Ruff was not a cruel man. Nevertheless, he remained silent, and it seemed to her that his eyes were like points of fire upon her face.
“What is the matter?” she cried, with breaking voice. “What have you come for? Why don’t you speak to me?”
“Madam,” Peter Ruff said, “I should like to help you, and I will do what I can. But in order that I may do so, it is necessary that you should answer me two questions—truthfully!”
Her eyes grew wider. It was the face of a terrified child.
“Why not?” she exclaimed. “What have I to conceal?”
Peter Ruff’s expression never changed. There was nothing about him, as he stood there with his hands behind him, his head thrown a little forward, in the least inspiring—nothing calculated to terrify the most timid person. Yet the girl looked at him with the eyes of a frightened bird.
“Remember, then,” he continued, smoothly, “that what you say to me is sacred. You and I are alone without witnesses or eavesdroppers. Was it Brian Sotherst who shot Abbott—or was it you?”
She gave a little cry. Her hands clasped the sides of her head in horror.
“I!” she exclaimed, “I! God help me!”
He waited. In a moment she looked up.
“You cannot believe that,” she said, with a calmness for which he was scarcely prepared. “It is absurd. I left the room by the inner door as he took up his hat to step out into the hall.”
“Incidentally,” he asked—“this is not my other question, mind—why did you not let him out yourself?”
“We had disagreed,” she answered, curtly.
Peter Ruff bent his head in assent.
“I see,” he remarked. “You had disagreed. Abbott probably hoped that you would relent, so he waited for a few minutes. Brian Sotherst, who had escaped from his engagement in time, he thought, to come and wish you good night, must have walked in and found him there. By the bye, how would Captain Sotherst get in?”
“He had a key,” the girl answered. “My mother lives here with me, and we have only one maid. It was more convenient. I gave him one washed in gold for a birthday present only a few days ago.”
“Thank you,” Peter Ruff said. “The revolver, I understand, was your property?”
She nodded.
“It was a present from Brian,” she said. “He gave it to me in a joke, and I had it on the table with some other curiosities.”
“The first question,” Peter Ruff said, “is disposed of. May I proceed to the second?”
The girl moistened her lips.
“Yes!” she answered.
“Why did you sup alone with Austen Abbott last night?”
She shrank a little away.
“Why should I not?” she asked.
“You have been on the stage, my dear Miss Shaw,” Peter Ruff continued, “for between four and five years. During the whole of that time, it has been your very wise habit to join supper parties, of course, when the company was agreeable to you, but to sup alone with no man! Am I not right?”
“You seem to know a great deal about me,” she faltered.
“Am I not right?” he repeated.
“Yes!”
“You break your rule for the first time,” Peter Ruff continued, “in favour of a man of notoriously bad character, a few weeks after the announcement of your engagement to an honourable young English gentleman. You know very well the construction likely to be put upon your behaviour—you, of all people, would be the most likely to appreciate the risk you ran. Why did you run it? In other words, I repeat my question. Why did you sup alone with Austen Abbott last night?”
All this time she had been standing. She came a little forward now, and threw herself into an easy-chair.
“It doesn’t help!” she exclaimed. “All this doesn’t help!”
“Nor can I help you, then,” Peter Ruff said, stretching out his hand for his hat.
She waved to him to put it down.
“I will tell you,” she said. “It has nothing to do with the case, but since you ask, you shall know. There is a dear little girl in our company—Fluffy Dean we all call her—only eighteen years old. We all love her, she is so sweet, and just like I was when I first went on the stage, only much nicer. She is very pretty, she has no money, and she is such an affectionate little dear that although she is as good as gold, we are all terrified for her sake whenever she makes acquaintances. Several of us who are most interested made a sort of covenant. We all took it in turns to look after her, and try to see that she did not meet any one she shouldn’t. Yet, for all our precautions, Austen Abbott got hold of her and turned her silly little head. He was a man of experience, and she was only a child. She wouldn’t listen to us—she wouldn’t hear a word against him. I took what seemed to me to be the only chance. I went to him myself—I begged for mercy, I begged him to spare the child. I swore that if—anything happened to her, I would start a crusade against him, I would pledge my word that he should be cut by every decent man and woman on the stage! He listened to what I had to say and at first he only smiled. When I had finished, he made me an offer. He said that if I would sup with him alone at the Milan, and permit him to escort me home afterwards, he would spare the child. One further condition he made—that I was to tell no one why I did it. It was the man’s brutal vanity! I made the promise, but I break it now. You have asked me and I have told you. I went through with the supper, although I hated it. I let him come in for a drink as though he had been a friend. Then he tried to make love to me. I took the opportunity of telling him exactly what I thought of him. Then I showed him the door, and left him. Afterwards—afterwards—Brian came in! They must have met upon the very threshold!”
Peter Ruff took up his hat.
“Thank you!” he said.
“You see,” she continued, drearily, “that it all has very little to do with the case. I meant to keep it to myself, because, of course, apart from anything else, apart from Brian’s meeting him coming out of my rooms, it supplies an additional cause for anger on Brian’s part.”
“I see,” he answered. “I am much obliged to you, Miss Shaw. Believe me that you have my sincere sympathy!”
Peter Ruff’s farewell words were unheard. Letty had fallen forward in her chair, her head buried in her hands.
Peter Ruff went to Berkeley Square and found Lady Mary waiting for him. Sir William Trencham, the great solicitor, was with her. Lady Mary introduced the two men. All the time she was anxiously watching Ruff’s face.
“Mr. Ruff has been to see Miss Shaw,” she explained to Sir William. “Mr. Ruff, tell me quickly,” she continued, with her hand upon his shoulder, “did she say anything? Did you find anything out?”
He
