The Malefactor | Page 5

one
day--there was a row!"
Lovell paused, and took a drink from a glass by his side.
"I hope you fellows won't think that I'm spinning this out," he said. "It
is, after all, in itself only a commonplace story, but I've carried it
locked up in my memory for years, and now that I've let it loose, it
unwinds itself slowly. This is how the row came about. Lumley one

afternoon missed Wingrave and Ruth from the hunting field. Someone
most unfortunately happened to tell him that they had left the run
together, and had been seen riding together towards White Lodge,
which was the name of the house where these two young men lived.
Lumley followed them. He rode into the stable yard, and found there
Ruth's mare and Wingrave's covert hack, from which he had not
changed when they had left the field. Both animals had evidently been
ridden hard, and there was something ominous in the smile with which
the head groom told him that Lady Ruth and Wingrave were in the
house.
"The two men had separate dens. Wingrave's was much the better
furnished, as he was a young man of considerable taste, and he had also
fitted it with sporting trophies collected from many countries. This
room was at the back of the house, and Lumley deliberately crossed the
lawn and looked in at the window."
Lovell paused for a moment or two to relight his pipe.
"Remember," he continued, "that I have to put this story together,
partly from facts which came to my knowledge afterwards, and partly
from reasonable deductions. I may say at once that I do not know what
Lumley saw when he played the spy. The housekeeper had just taken
tea in, and it is possible that Wingrave may have been holding his
guest's hand, or that something in their faces or attitude convinced him
that his jealousy was well founded. Anyhow, it is certain that Lumley
was half beside himself with rage when he strode away from that
window. Then in the avenue he must have heard the soft patter of
hounds coming along the lane, or perhaps seen the pink coats of the
huntsmen through the hedge. This much is certain. He hurried down the
drive, and returned with Ruth's husband."
Lovell took another drink. No one spoke. No one even made a remark.
The little circle of listeners had caught something of his own gravity.
The story was an ordinary one enough, but something in Lovell's
manner of telling it seemed somehow to bring into their consciousness
the apprehension of the tangled web of passions which burned
underneath its sordid details.

"Ruth's husband--Sir William I will call him--stood side by side with
Lumley before the window. What they saw I cannot tell you. They
entered the room. The true story of what happened there I doubt if
anyone will ever know. The evidence of servants spoke of raised voices
and the sound of a heavy fall. Whey they were summoned, Sir William
lay on the floor unconscious. Lady Ruth had fainted; Lumley and
Wingrave were both bending over the former. On the floor were
fragments of paper, which were afterwards put together, and found to
be the remains of a check for a large amount, payable to Lady Ruth,
and signed by Wingrave.
"The sequel is very soon told. Sir William died in a few days, and
Wingrave, on the evidence of Lumley and Ruth, was committed for
manslaughter, and sent to prison for fifteen years!"
Lovell paused. A murmur went round the little group of listeners. The
story, after all, except for Lovell's manner of telling it, was an ordinary
one. Everyone felt that there was something else behind.
So they asked no questions whilst Lovell drank his whisky and soda,
and refilled his pipe. Again his eyes seemed to wander to the calendar.
"According to Lady Ruth's evidence," he said thoughtfully, "her
husband entered the room at the exact moment when she was rejecting
Wingrave's advances, and indignantly refusing a check which he was
endeavoring to persuade her to accept. A struggle followed between the
two men, with fatal results for Sir William. That," he added slowly, "is
the story which the whole world read, and which most of it believes.
Here, however, are a few corrections of my own, and a suggestion or
two for you, Aynesworth, and those of you who like to consider
yourselves truth seekers. First, then, Lady Ruth was a self-invited guest
at White Lodge. She had asked Wingrave to return with her, and as
they sat together in his room, she confessed that she was worried, and
asked for his advice. She was in some money trouble, ingeniously
explained, no doubt. Wingrave, with the utmost delicacy, offered his
assistance, which