ( Blackmail) Pg 105

 

"In That Case You And Mr. Lambert Will Be Arrested At Once."

 

Agnes Gripped The Man's Arm As He Was About To Step Through The Door. "I

Take Your Week Of Grace," She Said With A Sudden Impulse Of Wisdom.

 

"I Thought You Would," Retorted Silver Insultingly. "But Remember I Must

Get The Money At The End Of Seven Days. It's Twenty-Five Thousand Pounds

For Me,  Or Disgrace To You," And With An Abrupt Nod He Disappeared

Sneering.

 

"Twenty-Five Thousand Pounds Or Disgrace," Whispered Agnes To Herself.

 

 

Chapter 12 ( The Conspiracy) Pg 106

It Was Lucky That Lambert Did Not Know Of The Ordeal To Which Agnes Had

To Submit,  Unaided,  Since He Was Having A Most Unhappy Time Himself. In

A Sketching Expedition He Had Caught A Chill,  Which Had Developed Once

More A Malarial Fever,  Contracted In The Congo Marshes Some Years

Previously. Whenever His Constitution Weakened,  This Ague Fit Would

Reappear,  And For Days,  Sometimes Weeks,  He Would Shiver With Cold,  And

Alternately Burn With Fever. As The Autumn Mists Were Hanging Round The

Leafless Abbot's Wood,  It Was Injudicious Of Him To Sit In The Open,

However Warmly Clothed,  Seeing That He Was Predisposed To Disease. But

His Desire For The Society Of The Woman He Loved,  And The Hopelessness

Of The Outlook,  Rendered Him Reckless,  And He Was More Often Out Of

Doors Than In. The Result Was That When Agnes Came Down To Relate The

Interview With Silver,  She Found Him In His Sitting-Room Swathed In

Blankets,  And Reclining In An Arm-Chair Placed As Closely To A Large

Wood Fire As Was Possible. He Was Very Ill Indeed,  Poor Man,  And She

Uttered An Exclamation When She Saw His Wan Cheeks And Hollow Eyes.

Lambert Was Now As Weak As He Had Been Strong,  And With The Mothering

Instinct Of A Woman,  She Rushed Forward To Kneel Beside His Chair.

 

"My Dear,  My Dear,  Why Did You Not Send For Me?" She Wailed,  Keeping

Back Her Tears With An Effort.

 

"Oh,  I'm All Right,  Agnes," He Answered Cheerfully,  And Fondly Clasping

Her Hand. "Mrs. Tribb Is Nursing Me Capitally."

 

"I'm Doing My Best," Said The Rosy-Faced Little Housekeeper,  Who Stood

At The Door With Her Podgy Hands Primly Folded Over Her Apron. "Plenty

Chapter 12 ( The Conspiracy) Pg 107

Of Bed And Food Is What I Give Master Noel; But Bless You,  My Lady,  He

Won't Stay Between The Blankets,  Being Always A Worrit From A Boy."

 

"It Seems To Me That I Am Very Much Between The Blankets Now," Murmured

Lambert In A Tired Voice,  And With A Glance At His Swathed Limbs. "Go

Away,  Mrs. Tribb,  And Get Lady Agnes Something To Eat."

 

"I Only Want A Cup Of Tea," Said Agnes,  Looking Anxiously Into Her

Lover's Bluish-Tinted Face. "I'm Not Hungry."

 

Mrs. Tribb Took A Long Look At The Visitor And Pursed Up Her Lips,  As

She Shook Her Head. "Hungry You Mayn't Be,  My Lady,  But Food You Must

Have,  And That Of The Most Nourishing And Delicate. You Look Almost As

Much A Corpse As Master Noel There."

 

"Yes,  Agnes,  You Do Seem To Be Ill," Said Lambert With A Startled

Glance At Her Deadly White Face,  And At The Dark Circles Under Her Eyes.

"What Is The Matter,  Dear?"

 

"Nothing! Nothing! Don't Worry."

 

Mrs. Tribb Still Continued To Shake Her Head,  And,  To Vary The Movement,

Nodded Like A Chinese Mandarin. "You Ain't Looked After Proper,  My Lady,

For All Your Fine London Servants,  Who Ain't To Be Trusted,  Nohow,

Having Neither Hands To Do Nor Hearts To Feel For Them As Wants Comforts

And Attentions. I Remember You,  My Lady,  A Blooming Young Rose Of A Gal,

And Now Sheets Ain't Nothing To Your Complexion. But Rose You Shall Be

Again,  My Lady,  If Wine And Food Can Do What They're Meant To Do. Tea

You Shan't Have,  Nohow,  But A Glass Or Two Of Burgundy,  And A Plate Of

Patty-Foo-Grass Sandwiches,  And Later A Bowl Of Strong Beef Tea With

Port Wine To Strengthen The Same," And Mrs. Tribb,  With A Determined

Look On Her Face,  Went Away To Prepare These Delicacies.

 

"My Dear! My Dear!" Murmured Agnes Again When The Door Closed. "You

Should Have Sent For Me."

 

"Nonsense," Answered Lambert,  Smoothing Her Hair. "I'm Not A Child To

Cry Out At The Least Scratch. It's Only An Attack Of My Old Malarial

Fever,  And I Shall Be All Right In A Few Days."

 

"Not A Few Of These Days," Said Agnes,  Looking Out Of The Window At The

Gaunt,  Dripping Trees And Gray Sky And Melancholy Monoliths. "You Ought

To Come To London And See The Doctor."

 

"Had I Come,  I Should Have Had To Pay You A Visit,  And I Thought That

You Did Not Wish Me To,  Until Things Were Adjusted."

 

Agnes Drew Back,  And,  Kneeling Before The Fire,  Spread Out Her Hands To

The Blaze. "Will They Ever Be Adjusted?" She Asked Herself Despairingly,

But Did Not Say So Aloud,  As She Was Unwilling To Worry The Sick Man.

"Well,  I Only Came Down To The Manor For A Few Days," She Said Aloud,