Chapter Fourteen

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      While that, to both of them, woeful conversation was going on between the mother of Roger Gretorex and the old lawyer, Ivy Lexton sat in her drawing-room, waiting impatiently for John Oram, and—his cheque.

      She felt quite differently from what she had felt the day before, and happier from every point of view. For fear, that most haunting of secret house-mates, had gone from her. Indeed, after seeing Mr. Oram, she had spent the rest of the afternoon at the establishment of the dressmaker who was just then the fashion in her set. Whilst there she had bought four black frocks “off the peg,” and she had also ordered a splendid fur coat.

      No wonder that she was now waiting feverishly for the old lawyer to call and take her across to the bank. Two thousand pounds? What an enormous lot of money! It was the first time Ivy had had even a quarter of such a sum absolutely at her disposal. In the old days, when Jervis was still a man of means, she had never had a regular allowance. She had simply run up bills, and Jervis, grumbling good-naturedly, had paid them.

      But the moments, the minutes, the quarters of an hour slipped by, and Mr. Oram dallied. What could have happened? She had become uncomfortably aware yesterday that Miles Rushworth’s solicitor did not like her, and that he thought Rushworth’s interest in her strange and inexplicable, so she began to feel thoroughly “rattled,” as she expressed it to herself.

      At last she heard the lift stop outside the flat. What did that portend? The longed-for coming of Mr. Oram with his bountiful cheque, or more trouble for her, for poor little Ivy?

      Then she gave a gasp—but it was a gasp of joy, for she had heard the lawyer’s frigid voice inquiring whether she were in. Before the maid could open the door of the drawing-room she had opened it herself and exclaimed, “Is it Mr. Oram?”

      She was too full of instinctive tact when dealing with any man to utter even a light word of reproach, though the solicitor was over an hour later than he had said he would be.

      Mr. Oram walked into the drawing-room, and then, very deliberately, he shut the door behind him.

      Again there came over Ivy a sick feeling of fear. He looked stern, forbidding, and as a certain kind of man looks when he is the bearer of bad news.

      “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said abruptly, “but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve brought the cheque, and we will proceed in a few moments to the bank. But first I would like to tell you, Mrs. Lexton, that circumstances have arisen that will make it impossible for me to act as your lawyer with regard to any proceedings that may arise in connection with your husband’s death.”

      He cleared his throat, and then went on: “As I cannot act for you, I will find you a first-class man, who will probably have far more time to devote to your affairs than I should have been able to do.”

      She looked at him, wondering what this really meant, and a tide of dismay welled up in her heart.

      “But Mr. Rushworth,” she began falteringly, “again told me, in a cable that I received only this morning, that you would do everything you could for me, Mr. Oram?”

      She had not meant to tell anyone of that long, intimately-worded cable, the first in which Rushworth had allowed something of his intense exultation at the knowledge that she was now free to pierce through the measured words. It seemed to her impossible that anyone could disregard the wishes of so important and, above all, so wealthy a man as Miles Rushworth. To Ivy the sound of money talking drowned every other sound in life. But this, to her discomfiture, was not the case with John Oram.

      “I know that,” and this time he spoke more kindly. “And I’m sorry I shall not be able to do what Mr. Rushworth very naturally hoped I could do. But I have discovered——” and then he stopped for what seemed to her a long time.

      He was wondering whether she was yet aware that Roger Gretorex had been arrested on the charge of having murdered her husband. Already the fact was billed in all the early editions of the evening papers.

      “The truth is,” he began again, and in a colder tone, “not only I, but my father before me, and my grandfather before him, acted in a legal capacity for the Gretorex family.”

      The colour rushed into Ivy’s face. She said defensively, “But need that make any difference, Mr. Oram?”

      “Well, yes, I’m sorry to say that it will, Mrs. Lexton. Roger Gretorex, as you are no doubt aware, was arrested last night on a charge of having poisoned Mr. Jervis Lexton. He has put his interests in my hands. It would not be to your advantage were you to employ the same solicitor as the man who is accused of having murdered your husband. I am sure,” he cleared his throat, “you are aware of what Dr. Gretorex’s motive is supposed to have been, assuming that he is guilty of that of which he is accused?”

      Ivy looked so frightened that for a moment he thought she was going to faint.

      Then she hadn’t known of Gretorex’s arrest? Even John Oram, who was already strongly prejudiced against her, could not doubt that the horror and distress with which she heard his news were genuine.

      She sank down into a chair.

      “But this is terrible—terrible!” she moaned.

      “It is terrible, Mrs. Lexton. And, incidentally, you see, now, how I am situated? When I came here to see you yesterday, I naturally did not associate my friend and client, Dr. Roger Gretorex, with the strange and mysterious circumstances surrounding your husband’s death. I have not yet seen a copy of the statement you appear to have made to the inspector who came to see you from Scotland Yard; but I gather that you made certain admissions that were very detrimental to my client.”

      “The man pressed me so! I didn’t want to hurt Roger,” she exclaimed, and thought she spoke the truth.

      Twenty minutes later, as the two came out of the bank, Mr. Oram said quietly:

      “With your permission, Mrs. Lexton, I am going to put you in touch with an old friend of mine, a most able lawyer named Paxton–Smith. He will not only watch your interests in a general sense, but you can trust him to give you the soundest advice. In your place, I would make a point of being frank with him concerning everything connected with your husband’s life as well