A Coin of Edward VII: A Detective Story

"I shan't leave Paris until I am certain that she is not in the place," declared Ware resolutely.

"Well, sir, I don't know how much more certain you wants to be. We've tramped them bullyvardes and Chamy Elizas till our feet are near dropping off. You're looking a shadow, Master Giles, if you'll excuse an old man as nursed you when you were a baby. She ain't here. Now I shouldn't be surprised if she were in London," said Trim wisely.

"What, in the very jaws of the lion? Nonsense!"

"Oh, but is it, sir? I always heard it said by them as knows that the jaws of the lion is the very last place any one expects to find them." Trim did not state what "them" he meant. "If she went back to Rickwell she would be safe, especially if she laid up in some cottage and called herself a widder."

"Trim, you've been reading detective novels!"

"Not me, sir; I ain't got no time. But about this going back – "

"We'll go back to-morrow, Trim," said Ware, with sudden resolution. And Trim joyfully departed to pack.

It just struck Giles that after all Trim might be right, and that having thrown the police off the scent by going abroad in the yacht, Anne might return to London. She might be there now, living in some quiet suburb, while the police were wasting their time corresponding with the French authorities. Moreover, Ware thought it would be just as well to learn what Steel was doing. He had charge of the case and might have struck the trail. In that case Giles wanted to know, for he could then avert any possible danger from Anne. And finally he reflected that he might learn something about Anne's friends from the people at the Governesses' Institute where Mrs. Morley had engaged her. If she returned to London it was not impossible that she might have gone to hide in the house of some friend. Any one who knew Anne could be certain that she was not guilty of the crime she was accused of, and would assuredly aid her to escape the unjust law. So thought Giles in his ardor; but he quite forgot that every one was not in love with Anne, and would scarcely help her unless they were fully convinced of her innocence, and perhaps not even then. Most people have a holy horror of the law, and are not anxious to help those in danger of the long arm of justice.

However, Giles reasoned as above and forthwith left Paris for London. He took up his quarters in the Guelph Hotel, opposite the Park, and began his search for Anne again. Luckily he had obtained from Mrs. Morley the number of the Institute, which was in South Kensington, and the day after his arrival walked there to make inquiries. It was a very forlorn hope, but Ware saw no other chance of achieving his desire.

The Institute was a tall red-brick house, with green blinds and a prim, tidy look. He was shown into a prim parlor and interviewed by a prim old lady, who wore spectacles and had a pencil stuffed in the bosom of her black gown. However, she was less prim than she looked, and had a cheerful old ruddy face with a twinkling pair of kindly eyes. In her heart Mrs. Cairns admired this handsome young man who spoke so politely, and was more willing to afford him the desired information than if he had been elderly and ugly. Old as she was, the good lady was a true daughter of Eve, and her natural liking for the opposite sex had not been crushed out of her by years of education. Nevertheless when she heard the name of Anne she threw up her hands in dismay.

"Why do you come here to ask about that unfortunate girl?" she demanded, and looked severely at Giles. Before he could reply she glanced again at his card, which she held in her fingers, and started. "Giles Ware," she read, drawing a quick breath. "Are you – "

"I was engaged to the young lady who was killed," said Ware, surprised.

Mrs. Cairns' rosy face became a deep red. "And you doubtless wish to avenge her death by finding Miss Denham?"

"On the contrary, I wish to save Miss Denham."

"What! do you not believe her guilty?"

"No, Mrs. Cairns, I do not. Every one says she killed the girl, but I am certain that she is an innocent woman. I come to ask you if you can tell me where she is."

"Why do you come to me?" Mrs. Cairns went to see that the door was closed before she asked this question.

"I thought you might know of her whereabouts."

"Why should I?"

"Well, I admit that there is no reason why you should – at least, I thought so before I came here."

"And now?" She bent forward eagerly.

"Now I think that if she had come to you for refuge she would get help from you. I can see that you also believe her guiltless."

"I do," said Mrs. Cairns in a low voice. "I have known Anne for years and I am certain that she is not the woman to do a thing like this. She would not harm a fly."

"Then you can help me. You know where she is?"

Mrs. Cairns looked at his flushed face, at the light in his eyes. In her shrewd way she guessed the secret of this eagerness. "Then you love her," she said under her breath. "You love Anne."

"Why do you say that?" asked Giles, taken aback. He was not prepared to find that she could read him so easily.

"I remember," said Mrs. Cairns to herself, but loud enough for him to hear, "there was a Society paper said something about jealousy being the motive of the crime, and – "

"Do you mean to say that such a statement was in the papers?" asked Ware angrily, and with a flash of his blue eyes.

"It was in none of the big daily papers, Mr. Ware. They offered no explanation. But some Society reporter went down to Rickwell; to gather scandal from the servants, I suppose."

"Off from Mrs. Parry," muttered Giles; then aloud, "Yes?"

"Well, this man or woman – most probably it was a woman – made up a very pretty tale, which was printed in The Firefly."

"A scandalous paper," said Ware, annoyed. "What did it say?"

"That you were in love with Anne, that you were engaged to Miss Kent, and that to gain you as her husband Anne killed the girl."

"It's a foul lie. I'll horsewhip the editor and make him put in an apology."

"I shouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Ware," said the old lady dryly. "Better let sleeping dogs lie. I don't believe the whole story myself – only part of it."

"What part, Mrs. Cairns?"

"That part which says you love Anne. I can see it in your face."

"If I can trust you – "

"Certainly you can. Anne is like my own child. I believe her guiltless of this terrible crime, and I would do anything to see her righted. She did not kill the girl."

"No, I believe the girl was killed by a nameless man who came to Rickwell from some firm of solicitors. I don't know why he murdered the poor child, no more than I can understand why Anne should have helped him to escape."

"You call her Anne," said Mrs. Cairns softly.

Giles flushed through the tan of his strong face.

"I have no right to do so," he said. "She never gave me permission. Mrs. Cairns, I assure you that there was no understanding between Miss Denham and myself. I was engaged by my father to Miss Kent, and we were to be married. I fell in love with Miss Denham, and I have reason to believe that she returned my love."

"She told you so?"

"No, no! She and I never said words like that to one another. We were friends; nothing more. Miss Kent chose to be jealous of a trifling gift I gave Miss Denham at Christmas, and there was trouble. Then came an anonymous letter, saying that Anne wished to kill Daisy."

"A letter, and said that?" exclaimed Mrs. Cairns in surprise. "But I can't understand it at all. Anne had no enemies, so far as I know. No one could hate so sweet a girl. Her father – "

"Did you know her father?" asked Ware quickly.

"No; but she often spoke of him. She was fond of her father, although he seems to have been a wandering Bohemian. He died at Florence."

"I wonder if he really did die."

"Of course. He – but it's a long story, Mr. Ware, and I have not the time to tell it to you. Besides, there is one who can tell you all about Anne and her father much better than I can. The Princess Karacsay. Do you know her?"