A Crime on Canvas by Fred M. White

Author:Fred M. White
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pronoun

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XXVIII - THE FACE AGAIN

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WHETHER SIR ARTHUR HAD BEEN coaching his eccentric guest or not Lawrence could not say. At any rate, Omley behaved with great circumspection, and all signs of his previous hilarity had passed away. Certainly he had been a long way from sober when Lawrence saw him in the hall. But he was propriety itself at dinner and his conversation on art was luminous and entertaining. He spoke as if he knew the Blantyre family pictures by heart. And yet, from the few remarks which Ethel addressed to him, Lawrence concluded that she had never met the artist before. At the same time, he had spoken to Lawrence as if he were a frequent guest. The only conclusion he could come to was that Omley was in the habit of visiting Glenallan secretly, presumably late at night when the household had gone to bed. There was just a possibility that the wine might loosen Omley’s tongue, but the evening advanced quietly and nothing was said or done by the stranger to give any further clue to the reason why he was visiting Glenallan. Bed-time came at length, and even Omley seemed to be glad of the chance of retiring.

On Monday at noon came the London papers, which Lawrence proceeded to scan with a view to seeing if there was anything fresh in regard to the studio tragedy. A little later Watney and himself would be returning to London, but a judicious question or two thrown out in Omley’s direction elicited the fact that he would not be back in town till towards the end of the week.

The papers were crammed with all sorts of reports relating to the sensation of the hour. Some of them were idle extravagance, and some downright fiction. From the great mass of matter Lawrence failed to extract anything in the least likely to afford information or to suggest anything which could be directed against himself. He had disposed of most of the sheets when an arresting paragraph in one of the halfpenny papers caught his eye.

“Just before going to press,” the report ran, “there reached us an authentic account of a happening which may sooner or later tend to throw a flood of light upon the studio mystery. It appears that a woman named Marsh, whose occupation is that of house-cleaning and the like, was going home through Fitzroy Square on the night of the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Victor Le Blanc. Seen by a representative the woman distinctly recalls a set of circumstances which are in themselves highly suspicious. It seems that about midnight, Mrs. Marsh was passing close to the famous artist’s studio. As most of our readers know, the studio lies back from the road and is fenced by a large neglected garden in which it would be possible for a score of miscreants to hide without attracting the attention of the police. Mrs. Marsh would have gone on her way without having her suspicions aroused but

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