Lady Molly of Scotland YardOrczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness
General
Lady Molly of Scotland Yard
Orczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness
Detective and mystery stories; Police -- Great Britain -- Fiction
“The police would never dream of searching my house,” he said; “they
will take my word that De Mazareen is not here. Here!” he added,
pointing to a tall Jacobean wardrobe which stood in an angle of the
room. “In there, man, and leave the rest to me!”
“I am afraid that such a proceeding would bring useless trouble upon
you, Mr. Baddock,” once more interposed Lady Molly; “the police, if
they do not at once find Captain de Mazareen, will surely search the
house.”
“Impossible! They would not dare!”
“Indeed they would. The police know that Captain de Mazareen is here.”
“I swear they do not,” rejoined Mr. Baddock. “Felkin is no traitor,
and no one else----”
“It was I who gave information to the police,” said Lady Molly,
speaking loudly and clearly. “I called up the superintendent on the
telephone just now, and told him that his men would find the escaped
convict hiding at Appledore Castle.”
“You!” ejaculated Mr. Baddock, in a tone of surprise and horror, not
unmixed with a certain note of triumph. “You?”
“Yes!” she replied calmly. “I am of the police, you know. I had to do
my duty. Open the door, Mary,” she added, turning to me.
Captain Hubert had not spoken a word so far. Now, when the men, led by
Detective-Inspector Etty, entered the room, he walked with a firm step
towards them, held out his hands for the irons, and with a final look
at Lady Molly, in which love, trust, and hope were clearly expressed,
he passed out of the room and was soon lost to sight.
My dear lady waited until the heavy footfalls had died away; then she
turned with a pleasant smile to Mr. Philip Baddock:
“I thank you for your kind thoughts of me,” she said, “and for your
noble efforts on behalf of your nephew. My position was a difficult
one. I hope you will forgive the pain I have been obliged to bring
upon you.”
“I will do more than forgive, Lady Molly,” he said earnestly, “I will
venture to hope.”
He took her hand and kissed it. Then she beckoned to me and I followed
her into the hall.
Our brougham--a hired one--had been waiting in the stable-yard. We
drove home in silence; but half an hour later, when my dear lady
kissed me good night she whispered in my ear:
“And now, Mary, we’ll prove him innocent.”
XII.
THE END
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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