Presently he leaned forward. "It is a great pleasure to meet you here, Lady Carew," he said in his pleasant well-modulated tones. "Delightful to think that one of one's friends at any rate is safely in harbour, in spite of the world's storm and stress."
Then at last Judith turned her head slowly, and looked at him. Hardened sinner though he was, the man momentarily shrank from the horror, the loathing in her eyes.
"How—how dare you!"
He laughed brazenly. "My dear Lady Carew—"
Judith was still staring at him with big frightened eyes. She shuddered as she heard the sound of his laughter. "You—you are Lord Chesterham!"
"I am Lord Chesterham," he acquiesced, still with that evil smile. "Sometimes I have thought, I have wondered whether you knew, dear Lady Carew, whether you guessed—"
"Guessed—" Judith shrank away from him with unconquerable aversion. "Great heaven! how should I guess, how should I dream that such a thing should be—that heaven should let you come here—to torture me?"
He laughed softly. "I don't know that heaven had much to do with the matter. As for torturing you—if I had had any of the intentions with which you so kindly credit me, I might have said a few words that would have materially altered your son's position. But you see—" spreading out his hands.
"Ah, Paul!" Judith's throat twitched miserably, her staring eyes were dominated, held by the wicked smiling gaze of the man opposite. "You—you devil," she said hoarsely.
He laughed again. "Ah! Now if you talk to me like that I shall forget I am being honoured by a tête-à-tête with Lady Carew. I shall fancy I am back again at the Casa Civito with Judy—"
"Hush!" Judith's voice rose almost to a shriek; she threw up her arm with a gesture of despair. "You shall not mention that name here, you shall not. I forbid you, do you hear?"
The man glanced round uneasily. It was no part of his plan that she should be tormented into self-betrayal:
"Hush! Hush!" he said imperatively. "You are foolish! If I had intended to tell your secret should I not have spoken sooner? Come, we must be friends, you and I. We shall soon be related—let me see, what shall we be? Brother and Sister-in-law, I believe that is the precise term, is it not?"
Judith raised herself. "No!" she said jerkily. "No! We shall not be related; you shall never marry Peggy! You shall never be Peggy's husband!"
Chesterham's eyes darkened; he leaned forward and looked her fully in the face.
"How do you propose to prevent me?"
For one moment Judith struggled vainly for speech, her mouth twitched painfully.
"I will go to my husband, I will tell him—"
A sneer contorted the man's sensual lips. "What will you tell him? Where we last met, for instance? I can imagine your story interesting him enormously if you do. Come, Judy, don't be a fool!" as she stared at him helplessly. "Don't you see that you can't hurt me without betraying yourself? Don't you realize that you are hopelessly in my power? That instead of threatening me, you should be begging for my mercy, for my silence? Don't you think that Sir Anthony Carew, as well as the public generally, would be intensely interested to hear the circumstances of that last meeting?"
Judith caught her breath sharply. "Why haven't you told them? Why have you kept silence?"
He did not answer for a moment; his eyes were watching her face keenly.
"Because I was sorry for you," he said slowly at last. "Because I knew, none better, what your life had been like in the past; because I could guess something of what led to that last mad act." He shrugged his shoulders. "No. Let the police blunder on; I felt in no way bound to help them. You may rely on my silence, unless you interfere with my plans. Come, is it a bargain?"
He held out his hand; Judith struck it aside.
"No! No! How can I? How can I let you marry Peggy—you?"
Chesterham's expression was not pleasant to see as he tugged at his moustache.
"I think you are forgetting one thing," he said at last, gazing towards the rosery where a glimpse of the tail of Peggy's white gown was to be caught. "I may not be good enough to be Peggy's husband—Heaven forbid that I should contradict you," a momentary softening in his voice. "But," his eyes hardening to steel again, "I put it to you, should I not be at least as suitable as a husband for her as you for a sister-in-law? Do you think you are precisely in a position to throw stones?"
Judith quivered from head to foot, her throat was parched and burning. She drank feverishly of the tea standing by her side. It was cold now, but it seemed to steady her nerves, to cool the fever in her blood. She found courage to turn, to look fully at that mocking face at her side.
"I—I should like to tell you—to let you know that though you met me coming away from the flat that night that I never harmed him—Cyril," she said, speaking fast and jerkily. "I know that you think I did. It is natural perhaps, that you should, but I had nothing to do with his death—nothing."
"Then who had?" the man asked quietly. His eyes watched every movement of her face, every fluctuation of her colour.
Judith raised her eyes despairingly. "How should I know? I was there in the darkened room, and I heard the revolver shot, that is all I know. I did not see anyone, I—I only heard the breathing."
There was a pause. Judith's voice had ceased, her eyes were downcast. Still leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, Chesterham watched her intently.
Then at last he laughed aloud. The sound of it struck across Judith's flagging spirit like a lash of whipcord. She raised her head, her colour mounting hotly. Chesterham laughed again.
"I am afraid you will have to try another story, Lady Carew," he said lightly. "I will think over the affair myself. Perhaps I might be able to help you to something more probable. As for what you have told me—"
A certain amount of courage had come back to Judith. "I have told you the truth!" she said icily.
"Have you?" Chesterham questioned lightly. "Then I am afraid that it will hardly carry conviction. Let me put it to you. You had the strongest of all motives for getting rid of Stanmore. You are young, beautiful you have attained an assured position; you are happy in the love of your husband and your child. Stanmore's coming to England, his discovery of you spelt ruin for you. He insists on seeing you. Presumably, at any rate you visit him at his flat alone, late at night. The next morning he is found dead—shot. As far as can be ascertained by the strictest inquiry you were the only visitor; you were met and recognized coming away. No, no! I'm afraid your story won't do, Lady Carew."
"Nevertheless, it is true," Judith said wearily.
"Well, then," Chesterham shrugged his shoulders. "I should delay making it public for as long a time as possible, dear Lady Carew. In all probability it will be received with a good dealt of scepticism. In the meantime, I assure you, you may rely upon my silence as long as you do not interfere with my plans. Now allow me to suggest that you pull yourself together. Peggy is coming back, and some one is with her; it is not the estimable Crasster. I conclude, therefore, that it must be your—it must be Sir Anthony Carew."
Judith
