Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

Ninon bent her head again, and that action prevented her from seeing that her last words had caused the doctor’s eyes to narrow. His gaze traveled from the miserable little figure at his side, to the bowl of anemones in front of him. It remained fixed, vacantly, on the garish flowers. Why should Sacha be so greatly afraid of Dick Lovelace, seeing that she was about to marry Barrington Bryan?

He started. He leaned toward Ninon.

“Last night,” he said, “Dick Lovelace told Lord Templewood, in my hearing, that Mrs. Malone was engaged to a man named Bryan, Barrington Bryan. I understand from Lord Templewood that you know this man.”

He got no farther than that.

Ninon had raised her head, and was staring at him.

She made a swift, furtive gesture with her right hand.

Dr. Hailey realized, with a thrill of astonishment, that she had crossed herself.

Chapter XXXI Lash of the Whip

Ninon moistened her lips, but no words came from them. The muscles of her shoulders began to twitch. Then she shivered all over her body.

“It is very cold in this room.”

She spoke breathlessly, as nervous people speak when they are anticipating danger. Dr. Hailey remembered that he had witnessed just such conduct in patients with neurasthenia during the German air raids on London — between the sounding of the first warning signal and the arrival of the enemy.

“Do you happen to know,” he asked, “whether Barrington Bryan was staying at his place in Leicestershire on the night when Orme Malone met his death?”

The girl glanced wildly about her, at the walls, the ceiling, the windows.

“Oh, no,” she muttered. “He was not there.”

“You are quite sure of that?”

“I am sure — because on that night he spoke to me on the telephone from London. It is a trunk call.”

She was still shivering and still her eyes wandered about the room.

“In that case,” the doctor said, “it is not possible that Bryan could have known anything about the real manner of Orme Malone’s death?”

Ninon started. She seemed to try to collect her wits.

“It is possible that some one, the servants or the peasants might have seen — something, and told him.”

“No. Had that happened, the whole world would have known. Servants and country folk in England never keep knowledge of a tragedy to themselves when that tragedy has reached the coroner’s court.” He contracted his brows. “If what you say is true, that Mrs. Malone attempted to commit suicide—”

Ninon was not listening to him. Fear was in her eyes, in her posture, in her breath. He rose to his feet.

“I am going to be frank with you,” he said. “You have told me that Mrs. Malone tried to take her own life because she feared for Dick Lovelace’s safety. And I know that when she made this attempt she was engaged to Barrington Bryan.

“Why should she fear for Lovelace’s safety? Why should she so greatly concern herself about it? May not the answer be that she was really in love with the man who had helped her to get rid of her drunken and infamous husband, and that this engagement had been forced on her by Bryan, under the threat of criminal proceedings against that man?”

Dr. Hailey raised his eyeglass. He had the satisfaction of observing that Ninon was now attending closely to his words.

“My difficulty,” he added, “is that you tell me Barrington Bryan was not at Redden on the night of the tragedy.”

He paused, giving the girl a chance to speak; but she remained silent.

“I am quite certain that Lord Temple wood did not furnish any information to Bryan,” he went on. “And it is incredible that either Lovelace or Mrs. Malone did so. Nor do I believe for a moment that the servants or the country folk knew anything.” His voice became grave. “There is only yourself left among those who could, possibly have played the part of ‘informer.’ ”

He broke off. Ninon jumped to her feet.

A wild cry of fear had come ringing to their ears from a distant apartment of the flat.

Ninon Darelli sprang to the door of the room and threw it open. She ran along the corridor toward another door which Dr. Hailey saw was shut. He was by her side before she had time to open this door.

When she opened it, a cry broke from the doctor’s lips.

Kneeling on a couch in the room, with her arms outstretched in supplication, was Sacha Malone. Above her eyes, across the white pallor of her brow, a long red weal extended from temple to temple. Beside the couch, on a small table, was Ninon Darelli’s crystal on its pedestal of black velvet.

He glanced round the room, seeking the girl’s assailant.

There was nobody in the room.