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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/28337-8.txt b/28337-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..394e121 --- /dev/null +++ b/28337-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10043 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hushed Up, by William Le Queux + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hushed Up + A Mystery of London + +Author: William Le Queux + +Release Date: March 15, 2009 [EBook #28337] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUSHED UP *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + +HUSHED UP! + +_A MYSTERY OF LONDON_ + +BY + +WILLIAM LE QUEUX + +LONDON +EVELEIGH NASH +1911 + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PROLOGUE PAGE + + I IS MAINLY SCANDALOUS 7 + II CONCERNS TWO STRANGERS 18 + + THE STORY OF OWEN BIDDULPH + + CHAP. + + I BESIDE STILL WATERS 35 + II TOLD IN THE NIGHT 46 + III THE CLERGYMAN FROM HAMPSHIRE 58 + IV THE PERIL BEYOND 68 + V THE DARK HOUSE IN BAYSWATER 79 + VI A GHASTLY TRUTH 89 + VII THE FLAME OF THE CANDLE 99 + VIII PRESENTS ANOTHER PROBLEM 107 + IX FACE TO FACE 117 + X CONTAINS A FURTHER SURPRISE 125 + XI WHAT THE POLICE KNEW 136 + XII THE WORD OF A WOMAN 145 + XIII THE DEATH KISS 156 + XIV OF THINGS UNMENTIONABLE 165 + XV FORBIDDEN LOVE 175 + XVI THE MAN IN GOLD PINCE-NEZ 185 + XVII THE MAN IN THE STREET 196 + XVIII PROOF POSITIVE 206 + XIX THROUGH THE MISTS 215 + XX THE STRANGER IN THE RUE DE RIVOLI 225 + XXI DESCRIBES AN UNWELCOME VISIT 234 + XXII MORE MYSTERY 242 + XXIII IN FULL CRY 253 + XXIV AN UNFORTUNATE SLIP 263 + XXV MORE STRANGE FACTS 272 + XXVI "SOME SENSATIONAL REVELATIONS" 281 + XXVII A CONTRETEMPS 291 + XXVIII THE FRENCHMAN MAKES A STATEMENT 298 + XXIX FURTHER REVELATIONS 307 + XXX CONCLUSION 313 + + + + +HUSHED UP! + + + + +PROLOGUE + +I + +IS MAINLY SCANDALOUS + + +"And he died mysteriously?" + +"The doctors certified that he died from natural causes--heart +failure." + +"That is what the world believes, of course. His death was a nation's +loss, and the truth was hushed up. But you, Phil Poland, know it. Upon +the floor was found something--a cigar--eh?" + +"Nothing very extraordinary in that, surely? He died while smoking." + +"Yes," said the bald-headed man, bending towards the other and +lowering his voice into a harsh whisper. "He died while smoking a +cigar--a cigar that had been poisoned! You know it well enough. What's +the use of trying to affect ignorance--_with me_!" + +"Well?" asked Philip Poland after a brief pause, his brows knit darkly +and his face drawn and pale. + +"Well, I merely wish to recall that somewhat unpleasant fact, and to +tell you that I know the truth," said the other with slow +deliberation, his eyes fixed upon the man seated opposite him. + +"Why recall unpleasant facts?" asked Poland, with a faint attempt to +smile. "I never do." + +"A brief memory is always an advantage," remarked Arnold Du Cane, with +a sinister grin. + +"Ah! I quite follow you," Poland said, with a hardness of the mouth. +"But I tell you, Arnold, I refuse to lend any hand in this crooked bit +of business you've just put before me. Let's talk of something else." + +"Crooked business, indeed! Fancy you, Phil Poland, denouncing it as +crooked!" he laughed. "And I'm a crook, I suppose," and he +thoughtfully caressed his small moustache, which bore traces of having +been artificially darkened. + +"I didn't say so." + +"But you implied it. Bah! You'll be teaching the Sunday School of this +delightful English village of yours before long, I expect. No doubt +the villagers believe the gentleman at the Elms to be a model of every +virtue, especially when he wears a frock-coat and trots around with +the plate in church on Sundays!" he sneered. "My hat! Fancy you, Phil, +turning honest in your old age!" + +"I admit that I'm trying to be honest, Arnold--for the girl's sake." + +"And, by Jove! if the good people here, in Middleton, knew the truth, +eh--the truth that you----" + +"Hush! Somebody may overhear!" cried the other, starting and glancing +apprehensively at the closed door of his cosy study. "What's the use +of discussing the business further? I've told you, once and for all, +Arnold, that I refuse to be a party to any such dastardly +transaction." + +"Ho! ho!" laughed Du Cane. "Why, wasn't the Burke affair an equally +blackguardly bit of business--the more so, indeed, when one recollects +that young Ronald Burke had fallen in love with Sonia." + +"Leave my girl's name out of our conversation, Arnold, or, by Gad! you +shall pay for it!" cried the tall, dark-haired, clean-shaven man, as +he sprang from his chair and faced his visitor threateningly. "Taunt +me as much as ever it pleases you. Allege what you like against me. I +know I'm an infernal blackguard, posing here as a smug and respectable +churchgoer. I admit any charge you like to lay at my door, but I'll +not have my girl's name associated with my misdeeds. Understand that! +She's pure and honest, and she knows nothing of her father's life." + +"Don't you believe that, my dear fellow. She's eighteen now, remember, +and I fancy she had her eyes opened last February down at the Villa +Vespa, when that unfortunate little trouble arose." + +Arnold Du Cane, the round-faced man who spoke, was rather short and +stout, with ruddy cheeks, a small moustache and a prematurely bald +head--a man whose countenance showed him to be a _bon vivant_, but +whose quick, shifty eyes would have betrayed to a close observer a +readiness of subterfuge which would have probably aroused suspicion. +His exterior was that of a highly refined and polished man. His grey +tweed suit bore evidence of having been cut by a smart tailor, and as +he lolled back in his big saddle-bag chair he contemplated the fine +diamond upon his white, well-manicured hand, and seemed entirely at +his ease. + +That August afternoon was stiflingly hot, and through the open French +windows leading into the old-world garden, so typically English with +its level lawns, neatly trimmed box-hedges and blazing flowerbeds, +came the drowsy hum of the insects and the sweet scent of a wealth of +roses everywhere. + +The pretty house in which his host, Philip Poland, alias Louis Lessar, +lived, stood back a little distance from the London road, two miles or +so out of the quiet market-town of Andover, a small picturesque old +place surrounded by high old elms wherein the rooks cawed incessantly, +and commanding extensive views over Harewood Forest and the undulating +meadow-lands around, while close by, at the foot of the hill, nestled +a cluster of homely thatched cottages, with a square church-tower, the +obscure village of Middleton. + +In that rural retreat lived the Honourable Philip Poland beneath a +cloak of highest respectability. The Elms was, indeed, delightful +after the glare and glitter of that fevered life he so often led, and +here, with his only child, Sonia, to whom he was so entirely devoted, +he lived as a gentleman of leisure. + +Seldom he went to London, and hardly ever called upon his neighbours. +With Sonia he led a most retired existence, reading much, fishing a +little, and taking long walks or cycling with his daughter and her +fox-terrier, "Spot," over all the country-side. + +To the village he had been somewhat of a mystery ever since he had +taken the house, three years before. Yet, being apparently comfortably +off, subscribing to every charity, and a regular attendant at +Middleton church, the simple country-folk had grown to tolerate him, +even though he was somewhat of a recluse. Country-folk are very slow +to accept the stranger at his own valuation. + +Little did they dream that when he went away each winter he went with +a mysterious purpose--that the source of his income was a mystery. + +As he stood there, leaning against the roll-top writing-table of his +prettily furnished little study and facing the man who had travelled +half across Europe to see him, Phil Poland, with clean-shaven face and +closely-cropped hair tinged with grey, presented the smart and dapper +appearance of a typical British naval officer, as, indeed, he had +been, for, prior to his downfall, he had been first lieutenant on +board one of his Majesty's first-class cruisers. His had been a +strangely adventurous career, his past being one that would not bear +investigation. + +In the smart, go-ahead set wherein he had moved when he was still in +the Navy opinion regarding him had been divided. There were some who +refused to believe the truth of the scandals circulated concerning +him, while others believed and quickly embellished the reports which +ran through the service clubs and ward-rooms. + +Once he had been one of the most popular officers afloat, yet +to-day--well, he found it convenient to thus efface himself in rural +Hampshire, and live alone with the sweet young girl who was all in all +to him, and who was happy in her belief that her devoted father was a +gentleman. + +This girl with the blue eyes and hair of sunshine was the only link +between Phil Poland and his past--that past when he held a brilliant +record as a sailor and had been honoured and respected. He held her +aloof from every one, being ever in deadly fear lest, by some chance +word, she should learn the bitter truth--the truth concerning that +despicable part which he had been compelled to play. Ah, yes, his was +a bitter story indeed. + +Before Sonia should know the truth he would take his own life. She was +the only person remaining dear to him, the only one for whom he had a +single thought or care, the only person left to him to respect and to +love. Her influence upon him was always for good. For the past year he +had been striving to cut himself adrift from evil, to reform, to hold +back from participating in any dishonest action--for her dear sake. +Her soft-spoken words so often caused him to hate himself and to bite +his lip in regret, for surely she was as entirely ignorant of the +hideous truth as Mr. Shuttleworth, the white-headed parson, or the +rustic villagers themselves. + +Yes, Phil Poland's position was indeed a strange one. + +What Du Cane had just suggested to him would, he saw, put at least +twenty thousand pounds into the pockets of their ingenious +combination, yet he had refused--refused because of the fair-headed +girl he loved so well. + +Within himself he had made a solemn vow to reform. Reformation would +probably mean a six-roomed cottage with a maid-of-all-work, yet even +that would be preferable to a continuance of the present mode of life. + +Bitter memories had, of late, constantly arisen within him. +Certain scenes of violence, even of tragedy, in that beautiful +flower-embowered villa beside the Mediterranean at Beaulieu, half-way +between Nice and Monte Carlo, had recurred vividly to him. He was +unable to wipe those horrible visions from the tablets of his memory. +He had realized, at last, what a pitiless blackguard he had been, so +he had resolved to end it all. + +And now, just as he had made up his mind, Arnold Du Cane had arrived +unexpectedly from Milan with an entirely new and original scheme--one +in which the risk of detection was infinitesimal, while the stakes +were high enough to merit serious consideration. + +He had refused to be a party to the transaction, whereupon Du Cane had +revived a subject which he had fondly believed to be buried for +ever--that terrible affair which had startled and mystified the whole +world, and which had had such an important political bearing that, by +it, the destinies of a great nation had actually been changed. + +A certain man--a great man--had died, but until that hour Phil +Poland's connection with the tragedy had never been suspected. + +Yet, from what Arnold Du Cane had just said, he saw that the truth was +actually known, and he realized that his own position was now one of +distinct insecurity. + +He was silent, full of wonder. How could Arnold have gained his +knowledge? What did he know? How much did he know? The strength of his +defiance must be gauged upon the extent of Arnold's knowledge. + +He set his teeth hard. The scandal was one which must never see the +light of day, he told himself. Upon the suppression of the true facts +depended the honour and welfare of a nation. + +Arnold Du Cane knew the truth. Of that, there could be no doubt. Did +he intend to use this knowledge in order to secure his assistance in +this latest dastardly scheme? + +At last, after a long silence, Poland asked in as cool a voice as he +could-- + +"What causes you to suspect that Sonia knows anything?" + +"Well," replied this crafty, round-faced visitor, "considering how +that young Russian let out at you when you were walking with her that +moonlight night out in the garden, I don't think there can be much +doubt that she is fully aware of the mysterious source of her father's +income." + +"Sonia doesn't know Russian. The fellow spoke in that language, I +remember," was his reply. "Yet I was a fool, I know, to have taken her +over that accursed place--that hell in paradise. She is always +perfectly happy at the Hôtel de Luxembourg at Nice, where each season +she makes some pleasant friends, and never suspects the reason of my +absences." + +"All of us are fools at times, Phil," was his visitor's response, as +he selected a fresh cigar from the silver box upon the table and +slowly lit it. "But," he went on, "I do really think you are going too +far in expecting that you can conceal the truth from the girl much +longer. She isn't a child, you must recollect." + +"She must never know!" cried the unhappy man in a hoarse voice. "By +Gad! she must never know of my shame, Arnold." + +"Then go in with us in this new affair. It'll pay you well." + +"No," he cried. "I--I feel that I can't! I couldn't face her, if she +knew. Her mother was one of the best and purest women who ever lived, +and----" + +"Of course, of course. I know all that, my dear fellow," cried the +other hastily. "I know all the tragedy of your marriage--but that's +years ago. Let the past bury itself, and have an eye to the main +chance and the future. Just take my advice, Phil. Drop all this +humbug about your girl and her feelings if she learnt her father's +real profession. She'll know it one day, that's certain. You surely +aren't going to allow her to stand in your way and prevent you from +participating in what is real good solid business--eh? You want money, +you know." + +"I've given my answer," was the man's brief response. + +Then a silence fell between the pair of well-dressed cosmopolitans--a +dead, painful silence, broken only by the low hum of the insects, the +buzzing of a fly upon the window-pane, and the ticking of the old +grandfather clock in the corner. + +"Reflect," urged Du Cane at last, as he rose to his feet. Then, +lowering his voice, he said in a hoarse whisper, "You may find +yourself in a corner over that affair of young Burke. If so, it's only +I and my friends who could prove an alibi. Remember that." + +"And you offer that, in return for my assistance?" Poland said +reflectively, hesitating for a moment and turning to the window. + +His visitor nodded in the affirmative. + +Next second the man to whom those terms had been offered quickly faced +his friend. His countenance was haggard, blanched to the lips, for he +had been quick to realize the full meaning of that covert threat. + +"Arnold!" he said in a hoarse, strained voice, full of bitter +reproach, "you may turn upon me, give me away to the police--tell them +the truth--but my decision remains the same. I will lend no hand in +that affair." + +"You are prepared to face arrest--eh?" + +"If it is your will--yes." + +"And your daughter?" + +"That is my own affair." + +"Very well, then. As you will," was the bald-headed man's response, as +he put on his grey felt hat and, taking his stick, strode through the +open French windows and disappeared. + +Phil Poland stood rigid as a statue. The blow had fallen. His secret +was out. + +He sprang forward towards the garden, in order to recall his visitor. +But next instant he drew himself back. + +No. Now that the friend whom he had trusted had turned upon him, he +would face the music rather than add another crime to his discredit +and dishonour. + +Philip Poland, alias Louis Lessar and half-a-score of other names, +halted, and raised his pale, repentant face to Heaven for help and +guidance. + + + + +II + +CONCERNS TWO STRANGERS + + +That night Phil Poland glanced longingly around the well-furnished +dining-room with its white napery, its antique plate, and its great +bowl of yellow roses in the centre of the table between the silver +candelabra with white silk shades. Alone he sat at his dinner, being +waited upon by Felix, the thin-faced, silent Frenchman in black who +was so devoted to his master and so faithful in his service. + +It was the last time he would eat his dinner there, he reflected. The +choice of two things lay before him--flight, or arrest. + +Sonia was on a visit to an old school-fellow in London, and would not +return until the morrow. For some reasons he was glad, for he desired +to be alone--alone in order to think. + +Since the abrupt departure of his visitor he had become a changed man. +His usually merry face was hard and drawn, his cheeks pale, with red +spots in the centre, and about his clean-shaven mouth a hardness quite +unusual. + +Dinner concluded, he had strolled out upon the lawn, and, reclining in +a long deck-chair, sipped his coffee and curaçao, his face turned to +the crimson sundown showing across the dark edge of the forest. He was +full of dark forebodings. + +The end of his career--a scandalous career--was near. The truth was +out! + +As he lay back with his hot, fevered head upon the cushion of the long +cane chair, his dead cigar between his nerveless fingers, a thousand +bitter thoughts crowded upon him. He had striven to reform, he had +tried hard to turn aside and lead an honest life, yet it seemed as +though his good intentions had only brought upon him exposure and +disaster. + +He thought it all over. His had, indeed, been an amazing career of +duplicity. What a sensation would be caused when the truth became +revealed! At first he had heaped opprobrium upon the head of the man +who had been his friend, but now, on mature consideration, he realized +that Du Cane's motive in exposing him was twofold--in order to save +himself, and also to curry favour in certain high quarters affected by +the mysterious death of the young Parliamentary Under-Secretary who +had placed to his lips that fatal cigar. Self-preservation being the +first instinct of the human race, it surely was not surprising that +Arnold Du Cane should seek to place himself in a position of security. + +Enormous eventualities would be consequent upon solving the mystery of +that man's death. Medical science had pronounced it to have been due +to natural causes. Dare the authorities re-open the question, and +allege assassination? Aye, that was the question. There was the press, +political parties and public opinion all to consider, in addition to +the national prestige. + +He held his breath, gazing blankly away at the blood-red afterglow. +How strange, how complicated, how utterly amazing and astounding was +it all. If the truth of that dastardly plot were ever told, it would +not be believed. The depths of human wickedness were surely +unfathomable. + +Because he, Phil Poland, had endeavoured to cut himself adrift from +his ingenious friends, they were about to make him the scapegoat. + +He contemplated flight, but, if he fled, whither should he go? Where +could he hide successfully? Those who desired that he should pay the +penalty would search every corner of the earth. No. Death itself would +be preferable to either arrest or flight, and as he contemplated how +he might cheat his enemies a bitter smile played upon his grey lips. + +The crimson light slowly faded. The balmy stillness of twilight had +settled upon everything, the soft evening air became filled with the +sweet fragrance of the flowers, and the birds were chattering before +roosting. He glanced across the lawns and well-kept walks at the +rose-embowered house itself, his harbour of refuge, the cosy place +which Sonia loved so well, and as his eyes wandered he sighed sadly. +He knew, alas! that he must bid farewell to it for ever, bid farewell +to his dear daughter--bid farewell to life itself. + +He drew at his dead cigar. Then he cast it from him. It tasted bitter. + +Suddenly the grave-faced Felix, the man who seldom, if ever, spoke, +and who was such a mystery in the village, came across the lawn, and, +bowing, exclaimed in French that the curé, M'sieur Shuttleworth, had +called. + +"Ah! yes," exclaimed his master, quickly arousing himself. "How very +foolish of me! I quite forgot I had invited Mr. Shuttleworth to come +in and smoke to-night. Ask him to come out here, and bring the cigars +and whisky." + +"Oui, M'sieur," replied the funereal-looking butler, bowing low as he +turned to go back to the house. + +"How strange!" laughed Poland to himself. "What would the parson think +if he knew who I am, and the charge against me? What will he say +afterwards, I wonder?" + +Then, a few moments later, a thin, grey-faced, rather ascetic-looking +clergyman, the Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, rector of Middleton, came +across the grass and grasped his host's hand in warmest greeting. + +When he had seated himself in the low chair which Poland pulled +forward, and Felix had handed the cigars, the two men commenced to +gossip, as was their habit. + +Phil Poland liked the rector, because he had discovered that, +notwithstanding his rather prim exterior and most approved clerical +drawl, he was nevertheless a man of the world. In the pulpit he +preached forgiveness, and, unlike many country rectors and their +wives, was broad-minded enough to admit the impossibility of a sinless +life. Both he and Mrs. Shuttleworth treated both chapel and +church-going folk with equal kindliness, and the deserving poor never +went empty away. + +Both in the pulpit and out of it the rector of Middleton called a +spade a spade with purely British bluntness, and though his parish was +only a small one he was the most popular man in it--a fact which +surely spoke volumes for a parson. + +"I was much afraid I shouldn't be able to come to-night," he said +presently. "Old Mrs. Dixon, over at Forest Farm, is very ill, and I've +been with her all the afternoon." + +"Then you didn't go to Lady Medland's garden-party?" + +"No. I wanted to go very much, but was unable. I fear poor old Mrs. +Dixon may not last the night. She asked after Miss Sonia, and +expressed a great wish to see her. You have no idea how popular your +daughter is among the poor of Middleton, Mr. Poland." + +"Sonia returns from London to-morrow afternoon," her father said. "She +shall go over and see Mrs. Dixon." + +"If the old lady is still here," said the rector. "I fear her life is +fast ebbing, but it is reassuring to know she has made peace with her +Maker, and will pass happily away into the unknown beyond." + +His host was silent. The bent old woman, the wife of a farm-labourer, +had made repentance. If there was repentance for her, was there not +repentance for him? He held his breath at the thought. + +Little did Shuttleworth dream that the merry, easy-going man who sat +before him was doomed--a man whose tortured soul was crying aloud for +help and guidance; a man with a dread and terrible secret upon his +conscience; a man threatened by an exposure which he could never live +to face. + +Poland allowed his visitor to chatter on--to gossip about the work in +his parish. He was reviewing his present position. He desired some one +in whom he could confide; some one of whom he might seek advice and +counsel. Could he expose his real self in all his naked shame; dare he +speak in confidence to Edmund Shuttleworth? Dare he reveal the ghastly +truth, and place the seal of the confessional upon his lips? + +Twilight deepened into night, and the crescent moon rose slowly. Yet +the two men still sat smoking and chatting, Shuttleworth somewhat +surprised to notice how unusually preoccupied his host appeared. + +At last, when the night wind blew chill, they rose and passed into the +study, where Poland closed the French windows, and then, with sudden +resolve and a word of apology to his visitor, he crossed the room and +turned the key in the lock, saying in a hard, strained tone-- + +"Shuttleworth, I--I want to speak to you in--in strictest +confidence--to ask your advice. Yet--yet it is upon such a serious +matter that I hesitate--fearing----" + +"Fearing what?" asked the rector, somewhat surprised at his tone. + +"Because, in order to speak, I must reveal to you a truth--a shameful +truth concerning myself. May I rely upon your secrecy?" + +"Any fact you may reveal to me I shall regard as sacred. That is my +duty as a minister of religion, Poland," was the other's quiet reply. + +"You swear to say nothing?" cried his host eagerly, standing before +him. + +"Yes. I swear to regard your confidence," replied his visitor. + +And then the Honourable Philip Poland slowly sank into the chair on +the opposite side of the fireplace, and in brief, hesitating sentences +related one of the strangest stories that ever fell from any sane +man's lips--a story which held its hearer aghast, transfixed, +speechless in amazement. + +"There is repentance for me, Shuttleworth--tell me that there is!" +cried the man who had confessed, his eyes staring and haggard in his +agony. "I have told you the truth because--because when I am gone I +want you, if you will, to ask your wife to take care of my darling +Sonia. Financially, she is well provided for. I have seen to all that, +but--ah!" he cried wildly, "she must never know that her father +was----" + +"Hush, Poland!" urged the rector, placing his hand tenderly upon his +host's arm. "Though I wear these clothes, I am still a man of the +world like yourself. I haven't been sinless. You wish to repent--to +atone for the past. It is my duty to assist you." And he put out his +strong hand frankly. + +His host drew back. But next instant he grasped it, and in doing so +burst into tears. + +"I make no excuse for myself," he faltered. "I am a blackguard, and +unworthy the friendship of a true honest man like yourself, +Shuttleworth. But I love my darling child. She is all that has +remained to me, and I want to leave her in the care of a good woman. +She must forget me--forget what her father was----" + +"Enough!" cried the other, holding up his hand; and then, until far +into the night, the two men sat talking in low, solemn tones, +discussing the future, while the attitude of Philip Poland, as he sat +pale and motionless, his hands clasped upon his knees, was one of deep +repentance. + +That same night, if the repentant transgressor could but have seen +Edmund Shuttleworth, an hour later, pacing the rectory study; if he +could have witnessed the expression of fierce, murderous hatred upon +that usually calm and kindly countenance; if he could have overheard +the strangely bitter words which escaped the dry lips of the man in +whom he had confided his secret, he would have been held +aghast--aghast at the amazing truth, a truth of which he had never +dreamed. + +His confession had produced a complication unheard of, undreamed of, +so cleverly had the rector kept his countenance and controlled his +voice. But when alone he gave full vent to his anger, and laughed +aloud in the contemplation of a terrible vengeance which, he declared +aloud to himself, should be his. + +"That voice!" he cried in triumph. "Why did I not recognize it before? +But I know the truth now--I know the amazing truth!" + +And he laughed harshly to himself as he paced his room. + +Next day Philip Poland spent in his garden, reading beneath the big +yew, as was his wont. But his thoughts ever wandered from his book, as +he grew apprehensive of the evil his enemy was about to hurl upon him. +His defiance, he knew, must cost him his liberty--his life. Yet he was +determined. For Sonia's sake he had become a changed man. + +At noon Shuttleworth, calm and pleasant, came across the lawn with +outstretched hand. He uttered low words of encouragement and comfort. +He said that poor Mrs. Dixon had passed away, and later on he left to +attend to his work in the parish. After luncheon, served by the silent +Felix, Poland retired to his study with the newspaper, and sat for two +hours, staring straight before him, until, just after four o'clock, +the door was suddenly flung open, and a slim, athletic young girl, +with a wealth of soft fair hair, a perfect countenance, a sweet, +lovable expression, and a pair of merry blue eyes, burst into the +room, crying-- + +"Hallo, dad! Here I am--so glad to be back again with you!" And, +bending over him, she gave him a sounding kiss upon the cheek. + +She was verily a picture of youthful beauty, in her cool, pale grey +gown, her hair dressed low, and secured by a bow of black velvet, +while her big black hat suited her to perfection, her blue eyes +adoring in their gaze and her lovely face flushed with pleasure at her +home-coming. + +Her father took her hand, and, gazing lovingly into her eyes, said in +a slow voice-- + +"And I, too, darling, am glad to have you at home. Life here is very +dull indeed without you." + +That night, when seated together in the pretty old-fashioned +drawing-room before retiring to bed--a room of bright chintzes, costly +knick-knacks, and big blue bowls of sweet-smelling pot-pourri--Sonia +looked delightful in her black net dinner-gown, cut slightly +_décolleté_, and wearing around her slim white throat a simple +necklace of pale pink coral. + +"My dear," exclaimed her father in a slow, hesitating way, after her +fingers had been running idly over the keys of the piano, "I want to +speak very seriously to you for a few moments." + +She rose in surprise, and came beside his chair. He grasped her soft +hand, and she sank upon her knees, as she so often did when they spoke +in confidence. + +"Well--I've been wondering, child, what--what you will do in future," +he said, with a catch in his voice. "Perhaps--perhaps I may have to go +away for a very, very long time--years perhaps--on a long journey, and +I shall, I fear, be compelled to leave you, to----" + +"To leave me, dad!" gasped the girl, dismayed. "No--surely--you won't +do that? What could I do without you--without my dear, devoted dad--my +only friend!" + +"You will have to--to do without me, dearest--to--to forget your +father," said the white-faced man in a low, broken voice. "I couldn't +take you with me. It would be impossible." + +The girl was silent; her slim hand was clutching his convulsively; her +eyes filled with the light of unshed tears. + +"But what should I do, dad, without you?" she cried. "Why do you speak +so strangely? Why do you hide so many things from me still--about our +past? I'm eighteen now, remember, dad, and you really ought to speak +to me as a woman--not as a child. Why all this mystery?" + +"Because--because it is imperative, Sonia," he replied in a tone quite +unusual. "I--I would tell you all, only--only you would think ill of +me. So I prefer that you, my daughter, should remain in ignorance, and +still love me--still----" + +His words were interrupted by Felix, who opened the door, and, +advancing with silent tread, said-- + +"A gentleman wishes to speak with m'sieur on very urgent business. You +are unacquainted with him, he says. His name is Max Morel, and he must +see you at once. He is in the hall." + +Poland's face went a trifle paler. Whom could the stranger be? Why did +he desire an interview at that hour?--for it was already eleven +o'clock. + +"Sonia dear," he said quietly, turning to his daughter, "will you +leave me for a few moments? I must see what this gentleman wants." + +The girl followed Felix out somewhat reluctantly, when, a few seconds +later, a short, middle-aged Frenchman, with pointed grey beard and +wearing gold pince-nez, was ushered in. + +Philip Poland started and instantly went pale at sight of his visitor. + +"I need no introduction, m'sieur. You recognize me, I see," remarked +the stranger, in French. + +"Yes," was the other's reply. "You are Henri Guertin, chief inspector +of the sûreté of Paris. We have met before--once." + +"And you are no doubt aware of the reason of my visit?" + +"I can guess," replied the unhappy man. "You are here to arrest me--I +know. I----" + +The renowned detective--one of the greatest criminal investigators in +Europe--glanced quickly at the closed door, and, dropping his voice, +said-- + +"I am here, not to arrest you, M'sieur Poland--but to afford you an +opportunity of escape." + +"Of escape!" gasped the other, his drawn countenance blanched to the +lips. + +"Yes, escape. Listen. My instructions are to afford you an easy +opportunity of--well, of escaping the ignominy of arrest, exposure, +trial, and penalty, by a very simple means--death by your own hand." + +"Suicide!" echoed Poland, after a painful pause. "Ah! I quite +understand! The Government are not anxious that the scandal should be +made public, eh?" he cried bitterly. + +"I have merely told you my instructions," was the detective's +response, as, with a quick, foreign gesture, he displayed on his left +hand a curious old engraved amethyst set in a ring--probably an +episcopal ring of ages long ago. "At midnight I have an appointment at +the cross-roads, half-a-mile away, with Inspector Watts of Scotland +Yard, who holds a warrant for your arrest and extradition to France. +If you are still alive when we call, then you must stand your +trial--that is all. Trial will mean exposure, and----" + +"And my exposure will mean the downfall and ruin of those political +thieves now in power--eh?" cried Poland. "They are not at all anxious +that I should fall into the hands of the police." + +"And you are equally anxious that the world--and more especially your +daughter--shall not know the truth," remarked the detective, speaking +in a meaning tone. "I have given you the alternative, and I shall now +leave. At midnight I shall return--officially--when I hope you will +have escaped by the loophole so generously allowed you by the +authorities." + +"If I fled, would you follow?" + +"Most certainly. It would be my duty. You cannot escape--only by +death. I regret, m'sieur, that I have been compelled to put the +alternative so bluntly, but you know full well the great issues at +stake in this affair. Therefore I need say nothing further, except to +bid you _au revoir_--till midnight." + +Then the portly man bowed--bowed as politely as though he were in the +presence of a crowned head--and, turning upon his heel, left the room, +followed by his host, who personally opened the door for him as he +bade him good-night. + +One hour's grace had been given Philip Poland. After that, the +blackness of death. + +His blanched features were rigid as he stood staring straight before +him. His enemy had betrayed him. His defiance had, alas! cost him his +life. + +He recollected Shuttleworth's slowly uttered words on the night +before, and his finger-nails clenched themselves into his palms. Then +he passed across the square, old-fashioned hall to the study, dim-lit, +save for the zone of light around the green-shaded reading-lamp; the +sombre room where the old grandfather clock ticked so solemnly in the +corner. + +Sonia had returned to the drawing-room as he let his visitor out. He +could hear her playing, and singing in her sweet contralto a tuneful +French love-song, ignorant of the hideous crisis that had fallen, +ignorant of the awful disaster which had overwhelmed him. + +Three-quarters of an hour had passed when, stealthily on tiptoe, the +girl crept into the room, and there found her father seated by the +fireplace, staring in blank silence. + +The long old brass-faced clock in the shadow struck three times upon +its strident bell. Only fifteen minutes more, and then the police +would enter and charge him with that foul crime. Then the solution of +a remarkable mystery which had puzzled the whole world would be +complete. + +He started, and, glancing around, realized that Sonia, with her soft +hand in his, was again at his side. + +"Why, dad," cried the girl in alarm, "how pale you are! Whatever ails +you? What can I get you?" + +"Nothing, child, nothing," was the desperate man's hoarse response. +"I'm--I'm quite well--only a little upset at some bad news I've had, +that's all. But come. Let me kiss you, dear. It's time you were in +bed." + +And he drew her down until he could print a last fond caress upon her +white open brow. + +"But, dad," exclaimed the girl anxiously, "I really can't leave you. +You're not well. You're not yourself to-night." + +As she uttered those words, Felix entered the room, saying in an +agitated voice-- + +"May I speak with you alone, m'sieur?" + +His master started violently, and, rising, went forth into the hall, +where the butler, his face scared and white, whispered-- + +"Something terrible has occurred, m'sieur! Davis, the groom, has just +found a gentleman lying dead in the drive outside. He's been murdered, +m'sieur!" + +"Murdered!" gasped Poland breathlessly. "Who is he?" + +"The gentleman who called upon you three-quarters of an hour ago. He's +lying dead--out yonder." + +"Where's a lantern? Let me go and see!" cried Poland. And a few +moments later master and man were standing with the groom beside the +lifeless body of Henri Guertin, the great detective, the terror of +all French criminals. The white countenance, with its open, staring +eyes, bore a horrified expression, but the only wound that could be +distinguished was a deep cut across the palm of the right hand, a +clean cut, evidently inflicted by a keen-edged knife. + +Davis, on his way in, had, he explained, stumbled across the body in +the darkness, ten minutes before. + +Philip Poland had knelt, his hand upon the dead man's heart, when +suddenly all three were startled by the sound of footsteps upon the +gravel, and next moment two men loomed up into the uncertain light of +the lantern. + +One was tall and middle-aged, in dark tweeds and a brown hat of soft +felt; the other, short and stout, wearing gold pince-nez. + +A loud cry of dismay broke from Poland's fevered lips as his eyes fell +upon the latter. + +"Hallo! What's this?" cried a sharp, imperious voice in French, the +voice of the man in pince-nez, as, next moment, he stood gazing down +upon the dead unknown, who, strangely enough, resembled him in +countenance, in dress--indeed, in every particular. + +The startled men halted for a moment, speechless. The situation was +staggering. + +Henri Guertin stood there alive, and as he bent over the prostrate +body an astounding truth became instantly revealed: the dead man had +been cleverly made-up to resemble the world-renowned police official. + +The reason of this was an entire mystery, although one fact became +plain: he had, through posing as Guertin, been foully and swiftly +assassinated. + +Who was he? Was he really the man who came there to suggest suicide in +preference to arrest, or had that strange suggestion been conveyed by +Guertin himself? + +The point was next moment decided. + +"You see, m'sieur," exclaimed Poland defiantly, turning to the great +detective, "I have preferred to take my trial--to allow the public the +satisfaction of a solution of the problem, rather than accept the +generous terms you offered me an hour ago." + +"Terms I offered you!" cried the Frenchman. "What are you saying? I +was not here an hour ago. If you have had a visitor, it must have been +this impostor--this man who has lost his life because he has +impersonated me!" + +Philip Poland, without replying, snatched at the detective's left hand +and examined it. There was no ring upon it. + +Swiftly he bent beside the victim, and there, sure enough, upon the +dead white finger was revealed the curious ring he had noticed--an +oval amethyst engraved with a coat-of-arms surmounted by a cardinal's +hat--the ring worn by the man who had called upon him an hour before! + + + + +THE STORY OF OWEN BIDDULPH + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +BESIDE STILL WATERS + + +If I make too frequent use of the first person singular in these +pages, I crave forgiveness of the reader. + +I have written down this strange story for two reasons: first, because +I venture to believe it to be one of the most remarkable sequences of +curious events that have ever occurred in a man's life; and secondly, +by so doing, I am able to prove conclusively before the world the +innocence of one sadly misjudged, and also to set at rest certain +scandalous tales which have arisen in consequence. + +At risk of betraying certain confidences; at risk of placing myself in +the unenviable position of chronicler of my own misfortunes; at risk +even of defying those who have threatened my life should I dare speak +the truth, I have resolved to recount the whole amazing affair, just +as it occurred to me, and further, to reveal completely what has +hitherto been regarded as a mystery by readers of the daily +newspapers. + +You already know my name--Owen Biddulph. As introduction, I suppose I +ought to add that, after coming down from Oxford, I pretended to read +for the Bar, just to please the dear old governor--Sir Alfred +Biddulph, Knight. At the age of twenty-five, owing to his unfortunate +death in the hunting-field, I found myself possessor of Carrington +Court, our fine Elizabethan place in North Devon, and town-house, 64a +Wilton Street, Belgrave Square, together with a comfortable income of +about nine thousand a year, mostly derived from sound industrial +enterprises. + +My father, before his retirement, had been a Liverpool ship-owner, +and, like many others of his class, had received his knighthood on the +occasion of Queen Victoria's Jubilee. My mother had been dead long +since. I had but few relatives, and those mostly poor ones; therefore, +on succeeding to the property, I went down to Carrington just to +interview Browning, the butler, and the other servants, all of them +old and faithful retainers; and then, having given up all thought of a +legal career, I went abroad, in order to attain my long-desired +ambition to travel, and to "see the world." + +Continental life attracted me, just as it attracts most young men. +Paris, with its glare and glitter, its superficial gaiety, its bright +boulevards, and its feminine beauty, is the candle to the moth of +youth. I revelled in Paris just as many a thousand other young men had +done before me. I knew French, Italian and German, and I was vain +enough to believe that I might have within me the making of a +cosmopolitan. So many young men believe that--and, alas! so many fail +on account of either indolence, or of narrow-mindedness. To be a +thorough-going cosmopolitan one must be imbued with the true spirit +of adventure, and must be a citizen of all cities, a countryman of all +countries. This I tried to be, and perhaps--in a manner--succeeded. At +any rate, I spent nearly three whole years travelling hither and +thither across the face of Europe, from Trondhjem to Constantinople, +and from Bordeaux to Petersburg. + +Truly, if one has money, one can lead a very pleasant life, year in, +year out, at the various European health and pleasure resorts, without +even setting foot in our dear old England. I was young--and +enthusiastic. I spent the glorious golden autumn in Florence and in +Perugia, the Tuscan vintage in old Siena; December in Sicily; January +in Corsica; February and March at Nice, taking part in the Carnival +and Battles of Flowers; April in Venice; May at the Villa d'Este on +the Lake of Como; June and July at Aix; August, the month of the Lion, +among the chestnut-woods high up at Vallombrosa, and September at San +Sebastian in Spain, that pretty town of sea-bathing and of gambling. +Next year I spent the winter in Russia, the guest of a prince who +lived near Moscow; the early spring at the Hermitage at Monte Carlo; +May at the Meurice in Paris; the summer in various parts of +Switzerland, and most of the autumn in the high Tatra, the foot-hills +of the Carpathians. + +And so, with my faithful Italian valet, Lorenzo, a dark-haired, smart +man of thirty, who had been six years in my service, and who had, on +so many occasions, proved himself entirely trustworthy, I passed away +the seasons as they came and went, always living in the best hotels, +and making a good many passing acquaintances. Life was, indeed, a +perfect phantasmagoria. + +Now there is a certain section of English society who, being for some +reason or another beyond the pale at home, make their happy +hunting-ground in the foreign hotel. Men and women, consumptive sons +and scraggy daughters, they generally live in the cheapest rooms _en +pension_, and are ever ready to scrape up acquaintance with anybody of +good appearance and of either sex, as long as they are possessed of +money. Every one who has lived much on the Continent knows them--and, +be it said, gives them a wide berth. + +I was not long before I experienced many queer acquaintanceships in +hotels, some amusing, some the reverse. At Verona a man, an Englishman +named Davis, who had been at my college in Oxford, borrowed fifty +pounds of me, but disappeared from the hotel next morning before I +came down; while, among other similar incidents, a dear, +quiet-mannered old widow--a Russian, who spoke English--induced me at +Ostend to assist her to pay her hotel bill of one thousand six hundred +francs, giving me a cheque upon her bank in Petersburg, a cheque +which, in due course, was returned to me marked "no account." + +Still, I enjoyed myself. The carelessness of life suited me, for I +managed to obtain sunshine the whole year round, and to have a good +deal of fun for my money. + +I had a fine sixty horse-power motor-car, and usually travelled from +place to place on it, my friend Jack Marlowe, who had been at Oxford +with me, and whose father's estates marched with mine on the edge of +Dartmoor, frequently coming out to spend a week or two with me on the +roads. He was studying for the diplomatic service, but made many +excuses for holidays, which he invariably spent at my side. And we had +a merry time together, I can assure you. + +For nearly three years I had led this life of erratic wandering, +returning to London only for a week or so in June, to see my lawyers +and put in an appearance for a few days at Carrington to interview old +Browning. And I must confess I found the old place deadly dull and +lonely. + +Boodles, to which I belonged, just as my father had belonged, I found +full of pompous bores and old fogeys; and though at White's there was +a little more life and movement now they had built a new roof, yet I +preferred the merry recklessness of Monte Carlo, or the gaiety of the +white-and-gold casinos at Nice or Cannes. + +Thus nearly three years went by, careless years of luxury and +idleness, years of living _à la carte_ at restaurants of the first +order, from the Reserve at Beaulieu to the Hermitage at Moscow, from +Armenonville in the Bois to Salvini's in Milan--years of the education +of an epicure. + +The first incident of this strange history, however, occurred while I +was spending the early spring at Gardone. Possibly you, as an English +reader, have never heard of the place. If, however, you were +Austrian, you would know it as one of the most popular resorts on the +beautiful mountain-fringed Lake of Garda, that deep blue lake, half in +Italian territory and half in Austrian, with the quaint little town of +Desenzano at the Italian end, and Riva, with its square old +church-tower and big white hotels, at the extreme north. + +Of all the spring resorts on the Italian lakes, Gardone appeals to the +visitor as one of the quietest and most picturesque. The Grand Hotel, +with its long terrace at the lake-side, is, during February and March, +filled with a gay crowd who spend most of their time in climbing the +steep mountain-sides towards the jealously guarded frontier, or taking +motor-boat excursions up and down the picturesque lake. + +From the balcony of my room spread a panorama as beautiful as any in +Europe; more charming, indeed, than at Lugano or Bellagio, or other of +the many lake-side resorts, for here along the sheltered banks grew +all the luxuriant vegetation of the Riviera--the camellias, magnolias, +aloes and palms. + +I had been there ten days or so when, one evening at dinner in the +long restaurant which overlooked the lake, there came to the small +table opposite mine a tall, fair-haired girl with great blue eyes, +dressed elegantly but quietly in black chiffon, with a band of pale +pink velvet twisted in her hair. + +She glanced at me quickly as she drew aside her skirt and took her +seat opposite her companion, a rather stout, dark, bald-headed man, +red-faced and well-dressed, whose air was distinctly paternal as he +bent and handed the menu across to her. + +The man turned and glanced sharply around. By his well-cut +dinner-coat, the way his dress-shirt fitted, and his refinement of +manner, I at once put him down as a gentleman, and her father. + +I instantly decided, on account of their smartness of dress, that they +were not English. Indeed, the man addressed her in French, to which +she responded. Her coiffure was in the latest mode of Paris, her gown +showed unmistakably the hand of the French dressmaker, while her +elegance was essentially that of the Parisienne. There is always a +something--something indescribable--about the Frenchwoman which is +marked and distinctive, and which the English-bred woman can never +actually imitate. + +Not that I like Frenchwomen. Far from it. They are too vain and +shallow, too fond of gaiety and flattery to suit my taste. No; among +all the many women I have met I have never found any to compare with +those of my own people. + +I don't know why I watched the new-comers so intently. Perhaps it was +on account of the deliberate and careful manner in which the man +selected his dinner, his instructions to the _maître d'hotel_ as to +the manner the entrée was to be made, and the infinite pains he took +over the exact vintage he required. He spoke in French, fluent and +exact, and his manner was entirely that of the epicure. + +Or was it because of that girl?--the girl with eyes of that deep, +fathomless blue, the wonderful blue of the lake as it lay in the +sunlight--the lake that was nearly a mile in depth. In her face I +detected a strange, almost wistful look, an expression which showed +that her thoughts were far away from the laughter and chatter of that +gay restaurant. She looked at me without seeing me; she spoke to her +father without knowing what she replied. There was, in those wonderful +eyes, a strange, far-off look, and it was that which, more than +anything else, attracted my attention and caused me to notice the +pair. + +Her fair, sweet countenance was perfect in its contour, her cheeks +innocent of the Parisienne's usual aids to beauty, her lips red and +well moulded, while two tiny dimples gave a piquancy to a face which +was far more beautiful than any I had met in all my wanderings. + +Again she raised her eyes from the table and gazed across the flowers +at me fixedly, with just a sudden inquisitiveness shown by her +slightly knit brows. Then, suddenly starting, as though realizing she +was looking at a stranger, she dropped her eyes again, and replied to +some question her father had addressed to her. + +Her dead black gown was cut just discreetly _décolleté_, which well +became a girl not yet twenty, while at her throat, suspended by a very +thin gold chain, was a single stone, a splendid ruby of enormous size, +and of evident value. The only other ornament she wore was a curious +antique bracelet in the form of a jewelled snake, the tail of which +was in its mouth--the ancient emblem of Eternity. + +Why she possessed such an attraction for me I cannot tell, except that +she seemed totally unlike any other woman I had ever met before--a +face that was as perfect as any I had seen on the canvases of the +great painters, or in the marbles of the Louvre or the Vatican. + +Again she raised her eyes to mine. Again I realized that the +expression was entirely unusual. Then she dropped them again, and in a +slow, inert way ate the crayfish soup which the waiter had placed +before her. + +Others in the big, long room had noticed her beauty, for I saw people +whispering among themselves, while her father, leaning back in his +chair on placing down his spoon, was entirely conscious of the +sensation his daughter had evoked. + +Throughout the meal I watched the pair carefully, trying to overhear +their conversation. It was, however, always in low, confidential +tones, and, strain my ears how I might, I could gather nothing. They +spoke in French, which I detected from the girl's monosyllables, but +beyond that I could understand nothing. + +From the obsequious manner of the _maître d'hotel_ I knew that her +father was a person of importance. Yet the man who knows what to order +in a restaurant, and orders it with instructions, is certain to +receive marked attention. The epicure always commands the respect of +those who serve him. And surely this stranger was an epicure, for +after his dessert I heard him order with his coffee a _petit verre_ of +gold-water of Dantzig, a rare liqueur only known and appreciated by +the very select few who really know what is what--a bottle of which, +if you search Europe from end to end, you will not find in perhaps +twenty restaurants, and those only of the very first order. + +The eyes of the fair-haired girl haunted me. Instinctively I knew that +she was no ordinary person. Her apathy and listlessness, her strangely +vacant look, combined with the wonderful beauty of her countenance, +held me fascinated. + +Who was she? What mystery surrounded her? I felt, by some strange +intuition, that there was a mystery, and that that curious wistfulness +in her glance betrayed itself because, though accompanied by her +father, she was nevertheless in sore need of a friend. + +When her father had drained his coffee they rose and passed into the +great lounge, with its many little tables set beneath the palms, where +a fine orchestra was playing Maillart's tuneful "Les Dragons de +Villars." + +As they seated themselves many among that well-dressed, gay crowd of +winter idlers turned to look at them. I, however, seldom went into the +nightly concert; therefore I strolled along the wide corridor to the +hall-porter, and inquired the names of the fresh arrivals. + +"Yes, monsieur," replied the big, dark-bearded German; "you mean, of +course, numbers one hundred and seventeen and one hundred and +forty-six--English, father and daughter, arrived by the five o'clock +boat from Riva with a great deal of baggage--here are the names," and +he showed me the slips signed by them on arrival. "They are the only +new-comers to-day." + +There I saw, written on one in a man's bold hand, "Richard Pennington, +rentier, Salisbury, England," and on the other, "Sylvia Pennington." + +"I thought they were French," I remarked. + +"So did I, monsieur; they speak French so well. I was surprised when +they registered themselves as English." + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +TOLD IN THE NIGHT + + +Sylvia Pennington! The face, the name, those wistful, appealing eyes +haunted me in my dreams that night. + +Why? Even now I am at a loss to tell, unless--well, unless I had +become fascinated by that strange, mysterious, indescribable +expression; fascinated, perhaps, by her marvellous beauty, unequalled +in all my experience. + +Next morning, while my man Lorenzo was waiting for me, I told him to +make discreet inquiry regarding the pair when in the steward's room, +where he ate his meals. Soon after noon he came to me, saying he had +discovered that the young lady had been heard by the night-porter +weeping alone in her room for hours, and that, as soon as it was dawn, +she had gone out for a long walk alone along the lake-side. It was +apparent that she and her father were not on the very best of terms. + +"The servants believe they are French, sir," my man added; "but it +seems that they tell people they are English. The man speaks English +like an Englishman. I heard him, half-an-hour ago, asking the +hall-porter about a telegram." + +"Well, Lorenzo," I said, "just keep your eyes and ears open. I want to +learn all I can about Mr. Pennington and his daughter. She hasn't a +maid, I suppose?" + +"Not with her, sir," he replied. "If she had, I'd soon get to know all +about them." + +I was well aware of that, for Lorenzo Merli, like all Italians, was a +great gossip, and quite a lady-killer in the servants' hall. He was a +dark-haired, good-looking young man whose character was excellent, and +who had served me most faithfully. His father was farm-bailiff to an +Italian marquis I knew, and with whom I had stayed near Parma, while +before entering my service he had been valet to the young Marchese di +Viterbo, one of the beaux of Roman society. + +When I reposed a confidence in Lorenzo I knew he would never betray +it. And I knew that, now I had expressed an ardent desire for +information regarding the man Pennington and his daughter, he would +strain every effort to learn what I wanted to know. + +The pair sat at their usual table at luncheon. She was in a neat gown +of navy blue serge, and wore a pretty cream hat which suited her +admirably. Her taste in dress was certainly wonderful for an +Englishwoman. Yet the pair always spoke French together, and presented +no single characteristic of the British whatsoever. + +Because of his epicurean tastes, the stout, bald-headed man received +the greatest attention from the waiters; but those splendid eyes of +his daughter betrayed no evidence of either tears or sleeplessness. +They were the same, wistful yet wonderful, with just that slightest +trace of sadness which had filled me with curiosity. + +After luncheon he strolled along the broad palm-lined terrace in the +sunshine beside the water's edge, while she lolled in one of the long +cane chairs. Yet, as I watched, I saw that she was not enjoying the +warm winter sunshine or the magnificent view of snow-capped mountains +rising on the far horizon. + +Presently she rose and walked beside her father, who spoke to her +rapidly and earnestly, but she only replied in monosyllables. It +seemed that all his efforts to arouse her interest utterly failed. + +I was lounging upon the low wall of the terrace, pretending to watch +the arrival of the little black-and-white paddle-steamer on its way to +Riva, when, as they passed me, Pennington halted to light a cigar. + +Suddenly he glanced up at me with a strangely suspicious look. His +dark eyes were furtive and searching, as though he had detected and +resented my undue interest in his daughter. + +Therefore I strolled down to the landing-stage, and, going on board +the steamer, spent the afternoon travelling up to Riva, the pretty +little town with the tiny harbour at the Austrian end of the lake. The +afternoon was lovely, and the panorama of mountain mirrored in the +water, with picturesque villages and hamlets nestling at the water's +edge, was inexpressibly grand. The deep azure of the unruffled water +stood out in contrast to the dazzling snow above, and as the steamer, +hugging the shore, rounded one rocky point after another, the scene +was certainly, as the Italian contadino puts it, "a bit of Paradise +fallen from heaven upon earth." + +But, to you who know the north Italian lakes, why need I describe it? + +Suffice it to say that I took tea in the big hall of the Lido Palace +Hotel at Riva, and then, boarding the steamer again, returned to +Gardone just in time to dress for dinner. + +I think that Pennington had forbidden his daughter to look at me, for +never once during dinner the next evening, as far as I could detect, +did she raise her eyes to mine. When not eating, she sat, a pretty +figure in cream chiffon, with her elbows upon the table, her chin upon +her clasped hands, talking to her father in that low, confidential +tone. Were they talking secrets? + +Just before they rose I heard him say in English-- + +"I'm going out for an hour--just for a stroll. I may be longer. If I'm +not back all night, don't be anxious. I may be detained." + +"Where are you going?" she asked quickly. + +"That is my affair," was his abrupt reply. Her face assumed a strange +expression. Then she passed along the room, he following. + +As soon as they had gone my mind was made up. I scented mystery. I +ascended in the lift to my room, got my coat, and, going outside into +the ill-lit road beyond the zone of the electric lights in front of +the hotel, I waited. + +The man was not long in coming. He wore a golf-cap and a thick +overcoat, and carried a stout stick. On the steps of the hotel he +paused, lit his cigar, and then set off to the left, down the +principal street--the highroad which led to the clean little town of +Salo and the southern end of the lake. + +I lounged along after him at a respectable distance, all curiosity at +the reason why, in that rural retreat, he intended to be absent all +night. + +He went along at a swinging pace, passing around the lake-front of the +town which almost adjoins Gardone, and then began to ascend the steep +hill beyond. Upon the still night air I could scent the aroma of his +cigar. He was now on his way out into a wild and rather desolate +country, high above the lake. But after walking about a mile he came +to a point where the roads branched, one to Verona, the other to +Brescia. + +There he halted, and, seating himself upon a big stone at the wayside, +smoked in patience, and waited. I advanced as near as I could without +risk of detection, and watched. + +He struck a match in order to look at his watch. Then he rose and +listened intently. The night was dark and silent, with heavy clouds +hanging about the mountains, threatening rain. + +I suppose he had waited fully another quarter of an hour, when +suddenly, far away over the brow of the hill in the direction of +Brescia, I saw a peculiar light in the sky. At first I was puzzled, +but as it gradually grew larger and whiter I knew that it came from +the head-lights of an approaching motor-car. Next moment the hum of +the engine fell on my ears, and suddenly the whole roadway became +illuminated, so suddenly, indeed, that I had only just time to crouch +down in order to avoid detection. + +Pennington shouted to the driver, and he instantly pulled up. Then two +men in thick overcoats descended, and welcomed him warmly in English. + +"Come along, old man!" I heard one of them cry. "Come inside. We must +be off again, for we haven't a moment to spare. How's the girl?" + +Then they entered the car, which was quickly turned, and a few moments +later disappeared swiftly along the road it had come. + +I stood, full of wonder, watching the white light fade away. + +Who were Pennington's friends, that he should meet them in so secret a +manner? + +"How's the girl?" Had that man referred to Sylvia? There was mystery +somewhere. I felt certain of it. + +Down the hill I retraced my steps, on through the little town, now +wrapped in slumber, and back to the Grand Hotel, where nearly every +one had already retired to bed. In a corner of the big lounge, +however, Pennington's daughter was seated alone, reading a Tauchnitz +novel. + +I felt in no humour to turn in just then, for I was rather used to +late hours; therefore I passed through the lounge and out upon the +terrace, in order to smoke and think. The clouds were lifting, and the +moon was struggling through, casting an uncertain light across the +broad dark waters. + +I had thrown myself into a wicker chair near the end of the terrace, +and, with a cigarette, was pondering deeply, when, of a sudden, I saw +a female figure, wrapped in a pale blue shawl, coming in my direction. + +I recognized the cream skirt and the shawl. It was Sylvia! Ah! how +inexpressibly charming and dainty she looked! + +When she had passed, I rose and, meeting her face to face, raised my +hat and spoke to her. + +She started slightly and halted. What words I uttered I hardly knew, +but a few moments later I found myself strolling at her side, chatting +merrily in English. Her chiffons exuded the delicate scent of Rose +d'Orsay, that sweet perfume which is the hall-mark of the modern +well-dressed woman. + +And she was undoubtedly English, after all! + +"Oh no," she declared in a low, musical voice, in response to a fear I +had expressed, "I am not at all cold. This place is so charming, and +so warm, to where my father and I have recently been--at Uleaborg, in +Finland." + +"At Uleaborg!" I echoed. "Why, that is away--out of the world--at the +northern end of the Gulf of Bothnia!" + +"Yes," she declared, with a light laugh. "It is so windy and cold, and +oh! so wretchedly dull." + +"I should rather think so!" I cried. "Why, it is almost within the +Arctic Circle. Why did you go up there--so far north--in winter?" + +"Ah!" she sighed, "we are always travelling. My father is the modern +Wandering Jew, I think. Our movements are always sudden, and our +journeys always long ones--from one end of Europe to the other very +often." + +"You seem tired of it!" I remarked. + +"Tired!" she gasped, her voice changing. "Ah! if you only knew how I +long for peace, for rest--for home!" and she sighed. + +"Where is your home?" + +"Anywhere, now-a-days," was her rather despondent reply. "We are +wanderers. We lived in England once--but, alas! that is now all of the +past. My father is compelled to travel, and I must, of necessity, go +with him. I am afraid," she added quickly, "that I bore you with this +chronicle of my own troubles. I really ought not to say this--to you, +a stranger," she said, with a low, nervous little laugh. + +"Though I may be a stranger, yet, surely, I may become your friend," I +remarked, looking into her beautiful face, half concealed by the blue +wrap. + +For a moment she hesitated; then, halting in the gravelled path and +looking at me, she replied very seriously-- + +"No; please do not speak of that again." + +"Why not?" + +"Well--only because you must not become my friend." + +"You are lonely," I blurted forth. "I have watched you, and I have +seen that you are in sore need of a friend. Do you deny that?" + +"No," she faltered. "I--I--yes, what you say is, alas! correct. How +can I deny it? I have no friend; I am alone." + +"Then allow me to be one. Put to me whatever test you will," I +exclaimed, "and I hope I may bear it satisfactorily. I, too, am a +lonely man--a wanderer. I, too, am in need of a friend in whom I can +confide, whose guidance I can ask. Surely there is no friend better +for a lonely man than a good woman?" + +"Ah, no," she cried, suddenly covering her face with both her hands. +"You don't know--you are ignorant. Why do you say this?" + +"Why? Shall I tell you why?" I asked, gallantly bending to her in deep +earnestness. "Because I have watched you--because I know you are very +unhappy!" + +She held her breath. By the faint ray of the distant electric light I +saw her face had become changed. She betrayed her emotions and her +nervousness by the quick twitching of her fingers and her lips. + +"No," she said at last very decisively; "you must abandon all thought +of friendship with me. It is impossible--quite impossible!" + +"Would my friendship be so repugnant to you, then?" I asked quickly. + +"No, no, not that," she cried, laying her trembling fingers upon my +coat-sleeve. "You--you don't understand--you cannot dream of my +horrible position--of the imminent peril of yours." + +"Peril! What do you mean?" I asked, very much puzzled. + +"You are in grave danger. Be careful of yourself," she said anxiously. +"You should always carry some weapon with you, because----" and she +broke off short, without concluding her sentence. + +"Because--why?" + +"Well, because an accident might happen to you--an accident planned by +those who are your enemies." + +"I really don't understand you," I said. "Do you mean to imply that +there is some conspiracy afoot against me?" + +"I warn you in all seriousness," she said. "I--well, the fact is, I +came out here--I followed you out--in order to tell you this in +secret. Leave here, I beg of you; leave early to-morrow morning, and +do not allow the hotel people to know your new address. Go +somewhere--far away--and live in secret under an assumed name. Let +Owen Biddulph disappear as though the earth had swallowed him up." + +"Then you are aware of my name!" I exclaimed. + +"Certainly," she replied. "But do--I beg of you for your own +sake--heed my warning! Ah! it is cruel and horrible that I--of all +women--have to tell you this!" + +"I always carry a revolver," I replied, "and I have long ago learned +to shoot straight." + +"Be guarded always against a secret and insidious attack," she urged. +"I must go in--now that I have told you the truth." + +"And do you, then, refuse to become my friend, Miss Pennington?" I +asked very earnestly. "Surely you are my friend already, because you +have told me this!" + +"Yes," she answered, adding, "Ah! you do not know the real facts! You +would not ask this if you were aware of the bitter, ghastly truth. You +would not ask my friendship--nay, you would hate and curse me +instead!" + +"But why?" I asked, amazed at her words. "You speak in enigmas." + +She was silent again. Then her nervous fingers once more gripped my +arm, as, looking into my face, her eyes shining with a weird, unusual +light, she replied in quick, breathless sentences-- + +"Because--because friendship between us must never, never be; it would +be fatal to you, just as it would be fatal to me! Death--yes, +death--will come to me quickly and swiftly--perhaps to-night, perhaps +to-morrow, perhaps in a week's time. For it, I am quite prepared. All +is lost--lost to me for ever! Only have a care of yourself, I beseech +of you! Heed what I say. Escape the cruel fate which your enemies have +marked out for you--escape while there is yet time, and--and," she +faltered in a low, hoarse voice, full of emotion, "some day in the +future, perhaps, you will give a passing thought to the memory of a +woman who revealed to you the truth--who saved you from an untimely +end--the unhappy woman without a friend!" + +"But I will be your friend!" I repeated. + +"No. That can never be--_never_!" and she shuddered. "I dare not risk +it. Reflect--and escape--get away in secret, and take care that you +are not followed. Remember, however, we can never be friends. Such a +course would be fatal--yes, alas! _fatal_!" + +Instinctively she put out her tiny white hand in frank farewell. Then, +when I had held it for a second in my own, she turned and, drawing her +shawl about her, hurried back to the big hotel. + +Utterly dumbfounded, I stood for a few seconds dazed and wondering, +the sweet odour of Rose d'Orsay filling my nostrils. What did she +know? + +Then suddenly I held my breath, for there I saw for the first time, +standing back in the shadow of the trees, straight before me, +motionless as a statue, the tall, dark figure of a man who had +evidently watched us the whole time, and who had, no doubt, overheard +all our conversation! + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE CLERGYMAN FROM HAMPSHIRE + + +What was the meaning of it all? Why had that tall, mysterious stranger +watched so intently? I looked across at him, but he did not budge, +even though detected. + +In a flash, all the strange warnings of Sylvia Pennington crowded upon +my mind. + +I stood facing the man as he lurked there in the shadow, determined +that he should reveal his face. Those curious words of the mysterious +girl had placed me upon my mettle. Who were the unknown enemies of +mine who were conspiring against me? + +Should I take her advice and leave Gardone, or should I remain on my +guard, and hand them over to the police at first sign of attack? + +The silent watcher did not move. He stood back there in the darkness, +motionless as a statue, while I remained full in the light of the +moon, which had now come forth, causing the lake and mountains to look +almost fairy-like. + +In order to impress upon him the fact that I was in no hurry, I lit a +cigarette, and seated myself upon the low wall of the terrace, softly +whistling an air of the café chantant. The night was now glorious, +the mountain crests showing white in the moonlight. + +Who was this man, I wondered? I regretted that we had not discovered +his presence before Sylvia had left. She would, no doubt, have +recognized him, and told me the reason of his watchfulness. + +At last, I suppose, I must have tired him out, for suddenly he +hastened from his hiding-place, and, creeping beneath the shadow of +the hotel, succeeded in reaching the door through which Sylvia had +passed. + +As he entered, the light from the lounge within gave me a swift glance +of his features. He was a thin, grey-faced, rather sad-looking man, +dressed in black, but, to my surprise, I noticed that his collar was +that of an English clergyman! + +This struck me as most remarkable. Clergymen are not usually persons +to be feared. + +I smiled to myself, for, after all, was it not quite possible that the +reverend gentleman had found himself within earshot of us, and had +been too embarrassed to show himself at once? What sinister motive +could such a man possess? + +I looked around the great lounge, with its many tables and great +palms, but it was empty. He had passed through and ascended in the +lift to his room. + +Inquiry of the night-porter revealed that the man's name was the +Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, and that he came from Andover, in +England. He had arrived at six o'clock that evening, and was only +remaining the night, having expressed his intention of going on to +Riva on the morrow. + +So, laughing at my fears--fears which had been aroused by that strange +warning of Sylvia's--I ascended to my room. + +I did not leave next morning, as my fair-faced little friend had +suggested, neither did Pennington return. + +About eleven o'clock I strolled forth into the warm sunshine on the +terrace, and there, to my surprise, saw Sylvia sitting upon one of the +seats, with a cream sunshade over her head, a book in her lap, while +by her side lounged the mysterious watcher of the night before--the +English clergyman, Mr. Shuttleworth of Andover. + +Neither noticed me. He was speaking to her slowly and earnestly, she +listening attentively to his words. I saw that she sighed deeply, her +fine eyes cast upon the ground. + +It all seemed as though he were reproaching her with something, for +she was silent, in an attitude almost of penitence. + +Now that I obtained a full view of the reverend gentleman's features +in full daylight they seemed less mysterious, less sinister than in +the half-light of midnight. He looked a grave, earnest, sober-living +man, with that slight affectation of the Church which one finds more +in the rural districts than in cities, for the black clerical straw +hat and the clerical drawl seem always to go together. It is strange +that the village curate is always more affected in his speech than the +popular preacher of the West End, and the country vicar's wife is even +more exclusive in her tea-and-tennis acquaintances than the wife of +the lord bishop himself. + +For a few moments I watched unseen. I rather liked the appearance of +the Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, whoever he might be. He had the look +of an honest, open, God-fearing man. + +Yet why was he in such earnest consultation with the mysterious +Sylvia? + +With his forefinger he was touching the palm of his left hand, +apparently to emphasize his words, while she looked pale, even +frightened. She was listening without comment, without protest, while +I stood watching them from behind. Many other visitors were idling +about the terrace, reading letters or newspapers, or chatting or +flirting--the usual morning occupations of a fashionable lake-side +hotel far removed from the strenuous turmoil of the business or social +worlds. + +Suddenly she objected to some words which he uttered, objected +strongly, with rapid interruption and quick protest. + +But he laid his hand quietly upon her arm, and seemed to convince her +of the truth or justice of his words. + +Then, as she turned, she recognized me, and I raised my hat politely +in passing. + +Shuttleworth's eyes met mine, and he stared at me. But I passed on, in +pretence that I had not recognized him as the watcher of the previous +night. + +I idled about the terrace and the little landing-stage till noon, when +the steamer for Riva came up from Desenzano; and Shuttleworth, taking +leave of Sylvia, boarded the little craft with his two kit-bags, and +waved her farewell as the vessel drew away, making a wide wake upon +the glassy surface of the deep blue waters. + +When he had gone, I crossed to her and spoke. She looked inexpressibly +charming in her white cotton gown and neat straw sailor hat with black +velvet band. There was nothing ostentatious about her dress, but it +was always well cut and fitted her to perfection. She possessed a +style and elegance all her own. + +"Ah! Mr. Biddulph!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "Why have you not +heeded my words last night? Why have you not left? Go!--go, before it +is too late!" she urged, looking straight into my face with those +wonderful eyes of hers. + +"But I don't understand you, Miss Pennington," I replied. "Why should +I leave here? What danger threatens me?" + +"A grave one--a very grave one," she said in a low, hoarse whisper. +"If you value your life you should get away from this place." + +"Who are these enemies of mine?" I demanded. "You surely should tell +me, so that I can take precautions against them." + +"Your only precaution lies in flight," she said. + +"But will you not tell me what is intended? If there is a conspiracy +against me, is it not your duty, as a friend, to reveal it?" + +"Did I not tell you last night that I am not your friend--that our +friendship is forbidden?" + +"I don't understand you," I said. "As far as I know, I haven't an +enemy in the world. Why should I fear the unknown?" + +"Ah! will you not take heed of what I have told you?" she +cried in desperation. "Leave here. Return to England--hide +yourself--anywhere--for a time, until the danger passes." + +"I have no fear of this mysterious danger, Miss Pennington," I said. +"If these secret enemies of mine attack me, then I am perfectly ready +and able to defend myself." + +"But they will not attack openly. They will strike at a moment when +you least expect it--and strike with accuracy and deadly effect." + +"Last night, after you had left me, I found a man standing in the +shadow watching us," I said. "He was the clergyman whom I saw sitting +with you just now. Who is he?" + +"Mr. Shuttleworth--an old friend of mine in England. An intimate +friend of my father's. To him, I owe very much. I had no idea he was +here until an hour ago, when we met quite accidentally on the terrace. +I haven't seen him for a year. We once lived in his parish near +Andover, in Hampshire. He was about our only friend." + +"Why did he spy upon us?" + +"I had no idea that he did. It must have been only by chance," she +assured me. "From Edmund Shuttleworth you certainly have nothing to +fear. He and his wife are my best friends. She is staying up at Riva, +it seems, and he is on his way to join her." + +"Your father is absent," I said abruptly. + +"Yes," she replied, with slight hesitation. "He has gone away on +business. I don't expect he will be back till to-night." + +"And how long do you remain here?" + +"Who knows? Our movements are always so sudden and erratic. We may +leave to-night for the other end of Europe, or we may remain here for +weeks yet. Father is so uncertain always." + +"But why are you so eager that I shall leave you?" I asked, as we +strolled together along the terrace. "You have admitted that you are +in need of a friend, and yet you will not allow me to approach you +with the open hand of friendship." + +"Because--ah! have I not already explained the reason why--why I dare +not allow you to show undue friendship towards me?" + +"Well, tell me frankly," I said, "who is this secret enemy of mine?" + +She was silent. In that hesitation I suspected an intention to +deceive. + +"Is it against your own father that you are warning me?" I exclaimed +in hesitation. "You fear him, evidently, and you urge me to leave here +and return to England. Why should I not remain here in defiance?" + +"In some cases defiance is distinctly injudicious," she remarked. "It +is so in this. Your only safety is in escape. I can tell you no more." + +"These words of yours, Miss Pennington, are remarkably strange," I +said. "Surely our position is most curious. You are my friend, and yet +you conceal the identity of my enemy." + +She only shrugged her shoulders, without any reply falling from her +lips. + +"Will you not take my advice and get back to England at once?" she +asked very seriously, as she turned to me a few minutes later. "I have +suggested this in your own interests." + +"But why should I go in fear of this unknown enemy?" I asked. "What +harm have I done? Why should any one be my bitter enemy?" + +"Ah, how do I know?" she cried in despair. "We all of us have enemies +where we least suspect them. Sometimes the very friend we trust most +implicitly reveals himself as our worst antagonist. Truly one should +always pause and ponder deeply before making a friend." + +"You are perfectly right," I remarked. "A fierce enemy is always +better than a false friend. Yet I would dearly like to know what I +have done to merit antagonism. Where has your father gone?" + +"To Brescia, I believe--to meet his friends." + +"Who are they?" + +"His business friends. I only know them very slightly; they are +interested in mining properties. They meet at intervals. The last time +he met them was in Stockholm a month ago." + +This struck me as curious. Why should he meet his business friends so +clandestinely--why should they come at night in a car to cross-roads? + +But I told her nothing of what I had witnessed. I decided to keep my +knowledge to myself. + +"The boat leaves at two o'clock," she said, after a pause, her hand +upon her breast as though to stay the wild beating of her heart. "Will +you not take my advice and leave by that? Go to Milan, and then +straight on to England," she urged in deep earnestness, her big, +wide-open eyes fixed earnestly upon mine. + +"No, Miss Pennington," I replied promptly; "the fact is, I do not feel +disposed to leave here just at present. I prefer to remain--and to +take the risk, whatever it may be." + +"But why?" she cried, for we were standing at the end of the terrace, +and out of hearing. + +"Because you are in need of a friend--because you have admitted that +you, too, are in peril. Therefore I have decided to remain near you." + +"No," she cried breathlessly. "Ah! you do not know the great risk you +are running! You must go--do go, Mr. Biddulph--go, for--_for my +sake_!" + +I shook my head. + +"I have no fear of myself," I declared. "I am anxious on your behalf." + +"Have no thought of me," she cried. "Leave, and return to England." + +"And see you no more--eh?" + +"If you will leave to-day, I--I will see you in England--perhaps." + +"Perhaps!" I cried. "That is not a firm promise." + +"Then, if you really wish," she replied in earnestness, "I will +promise. I'll promise anything. I'll promise to see you in +England--when the danger has passed, if--if disaster has not already +fallen upon me," she added in a hoarse whisper. + +"But my place is here--near you," I declared. "To fly from danger +would be cowardly. I cannot leave you." + +"No," she urged, her pale face hard and anxious. "Go, Mr. Biddulph; go +and save yourself. Then, if you so desire, we shall meet again in +secret--in England." + +"And that is an actual promise?" I asked, holding forth my hand. + +"Yes," she answered, taking it eagerly. "It is a real promise. Give me +your address, and very soon I shall be in London to resume our +acquaintanceship--but, remember, not our friendship. That must never +be--_never_!" + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +THE PERIL BEYOND + + +My taxi pulled up before my own white-enamelled door in Wilton Street, +off Belgrave Square, and, alighting, I entered with my latch-key. + +I had been home about ten days--back again once more in dear, dirty +old London, spending most of my time idling in White's or Boodle's; +for in May one meets everybody in St. James's Street, and men +foregather in the club smoking-room from the four ends of the earth. + +The house in Wilton Street was a small bijou place which my father had +occupied as a _pied-à-terre_ in town, he being a widower. He had been +a man of artistic tastes, and the house, though small, was furnished +lightly and brightly in the modern style. At Carrington he always +declared there was enough of the heaviness of the antique. Here, in +the dulness of London, he preferred light decorations and modern art +in furnishing. + +Through the rather narrow carpeted hall I passed into the study which +lay behind the dining-room, a small, cosy apartment--the acme of +comfort. I, as a bachelor, hated the big terra-cotta-and-white +drawing-room upstairs. When there, I made the study my own den. + +I had an important letter to write, but scarcely had I seated myself +at the table when old Browning, grave, grey-faced and solemn, entered, +saying-- + +"A clergyman called to see you about three o'clock, sir. He asked if +you were at home. When I replied that you were at the club, he became +rather inquisitive concerning your affairs, and asked me quite a lot +of questions as to where you had been lately, and who you were. I was +rather annoyed, sir, and I'm afraid I may have spoken rudely. But as +he would leave no card, I felt justified in refusing to answer his +inquiries." + +"Quite right, Browning," I replied. "But what kind of a man was he? +Describe him." + +"Well, sir, he was rather tall, of middle age, thin-faced and drawn, +as though he had seen a lot of trouble. He spoke with a pronounced +drawl, and his clerical coat was somewhat shabby. I noticed, too, sir, +that he wore a black leather watch-guard." + +That last sentence at once revealed my visitor's identity. It was the +Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth! But why had he returned so suddenly from +Riva? And why was he making secret inquiry concerning myself? + +"I think I know the gentleman, Browning," I replied, while the +faithful old fellow stood, a quaint, stout figure in a rather +tight-fitting coat and grey trousers, his white-whiskered face full of +mystery. I fancy Browning viewed me with considerable suspicion. In +his eyes, "young Mr. Owen" had always been far too erratic. On many +occasions in my boyhood days he had expressed to my father his strong +disapproval of what he termed "Master Owen's carryings-on." + +"If he should call again, tell him that I have a very great desire to +renew our acquaintance. I met him abroad," I said. + +"Very well, sir," replied my man. "But I don't suppose he will call +again, sir. I was rude to him." + +"Your rudeness was perfectly justifiable, Browning. Please refuse to +answer any questions concerning me." + +"I know my duty, sir," was the old man's stiff reply, "and I hope I +shall always perform it." + +And he retired, closing the door silently behind him. + +With my elbows upon the table, I sat thinking deeply. + +Had I not acted like a fool? Those strange words, and that curious +promise of Sylvia Pennington sounded ever in my ears. She had +succeeded in inducing me to return home by promising to meet me +clandestinely in England. Why clandestinely? + +Before me every moment that I now lived arose that pale, beautiful +face--that exquisite countenance with the wonderful eyes--that face +which had held me in fascination, that woman who, indeed, held me now +for life or death. + +In those ten days which had passed, the first days of my +home-coming after my long absence, I knew, by the blankness of our +separation--though I would not admit it to myself--that she was my +affinity. I was hers. She, the elegant little wanderer, possessed me, +body and soul. I felt for her a strong affection, and affection is the +half-and-half of love. + +Why had her friend, that thin-faced country clergyman, called? +Evidently he was endeavouring to satisfy himself as to my _bona +fides_. And yet, for what reason? What had I to do with him? She had +told me that she owed very much to that man. Why, however, should he +interest himself in me? + +I took down a big black volume from the shelf--_Crockford's +Clerical Directory_--and from it learned that Edmund Charles +Talbot Shuttleworth, M.A., was rector of the parish of +Middleton-cum-Bowbridge, near Andover, in the Bishopric of Winchester. +He had held his living for the past eight years, and its value was +£550 per annum. He had had a distinguished career at Cambridge, and +had been curate in half-a-dozen places in various parts of the +country. + +I felt half inclined to run down to Middleton and call upon him. I +could make some excuse or other, for I felt that he might, perhaps, +give me some further information regarding the mysterious Pennington +and his daughter. + +Yet, on further reflection, I hesitated, for I saw that by acting thus +I might incur Sylvia's displeasure. + +During the three following days I remained much puzzled. I deeply +regretted that Browning had treated the country parson abruptly, and +wondered whether I could not make excuse to call by pretending to +express regret for the rudeness of my servant. + +I was all eagerness to know something concerning this man Pennington, +and was prepared even to sink my own pride in order to learn it. + +Jack Marlowe was away in Copenhagen, and would not return for a week. +In London I had many friends, but there were few who interested me, +for I was ever thinking of Sylvia--of her only and always. + +At last, one morning I made up my mind, and, leaving Waterloo, +travelled down to Andover Junction, where I hired a trap, and, after +driving through the little old-fashioned town out upon the dusty +London Road for a couple of miles or so, I came to the long straggling +village of Middleton, at the further end of which stood the ancient +little church, and near it the comfortable old-world rectory. + +Entering the gateway, I found myself in pretty, well-wooded and +well-kept grounds; the house itself, long, low, and covered with +trailing roses, was a typical English country rectory. Beyond that lay +a paddock, while in the distance the beautiful Harewood Forest showed +away upon the skyline. + +Yes, Mr. Shuttleworth was at home, the neat maid told me, and I was +ushered into a long old-fashioned study, the French windows of which +opened out upon a well-rolled tennis-lawn. + +The place smelt of tobacco-smoke. Upon the table lay a couple of +well-seasoned briars, and on the wall an escutcheon bearing its +owner's college arms. Crossed above the window was a pair of +rowing-sculls, and these, with a pair of fencing-foils in close +proximity, told mutely of long-past athletics. It was a quiet, +book-lined den, an ideal retreat for a studious man. + +As my eyes travelled around the room, they suddenly fell upon a +photograph in a dark leather frame, the picture of a young girl of +seventeen or so, with her hair dressed low and secured by a big black +bow. I started at sight of it. It was the picture of Sylvia +Pennington! + +I crossed to look at it more closely, but as I did so the door opened, +and I found myself face to face with the rector of Middleton. + +He halted as he recognized me--halted for just a second in hesitation; +then, putting out his hand, he welcomed me, saying in his habitual +drawl-- + +"Mr. Biddulph, I believe?" and invited me to be seated. + +"Ah!" I exclaimed, with a smile, "I see you recognize me, though we +were only passers-by on the Lake of Garda! I must apologize for this +intrusion, but, as a matter of fact, my servant Browning described a +gentleman who called upon me a few days ago, and I at once recognized +him to have been you. He was rather rude to you, I fear, and----" + +"My dear fellow!" he interrupted, with a hearty, good-natured laugh. +"He only did his duty as your servant. He objected to my infernal +impertinence--and very rightly, too." + +"It was surely no impertinence to call upon me!" I exclaimed. + +"Well, it's all a question of one's definition of impertinence," he +said. "I made certain inquiries--rather searching inquiries regarding +you--that was all." + +"Why?" I asked. + +He moved uneasily in his padded writing-chair, then reached over and +placed a box of cigarettes before me. After we had both lit up, he +answered in a rather low, changed voice-- + +"Well, I wanted to satisfy myself as to who you were, Mr. Biddulph," +he laughed. "Merely to gratify a natural curiosity." + +"That's just it," I said. "Why should your curiosity have been aroused +concerning me? I do not think I have ever made a secret to any one +regarding my name or my position, or anything else." + +"But you might have done, remember," replied the thin-faced rector, +looking at me calmly yet mysteriously with those straight grey eyes of +his. + +"I don't follow you, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, much puzzled. + +"Probably not," was his response; "I had no intention to obtrude +myself upon you. I merely called at Wilton Street in order to learn +what I could, and I came away quite satisfied, even though your +butler spoke so sharply." + +"But with what motive did you make your inquiries?" I demanded. + +"Well, as a matter of fact, my motive was in your own interests, Mr. +Biddulph," he replied, as he thoughtfully contemplated the end of his +cigarette. "This may sound strange to you, but the truth, could I but +reveal it to you, would be found much stranger--a truth utterly +incredible." + +"The truth of what?" + +"The truth concerning a certain young lady in whom, I understand, you +have evinced an unusual interest," was his reply. + +I could see that he was slightly embarrassed. I recollected how he had +silently watched us on that memorable night by the moonlit lake, and a +feeling of resentment arose within me. + +"Yes," I said anxiously next moment, "I am here to learn the truth +concerning Miss Pennington. Tell me about her. She has explained to me +that you are her friend--and I see, yonder, you have her photograph." + +"It is true," he said very slowly, in a low, earnest voice, "quite +true, Son--er, Sylvia--is my friend," and he coughed quickly to +conceal the slip in the name. + +"Then tell me something about her, and her father. Who is he?" I +urged. "At her request I left Gardone suddenly, and came home to +England." + +"At her request!" he echoed in surprise. "Why did she send you away +from her side?" + +I hesitated. Should I reveal to him the truth? + +"She declared that it was better for us to remain apart," I said. + +"Yes," he sighed. "And she spoke the truth, Mr. Biddulph--the entire +truth, remember." + +"Why? Do tell me what you know concerning the man Pennington." + +"I regret that I am not permitted to do that." + +"Why?" + +For some moments he did not reply. He twisted his cigarette in his +thin, nervous fingers, his gaze being fixed upon the lawn outside. At +last, however, he turned to me, and in a low, rather strained tone +said slowly-- + +"The minister of religion sometimes learns strange family secrets, +but, as a servant of God, the confidences and confessions reposed in +him must always be treated as absolutely sacred. Therefore," he added, +"please do not ask me again to betray my trust." + +His was, indeed, a stern rebuke. I saw that, in my eager enthusiasm, I +had expected him to reveal a forbidden truth. Therefore I stammered an +apology. + +"No apology is needed," was his grave reply, his keen eyes fixed upon +me. "But I hope you will forgive me if I presume to give you, in your +own interests, a piece of advice." + +"And what is that?" + +"To keep yourself as far as possible from both Pennington and his +daughter," he responded slowly and distinctly, a strange expression +upon his clean-shaven face. + +"But why do you tell me this?" I cried, still much mystified. "Have +you not told me that you are Sylvia's friend?" + +"I have told you this because it is my duty to warn those in whose +path a pitfall is spread." + +"And is a pitfall spread in mine?" + +"Yes," replied the grave-faced, ascetic-looking rector, as he leaned +forward to emphasize his words. "Before you, my dear sir, there lies +an open grave. Behind it stands that girl yonder"--and he pointed with +his lean finger to the framed photograph--"and if you attempt to reach +her you must inevitably fall into the pit--that death-trap so +cunningly prepared. Do not, I beg of you, attempt to approach the +unattainable." + +I saw that he was in dead earnest. + +"But why?" I demanded in my despair, for assuredly the enigma was +increasing hourly. "Why are you not open and frank with me? I--I +confess I----" + +"You love her, eh?" he asked, looking at me quickly as he interrupted +me. "Ah, yes," he sighed, as a dark shadow overspread his thin, pale +face, "I guessed as much--a fatal love. You are young and +enthusiastic, and her pretty face, her sweet voice and her soft eyes +have fascinated you. How I wish, Mr. Biddulph, that I could reveal to +you the ghastly, horrible truth. Though I am your friend--and hers, +yet I must, alas! remain silent! The inviolable seal of The +Confessional is upon my lips!" + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +THE DARK HOUSE IN BAYSWATER + + +Edmund Shuttleworth, the thin-faced, clean-shaven Hampshire rector, +had spoken the truth. His manner and speech were that of an honest +man. + +Within myself I could but admit it. Yet I loved Sylvia. Why, I cannot +tell. How can a man tell why he loves? First love is more than the +mere awakening of a passion: it is transition to another state of +being. When it is born the man is new-made. + +Yet, as the spring days passed, I lived in suspicion and wonder, ever +mystified, ever apprehensive. + +Each morning I looked eagerly for a letter from her, yet each morning +I was disappointed. + +It seemed true, as Shuttleworth had said, that an open gulf lay +between us. + +Where was she, I wondered? I dared not write to Gardone, as she had +begged me not to do so. She had left there, no doubt, for was she not +a constant wanderer? Was not her stout, bald-headed father the modern +incarnation of the Wandering Jew? + +May lengthened into June, with its usual society functions and all the +wild gaiety of the London season. The Derby passed and Ascot came, +the Park was full every day, theatres and clubs were crowded, and the +hotels overflowed with Americans and country cousins. I had many +invitations, but accepted few. Somehow, my careless cosmopolitanism +had left me. I had become a changed man. + +And if I were to believe the woman who had come so strangely and so +suddenly into my life, I was a marked man also. + +Disturbing thoughts often arose within me in the silence of the night, +but, laughing at them, I crushed them down. What had I possibly to +fear? I had no enemy that I was aware of. The whole suggestion seemed +so utterly absurd and far-fetched. + +Jack Marlowe came back from Denmark hale and hearty, and more than +once I was sorely tempted to explain to him the whole situation. Only +I feared he would jeer at me as a love-sick idiot. + +What was the secret held by that grey-faced country parson? Whatever +it might be, it was no ordinary one. He had spoken of the seal of The +Confessional. What sin had Sylvia Pennington confessed to him? + +Day after day, as I sat in my den at Wilton Street smoking moodily and +thinking, I tried vainly to imagine what cardinal sin she could have +committed. My sole thoughts were of her, and my all-consuming +eagerness was to meet her again. + +On the night of the twentieth of June--I remember the date well +because the Gold Cup had been run that afternoon--I had come in from +supper at the Ritz about a quarter to one, and retired to bed. I +suppose I must have turned in about half-an-hour, when the telephone +at my bedside rang, and I answered. + +"Hulloa!" asked a voice. "Is that you, Owen?" + +"Yes," I replied. + +"Jack speaking--Jack Marlowe," exclaimed the distant voice. "Is that +you, Owen? Your voice sounds different." + +"So does yours, a bit," I said. "Voices often do on the 'phone. Where +are you?" + +"I'm out in Bayswater--Althorp House, Porchester Terrace," my friend +replied. "I'm in a bit of a tight corner. Can you come here? I'm so +sorry to trouble you, old man. I wouldn't ask you to turn out at this +hour if it weren't imperative." + +"Certainly I'll come," I said, my curiosity at once aroused. "But +what's up?" + +"Oh, nothing very alarming," he laughed. "Nothing to worry over. I've +been playing cards, and lost a bit, that's all. Bring your +cheque-book; I want to pay up before I leave. You understand. I know +you'll help me, like the good pal you always are." + +"Why, of course I will, old man," was my prompt reply. + +"I've got to pay up my debts for the whole week--nearly a thousand. +Been infernally unlucky. Never had such vile luck. Have you got it in +the bank? I can pay you all right at the end of next week." + +"Yes," I said, "I can let you have it." + +"These people know you, and they'll take your cheque, they say." + +"Right-ho!" I said; "I'll get a taxi and be up with you in +half-an-hour." + +"You're a real good pal, Owen. Remember the address: Althorp House, +Porchester Terrace," cried my friend cheerily. "Get here as soon as +you can, as I want to get home. So-long." + +And, after promising to hurry, I hung up the receiver again. + +Dear old Jack always was a bit reckless. He had a good income allowed +him by his father, but was just a little too fond of games of chance. +He had been hard hit in February down at Monte Carlo, and I had lent +him a few hundreds to tide him over. Yet, by his remarks over the +'phone, I could only gather that he had fallen into the hands of +sharpers, who held him up until he paid--no uncommon thing in London. +Card-sharpers are generally blackmailers as well, and no doubt these +people were bleeding poor Jack to a very considerable tune. + +I rose, dressed, and, placing my revolver in my hip pocket in case of +trouble, walked towards Victoria Station, where I found a belated +taxi. + +Within half-an-hour I alighted before a large dark house about +half-way up Porchester Terrace, Bayswater, standing back from the +road, with small garden in front; a house with closely-shuttered +windows, the only light showing being that in the fanlight over the +door. + +My approaching taxi was being watched for, I suppose, for as I crossed +the gravel the door fell back, and a smart, middle-aged man-servant +admitted me. + +"I want to see Mr. Marlowe," I said. + +"Are you Mr. Biddulph?" he inquired, eyeing me with some suspicion. + +I replied in the affirmative, whereupon he invited me to step +upstairs, while I followed him up the wide, well-carpeted staircase +and along a corridor on the first floor into a small sitting-room at +the rear of the house. + +"Mr. Marlowe will be here in a few moments, sir," he said; "he left a +message asking you to wait. He and Mr. Forbes have just gone across +the road to a friend's house. I'll send over and tell him you are +here, if you'll kindly take a seat." + +The room was small, fairly well furnished, but old-fashioned, and lit +by an oil-lamp upon the table. The air was heavy with tobacco-smoke, +and near the window was a card-table whereat four players had been +seated. The cigar-ash bore testimony to recent occupation of the four +chairs, while two packs of cards had been flung down just as the men +had risen. + +The window was hidden by long curtains of heavy moss-green plush, +while in one corner of the room, upon a black marble pedestal, stood a +beautiful sculptured statuette of a girl, her hands uplifted together +above her head in the act of diving. I examined the exquisite work of +art, and saw upon its brass plate the name of an eminent French +sculptor. + +The carpet, of a peculiar shade of red which contrasted well with the +dead-white enamelled walls, was soft to the tread, so that my +footsteps fell noiselessly as I moved. + +Beside the fireplace was a big inviting saddle-bag chair, into which I +presently sank, awaiting Jack. + +Who were his friends, I wondered? + +The house seemed silent as the grave. I listened for Jack's footsteps, +but could hear nothing. + +I was hoping that the loss of nearly a thousand pounds would cure my +friend of his gambling propensities. Myself, I had never experienced a +desire to gamble. A sovereign or so on a race was the extent of my +adventures. + +The table, the cards, the tantalus-stand and the empty glasses told +their own tale. I was sorry, truly sorry, that Jack should mix with +such people--professional gamblers, without a doubt. + +Every man-about-town in London knows what a crowd of professional +players and blackmailers infest the big hotels, on the look-out for +pigeons to pluck. The American bars of London each have their little +circle of well-dressed sharks, and woe betide the victims who fall +into their unscrupulous hands. I had believed Jack Marlowe to be more +wary. He was essentially a man of the world, and had always laughed at +the idea that he could be "had" by sharpers, or induced to play with +strangers. + +I think I must have waited for about a quarter of an hour. As I sat +there, I felt overcome by a curious drowsiness, due, no doubt, to the +strenuous day I had had, for I had driven down to Ascot in the car, +and had gone very tired to bed. + +Suddenly, without a sound, the door opened, and a youngish, +dark-haired, clean-shaven man in evening dress entered swiftly, +accompanied by another man a few years older, tall and thin, whose +nose and pimply face was that of a person much dissipated. Both were +smoking cigars. + +"You are Mr. Biddulph, I believe!" exclaimed the younger. "Marlowe +expects you. He's over the road, talking to the girl." + +"What girl?" + +"Oh, a little girl who lives over there," he said, with a mysterious +smile. "But have you brought the cheque?" he asked. "He told us that +you'd settle up with us." + +"Yes," I said, "I have my cheque-book in my pocket." + +"Then perhaps you'll write it?" he said, taking a pen-and-ink and +blotter from a side-table and placing it upon the card-table. "The +amount altogether is one thousand one hundred and ten pounds," he +remarked, consulting an envelope he took from his pocket. + +"I shall give you a cheque for it when my friend comes," I said. + +"Yes, but we don't want to be here all night, you know," laughed the +pimply-faced man. "You may as well draw it now, and hand it over to us +when he comes in." + +"How long is he likely to be?" + +"How can we tell? He's a bit gone on her." + +"Who is she?" + +"Oh! a little girl my friend Reckitt here knows," interrupted the +younger man. "Rather pretty. Reckitt is a fair judge of good looks. +Have a cigarette?" and the man offered me a cigarette, which, out of +common courtesy, I was bound to take from his gold case. + +I sat back in my chair and lit up, and as I did so my ears caught the +faint sound of a receding motor-car. + +"Aren't you going to draw the cheque?" asked the man with the pimply +face. "Marlowe said you would settle at once; Charles Reckitt is my +name. Make it out to me." + +"And so I will, as soon as he arrives," I replied. + +"Why not now? We'll give you a receipt." + +"I don't know at what amount he acknowledges the debt," I pointed out. + +"But we've told you, haven't we? One thousand one hundred and ten +pounds." + +"That's according to your reckoning. He may add up differently, you +know," I said, with a doubtful smile. + +"You mean that you doubt us, eh?" asked Reckitt a trifle angrily. + +"Not in the least," I assured him, with a smile. "If the game is fair, +then the loss is fair also. A good sportsman like my friend never +objects to pay what he has lost." + +"But you evidently object to pay for him, eh?" he sneered. + +"I do not," I protested. "If it were double the amount I would pay it. +Only I first want to know what he actually owes." + +"That he'll tell you when he returns. Yet I can't see why you should +object to make out the cheque now, and hand it to us on his arrival. +I'll prepare the receipt, at any rate. I, for one, want to get off to +bed." + +And the speaker sat down in one of the chairs at the card-table, and +wrote out a receipt for the amount, signing it "Charles Reckitt" +across the stamp he stuck upon it. + +Then presently he rose impatiently, and, crossing the room, +exclaimed-- + +"How long are we to be humbugged like this? I've got to get out to +Croydon--and it's late. Come on, Forbes. Let's go over and dig Marlowe +out, eh?" + +So the pair left the room, promising to return with Jack in a few +minutes, and closed the door after them. + +When they had gone, I sat for a moment reflecting. I did not like the +look of either of them. Their faces were distinctly sinister and their +manner overbearing. I felt that the sooner I left that silent house +the better. + +So, crossing to the table, I drew out my cheque-book, and hastily +wrote an open cheque, payable to "Charles Reckitt," for one thousand +one hundred and ten pounds. I did so in order that I should have it +in readiness on Jack's return--in order that we might get away +quickly. + +Whatever possessed my friend to mix with such people as those I could +not imagine. + +A few moments later, I had already put the cheque back into my +breast-pocket, and was re-seated in the arm-chair, when of a sudden, +and apparently of its own accord, the chair gave way, the two arms +closing over my knees in such a manner that I was tightly held there. + +It happened in a flash. So quickly did it collapse that, for a moment, +I was startled, for the chair having tipped back, I had lost my +balance, my head being lower than my legs. + +And at that instant, struggling in such an undignified position and +unable to extricate myself, the chair having closed upon me, the door +suddenly opened, and the man Reckitt, with his companion Forbes, +re-entered the room. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +A GHASTLY TRUTH + + +Ere I could recover myself or utter a word, the pair dashed towards +me, seized my hands deftly and secured them behind the chair. + +"What do you mean by this, you infernal blackguards!" I cried angrily. +"Release me!" + +They only grinned in triumph. I struggled to free my right hand, in +order to get at my revolver. But it was held far too securely. + +I saw that I had been cleverly entrapped! + +The man with the pimply face placed his hand within my breast pocket +and took therefrom its contents with such confidence that it appeared +certain I had been watched while writing the cheque. He selected it +from among my letters and papers, and, opening it, said in a tone of +satisfaction-- + +"That's all right--as far as it goes. But we must have another +thousand." + +"You'll have nothing from me," I replied, sitting there powerless, yet +defiant. "I don't believe Marlowe has been here at all! It's only a +trap, and I've fallen into it!" + +"You've paid your friend's debts," replied the man gruffly; "now +you'll pay your own." + +"I owe you nothing, you infernal swindler!" I responded quickly. "This +is a pretty game you are playing--one which you've played before, it +seems! The police shall know of this. It will interest them." + +"They won't know through you," laughed the fellow. "But we don't want +to discuss that matter. I'm just going to write out a cheque for one +thousand, and you'll sign it." + +"I'll do nothing of the sort!" I declared firmly. + +"Oh yes, you will," remarked the younger man. "You've got money, and +you can easily afford a thousand." + +"I'll not give you one single penny," I declared. "And, further, I +shall stop that cheque you've stolen from me." + +Reckitt had already seated himself, opened my cheque-book, and was +writing out a draft. + +When he had finished it he crossed to me, with the book and pen in +hand, saying-- + +"Now you may as well just sign this at first, as at last." + +"I shall do no such thing," was my answer. "You've entrapped me here, +but you are holding me at your peril. You can't frighten me into +giving you a thousand pounds, for I haven't it at the bank." + +"Oh yes, you have," replied the man with the red face. "We've already +taken the precaution to find out. We don't make haphazard guesses, you +know. Now sign it, and at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning you shall +be released--after we have cashed your cheques." + +"Where is Marlowe?" I inquired. + +"With the girl, I suppose." + +"What girl?" + +"Well," exclaimed the other, "her photograph is in the next room; +perhaps you'd like to see it." + +"It does not interest me," I replied. + +But the fellow Forbes left the room for a moment and returned with a +fine panel photograph in his hand. He held it before my gaze. I +started in utter amazement. + +It was the picture of Sylvia! The same that I had seen in +Shuttleworth's study. + +"You know her--eh?" remarked Reckitt, with a grim smile. + +"Yes," I gasped. "Where is she?" + +"Across the road--with your friend Jack Marlowe." + +"It's a lie! A confounded lie! I won't believe it," I cried. Yet at +that moment I realized the ghastly truth, that I had tumbled into the +hidden pitfall against which both Shuttleworth and Sylvia had warned +me. + +Could it be possible, I asked myself, that Sylvia--my adored +Sylvia--had some connection with these blackguards--that she had been +aware of their secret intentions? + +"Sign this cheque, and you shall see her if you wish," said the man +who had written out the draft. "She will remain with you here till +eleven to-morrow." + +"Why should I give you a thousand pounds?" I demanded. + +"Is not a thousand a small price to pay for the service we are +prepared to render you--to return to you your lost lady-love?" queried +the fellow. + +I was dying with anxiety to see her, to speak with her, to hold her +hand. Had she not warned me against this cunningly-devised trap, yet +had I not foolishly fallen into it? They had followed me to England, +and run me to earth at home! + +"And supposing that I gave you the money, how do I know that you would +keep faith with me?" I asked. + +"We shall keep faith with you, never fear," Reckitt replied, his +sinister face broadening into a smile. "It is simply for you to pay +for your release; or we shall hold you here--until you submit. Just +your signature, and to-morrow at eleven you are a free man." + +"And if I refuse, what then?" I asked. + +"If you refuse--well, I fear that you will ever regret it, that's all. +I can only tell you that it is not wise to refuse. We are not in the +habit of being met with refusal--the punishment is too severe." The +man spoke calmly, leaning with his back against the table, the cheque +and pen still in his hand. + +"And if I sign, you will bring Sylvia here? You will promise me +that--upon your word of honour?" + +"Yes, we promise you," was the man's reply. + +"I want to see Marlowe, if he is here." + +"I tell you he's not here. He's across the way with her." + +I believe, if I could have got to my revolver at that moment, I should +have shot the fellow dead. I bit my lip, and remained silent. + +I now felt no doubt that this was the trap of which Sylvia had given +me warning on that moonlit terrace beside the Italian lake. By some +unaccountable means she knew what was intended against me. This clever +trapping of men was apparently a regular trade of theirs! + +If I could but gain time I felt that I might outwit them. Yet, sitting +there like a trussed fowl, I must have cut a pretty sorry figure. How +many victims had, like myself, sat there and been "bled"? + +"Come," exclaimed the red-faced adventurer impatiently, "we are losing +time. Are you going to sign the cheque, or not?" + +"I shall not," was my firm response. "You already have stolen one +cheque of mine." + +"And we shall cash it when your bank opens in the morning, my dear +sir," remarked Forbes airily. + +"And make yourselves scarce afterwards, eh? But I've had a good look +at you, remember; I could identify you anywhere," I said. + +"You won't have that chance, I'm afraid," declared Reckitt meaningly. +"You must think we're blunderers, if you contemplate that!" and he +grinned at his companion. + +"Now," he added, turning again to me; "for the last time I ask you if +you will sign this cheque I have written." + +"And for the last time I tell you that you are a pair of blackguards, +and that I will do nothing of the sort." + +"Not even if we bring the girl here--to you?" + +I hesitated, much puzzled by the strangeness of the attitude of the +pair. Their self-confidence was amazing. + +"Sign it," he urged. "Sign it in your own interests--and in hers." + +"Why in hers?" + +"You will see, after you have appended your signature." + +"When I have seen her I will sign," I replied at last; "but not +before. You seem to have regarded me as a pigeon to pluck. But you'll +find out I'm a hawk before you've done with me." + +"I think not," smiled the cool-mannered Reckitt. "Even if you are a +hawk, you're caged. You must admit that!" + +"I shall shout murder, and alarm the police," I threatened. + +"Shout away, my dear fellow," replied my captor. "No sound can be +heard outside this room. Shriek! We shall like to hear you. You won't +have opportunity to do so very much longer." + +"Why?" + +"Because refusal will bring upon you a fate more terrible than you +have ever imagined," was the fellow's hard reply. "We are men of our +word, remember! It is not wise to trifle with us." + +"And I am also a man of my word. You cannot obtain money from me by +threats." + +"But we offer you a service in return--to bring Sylvia to you." + +"Where is her father?" I demanded. + +"You'd better ask her," replied Forbes, with a grin. "Sign this, and +see her. She is anxious--very anxious to meet you." + +"How do you know that?" + +"We know more than you think, Mr. Biddulph," was the sharper's reply. + +His exterior was certainly that of a gentleman, in his well-cut dinner +jacket and a fine diamond stud in his shirt. + +I could only think that the collapsible chair in which I sat was +worked by a lever from outside the room. There was a spy-hole +somewhere, at which they could watch the actions of their victims, and +take them unawares as I had been taken. + +"And now," asked Reckitt, "have you fully reflected upon the serious +consequences of your refusal to sign this cheque?" + +"I have," was my unwavering reply. "Do as you will, I refuse to be +blackmailed." + +"Your refusal will cause disaster to yourself--and to her! You will +share the same fate--a horrible one. She tried to warn you, and you +refused to heed her. So you will both experience the same horror." + +"What horror? I have no fear of you," I said. + +"He refuses," Reckitt said, with a harsh laugh, addressing his +accomplice. "We will now let him see what is in store for him--how we +punish those who remain defiant. Bring in the table." + +Forbes disappeared for a moment and then returned, bearing a small +round table upon which stood a silver cigar-box and a lighted candle. + +The table he placed at my side, close to my elbow. Then Forbes took +something from a drawer, and ere I was aware of it he had slipped a +leathern collar over my head and strapped it to the back of the chair +so that in a few seconds I was unable to move my head from side to +side. + +"What are you doing, you blackguards?" I cried in fierce anger. "You +shall pay for this, I warrant." + +But they only laughed in triumph, for, held as I was, I was utterly +helpless in their unscrupulous hands and unable to lift a finger in +self-defence, my defiance must have struck them as ridiculous. + +"Now," said Reckitt, standing near the small table, "you see this!" +and, leaning forward, he touched the cigar-box, the lid of which +opened with a spring. + +Next second something shot quite close to my face, startling me. + +I looked, and instantly became filled with an inexpressible horror, +for there, upon the table, lay a small, black, venomous snake. To its +tail was attached a fine green silken cord, and this was, in turn, +fastened to the candle. The wooden candle-stick was, I saw, screwed +down to the table. The cord entered the wax candle about two inches +lower than the flame. + +I gave a cry of horror, whereat both men laughed heartily. + +"Now," said Reckitt, "I promised you an unexpected surprise. There it +is! In half-an-hour the flame will reach the cord, and sever it. Then +the snake will strike. That half-hour will give you ample time for +reflection." + +"You fiends!" I cried, struggling desperately to free myself. In doing +so I moved my head slightly, when the snake again darted at me like a +flash, only falling short about an inch from my cheek. + +The reptile fell back, recoiled itself, and with head erect, its +cruel, beady eyes watching me intently, sat up ready to strike again. + +The blood froze in my veins. I was horrified, held there only one +single inch from death. + +"We wish you a very good night," laughed Forbes, as both he and his +companion walked towards the door. "You will have made a closer +acquaintance with the snake ere we cash your cheque in the morning." + +"Yes," said Reckitt, turning upon me with a grin. "And Sylvia too will +share the same fate as yourself, for daring to warn you against us!" + +"No!" I cried; "spare her, spare her!" I implored. + +But the men had already passed out of the room, locking the door +securely after them. + +I lay back silent, motionless, listening, not daring to move a muscle +because of that hideous reptile closely guarding me. + +I suppose ten minutes must have passed--ten of the most awful minutes +of terror and disgust I have ever experienced in all my life--then a +sound broke the dead stillness of the night. + +I heard a woman's loud, piercing scream--a scream of sudden horror. + +Sylvia's voice! It seemed to emanate from the room beyond! + +Again it was repeated. I heard her shriek distinctly-- + +"Ah! No, spare me! Not that--_not that_!" + +Only a wall divided us, yet I was powerless, held there face to face +with a terrible and revolting death, unable to save her, unable to +raise my hand in self-defence. + +She shrieked again, in an agony of terror. + +I lay there breathless, petrified by horror. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +THE FLAME OF THE CANDLE + + +I shuddered at the horrible fate to which those scoundrels had +abandoned me. + +Again the cruel flat head of the snake darted forth viciously to +within a single inch of my left cheek. I tried to draw back, but to +move was impossible, held as I was by that leathern collar, made +expressly for securing the head immovable. + +My eyes were fixed upon the steady candle-flame. It was burning lower +and lower each moment. I watched it in fascination. Each second I grew +nearer that terrible, revolting end. + +What had happened to Sylvia? I strained my ears to catch any further +sound. But there was none. The house was now silent as the grave. + +That pair of scoundrels had stolen my cheque, and in the morning, +after my death, would cash it and escape with the proceeds! + +I glanced around that weird room. How many previous victims had sat in +that fatal chair and awaited death as I was waiting, I wondered? The +whole plot betrayed a devilish ingenuity and cunning. Its very +character showed that the conspirators were no ordinary +criminals--they were past-masters in crime. + +The incidents of the night in London are too often incredible. A man +can meet with adventures in the metropolis as strange, as exciting and +as perilous as any in unknown lands. Here, surely, was one in point. + +I remember experiencing a strange dizziness, a curious nausea, due, +perhaps, to the fact that my head lay lower than my body. My thoughts +became muddled. I regretted deeply that I had not signed the cheque +and saved Sylvia. Yet were they not absolute blackguards? Would they +have kept faith with me? + +I was breathless in apprehension. What had happened to Sylvia? + +By slow, imperceptible degrees the candle burned lower. The flame was +long and steady. Nearer and nearer it approached that thin green cord +which alone separated me from death. + +Again the serpent hissed and darted forth, angry at being so near its +prey, and yet prevented from striking--angry that its tail was knotted +to the cord. + +I saw it writhing and twisting upon the table, and noted its peculiar +markings of black and yellow. Its eyes were bright and searching. I +had read of the fascination which a snake's gaze exercises over its +prey, and now I experienced it--a fatal fascination. I could not keep +my eyes off the deadly reptile. It watched me intently, as though it +knew full well that ere long it must be victorious. + +Victorious! What did that mean? A sharp, stinging pain, and then an +agonizing, painful death, my head swollen hideously to twice its +size, my body held there in that mechanical vice, suffering all the +tortures of the damned! + +The mere contemplation of that awful fate held me transfixed by +horror. + +Suddenly I heard Sylvia's shriek repeated. I shouted, but no words +came back to me in return. Was she suffering the same fearful agony of +mind as myself? Had those brutes carried out their threat? They knew +she had betrayed them, it seemed, and they had, therefore, taken their +bitter and cowardly revenge. + +Where was Pennington, that he did not rescue her? + +I cursed myself for being such an idiot. Yet I had no idea that such a +cunningly-devised trap could be prepared. I had never dreamed, when I +went forth to pull Jack out of a hole, that I was deliberately placing +my head in such a noose. + +What did it all mean? Why had these men formed this plot against me? +What had I done to merit such deadly vengeance as this?--a torture of +the Middle Ages! + +Vainly I tried to think. As far as I knew, I had never met either +Forbes or Reckitt before in all my life. They were complete strangers +to me. I remembered there had been something about the man-servant who +admitted me that seemed familiar, but what it was, I could not decide. +Perhaps I had seen him before somewhere in the course of my +wanderings, but where, I knew not. + +I recollected that soon after I had entered there I had heard the +sound of a motor-car receding. My waiting taxi had evidently been +paid, and dismissed. + +How would they dispose of my body, I lay wondering? There were many +ways of doing so, I reflected. They might burn it, or bury it, or pack +it in a trunk and consign it to some distant address. When one +remembers how many persons are every year reported to the London +police as missing, one can only believe that the difficulties in +getting rid of the corpse of a victim are not so great as is popularly +imagined. + +Speak with any detective officer of the Metropolitan Police, and, if +he is frank, he will tell you that a good many people meet with foul +play each year in every quarter of London--they disappear and are +never again heard of. Sometimes their disappearance is reported in the +newspapers--a brief paragraph--but in the case of people of the middle +class only their immediate relatives know that they are missing. + +Many a London house with deep basement and a flight of steps leading +to its front door could, if its walls had lips, tell a tragic and +terrible story. + +For one assassination discovered, ten remain unknown or merely vaguely +suspected. + +How many thousands of pounds had these men, Forbes and Reckitt, +secured, I wondered? And how many poor helpless victims had felt the +serpent's fang and breathed their last in that fatal chair I now +occupied? + +A dog howled dismally somewhere at the back. The men had told me that +no sound could be heard beyond those walls, yet had I not heard +Sylvia's shrieks? If I had heard them, then she could also hear me! + +I shouted her name--shouted as loud as I could. But my voice in that +small room somehow seemed dulled and drowned. + +"Sylvia," I shouted, "I am here! I--Owen Biddulph! Where are you?" + +But there was no response. That horrible snake rose erect, looking at +me with its never-wavering gaze. I saw the pointed tongue darting from +its mouth. There--before me--soon to be released, was Death in reptile +form--Death the most revolting and most terrible. + +That silence appalled me. Sylvia had not replied! Was she already +dead--stricken down by the fatal fang? + +I called again: "Sylvia! Sylvia!" + +But there came no answer. I set my teeth, and struggled to free myself +until the veins in my forehead were knotted and my bonds cut into the +flesh. But, alas! I was held as in the tentacles of an octopus. Every +limb was gripped, so that already a numbness had overspread them, +while my senses were frozen with horror. + +Suddenly the lamp failed and died out, and the room was plunged in +darkness, save for the zone of light shed by the unflickering flame of +the candle. And there lay the weird and horrible reptile coiled, +awaiting its release. + +It seemed to watch the lessening candle, just as I myself watched it. + +That sudden failure of the light caused me anxious reflections. + +A moment later I heard the front door bang. That decided me. It was as +I had feared. The pair of scoundrels had departed and left me to my +fate. + +The small marble clock upon the mantelshelf opposite struck three. I +counted the strokes. I had been in that room nearly an hour and a +half. + +How did they know of Jack Marlowe and his penchant for cards? Surely +the trap had been well baited, and devised with marvellous cunning. +That cheque of mine would be cashed at my bank in the morning without +question. I should be dead--and they would be free. + +For myself, I did not care so very much. My chief thought was of +Sylvia, and of the awful fate which had overtaken her because she had +dared to warn me--that fate of which she had spoken so strangely on +the night when we had talked on the hotel terrace at Gardone. + +That moonlit scene--the whole of it--passed through my fevered, +unbalanced brain. I lived those moments of ecstasy over again. I felt +her soft hand in mine. I looked again into those wonderful, fathomless +eyes; I heard that sweet, musical voice; I listened to those solemn +words of warning. I believed myself to be once more beside the +mysterious girl who had come into my life so strangely--who had held +me in fascination for life or death. + +The candle-flame, still straight and unflickering, seemed like a +pillar of fire, while beyond, lay a cavernous blackness. I thought I +heard a slight noise, as though my enemies were lurking there in the +shadow. Yet it was a mere chimera of my overwrought brain. + +I recollected the strange bracelet of Sylvia's--the serpent with its +tail in its mouth--the ancient symbol of Eternity. And I soon would be +launched into Eternity by the poisonous fang of that flat-headed +little reptile. + +Thoughts of Sylvia--that strange, sweet-faced girl of my +dreams--filled my senses. Those shrieks resounded in my ears. She had +cried for help, and yet I was powerless to rescue her from the hands +of that pair of hell-fiends. + +I struggled, and succeeded in moving slightly. + +But the snake, maddened by its bond, struck again at me viciously, his +darting tongue almost touching my shrinking flesh. + +A blood-red mist rose suddenly before my eyes. My head swam. My +overwrought brain, paralyzed by horror, became unbalanced. I felt a +tightness in the throat. In my ears once again I heard the hiss of the +loathsome reptile, a venomous, threatening hiss, as its dark shadow +darted before me, struggling to strike my cheek. + +Through the red mist I saw that the candle burned so low that the edge +of the wax was on a level with the green silk cord, that slender +thread which withheld Death from me. + +I looked again. A groan of agony escaped me. + +Again the angry hiss of the serpent sounded. Again its dark form shot +between my eyes and the unflickering flame of the candle. + +That flame was slowly but surely consuming the cord! + +I shrieked for help in my abject despair. + +The mist grew more red, more impenetrable. A lump arose in my throat, +preventing me from breathing. + +And then I lapsed into the blackness of unconsciousness. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +PRESENTS ANOTHER PROBLEM + + +When, by slow degrees, I became aware of things about me, I found +myself in total darkness, save that, straight before my eyes, some few +feet away, showed a thin, narrow line of light. + +Next second, a flood of the most horrible recollections surged through +my brain. I dare not move a muscle, fearing that the reptile was +lurking near my face. My senses seemed dulled and dazed, yet my +recollections were quite clear. Every detail of those moments of awful +terror stood out clear and fearsome in my mind. + +Slowly, so slow, indeed, as to be imperceptible, I managed to turn my +head aside, and glance at the small table. But it was in darkness. I +could distinguish nothing. To my surprise, I discovered, however, that +though I still remained in that position, my legs higher than my head, +yet the arms of the chair had unclasped, and my bonds had been freed! + +What had happened? + +In fear of bringing the watchful reptile upon me, I moved slightly. +But there was no movement from that table in the darkness. + +I waited, dreading lest I should be suddenly attacked. Then, +summoning courage, I suddenly sprang out of the chair on the side +opposite the table, and dashed across to where showed that narrow +streak of light. + +I saw that it came through the lower crevice of the heavy wooden +shutters. With frantic haste my hands slid over them. I found an iron +bar, and, this unlatched, I threw them back, and let in the broad +light of day. + +For a moment my eyes were dazzled by the sunlight. + +Then, on looking behind me, I saw that upon the table the candle had +burned itself to its socket, while on the floor, near by, lay the +small black reptile stretched out motionless. + +I feared at first to approach it. To its tail the cord was still +attached, but it had been severed. I crept towards it, and, bending +down, realized with great relief that it was dead. + +The leathern collar which had secured my head had been loosened and +the mechanism of the chair reversed, allowing me my freedom. I looked +around the room in wonder. There stood the littered card-table and the +empty glasses of the previous night, while the air was still heavy +with the odour of stale cigars. + +Making quite certain that the reptile was dead, I turned my attention +to the chair, and noted how cleverly the devilish mechanism had been +hidden. It could, as I had suspected, be worked from without. The +victim, once seated there, had no chance whatever of escape. + +In the light of day, the room--that fatal apartment wherein more than +one innocent man had, no doubt, met with a horrible end--looked very +shabby and dingy. The furniture was cheap and tawdry, and the carpet +very dirty. + +There, upon the card-table, stood the ink, while the pen used by +Reckitt lay upon the floor. My wallet lay open near by. I took it up +quickly to glance through its contents. As far as I could discover, +nothing had been taken except the cheque I had written out, believing +I was to assist Jack Marlowe. + +Eagerly I glanced at my watch, and found it was already a quarter past +ten. + +The scoundrels had, no doubt, already been to the bank, cashed my +cheque, and were by this time clear away! + +Remembering Sylvia, I drew my revolver, which still remained in my +hip-pocket, and, finding the door unlocked, went forth to search for +her. The fact that the door was now unlocked showed that some one had +entered there during my unconsciousness, and released me. From the +appearance of the snake, it seemed to have been killed by a sharp blow +across its back. + +Some one had rescued me just in the nick of time. + +I entered the front room on the same floor, the room whence those +woman's screams had emanated. It was a big bare drawing-room, +furnished in the ugly Early Victorian style, musty-smelling and +moth-eaten. The dirty holland blinds fitted badly and had holes in +them; therefore sufficient light was admitted to afford me a good view +of the large apartment. + +There was nothing unusual there, save upon a small work-table lay some +embroidery work, where apparently it had been put down. An open novel +lay near, while close by was a big bowl filled with yellow roses. Yet +the apartment seemed to have been long closed and neglected, while the +atmosphere had a musty odour which was not dispelled by the sweet +perfume of the flowers. + +Had Sylvia been in this room when she had shrieked? + +I saw something upon the floor, and picked it up. It proved to be a +narrow band of turquoise-blue velvet, the ornament from a woman's +hair. Did it belong to her? + +In vain I looked around for a candle--for evidences of the same +mediæval torture to which I had been submitted, but there were none. + +In fear and trepidation I entered yet another room on the same floor, +but it was dusty and neglected--a kind of sitting-room, or perhaps +boudoir, for there was an old-fashioned high-backed piano in it. Yet +there was no sign that anybody had entered there for weeks--perhaps +for months. In the sunlight, I saw that there were cobwebs everywhere. +Surely it was a very strange house. It struck me that its owner had +perhaps died years ago, and since then it had remained untenanted. +Everywhere the style of furniture was that of sixty years ago, and +thick dust was covering all. + +On entering the previous night I had not noticed this, but now, in the +broad light of day, the place looked very different. I saw, to my +surprise, that the windows had not been cleaned for years, and that +cobwebs hung everywhere. + +Revolver in hand, I searched the place to the basement, but there was +no evidence of occupation. The doors of the kitchens had not, +apparently, been opened for years! + +Upstairs, the bedrooms were old-fashioned, with heavy hangings, grey +with dust, and half hidden by festoons of cobwebs. In not a single +room was a bed that had been slept in. Indeed, I question if any one +had ascended to the second floor for several years! + +As I stood in one of the rooms, gazing round in wonder, and half +suffocated by the dust my footsteps had disturbed, it suddenly +occurred to me that the pair of assassins, believing that I had died, +would, no doubt, return and dispose of my body. To me it seemed +certain that this was not the first occasion that they had played the +dastardly and brutal game. Yes, I felt positive they would return. + +I searched the place to find a telephone, but there was none. The +bogus message sent to me had been sent from elsewhere. + +The only trace of Sylvia I could find was that piece of velvet +ribbon, the embroidery which had so hastily been flung down, and the +bowl of fresh roses. + +Why had she been there? The book and the embroidery showed that she +had waited. For what? That bowl of roses had been placed there to make +the room look fresh, for some attempt had been made to clean the +apartment, just as it had been made in the room wherein I had suffered +such torture. + +Why had Sylvia uttered those screams of horror? I recollected those +words of hers. I recognized her voice. I would, indeed, have +recognized it among the voices of a thousand women. + +I returned to the drawing-room, and gazed around it in wonder. If, as +it seemed, Reckitt and Forbes had taken unlawful possession of an +untenanted house, then it was probable they would not return to get +rid of my remains. The whole affair was incomprehensible. It seemed +evident that Sylvia had not fallen a victim to the vengeance of the +pair, as I had feared, but that perhaps I had owed my life to her. + +Could it be that she had learned of my peril, released me, killed the +venomous reptile, and escaped? + +Suddenly, as my eyes wandered about the dingy old room, I caught sight +of something shining. A golden bangle of curious Indian design was +lying upon the mantelshelf. I took it up, and in a moment recognized +it as one I had seen upon her wrist one evening while she sat at +dinner at Gardone. + +I replaced it, stood for a moment deep in thought, and then, with +sudden resolve, returned to the chamber of horror, obtained my hat, +and, descending the stairs, went forth into Porchester Terrace. + +I had to walk as far as Bayswater Road before I could find a taxi. The +sun was now shining brightly, and there were many people about in the +streets. Finding a cab at last, I told the man to drive with all speed +to my bank in Oxford Street. + +It was just eleven when I went up to the counter to one of the paying +cashiers I knew, and asked him breathlessly if a cheque of mine had +been paid to a person named Reckitt. He saw by my manner that I was in +hot haste. + +"I've cashed it not a moment ago, Mr. Biddulph," was his reply. "Why, +you must have passed the man as you came in! He's only this moment +gone out." + +Without a word I dashed back to the swing-doors, and there, sure +enough, only a few yards away, I caught sight of Forbes, in a smart +grey flannel suit, entering a taxi. I shouted, but the taxi man did +not hear me. He was facing westward, and ere I could attract his +attention he was slowly moving in the direction of the Marble Arch. + +The quick eyes of Forbes had, however, detected me, and, leaning out, +he said something to his driver. Quickly I re-entered my cab, and told +my man to turn and follow, pointing out the taxi in front. Mine was +open, while that in which the assassin sat was closed. + +In his pocket the scoundrel carried over a thousand pounds of my +money. + +My first impulse was to stop and inform a police-constable, but if I +did so I saw that he must escape. I shouted to my driver to try and +see the number of the cab, but there was a lot of traffic, and he was +unable to see it clearly. + +I suppose I must have cut a sorry figure, dishevelled as I was by my +night's weird experience, and covered with the dust of that untenanted +house. What the bank-clerk must have thought, I know not. + +It was an exciting chase. For a moment we were held up by the police +at Regent Circus, for there was much traffic, but only for a brief +space; then we tore after the receding cab at a pace which made many +passers-by stare. The cab in which Forbes was, being closed, the +driver did not see us, but I knew that the assassin was watching us +from the tiny window in the back, and was giving his driver +instructions through the front window. + +My man had entered fully into the spirit of the chase. + +"That fellow in yonder taxi has just stolen a thousand pounds!" I told +him. + +"All right, sir," replied my driver, as he bent over his wheel; "we +shall catch him presently, never fear. I'm keeping my eye upon him all +right." + +There were many taxis coming into the line of traffic from Bond Street +and from the other main thoroughfares crossing Oxford Street--red +taxis, just like the one in which Forbes was escaping. Yet we both +kept our eyes fixed upon that particular one, the driver of which +presently bent sideways, and shot back a glance at us. + +Then he put on speed, and with marvellous dexterity threaded in and +out of the motor-buses and carts in front of him. I was compelled to +admire his driving. I could only suppose that Forbes had offered him +something handsome if he got safely away. + +At the Marble Arch he suddenly turned down Park Lane, where the +traffic was less, and there gaining upon us, he turned into one of the +smaller streets, through Upper Grosvenor Street, winding in and out +the intricate thoroughfares which lay between Grosvenor Square and +Regent Street. Across Hanover Square and along Hanover Street we sped, +until, passing out on to the opposite side of Regent Street, the +driver, evidently believing that he had outwitted us, slowed down, and +then pulled up suddenly before a shop. + +Ere the fugitive could escape, indeed ere the door could be opened, we +had pulled up a few yards away, and I dashed out and up to the door of +the cab, my revolver gripped in my hand. + +My driver had descended also, and gained the other side of the cab +almost as soon as I had. + +I opened the door, and met the fugitive boldly face to face. + +Next second I fell back as though I had received a blow. I stood +aghast. + +I could utter no word. The mystery had, I realized in that second, +been increased a hundredfold. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +FACE TO FACE + + +On opening the door of the taxi I stood amazed to find that the +occupant was not a man--but a woman. + +It was Sylvia! + +She started at sight of me. Her countenance blanched to the lips as +she drew back and sat erect, a cry of dismay escaping her lips. + +"You!" I gasped, utterly dumbfounded. + +"Why--Mr. Biddulph!" she cried, recovering herself in a moment and +stretching forth her small gloved hand; "fancy meeting you like this!" + +What words I uttered I scarcely knew. This sudden transformation of +the scoundrel Forbes into Sylvia Pennington held me bewildered. All I +could imagine was that Sylvia must have been awaiting the man in +another cab close to the bank, and that, in the course of our chase, +we had confused the two taxis. Forbes had succeeded in turning away +into some side street, while we had followed the cab of his companion. + +She had actually awaited him in another cab while he had entered the +bank and cashed the stolen cheque! + +My taxi-driver, when he saw that a lady, and not a man, occupied the +fugitive cab, drew back, returning to his seat. + +"Do you know!" exclaimed the girl, with wonderful calmness, "only +yesterday I was thinking of you, and wondering whether you were in +London!" + +"And only yesterday, too, Miss Pennington, I also was thinking of +you," I said meaningly. + +She was dressed very quietly in dead black, which increased the +fairness of her skin and hair, wearing a big black hat and black +gloves. She was inexpressibly smart, from the thin gauzy veil to the +tips of her tiny patent-leather shoes, with a neat waist and a figure +that any woman might envy. Indeed, in her London attire she seemed +even smarter than she had appeared on the terrace beside the blue +Italian lake. + +"Where is your father?" I managed to ask. + +"Oh!--well, he's away just now. He was with me in London only the +other day," she replied. "But, as you know, he's always travelling." +Then she added: "I'm going into this shop a moment. Will you wait for +me? I'm so pleased to see you again, and looking so well. It seems +really ages since we were at Gardone, doesn't it?" and she smiled that +old sweet smile I so well remembered. + +"I'll wait, of course," I replied, and, assisting her out, I watched +her pass into the big drapery establishment. Then I idled outside amid +the crowd of women who were dawdling before the attractive windows, as +is the feminine habit. + +If it had been she who had rescued me from death and had released me, +what a perfect actress she was. Her confusion had only lasted for a +few seconds. Then she had welcomed me, and expressed pleasure at our +re-encounter. + +I recollected the bow of ribbon-velvet which reposed in my pocket, and +the Indian bangle I had found. I remembered, too, those agonized, +terrified cries in the night--and all the mysteries of that weird and +silent house! + +When she came forth I would question her; I would obtain from her the +truth anent those remarkable happenings. + +Was it of that most ingenious and dastardly plot she had warned me? +Was her own conviction that she must suffer the penalty of death based +upon the knowledge of the deadly instrument, that venomous reptile +used by the assassins? + +Could it be that Pennington himself--her own father--was implicated in +this shameful method of obtaining money and closing the lips of the +victims? + +As I stood there amid the morning bustle of Regent Street out in the +broad sunshine, all the ghastly horrors of the previous night crowded +thickly upon me. Why had she shrieked: "Ah! not that--_not that_!" Had +she, while held prisoner in that old-fashioned drawing-room, been told +of the awful fate to which I had been consigned? + +I remembered how I had called to her, but received no response. And +yet she must have been in the adjoining room. + +Perhaps, like myself, she had fainted. + +I recalled her voice distinctly. I certainly had made no mistake. She +had been actually present in that house of black torture. Therefore, +being my friend, there seemed no doubt that, to her, I owed my +mysterious salvation. But how? Aye, that was the question. + +Suddenly, as I stood there on the crowded pavement, I became conscious +that I was attracting attention. I recollected my dusty clothes and +dirty, dishevelled face. I must have presented a strange, dissipated, +out-all-night appearance. And further, I had lost a thousand pounds. + +Up and down before the long range of shop-windows I walked, patiently +awaiting her reappearance. I was anxious to know the truth concerning +the previous night's happenings--a truth which I intended she should +not conceal from me. + +I glanced at my watch. It was already past eleven o'clock. Morning +shopping in Regent Street had now commenced in real earnest. The +thoroughfare was lined with carriages, for was it not the height of +the London season? + +In and out of the big drapery establishment passed crowds of +well-dressed women, most of them with pet dogs, and others with male +friends led like lambs to the slaughter. The spectacle of a man in +silk hat out shopping with a lady friend is always a pitiable one. His +very look craves the sympathy of the onlooker, especially if he be +laden with soft-paper parcels. + +My brain was awhirl. My only thought was of Sylvia and of her strange +connection with these undesirable persons who had so ingeniously +stolen my money, and who had baited such a fatal trap. + +Anxious as I was to get to a telephone and ring up Jack, yet I could +not leave my post--I had promised to await her. + +Nearly an hour went by; I entered the shop and searched its labyrinth +of "departments." But I could not distinguish her anywhere. Upstairs +and downstairs I went, inquiring here and there, but nobody seemed to +have seen the fair young lady in black; the great emporium seemed to +have swallowed her up. + +It was now noon. Even though she might have been through a +dress-fitting ordeal, an hour was certainly ample time. Therefore I +began to fear that she had missed me. There were several other exits +higher up the street, and also one which I discovered in a side +street. + +I returned to her taxi, for I had already paid off my man. The driver +had not seen his "fare." + +"I was hailed by the lady close to Chapel Street," he said, "and I +drove 'er to Oxford Street, not far from Tottenham Court Road. We +stood at the kerb for about ten minutes. Then she ordered me to drive +with all speed over 'ere." + +"Did you see her speak with any gentleman?" + +"She was with a dark, youngish gentleman when they hailed me. She got +in and left 'im in Chapel Street. I heard 'im say as we went off that +he'd see 'er again soon." + +"That's all you know of her?" + +"Yes, sir. I've never seen 'er before," replied the driver. Then he +added with a smile, "Your man's been tellin' me as how you thought I +had a bank-thief in my cab!" + +"Yes, but I was mistaken," I said. "I must have made a mistake in the +cab." + +"That's very easy, sir. We're so much alike--us red 'uns." + +Sylvia's non-appearance much puzzled me. What could it mean? For +another half-hour--an anxious, impatient, breathless half-hour--I +waited, but she did not return. + +Had she, too, cleverly escaped by entering the shop, and passing out +by another entrance? + +Another careful tour of the establishment revealed the fact that she +certainly was not there. + +And so, after a wait of nearly two hours, I was compelled to accept +the hard and very remarkable fact that she had purposely evaded me, +and escaped! + +Then she was in league with the men who had stolen my thousand pounds! +And yet had not that selfsame man declared that she, having betrayed +him, was to meet the same terrible fate as that prepared for me? + +For a final five minutes I waited; then annoyed, disappointed and +dismayed, entered the taxi, and drove to Wilton Street. + +On entering with my latch-key, Browning came forward with a puzzled +expression, surprised, no doubt, at my dishevelled appearance. + +"I've been very anxious about you, Mr. Owen," exclaimed the old man. I +was always Mr. Owen to him, just as I had been when a lad. "When I +went to your room this morning I found your bed empty. I wondered +where you had gone." + +"I've had a strange adventure, Browning," I laughed, rather forcedly I +fear. "Has Mr. Marlowe rung me up?" + +"No, sir. But somebody else rang up about an hour ago, and asked +whether you were in." + +"Who was it?" + +"I couldn't quite catch the name, sir. It sounded like +Shuffle--something." + +"Shuttleworth!" I cried. "Did he leave any message?" + +"No, sir. He merely asked if you were in--that's all." + +As Sylvia was in London, perhaps Shuttleworth was in town also, I +reflected. Yet she had cleverly made her escape--in order to avoid +being questioned. Her secret was a guilty one! + +I called up Jack, who answered cheerily as usual. + +"You didn't ring me up about one o'clock this morning, did you?" I +inquired. + +"No. Why?" he asked. + +"Oh--well, nothing," I said. "I thought perhaps it might have been +you--that's all. What time shall you be in at White's?" + +"About four. Will you be there?" + +"Yes." + +"Right-ho! Good-bye, old man," and he rang off. + +I ascended to my room, changed my clothes, and made myself +respectable. But during the time I was dressing I reflected whether I +should go to Scotland Yard and relate my strange experience. Such +clever fiends as Reckitt and Forbes deserved punishment. What fearful +crimes had been committed in that weird, neglected house I dreaded to +think. My only hesitation, however, was caused by the thought that +perhaps Sylvia might be implicated. I felt somehow impelled to try and +solve the problem for myself. I had lost a thousand pounds. Yet had I +not fallen into that trap in utter disregard of Sylvia's warning? + +Therefore, I resolved to keep my own counsel for the present, and to +make a few inquiries in order to satisfy my curiosity. So, putting on +a different suit, a different collar, and a soft felt hat which I +never wore, in a perhaps feeble attempt to transform myself from my +usual appearance, I went forth again. + +My first visit was to the bank, where I saw the manager and explained +that the cheque had been stolen from my pocket, though I did not +expose the real facts. Then, after he had condoled with me upon my +loss, and offered to send the description of the thief to the police +at once, I re-entered the taxi, and drove back to Porchester Terrace, +alighting a short distance from Althorp House. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +CONTAINS A FURTHER SURPRISE + + +It was nearly one o'clock, and the sun was high, as I walked beneath +the dingy brick walls which separate each short garden from the +pavement. In some gardens were stunted trees, blackened by the London +smoke, while the houses were mostly large and comfortable, for it is +still considered a "genteel," if somewhat decayed neighbourhood. + +Before that house of horror I paused for a moment. The dingy blinds of +yellow holland were drawn at each of the soot-grimed windows, +blackened by age and dirt. The garden was weedy and neglected, for the +grass grew high on the patch of lawn, and the dead leaves of the +tulips and daffodils of spring had not been removed. + +The whole place presented a sadly neglected, sorry appearance--a state +of uncared-for disorder which, in the darkness of night, I had, of +course, not noticed. + +As I looked within the garden I saw lying behind the wall an old +weather-beaten notice-board which bore the words "To be let, +Furnished," and giving the name of a well-known firm of estate agents +in Pall Mall. + +The house next door was smart and well kept, therefore I resolved to +make inquiry there. + +Of the tall, thin, old man-servant who answered my ring, I inquired +the name of the occupant of Althorp House. + +"Well, sir," he replied, "there hasn't been an occupant since I've +been in service here, and that's ten years last March. An old lady +lived there, I've heard--a rather eccentric old lady. They've tried to +let it furnished, but nobody has taken it. It is said that the old +lady left instructions in her will that the furniture was to be left +just as it was for twenty years after her death. I expect the place +must be fine and dirty! An old woman goes there once every six weeks +or so, I believe, just to open the doors and let in a little air. But +it's never cleaned." + +"And nobody has been over it with a view to renting it?" + +"Not to my knowledge, sir." + +"There's never been anybody going in or out--eh?" + +"Well, I've never seen them, sir," was the man's reply. + +"But there have been people coming and going, have there not?" + +The man hesitated for a moment, apparently slightly puzzled at my +question. + +"Well, sir, to tell the truth, there's been a very funny story about +lately. It is said that some of the old woman's relatives have +returned, and they've been seen going in and out--but always in the +middle of the night." + +"What sort of people?" I asked quickly. + +"Oh! two men and a woman--so they say. But of course I've never seen +anybody. I've asked the constables on night duty, and they've never +seen any one, or they would, no doubt, have reported it." + +"Then who has seen them?" + +"I really don't know. I heard the gossip over in the Royal Oak. How it +originated, or whether it had any foundation in fact, I can't find +out." + +"I see the board has fallen down." + +"Yes, that's been down for a couple of months or more--blown down by +the wind, I suppose." + +"You haven't heard cabs stopping outside at night, for instance?" + +"No, sir. I sleep at the back, and should therefore not hear." + +I could see that he was a little uncertain as to the reason of my +inquiries, therefore I made an excuse that having been struck by the +appearance of the house so long neglected my curiosity had been +aroused. + +"You've never heard of cabs stopping there at night?" I asked, a few +moments later. + +"Well, this morning the cook, who sleeps upstairs in front, funnily +enough, told me a curious story of how in the night a taxi stopped and +a gentleman got out and entered the house. A few minutes later +another man came forth from the house, paid the taxi-driver, and he +moved off. But," laughed the man-servant, "I fancy cook had been +dreaming. I'm going to ask the constable when he comes on duty +to-night if he saw any strangers here." + +I smiled. The man whom the cook saw had evidently been myself. + +Then, after a further chat, I pressed half-a-crown into his ready palm +and left. + +My next visit was to the estate agents in Pall Mall, where, presenting +myself as a possible tenant, the clerk at whose table I had taken a +seat said-- + +"Well, sir, Althorp House is in such a bad, neglected state that we do +not now-a-days send clients to view it. Old Mrs. Carpenter died some +thirteen years ago, and according to her will the place had to be left +undisturbed, and let furnished. The solicitors placed it in our hands, +but the property until the twenty years have elapsed, is quite +untenantable. The whole place has now gone to rack and ruin. We have a +number of other furnished houses which I will be most delighted to +give you orders to view." + +In pretence that I wanted a house I allowed him to select three for +me, and while doing so learnt some further particulars regarding the +dark house in Porchester Terrace. As far as he knew, the story of Mrs. +Carpenter's relatives taking secret possession was a myth. + +The caretaker had been withdrawn two years ago, and the place simply +locked up and left. If burglars broke in, there was nothing of value +for them to take, he added. + +Thus the result of my inquiries went to confirm my suspicion that the +ingenious pair of malefactors had taken possession of the place +temporarily, in order to pursue their nefarious plans. + +There was a garden at the rear. Might it not also be the grave wherein +the bodies of their innocent victims were interred? + +That afternoon, at four, I met Jack Marlowe in White's, and as we sat +in our big arm-chairs gazing through the windows out into the sunshine +of St. James's Street, I asked him whether he would be prepared to +accompany me upon an adventurous visit to a house in Bayswater. + +The long-legged, clean-shaven, clean-limbed fellow with the fairish +hair and merry grey eyes looked askance for a moment, and then +inquired-- + +"What's up, old man? What's the game?" He was always eager for an +adventure, I knew. + +"Well, the fact is I want to look around a house in Porchester +Terrace, that's all. I want to search the garden when nobody's about." + +"Why?" + +"In order to satisfy myself about something." + +"Become an amateur detective--eh, Owen?" + +"Well, my curiosity has certainly been aroused, and I intend to go to +the house late to-night and look round the garden. Will you come?" + +He was one of the best of good fellows, overflowing with good humour +and good nature. His face seemed to wear a perpetual smile of +contentment. + +"Of course. But tell me more," he asked. + +"I will--afterwards," I said. "Let's dine together somewhere, and turn +in at the Empire afterwards. We don't want to get to Bayswater before +midnight, as we mustn't be seen. Don't dress. I'll bring an electric +torch." + +"I've got one. I'll bring mine also," he replied, at once entering +into the spirit of the adventure. "Only you might tell me what's in +the wind, Owen," he added. + +"I'll tell you afterwards, old chap," I promised. + +And then we separated, agreeing to meet at eight at a well-known +restaurant which we often patronized. + +That night, when the curtain fell at the Empire, we both went forth +and strolled along to St. James's Street to get a drink at the club. +The later we went forth on our nocturnal inquiry, the better. + +I recollected that look of terror and astonishment on Forbes's +countenance when his gaze had met mine outside the bank--a look which +showed that he had believed me to be safely out of the way. He had +never dreamed I was still alive! Hence it seemed to me certain that +the pair of malefactors, having secured the money, would at once make +themselves scarce. How, I wondered, could they have known of Jack +Marlowe, unless they had watched us both in secret, as seemed most +likely. + +That they would not return again to that house of horror in Bayswater +seemed certain. + +Towards one o'clock we took a taxi off the stand outside White's and +drove to Porchester Terrace, alighting some distance from our +destination. We passed the constable strolling slowly in the opposite +direction, and when at last we gained the rusty iron gate we both +slipped inside, quietly and unobserved. + +The street lamp in the vicinity lit up the front of the dingy house, +therefore fearing observation from any of the servants next door, we +moved noiselessly in the shadow of the bushes along the side of the +premises, past a small conservatory, many panes of glass of which were +broken, and so into the darkness of the small back garden, which +seemed knee-deep in grass and weeds, and which, from its position, +hemmed in by blank walls, could not be overlooked save from the house +itself. + +All was silence. The scene was weird in the extreme. In the distance +could be heard the faint hum of the never-ceasing traffic of London. +Above, showed the dark windows of that grim old place wherein I had so +nearly lost my life. + +"I want to examine this garden thoroughly," I whispered to Jack, and +then I switched on my torch and showed a light around. A tangle of +weeds and undergrowth was revealed--a tangle so great that to +penetrate it without the use of a bill-hook appeared impossible. + +Still we went forward, examining everywhere with our powerful electric +lights. + +"What will the people say?" laughed Jack. "They'll take us for +burglars, old chap!" + +"The place is empty," I replied. "Our only fear is of the police. To +them we would be compelled to make an explanation--and that's just +what I don't want to do." + +For some time we carefully searched, conversing only in whispers. My +hands were scratched, and stung by nettles, and Jack had his coat +badly torn by thorns. The garden had been allowed to run wild for all +the years since old Mrs. Carpenter's death, and the two ash trees had +spread until their thick branches overshadowed a large portion of the +ground. + +Beneath one of these trees I suddenly halted as an ejaculation escaped +me. Near the trunk, and in such a position that it would not be seen +even from the windows of the house, yawned a hole, and at its side a +mound of newly-dug earth. + +"Ah!" I cried. "This is what I've been in search of!" The discovery +revealed a ghastly truth. I shuddered at the sight of it. + +"What, that hole?" asked Jack, in a low voice as we approached and +peered into it. I judged it to be about three feet or so in depth. +"What a funny thing to search for!" + +"That hole, Jack, was intended for a man's grave!" I whispered +hoarsely, "and the man intended was _myself_!" + +"You!" he gasped. "What do you mean, Owen?" + +"I mean that that grave yonder was dug in order to conceal my dead +body," was my low, meaning answer. "And I fear--fear very much--that +the remains of others who have met with foul play have been concealed +here!" + +"You mean that murder was actually intended!" he exclaimed in +astonishment. "When?" + +"Last night. I was entrapped here and narrowly escaped." + +"How? Tell me all about it," he urged. + +"Later on. Not here," I said. "Let us see if there is any further +evidence of recent digging," and together we examined the ground +beneath the second tree. + +Presently Jack in the course of searching about, came to a spot where +the ground seemed perceptibly softer. My stick sank in, while in other +parts the ground seemed hard. Beneath the trees the weeds and grass +grew thinly, and I presumed that the miscreants could work there under +the canopy of leaves without fear of observation. + +I bent down and carefully examined the surface, which, for about four +feet square, bore plain traces of having recently been moved. + +Something had evidently been interred there. Yet tiny fresh blades of +green were just springing up, as though grass-seed had been sprinkled +over in order to obliterate traces of the recent excavation. + +"What do you think of it?" I inquired of my companion. + +"Well, perhaps somebody has really been buried here--eh?" he said. +"Don't you think you ought to go and tell the police at once?" + +I was silent, in bewilderment. + +"My own opinion is, Owen, that if a serious attempt has been made upon +you, and you really suspect that that hole yonder was prepared to +receive you, then it is your duty to tell the police. Others may fall +into the trap," Jack added. + +"Not here," I said. "The assassins will not return, never fear. They +know of their failure in my case, and by this time they are, in all +probability, out of the country." + +"But surely we ought to examine this spot and ascertain whether the +remains of any one is concealed here!" exclaimed my old friend. + +Yet I still hesitated, hesitated because I feared that any exposure +must implicate that sweet little girl who, though my friend, had so +ingeniously escaped me. + +At the same moment, however, our ears both caught a slight movement +among the tangled shrubs under the wall at the extreme end of the +garden. Instantly we shut off our lamps, and stood motionless, +listening. + +At first I believed it to be only the scrambling of a cat. But next +second Jack nudged my arm, and straining my eyes I saw a dark figure +moving stealthily along, half crouching so as to be less conspicuous, +but moving slowly towards that side of the house which was the only +exit. + +Fearing discovery there, our examination being so thorough, the +intruder was slowly creeping off, endeavouring to escape observation. + +For an instant I remained motionless, watching the dark, crouching +figure. Then, drawing my revolver, I made a dash straight in its +direction. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +WHAT THE POLICE KNEW + + +As I pushed my way through the tangle of weeds and undergrowth, Jack +followed closely at my heels. + +The dark figure leapt away in an instant, and dashed round the corner +by the ruined conservatory, but I was too quick for him. I caught him +up when he gained the front of the house, and there, in the light of +the street-lamp, my eyes fell upon a strange-looking object. + +He proved to be a ragged, hunchbacked youth, so deformed as to be +extremely ugly, both in face and figure. His hair, long and lank, hung +about his shoulders, while his dark eyes stood out in terror when I +ordered him to halt, and covered him with my shining weapon. + +His was the most weird figure that I had seen for many a day. I judged +him to be about eighteen or nineteen, though he looked older. His legs +were short, his head seemed far too big for his crooked body, while +his arms were long and ape-like, and his fingers thin, like talons. + +"Now then, what are you doing here?" I demanded in a firm, commanding +voice. + +But he only quivered, and crouched against the wall like a whipped +dog. + +"Speak!" I said. "Who are you?" + +He gave vent to a loud, harsh laugh, almost a screech, and then +grinned horribly in my face. + +"Who are you?" I repeated. "Where do you live?" + +But though his mouth moved, as though he replied, no sound escaped +him. + +I spoke again, but he only laughed wildly, his thin fingers twitching. + +"Ho! ho! ho!" he ejaculated, pointing back to the neglected garden. + +"I wonder what he means!" exclaimed Jack. + +"Why, I believe he's an idiot!" I remarked. + +"He has every appearance of one," declared my companion, who then +addressed him, with the same negative result. + +Again the weird, repulsive youth pointed back to the garden, and, +laughing hideously, uttered some words in gibberish which were quite +unintelligible. + +"If we remain here chattering, the constable will find us," I +remarked, so we all three went forth into the street, the ugly +hunchback walking at my side, quite tractable and quiet. + +Presently, unable to gather a single intelligible sentence from him, +Jack and I resolved to leave him, and afterwards follow him and +ascertain where he lived. + +Why had he pointed to the garden and laughed so hilariously? Had he +witnessed any of those nocturnal preparations--or interments? + +At last, at the corner of Bishop's Road, we wished him farewell and +turned away. Then, at a respectable distance, we drew into a gateway +to watch. He remained standing where we had left him for some ten +minutes or so, until a constable slowly approached, and, halting, +began to chat to him. + +Apparently he was a well-known figure, for we could hear the policeman +speaking, and could distinguish the poor fellow laughing that queer, +harsh, discordant laugh--the laugh of the idiot. + +Presently the constable moved forward again, whereupon I said-- + +"I'll get on and have a chat with the policeman, Jack. You follow the +hunchback if he moves away." + +"Right-ho," replied my friend, while I sped off, crossing the road and +making a detour until I met the constable. + +Having wished him good-night, I inquired the identity of the deformed +youth. + +"Oh, sir," he laughed, "that's Mad 'Arry. 'E's quite 'armless. 'E's +out most nights, but we never see 'im in the day, poor chap. I've +known 'im ever since he was about nine." + +"Does no work, I suppose?" + +"None. 'Ow can 'e? 'E's as mad as a hatter, as the sayin' goes," +replied the constable, his thumbs hitched in his belt as he stood. + +"A kind of midnight wanderer, eh?" + +"Yes, 'e's always a-pryin' about at night. Not long ago 'e found +burglars in a 'ouse in Gloucester Terrace, and gave us the alarm. We +copped four of 'em. The magistrate gave 'im a guinea out o' the +poor-box." + +"Ah! so he's of use to you?" + +"Yes, sir, 'e's most intelligent where there's any suspicious +characters about. I've often put 'im on the watch myself." + +"Then he's not quite insane?" + +"Not on that point, at any rate," laughed the officer. + +"Where does he live?" + +"'Is father's a hackney-carriage driver, and 'e lives with 'im up in +Gloucester Mews, just at the back of Porchester Mews--I don't know if +you know it?" + +I was compelled to confess ignorance of the locality, but he directed +me. + +"Are you on night-duty in Porchester Terrace, constable?" I asked a +few moments later. + +"Yes, sir, sometimes. Why?" + +"You know Althorp House, of course?" + +"Yes, the 'aunted 'ouse, as some people call it. Myself, I don't +believe in ghosts." + +"Neither do I," I laughed, "but I've heard many funny stories about +that place. Have you ever heard any?" + +"Lots, sir," replied the man. "We're always being told of strange +things that 'ave 'appened there, yet when we 'ave a look around we +never find anything, so we've ceased to trouble. Our inspector's +given us orders not to make any further inquiries, 'e's been worried +too often over idle gossip." + +"What's the latest story afloat concerning the place?" I asked. "I'm +always interested in mysteries of that sort." + +"Oh, I 'eard yesterday that somebody was seen to get out of a taxi-cab +and enter. And 'e 'asn't been seen to come forth again." + +"That's curious," I said. "And haven't you looked over the place?" + +"I'm not on duty there. Perhaps my mate 'as. I don't know. +But, funnily enough," added the officer, "Mad 'Arry has been +tellin' me something about it a moment ago--something I can't +understand--something about the garden. I suppose 'e's been a-fancyin' +something or other. Everybody seems to see something in the garden, or +at the windows. Why, about a week ago, a servant from one of the +'ouses in the Terrace came up to me at three o'clock in the afternoon, +in broad daylight, and said as how she'd distinctly seen at the +drawin'-room window the face of a pretty, fair-haired girl a-peerin' +through the side of the dirty blind. She described the girl, too, and +said that as soon as she saw she was noticed the inmate of the place +drew back instantly." + +"A fair-haired girl!" I exclaimed, quickly interested. + +"Yes; she described her as wearin' a black velvet band on her hair." + +"And what did you do?" I asked anxiously. + +"Why, nothing. I've 'eard too many o' them kind o' tales before." + +"Yes," I said reflectively. "Of course all kinds of legends and +rumours must naturally spring up around a house so long closed." + +"Of course. It's all in people's imagination. I suppose they'll say +next that a murder's been committed in the place!" he laughed. + +"I suppose so," I said, and then, putting a shilling in his hand, +wished him good-night, and passed along. + +Jack and the idiot had gone, but, knowing the direction they had +taken--for the youth was, no doubt, on his way home--I was not long +before I caught up my friend, and then together we retraced our steps +towards the Bayswater Road, in search of a taxi. + +I could not forget that curious statement that a girl's face had been +seen at the drawing-room window--a fair-headed girl with a band of +black velvet in her hair. + +Could it have been Sylvia Pennington? + +It was past three o'clock in the morning before I retraced my steps to +Wilton Street. We were unable to find a cab, therefore we walked down +Park Lane together. + +On the way Jack had pressed me to tell him the reason of my visit to +that weird house and the circumstances in which my life had been +attempted. For the present, however, I refused to satisfy his +curiosity. I promised him I would tell him the whole facts of the +case some day. + +"But why are you at home now?" he asked. "I can't really make you out +lately, Owen. You told me you hated London, and preferred life on the +Continent, yet here you are, back again, and quite settled down in +town!" + +"Well, a fellow must come here for the London season sometimes," I +said. "I feel that I've been away far too long, and am a bit out of +touch with things. Why, my tailor hardly knew me, and the hall-porter +at White's had to look twice before he realized who I was." + +"But there's some attraction which has brought you to London," he +declared. "I'm sure there is!" + +It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him how cleverly the two +scoundrels had used his name wherewith to entrap me on the previous +night. But I refrained. Instead, I asked-- + +"Have you ever met two men named Reckitt and Forbes, Jack?" + +"Not to my knowledge," was his prompt reply. "Who are they? What are +they like?" + +I gave him a minute description of both, but he apparently did not +recognize them. + +"I suppose you've never met a fellow called Pennington--eh? A +stoutish, dark-haired man with a baldish head and a reddish face?" + +"Well," he replied thoughtfully, "I've met a good many men who might +answer to that description. What is he?" + +"I don't exactly know. I've met him on the Continent." + +"And I suppose some people one meets at Continental hotels are +undesirables, aren't they?" he said. + +I nodded in the affirmative. + +Then I asked-- + +"You've never known a person named Shuttleworth--Edmund Shuttleworth? +Lives at a little village close to Andover." + +"Shuttleworth!" he echoed, looking straight into my face. "What do you +know of Edmund Shuttleworth?" he asked quickly. + +"Very little. Do you know him?" + +"Er--well--no, not exactly," was his faltering reply, and I saw in his +slight hesitation an intention to conceal the actual knowledge which +he possessed. "I've heard of him--through a friend of mine--a lady +friend." + +"A lady! Who's she?" I inquired quickly. + +"Well," he laughed a trifle uneasily, "the fact is, old chap, perhaps +it wouldn't be fair to tell the story. You understand?" + +I was silent. What did he mean? In a second the allegation made by +that pair of scoundrels recurred to me. They had declared that Sylvia +had been in a house opposite, and that my friend had fallen in love +with her. + +Yet he had denied acquaintanceship with Pennington! + +No doubt the assassins had lied to me, yet my suspicions had been +aroused. Jack had admitted his acquaintance with the thin-faced +village rector--he knew of him through a woman. Was that woman Sylvia +herself? + +From his manner and the great curiosity he evinced, I felt assured +that he had never known of Althorp House before. Reckitt and Forbes +had uttered lies when they had shown me that photograph, and told me +that she was beloved by my best friend. It had been done to increase +my anger and chagrin. Yet might there not, after all, have been some +foundation in truth in what they had said? The suggestion gripped my +senses. + +Again I asked him to tell me the lady's name. + +But, quite contrary to his usual habit of confiding in me all his most +private affairs, he steadfastly refused. + +"No, my dear old chap," he replied, "I really can't tell you that. +Please excuse me, but it is a matter I would rather not discuss." + +So at the corner of Piccadilly we parted, for it was now broad +daylight, and while he returned to his rooms, I walked down Grosvenor +Place to Wilton Street, more than ever puzzled and confounded. + +Was I a fool, that I loved Sylvia Pennington with such an +all-absorbing passion? + +It was strangely true, as Shuttleworth had declared, the grave lay as +a gulf between us. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +THE WORD OF A WOMAN + + +A week went by--a week of keen anxiety and apprehension. + +Jack had spoken the truth when he had declared that it was my duty to +go to Scotland Yard and reveal what I had discovered regarding that +dark house in Bayswater. + +Yet somehow I felt that any such action on my part must necessarily +reflect upon my fair-haired divinity, that sweet, soft-spoken girl who +had warned me, and who, moreover, was my affinity. + +Had you found yourself in such a position, how would you have acted? + +Remember that, notwithstanding the veil of mystery which overspread +Sylvia Pennington, I loved her, and tried to conceal the truth from +myself a hundred times, but it was impossible. She had warned me, and +I, unfortunately, had not heeded. I had fallen into a trap, and +without a doubt it had been she who had entered and rescued me from a +fate most horrible to contemplate. + +I shuddered when I lived that hour of terror over again. I longed once +more to see that pale, sweet, wistful face which was now ever in my +dreams. Had not Shuttleworth told me that the grave lay between my +love and myself? And he had spoken the truth! + +Jack met me at the club daily, but he only once referred to our +midnight search and the gruesome discovery in the neglected garden. + +Frequently it crossed my mind that Mad Harry might have watched there +unseen, and witnessed strange things. How many men reported to the +police as missing had been interred in that private burying-ground of +the assassins! I dreaded to think of it. + +In vain I waited for Mr. Shuttleworth to call again. He had inquired +if I were at home, and, finding me absent, had gone away. + +I therefore, a week later, made it an excuse to run down to Andover +and see him, hoping to obtain from him some further information +regarding Sylvia. + +The afternoon was bright and warm, and the country looked its best, +with the scent of new-mown hay in the air, and flowers everywhere, as +I descended from the station fly and walked up the rectory garden to +the house. + +The maid admitted me to the study, saying that Mr. Shuttleworth was +only "down the paddock," and would be back in a few minutes. And as I +seated myself in the big, comfortable arm-chair, I saw, straight +before me, in its frame the smiling face of the mysterious woman I +loved. + +Through the open French windows came the warm sunlight, the song of +the birds, and the drowsy hum of the insects. The lawn was marked for +tennis, and beyond lay the paddock and the dark forest-border. + +I had remained there some few minutes, when suddenly I heard a quick +footstep in the hall outside; then, next moment, the door was opened, +and there, upon the threshold, stood Sylvia herself. + +"You!" she gasped, starting back. "I--I didn't know you were here!" +she stammered in confusion. + +She was evidently a guest there, and was about to pass through the +study into the garden. Charming in a soft white ninon gown and a big +white hat, she held a tennis-racket in her hand, presenting a pretty +picture framed by the dark doorway. + +"Sylvia!" I cried, springing forward to her in joy, and catching her +small white trembling hand in mine. "Fancy you--here!" + +She held her breath, suffering me to lead her into the room and to +close the door. + +"I had no idea you were here," I said. "I--lost you the other day in +Regent Street--I----" + +She made a quick gesture, as though she desired me to refrain from +referring to that incident. I saw that her cheeks were deadly pale, +and that in her face was an expression of utter confusion. + +"This meeting," she said slowly in a low voice, "is certainly an +unexpected one. Mr. Shuttleworth doesn't know you are here, does he?" + +"No," I replied. "He's down in the paddock, I believe." + +"He has been called out suddenly," she said. "He's driven over to +Clatford with Mrs. Shuttleworth." + +"And you are here alone?" I exclaimed quickly. + +"No. There's another guest--Elsie Durnford," she answered. "But," she +added, her self-possession at once returning, "but why are you here, +Mr. Biddulph?" + +"I wanted to see Mr. Shuttleworth. Being a friend of yours, I believed +that he would know where you were. But, thank Heaven, I have found you +at last. Now," I said, smiling as I looked straight into her +fathomless eyes, "tell me the truth, Miss Pennington. I did not lose +you the other morning--on the contrary, you lost me--didn't you?" + +Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she gave vent to a nervous little +laugh. + +"Well," she answered, after a moment's hesitation, "to tell the truth, +I did. I had reasons--important ones." + +"I was _de trop_--eh?" + +She shrugged her well-formed shoulders, and smiled reproachfully. + +"But why?" I asked. "When I found you, it was under very curious +circumstances. A man--a thief--had just cashed a cheque of mine for a +thousand pounds, and made off with the proceeds--and----" + +"Ah! please do not refer to it, Mr. Biddulph!" she exclaimed quickly, +laying her slim fingers upon my arm. "Let us speak of something +else--anything but that." + +"I have no wish to reproach you, Miss Pennington," I hastened to +assure her. "The past is to me of the past. That man has a thousand +pounds of mine, and he's welcome to it, so long as----" and I +hesitated. + +"So long as what?" she asked in a voice of trepidation. + +"So long as you are alive and well," I replied in slow, meaning tones, +my gaze fixed immovably on hers. "In Gardone you expressed fear for +your own safety, but so long as you are still safe I have no care as +to what has happened to myself." + +"But----" + +"I know," I went on, "the ingenious attempt upon my life of which you +warned me has been made by those two scoundrels, and I have narrowly +escaped. To you, Miss Pennington, I owe my life." + +She started, and lowered her eyes. Apparently she could not face me. +The hand I held trembled within my grasp, and I saw that her white +lips quivered. + +For a few seconds a silence fell between us. Then slowly she raised +her eyes to mine again, and said-- + +"Mr. Biddulph, this is an exceedingly painful subject to me. May we +not drop it? Will you not forget it--if you really are my friend?" + +"To secure your further friendship, I will do anything you wish!" I +declared. "You have already proved yourself my friend by rescuing me +from death," I added. + +"How do you know that?" she asked quickly. + +"Because you were alone with me in that house of death in Bayswater. +It was you who killed the hideous reptile and who severed the bonds +which held me. They intended that I should die. My grave had already +been prepared. Cannot you tell me the motive of that dastardly +attack?" I begged of her. + +"Alas! I cannot," she said. "I warned you when at Gardone that I knew +what was intended, but of the true motive I was, and am still, +entirely ignorant. Their motives are always hidden ones." + +"They endeavoured to get from me another thousand pounds," I +exclaimed. + +"It is well that you did not give it to them. The result would have +been just the same. They intended that you should die, fearing lest +you should inform the police." + +"And you were outside the bank with Forbes when he cashed my cheque!" +I remarked in slow tones. + +"I know," she answered hoarsely. "I know that you must believe me to +be their associate, perhaps their accomplice. Ah! well. Judge me, Mr. +Biddulph, as you will. I have no defence. Only recollect that I warned +you to go into hiding--to efface yourself--and you would not heed. You +believed that I only spoke wildly--perhaps that I was merely an +hysterical girl, making all sorts of unfounded assertions." + +"I believed, nay, I knew, Miss Pennington, that you were my friend. +You admitted in Gardone that you were friendless, and I offered you +the friendship of one who, I hope, is an honest man." + +"Ah! thank you!" she cried, taking my hand warmly in hers. "You have +been so very generous, Mr. Biddulph, that I can only thank you from +the bottom of my heart. It is true an attempt was made upon you, but +you fortunately escaped, even though they secured a thousand pounds of +your money. Yet, had you taken my advice and disappeared, they would +soon have given up the chase." + +"Tell me," I urged in deep earnestness, "others have been entrapped in +that dark house--have they not? That mechanical chair--that devilish +invention--was not constructed for me alone." + +She did not answer, but I regarded her silence as an affirmative +response. + +"Your friends at least seem highly dangerous persons," I said, +smiling. "I've been undecided, since discovering that my grave was +already prepared, whether to go to Scotland Yard and reveal the whole +game." + +"No!" she cried in quick apprehension. "No, don't do that. It could +serve no end, and would only implicate certain innocent +persons--myself included." + +"But how could you be implicated?" + +"Was I not at the bank when the cheque was cashed?" + +"Yes. Why were you there?" I asked. + +But she only excused herself from replying to my question. + +"Ah!" she cried wildly a moment later, clutching my arm convulsively, +"you do not know my horrible position--you cannot dream what I have +suffered, or how much I have sacrificed." + +I saw that she was now terribly in earnest, and, by the quick rising +and falling of the lace upon her bodice, I knew that she was stirred +by a great emotion. She had refused to allow me to stand her friend +because she feared what the result might be. And yet, had she not +rescued me from the serpent's fang? + +"Sylvia," I cried, "Sylvia--for I feel that I must call you by your +Christian name--let us forget it all. The trap set by those +blackguards was most ingenious, and in innocence I fell into it. I +should have lost my life--except for you. You were present in that +house of death. They told me you were there--they showed me your +picture, and, to add to my horror, said that you, their betrayer, were +to share the same fate as myself." + +"Yes, yes, I know!" she cried, starting. "Oh, it was all too +terrible--too terrible! How can I face you, Mr. Biddulph, after that!" + +"My only desire is to forget it all, Sylvia," was my low and quiet +response. "It was all my fault--my fault, for not heeding your +warning. I never realized the evil machinations of those unknown +enemies. How should I? As far as I know, I had never set eyes upon +them before." + +"You would have done wiser to have gone into hiding, as I suggested," +she remarked quietly. + +"Never mind," I said cheerily. "It is all past. Let us dismiss it. +There is surely no more danger--now that I am forearmed." + +"May they not fear your reprisals?" she exclaimed. "They did not +intend that you should escape, remember." + +"No, they had already prepared my grave. I have seen it." + +"That grave was prepared for both of us," she said in a calm, +reflective voice. + +"Then how did you escape?" I inquired, with curiosity. + +"I do not know. I can only guess." + +"May I not know?" I asked eagerly. + +"When I have confirmed my belief, I will tell you," she replied. + +"Then let us dismiss the subject. It is horrible, gruesome. Look how +lovely and bright the world is outside. Let us live in peace and in +happiness. Let us turn aside these grim shadows which have lately +fallen upon us." + +"Ah!" she exclaimed, with a sigh, "you are indeed generous to me, Mr. +Biddulph. But could you be so generous, I wonder, if you knew the +actual truth? Alas! I fear you would not. Instead of remaining my +friend, you would hate me--just--just as I hate myself!" + +"Sylvia," I said, placing my hand again tenderly upon her shoulder +and trying to calm her, and looking earnestly into her blue, wide-open +eyes, "I shall never hate you. On the contrary, let me confess, now +and openly," I whispered, "let me tell you that I--I love you!" + +She started, her lips parted at the suddenness of my impetuous +declaration, and stood for a moment, motionless as a statue, pale and +rigid. + +Then I felt a convulsive tremor run through her, and her breast heaved +and fell rapidly. She placed her hand to her heart, as though to calm +the rising tempest of emotion within her. Her breath came and went +rapidly. + +"Love me!" she echoed in a strange, hoarse tone. "Ah! no, Mr. +Biddulph, no, a thousand times no! You do not know what you are +saying. Recall those words--I beg of you!" + +And I saw by her hard, set countenance and the strange look in her +eyes that she was deadly in earnest. + +"Why should I recall them?" I cried, my hand still upon her shoulder. +"You are not my enemy, Sylvia, even though you may be the friend of my +enemies. I love you, and I fear nothing--nothing!" + +"Hush! Do not say that," she protested very quietly. + +"Why?" + +"Because--well, because even though you have escaped, they----" and +she hesitated, her lips set as though unable to articulate the truth. + +"They what?" I demanded. + +"Because, Mr. Biddulph--because, alas! I know these men only too well. +You have triumphed; but yours is, I fear, but a short-lived victory. +They still intend that you shall die!" + +"How do you know that?" I asked quickly. + +"Listen," she said hoarsely. "I will tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +THE DEATH KISS + + +Sylvia sank into a chair, while I stood upon the hearth-rug facing +her, eager to hear her explanation. + +Her hands were clasped as she raised her wonderful blue eyes to mine. +Yes, her beauty was perfect--more perfect than any I had ever seen in +all my wandering, erratic life. + +"Why do those men still intend that I shall die?" I asked. "Now that I +know the truth I shall remain wary." + +"Ah, yes," she responded. "But they will take you unawares. You do not +know the devilish cunning and ingenuity of such men as they, who live +upon their wits, and are utterly unscrupulous." + +"Well, what do they now intend?" I asked, much interested, for it +seemed that she knew very much more than she would admit. + +"You have escaped," she said, looking straight into my face. "They +naturally fear that you will tell the police." + +"I shall not do that--not at present, at least," I replied. "I am +keeping my own counsel." + +"Yes. But cannot you see that while you live you are a menace to their +dastardly plans? They dare not return to that deserted house in +Bayswater." + +"Where are they now?" + +"Abroad, I believe. They always take care to have an outlet for +escape," she answered. "Ah! you don't know what a formidable +combination they are. They snap their fingers at the police of +Europe." + +"What? Then you really admit that there have been other victims?" I +exclaimed. + +"I have no actual knowledge," she declared, "only suspicions." + +"Why are you friendly with them?" I asked. "What does your father say +to such acquaintances?" + +"I am friendly only under compulsion," she answered. "Ah! Mr. +Biddulph, you cannot know how I hate the very sight or knowledge of +those inhuman fiends. Their treatment of you is, in itself, sufficient +proof of their pitiless plans." + +"Tell me this, Sylvia," I said, after a second's pause. "Have you any +knowledge of a man--a great friend of mine--named Jack Marlowe?" + +Her face changed. It became paler, and I saw she was slightly +confused. + +"I--well, I believe we met once," she said. "His father lives +somewhere down in Devonshire." + +"Yes," I said quickly. "What do you know of him?" + +"Nothing. We met only once." + +"Where?" + +"Well--our meeting was under rather curious circumstances. He is your +friend, therefore please pardon me if I do not reply to your +question," was her vague response. + +"Then what do you anticipate from those men, Reckitt and Forbes?" I +asked. + +"Only evil--distinct evil," she replied. "They will return, and strike +when you least expect attack." + +"But if I do not go to the police, why should they fear me? They are +quite welcome to the money they have stolen--so long as they allow me +peace in the future." + +"Which I fear they will not do," replied the girl, shaking her head. + +"You speak very apprehensively," I said. "What is there really to +fear? Perhaps it would be best if I went to the police at once. They +would then dig over that neglected garden and reveal its secrets." + +"No!" she cried again, starting wildly from her chair as though in +sudden terror. "I beg of you not to do that, Mr. Biddulph. It would +serve no purpose, and only create a great sensation. But the culprits +would never be brought to justice. They are far too clever, and their +conspiracies are too far-reaching. No, remain patient. Take the +greatest care of your own personal safety--and you may yet be able to +combat your enemies with their own weapons." + +"I shall be able, Sylvia--providing that you assist me," I said. + +She held her breath, and remained silent. She evidently feared them. + +I tried to obtain from her some details of the occurrences of that +night of horror, but she refused to satisfy my curiosity. Apparently +she feared to incriminate herself. Could it be possible that she had +only learnt at the last moment that it was I who was embraced in the +next room by that fatal chair! + +Yet it was all so puzzling, so remarkable. Surely a girl with such a +pure, open, innocent face could not be the accomplice of dastardly +criminals! She was their friend. That much she had admitted to me. But +her friendship with them was made under compulsion. She urged me not +to go to the police. Why? + +Did she fear that she herself would be implicated in a series of dark +and terrible crimes? + +"Where is your father?" I inquired presently. + +"In Scotland," was her prompt reply. "I heard from him at the +Caledonian Hotel, at Edinburgh, last Friday. I am staying here with +Mr. Shuttleworth until his return." + +Was it not strange that she should be guest of a quiet-mannered +country parson, if she were actually the accomplice of a pair of +criminals! I felt convinced that Shuttleworth knew the truth--that he +could reveal a very remarkable story--if he only would. + +"Your father is a friend of Mr. Shuttleworth--eh?" I asked. + +She nodded in the affirmative. Then she stood with her gaze fixed +thoughtfully upon the sunlit lawn outside. + +Mystery was written upon her fair countenance. She held a dread secret +which she was determined not to reveal. She knew of those awful +crimes committed in that dark house in Bayswater, but her intention +seemed to be to shield at all hazards her dangerous "friends." + +"Sylvia," I said tenderly at last, again taking her hand in mine, "why +cannot you be open and frank with me?" She allowed her hand to lie +soft and inert in mine, sighing the while, her gaze still fixed beyond +as though her thoughts were far away. "I love you," I whispered. +"Cannot you see how you puzzle me?--for you seem to be my friend at +one moment, and at the next the accomplice of my enemies." + +"I have told you that you must never love me, Mr. Biddulph," was her +low reply, as she withdrew her hand slowly, but very firmly. + +"Ah! no," I cried. "Do not take offence at my words. I'm aware that +I'm a hopeless blunderer in love. All I know, Sylvia, is that my only +thought is of you. And I--I've wondered whether you, on your part, can +ever entertain a spark of affection for me?" + +She was silent, her white lips pressed close together, a strange +expression crossing her features. Again she held her breath, as though +what I had said had caused her great surprise. Then she answered-- + +"How can you love me? Am I not, after all, a mere stranger?" + +"I know you sufficiently well," I cried, "to be aware that for me +there exists no other woman. I fear I'm a blunt man. It is my nature. +Forgive me, Sylvia, for speaking the truth, but--well, as a matter of +fact, I could not conceal the truth any longer." + +"And you tell me this, after--after all that has happened!" she +faltered in a low, tremulous voice, as I again took her tiny hand in +mine. + +"Yes--because I truly and honestly love you," I said, "because ever +since we have met I have found myself thinking of you--recalling +you--nay, dreaming of happiness at your side." + +She raised her splendid eyes, and looked into mine for a moment; then, +sighing, shook her head sadly. + +"Ah! Mr. Biddulph," she responded in a curious, strained voice, +"passion may be perilously misleading. Ask yourself if you are not +injudicious in making this declaration--to a woman like myself?" + +"Why?" I cried. "Why should it be injudicious? I trust you, +because--because I owe my life to you--because you have already proved +yourself my devoted little friend. What I beg and pray is that your +friendship may, in course of time, ripen into love--that you may +reciprocate my affection--that you may really love me!" + +A slight hardness showed at the corners of her small mouth. Her eyes +were downcast, and she swallowed the lump that arose in her throat. + +She was silent, standing rigid and motionless. + +Suddenly a great and distressing truth occurred to me. Did she believe +that I pitied her? I hoped not. Any woman of common sensibility would +almost die of shame at the thought of being loved out of pity; and, +what is more, she would think none the better of the man who pitied +her. The belief that "pity melts the heart to love" is an unfounded +one. + +So I at once endeavoured to remove the wrong impression which I feared +I had conveyed. + +What mad, impetuous words I uttered I can scarcely tell. I know that I +raised her soft white hand to my lips and kissed it fervently, +repeating my avowal and craving a word of hope from her lips. + +But she again shook her head, and with sadness responded in a low, +faltering tone-- + +"It is quite impossible, Mr. Biddulph. Leave me--let us forget all you +have said. It will be better thus--far better for us both. You do not +know who or what I am; you----" + +"I do not know, neither do I care!" I cried passionately. "All I know, +Sylvia, is that my heart is yours--that I have loved only once in my +life, and it is now!" + +Her slim fingers played nervously with the ribbon upon her cool summer +gown, but she made no response. + +"I know I have not much to recommend me," I went on. "Perhaps I am too +hulking, too English. You who have lived so much abroad are more used, +no doubt, to the elegant manners and the prettily turned compliments +of the foreigner than the straight speech of a fellow like myself. Yet +I swear that my only thought has been of you, that I love you with all +my heart--with all my soul." + +I caught her hand and again looked into her eyes, trying to read what +response lay hidden in their depths. + +I felt her tremble. For a moment she seemed unable to reply. The +silence was unbroken save for the drowsy hum of the insects in the +summer heat outside, while the sweet perfume of the flowers filled our +nostrils. In the tension of those moments each second seemed an hour. +You who have experienced the white heat of the love-flame can only +know my eager, breathless apprehension, the honest whole-heartedness +of my declaration. Perhaps, in your case, the flames are all burnt +out, but even now you can tell of the white core and centre of fire +within you. Years may have gone, but it still remains--the sweet +memory of your well-beloved. + +"Tell me, Sylvia," I whispered once more. "Tell me, will you not break +down this strange invisible barrier which you have set up between us? +Forget the past, as I have already forgotten it--and be mine--my own!" + +She burst into tears. + +"Ah!" she cried. "If I only could--if I only dared!" + +"Will you not dare to do it--for my sake?" I asked very quietly. "Will +you not promise to be mine? Let me stand your friend--your champion. +Let me defend you against your enemies. Let me place myself beside you +and defy them." + +"Ah, no!" she gasped, "not to defy them. Defiance would only bring +death--death to both of us!" + +"Your love, Sylvia, would mean life and happiness, not death--to +me--to both of us!" I cried. "Will you not give me your promise? Let +our love be in secret, if you so desire--only let us love each other. +Promise me!" I cried, my arm stealing around her narrow waist. +"Promise me that you will try and love me, and I, too, will promise to +be worthy of your affection." + +For a moment she remained silent, her handsome head downcast. + +Then slowly, with a sweet love-look upon her beautiful countenance, +she raised her face to mine, and then for the first time our lips met +in a fierce and passionate caress. + +Thus was our solemn compact sealed. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +OF THINGS UNMENTIONABLE + + +I remained in that cosy, book-lined den for perhaps an hour--one whole +hour of sweet, delightful ecstasy. + +With her fair head buried upon my shoulder she shed tears of joy, +while, time after time, I smothered her white brow with my kisses. Ah! +yes, I loved her. I closed my eyes to all. I put away all my dark +suspicions, and lived only for the present in the knowledge that +Sylvia was mine--_mine!_ + +My hot, fevered declarations of affection caused her to cling to me +more closely, yet she uttered but few words, and those half-incoherent +ones, overcome as she was by a flood of emotion. She seemed to have +utterly broken down beneath the great strain, and now welcomed the +peace and all-absorbing happiness of affection. Alone and friendless, +as she had admitted herself to be, she had, perhaps, longed for the +love of an honest man. At least, that is what I was egotistical enough +to believe. Possibly I might have been wrong, for until that moment I +had ever been a confirmed bachelor, and had but little experience of +the fantastic workings of a woman's mind. + +Like so many other men of my age, I had vainly believed myself to be +a philosopher. Yet are not philosophers merely soured cynics, after +all? And I certainly was neither cynical nor soured. Therefore my +philosophy was but a mere ridiculous affectation to which so many men +and women are prone. + +But in those moments of ecstasy I abandoned myself entirely to love, +imprinting lingering, passionate kisses upon her lips, her closed +eyes, her wide white brow, while she returned my caresses, smiling +through her hot tears. + +Presently, when she grew calmer, she said in a low, sweet voice-- + +"I--hardly know whether this is wise. I somehow fear----" + +"Fear what?" I asked, interrupting her. + +"I fear what the future may hold for us," she answered. "Remember I--I +am poor, while you are wealthy, and----" + +"What does that matter, pray? Thank Heaven! I have sufficient for us +both--sufficient to provide for you the ordinary comforts of life, +Sylvia. I only now long for the day, dearest, when I may call you +wife." + +"Ah!" she said, with a wistful smile, "and I, too, shall be content +when I can call you husband." + +And so we sat together upon the couch, holding each other's hand, and +speaking for the first time not as friends--but as lovers. + +You who love, or who have loved, know well the joyful, careless +feeling of such moments; the great peace which overspreads the mind +when the passion of affection burns within. + +Need I say more, except to tell you that our great overwhelming love +was mutual, and that our true hearts beat in unison? + +Thus the afternoon slipped by until, of a sudden, we heard a girl's +voice call: "Sylvia! Sylvia!" + +We sprang apart. And not a moment too soon, for next second there +appeared at the French windows the tall figure of a rather pretty +dark-haired girl in cream. + +"I--I beg your pardon!" she stammered, on recognizing that Sylvia was +not alone. + +"This is Mr. Biddulph," exclaimed my well-beloved. "Miss Elsie +Durnford." + +I bowed, and then we all three went forth upon the lawn. + +I found Sylvia's fellow-guest a very quiet young girl, and understood +that she lived somewhere in the Midlands. Her father, she told me, was +very fond of hunting, and she rode to hounds a good deal. + +We wandered about the garden awaiting Shuttleworth's return, for both +girls would not hear of me leaving before tea. + +"Mr. and Mrs. Shuttleworth are certain to be back in time," Sylvia +declared, "and I'm sure they'd be horribly annoyed if you went away +without seeing them." + +"Do you really wish me to stay?" I asked, with a laugh, as we halted +beneath the shadow of the great spreading cedar upon the lawn. + +"Of course we do," declared Elsie, laughing. "You really must remain +and keep us company, Mr. Biddulph. Sylvia, you know, is quite a +stranger. She's always travelling now-a-days. I get letters from her +from the four corners of the earth. I never know where to write so as +to catch her." + +"Yes," replied my well-beloved, with a slight sigh. "When we were at +school at Eastbourne I thought it would be so jolly to travel and see +the world, but now-a-days, alas! I confess I'm already tired of it. I +would give anything to settle down quietly in the beautiful country in +England--the country which is incomparable." + +"You will--one day," I remarked meaningly. + +And as she lifted her eyes to mine she replied-- + +"Perhaps--who knows?" + +The village rector returned at last, greeting me with some surprise, +and introducing his wife, a rather stout, homely woman, who bore +traces of good looks, and who wore a visiting gown of neat black, for +she had been paying a call. + +"I looked in to see you the other day in town, Mr. Biddulph," he said. +"But I was unfortunate. Your man told me you were out. He was not rude +to me this time," he added humorously, with a laugh. + +"No," I said, smiling. "He was profuse in his apologies. Old servants +are sometimes a little trying." + +"Yes, you're right. But he seems a good sort. I blame myself, you +know. He's not to blame in the least." + +Then we strolled together to a tent set beneath the cedar, whither the +maid had already taken the tea and strawberries, and there we sat +around gossiping. + +Afterwards, when Shuttleworth rose, he said-- + +"Come across to my study and have a smoke. You're not in a great hurry +to get back to town. Perhaps you'll play a game of tennis presently?" + +I followed him through the pretty pergola of roses, back into the +house, and when I had seated myself in the big old arm-chair, he gave +me an excellent cigar. + +"Do you know, Mr. Biddulph," he said after we had been smoking some +minutes, "I'm extremely glad to have this opportunity of a chat with +you. I called at Wilton Street, because I wished to see you." + +"Why?" I asked. + +"Well, for several reasons," was his slow, earnest reply. His face +looked thinner, more serious. Somehow I had taken a great fancy to +him, for though a clergyman, he struck me as a broad-minded man of the +world. He was keen-eyed, thoughtful and earnest, yet at the same time +full of that genuine, hearty bonhomie so seldom, alas! found in +religious men. The good fellowship of a leader appeals to men more +than anything else, and yet somehow it seems always more apparent in +the Roman Catholic priest than in the Protestant clergyman. + +"The reason I called to-day was because I thought you might wish to +speak to me," I said. + +He rose and closed the French windows. Then, re-seating himself, he +removed his old briar pipe from his lips, and, bending towards me in +his chair, said very earnestly-- + +"I wonder whether I might presume to say something to you strictly in +private, Mr. Biddulph? I know that I ought not to interfere in your +private affairs--yet, as a minister of religion, I perhaps am a +slightly privileged person in that respect. At least you will, I +trust, believe in my impartiality." + +"Most certainly I do, Mr. Shuttleworth," I replied, somewhat surprised +at his manner. + +"Well, you recollect our conversation on the last occasion you were +here?" he said. "You remember what I told you?" + +"I remember that we spoke of Miss Sylvia," I exclaimed, "and that you +refused to satisfy my curiosity." + +"I refused, because I am not permitted," was his calm rejoinder. + +"Since I saw you," I said, "a dastardly attempt has been made upon my +life. I was enticed to an untenanted house in Bayswater, and after a +cheque for a thousand pounds had been obtained from me by a trick, I +narrowly escaped death by a devilish device. My grave, I afterwards +found, was already prepared." + +"Is this a fact!" he gasped. + +"It is. I was rescued--by Sylvia herself." + +He was silent, drawing hard at his pipe, deep in thought. + +"The names of the two men who made the dastardly attempt upon me were +Reckitt and Forbes--friends of Sylvia Pennington," I went on. + +He nodded. Then, removing his pipe, exclaimed-- + +"Yes. I understand. But did I not warn you?" + +"You did. But, to be frank, Mr. Shuttleworth, I really did not follow +you then. Neither do I now." + +"Have I not told you, my dear sir, that I possess certain knowledge +under vow of absolute secrecy--knowledge which it is not permitted to +me, as a servant of God, to divulge." + +"But surely if you knew that assassination was contemplated, it was +your duty to warn me." + +"I did--but you took no heed," he declared. "Sylvia warned you also, +when you met in Gardone, and yet you refused to take her advice and go +into hiding!" + +"But why should an innocent, law-abiding, inoffensive man be compelled +to hide himself like a fugitive from justice?" I protested. + +"Who can fathom human enmity, or the ingenious cunning of the +evil-doer?" asked the grey-faced rector quite calmly. "Have you never +stopped to wonder at the marvellous subtlety of human wickedness?" + +"Those men are veritable fiends," I cried. "Yet why have I aroused +their animosity? If you know so much concerning them, Mr. +Shuttleworth, don't you think that it is your duty to protect your +fellow-creatures?--to make it your business to inform the police?" I +added. + +"Probably it is," he said reflectively. "But there are times when +even the performance of one's duty may be injudicious." + +"Surely it is not injudicious to expose the methods of such +blackguards!" I cried. + +"Pardon me," he said. "I am compelled to differ with that opinion. +Were you in possession of the same knowledge as myself, you too, +would, I feel sure, deem it injudicious." + +"But what is this secret knowledge?" I demanded. "I have narrowly +escaped being foully done to death. I have been robbed, and I feel +that it is but right that I should now know the truth." + +"Not from me, Mr. Biddulph," he answered. "Have I not already told you +the reason why no word of the actual facts may pass my lips?" + +"I cannot see why you should persist in thus mystifying me as to the +sinister motive of that pair of assassins. If they wished to rob me, +they could have done so without seeking to take my life by those +horrible means." + +"What means did they employ?" he asked. + +Briefly and vividly I explained their methods, as he sat silent, +listening to me to the end. He evinced neither horror nor surprise. +Perhaps he knew their mode of procedure only too well. + +"I warned you," was all he vouchsafed. "Sylvia warned you also." + +"It is over--of the past, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, rising from my +chair. "I feel confident that Sylvia, though she possessed knowledge +of what was intended, had no hand whatever in it. Indeed, so +confident am I of her loyalty to me, that to-day--yes, let me confess +it to you--for I know you are my friend as well as hers, to-day, +here--only an hour ago, I asked Sylvia to become my wife." + +"Your wife!" he gasped, starting to his feet, his countenance pale and +drawn. + +"Yes, my wife." + +"And what was her answer?" he asked dryly, in a changed tone. + +"She has consented." + +"Mr. Biddulph," he said very gravely, looking straight into my face, +"this must never be! Have I not already told you the ghastly +truth?--that there is a secret--an unmentionable secret----" + +"A secret concerning her!" I cried. "What is it? Come, Mr. +Shuttleworth, you shall tell me, I demand to know!" + +"I can only repeat that between you and Sylvia Pennington there still +lies the open gulf--and that gulf is, indeed, the grave. In your +ignorance of the strange but actual facts you do not realize your own +dread peril, or you would never ask her to become your wife. Abandon +all thought of her, I beg of you," he urged earnestly. "Take this +advice of mine, for one day you will assuredly thank me for my +counsel." + +"I love her with all the strength of my being, and for me that is +sufficient," I declared. + +"Ah!" he cried in despair as he paced the room. "To think of the irony +of it all! That you should actually woo her--of all women!" Then, +halting before me, his eye grew suddenly aflame, he clenched his +hands and cried: "But you shall not! Understand me, you shall hate +her; you shall curse her very name. You shall never love +her--never--I, Edmund Shuttleworth, forbid it! It must not be!" + +At that instant the _frou-frou_ of a woman's skirts fell upon my ears, +and, turning quickly, I saw Sylvia herself standing at the open French +windows. + +Entering unobserved she had heard those wild words of the rector's, +and stood pale, breathless, rigid as a statue. + +"There!" he cried, pointing at her with his thin, bony finger. "There +she is! Ask her yourself, now--before me--the reason why she can never +be your wife--the reason that her love is forbidden! If she really +loves you, as she pretends, she will tell you the truth with her own +lips!" + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +FORBIDDEN LOVE + + +I stood before Shuttleworth angry and defiant. + +I had crossed to Sylvia and had taken her soft hand. + +"I really cannot see, sir, by what right you interfere between us!" I +cried, looking at him narrowly. "You forbid! What do I care--why, +pray, should you forbid my actions?" + +"I forbid," repeated the thin-faced clergyman, "because I have a +right--a right which one day will be made quite plain to you." + +"Ah! Mr. Shuttleworth," gasped Sylvia, now pale as death, "what are +you saying?" + +"The truth, my child. You know too well that, for you, love and +marriage are forbidden," he exclaimed, looking at her meaningly. + +She sighed, and her tiny hand trembled within my grasp. Her mouth +trembled, and I saw that tears were welling in her eyes. + +"Ah! yes," she cried hoarsely a moment later. "I know, alas! that I am +not like other women. About me there have been forged bonds of +steel--bonds which I can never break." + +"Only by one means," interrupted Shuttleworth, terribly calm and +composed. + +"No, no!" she protested quickly, covering her face with her hands as +though in shame. "Not that--never that! Do not let us speak of it!" + +"Then you have no right to accept this man's love," he said +reproachfully, "no right to allow him to approach nearer the brink of +the grave than he has done. You know full well that, for him, your +love must prove fatal!" + +She hung her head as though not daring to look again into my eyes. The +strange clergyman's stern rebuke had utterly confused and confounded +her. Yet I knew she loved me dearly. That sweet, intense love-look of +hers an hour ago could never be feigned. It spoke far more truly than +mere words. + +Perhaps she was annoyed that I had told Shuttleworth the truth. Yes, I +had acted very foolishly. My tongue had loosened involuntarily. My +wild joy had led me into an injudicious confession--one that I had +never dreamed would be fraught with sorrow. + +"Mr. Shuttleworth," I said at last, "please do not distress yourself +on my account. I love Sylvia, and she has promised to be mine. If +disaster occurs, then I am fully prepared to meet it. You seem in +close touch with this remarkable association of thieves and assassins, +or you would hardly be so readily aware of their evil intentions." + +"Ah!" he responded, with a slight sigh, "you are only speaking in +ignorance. If you were aware of the true facts, you would, on the +contrary, thank me for revealing the peril in which love for this +young lady will assuredly place you." + +"But have I not already told you that I am fearless? I am prepared to +meet this mysterious peril, whatever it is, for her sake!" I +protested. + +A curious, cynical smile overspread his grey, ascetic face. + +"You speak without knowledge, my dear sir," he remarked. "Could I but +reveal the truth, you would quickly withdraw that assertion. You +would, indeed, flee from this girl as you would from the plague!" + +"Well," I said, "your words are at least very remarkable, sir. One +would really imagine Miss Pennington to be a hell-fiend--from your +denunciation." + +"You mistake me. I make no denunciation. On the other hand, I am +trying to impress upon you the utter futility of your love." + +"Why should you do that? What is your motive?" I asked quickly, trying +to discern what could be at the back of this man's mind. How strange +it was! Hitherto I had rather liked the tall, quiet, kind-mannered +country rector. Yet he had suddenly set himself out in open antagonism +to my plans--to my love! + +"My motive," he declared, "is to protect the best interests of you +both. I have no ends to serve, save those of humanity, Mr. Biddulph." + +"You urged Miss Pennington to make confession to me. You implied that +her avowal of affection was false," I said, with quick indignation. + +"I asked her to confess--to tell you the truth, because I am unable so +to do," was his slow reply. "Ah! Mr. Biddulph," he sighed, "if only +the real facts could be exposed to you--if only you could be told the +ghastly, naked truth." + +"Why do you say all this, Mr. Shuttleworth?" protested Sylvia in a +low, pained voice. "Why should Mr. Biddulph be mystified further? If +you are determined that I should sacrifice myself--well, I am ready. +You have been my friend--yet now you seem to have suddenly turned +against me, and treat me as an enemy." + +"Only as far as this unfortunate affair is concerned, my child," he +said. "Remember my position--recall all the past, and put to yourself +the question whether I have not a perfect right to forbid you to +sacrifice the life of a good, honest man like the one before you," he +said, his clerical drawl becoming more accentuated as he spoke. + +"Rubbish, my dear sir," I laughed derisively. "Put aside all this cant +and hypocrisy. It ill becomes you. Speak out, like a man of the world +that you are. What specific charge do you bring against this lady? +Come, tell me." + +"None," he replied. "Evil is done through her--not by her." + +And she stood silent, unable to protest. + +"But can't you be more explicit?" I cried, my anger rising. "If you +make charges, I demand that you shall substantiate them. Recollect all +that I have at stake in this matter." + +"I know--your life," he responded. "Well, I have already told you what +to expect." + +"Sylvia," I said, turning to the pale girl standing trembling at my +side, "will you not speak? Will you not tell me what all this means? +By what right does this man speak thus? Has he any right?" + +She was silent for a few moments. Then slowly she nodded her head in +an affirmative. + +"What right has he to forbid our affection?" I demanded. "I love you, +and I tell you that no man shall come between us!" + +"He alone has a right, Owen," she said, addressing me for the first +time by my Christian name. + +"What right?" + +But she would not answer. She merely stood with head downcast, and +said-- + +"Ask him." + +This I did, but the thin-faced man refused to reply. All he would say +was-- + +"I have forbidden this fatal folly, Mr. Biddulph. Please do not let us +discuss it further." + +I confess I was both angry and bewildered. The mystery was hourly +increasing. Sylvia had admitted that Shuttleworth had a right to +interfere. Yet I could not discern by what right a mere friend could +forbid a girl to entertain affection. I felt that the ever-increasing +problem was even stranger and more remarkable than I had anticipated, +and that when I fathomed it, it would be found to be utterly +astounding! + +Sylvia was unwavering in her attachment to myself. Her antagonism +towards Shuttleworth's pronouncement was keen and bitter, yet, with +her woman's superior judgment, she affected carelessness. + +"You asked this lady to confess," I said, addressing him. "Confess +what?" + +"The truth." + +Then I turned to my well-beloved and asked-- + +"What is the truth? Do you love me?" + +"Yes, Owen, I do," was her frank and fervent response. + +"I did not mean that," said Shuttleworth hastily. "I meant the truth +concerning yourself." + +"Mr. Biddulph knows what I am." + +"But he does not know who you are." + +"Then you may tell him," was her hoarse reply. "Tell him!" she cried +wildly. "Tear from me all that I hold sacred--all that I hold most +dear--dash me back into degradation and despair--if you will! I am in +your hands." + +"Sylvia!" he said reproachfully. "I am your friend--and your father's +friend. I am not your enemy. I regret if you have ever thought I have +lifted a finger against you." + +"Are you not standing as a barrier between myself and Mr. Biddulph?" +she protested, her eyes flashing. + +"Because I see that only misfortune--ah! death--can arise. You know +full well the promise I have made. You know, too, what has been told +me in confidence, because--because my profession happens to be what it +is--a humble servant of God." + +"Yes," she faltered, "I know--I know! Forgive me if I have spoken +harshly, Mr. Shuttleworth. I know you are my friend--and you are +Owen's. Only--only it seems very hard that you should thus put this +ban upon us--you, who preach the gospel of truth and love." + +Shuttleworth drew a deep breath. His thin lips were pursed; his grey +eyebrows contracted slightly, and I saw in his countenance a +distinctly pained expression. + +"I have spoken with all good intention, Sylvia," he said. "Your love +for Mr. Biddulph must only bring evil upon both of you. Surely you +realize that?" + +"Sylvia has already realized it," I declared. "But we have resolved to +risk it." + +"The risk is, alas! too great," he declared. "Already you are a marked +man. Your only chance of escape is to take Sylvia's advice and to go +into hiding. Go away--into the country--and live in some quiet, remote +village under another name. It is your best mode of evading disaster. +To remain and become the lover of Sylvia Pennington is, I tell you, +the height of folly--it is suicide!" + +"Let it be so," I responded in quiet defiance. "I will never forsake +the woman I love. Frankly, I suspect a hidden motive in this +suggestion of yours; therefore I refuse to accept it." + +"Not to save your own life?" + +"Not even to save my life. This is surely my own affair." + +"And hers." + +"I shall protect Sylvia, never fear. I am not afraid. Let our enemies +betray their presence by sign or word, and I will set myself out to +combat them. They have already those crimes in Bayswater to account +for. And they will take a good deal of explaining away." + +"Then you really intend to reveal the secret of that house in +Porchester Terrace?" he asked, not without some apprehension. + +"My enemies, you say, intend to plot and encompass my death. Good! +Then I shall take my own means of vindication. Naturally I am a quiet, +law-abiding man. But if any enemy rises against me without cause, then +I strike out with a sledgehammer." + +"You are hopeless," he declared. + +"I am, where my love is concerned," I admitted. "Sylvia has promised +to-day that she will become my wife. The future is surely our own +affair, Mr. Shuttleworth--not yours!" + +"And if her father forbids?" he asked quite quietly, his eyes fixed +straight upon my well-beloved. + +"Let me meet him face to face," I said in defiance. "He will not +interfere after I have spoken," I added, with confidence. "I, perhaps, +know more than you believe concerning him." + +Sylvia started, staring at me, her face blanched in an instant. The +scene was tragic and painful. + +"What do you know?" she asked breathlessly. + +"Nothing, dearest, which will interfere with our love," I reassured +her. "Your father's affairs are not yours, and for his doings you +cannot be held responsible." + +She exchanged a quick glance with Shuttleworth, I noticed. + +Then it seemed as though a great weight were lifted from her mind by +my words, for, turning to me, she smiled sweetly, saying-- + +"Ah! how can I thank you sufficiently? I am helpless and defenceless. +If I only dared, I could tell you a strange story--for surely mine is +as strange as any ever printed in the pages of fiction. But Mr. +Shuttleworth will not permit it." + +"You may speak--if you deem it wise," exclaimed the rector in a +strangely altered voice. He seemed much annoyed at my open defiance. +"Mr. Biddulph may as well, perhaps, know the truth at first as at +last." + +"The truth!" I echoed. "Yes, tell me the truth," I begged her. + +"No," she cried wildly, again covering her fair face with her hands. +"No--forgive me. I can't--_I can't!_" + +"No," remarked Shuttleworth in a strange, hard, reproachful tone, and +with a cruel, cynical smile upon his lips. "You cannot--for it is too +hideous--too disgraceful--too utterly scandalous! It is for that +reason I forbid you to love!" + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +THE MAN IN GOLD PINCE-NEZ + + +For a whole month our engagement was kept a profound secret. + +Only Shuttleworth and his wife knew. The first-named had been +compelled to bow to the inevitable, and for him, it must be said that +he behaved splendidly. Sylvia remained his guest, and on several days +each week I travelled down from Waterloo to Andover and spent the warm +summer hours with her, wandering in the woods, or lounging upon the +pretty lawn of the old rectory. + +The rector had ceased to utter warnings, yet sometimes I noticed a +strange, apprehensive look upon his grave countenance. Elsie Durnford +still remained there, and she and Sylvia were close friends. + +Through those four happy weeks I had tried to get into communication +with Mr. Pennington. I telegraphed to an address in Scotland which +Sylvia had given me, but received no reply. I then telegraphed to the +Caledonian Hotel in Edinburgh, and then learned, with considerable +surprise, that nobody named Pennington was, or had been, staying +there. + +I told Sylvia this. But she merely remarked-- + +"Father is so erratic in his movements that he probably never went to +Edinburgh, after all. I have not heard from him now for a full week." + +I somehow felt, why, I cannot well explain, that she was rather +disinclined to allow me to communicate with Pennington. Did she fear +that he might forbid our marriage? + +Without seeing him or obtaining his consent, I confess I did not feel +absolute security. The mystery surrounding her was such a curious and +complicated one that the deeper I probed into it, the more complex did +it appear. + +Some few days later, in reply to my question, she said that she had +heard from her father, who was at the Midland Grand Hotel in +Manchester. He would not, however, be in London for two or three +weeks, as he was about to leave in two days' time, by way of Hook of +Holland, for Berlin, where he had business. + +Therefore, early the following morning, I took train to Manchester, +and made inquiry at the big hotel. + +"We have no gentleman of that name here, sir," replied the smart +reception clerk, referring to his list. "He hasn't arrived yet, I +expect. A lady was asking for a Mr. Pennington yesterday--a French +lady." + +"You don't know the name, then?" + +He replied in the negative. + +"No doubt he is expected, if the lady called to see him?" + +"No doubt, sir. Perhaps he'll be here to-day." + +And with that, I was compelled to turn disappointed away. I wandered +into the restaurant, and there ate my lunch alone. The place was +crowded, as it always is, mostly by people interested in cotton and +its products, for it is, perhaps, one of the most cosmopolitan hotels +in the whole kingdom. Sick of the chatter and clatter of the place, I +paid my bill and passed out into the big smoking-lounge to take my +coffee and liqueur and idle over the newspaper. + +I was not quite certain whether to remain there the night and watch +for Pennington's arrival, or to return to London. As a matter of fact, +so certain had I been of finding him that I had not brought a +suit-case. + +I suppose I had been in the lounge half-an-hour or so, when I looked +up, and then, to my surprise, saw Pennington, smartly dressed, and +looking very spruce for his years, crossing from the bureau with a +number of letters in his hand. It was apparent that he had just +received them from the mail-clerk. + +And yet I had been told that he was not staying there! + +I held my paper in such position as to conceal my face while I watched +his movements. + +He halted, opened a telegram, and read it eagerly. Then, crushing it +in his hand with a gesture of annoyance, he thrust it into his jacket +pocket. + +He was dressed in a smart dark grey suit, which fitted him perfectly, +a grey soft felt hat, while his easy manner and bearing were those of +a gentleman of wealth and leisure. He held a cigar between his +fingers, and, walking slowly as he opened one of the letters, he +presently threw himself into one of the big arm-chairs near me, and +became absorbed in his correspondence. + +There was a waste-paper basket near, and into this he tossed something +as valueless. One of the letters evidently caused him considerable +annoyance, for, removing his hat, he passed his hand slowly over his +bald head as he sat staring at it in mystification. Then he rang the +bell, and ordered something from a waiter. A liqueur of brandy was +brought, and, tossing it off at a gulp, he rose, wrote a telegram at +the table near him, and went quickly out. + +After he had gone I also rose, and, without attracting attention, +crossed, took up another paper, and then seated myself in the chair he +had vacated. + +My eye was upon the waste-paper basket, and when no one was looking I +reached out and took therefrom a crumpled blue envelope--the paper he +had flung away. + +Smoothing it out, I found that it was not addressed to him, but to +"Arnold Du Cane, Esq., Travellers' Club, Paris," and had been +re-directed to this hotel. + +This surprised me. + +I rose, and, crossing to the mail-clerk, asked-- + +"You gave some letters and a telegram to a rather short gentleman in +grey a few minutes ago. Was that Mr. Du Cane?" + +"Yes, sir," was the reply. "He went across yonder into the lounge." + +"You know him--eh?" + +"Oh yes, sir. He's often been here. Not lately. At one time, however, +he was a frequent visitor." + +And so Sylvia's father was living there under the assumed name of +Arnold Du Cane! + +For business purposes names are often assumed, of course. But +Pennington's business was such a mysterious one that, even against my +will, I became filled with suspicion. + +I resolved to wait and catch him on his return. He had probably only +gone to the telegraph office. Had Sylvia wilfully concealed the fact +that her father travelled under the name of Du Cane, in order that I +should not meet him? Surely there could be no reason why she should +have done so. + +Therefore I returned to a chair near the entrance to the +smoking-lounge, and waited in patience. + +My vigil was not a long one, for after ten minutes or so he +re-entered, spruce and gay, and cast a quick glance around, as though +in search of somebody. + +I rose from my chair, and as I did so saw that he regarded me +strangely, as though half conscious of having met me somewhere before. + +Walking straight up to him, I said-- + +"I believe, sir, that you are Mr. Pennington?" + +He looked at me strangely, and I fancied that he started at mention of +the name. + +"Well, sir," was his calm reply, "I have not the pleasure of knowing +you." I noted that he neither admitted that he was Pennington, nor did +he deny it. + +"We met some little time ago on the Lake of Garda," I said. "I, +unfortunately, did not get the chance of a chat with you then. You +left suddenly. Don't you recollect that I sat alone opposite you in +the restaurant of the Grand at Gardone?" + +"Oh yes!" he laughed. "How very foolish of me! Forgive me. I thought I +recognized you, and yet couldn't, for the life of me, recall where we +had met. How are you?" and he put out his hand and shook mine warmly. +"Let's sit down. Have a drink, Mr.--er. I haven't the pleasure of your +name." + +"Biddulph," I said. "Owen Biddulph." + +"Well, Mr. Biddulph," he said in a cheery way, "I'm very glad you +recognized me. I'm a very bad hand at recollecting people, I fear. +Perhaps I meet so many." And then he gave the waiter an order for some +refreshment. "Since I was at Gardone I've been about a great deal--to +Cairo, Bucharest, Odessa, and other places. I'm always travelling, you +know." + +"And your daughter has remained at home--with Mr. Shuttleworth, near +Andover," I remarked. + +He started perceptibly at my words. + +"Ah! of course. The girl was with me at Gardone. You met her there, +perhaps--eh?" + +I replied in the affirmative. It, however, struck me as strange that +he should refer to her as "the girl." Surely that was the term used by +one of his strange motoring friends when he kept that midnight +appointment on the Brescia road. + +"I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Sylvia," I went on. "And more, we +have become very firm friends." + +"Oh!" he exclaimed, opening his eyes widely. "I'm delighted to hear +it." + +Though his manner was so open and breezy, I yet somehow detected a +curious sinister expression in his glance. He did not seem exactly at +his ease in my presence. + +"The fact is, Mr. Pennington," I said, after we had been chatting for +some time, "I have been wanting to meet you for some weeks past. I +have something to say to you." + +"Oh! What's that?" he asked, regarding me with some surprise. "I +suppose Sylvia told you that I was in Manchester, and you came here to +see me--eh? This was not a chance meeting--was it?" + +"Not exactly," I admitted. "I came here from London expressly to have +a chat with you--a confidential chat." + +His expression altered slightly, I thought. + +"Well?" he asked, twisting his cigar thoughtfully in his fingers. +"Speak; I'm listening." + +For a second I hesitated. Then, in a blundering way, blurted forth-- + +"The fact is, Mr. Pennington, I love Sylvia! She has promised to +become my wife, and I am here to beg your consent." + +He half rose from his chair, staring at me in blank amazement. + +"What?" he cried. "Sylvia loves you--a perfect stranger?" + +"She does," was my calm response. "And though I may be a stranger to +you, Mr. Pennington, I hope it may not be for long. I am not without +means, and I am in a position to maintain your daughter properly, as +the wife of a country gentleman." + +He was silent for a few moments, his brows knit thoughtfully, his eyes +upon the fine ring upon his well-manicured hand. + +"What is your income?" he asked quite bluntly, raising his keen eyes +to mine. + +I told him, giving him a few details concerning my parentage and my +possessions. + +"And what would you be prepared to settle on my daughter, providing I +gave my consent? Have you thought of that matter?" + +I confessed that I had not, but that I would be ready, if she so +desired, to settle upon her twenty thousand pounds. + +"And that wouldn't cripple you--eh?" + +"No, I'm pleased to say it would not. I have kept my inheritance +practically intact," I added. + +"Well, I must first hear what Sylvia has to say," he said; then he +added airily, "I suppose you would make over the greater part of your +estate to her, in case of your death? And there are life assurances, +of course? One never knows what may happen, you know. Pardon me for +speaking thus frankly. As a father, however, it is my duty to see that +my daughter's future is safeguarded." + +"I quite understand all that," I replied, with a smile. "Of course, +Sylvia would inherit all I could legally bequeath to her, and as for +life assurances, I would insure myself for what sum you suggest." + +"You are young," he said. "Insure for ten thousand. The premiums would +be not so very heavy." + +"As you wish," I replied. "If I carry out your desires, I understand +that I have your consent to pay my attentions to Sylvia?" + +"If what you tell me proves, on inquiry, to be the truth, Mr. +Biddulph, I shall have the greatest pleasure in welcoming you as my +son-in-law. I can't say more," he replied. "Here's my hand," and as I +took his, he gripped me heartily. "I confess I like you now," he +added, "and I feel sure I shall like you more when I know more +concerning you." + +Then he added, with a laugh-- + +"Oh, by the way, I'm not known here as Pennington, but as Du Cane. The +fact is, I had some unfortunate litigation some time ago, which led to +bankruptcy, and so, for business reasons, I'm Arnold Du Cane. You'll +understand, won't you?" he laughed. + +"Entirely," I replied, overjoyed at receiving Pennington's consent. +"When shall we meet in London?" + +"I'll be back on the 10th--that's sixteen days from now," he replied. +"I have to go to Brussels, and on to Riga. Tell Sylvia and dear old +Shuttleworth you've seen me. Give them both my love. We shall meet +down at Middleton, most certainly." + +And so for a long time we chatted on, finishing our cigars, I +replying to many questions he put to me relative to my financial and +social position--questions which were most natural in the +circumstances of our proposed relationship. + +But while we were talking a rather curious incident arrested my +attention. Pennington was sitting with his back to the door of the +lounge, when, among those who came and went, was a rather stout +foreigner of middle age, dressed quietly in black, wearing a gold +pince-nez, and having the appearance of a French business man. + +He had entered the lounge leisurely, when, suddenly catching sight of +Sylvia's father, he drew back and made a hurried exit, apparently +anxious to escape the observation of us both. + +So occupied was my mind with my own affairs that the occurrence +completely passed from me until that same night, when, at ten o'clock, +on descending the steps of White's and proceeding to walk down St. +James's Street in the direction of home, I suddenly heard footsteps +behind me, and, turning, found, to my dismay, the Frenchman from +Manchester quietly walking in the same direction. + +This greatly mystified me. The broad-faced foreigner in gold +pince-nez, evidently in ignorance that I had seen him in Manchester, +must have travelled up to London by the same train as myself, and must +have remained watching outside White's for an hour or more! + +Why had the stranger so suddenly become interested in me? + +Was yet another attempt to be made upon me, as Shuttleworth had so +mysteriously predicted? + +I was determined to show a bold front and defy my enemies; therefore, +when I had crossed Pall Mall against St. James's Palace, I suddenly +faced about, and, meeting the stranger full tilt, addressed him before +he could escape. + +Next moment, alas! I knew that I had acted injudiciously. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +THE MAN IN THE STREET + + +I had asked the Frenchman, rather angrily I fear, why he was following +me, whereat he merely bowed with the exquisite politeness of his race, +and replied in good English-- + +"I was not aware of following m'sieur. I regret extremely if I have +caused annoyance. I ask a thousand pardons." + +"Well, your surveillance upon me annoys me," I declared abruptly. "I +saw you spying upon me in Manchester this afternoon, and you have +followed me to London!" + +"Ah, yes," he replied, with a slight gesticulation; "it is true that I +was in Manchester. But our meeting here must be by mere chance. I was +unaware that monsieur was in Manchester," he assured me in a suave +manner. + +"Well," I said in French, "yours is a very lame story, monsieur. I saw +you, and you also saw me talking to Mr. Pennington in the Midland +Hotel. Perhaps you'll deny that you know Mr. Pennington--eh?" + +"I certainly do not deny that," he said, with a smile. "I have known +Monsieur Penning-ton for some years. It is true that I saw him at the +Midland." + +"And you withdrew in order to escape his observation--eh?" + +"Monsieur has quick eyes," he said. "Yes, that is quite true." + +"Why?" + +"For reasons of my own." + +"And you deny having followed me here?" + +He hesitated for a second, looking straight into my face in the +darkness. + +"Come," I said, "you may as well admit that you followed me from +Manchester." + +"Why should I admit what is not the truth?" he asked. "What motive +could I have to follow you--a perfect stranger?" + +"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm a bit suspicious," I declared, still +speaking in French. "Of late there was a desperate attempt upon my +life." + +"By whom?" he inquired quickly. "Please tell me, Monsieur Biddulph; I +am greatly interested in this." + +"Then you know my name?" I exclaimed, surprised. + +"Certainly." + +"Why are you interested in me?" + +"I may now have a motive," was his calm yet mysterious reply. "Tell me +in what manner an attempt has been made upon you?" + +At first I hesitated, then, after a second's reflection, I explained +the situation in a few words. + +"Ah! Of course, I quite see that monsieur's mind must be filled by +suspicion," he responded; "yet I regret if I have been the cause of +any annoyance. By the way, how long have you known Monsieur +Penning-ton?" + +"Oh, some months," I replied. "The fact is, I'm engaged to his +daughter." + +"His daughter!" echoed the Frenchman, looking at me quickly with a +searching glance. Then he gave vent to a low grunt, and stroked his +grey pointed beard. + +"And it was after this engagement that the attempt was made upon +you--eh?" he inquired. + +"No, before." + +The foreigner remained silent for a few moments. He seemed +considerably puzzled. I could not make him out. The fact that he was +acquainted with my name showed that he was unduly interested in me, +even though he had partially denied it. + +"Why do you ask this?" I demanded, as we still stood together at the +bottom of St. James's Street. + +"Ah, nothing," he laughed. "But--well, I really fear I've aroused your +suspicions unduly. Perhaps it is not so very extraordinary, after all, +that in these days of rapid communication two men should catch sight +of each other in a Manchester hotel, and, later on, meet in a street +in London--eh?" + +"I regard the coincidence as a strange one, monsieur," I replied +stiffly, "if it is really an actual coincidence." + +For aught I knew, the fellow might be a friend of Pennington, or an +accomplice of those rascally assassins. Had I not been warned by +Shuttleworth, and also by Sylvia herself, of another secret attempt +upon my life? + +I was wary now, and full of suspicion. + +Instinctively I did not like this mysterious foreigner. The way in +which he had first caught sight of my face as I descended the steps of +White's, and how he had glided after me down St. James's Street, was +not calculated to inspire confidence. + +He asked permission to walk at my side along the Mall, which I rather +reluctantly granted. It seemed that, now I had addressed him, I could +not shake him off. Without doubt his intention was to watch, and see +where I lived. Therefore, instead of going in the direction of +Buckingham Palace, I turned back eastward towards the steps at the +foot of the Duke of York's Column. + +As we strolled in the darkness along the front of Carlton House +Terrace he chatted affably with me, then said suddenly-- + +"Do you know, Monsieur Biddulph, we met once before--in rather strange +circumstances. You did not, however, see me. It was in Paris, some +little time ago. You were staying at the Grand Hotel, and became +acquainted with a certain American named Harriman." + +"Harriman!" I echoed, with a start, for that man's name brought back +to me an episode I would fain forget. The fact is, I had trusted him, +and I had believed him to be an honest man engaged in big financial +transactions, until I discovered the truth. My friendship with him +cost me nearly one thousand eight hundred pounds. + +"Harriman was very smart, was he not?" laughed my friend, with a touch +of sarcasm. + +Could it be, I wondered, that this Frenchman was a friend of the +shrewd and unscrupulous New Yorker? + +"Yes," I replied rather faintly. + +"Sharp--until found out," went on the stranger, speaking in French. +"His real name is Bell, and he----" + +"Yes, I know; he was arrested for fraud in my presence as he came down +the staircase in the hotel," I interrupted. + +"He was arrested upon a much more serious charge," exclaimed the +stranger. "He was certainly wanted in Berlin and Hanover for frauds in +connection with an invention, but the most serious charge against him +was one of murder." + +"Murder!" I gasped. "I never knew that!" + +"Yes--the murder of a young English statesman named Ronald Burke at a +villa near Nice. Surely you read reports of the trial?" + +I confessed that I had not done so. + +"Well, it was proved conclusively that he was a member of a very +dangerous gang of criminals who for several years had committed some +of the most clever and audacious thefts. The organization consisted of +over thirty men and women, of varying ages, all of them expert jewel +thieves, safe-breakers, or card-sharpers. Twice each year this +interesting company held meetings--at which every member was +present--and at such meetings certain members were allotted certain +districts, or certain profitable pieces of business. Thus, if +half-a-dozen were to-day operating in London as thieves or receivers, +they would change, and in a week would be operating in St. Petersburg, +while those from Russia would be here. So cleverly was the band +organized that it was practically impossible for the police to make +arrests. It was a more widespread and wealthy criminal organization +than has ever before been unearthed. But the arrest of your friend +Harriman, alias Bell, on a charge of murder was the means of exposing +the conspiracy, and the ultimate breaking up of the gang." + +"And what of Bell?" + +"He narrowly escaped the guillotine, and is now imprisoned for life at +Devil's Island." + +"And you saw him with me at Paris?" I remarked, in wonder at this +strange revelation. "He certainly never struck me as an assassin. He +was a shrewd man--a swindler, no doubt, but his humorous bearing and +his good-nature were entirely opposed to the belief that his was a +sinister nature." + +"Yet it was proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he and another +man killed and robbed a young Englishman named Burke," responded the +Frenchman. "Perhaps you, yourself, had a narrow escape. Who knows? It +was no doubt lucky for you that he was arrested." + +"But I understood that the charge was one of fraud," I said. "I +intended to go to the trial, but I was called to Italy." + +"The charge of fraud was made in order not to alarm his accomplice," +replied the stranger. + +"How do you know that?" I inquired. + +"Well"--he hesitated--"that came out at the trial. There were full +accounts of it in the Paris _Matin_." + +"I don't care for reading Assize Court horrors," I replied, still +puzzled regarding my strange companion's intimate knowledge concerning +the man whose dramatic and sudden arrest had, on that memorable +afternoon, so startled me. + +"When I saw your face just now," he said, "I recognized you as being +at the Grand Hotel with Bell. Do you know," he laughed, "you were such +a close friend of the accused that you were suspected of being a +member of the dangerous association! Indeed, you very narrowly escaped +arrest on suspicion. It was only because the reception clerk in the +hotel knew you well, and vouched for your respectability and that +Biddulph was your real name. Yet, for a full week, you were watched +closely by the _sûreté_." + +"And I was all unconscious of it!" I cried, realizing how narrowly I +had escaped a very unpleasant time. "How do you know all this?" I +asked. + +But the Frenchman with the gold glasses and the big amethyst ring upon +his finger merely laughed, and refused to satisfy me. + +From him, however, I learned that the depredations of the formidable +gang had been unequalled in the annals of crime. Many of the greatest +jewel robberies in the European capitals in recent years had, it was +now proved, been effected by them, as well as the theft of the +Marchioness of Mottisfont's jewels at Victoria Station, which were +valued at eighteen thousand pounds, and were never recovered; the +breaking open of the safe of Levi & Andrews, the well-known +diamond-merchants of Hatton Garden, and the theft of a whole vanload +of furs before a shop in New Bond Street, all of which are, no doubt, +fresh within the memory of the reader of the daily newspapers. + +Every single member of that remarkable association of thieves was an +expert in his or her branch of dishonesty, while the common fund was a +large one, hence members could disguise themselves as wealthy persons, +if need be. One, when arrested, was found occupying a fine old castle +in the Tyrol, he told me; another--an expert burglar--was a doctor in +good practice at Hampstead; another kept a fine jeweller's shop in +Marseilles, while another, a lady, lived in style in a great château +near Nevers. + +"And who exposed them?" I asked, much interested. "Somebody must have +betrayed them." + +"Somebody did betray them--by anonymous letters to the police--letters +which were received at intervals at the Préfecture in Paris, and led +to the arrest of one after another of the chief members of the gang. +It seemed to have been done by some one irritated by Bell's arrest. +But the identity of the informant has never been ascertained. He +deemed it best to remain hidden--for obvious reasons," laughed my +friend at my side. + +"You seem to know a good many facts regarding the affair," I said. +"Have you no idea of the identity of the mysterious informant?" + +"Well"--he hesitated--"I have a suspicion that it was some person +associated with them--some one who became conscience-stricken. Ah! +M'sieur Biddulph, if you only knew the marvellous cunning of that +invulnerable gang. Had it not been for that informant, they would +still be operating--in open defiance of the police of Europe. Criminal +methods, if expert, only fail for want of funds. Are not some of our +wealthiest financiers mere criminals who, by dealing in thousands, as +other men deal in francs, conceal their criminal methods? Half your +successful financiers are merely successful adventurers. The +_dossiers_ of some of them, preserved in the police bureaux, would be +astounding reading to those who admire them and proclaim them the +successful men of to-day--kings of finance they call them!" + +"You are certainly something of a philosopher," I laughed, compelled +to admit the truth of his argument; "but tell me--how is it that you +know so much concerning George Harriman, alias Bell, and his +antecedents?" + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + +PROOF POSITIVE + + +I was greatly interested, even though I was now filled with suspicion. + +Somehow I had become impressed with the idea that the stranger might +have been one of the daring and dangerous association, and that he had +related that strange story for the purpose of misleading me. + +But the stranger, who had, in the course of our conversation, told me +that his name was Pierre Delanne, only said-- + +"You could have read it all in the _Matin_, my dear monsieur." + +His attitude was that of a man who knew more than he intended to +reveal. Surely it was a curious circumstance, standing there in the +night, listening to the dramatic truth concerning the big-faced +American, Harriman, whom I had for so long regarded as an enigma. + +"Tell me, Monsieur Delanne," I said, "for what reason have you +followed me to London?" + +He laughed as he strode easily along at my side towards the Duke of +York's steps. + +"Haven't I already told you that I did not purposely follow you?" he +exclaimed. + +"Yes, but I don't believe it," was my very frank reply. He had +certainly explained that, but his manner was not earnest. I could see +that he was only trifling with me, trifling in an easy, good-natured +way. + +"_Bien!_" he said; "and if I followed you, Monsieur Biddulph, I assert +that it is with no sinister intent." + +"How do I know that?" I queried. "You are a stranger." + +"I admit that. But you are not a stranger to me, my dear monsieur." + +"Well, let us come to the point," I said. "What do you want with me?" + +"Nothing," he laughed. "Was it not you yourself who addressed me?" + +"But you followed me!" I cried. "You can't deny that." + +"Monsieur may hold of me whatever opinion he pleases," was Delanne's +polite reply. "I repeat my regrets, and I ask pardon." + +He spoke English remarkably well. But I recollected that the +international thief--the man who is a cosmopolitan, and who commits +theft in one country to-night, and is across the frontier in the +morning--is always a perfect linguist. Harriman was. Though American, +with all his nasal intonation and quaint Americanisms, he spoke +half-a-dozen Continental languages quite fluently. + +My bitter experiences of the past caused considerable doubt to arise +within me. I had had warnings that my mysterious enemies would attack +me secretly, by some subtle means. Was this Frenchman one of them? + +He saw that I treated him with some suspicion, but it evidently amused +him. His face beamed with good-nature. + +At the bottom of the broad flight of stairs which lead up to the +United Service Club and Pall Mall, I halted. + +"Now look here, Monsieur Delanne," I said, much puzzled and mystified +by the man's manner and the curious story he had related, "I have +neither desire nor inclination for your company further. You +understand?" + +"Ah, monsieur, a thousand pardons," cried the man, raising his hat and +bowing with the elegance of the true Parisian. "I have simply spoken +the truth. Did you not put to me questions which I have answered? You +have said you are engaged to the daughter of my friend Penning-ton. +That has interested me." + +"Why?" + +"Because the daughter of my friend Penning-ton always interests me," +was his curious reply. + +"Is that an intended sarcasm?" I asked resentfully. + +"Not in the least, m'sieur," he said quickly. "I have every admiration +for the young lady." + +"Then you know her--eh?" + +"By repute." + +"Why?" + +"Well, her father was connected with one of the strangest and most +extraordinary incidents in my life," he said. "Even to-day, the +mystery of it all has not been cleared up. I have tried, times without +number, to elucidate it, but have always failed." + +"What part did Sylvia play in the affair, may I ask?" + +"Really," he replied, "I scarcely know. It was so utterly +extraordinary--beyond human credence." + +"Tell me--explain to me," I said, instantly interested. What could +this man know of my well-beloved? + +He was silent for some minutes. We were still standing by the steps. +Surely it was scarcely the place for an exchange of confidences. + +"I fear that monsieur must really excuse me. The matter is +purely a personal one--purely confidential, and concerns myself +alone--just--just as your close acquaintanceship with Mademoiselle +Sylvia concerns you." + +"It seems that it concerns other persons as well, if one may judge by +what has recently occurred." + +"Ah! Then your enemies have arisen because of your engagement to the +girl--eh?" + +"The girl!" How strange! Pennington's mysterious friends of the +Brescia road had referred to her as "the girl." So had those two +assassins in Porchester Terrace! Was it a mere coincidence, or had he, +too, betrayed a collusion with those mean blackguards who had put me +to that horrible torture? + +Had you met this strange man at night in St. James's Park, would you +have placed any faith in him? I think not. I maintain that I was +perfectly justified in treating him as an enemy. He was rather too +intimately acquainted with the doings of Harriman and his gang to suit +my liking. Even as he stood there beneath the light of the +street-lamp, I saw that his bright eyes twinkled behind those gold +pince-nez, while the big old-fashioned amethyst he wore on his finger +was a conspicuous object. He gave one the appearance of a prosperous +merchant or shopkeeper. + +"What makes you suggest that the attempt was due to my affection for +Sylvia?" I asked him. + +"Well, it furnishes a motive, does it not?" + +"No, it doesn't. I have no enemies--as far as I am aware." + +"But there exists some person who is highly jealous of mademoiselle, +and who is therefore working against you in secret." + +"Is that your opinion?" + +"I regret to admit that it is. Indeed, Monsieur Biddulph, you have +every need to exercise the greatest care. Otherwise misfortune will +occur to you. Mark what I--a stranger--tell you." + +I started. Here again was a warning uttered! The situation was growing +quite uncanny. + +"What makes you expect this?" + +"It is more than mere surmise," he said slowly and in deep +earnestness. "I happen to know." + +From that last sentence of his I jumped to the conclusion that he was, +after all, one of the malefactors. He was warning me with the +distinct object of putting me off my guard. His next move, no doubt, +would be to try and pose as my friend and adviser! I laughed within +myself, for I was too wary for him. + +"Well," I said, after a few moments' silence, as together we ascended +the broad flight of steps, with the high column looming in the +darkness, "the fact is, I've become tired of all these warnings. +Everybody I meet seems to predict disaster for me. Why, I can't make +out." + +"No one has revealed to you the reason--eh?" he asked in a low, +meaning voice. + +"No." + +"Ah! Then, of course, you cannot discern the peril. It is but natural +that you should treat all well-meant advice lightly. Probably I +should, _mon cher ami_, if I were in your place." + +"Well," I exclaimed impatiently, halting again, "now, what is it that +you really know? Don't beat about the bush any longer. Tell me, +frankly and openly." + +The man merely raised his shoulders significantly, but made no +response. In the ray of light which fell upon him, his gold-rimmed +spectacles glinted, while his shrewd dark eyes twinkled behind them, +as though he delighted in mystifying me. + +"Surely you can reply," I cried in anger. "What is the reason of all +this? What have I done?" + +"Ah! it is what monsieur has not done." + +"Pray explain." + +"Pardon. I cannot explain. Why not ask mademoiselle? She knows +everything." + +"Everything!" I echoed. "Then why does she not tell me?" + +"She fears--most probably." + +Could it be that this strange foreigner was purposely misleading me? I +gazed upon his stout, well-dressed figure, and the well-brushed silk +hat which he wore with such jaunty air. + +In Pall Mall a string of taxi-cabs was passing westward, conveying +homeward-bound theatre folk, while across at the brightly-lit entrance +of the Carlton, cabs and taxis were drawing up and depositing +well-dressed people about to sup. + +At the corner of the Athenæum Club we halted again, for I wanted to +rid myself of him. I had acted foolishly in addressing him in the +first instance. For aught I knew, he might be an accomplice of those +absconding assassins of Porchester Terrace. + +As we stood there, he had the audacity to produce his cigarette-case +and offer me one. But I resentfully declined it. + +"Ah!" he laughed, stroking his greyish beard again, "I fear, Monsieur +Biddulph, that you are displeased with me. I have annoyed you by not +satisfying your natural curiosity. But were I to do so, it would be +against my own interests. Hence my silence. Am I not perfectly honest +with you?" + +That speech of his corroborated all my suspicions. His motive in +following me, whatever it could be, was a sinister one. He had +admitted knowledge of Harriman, the man found guilty and sentenced +for the murder of the young English member of Parliament, Ronald +Burke. His intimate acquaintance with Harriman's past and with his +undesirable friends showed that he must have been an associate of that +daring and dangerous gang. + +I was a diligent reader of the English papers, but had never seen any +mention of the great association of expert criminals. His assertion +that the Paris _Matin_ had published all the details was, in all +probability, untrue. I instinctively mistrusted him, because he had +kept such a watchful eye upon me ever since I had sat with Sylvia's +father in the lounge of that big hotel in Manchester. + +"I don't think you are honest with me, Monsieur Delanne," I said +stiffly. "Therefore I refuse to believe you further." + +"As you wish," laughed my companion. "You will believe me, however, +ere long--when you have proof. Depend upon it." + +And he glanced at his watch, closing it quickly with a snap. + +"You see----" he began, but as he uttered the words a taxi, coming +from the direction of Charing Cross, suddenly pulled up at the kerb +where we were standing--so suddenly that, for a moment, I did not +notice that it had come to a standstill. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, when he saw the cab, "I quite forgot! I have an +appointment. I will wish you _bon soir_, Monsieur Biddulph. We may +meet again--perhaps." And he raised his hat in farewell. + +As he turned towards the taxi to enter it, I realized that some one +was inside--that the person in the cab had met the strange foreigner +by appointment at that corner! + +A man's face peered out for a second, and a voice exclaimed cheerily-- + +"Hulloa! Sorry I'm late, old chap!" + +Then, next instant, on seeing me, the face was withdrawn into the +shadow. + +Delanne had entered quickly, and, slamming the door, told the man to +drive with all speed to Paddington Station. + +The taxi was well on its way down Pall Mall ere I could recover from +my surprise. + +The face of the man in the cab was a countenance the remembrance of +which will ever haunt me if I live to be a hundred years--the evil, +pimply, dissipated face of Charles Reckitt! + +My surmise had been correct, after all. Delanne was his friend! + +Another conspiracy was afoot against me! + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN + +THROUGH THE MISTS + + +It was now the end of September. + +All my fears had proved groundless, and I had, at last, learned to +laugh at them. For me, a new vista of life had been opened out, for +Sylvia had now been my wife for a whole week--seven long dreamy days +of perfect love and bliss. + +Scarce could we realize the truth that we were actually man and wife. + +Pennington had, after all, proved quite kind and affable, his sole +thought being of his daughter's future happiness. I had invited them +both down to Carrington, and he had expressed delight at the provision +I had made for Sylvia. Old Browning, in his brand-new suit, was at the +head of a new staff of servants. There were new horses and carriages +and a landaulette motor, while I had also done all I could to +refurnish and renovate some of the rooms for Sylvia's use. + +The old place had been very dark and dreary, but it now wore an air of +brightness and freshness, thanks to the London upholsterers and +decorators into whose hands I had given the work. + +Pennington appeared highly pleased with all he saw, while Sylvia, her +arms entwined about my neck, kissed me in silent thanks for my efforts +on her behalf. + +Then came the wedding--a very quiet one at St. Mary Abbot's, +Kensington. Besides Jack Marlowe and a couple of other men who were +intimate friends, not more than a dozen persons were present. +Shuttleworth assisted the vicar, but Pennington was unfortunately ill +in bed at the Hôtel Métropole, suffering from a bad cold. Still, we +held the wedding luncheon at the Savoy, and afterwards went up to +Scarborough, where we were now living in a pretty suite at the Grand +Hotel overlooking the harbour, the blue bay, and the castle-crowned +cliffs. + +It was disappointing to Sylvia that her father had not been present at +the wedding, but Elsie Durnford and her mother were there, as well as +two or three other of her girl friends. The ceremony was very plain. +At her own request, she had been married in her travelling-dress, +while I, man-like, had secretly been glad that there was no fuss. + +Just a visit to the church, the brief ceremony, the signature in the +register, and a four-line announcement in the _Times_ and _Morning +Post_, and Sylvia and I had become man and wife. + +I had resolved, on the morning of my marriage, to put behind me all +thought of the mysteries and gruesomeness of the past. Now that I was +Sylvia's husband, I felt that she would have my protection, as well as +that of her father. I had said nothing to her of her strange +apprehensions, for we had mutually allowed them to drop. + +We had come to Scarborough in preference to going abroad, for my +well-beloved declared that she had had already too much of Continental +life, and preferred a quiet time in England. So we had chosen the East +Coast, and now each day we either drove out over the Yorkshire moors, +or wandered by the rolling seas. + +She was now my own--my very own! Ah! the sweet significance of those +words when I uttered them and she clung to me, raising her full red +lips to mine to kiss. + +I loved her--aye, loved her with an all-consuming love. I told myself +a thousand times that no man on earth had ever loved a woman more than +I loved Sylvia. She was my idol, and more, we were wedded, firmly +united to one another, insunderably joined with each other so that we +two were one. + +You satirists, cynics, misogamists and misogynists may sneer at love, +and jeer at marriage. So melancholy is this our age that even by some +women marriage seems to be doubted. Yet we may believe that there is +not a woman in all Christendom who does not dote upon the name of +"wife." It carries a spell which even the most rebellious suffragette +must acknowledge. They may speak of the subjection, the trammel, the +"slavery," and the inferiority to which marriage reduces them, but, +after all, "wife" is a word against which they cannot harden their +hearts. + +Ah! how fervently we loved each other. As Sylvia and I wandered +together by the sea on those calm September evenings, avoiding the +holiday crowd, preferring the less-frequented walks to the fashionable +promenades of the South Cliff or the Spa, we linked arm in arm, and I +often, when not observed, kissed her upon the brow. + +One evening, with the golden sunset in our faces, we were walking over +the cliffs to Cayton Bay, a favourite walk of ours, when we halted at +a stile, and sat together upon it to rest. + +The wide waters deep below, bathed in the green and gold of the +sinking sun, were calm, almost unruffled, unusual indeed for the North +Sea, while about us the birds were singing their evening song, and the +cattle in the fields were lying down in peace. There was not a breath +of wind. The calmness was the same as the perfect calmness of our own +hearts. + +"How still it is, Owen," remarked my love, after sitting in silence +for a few minutes. From where we sat we could see that it was high +tide, and the waves were lazily lapping the base of the cliffs deep +below. Now and then a gull would circle about us with its shrill, +plaintive cry, while far on the distant horizon lay the trail of smoke +from a passing steamer. "How delightful it is to be here--alone with +you!" + +My arm stole round her slim waist, and my lips met hers in a fond, +passionate caress. She looked very dainty in a plain walking costume +of cream serge, with a boa of ostrich feathers about her throat, and a +large straw hat trimmed with autumn flowers. It was exceptionally +warm for the time of year; yet at night, on the breezy East Coast, +there is a cold nip in the air even in the height of summer. + +That afternoon we had, by favour of its owner, Mr. George Beeforth, +one of the pioneers of Scarborough, wandered through the beautiful +private gardens of the Belvedere, which, with their rose-walks, lawns +and plantations, stretched from the promenade down to the sea, and had +spent some charming hours in what its genial owner called "the +sun-trap." In all the north of England there are surely no more +beautiful gardens beside the sea than those, and happily their +good-natured owner is never averse to granting a stranger permission +to visit them. + +As we now sat upon that stile our hearts were too full for words, +devoted as we were to each other. + +"Owen," my wife exclaimed at last, her soft little hand upon my +shoulder as she looked up into my face, "are you certain you will +never regret marrying me?" + +"Why, of course not, dearest," I said quickly, looking into her great +wide-open eyes. + +"But--but, somehow----" + +"Somehow, what?" I asked slowly. + +"Well," she sighed, gazing away towards the far-off horizon, her +wonderful eyes bluer than the sea itself, "I have a strange, +indescribable feeling of impending evil--a presage of disaster." + +"My darling," I exclaimed, "why trouble yourself over what are merely +melancholy fancies? We are happy in each other's love; therefore why +should we anticipate evil? If it comes, then we will unite to resist +it." + +"Ah, yes, Owen," she replied quickly, "but this strange feeling came +over me yesterday when we were together at Whitby. I cannot describe +it--only it is a weird, uncanny feeling, a fixed idea that something +must happen to mar this perfect happiness of ours." + +"What can mar our happiness when we both trust each other--when we +both love each other, and our two hearts beat as one?" + +"Has not the French poet written a very serious truth in those lines: +'_Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment; chagrin d'amour dure toute la +vie_'?" + +"Yes, but we shall experience no chagrin, sweetheart," I assured her. +"After another week here we will travel where you will. If you wish, +we will go to Carrington. There we shall be perfectly happy together, +away in beautiful Devonshire." + +"I know you want to go there for the shooting, Owen," she said +quietly, yet regarding me somewhat strangely, I thought. "You have +asked Mr. Marlowe?" + +"With your permission, dearest." + +But her face changed, and she sighed slightly. + +In an instant I recollected the admission that they had either met +before, or at least they knew something concerning each other. + +"Perhaps you do not desire to entertain company yet?" I said quickly. +"Very well; I'll ask your father; he and I can have some sport +together." + +"Owen," she said at last, turning her fair face again to mine, "would +you think it very, very strange of me, after all that you have done at +beautiful old Carrington, if I told you that I--well, that I do not +exactly like the place?" + +This rather surprised me, for she had hitherto been full of admiration +of the fine, well-preserved relic of the Elizabethan age. + +"Dearest, if you do not care for Carrington we will not go there. We +can either live at Wilton Street, or travel." + +"I'm tired of travelling, dear," she declared. "Ah, so tired! So, if +you are content, let us live in Wilton Street. Carrington is so huge. +When we were there I always felt lost in those big old rooms and long, +echoing corridors." + +"But your own rooms that I've had redecorated and furnished are +smaller," I said. "I admit that the old part of the house is very dark +and weird--full of ghosts of other times. There are a dozen or more +legends concerning it, as you know." + +"Yes, I read them in the guide-book to Devon. Some are distinctly +quaint, are they not?" + +"Some are tragic also--especially the story of little Lady Holbrook, +who was so brutally killed by the Roundheads because she refused to +reveal the whereabouts of her husband," I said. + +"Poor little lady!" sighed Sylvia. "But that is not mere legend: it is +historical fact." + +"Well," I said, "if you do not care for Carrington--if it is too dull +for you--we'll live in London. Personally, I, too, should soon grow +tired of a country life; and yet how could I grow tired of life with +you, my own darling, at my side?" + +"And how could I either, Owen?" she asked, kissing me fondly. "With +you, no place can ever be dull. It is not the dulness I dread, but +other things." + +"What things?" + +"Catastrophe--of what kind, I know not. But I have been seized with a +kind of instinctive dread." + +For a few moments I was silent, my arm still about her neat waist. +This sudden depression of hers was not reassuring. + +"Try and rid yourself of the idea, dearest," I urged presently. "You +have nothing to fear. We may both have enemies, but they will not now +dare to attack us. Remember, I am now your husband." + +"And I your wife, Owen," she said, with a sweet love-look. Then, with +a heavy sigh, she gazed thoughtfully away with her eyes fixed upon the +darkening sea, and added: "I only fear, dearest--for your sake." + +I was silent again. + +"Sylvia," I said slowly at last, "have you learnt anything--anything +fresh which has awakened these strange apprehensions of yours?" + +"No," she faltered, "nothing exactly fresh. It is only a strange and +unaccountable dread which has seized me--a dread of impending +disaster." + +"Forget it," I urged, endeavouring to laugh. "All your fears are now +without foundation, dearest. Now we are wedded, we will fearlessly +face the world together." + +"I have no fear when I am at your side, Owen," she replied, looking at +me pale and troubled. "But when we are parted I--I always fear. The +day before yesterday I was full of apprehension all the time you had +gone to York. I felt that something was to happen to you." + +"Really, dear," I said, smiling, "you make me feel quite creepy. Don't +allow your mind to run on the subject. Try and think of something +else." + +"But I can't," she declared. "That's just it. I only wish I could rid +myself of this horrible feeling of insecurity." + +"We are perfectly secure," I assured her. "My enemies are now aware +that I'm quite wide awake." And in a few brief sentences I explained +my curious meeting with the Frenchman Delanne. + +The instant I described him--his stout body, his grey pointed beard, +his gold pince-nez, his amethyst ring--she sat staring at me, white to +the lips. + +"Why," she gasped, "I know! The description is exact. And--and you say +he saw my father in Manchester! He actually rode away in the same cab +as Reckitt! Impossible! You must have dreamt it all, Owen." + +"No, dearest," I said quite calmly. "It all occurred just as I have +repeated it to you." + +"And he really entered the taxi with Reckitt? He said, too, that he +knew my father--eh?" + +"He did." + +She held her breath. Her eyes were staring straight before her, her +breath came and went quickly, and she gripped the wooden post to +steady herself, for she swayed forward suddenly, and I stretched out +my hand, fearing lest she should fall. + +What I had told her seemed to stagger her. It revealed something of +intense importance to her--something which, to me, remained hidden. + +It was still a complete enigma. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY + +THE STRANGER IN THE RUE DE RIVOLI + + +From Scarborough we had gone up to the Highlands, spending a fortnight +at Grantown, a week at Blair Atholl, returning south through Callander +and the Trossachs--one of the most glorious autumns I had ever spent. + +Ours was now a peaceful, uneventful life, careless of the morrow, and +filled with perfect love and concord. I adored my young beautiful +wife, and I envied no man. + +I had crushed down all feelings of misgivings that had hitherto so +often arisen within me, for I felt confident in Sylvia's affection. +She lived only for me, possessing me body and soul. + +Not a pair in the whole of England loved each other with a truer or +more fervent passion. Our ideas were identical, and certainly I could +not have chosen a wife more fitted for me--even though she rested +beneath such a dark cloud of suspicion. + +I suppose some who read this plain statement of fact will declare me +to have been a fool. But to such I would reply that in your hearts the +flame of real love has never yet burned. You may have experienced what +you have fondly believed to have been love--a faint flame that has +perhaps flickered for a time and, dying out, has long been forgotten. +Only if you have really loved a woman--loved her with that +all-consuming passion that arises within a man once in his whole +lifetime when he meets his affinity, can you understand why I made +Sylvia my wife. + +I had the car brought up to meet us in Perth, and with it Sylvia and I +had explored all the remotest beauties of the Highlands. We ran up as +far north as Inverness, and around to Oban, delighting in all the +beauties of the heather-clad hills, the wild moors, the autumn-tinted +glades, and the broad unruffled lochs. Afterwards we went round the +Trossachs and motored back to London through Carlisle, the Lakes, +North Wales and the Valley of the Wye, the most charming of all +motor-runs in England. + +Afterwards, Sylvia wanted to do some shopping, and we went over to +Paris for ten days. There, while at the Meurice, her father, who +chanced to be passing through Paris on his way from Brussels to Lyons, +came unexpectedly one evening and dined with us in our private salon. + +Pennington was just as elegant and epicurean as ever. He delighted in +the dinner set before him, the hotel, of course, being noted for its +cooking. + +That evening we were a merry trio. I had not seen my father-in-law +since the morning of our marriage, when I had called, and found him +confined to his bed. Therefore we had both a lot to relate to him +regarding our travels. + +"I, too, have been moving about incessantly," he remarked, as he +poised his wine-glass in his hand, regarding the colour of its +contents. "I was in Petersburg three weeks ago. I'm interested in some +telegraph construction works there. We've just secured a big +Government contract to lay a new line across Siberia." + +"I've written to you half-a-dozen times," remarked his daughter, "but +you never replied." + +"I've never had your letters, child," he said. "Where did you address +them?" + +"Two I sent to the Travellers' Club, here. Another I sent to the Hôtel +de France, in Petersburg." + +"Ah! I was at the Europe," he laughed. "I find their cooking better. +Their sterlet is even better than the Hermitage at Moscow. Jules, the +chef, was at Cubat's, in the Nevski, for years." + +Pennington always gauged a hotel by the excellence of its chef. He +told us of tiny obscure places in Italy which he knew, where the rooms +were carpetless and comfortless, but where the cooking could vie with +the Savoy or Carlton in London. He mentioned the Giaponne in Leghorn, +the Tazza d'Oro in Lucca, and the Vapore in Venice, of all three of +which I had had experience, and I fully corroborated what he said. He +was a man who ate his strawberries with a quarter of a liqueur-glass +of maraschino thrown over them, and a slight addition of pepper, and +he always mixed his salads himself. + +"Perhaps you think me very whimsical," he laughed across the table, +"but really, good cooking makes so much difference to life." + +I told him that, as an Englishman, I preferred plainly-cooked food. + +"Which is usually heavy and indigestible, I fear," he declared. "What, +now, could be more indigestible than our English roast beef and plum +pudding--eh?" + +My own thoughts were, however, running in an entirely different +channel, and when presently Sylvia, who looked a delightful picture in +ivory chiffon, and wearing the diamond necklet I had given her as one +of her wedding presents, rose and left us to our cigars, I said +suddenly-- + +"I say, Pennington, do you happen to know a stout, grey-bearded +Frenchman who wears gold-rimmed glasses--a man named Pierre Delanne?" + +"Delanne?" he repeated. "No, I don't recollect the name." + +"I saw him in Manchester," I exclaimed. "He was at the Midland, and +said he knew you--and also Sylvia." + +"In Manchester! Was he at the Midland while I was there?" + +"Yes. He was dressed in black, with a silk hat and wore on his finger +a great amethyst ring--a rather vulgar-looking ornament." + +Pennington's lips were instantly pressed together. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, almost with a start, "I think I know who you +mean. His beard is pointed, and his eyes rather small and shining. He +has the air of a bon-vivant, and speaks English extremely well. He +wears the amethyst on the little finger of his left hand." + +"Exactly." + +"And, to you, he called himself Pierre Delanne, eh?" + +"Yes. What is his real name, then?" + +"Who knows? I've heard that he uses half-a-dozen different aliases," +replied my father-in-law. + +"Then you know him?" + +"Well--not very well," was Pennington's response in a rather strange +voice, I thought. "Did he say anything regarding myself?" + +"Only that he had seen you in Manchester." + +"When did you see him last?" + +"Well," I said, "as a matter of fact he met me in London the same +night, and I fancy I have caught sight of him twice since. The first +occasion was a fortnight ago in Princes Street, Edinburgh, when I saw +him coming forth from the North British Hotel with another man, also a +foreigner. They turned up Princes Street, and then descended the steps +to the station before I could approach sufficiently close. I was +walking with Sylvia, so could not well hasten after them. The second +occasion was yesterday, when I believe I saw him in a taxi passing us +as we drove out to tea at Armenonville." + +"Did he see you?" asked Pennington quickly. + +"I think so. I fancy he recognized me." + +"Did Sylvia see him?" he asked almost breathlessly. + +"No." + +"Ah!" and he seemed to breathe again more freely. + +"Apparently he is not a very great friend of yours," I ventured to +remark. + +"No--he isn't; and if I were you, Biddulph, I would avoid him like the +plague. He is not the kind of person desirable as a friend. You +understand." + +"I gathered from his conversation that he was something of an +adventurer," I said. + +"That's just it. Myself, I always avoid him," he replied. Then he +turned the conversation into a different channel. He congratulated me +upon our marriage and told me how Sylvia, when they had been alone +together for a few moments before dinner, had declared herself +supremely happy. + +"I only hope that nothing may occur to mar your pleasant lives, my +dear fellow," he said, slowly knocking the ash from his cigar. "In the +marriage state one never knows whether adversity or prosperity lies +before one." + +"I hope I shall meet with no adversity," I said. + +"I hope not--for Sylvia's sake," he declared. + +"What is for Sylvia's sake?" asked a cheery voice, and, as we both +looked up in surprise, we found that she had re-entered noiselessly, +and was standing laughing mischievously by the open door. "It is so +dull being alone that I've ventured to come back. I don't mind the +smoke in the least." + +"Why, of course, darling!" I cried, jumping from my chair and pulling +forward an arm-chair for her. + +I saw that it was a bright night outside, and that the autos with +their sparkling lights like shooting stars were passing and repassing +with honking horns up and down the Rue de Rivoli. For a moment she +stood at my side by the window, looking down into the broad +thoroughfare below. + +Then, a second later, she suddenly cried-- + +"Why, look, Owen! Do you see that man with the short dark overcoat +standing under the lamp over there? I've seen him several times +to-day. Do you know, he seems to be watching us!" + +"Watching you!" cried her father, starting to his feet and joining us. +The long wooden sun-shutters were closed, so, on opening the windows +which led to the balcony we could see between the slats without being +observed from outside. + +I looked at the spot indicated by my wife, and then saw on the other +side of the way a youngish-looking man idly smoking a cigarette and +gazing in the direction of the Place de la Concorde, as though +expecting some one. + +I could not distinguish his features, yet I saw that he wore brown +boots, and that the cut of his clothes and the shape of his hat were +English. + +"Where have you seen him before?" I asked of her. + +"I first met him when I came out of Lentheric's this morning. Then, +again, when we lunched at the Volnay he was standing at the corner of +the Rue de la Paix and the Rue Daunou. He followed us in the Rue +Royale later on." + +"And now he seems to have mounted guard outside, eh?" I remarked, +somewhat puzzled. "Why did you not tell me this before?" + +"I did not wish to cause you any anxiety, Owen," was her simple reply, +while her father asked-- + +"Do you know the fellow? Ever seen him before, Sylvia?" + +"Never in my life," she declared. "It's rather curious, isn't it?" + +"Very," I said. + +And as we all three watched we saw him move away a short distance and +join a taller man who came from the direction he had been looking. For +a few moments they conversed. Then the new-comer crossed the road +towards us and was lost to sight. + +In a few seconds a ragged old man, a cripple, approached the +mysterious watcher with difficulty, and said something to him as he +passed. + +"That cripple is in the business!" cried Pennington, who had been +narrowly watching. "He's keeping observation, and has told him +something. Some deep game is being played here, Biddulph." + +"I wonder why they are watching?" I asked, somewhat apprehensive of +the coming evil that had been so long predicted. + +Father and daughter exchanged curious glances. It seemed to me as +though a startling truth had dawned upon them both. I stood by in +silence. + +"It is certainly distinctly unpleasant to be watched like +this--providing, of course, that Sylvia has not made a mistake," +Pennington said. + +"I have made no mistake," she declared quickly. "I've been much +worried about it all day, but did not like to arouse Owen's +suspicions;" and I saw by her face that she was in dead earnest. + +At the same moment, however, a light tap was heard upon the door and a +waiter opened it, bowing as he announced-- + +"Monsieur Pierre Delanne to see Monsieur Biddulph." + +"Great Heavens, Sylvia!" cried Pennington, standing pale-faced and +open-mouthed. "It's Guertin! He must not discover that I am in Paris!" +Then, turning to me in fear, he implored: "Save me from this meeting, +Biddulph! Save me--if you value your wife's honour, I beg of you. I'll +explain all afterwards. _Only save me!_" + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE + +DESCRIBES AN UNWELCOME VISIT + + +Pennington's sudden fear held me in blank surprise. + +Ere I could reply to him he had slipped through the door which led +into my bedroom, closing it after him, just as Delanne's stout figure +and broad, good-humoured face appeared in the doorway. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, "Meester Biddulph!" and he bowed politely over my +hand. + +Then, turning to Sylvia, who stood pale and rigid, he put forth his +hand, and also bowed low over hers, saying in English: "My +respects--and heartiest congratulations to madame." + +His quick eyes wandered around the room, then he added-- + +"Meester Pennington is here; where is he? I am here to speak with +him." + +"Pennington was here," I replied, "but he has gone." + +"Then he only went out this moment! I must see him. He is in the +hotel!" my visitor exclaimed quickly. + +"I suppose he is," I replied rather faintly; "we had better ask the +waiter. He is not stopping here. He merely came to-night to dine with +us." + +"Of course," said Delanne. "He arrived by the 2.37 train from +Bruxelles, went to the Hôtel Dominici, near the Place Vendôme, sent +you a _petit-bleu_, and arrived here at 6.30. I am here because I wish +to see him most particularly. I was in Orleans when the news of my +friend's arrival in Paris was telephoned to me--I have only just +arrived." + +I opened the door leading to my bedroom, and called my father-in-law, +but there was no response. In an instant Delanne dashed past me, and +in a few seconds had searched the suite. + +"Ah, of course!" he cried, noticing that the door of my wife's room +led back to the main corridor; "my friend has avoided me. He has +passed out by this way. Still, he must be in the hotel." + +He hurried back to the salon, and, opening the shutters, took off his +hat. + +Was it some signal to the watchers outside? Ere I could reach his +side, however, he had replaced his hat, and was re-entering the room. + +"Phew! this place is stifling hot, my dear friend," he said. "I wonder +you do not have the windows open for a little!" + +Sylvia had stood by in silence. I saw by her face that the Frenchman's +sudden appearance had caused her the greatest alarm and dismay. If +Delanne was her father's friend, why did the latter flee in such fear? +Why had he implored me to save him? From what? + +The Frenchman seemed highly disappointed, for finding the waiter in +the corridor he asked him in French which way the Englishman had fled. + +The waiter, however, declared that he had seen nobody in the corridor, +a reply which sorely puzzled Delanne. + +"Where is he?" he demanded of Sylvia. + +"I have no idea," was her faltering reply. "He simply went into the +next room a few moments ago." + +"And slipped out in an endeavour to make his exit, eh?" asked the man, +with a short, harsh laugh. "I quite expected as much. That is why I +intended to have a straight business talk with him." + +"He is in no mood to talk business just now," said my wife, and +then--and only then--did I recollect that this man was the associate +of the assassin Reckitt. + +This fact alone aroused my antagonism towards him. Surely I was glad +that Pennington had got away if, as it seemed, he did not wish to meet +his unwelcome visitor. + +"He _shall_ talk business!" cried the Frenchman, "and very serious +business!" + +Then turning, he hurried along the corridor in the direction of the +main staircase and disappeared. + +"What does all this mean?" I asked Sylvia, who still stood there pale +and panting. + +"I--I don't know, Owen," she gasped. Then, rushing across to the +window, she looked out. + +"That man has gone!" she cried. "I--I knew he was watching, but had no +idea of the reason." + +"He was evidently watching for your father," I said. + +"He was watching us--you and I--not him." + +We heard two men pass the door quickly. One of them exclaimed in +French-- + +"See! The window at the end! It would be easy to get from there to the +roof of the next house." + +"Yes!" cried his companion. "He has evidently gone that way. We must +follow." + +"Hark!" I said. "Listen to what they are saying! Delanne is following +your father!" + +"He is his worst enemy," she said simply. "Do you not remember that he +was watching him in Manchester?" + +The fact that he was an associate of Reckitt puzzled me. I felt highly +resentful that the fellow should have thus intruded upon my privacy +and broken up my very pleasant evening. He had intruded himself upon +me once before, causing me both annoyance and chagrin. I looked forth +into the corridor, and there saw the figures of two men in the act of +getting through the window at the end, while a waiter and a +_femme-de-chambre_ stood looking on in surprise. + +"Who is that man?" I asked of Sylvia, as I turned back into our salon. + +"His real name is Guertin," she replied. + +"He told me that he knew you." + +"Perhaps," she laughed, just a trifle uneasily, I thought. "I only +know that he is my father's enemy. He is evidently here to hunt him +down, and to denounce him." + +"As what?" + +But she only shrugged her shoulders. Next instant I saw that I had +acted wrongly in asking Sylvia to expose her own father, whatever his +faults might have been. + +Again somebody rushed past the door and then back again to the head of +the staircase. The whole of the quiet aristocratic hotel seemed to +have suddenly awakened from its lethargy. Indeed, a hue and cry seemed +to have been started after the man who had until a few moments before +been my guest. + +What could this mean? Had it not been for the fact that Guertin--or +Delanne, as he called himself--was a friend of the assassin Reckitt, I +would have believed him to have been an agent of the _sûreté_. + +We heard shouting outside the window at the end of the corridor. It +seemed as though a fierce chase had begun after the fugitive +Englishman, for yet another man, a thin, respectably-dressed mechanic, +had run along and slipped out of the window with ease as though +acquired by long practice. + +I, too, ran to the window and looked out. But all I could see in the +night was a bewildering waste of roofs and chimneys extending along +the Rue de Rivoli towards the Louvre. I could only distinguish one of +the pursuers outlined against the sky. Then I returned to where Sylvia +was standing pale and breathless. + +Her face was haggard and drawn, and I knew of the great tension her +nerves must be undergoing. Her father was certainly no coward. Fearing +that he could not escape by either the front or back door of the +hotel his mind had been quickly made up, and he had made his exit by +that window, taking his chance to hide and avoid detection on those +many roofs in the vicinity. + +The position was, to me, extremely puzzling. I could not well press +Sylvia to tell me the truth concerning her father, for I had noticed +that she always had shielded him, as was natural for a daughter, after +all. + +Was he an associate of Reckitt and Forbes, as I had once suspected? +Yet if he were, why should Delanne be his enemy, for he certainly was +Reckitt's intimate friend. + +Sylvia was filled with suppressed excitement. She also ran along the +corridor and peered out of the window at the end. Then, apparently +satisfied that her father had avoided meeting Delanne, she returned +and stood again silent, her eyes staring straight before her as though +dreading each second to hear shouts of triumph at the fugitive's +detection. + +I saw the manager and remonstrated with him. I was angry that my +privacy should thus be disturbed by outsiders. + +"Monsieur told the clerk that he was a friend," he replied politely. +"Therefore he gave permission for him to be shown upstairs. I had no +idea of such a contretemps, or such a regrettable scene as this!" + +I saw he was full of regret, for the whole hotel seemed startled, and +guests were asking each other what had occurred to create all that +hubbub. + +For an hour we waited, but Delanne did not return. He and the others +had gone away over the roofs, on what seemed to be an entirely +fruitless errand. + +"Were they the police?" I heard a lady ask anxiously of a waiter. + +"No, madame, we think not. They are strangers--and entirely unknown." + +Sylvia also heard the man's reply, and exclaimed-- + +"I hope my father has successfully escaped his enemies. It was, +however, a very narrow shave. If they had seen him, they would have +shot him dead, and afterwards declared it to have been an accident!" + +"Surely not!" I cried. "That would have been murder." + +"Of course. But they are desperate, and they would have wriggled out +of it somehow. That was why I feared for him. But, thank Heaven, he is +evidently safe." + +And she turned from the window that looked forth into the Rue de +Rivoli, and then made an excuse to go to her room. + +I saw that she was greatly perturbed. Her heart beat quickly, and her +face, once pale as death, was now flushed crimson. + +"How your father got away so rapidly was simply marvellous!" I +declared. "Why, scarcely ten seconds elapsed from the time he closed +that door to Delanne's appearance on the threshold." + +"Yes. But he instantly realized his peril, and did not hesitate." + +"I am sorry, dearest, that this exciting incident should have so +upset our evening," I said, kissing her upon the brow, for she now +declared herself much fatigued. "When you have gone to your room, I +shall go downstairs and learn what I can about the curious affair. +Your father's enemies evidently knew of his arrival from Brussels, for +Delanne admitted that word of it was telephoned to Orleans, and he +came to Paris at once." + +"Yes, he admitted that," she said hurriedly. "But do not let us speak +of it. My father has got away in safety. For me that is +all-sufficient. Good-night, Owen, dear." And she kissed me fondly. + +"Good-night, darling," I said, returning her sweet caress; and then, +when she had passed from the room, I seized my hat and descended the +big flight of red-carpeted stairs, bent on obtaining some solution of +the mystery of that most exciting and curious episode. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO + +MORE MYSTERY + + +Nothing definite, however, could I gather from the hotel people. + +They knew nothing, and seemed highly annoyed that such an incident +should occur in their quiet and highly aristocratic house. + +Next day Sylvia waited for news of her father, but none came. + +Delanne called about eleven o'clock in the morning, and had a brief +interview with her in private. What passed between them I know not, +save that the man, whose real name was Guertin, met me rather coldly +and afterwards bade me adieu. + +I hated the fellow. He was always extremely polite, always just a +little sarcastic, and yet, was he not the associate of the man +Reckitt? + +I wished to leave Paris and return to London, but Sylvia appeared a +little anxious to remain. She seemed to expect some secret +communication from her father. + +"Thank Heaven!" she said, on the day following Delanne's call, "father +has escaped them. That was surely a daring dash he made. He knew that +they intended to kill him." + +"But I don't understand," I said. "Do you mean they would kill him +openly?" + +"Of course. They have no fear. Their only fear is while he remains +alive." + +"But the law would punish them." + +"No, it would not," she responded, shaking her head gravely. "They +would contrive an 'accident.'" + +"Well," I said, "he has evaded them, and we must be thankful for that. +Do you expect to hear from him?" + +"Yes," she replied, "I shall probably receive a message to-night. That +is why I wish to remain, Owen. I wonder," she added rather +hesitatingly, "I wonder whether you would consider it very strange of +me if I asked you to let me go out to-night at ten o'clock alone?" + +"Well, I rather fear your going out alone and unprotected at that +hour, darling," I responded. + +"Ah! have no fear whatever for me. I shall be safe enough. They will +not attempt anything just now. I am quite confident of that. I--I want +to go forth alone, for an hour or so." + +"Oh, well, if it is your distinct wish, how can I refuse, dear?" + +"Ah!" she cried, putting her arm fondly about my neck, "I knew you +would not refuse me. I shall go out just before ten, and I will be +back long before midnight. You will excuse my absence, won't you?" + +"Certainly," I said. And thus it was arranged. + +Her request, I admit, puzzled me greatly, and also caused me +considerable fear. My past experience had aroused within me a constant +phantom of suspicion. + +We lunched at the Ritz, and in the afternoon took a taxi into the +Bois, where we spent an hour upon a seat in one of the by-paths of +that beautiful wood of the Parisians. On our return to the hotel, +Sylvia was all eagerness for a message, but there was none. + +"Ah! he is discreet!" she exclaimed to me, when the _concierge_ had +given her a negative reply. "He fears to send me word openly." + +At ten o'clock that night, however, she had exchanged her dinner gown +for a dark stuff dress, and, with a small black hat, and a boa about +her neck, she came to kiss me. + +"I won't be very long, dearest," she said cheerily. "I'll get back the +instant I can. Don't worry after me. I shall be perfectly safe, I +assure you." + +But recollections of Reckitt and his dastardly accomplice arose within +me, and I hardly accepted her assurance, even though I made pretence +of so doing. + +For a few moments I held her in my arms tenderly, then releasing her, +she bade me _au revoir_ merrily, and we descended into the hall +together. + +A taxi was called, and I heard her direct the driver to go to the +Boulevard Pereire. Then, waving her hand from the cab window, she +drove away. + +Should I follow? To spy upon her would be a mean action. It would show +a lack of confidence, and would certainly irritate and annoy her. Yet +was she not in peril? Had she not long ago admitted herself to be in +some grave and mysterious danger? + +I had only a single moment in which to decide. Somehow I felt impelled +to follow and watch that she came to no harm; yet, at the same time, I +knew that it was not right. She was my wife, and I dearly loved her +and trusted her. If discovered, my action would show her that I was +suspicious. + +Still I felt distinctly apprehensive, and it was that apprehension +which caused me, a second later, to seize my hat, and, walking out of +the hotel, hail a passing taxi, and drive quickly to the quiet, highly +respectable boulevard to which she had directed her driver. + +I suppose it was, perhaps, a quarter of an hour later when we turned +into the thoroughfare down the centre of which runs the railway in a +deep cutting. The houses were large ones, let out in fine flats, the +residences mostly of the professional and wealthier tradesman classes. + +We went along, until presently I caught sight of another taxi standing +at the kerb. Therefore I dismissed mine, and, keeping well in the +shadow, sauntered along the boulevard, now quiet and deserted. + +With great precaution I approached the standing taxi on the opposite +side of the way. There was nobody within. It was evidently awaiting +some one, and as it was the only one in sight I concluded that it must +be the same which Sylvia had taken from the hotel. + +Some distance further on I walked, when, before me, I recognized her +neat figure, and almost a moment afterwards saw her disappear into a +large doorway which was in complete darkness--the doorway of what +seemed to be an untenanted house. + +I halted quickly and waited--yet almost ashamed of myself for spying +thus. + +A moment later I saw that, having believed herself unobserved, she +struck a match, but for what reason did not seem apparent. She +appeared to be examining the wall. She certainly was not endeavouring +to open the door. From the distance, however, I was unable to +distinguish very plainly. + +The vesta burned out, and she threw it upon the ground. Then she +hurriedly retraced her steps to where she had left her cab, and I was +compelled to bolt into a doorway in order to evade her. + +She passed quite close to me, and when she had driven away I emerged, +and, walking to the doorway, also struck a light and examined the same +stone wall. At first I could discover nothing, but after considerable +searching my eyes at last detected a dark smudge, as though something +had been obliterated. + +It was a cryptic sign in lead pencil, and apparently she had drawn her +hand over it to remove it, but had not been altogether successful. +Examining it closely, I saw that the sign, as originally scrawled upon +the smooth stone, was like two crescents placed back to back, while +both above and below rough circles had been drawn. + +The marks had evidently some prearranged meaning--one which she +understood. It was a secret message from her father, without a doubt! + +At risk of detection by some agent of police, I made a further close +examination of the wall, and came upon two other signs which had also +been hurriedly obliterated--one of three double triangles, and another +of two oblongs and a circle placed in conjunction. But there was no +writing; nothing, indeed, to convey any meaning to the uninitiated. + +The wall of that dark entry, however, was no doubt the means of an +exchange of secret messages between certain unknown persons. + +The house was a large one, and had been let out in flats, as were its +neighbours; but for some unaccountable reason--perhaps owing to a law +dispute--it now remained closed. + +I was puzzled as to which of the three half-obliterated signs Sylvia +had sought. But I took notice of each, and then walked back in the +direction whence I had come. + +I returned at once to the hotel, but my wife had not yet come back. +This surprised me. And I was still further surprised when she did not +arrive until nearly one o'clock in the morning. Yet she seemed very +happy--unusually so. + +Where had she been after receiving that secret message, I wondered? +Yet I could not question her, lest I should betray my watchfulness. + +"I'm so sorry to have left you alone all this long time, Owen," she +said, as she entered the room and came across to kiss me. "But it was +quite unavoidable." + +"Is all well?" I inquired. + +"Quite," was her reply. "My father is already out of France." + +That was all she would vouchsafe to me. Still I saw that she was +greatly gratified at the knowledge of his escape from his mysterious +enemies. + +The whole situation was extraordinary. Why should this man Delanne, +the friend of Reckitt and no doubt a member of a gang of blackmailers +and assassins, openly pursue him to the death? It was an entire +enigma. I could discern no light through the veil of mystery which +had, all along, so completely enshrouded Pennington and his daughter. + +Still I resolved to put aside all apprehensions. Why should I trouble? + +I loved Sylvia with all my heart, and with all my soul. She was mine! +What more could I desire? + +Next evening we returned to Wilton Street. She had suddenly expressed +a desire to leave Paris, perhaps because she did not wish to again +meet her father's enemy, that fat Frenchman Guertin. + +For nearly a month we lived in perfect happiness, frequently visiting +the Shuttleworths for the day, and going about a good deal in town. +She urged me to go to Carrington to shoot, but, knowing that she did +not like the old place, I made excuses and remained in London. + +"Father is in Roumania," she remarked to me one morning when she had +been reading her letters at the breakfast-table. "He sends his +remembrances to you from Bucharest. You have never been there, I +suppose? I'm extremely fond of the place. There is lots of life, and +the Roumanians are always so very hospitable." + +"No," I said, "I've never been to Bucharest, unfortunately, though +I've been in Constanza, which is also in Roumania. Remember me to your +father when you write, won't you?" + +"Certainly. He wonders whether you and I would care to go out there +for a month or two?" + +"In winter?" + +"Winter is the most pleasant time. It is the season in Bucharest." + +"As you please, dearest," I replied. "I am entirely in your hands, as +you know," I laughed. + +"That's awfully sweet of you, Owen," she declared. "You are always +indulging me--just like the spoilt child I am." + +"Because I love you," I replied softly, placing my hand upon hers and +looking into her wonderful eyes. + +She smiled contentedly, and I saw in those eyes the genuine love-look: +the expression which a woman can never feign. + +Thus the autumn days went past, happy days of peace and joy. + +Sylvia delighted in the theatre, and we went very often, while on days +when it was dry and the sun shone, I took her motoring to Brighton, to +Guildford, to Tunbridge Wells, or other places on the well-known +roads out of London. + +The clouds which had first marred our happiness had now happily been +dispelled, and the sun of life and love shone upon us perpetually. + +Sometimes I wondered whether that ideal happiness was not too complete +to last. In the years I had lived I had become a pessimist. I feared a +too-complete ideal. The realization of our hopes is always followed by +a poignant despair. In this world there is no cup of sweetness without +dregs of bitterness. The man who troubles after the to-morrow creates +trouble for himself, while he who is regardless of the future is like +an ostrich burying its head in the sand at sign of disaster. + +Still, each of us who marry fondly believe ourselves to be the one +exception to the rule. And perhaps it is only human that it should be +so. I, like you my reader, believed that my troubles were over, and +that all the lowering clouds had drifted away. They were, however, +only low over the horizon, and were soon to reappear. Ah! how +differently would I have acted had I but known what the future--the +future of which I was now so careless--held in store for me! + +One night we had gone in the car to the Coliseum Theatre, for Sylvia +was fond of variety performances as a change from the legitimate +theatre. As we sat in the box, I thought--though I could not be +certain--that she made some secret signal with her fan to somebody +seated below amid the crowded audience. + +My back had been turned for a moment, and on looking round I felt +convinced that she had signalled. It was on the tip of my tongue to +refer to it, yet I hesitated, fearing lest she might be annoyed. I +trusted her implicitly, and, after all, I might easily have mistaken a +perfectly natural movement for a sign of recognition. Therefore I +laughed at my own foolish fancy, and turned my attention again to the +performance. + +At last the curtain fell, and as we stood together amid the crush in +the vestibule, the night having turned out wet, I left her, to go in +search of our carriage. + +I suppose I was absent about two or three minutes, but on my return I +could not find her. + +She had vanished as completely as though the earth had swallowed her +up. + +I waited until the theatre was entirely empty. I described her to the +attendants, and I had a chat with the smart and highly popular +manager, but no one had seen her. She had simply disappeared. + +I was frantic, full of the wildest dread as to what had occurred. How +madly I acted I scarcely knew. At last, seeing to remain longer was +useless, now that the theatre had closed, I jumped into the brougham +and drove with all haste to Wilton Street. + +"No, Mr. Owen," replied Browning to my breathless inquiry, "madam has +not yet returned." + +I brushed past him and entered the study. + +Upon my writing-table there lay a note addressed to me. + +I recognized the handwriting in an instant, and with trembling fingers +tore open the envelope. + +What I read there staggered me. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE + +IN FULL CRY + + +The amazing letter which I held in my nerveless fingers had been +hurriedly scribbled on a piece of my wife's own notepaper, and read-- + + "DEAR OWEN--I feel that our marriage was an entire mistake. + I have grossly deceived you, and I dare not hope ever for + your forgiveness, nor dare I face you to answer your + questions. I know that you love me dearly, as I, too, have + loved you; yet, for your own sake--and perhaps for mine + also--it is far best that we should keep apart. + + "I deeply regret that I have been the means of bringing + misfortune and unhappiness and sorrow upon you, but I have + been the tool of another. In shame and deepest humiliation I + leave you, and if you will grant one favour to an unhappy + and penitent woman, you will never seek to discover my + whereabouts. It would be quite useless. To-night I leave you + in secret, never to meet you again. Accept my deepest + regret, and do not let my action trouble you. I am not + worthy of your love. Good-bye. Your unhappy--SYLVIA." + +I stood staring at the uneven scribbled lines, blurred as they were by +the tears of the writer. + +What had happened? Why had she so purposely left me? Why had she made +that signal from the theatre-box to her accomplice? + +She admitted having grossly deceived me, and that she was unworthy. +What did she mean? In what manner had she deceived me? + +Had she a secret lover? + +That idea struck me suddenly, and staggered me. In some of her recent +actions I read secrecy and suspicion. On several occasions lately she +had been out shopping alone, and one afternoon, about a week before, +she had not returned to dress for dinner until nearly eight o'clock. +Her excuse had been a thin one, but, unsuspicious, I had passed it by. + +Had I really been a fool to marry her, after all? I knew Marlowe's +opinion of our marriage, though he had never expressed it. That she +had been associated with a shady lot had all along been apparent. The +terrors of that silent house in Porchester Terrace remained only too +fresh within my memory. + +That night I spent in a wild fever of excitement. No sleep came to my +eyes, and I think Browning--to whom I said nothing--believed that I +had taken leave of my senses. The faithful old servant did not retire, +for at five in the morning I found him seated dozing in a chair +outside in the hall, tired out by the watchful vigil he had kept over +me. + +I tried in vain to decide what to do. I wanted to find Sylvia, to +induce her to reveal the truth to me, and to allay her fear of my +reproaches. + +I loved her; aye, no man in all the world ever loved a woman better. +Yet she had, of her own accord, because of her own shame at her +deception, bade farewell, and slipped away into the great ocean of +London life. + +Morning dawned at last, cold, grey and foggy, one of those dispiriting +mornings of late autumn which the Londoner knows so well. Still I knew +not how to act. I wanted to discover her, to bring her back, and to +demand of her finally the actual truth. All the mystery of those past +months had sent my brain awhirl. + +I had an impulse to go to the police and reveal the secret of that +closed house in Porchester Terrace. Yet had she not implored me not to +do so? Why? There was only one reason. She feared exposure herself. + +No. Ten thousand times no. I would not believe ill of her. Can any man +who really loves a woman believe ill of her? Love is blind, it is +true, and the scales never fall from the eyes while true affection +lasts. And so I put suspicion from my mind, and swallowed the cup of +coffee Browning put before me. + +The old man, the friend of my youth, knew that his mistress had not +returned, and saw how greatly I was distressed. Yet he was far too +discreet a servant to refer to it. + +I entered the drawing-room, and there, in the grey light, facing me, +stood the fine portrait of my well-beloved in a silver frame, the one +she had had taken at Scarborough a week after our marriage. + +I drew it from its frame and gazed for a long time upon it. Then I put +it into an envelope, and placed it in my pocket. + +Soon after ten o'clock I returned to the Coliseum, and showed the +portrait to a number of the attendants as that of a lady who was +missing. All of them, both male and female, gazed upon the picture, +but nobody recognized her as having been seen before. + +The manager, whom I had seen on the previous night, sympathized with +me, and lent me every assistance. One after another of the staff he +called into his big office on the first floor, but the reply was +always the same. + +At length a smart page-boy entered, and, on being shown the portrait, +at once said to the manager-- + +"Why, sir, that's the lady who went away with the gentleman who spoke +to me!" + +"Who was he?" I demanded eagerly. "What did he say? What was he like?" + +"Well, sir, it was like this," replied the boy. "About a quarter of an +hour before the curtain fell last night I was out in the vestibule, +when a tall dark gentleman, with his hair slightly grey and no +moustache, came up to me with a lady's cloak in his hand--a dark blue +one. He told me that when the audience came out a fair young lady +would come up to me for the cloak, as she wanted to get away very +quickly, and did not want to wait her turn at the cloak-room. There +was a car--a big grey car--waiting for her outside." + +"Then her flight was all prepared!" I exclaimed. "What was the man +like?" + +"He struck me as being a gentleman, yet his clothes seemed shabby and +ill-fitting. Indeed, he had a shabby-genteel look, as though he were a +bit down on his luck." + +"He was in evening clothes?" + +"No, sir. In a suit of brown tweeds." + +"Well, what happened then?" + +"I waited till the curtain fell, and then I stood close to the +box-office with the cloak over my arm. There was a big crush, as it +was then raining hard. Suddenly a young lady wearing a cream +theatre-wrap came up to me hastily, and asked me to help her on with +the cloak. This I did, and next moment the man in tweeds joined her. I +heard him say, 'Come along, dear, we haven't a moment to lose,' and +then they went out to the car. That's all I know, sir." + +I was silent for a few moments. Who was this secret lover, I wondered? +The lad's statement had come as an amazing revelation to me. + +"What kind of car was it?" I asked. + +"A hired car, sir," replied the intelligent boy. "I've seen it here +before. It comes, I think, from a garage in Wardour Street." + +"You would know the driver?" + +"I think so, sir." + +It was therefore instantly arranged that the lad should go with me +round to the garage, and there try to find the man who drove the grey +car on the previous night. + +In this we were quickly successful. On entering the garage there +stood, muddy and dirty, a big grey landaulette, which the boy at once +identified as the one in which Sylvia had escaped. The driver was soon +found, and he explained that it was true he had been engaged on the +previous night by a tall, clean-shaven gentleman to pick up at the +Coliseum. He did so, and the gentleman entered with a lady. + +"Where did you drive them?" I asked quickly. + +"Up the Great North Road--to the George Hotel at Stamford, about a +hundred miles from London. I've only been back about a couple of +hours, sir." + +"The George at Stamford!" I echoed, for I knew the hotel, a quiet, +old-fashioned, comfortable place much patronized by motorists to and +fro on the north road. + +"You didn't stay there?" + +"Only just to get a drink and fill up with petrol. I wanted to get +back. The lady and gentleman were evidently expected, and seemed in a +great hurry." + +"Why?" + +"Well, near Alconbury the engine was misfiring a little, and I stopped +to open the bonnet. When I did so, the lady put her head out of the +window, highly excited, and asked how long we were likely to be +delayed. I told her; then I heard her say to the gentleman, 'If they +are away before we reach there, what shall we do?'" + +"Then they were on their way to meet somebody or other--eh?" + +"Ah! that I don't know, sir. I drew up in the yard of the hotel, and +they both got out. The lady hurried in, while the gentleman paid me, +and gave me something for myself. It was then nearly four o'clock in +the morning. I should have been back earlier, only I had a puncture +the other side of Hatfield, and had to put on the 'Stepney.'" + +"I must go to Stamford," I said decisively. Then I put something into +his palm, as well as into that of the page-boy, and, entering a taxi, +drove back home. + +An hour later I sat beside my own chauffeur, as we drove through the +steadily falling rain across Hampstead Heath, on our hundred-mile +journey into Lincolnshire. + +We both knew every inch of the road, having been over it many times. +As it was wet, police-traps were unlikely, so, having negotiated the +narrow road as far as Hatfield, we began to "let her out" past +Hitchin, and we buzzed on over the broad open road through Stilton +village. We were hung up at the level-crossing at Wansford, but about +half-past three in the afternoon we swept over the brow of the hill +beneath the high wall of Burghley Park, and saw beneath us the roofs +and many spires of quiet old Stamford. + +Ten minutes later we swung into the yard of the ancient George, and, +alighting, entered the broad hall, with its splendid old oak +staircase, in search of the manageress. + +She related a rather curious story. + +On the previous night, about eleven o'clock, there arrived by car two +well-dressed gentlemen who, though English, conversed together in +French. They took rooms, but did not retire to bed, saying that they +expected two friends who were motoring, and who would arrive in the +night. They sat over the fire in the lounge, while the staff of the +hotel all retired, save the night-boots, an old retainer. The latter +stated that during the night, as he passed the door of the lounge, he +saw through the crack of the door the younger of the two men examining +something which shone and sparkled in the light, and he thought to be +diamonds. This struck him as somewhat curious; therefore he kept a +watchful eye upon the pair. + +One he described as rather stout, dark, and bald-headed--the exact +description of Pennington--and the other description the man +afterwards gave to me caused me to feel confident that the second man +was none other than the scoundrel Reckitt. What further piece of +chicanery had they been guilty of, I wondered? + +"About four in the morning a grey car drove up, sir," went on the +boots, "and a lady with a dark cloak over her evening dress dashed in, +and they both rose quickly and welcomed her. Then, in order that I +should not understand, they again started talking in some foreign +language--French I expect it was. A few moments later the gentleman +came in. They welcomed him warmly, addressing him by the name of +Lewis. I saw the bald-headed man wring his hand heartily, and heard +him exclaim: 'By Jove! old man, you can't think how glad we are to see +you back again! You must have had a narrow squeak! Not another single +living man would have acted with the determination and bravery with +which you've acted. Only you must be careful, Lewis, old man--deuced +careful. There are enemies about, you know.' Then the gentleman said: +'I know! I'm quite aware of my peril, Arnold. You, too, had a narrow +shave in Paris a short time ago--I hear from Sonia.' 'Yes,' laughed +the other, 'she acted splendidly. But, as you say, it was a very close +thing. Have you seen Shuttleworth yet?' he asked. The other said: 'He +met me, in the Ditches at Southampton, two nights ago, and told me all +that's happened.' 'Ah! And Sonia has told you the rest, I suppose?' he +asked; to which the other man replied in the affirmative, adding: +'It's a bad job, I fear, for Owen Biddulph--a very bad job for the +fellow!' That was all the conversation that I overheard at that time, +for they then rang the bell and ordered whisky and sodas." + +"And what else did you see or hear?" I asked eagerly, much puzzled by +his statement. + +"They struck me as rather a suspicious lot, sir," the man said. "After +I had taken them in their drinks they closed the door, and seemed to +hold some sort of a consultation. While this was going on, two men +drove up in another car, and asked if a Mr. Winton was here. I told +him he was--for the bald-headed gentleman had given the name of +Douglas Winton. They were at once welcomed, and admitted to the +conference." + +"Rather curious--to hold a conference in such a manner and at such an +hour!" I remarked. + +"Yes, sir. It was a secret meeting, evidently. They all spoke in +another language. The two men who last arrived were no doubt +foreigners." + +"Was one of them stout and wore gold-rimmed glasses?" I inquired +quickly. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR + +AN UNFORTUNATE SLIP + + +"No, sir," the boots replied, "both were youngish men, with dark +moustaches. They wore heavy coats, and were in an open car. They came +from York way, and had evidently driven some distance." + +"You saw nothing of what went on at their mysterious meeting?" + +"Well, sir, the fact is, when I had had my suspicions aroused, I crept +out into the yard, and found that I could see into the lounge through +the chink between the blind and the window. They were all seated round +the table, the head of which had been taken by the gentleman who had +arrived from London with the lady. He seemed to be chairman, and he +talked in a low, deliberate, and very earnest tone, being listened to +with greatest interest. He evidently related something which amazed +them. Then a map, or plan, was placed upon the table, and each +examined it in turn. Afterwards two photographs were produced by Mr. +Winton and handed around the assembly. Each man looked long and +steadily at the pictures--both were of women. The young lady present +refused to take any part in the discussion, and I noticed that she +passed on the photographs without comment--without even glancing at +them." + +"Did she appear to be present there against her will?" I asked +breathlessly. + +"No, not exactly. She seemed very friendly with all the gentlemen. The +two foreigners were strangers to her--for she was introduced to them." + +"By name?" + +"Yes, sir. Miss Sonia Poland." + +I bit my lip. Had she already dropped my name, and was now passing +under an alias? + +"Sonia Poland!" I echoed. "Was it for the purpose of concealing her +identity from the foreigners, do you think?" I asked. + +"No, sir. Because Winton and his companion addressed her as Sonia +Poland when she arrived." + +"And you believed it to be her real name?" + +"I suppose it is, sir," was the man's reply, for I fear my manner +somewhat mystified him. + +"Well, and what further did you see at this early morning +consultation?" I asked, mindful that his curiosity had no doubt been +aroused by sight of something sparkling in the strange visitor's hand. + +"The gentleman called Mr. Lewis wrote out a paper very carefully and +handed it round. Every one signed it--except the lady. They asked her +to do so, but she protested vigorously, and the matter was not +pressed. Then the photograph of a man was shown to the two foreigners, +and the lady tried to prevent it. Curiously enough, sir, I caught a +good sight of it--just a head and shoulders--and the picture very +much resembled you yourself, sir!" + +"Me!" I cried. "And they showed it to the two young foreigners--eh?" + +"Yes, sir. One of them took it and put it into his pocket. Then the +mysterious Mr. Lewis, as chairman of the meeting, seemed to raise a +protest. The two foreigners gesticulated, jabbered away, and raised +their shoulders a lot. I dearly wish I could have made out a word they +said. Unfortunately I couldn't. Only I saw that in Mr. Lewis's face +was a look of fierce determination. They at first defied him. But at +last, with great reluctance, they handed back the photograph, which +Mr. Lewis himself burned on the fire." + +"He burned my photograph!" + +"Yes, sir. I think it was yours, sir--but of course I can't be quite +positive." + +"And what else?" + +"Mr. Winton said something, whereupon all of them glanced at the door +and then at the window. One of the foreigners came to the window, but +did not notice that there was a slight crack through which I could +see. Then he turned the key in the door. After he had returned to his +chair, the man who had arrived with Mr. Winton took from his pocket +something that shone. My heart beat quickly. It was a diamond +necklet--the object I had seen in his hand earlier. He passed it round +for the admiration of the others, who each took it and closely +examined it beneath the light--all but the young lady. She was +standing aside, near the fireplace, watching. Now and then she placed +her hand to her forehead, as though her brain were weary." + +"And after that?" + +"After the necklet had been passed round the elder of the two +foreigners wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief and placed it in +his pocket. Then Mr. Lewis gave them a long address, emphasizing his +words with his hand, and they listened to him without uttering a word. +Suddenly Mr. Winton sprang up and wrung his hand, afterwards making +what appeared to be some highly complimentary remarks, for Mr. Lewis +smiled and bowed to the assembly, who afterwards rose. Then the young +lady rushed up to Mr. Lewis and implored him to do something, but he +refused. She stood before him, pale-faced and determined. Her eyes +seemed starting from her head. She seemed like one horrified. But he +placed his hand tenderly upon her shoulder, and uttered some quick low +words which instantly calmed her. Very shortly after that the party +broke up, and the door was re-opened. The two foreigners hurriedly +swallowed a liqueur-glass of brandy each, and then, passing into the +yard, wished their companions adieu and drove away in their car--in +the direction of London." + +"Carrying with them the diamond necklet which the other man had +brought there?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And what became of the young lady?" I inquired very anxiously. + +"She first had a long and private conversation with the gentleman +named Winton--the bald-headed man." + +This, it will be remembered, was the person whose description tallied +exactly with that of her father. + +"They went outside together," said the boots, "out into the yard, and +there conversed alone in half-whispers. Afterwards they rejoined the +others. Mr. Lewis seemed very annoyed with her; nevertheless, after a +cup of tea each, about half-past five the four of them got into the +car in which Winton had arrived and drove away in the direction of +Grantham. Winton gave me a sovereign for myself--an unusually generous +gift, I can assure you, sir," he laughed. + +"And now what is your own opinion concerning them?" I asked. + +"Why, there can only be one opinion, sir--that they are wrong 'uns. I +felt half a mind to tell Mr. Pearson, the police-constable who lives +across in Water Lane, but I didn't like to without consulting +somebody. And I didn't want to wake up the manageress." + +"Ah! and it may now be too late, Cross," said the lady in question, +who had been standing by all the time. Then, addressing me, she said-- + +"The whole affair seemed most mysterious, sir, therefore I went round +and saw the inspector of police this morning, and told him briefly of +our strange visitors. I'm rather glad they're gone, for one never +likes unpleasantness in a hotel. Yet, of course, the fault cannot be +that of the hotel-keeper if he takes in an undesirable." + +"Of course not. But what view did the inspector hold?" + +"Inspector Deane merely expressed the opinion that they were +suspicious persons--that's all." + +"So they seem to have been," I remarked, without satisfying her as to +who I really was. My story there was that I had business relations +with Mr. Lewis, and had followed him there in the hope of catching him +up. + +We were in the manageress's room, a cosy apartment in the back of the +quaint old hostelry, when a waitress came and announced Inspector +Deane. The official was at once shown in, whereupon he said abruptly-- + +"The truth is out, Miss Hammond, regarding your strange visitors of +last night." And he glanced inquiringly at myself. + +"You can speak openly before this gentleman," she said, noticing his +hesitation. + +"The fact is, a circular-telegram has just been sent out from Scotland +Yard, saying that by the express from Edinburgh due at King's Cross at +10.45 last night the Archduchess Marie Louise, niece of the Emperor +Francis Joseph of Austria, was a passenger. She had been staying at +Balmoral, and travelled south in a special saloon. When the luggage +came to be collected a dressing-case was missing--it evidently having +been stolen in transit by somebody who had obtained access to the +saloon while on the journey. The corridor was open between York and +London, so that the restaurant could be reached, and it is believed +that the thief, or thieves, managed to pass in unobserved and throw +the bag out upon the line to some confederate awaiting it. The bag +contained a magnificent diamond necklet--a historic heirloom of the +Imperial family of the Hapsburgs--and is valued at fifty thousand +pounds!" + +"And those people who met here were the thieves!" gasped the +manageress, turning instantly pale. + +"Without a doubt. You see, the Great Northern main line runs close by +us--at Essendine. It may be that the thieves were waiting for it near +there--waiting for it to be dropped out in the darkness. All the +platelayers along the line are now searching for the bag, but we here +are certain that the thieves spent the night in Stamford." + +"Not the thieves," I said. "The receivers." + +"Exactly." + +"But the young foreigner has it!" cried the boots. "He and his friend +set off for London with it." + +"Yes. They would reach London in time to catch one of the boat-trains +from Victoria or Charing Cross this morning, and by this time they're +safely out of the country--carrying the necklet with them. Ah! +Scotland Yard is terribly slow. But the delay seems to have been +caused by the uncertainty of Her Highness as to whether she had +actually brought the dressing-case with her, and she had to telegraph +to Balmoral before she could really state that it had been stolen." + +"The two men, Douglas Winton and his friend, came here in a +motor-car," I remarked. "They had evidently been waiting somewhere +near the line, in order to pick up the stolen bag." + +"Without a doubt, sir," exclaimed the inspector. "Their actions here, +according to what Miss Hammond told me this morning, were most +suspicious. It's a pity that the boots did not communicate with us." + +"Yes, Mr. Deane," said the man referred to, "I'm very sorry now that I +didn't. But I felt loath to disturb people at that hour of the +morning." + +"You took no note of the number of either of the three cars which +came, I suppose?" + +"No. We have so many cars here that I hardly noticed even what colour +they were." + +"Ah! That's unfortunate. Still, we shall probably pick up some clue to +them along the road. Somebody is certain to have seen them, or know +something about them." + +"This gentleman here knows something about them," remarked the +manageress, indicating myself. + +The inspector turned to me in quick surprise, and no doubt saw the +surprise in my face. + +"I--I know nothing," I managed to exclaim blankly, at once realizing +the terrible pitfall into which I had fallen. + +"But you said you knew Mr. Lewis--the gentleman who acted as president +of that mysterious conference!" Miss Hammond declared, in all +innocence. + +"I think, sir," added the inspector, "that the matter is such a grave +one that you should at once reveal all you do know. You probably +overlook the fact that if you persist in silence you may be arrested +as an accessory." + +"But I know nothing," I protested; "nothing whatever concerning the +robbery!" + +"But you know one of the men," said Cross the boots. + +"And the lady also, without a doubt!" added the inspector. + +"I refuse to be cross-examined in this manner by you!" I retorted in +anger, yet full of apprehension now that I saw myself suspected of +friendship with the gang. + +"Well, sir, then I regret that I must ask you to walk over the bridge +with me to the police-station. I must take you before the +superintendent," he said firmly. + +"But I know nothing," I again protested. + +"Come with me," he said, with a grim smile of disbelief. "That you'll +be compelled to prove." + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE + +MORE STRANGE FACTS + + +Compelled against my will to accompany the inspector to the police +head-quarters in the High Street, I made a statement--a rather lame +one, I fear. + +I concealed the fact that the lady of the previous night's conference +was my wife, and explained my visit to Stamford, and my inquiries at +the George, by the fact that I had met the man Lewis abroad, and had +had some financial dealings with him, which, I now suspected, were not +altogether square. So, hearing that he had motored to the north, I had +followed, and had inquired at several of the well-known motoring +hotels for news of him, being unsuccessful until I had arrived at +Stamford. + +This story would, of course, not have held water had Miss Hammond, the +manageress, been present. Happily, however, she had not accompanied +me, hence I was able to concoct a somewhat plausible excuse to the +local superintendent. + +"Then you actually know nothing concerning these people?" he asked, +regarding me shrewdly. + +"Nothing beyond the fact of meeting Lewis abroad, and very foolishly +trusting in his honesty." + +The superintendent smiled. I think he regarded me as a bit of a fool. +Probably I had been. + +"They are a clever gang, no doubt," he declared. "The Archduchess's +necklace must have been stolen by some one travelling in the train. +I've been on to Scotland Yard by telephone, and there seems a +suspicion because at Grantham--the last stopping-place before +London--a ticket-collector boarded the train. He was a stranger to the +others, but they believed that he had been transferred from one or +other of the branches to the main line, and being in the company's +uniform they, of course, accepted him. He collected the tickets _en +route_, as is sometimes done, and at Finsbury Park descended, and was +lost sight of. Here again the busy collectors came and demanded +tickets, much to the surprise of the passengers, and the curious +incident was much commented upon." + +"Then the bogus collector was the thief, I suppose?" + +"No doubt. He somehow secured the dressing-bag and dropped it out at a +point between Grantham and Essendine--a spot where he knew his +accomplices would be waiting--a very neatly-planned robbery." + +"And by persons who are evidently experts," I said. + +"Of course," replied the grey-haired superintendent. "The manner in +which the diamonds have been quickly transferred from hand to hand and +carried out of the country is sufficient evidence of that. The gang +have now scattered, and, for aught we know, have all crossed the +Channel by this time." + +"Well," I assured him; "I know nothing more of the affair than what I +have told you. If I were an accomplice I should hardly be here--making +inquiries concerning them." + +"I don't know so much about that," he replied, rather incredulously. +"Such an action has been known before, in order to place the police +upon a wrong scent. I fear I must ask you to remain here, in Stamford, +until this evening, while I make some inquiry into your _bona fides_, +sir." + +"What!" I cried. "You intend to detain me!" + +"There is no indignity," he declared. "You may go about the town where +you will--providing you do not attempt to leave it. I regret, but it +is my duty to ascertain who and what you are, Mr. Biddulph." + +I had given him my card, and he, seeing the look of annoyance upon my +face, added-- + +"I can only express apologies, sir. But you will see it is my duty. +You have admitted knowledge of at least one of the mysterious gang." + +"Very well," I replied reluctantly; "make what inquiries you will." +And I gave him the address of my solicitors and my bankers. + +Then, walking out of the office, I strolled down the quiet old High +Street into the market place, full of evil forebodings. + +Who was this man Lewis--or Louis--with whom my wife had escaped? + +He was a blackguardly adventurer, anyhow. He had addressed her as +"dear," and had been solicitous of her welfare throughout! To him she +had signalled from her box in the theatre, well knowing that he was +making secret preparations for her elopement. Indeed, she had written +that note and placed it upon my blotting-pad before we had gone forth +together, she well knowing that she would never again re-cross my +threshold. + +Ah! The poignant bitterness of it all had gripped my heart. My cup of +unhappiness was now assuredly full. + +How brief had been my joy; how quickly my worst fears had been +realized. + +About the quiet, old-world decaying town I wandered, hardly knowing +whither I went. When, every now and then, in the fading light, I found +myself going into the country I turned back, mindful of my promise not +to leave the place without permission. + +About six I returned to the George and sat beside the fire in the +lounge--in that selfsame chair where my fugitive wife had sat. I was +eager to renew the chase, yet until I received word from the police I +was compelled to remain helpless. + +Old Cross, the boots, became inquisitive, but I evaded his questions, +and ate my dinner alone in the small cosy coffee-room, awaiting the +reappearance of Inspector Deane. I had given my chauffeur liberty till +eight o'clock, but I was all anxiety to drive back to London. + +Still, if I returned, what could I do? Sylvia and her companions had +driven away--whither was a mystery. + +The Criminal Investigation Department had already issued an official +description of the persons wanted, for while I had been at the +police-office the inspector had been closely questioning the man Cross +and Miss Hammond. + +Already the police drag-net was out, and the combined police forces of +Europe would, in an hour or two, be on the watch for Sylvia and her +mysterious companions. + +So far as the United Kingdom was concerned sixty thousand officers, +detectives and constables would be furnished with a complete +description of those who had held that secret consultation. The +tightest of tight cordons would be drawn. Every passenger who embarked +at English ports for abroad would be carefully scrutinized by +plain-clothes men. Every hotel-keeper, not only in London, but in the +remote villages and hamlets would be closely questioned as to the +identity and recent movements of his guests. Full descriptions of +Sylvia and her friends would be cabled to America, and the American +police would be asked to keep a sharp look-out on passengers arriving +on all boats from Europe. Descriptions would also be sent to the +police head-quarters in every European capital. + +In face of that, what more could I do? + +The situation had become unbearable. Sylvia's unaccountable action had +plunged me into a veritable sea of despair. The future seemed blank +and hopeless. + +Just before eight o'clock I strolled back to the police-office and +reported myself, as it were. The superintendent expressed himself +perfectly satisfied with the replies he had received from London, and, +with apologies, gave me leave to depart. + +"Inquiry is being made along the roads in every direction from here," +he said. "We hear that the three men and the woman called at the Bell, +at Barnby Moor, and had some breakfast. Afterwards they continued +northward." + +"Barnby Moor!" I echoed. "Why, that's near Doncaster." + +"Yes, sir. Motorists patronize the place a good deal." + +"And is that all that is known?" I inquired eagerly. + +"All at present," he said. Therefore I left and, returning to the +garage, mounted the car and, with head-lamps alight, drove out into +the pitch darkness in the direction of Grantham. We sped along the +broad old coach-road for nearly three hours, until at last we pulled +up before an ancient wayside inn which had been modernized and adapted +to twentieth-century requirements. + +The manager, in reply to my eager questions, said it was true that the +Doncaster police had been there making inquiries regarding four +motorists--three gentlemen and a lady--who had called there that +morning and had had breakfast in the coffee-room. + +The head-waiter who had attended them was called, and I questioned +him. I think the manager believed me to be a detective, for he was +most courteous, and ready to give me all information. + +"Yes, sir," replied the tall, slim head-waiter. "They came here in a +great hurry, and seemed to have come a long distance, judging from the +way the car was plastered with mud. The lady was very cold, for they +had an open car, and she wore a gentleman's overcoat and a shawl tied +around her head. The tallest of the gentlemen drove the car. They +called him Lewis." + +"Did you hear them address the lady?" I asked eagerly. + +"They called her Sonia, sir." + +"And you say she seemed very fatigued?" + +"Very. She went upstairs and changed her evening gown for a stuff +dress, which was brought out of the car. Then she came down and joined +the others at breakfast." + +"They gave you no indication as to their destination, I suppose?" + +"Well, sir, I think they were returning to London, for I heard one of +the gentlemen say something about catching the boat-train." + +"They may have meant the Harwich boat-train from the north," I +remarked. + +"Very likely, sir. One portion of that train comes through Doncaster +in the afternoon to Peterborough and March, while the other comes down +to Rugby on the North-Western, and then goes across to Peterborough by +way of Market Harborough." + +"Then they may have joined that, and if so they would just about be +leaving Parkeston Quay by now!" + +"If so, the police are certain to spot them," laughed the waiter. +"They're wanted for the theft of a princess's jewels, they say." + +What should I do? It was now long past ten o'clock, and I could not +possibly arrive at Parkeston before early morning. Besides, if they +had really gone there, they would, no doubt, be arrested. The man with +the pimply face whose description so closely tallied with that of +Reckitt, was surely too clever a criminal to run his neck into a noose +by going to any port of embarkation. Therefore I concluded that +whatever had been said at table had been said with the distinct object +of misleading the waiter. The very manner in which the diamonds had +been stolen showed a cunning and a daring unsurpassed. Such men were +certainly not easily trapped. + +My sole thought was of Sylvia. I could not bring myself to believe +that she had wilfully forsaken her home and her husband. Upon her, I +felt confident, some species of blackmail had been levied, and she had +been forced away from me by reasons beyond her control. + +That incident of the photograph--the picture believed to have been of +myself--which the foreigner tried to secure but which the man Lewis +had himself destroyed, was incomprehensible. What had been intended by +the foreigner? + +I gathered all the information I could in the hotel, and then, after a +hasty meal, re-entered the car and set out upon the dark, cold return +journey to London. + +Where was Sylvia? Who were her mysterious friends? And, chief of all, +who was that man Lewis who addressed her in such endearing terms? + +What could possibly be the solution of the mystery? + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX + +"SOME SENSATIONAL REVELATIONS" + + +The days dragged by. The papers were full of the robbery, declaring +that it had been executed so neatly as to betray the hand of experts. + +A gang of Continental thieves was suspected, because, as a matter of +fact, a robbery similar in detail had, six months before, taken place +on the night express between Cologne and Berlin. In that case also a +strange ticket-inspector had been seen. The stolen property had, no +doubt, been thrown from the train to accomplices. Such method was +perfectly safe for the thief, because, unless actually detected in the +act of tossing out a bag or parcel, no evidence could very well be +brought against him. + +Therefore the police, and through them the newspapers, decided that +the same gang was responsible for the theft of the Archduchess's +necklace as for the robbery in Germany. + +Myself, I read eagerly every line of what appeared in the morning and +evening press. + +Many ridiculous theories were put forward by some journalists in +working up the "story," and more than once I found cruel and unfounded +reflections cast upon the sole female member of the party--my dear +wife. + +This was all extremely painful to me--all so utterly incomprehensible +that, as I sat alone in the silence of my deserted home, I felt that +no further misfortune could fall upon me. The iron of despair had +entered my very soul. + +Marlowe called one afternoon, and I was compelled to make excuse for +Sylvia's absence, telling him she was down at Mrs. Shuttleworth's. + +"You don't look quite yourself, old man," he had said. "What's up?" + +"Oh, nothing," I laughed faintly. "I'm a bit run down, that's all. +Want a change, I suppose. I think I shall go abroad." + +"I thought your wife had had sufficient of the Continent," he +remarked. "Curiously enough," he added, as he sat back and blew a +cloud of cigarette-smoke from his lips, "I thought I saw her the day +before yesterday standing on the railway platform at Banbury. I was +coming down from Birmingham to Oxford, and the train slowed down in +passing Banbury. I happened to be looking out at the time, and I could +have sworn that I saw her." + +"At Banbury!" I ejaculated, leaning forward. + +"Yes. She was wearing a dark blue dress, with a jacket to match, and a +small dark blue hat. She was with an elderly lady, and was evidently +waiting for a train. She gave me the impression that she was starting +on a journey." + +"How old was her companion?" + +"Oh, she was about forty, I should think--neatly dressed in black." + +"It couldn't have been she," I said reflectively. + +"My dear Owen, Mrs. Biddulph's beauty is too marked for one to be +mistaken--especially a friend, like myself." + +"Then you are quite certain it was she--eh, Jack?" + +My tall friend stretched his long legs out on the carpet, and +replied-- + +"Well, I'd have bet a hundred to a penny that it was she. She wasn't +at home with you on that day, was she?" + +I was compelled to make a negative reply. + +"Then I'm certain I saw her, old man," he declared, as he rose and +tossed his cigarette-end away. + +It was upon my tongue to ask him what he had known of her, but I +refrained. She was my wife, and to ask such a question would only +expose to him my suspicions and misgivings. + +So presently he went, and I was left there wretched in my loneliness +and completely mystified. The house seemed full of grim shadows now +that she, the sun of my life, had gone out of it. Old Browning moved +about silent as a ghost, watching me, I knew, and wondering. + +So Sylvia had been seen at Banbury. According to Jack, she was dressed +as though travelling; therefore it seemed apparent that she had hidden +in that quiet little town until compelled to flee owing to police +inquiries. Her dress, as described by Jack, was different to any I +had ever seen her wear; hence it seemed as though she had disguised +herself as much as was possible. Her companionship with the elder +woman was also somewhat strange. + +My only fear was that the police might recognize her. While she +remained in one place, she would, no doubt, be safe from detection. +But if she commenced to travel, then most certainly the police would +arrest her. + +Fortunately they were not in possession of her photograph, yet all +along I remained in fear that the manager of the Coliseum might make a +statement, and this would again connect me with the gang. + +Yes, I suppose the reader will dub me a fool to have married Sylvia. +Well, he or she may do so. My only plea in extenuation is that I loved +her dearly and devotedly. My love might have been misplaced, of +course, yet I still felt that, in face of all the black circumstances, +she was nevertheless true to those promises made before the altar. I +was hers--and she was mine. + +Even then, with the papers raising a hue-and-cry after her, as well as +what I had discovered regarding her elopement, I steadfastly refused +to believe in her guilt. Those well-remembered words of affection +which had fallen from her lips from time to time I knew had been +genuine and the truth. + +That same night I read in the evening paper a paragraph as follows-- + +"It is understood that the police have obtained an important clue to +the perpetrators of the daring theft of the diamond necklet belonging +to the Archduchess Marie Louise, and that an arrest is shortly +expected. Some highly sensational revelations are likely." + +I read and re-read those significant lines. What were the "sensational +revelations" promised? Had they any connection with the weird mystery +of that closed house in Porchester Terrace? + +I felt that perhaps I was not doing right in refraining from laying +before the Criminal Investigation Department the facts of my strange +experience in that long-closed house. In that neglected garden, my own +grave lay open. What bodies of other previous victims lay there +interred? + +I recollected that in the metropolis many bodies of murdered persons +had been found buried in cellars and in gardens. A recent case of the +discovery of an unfortunate woman's body beneath the front doorsteps +of a certain house in North London was fresh within my mind. + +Truly the night mysteries of London are many and gruesome. The public +never dream of half the brutal crimes that are committed and never +detected. Only the police, if they are frank, will tell you of the +many cases in which persons missing are suspected of having been +victims of foul play. Yet they are mysteries never solved. + +I went across to White's and dined alone. I was in no mood for the +companionship of friends. No one save myself knew that my wife had +disappeared. Jack suspected something wrong, but was not aware of what +it exactly was. + +I went down to Andover next day and called upon the Shuttleworths. +Mrs. Shuttleworth was kind and affable as usual, but whether my +suspicions were ungrounded or not, I thought the rector a trifle +brusque in manner, as though annoyed by my presence there. + +I recollected what the man Lewis had told his friends--that he had +seen Shuttleworth down in the Ditches--one of the lowest +neighbourhoods--of Southampton. The rector had told him all that had +transpired! + +Why was this worthy country rector, living the quiet life of a remote +Hampshire village, in such constant communication with a band of +thieves? + +I sat with him in his well-remembered study for perhaps an hour. But +he was a complete enigma. Casually I referred to the great jewel +theft, which was more or less upon every one's tongue. + +"I seldom read newspaper horrors," he replied, puffing at his familiar +pipe. "I saw something in the head-lines of the paper, but I did not +read the details. I've been writing some articles for the _Guardian_ +lately, and my time has been so fully occupied." + +Was this the truth? Or was he merely evading the necessity of +discussing the matter? + +He had inquired after Sylvia, and I had been compelled to admit that +she was away. But I did so in such a manner that I implied she was +visiting friends. + +Outside, the lawn, so bright and pleasant in summer, now looked damp +and dreary, littered by the brown drifting leaves of autumn. + +Somehow I read in his grey face a strange expression, and detected an +eagerness to get rid of me. For the first time I found myself an +unwelcome visitor at the rectory. + +"Have you seen Mr. Pennington of late?" I asked presently. + +"No, not for some time. He wrote me from Brussels about a month ago, +and said that business was calling him to Spain. Have you seen him?" +he asked. + +"Not very recently," I replied vaguely. + +Then again I referred to the great robbery, whereat he said-- + +"Why, Mr. Biddulph, you appear as though you can't resist the +fascination that mysterious crime has for you! I suppose you are an +ardent novel-reader--eh? People fond of novels always devour newspaper +mysteries." + +I admitted a fondness for healthy and exciting fiction, when he +laughed, saying-- + +"Well, I myself find that nearly half one reads in some of the +newspapers now-a-days may be classed as fiction. Even party politics +are full of fictions, more or less. Surely the public must find it +very difficult to winnow the truth from all the political lies, both +spoken and written. To me, elections are all mere campaigns of +untruth." + +And so he again cleverly turned the drift of our conversation. + +About five o'clock I left, driving back to Andover Junction, and +arriving at Waterloo in time for dinner. + +I took a taxi at once to Wilton Street, but there was no letter from +Sylvia. She gave no sign. And, indeed, why should she, in face of her +letter of farewell? + +I dressed, and sat down alone to my dinner for the first time in my +own dining-room since my wife's disappearance. + +Lonely and sad, yet filled with fierce hatred of those blackguardly +adventurers, of whom her own father was evidently one, I sat silent, +while old Browning served the meal with that quiet stateliness which +was one of his chief characteristics. The old man had never once +mentioned his missing mistress, yet I saw, by the gravity of his pale, +furrowed face, that he was anxious and puzzled. + +As I ate, without appetite, he chatted to me, as had been his habit in +my bachelor days, for through long years of service--ever since I was +a lad--he had become more a friend than a mere servant. From many a +boyish scrape he had shielded me, and much good advice had he given me +in those reckless days of my rather wild youth. + +His utter devotion to my father had always endeared him to me, for to +him there was no family respected so much as ours, and his +faithfulness was surely unequalled. + +Perhaps he did not approve of my marriage. I held a strong suspicion +that he had not. Yet old servants are generally apt to be resentful at +the advent of a new mistress. + +I was finishing my coffee and thinking deeply, Browning having left me +alone, when suddenly he returned, and, bending, said in his quiet +way-- + +"A gentleman has called, Mr. Owen. He wishes to see you very +particularly." And he handed me a card, upon which I saw the name: +"Henri Guertin." + +I sprang to my feet, my mind made up in an instant. Here was one +actually of the gang, and I would entrap him in my own house! + +I would compel him to speak the truth, under pain of arrest. + +"Where is he?" I asked breathlessly. + +"I have shown him into the study. He's a foreign gentleman, Mr. Owen." + +"Yes, I know," I said. "But now, don't be alarmed, Browning--just stay +outside in the hall. If I ring the bell, go straight to the telephone, +ring up the police-station, and tell them to send a constable here at +once. My study door will be locked until the constable arrives. You +understand?" + +"Perfectly, Mr. Owen, but----" And the old man hesitated, looking at +me apprehensively. + +"There is nothing whatever to fear," I laughed, rather harshly +perhaps. "Carry out my orders, that's all." + +And then, in fierce determination, I went along the hall, and, opening +the study door, entered, closing it behind me, and as I stood with my +back to it I turned the key and removed it. + +"Well, M'sieur Guertin," I exclaimed, addressing the stout man in gold +pince-nez in rather a severe tone, "and what, pray, do you want with +me?" + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN + +A CONTRETEMPS + + +The stout, round-faced Frenchman rose, and, bowing with his irritating +politeness, answered-- + +"I wish to consult you, Monsieur Biddulph, upon a confidential matter +concerning your wife." + +"What does my wife concern you, pray, sir?" I asked angrily. + +"Ah! calm yourself, m'sieur," he said suddenly, dropping into French; +"I am here as your friend." + +"I hardly believe that," I replied incredulously. "My friend cannot be +the accomplice of my enemies. You are acquainted with Reckitt and with +Pennington--the men implicated in the recent theft of the diamonds of +the Archduchess Marie Louise!" + +He started and looked at me quickly. + +"What do you know of that?" he inquired, with rather undue eagerness. + +"I know more concerning you than you think," was my firm reply. "And I +give you an alternative, Monsieur Guertin. Either you will reveal to +me the whole truth concerning those men Reckitt and Forbes and my +wife's connection with them, or I shall telephone to the police, and +have you arrested as a member of the gang." + +"My dear monsieur," he replied, with a good-humoured smile, "I can't +tell you facts of which I possess no knowledge. I am here to make +inquiry of you--to----" + +"To mislead me further!" I cried angrily. "You and your friends may be +extremely clever--you have succeeded in enticing my wife away from her +home, and you expect to befool me further. Remember that I nearly lost +my life in that grim house in Bayswater. Therefore at least I can +secure the arrest of one member of the gang." + +"And you would arrest me--eh?" he asked, looking me straight in the +face, suddenly growing serious. + +"Yes, I intend to," I replied, whipping out my revolver from my hip +pocket. + +"Put that thing away," he urged. "Be reasonable. What would you profit +by arresting me?" + +"You shall either speak--tell me the truth, or I will hand you over to +the police. I have only to touch this bell"--and I raised my hand to +the electric button beside the fireplace--"and a telephone message +will call a constable." + +"And you really would give me in charge--eh?" laughed my visitor. + +"I certainly intend doing so," I answered angrily. + +"Well, before this is done, let us speak frankly for a few moments," +suggested the Frenchman. "You tell me that you nearly lost your life +in some house in Bayswater. Where was that?" + +"In Porchester Terrace. What is the use of affecting ignorance?" + +"I do not affect ignorance," he said, and I saw that a change had +completely overspread his countenance. "I only wish to know the extent +of your knowledge of Reckitt and Forbes." + +"I have but little knowledge of your friends, I'm pleased to say," was +my quick rejoinder. "Let us leave them out of the question. What I +desire to know is the whereabouts of my wife." + +He shrugged his broad shoulders. + +"I regret that I have no knowledge of where madame may be." + +"But you have!" I cried, facing him angrily. "She is probably with +Pennington, her father, who seems to be one of your undesirable +fraternity." + +"No, she is not with him, most certainly," my visitor declared. "I +know that for a fact. She is probably with Lewis." + +"And who is this fellow Lewis?" I demanded. + +For a moment he was silent. + +"I think you had better ask madame, your wife," he replied at last. + +"Do you intend to cast a slur upon her?" I cried, facing him +resentfully. + +"Not in the least," was his cool answer. "I have merely replied to +your question." + +"And have given me most impertinent advice! Will you, or will you not, +tell me who the fellow is?" + +"At present, monsieur, I must refuse." + +"Then I shall press the bell, and give you into custody." + +"Ah!" he laughed, "that will be distinctly amusing." + +"For me, perhaps--not for you." + +"Monsieur is at liberty to act as he deems best," said my visitor. + +Therefore, irritated by the fellow's manner, and in the hope that he +would at the eleventh hour relent, I pressed the bell. + +It rang loudly, and I heard old Browning go to the telephone beneath +the stairs. In a few minutes the constable would arrive, and at least +one member of the dangerous gang would be secured. + +"Perhaps you will let me pass," he said, crossing towards the door +immediately after I had rung the bell. But I placed myself against it, +revolver in hand, preventing him and holding him at bay. + +"Very well," he laughed. "I fear, Mr. Biddulph, that you are not +acting judiciously. You refuse to accept my statement that I am here +as your friend!" + +"Because you, on your part, refuse to reply to my questions." + +But he only shrugged his shoulders again without replying. + +"You know quite well where my wife is." + +"Alas! I do not," the fellow declared emphatically. "It was to obtain +information that I called." + +"You cannot deny that you know that pair of criminals, Reckitt and +Forbes?" + +"I have surely not denied knowledge of them!" + +"Yet you refuse to tell me who this man is who enticed my wife from my +side--the man who presided over that secret council at the George +Hotel at Stamford!" + +"I am prepared to be frank with you in return for your frankness, +monsieur," he answered. + +But I saw in his evasive replies an intention to mislead me into a +belief that he was actuated towards me by friendly motives. Therefore +my antagonism increased. He had defied me, and I would give him into +custody. + +Presently there came a loud knocking at the door, and, upon my opening +it, a police-sergeant stood upon the threshold. + +"I give this man into custody," I said, addressing him and pointing to +the Frenchman. + +"Upon what charge, sir?" asked the burly officer, whose broad +shoulders filled the doorway, while I saw a constable standing behind +him. + +"On suspicion of being associated with the theft of the diamonds of +the Archduchess Marie Louise," I replied. + +"Come, monsieur," laughed my visitor, speaking again in English, "I +think we have carried this sufficiently far." And, placing his hand in +his breast-pocket, he produced a small folded yellow card bearing his +photograph, which he handed to me. "Read that!" he added, with a laugh +of triumph. + +I saw that the printed card was headed "Préfecture de Police, Ville de +Paris," and that it was signed, countersigned, and bore a large red +official seal. + +Quickly I scanned it, and, to my abject dismay, realized that Henri +Guertin was chief of the first section of the _sûreté_--he was one of +the greatest detectives of France! + +I stammered something, and then, turning to the sergeant, red and +ashamed, I admitted that I had made a mistake in attempting to arrest +so distinguished an official. + +The two metropolitan officers held the card in their hands, and, +unable to read French, asked me to translate it for them, which I did. + +"Why," cried the sergeant, "Monsieur Guertin is well known! His name +figures in the papers only this morning as arresting two Englishmen in +Paris for a mysterious murder alleged to have been committed in some +house in Bayswater!" + +"In Bayswater!" I gasped. "In Porchester Terrace?" + +"Yes," replied the famous French detective. "It is true that I know +Reckitt and Forbes. But I only knew them in order to get at the truth. +They never suspected me, and early yesterday morning I went to the +snug little apartments they have in the Rue de Rouen, and arrested +them, together with two young Frenchmen named Terassier and Brault. +Concealed beneath a loose board in the bedroom of the last-named man I +found the missing gems." + +"Then Terassier and Brault were the two men who met the others in +Stamford, and carried the diamonds across to the Continent, intending +to dispose of them?" + +"Exactly. There was a hitch in disposing of them in Amsterdam, as had +been intended, and though the diamonds had been knocked from their +settings, I found them intact." + +He told me that Forbes was the actual thief, who had so daringly +travelled to Finsbury Park and collected the tickets _en route_. He +had practically confessed to having thrown the bag out to Reckitt and +Pennington, who were waiting at a point eight miles north of +Peterborough. They had used an electric flash-lamp as they stood in +the darkness near the line, and the thief, on the look-out for the +light, tossed the bag out on to the embankment. + +"Then my father-in-law is a thief!" I remarked, with chagrin, when the +sergeant and constable had been dismissed. "It was for that reason my +wife dare not face me and make explanation!" + +"You apparently believe Arnold Du Cane, alias Winton, alias +Pennington, to be Sylvia's father--but such is not the case," remarked +the great detective slowly. "To his career attaches a very remarkable +story--one which, in my long experience in the unravelling of +mysteries of crime, has never been equalled." + +"Tell me it," I implored him eagerly. "Where is my poor wife?" + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT + +THE FRENCHMAN MAKES A STATEMENT + + +"Ah! I regret, m'sieur, that I do not know," replied the Frenchman. +"And yet," he added, after a second's hesitation, "I do not exactly +regret. Perhaps it is best, after all, that I should remain in +ignorance. But, Monsieur Biddulph, I would make one request on your +wife's behalf." + +"On her behalf!" I gasped. "What is it?" + +"That you do not prejudge her. She has left you because--well, because +she had good reason. But one day, when you know the truth, you will +certainly not judge her too harshly." + +"I do not judge her harshly," I protested. "How can I, when I love her +as devotedly as I do! I feel confident that the misfortunes she has +brought upon me were not of her own seeking." + +"She very narrowly escaped the vengeance of those two assassins," +Guertin said; "how narrowly, neither you nor she will ever know. For +months I have watched them closely, both here and in France and +Germany, in order to catch them red-handed; but they have been too +clever for me, and we must rely upon the evidence which that +back-garden in Porchester Terrace will now yield up. The gang is part +of a great criminal association, that society of international +thieves of which one member was the man you knew as Harriman, and +whose real name was Bell--now at Devil's Island for the murder of the +rising young English parliamentary Under-Secretary Ronald Burke. The +murder was believed to have been committed with a political motive, +and through certain false evidence furnished by the man Pennington, a +person named Louis Lessar, chief of the band, was first arrested, and +condemned by the Assize Court of the Seine. Both were sent to Devil's +Island for life, but recently Lessar escaped, and was daring enough to +come to England as Mr. Lewis." + +"Lewis!" I gasped. "That was the fellow with whom my wife escaped--the +man who presided over the secret deliberations of the gang at their +assembly at Stamford!" + +"Yes. Once a British officer, he had been leader of the great criminal +organization before his arrest. They were the most formidable in +Europe, for they always acted on scientific principles, and always +well provided with funds. Some of their coups were utterly amazing. +But on his arrest and imprisonment the society dwindled under the +leadership of Pennington, a low-bred blackguard, who could not even be +loyal to his associates." + +"Excuse me, sir," remarked the sergeant, again shown into the room by +Browning. "Our C.I.D. men have been at work all day in the garden +behind that house in Porchester Terrace. A big hole was found dug +there, and already they've turned up the remains of two persons--a +man and a woman. I ought to have told you that we had it over the +telegraph at the station about an hour ago. Superintendent Mayhew and +Professor Salt have been there to examine the remains recovered." + +"Two victims!" I exclaimed. "The open grave found there was prepared +for me!" + +"No doubt," exclaimed Guertin. "When I first communicated with your +Scotland Yard, they refused to believe my allegations against Reckitt +and Forbes. But I had had my suspicions aroused by their actions in +Paris, and I was positive. But oh! your police methods are so very +painfully slow!" + +Then the sergeant again withdrew. + +"But of Pennington. Tell me more of him," I urged. + +"He was your worst enemy, and Sylvia's enemy also, even though he +posed as her father. He wished her to marry Forbes, and thus, on +account of her great beauty, remain the decoy of the gang. But she met +you, and loved you. Her love for you was the cause of their hatred. +Because of her affection, she risked her life by revealing to me +certain things concerning her associates, whom she knew were plotting +to kill you. The very man who was posing as her father--and who +afterwards affected friendship for you--told that pair of unscrupulous +assassins, Reckitt and Forbes, a fictitious story of how Sonia--for +that is her real name--had denounced them. This aroused their hatred, +and they decided to kill you both. From what I heard afterwards, they +entrapped you, and placed you in that fatal chair beside the venomous +reptile, while they also tortured the poor girl with all the horrors +of the serpent, until her brain became deranged. Suddenly, however, +they became alarmed by discovering a half-witted lad wandering in the +garden where the bodies of previous victims lay concealed, and, making +a quick escape, left you and her without ascertaining that you were +dead. Eventually she escaped and rescued you, hence their fear that +you would inform the police, and their frantic efforts to secure the +death of both of you. Indeed, you would probably have been dead ere +this, had I not taken upon myself the self-imposed duty of being your +protector, and had not Louis Lessar most fortunately escaped from +Devil's Island to protect his daughter from their relentless hands." + +"His daughter!" I gasped, staring at him. + +"Yes. Sonia is the daughter of Phil Poland, alias Louis Lessar, the +man who was falsely denounced by Pennington as an accomplice in the +assassination of the young Under-Secretary, Mr. Burke, on the Riviera. +After I had arrested her father one night at the house where he lived +down near Andover, Pennington compelled the girl to pass as his +daughter for a twofold reason. First, because he believed that her +great beauty would render her a useful decoy for the purpose of +attracting young men into their fatal net, and secondly, in order that +Forbes should secure her as his wife, for it was realized how, by her +marriage to him, her lips would be sealed." + +"But they all along intended to kill me." + +"Of course. Your life was, you recollect, heavily insured at +Pennington's suggestion, and you had made over a large sum of money to +Sonia in case of your demise. Therefore it was to the interests of the +whole gang that you should meet with some accident which should prove +fatal. The theft of the jewels of the Archduchess delayed the +conspiracy from being put into execution, and by that means your life +was undoubtedly spared. Ah! monsieur, the gang recently led by Arnold +Du Cane was once one of the most daring, the most unscrupulous, and +the most formidable in the whole of Europe." + +"And my dear wife is actually the daughter of the previous leader of +that criminal band!" I exclaimed apprehensively. + +"Yes. She escaped with him because she was in fear of her +life--because she knew that if she were again beneath her own father's +protection, you--the man she loved--would also be safe from injury. +For Phil Poland is a strong man, a perfect past-master of the criminal +arts, and a leader whose word was the command of every member of that +great international organization, the wide ramifications of which I +have so long tried in vain to ascertain." + +"Then Poland is a noteworthy man in the world of crime?" + +"He is a very prince of thieves. Yet, at the same time, one must +regard him with some admiration for his daring and audacity, his +wonderful resourcefulness and his strict adhesion to fair play. For +years he lived in France, Italy and Spain, constantly changing his +place of abode, his identity, his very face, and always evading us; +yet nobody has ever said that he did a mean action towards a poor man. +He certainly suffered an unjust punishment by that false accusation +made against him by the man who was apparently jealous of his +leadership, and who desired to become his successor." + +"Then you are of opinion that my wife left me in order to secure my +protection from harm?" + +"I am quite certain of it. You recollect my meeting with her at the +Hôtel Meurice in Paris. She told me several things on that occasion." + +"And Pennington very nearly fell into your hands." + +"Yes, but with his usual cleverness he escaped me." + +"Where is he now? Have you any idea?" I asked. + +"I have no exact knowledge, but, with the arrest of four of his +accomplices, it will not be difficult to find out where he is in +hiding," he laughed. + +"And the same may be said of Poland--eh?" + +"No; on the contrary, while the man Pennington, alias Du Cane, is +hated--and it will be believed by those arrested that he has betrayed +them in order to save himself--yet Poland is beloved. They know it was +Du Cane who made the false charge connecting Poland with Harriman, and +they will never forgive him. The hatred of the international thief is +the worst and most unrelenting hatred existing in the whole world. +Before Poland came to live in retirement here in England at +Middleton, near Andover, his association consisted only of the most +expert criminals of both sexes, and he controlled their actions with +an iron hand. Once every six months the members from all over Europe +held a secret conference in one capital or another, when various tasks +were allotted to various persons. The precautions taken to prevent +blunders were amazing, and we were baffled always because of the +widespread field of their operations, and the large number of experts +engaged. The band, broken up into small and independent gangs, worked +in unison with receivers always ready, and as soon as our suspicions +were aroused by one party they disappeared, and another, complete +strangers, came in their place. Premises likely to yield good results +from burglary were watched for months by a constant succession of +clever watchers, and people in possession of valuables sometimes +engaged servants of irreproachable character who were actually members +of the gang. Were their exploits chronicled, they would fill many +volumes of remarkable fact, only some of which have appeared in recent +years in the columns of the newspapers. Every European nationality and +every phase of life were represented in that extraordinary assembly, +which, while under Poland's control, never, as far as is known, +committed a single murder. It was only when the great leader was +condemned and exiled, and the band fell away, that Pennington, Reckitt +and Forbes conceived the idea of extorting money by means of the +serpent, allowing the reptile to strike fatally, and so prevent +exposure. By that horrible torture of the innocent and helpless they +must have netted many thousands of pounds." + +"It was you, you say, who arrested Poland down in Hampshire." + +"Yes, nearly three years ago. Prior to Harriman's arrest, I went there +with my friend Watts, of Scotland Yard, and on that evening a strange +affair happened--an affair which is still a mystery. I'll tell you all +about it later," he added. "At present I must go to Porchester Terrace +and see what is in progress. I only arrived in London from Paris two +hours ago." + +I begged him to take me along with him, and with some reluctance he +consented. On the way, Guertin told me a strange story of a dead man +exactly resembling himself at Middleton village on the night of +Poland's arrest. Arrived at the house of grim shadows, we found a +constable idling outside the gate, but apparently nobody yet knew of +what was transpiring in the garden behind the closed house. At first +the man declined to allow us to enter, but, on Guertin declaring who +he was, we passed through into the tangled, weedy place where the +lights of lanterns were shining weirdly, and we could see men in their +shirt-sleeves working with shovel and pick, while others were clearing +away the dead rank herbage of autumn. + +In the uncertain light I saw that a long trench some four feet in +depth had been dug, and into this the men were flinging the soil they +carefully removed in their progress in a line backwards. + +Beneath a tree, close to where was an open trench--the one prepared +for the reception of my body--lay something covered with a black +cloth. From beneath there stuck out a hideous object--a man's muddy +patent-leather shoe! + +Even while I stood amid that weird, never-to-be-forgotten scene, one +of the excavators gave an ejaculation of surprise, and a lantern, +quickly brought, revealed a human arm in a dark coat-sleeve embedded +in the soil. + +With a will, half-a-dozen eager hands were at work, and soon a third +body--that of a tall, grey-haired man, whose face, alas! was awful to +gaze upon--was quickly exhumed. + +I could not bear to witness more, and left, gratified to know that the +two fiends were already safely confined in a French prison. + +Justice would, no doubt, be done, and they would meet with their +well-merited punishment. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE + +FURTHER REVELATIONS + + +If you are a constant reader of the newspapers, as probably you are, +you will no doubt recollect the great sensation caused next day on the +publication of the news of the gruesome find in that, one of the most +aristocratic thoroughfares of Bayswater. + +The metropolitan police were very reticent regarding the affair, but +many of the papers published photographs of the scene of the +exhumations, the exterior of the long-closed house, and photographs of +the various police officials. That of Guertin, however, was not +included. The famous investigator of crime had no wish for the picture +of his face, with its eyes beaming benignly through his gold glasses, +to be disseminated broadcast. + +The police refused to make any statement; hence the wildest +conjectures were afloat concerning the series of tragedies which must +have taken place within that dark house, with its secluded, tangled +garden. + +As the days went by, the public excitement did not abate, for yet more +remains were found--the body of a young, fair-haired man who had been +identified as Mr. Cyril Wilson, a member of the Travellers' Club, who +had been missing for nearly nine months. The police, impelled by this +fresh discovery, cut down the trees in the garden and laid the whole +place waste, while crowds of the curious waited about in the +neighbourhood, trying to catch a glimpse of the operations. + +And as time wore on I waited in daily expectation of some sign from +the woman I so dearly loved. + +Guertin, who still remained in London, assured me that she was safe in +hiding with her father, Phil Poland. + +"And you will, of course, arrest him when you can discover him," I +remarked, as I sat with the famous detective in his room at the Grand +Hotel in Trafalgar Square. + +"I do not wish to discover him, my dear Monsieur Biddulph," was his +kind reply. "I happen to know that he has deeply repented of his +wrongdoing, and even on his sudden reappearance at Stamford with the +remaining portion of his once invulnerable gang, he urged them to turn +aside from evil, and become honest citizens. He has, by his wrongful +conviction of murder, expiated his crimes, and hence I feel that he +may be allowed a certain leniency, providing he does not offend in +future." + +"But a warrant is out for him, of course?" + +"Certainly. His arrest is demanded for breaking from prison. His +escape is one of the most daring on record. He swam for five miles in +the sea on a dark night, and met with most extraordinary adventures +before a Dutch captain allowed him to work his passage to Rotterdam." + +"But he will not dare to put foot in London, I suppose. He would be +liable to extradition to France." + +"Who knows? He is one of the most fearless and ingenious men I have +ever known. He can so alter his appearance as to deceive even me." + +"But the metropolitan police, knowing that Sylvia--I mean Sonia--is +his daughter, may be watching my house!" I exclaimed in alarm. + +"That is more than likely," he admitted. "Hence, if you want to allow +madame, your wife, an opportunity to approach you, you should go +abroad somewhere--to some quiet place where you would not be +suspected. Let me know where you go, and perhaps I can manage to +convey to them the fact that you are waiting there." + +The hotel at Gardone--that fine lake-side hotel where I had first seen +Sonia--occurred to me. And I told him. + +"Very well," he said cheerfully. "I shall return to Paris to-morrow, +and if I can obtain any information from either of the prisoners, I +will manage to let Poland know that his son-in-law awaits him." + +Then I thanked the great detective, and, shaking hands warmly, we +parted. + +What Guertin had told me regarding the strange discovery of a man who +closely resembled him outside Poland's house on the night of the +latter's arrest held me much puzzled. Even he, the all-powerful chief +of the _sûreté_, had failed to solve the enigma. + +Next afternoon Shuttleworth called upon me in Wilton Street, and for a +long time sat chatting. + +At last he looked at me gravely, and said-- + +"I dare say you have been much puzzled, Mr. Biddulph, to know why I, a +clergyman of the Church of England, have apparently been mixed up with +persons of shady character. But now that four of them are under +arrest, and a fifth, we hope, will shortly be apprehended, I will +explain. As you perhaps know, Sonia was the daughter of the Honourable +Philip Poland, who came to live at the Elms, which is close to the +rectory at Middleton. We became great friends, until one evening he +made a strange confession to me. He told me who he was--Louis Lessar, +who had been the leader of a dangerous band of international +thieves--and he asked my advice in my capacity of spiritual guide. He +had repented, and had gone into retirement there, believing that his +sins would not find him out. But they had done, and he knew he must +shortly be arrested. Well, I advised him to act the man, and put aside +the thoughts of suicide. What he had revealed to me had--I regret to +confess it--aroused my hatred against the man who had betrayed him--a +man named Du Cane. This man Du Cane I had only met once, at the Elms, +and then I did not realize the amazing truth--that this was the +selfsame man who had stolen from me, twenty years before, the woman I +had so dearly loved. He had betrayed her, and left her to starve and +die in a back street in Marseilles. I concealed my outburst of +feeling, yet the very next evening Poland was arrested, and Sonia, +ignorant of the truth, was, with a motive already explained by +Monsieur Guertin, taken under the guardianship of this man whom I had +such just cause to hate--the man who subsequently passed as her +father, Pennington. It was because of that I felt all along such a +tender interest in the unhappy young lady, and I was so delighted to +know when she had at last become your wife." + +"You certainly concealed your feelings towards Pennington. I believed +you to be his friend," I said. + +"I was Sonia's friend--not his, for what poor Poland had told me +revealed the truth that the fellow was an absolute scoundrel." + +"And you, of course, know about the incident of a man closely +resembling the French detective Guertin being found dead outside the +door of the Elms?" + +"Certainly," was his reply; "that is still a complete mystery which +can only be solved by Poland himself. He must know, or else have a +shrewd idea of what occurred." + +As we chatted on for a long time, he told me frankly many things of +which I had not the least suspicion, at the same time assuring me of +Sonia's deep devotion towards me, and of his confidence that she had +left me because she believed being at her father's side would ensure +my own safety. + +And now that I knew so much of the truth I longed hourly to meet her, +and to obtain from her--and perhaps from the lips of Philip Poland +himself--the remaining links in that remarkable chain of facts. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTY + +CONCLUSION + + +About ten days afterwards I one morning received by post a brief note +from Guertin, written from the Préfecture in Paris, urging me to go at +once to the Victoria Hotel at Varenna, on the Lake of Como, where, if +I waited in the name of Brown, my patience would be rewarded. + +And there, sure enough, six days later, as I sat one evening in my +private sitting-room, the door suddenly opened and my well-beloved, in +a dark travelling gown, sprang forward and embraced me, sobbing for +very joy. + +Can I adequately describe the happiness of that reunion. Of what I +uttered I have no recollection, for I held her closely in my arms as I +kissed her hot tears away. + +A man stood by--a tall, silent, gentlemanly man, whose hair was grey, +and whose face as he advanced beneath the strong light showed traces +of disguise. + +"I am Philip Poland--Sonia's father," he exclaimed in a low voice. +Whereupon I took the hand of the escaped prisoner, and expressed the +utmost satisfaction at that meeting, for he had risked his liberty to +come there to me. + +"Sonia has told me everything," he said; "and I can only regret that +those blackguards have treated you and her as they have. But Guertin, +who is a humane man, even though he be a detective, has tracked them +down, and only yesterday I heard Du Cane--the man who made that false +charge against myself, and stepped into my shoes; the man who intended +that my poor girl should marry that young scoundrel Forbes--has been +discovered in Breslau, and is being extradited to England." + +"On the night of your arrest, Mr. Poland, a mystery occurred," I said +presently, as we sat together exchanging many confidences, as I held +my dear wife's soft little hand in mine. + +"Yes," he replied. "It was only while I was out at Devil's Island that +I learnt the truth. Du Cane, intending to get me out of the way, hit +upon a very ingenious plan of sending a man made up as Guertin--whom I +only knew by sight--to see me and suggest suicide rather than arrest. +This man--a person named Lefevre--came and made the suggestion. He did +not know that Du Cane had written anonymously to the Préfecture, and +never dreamed that Guertin himself would follow him so quickly. On +leaving, he apparently hung about watching the result of his dastardly +mission, when Harriman--or Bell as we knew him--walked up the drive, +in order to call in secret upon me. He espied a man whom he recognized +as Guertin peering in at the window, and, creeping up behind him, +struck him down before he could utter a word. Afterwards he slipped +away, believing that he had killed our arch-enemy, the chief of the +_sûreté_. Presently, however, the body of the unfortunate Lefevre was +found by Guertin himself, who had come to arrest me." + +"And Harriman admitted this!" I exclaimed. + +"Yes. He admitted it to me upon his death-bed. He died of fever a week +before I made my dash for liberty. But," he added, "Sonia has told me +of that dastardly attempt which those hell-fiends Reckitt and Forbes +made upon you in Porchester Terrace, and how they also tortured her. +But they were fortunately alarmed and fled precipitately, leaving +Sonia unconscious." + +"Yes," declared my sweet wife. "When I came to myself I recollected, +in horror, what they had told me concerning the fate to which they had +abandoned you in the adjoining room, and with a great effort managed +to free myself and seek you. I cut the straps which bound you, and +succeeded in killing the snake just in time to save you. Then I stole +away and left, fearing that you might suspect me of having had some +hand in the affair." + +"And you saved my life, darling!" I exclaimed, kissing her fondly on +the lips. + +Then, turning to Poland, I said-- + +"The police are hunting for you everywhere. Cannot you get to some +place where you are not liable to be taken back to France?" + +"To-morrow, if I am fortunate," he said, with a faint smile, "I +return to the modest little villa I have rented on the hill-side +outside Athens. In Greece one is still immune from arrest for offences +abroad." + +"And I shall return to London with you, Owen. Father and I have +travelled to Trieste, and thence here, in order that I should rejoin +you, now that the danger is past." + +"Ah! darling," I cried. "I never for one moment doubted you! Yet I +admit that the circumstances once or twice looked very black and +suspicious." + +"Alas! I could not prevent it," she declared; "I left you and joined +Dad at the Coliseum, because I went in fear of some further attempt +being made upon us, and I felt you and I would be safe if I were with +him. He had no idea when he met the others at Stamford that Forbes and +Reckitt and Du Cane had effected that _coup_ with the Archduchess's +jewels." + +"No. I had no idea of it," said Poland. "My meeting with them was one +of farewell. I had already severed my connection with them three years +ago, before my arrest." + +And then, after some further explanations, I clasped my loved one in +my arms and openly repeated my declaration of fervent love and fond +affection. + +Of the rest, what need be said? + +Sonia is now very happy, either down at Carrington or at Wilton +Street, for the black clouds which overshadowed the earlier days of +our marriage have rent asunder, and given place to all the sunshine +and brightness of life and hope. + +No pair could be happier than we. + +Twice we have been to Athens as the guest of the tall, grey-haired +Englishman who is such a thorough-going cosmopolitan, and who lives in +Greece for the sake of the even climate and the study of its +antiquities. No one in the Greek capital recognizes Mr. Wilfrid Marsh +as the once-famous Louis Lessar. + +And dear old Jack Marlowe, still our firm and devoted friend, is as +full of good-humoured philosophy as ever, and frequently our visitor. +He still leads his careless existence, and is often to be seen idling +in the window of White's, smoking and watching the passers-by in St. +James's Street. + +You who read the newspapers probably know how Arnold Du Cane, alias +Pennington, alias Winton, was recently sentenced at the Old Bailey to +fifteen years, and the two young Frenchmen, Terassier and Brault, to +seven years each, for complicity in the robbery on the Scotch express. + +And probably you also read the account of how two mysterious +Englishmen named Reckitt and Forbes, who had been arrested in Paris, +had, somehow, prior to their extradition to England, managed to obtain +possession of blades of safety-razors, and with them had both +committed suicide. + +In consequence of this there was no trial of the perpetrators of +those brutal crimes in Porchester Terrace. + +The whole affair was but a nine days' horror, and as the authorities +saw that no good could accrue from alarming the public by further +publicity or inquiry, it was quickly "Hushed up." + + THE END + +_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._ + + + + +"THE MASTER OF MYSTERY" + +WILLIAM LE QUEUX'S NOVELS + +Opinions in 1911 + + + "Mr. William Le Queux retains his position as 'The Master of + Mystery.' ... He is far too skilful to allow pause for + thought: he whirls his readers from incident to incident, + holding their attention from the first page to the close of + the book."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is the master of mystery. He never fails to + produce the correct illusion. He always leaves us panting + for more--a brilliant feat."--_Daily Graphic._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is still 'The Master of Mystery.'"--_Madame._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is a most experienced hand in writing + sensational fiction. He never loses the grip of his + readers."--_Publishers' Circular._ + + "Mr. Le Queux always grips his reader, and holds him to the + last page."--_Bristol Times and Mirror._ + + "Mr. Le Queux's books once begun must be read to the + end."--_Evening News._ + + "There is no better companion on a railway journey than Mr. + William Le Queux."--_Daily Mail._ + + "Mr. Le Queux knows his business, and carries it on + vigorously and prosperously. His stories are always + fantastic and thrilling."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is an adept at the semi-detective story. His + work is always excellent."--_Review of Reviews._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is always so refreshing in his stories of + adventure that one knows on taking up a new book of his that + one will be amused."--_Birmingham Post._ + + "Mr. Le Queux's books are delightfully + convincing."--_Scotsman._ + + "Mr. Le Queux's books are always exciting and absorbing. His + mysteries are enthralling and his skill is + world-famous."--_Liverpool Daily Post._ + + "Mr. Le Queux has brought the art of the sensational novel + to high perfection."--_Northern Whig._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is so true to his own style that any one + familiar with his books would certainly guess him to be the + author, even if his name were not given."--_Methodist + Recorder._ + + "'As good wine needs no bush' so no mystery story by Mr. Le + Queux, the popular weaver of tales of crime, needs praise + for its skill. Any novel with this author's name appended is + sure to be ingenious in design and cleverly worked + out."--_Bookseller._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is always reliable. The reader who picks up + any of his latest novels knows what to expect."--_Bookman._ + + "Mr. Le Queux's admirers are legion, and the issue of a new + novel is to them one of the most felicitous events that can + happen."--_Newcastle Daily Chronicle._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is the master of the art of + mystery-creating."--_Liverpool Daily Post._ + + + + + A Descriptive List of + NASH'S + Two-Shilling + NOVELS + + The greatest popular success of modern publishing. + + Autumn 1911 + + Exactly like 6/- Novels in size + :: :: quality and appearance :: :: + + Recognisable everywhere by their green cloth + covers on which are coloured medallions + + + + +NASH'S 2/- NOVELS + +LATEST VOLUMES + + + _An Exchange of Souls_ + By Barry Pain + + _The Arrest of Arsène Lupin_ + By Maurice Leblanc + + _The Perfume of the Lady in Black_ + By Gaston Leroux + + _The Lady of the Hundred Dresses_ + By S. R. Crockett + + _The Silent House_ + By Louis Tracy + + _Hushed Up_ + By William Le Queux + + _Yellow Men and Gold_ + By Gouverneur Morris + + + + +NASH'S 2/- NOVELS + + _VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED_ + MYSTERY & DETECTIVE STORIES + + + +The Hollow Needle+ _By Maurice Leblanc_ + + A story of Arsène Lupin, the greatest, most ingenious and + most daring criminal in modern fiction. + + "A thrilling and fascinating story ... not less exciting or + less mystifying than its predecessors."--_Liverpool Daily + Post._ + + "Well worthy of its place in the famous set of + adventures."--_Observer._ + + +The Black Spider+ _By Carlton Dawe_ + + "Described as a sensational story of a female 'Raffles' this + tale ... in every way lives up to its + description."--_Birmingham Daily Post._ + + "Full of thrills from beginning to end."--_Western Mail._ + + "An extremely powerful story ... well worked out, and the + mixture of romance with a story of the 'Raffles' type is well + calculated to please."--_T.P.'s Weekly._ + + +The Window at The White Cat+ _by Mary Roberts Rinehart_ + + _Author of "The Circular Staircase," etc._ + + "The plot is skilful and the incidents exciting. It is + something more than a mere detective story: there is + character in it, and a pleasant love story, and a quite + refreshing sense of humour."--_The Outlook._ + + "We greatly enjoyed the brisk dialogue and the unexpected + ending."--_Evening Times._ + + +The Wife He Never Saw+ _By Max Marcin_ + + "A decidedly clever bit of sensation, ... worked out with + considerable resource. Altogether a fine + thrill."--_Liverpool Courier._ + + "A vigorous and briskly moving yarn--the best thing of the + kind we have encountered for some considerable + time."--_Birmingham Daily Post._ + + +The Red Symbol+ _By John Ironside_ + + "Enthralling, entertaining and powerful ... clean and + wholesome, it is one of the most powerful novels we have had + for a long time ... a fine mystery story most excellently + told and holding its reader in its grasp from start to + finish."--_Dublin Daily Express._ + + "A love story full of thrilling incidents."--_Country Life._ + + "Vigour and swing characterise the book, which has no dull + pages, and which keeps its alluring secret until near the + end."--_Glasgow Herald._ + + +Raffles+ _By E. W. Hornung_ + + "Hats off to Raffles."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + +The House of Whispers+ _By William Le Queux_ + + "Mystery--tantalising and baffling."--_The Yorkshire Post._ + + "An excellent tale."--_The Daily Telegraph._ + + "Full of arresting situations and making a strong appeal at + every stage to the instinct of curiosity."--_The Pall Mall + Gazette._ + + "Mr. Le Queux will please thousands by this work."--_The + Morning Leader._ + + +Treasure of Israel+ _by William Le Queux_ + + "Another of his wonderful mystery stories."--_Liverpool + Daily Post._ + + "An admirably worked piece of sensationalism ... ought to + please a host of readers."--_The Sunday Times._ + + "Mr. Le Queux keeps his readers fascinated to the + end."--_The Yorkshire Post._ + + "The author is at his raciest; each chapter discloses some + new phase of the mystery, each page supplies a new thrill of + excitement."--_The Pall Mall Gazette._ + + +The House of the Whispering Pines+ _By Anna Katharine Green_ + + _Author of "The Leavenworth Case."_ + + "The author has written nothing so good since her famous + 'Leavenworth Case.' The story grips one from the first + scene.... The book is crammed with incident ... there is not + a dull page from first to last."--_The Outlook._ + + "So ingenious, plausible, dramatic, and well-thought-out a + plot is a relief after the far-fetched absurdities of many + tales of the kind. The most austere reader ... will find + himself consumed with wonder as to whom the guilty man can + be."--_The Evening Standard._ + + +The Man who Drove the Car+ _By Max Pemberton_ + + "Excellent and thrilling reading."--_The Morning Leader._ + + "The book is excellent reading."--_The Daily Express._ + + "Exciting enough to please the most blasé reader of + sensational fiction."--_North Mail._ + + "A thoroughly delightful book, absorbing, and of tense + interest throughout."--_The Liverpool Daily Post._ + + Humorous & Breezy Books. + + +Stranleigh's Millions+ _By Robert Barr_ + + "He is a good fellow, and, like Mr. Barr, invariably + entertaining."--_Daily Graphic._ + + "Very amusing, very delightful."--_The Globe._ + + +Sea Dogs+ _By Morley Roberts_ + + "A jolly collection."--_The Evening Standard._ + + "Mighty interesting."--_The Daily Chronicle._ + + "A bright and breezy book."--_The Daily Mail._ + + "Very funny indeed ... the whole book is one good + laugh."--_The Observer._ + + "For wit and humour and invention it would be hard to + beat."--_The Referee._ + + _VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED_ + :: :: SOCIAL COMEDIES :: :: + + +A Honeymoon--And After+ _By F. C. Philips & Percy Fendall_ + + "A really clever novel of modern society life."--_The Dundee + Advertiser._ + + "A well-written and clever novel."--_The Dublin Express._ + + "A bright, well-written story that holds the reader till the + end."--_The Pall Mall Gazette._ + + "Owes much of its sustained interest to ruthless pictures of + life in frivolous West-end circles."--_The Daily Chronicle._ + + +Envious Eliza+ _By Madame Albanesi_ + + "Eliza is charming."--_The Standard._ + + "Human and genuine throughout."--_The Morning Leader._ + + "The reader is carried on to the end with unabated pleasure + and zest."--_The Bookman._ + + "The authoress has the gift of informing her characters with + life and charm.... The book cannot fail to consolidate the + position which the authoress has won by her earlier + works."--_The Daily News._ + + +Jack and Three Jills+ _By F. G. Philips_ + + _Author of "As in a Looking Glass," etc._ + + "An arresting and clever piece of observation."--_Bystander._ + + "An entertaining story of legal life.... Jack ... is frank, + manly, and generally attractive."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + +The Divine Fire+ _By May Sinclair_ + + "Judged by almost every standard to which a comedy like this + should be referred, I find her book the most remarkable that + I have read for many years."--Mr. Owen Seaman in _Punch._ + + "A novel to read, and what is more to keep and read + again."--_Outlook._ + + +A Lucky Young Woman+ _By F. C. Philips_ + + "Shows us the author at his best."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + Yorkshire Life. + + +Mr. Poskitt's Nightcaps+ _By J. S. Fletcher_ + + "Excellent ... comic and tragic episodes of Yorkshire life, + rich in character and dramatic force."--_The Morning + Leader._ + + A Masterpiece of Fiction. + + +The Nun+ _By René Bazin_ + + "A book which no one who reads it will ever forget."--_The + Westminster Gazette._ + + "It is difficult to speak in measured terms of this + exquisite story ... a consummate artist, his work eats into + the heart, and lives in the memory as do but few books from + modern authors."--_The Daily Telegraph._ + + "It is long since we have read a tragedy so intensely moving + as the story of this innocent peasant girl.... 'The Nun' is + a masterwork of fiction."--_The Daily Graphic._ + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: + +1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; +otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's +words and intent. + +2. In the advertising pages, titles were in bold font; + has been used +in this text version to indicate that. + +3. Following the title page, this edition included a page of magazine +and newspaper reviews of William Le Queux's books. 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A Mystery of London, by William Le Queux. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + td {vertical-align: top;} + + hr.large {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.medium {width: 45%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + hr.tiny {width: 10%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + div.centered {text-align:center;} /*work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align:left;} /* work around for IE problem part 2 */ + div.advert {margin-top: 1px; margin-bottom: 1px; + padding: 1px 1px 1px; width: 420px; height: 60px; + background-image: url("images/ilogo2.jpg"); + background-position: top center; + background-repeat: no-repeat; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; + text-align: center; vertical-align: middle; } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .centerbox {width: 28em; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 0.5em;} + .centerbox2 {width: 15em; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 0.5em;} + .centerbox3 {width: 424px; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 0.5em;} + .bbox {border: solid 1px;} + .right {margin-left: 2.5em;} + .right2 {margin-left: 8em;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .smfont {font-size: 80%;} + .lgfont {font-size:170%; font-weight: bold;} + .gap {margin-top: 3.75em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hushed Up, by William Le Queux + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hushed Up + A Mystery of London + +Author: William Le Queux + +Release Date: March 15, 2009 [EBook #28337] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUSHED UP *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>HUSHED UP!</h1> + +<h2><i>A MYSTERY OF LONDON</i></h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>WILLIAM LE QUEUX</h2> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/ilogo1.jpg" width="97" height="120" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<h2>LONDON<br /> +EVELEIGH NASH<br /> +1911</h2> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr> +<td align="right"><span class="smfont">PROLOGUE</span></td> +<td align="left"> </td> +<td align="right"><span class="smfont">PAGE</span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">I</td> +<td align="left">IS MAINLY SCANDALOUS</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#HUSHED_UP">7</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">II</td> +<td align="left">CONCERNS TWO STRANGERS</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#II">18</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"> </td> +<td align="center">THE STORY OF OWEN BIDDULPH</td> +<td align="right"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"><span class="smfont">CHAP.</span></td> +<td align="center"> </td> +<td align="right"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">I</td> +<td align="left">BESIDE STILL WATERS</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_OWEN_BIDDULPH">35</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">II</td> +<td align="left">TOLD IN THE NIGHT</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWO">46</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">III</td> +<td align="left">THE CLERGYMAN FROM HAMPSHIRE</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_THREE">58</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">IV</td> +<td align="left">THE PERIL BEYOND</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_FOUR">68</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">V</td> +<td align="left">THE DARK HOUSE IN BAYSWATER</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_FIVE">79</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VI</td> +<td align="left">A GHASTLY TRUTH</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_SIX">89</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VII</td> +<td align="left">THE FLAME OF THE CANDLE</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_SEVEN">99</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VIII</td> +<td align="left">PRESENTS ANOTHER PROBLEM</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_EIGHT">107</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">IX</td> +<td align="left">FACE TO FACE</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_NINE">117</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">X</td> +<td align="left">CONTAINS A FURTHER SURPRISE</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TEN">125</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XI</td> +<td align="left">WHAT THE POLICE KNEW</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_ELEVEN">136</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XII</td> +<td align="left">THE WORD OF A WOMAN</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWELVE">145</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XIII</td> +<td align="left">THE DEATH KISS</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_THIRTEEN">156</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XIV</td> +<td align="left">OF THINGS UNMENTIONABLE</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_FOURTEEN">165</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XV</td> +<td align="left">FORBIDDEN LOVE</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_FIFTEEN">175</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XVI</td> +<td align="left">THE MAN IN GOLD PINCE-NEZ</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_SIXTEEN">185</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XVII</td> +<td align="left">THE MAN IN THE STREET</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_SEVENTEEN">196</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XVIII</td> +<td align="left">PROOF POSITIVE</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_EIGHTEEN">206</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XIX</td> +<td align="left">THROUGH THE MISTS</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_NINETEEN">215</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XX</td> +<td align="left">THE STRANGER IN THE RUE DE RIVOLI</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY">225</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXI</td> +<td align="left">DESCRIBES AN UNWELCOME VISIT</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-ONE">234</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXII</td> +<td align="left">MORE MYSTERY</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-TWO">242</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXIII</td> +<td align="left">IN FULL CRY</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-THREE">253</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXIV</td> +<td align="left">AN UNFORTUNATE SLIP</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-FOUR">263</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXV</td> +<td align="left">MORE STRANGE FACTS</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-FIVE">272</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXVI</td> +<td align="left">“SOME SENSATIONAL REVELATIONS”</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-SIX">281</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXVII</td> +<td align="left">A CONTRETEMPS</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-SEVEN">291</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXVIII</td> +<td align="left">THE FRENCHMAN MAKES A STATEMENT</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-EIGHT">298</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXIX</td> +<td align="left">FURTHER REVELATIONS</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-NINE">307</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXX</td> +<td align="left">CONCLUSION</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_THIRTY">313</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="HUSHED_UP" id="HUSHED_UP"></a>HUSHED UP!</h2> + +<h2><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE"></a>PROLOGUE</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3>IS MAINLY SCANDALOUS</h3> + +<p>“And he died mysteriously?”</p> + +<p>“The doctors certified that he died from natural causes—heart +failure.”</p> + +<p>“That is what the world believes, of course. His death was a nation’s +loss, and the truth was hushed up. But you, Phil Poland, know it. Upon +the floor was found something—a cigar—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing very extraordinary in that, surely? He died while smoking.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the bald-headed man, bending towards the other and +lowering his voice into a harsh whisper. “He died while smoking a +cigar—a cigar that had been poisoned! You know it well enough. What’s +the use of trying to affect ignorance—<i>with me</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Well?” asked Philip Poland after a brief pause, his brows knit darkly +and his face drawn and pale.</p> + +<p>“Well, I merely wish to recall that somewhat unpleasant fact, and to +tell you that I know the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>truth,” said the other with slow +deliberation, his eyes fixed upon the man seated opposite him.</p> + +<p>“Why recall unpleasant facts?” asked Poland, with a faint attempt to +smile. “I never do.”</p> + +<p>“A brief memory is always an advantage,” remarked Arnold Du Cane, with +a sinister grin.</p> + +<p>“Ah! I quite follow you,” Poland said, with a hardness of the mouth. +“But I tell you, Arnold, I refuse to lend any hand in this crooked bit +of business you’ve just put before me. Let’s talk of something else.”</p> + +<p>“Crooked business, indeed! Fancy you, Phil Poland, denouncing it as +crooked!” he laughed. “And I’m a crook, I suppose,” and he +thoughtfully caressed his small moustache, which bore traces of having +been artificially darkened.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say so.”</p> + +<p>“But you implied it. Bah! You’ll be teaching the Sunday School of this +delightful English village of yours before long, I expect. No doubt +the villagers believe the gentleman at the Elms to be a model of every +virtue, especially when he wears a frock-coat and trots around with +the plate in church on Sundays!” he sneered. “My hat! Fancy you, Phil, +turning honest in your old age!”</p> + +<p>“I admit that I’m trying to be honest, Arnold—for the girl’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“And, by Jove! if the good people here, in Middleton, knew the truth, +eh—the truth that you——”</p> + +<p>“Hush! Somebody may overhear!” cried the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>other, starting and glancing +apprehensively at the closed door of his cosy study. “What’s the use +of discussing the business further? I’ve told you, once and for all, +Arnold, that I refuse to be a party to any such dastardly +transaction.”</p> + +<p>“Ho! ho!” laughed Du Cane. “Why, wasn’t the Burke affair an equally +blackguardly bit of business—the more so, indeed, when one recollects +that young Ronald Burke had fallen in love with Sonia.”</p> + +<p>“Leave my girl’s name out of our conversation, Arnold, or, by Gad! you +shall pay for it!” cried the tall, dark-haired, clean-shaven man, as +he sprang from his chair and faced his visitor threateningly. “Taunt +me as much as ever it pleases you. Allege what you like against me. I +know I’m an infernal blackguard, posing here as a smug and respectable +churchgoer. I admit any charge you like to lay at my door, but I’ll +not have my girl’s name associated with my misdeeds. Understand that! +She’s pure and honest, and she knows nothing of her father’s life.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you believe that, my dear fellow. She’s eighteen now, remember, +and I fancy she had her eyes opened last February down at the Villa +Vespa, when that unfortunate little trouble arose.”</p> + +<p>Arnold Du Cane, the round-faced man who spoke, was rather short and +stout, with ruddy cheeks, a small moustache and a prematurely bald +head—a man whose countenance showed him to be a <i>bon vivant</i>, but +whose quick, shifty eyes would have betrayed to a close observer a +readiness of subterfuge which would have probably aroused suspicion. +His exterior <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>was that of a highly refined and polished man. His grey +tweed suit bore evidence of having been cut by a smart tailor, and as +he lolled back in his big saddle-bag chair he contemplated the fine +diamond upon his white, well-manicured hand, and seemed entirely at +his ease.</p> + +<p>That August afternoon was stiflingly hot, and through the open French +windows leading into the old-world garden, so typically English with +its level lawns, neatly trimmed box-hedges and blazing flowerbeds, +came the drowsy hum of the insects and the sweet scent of a wealth of +roses everywhere.</p> + +<p>The pretty house in which his host, Philip Poland, alias Louis Lessar, +lived, stood back a little distance from the London road, two miles or +so out of the quiet market-town of Andover, a small picturesque old +place surrounded by high old elms wherein the rooks cawed incessantly, +and commanding extensive views over Harewood Forest and the undulating +meadow-lands around, while close by, at the foot of the hill, nestled +a cluster of homely thatched cottages, with a square church-tower, the +obscure village of Middleton.</p> + +<p>In that rural retreat lived the Honourable Philip Poland beneath a +cloak of highest respectability. The Elms was, indeed, delightful +after the glare and glitter of that fevered life he so often led, and +here, with his only child, Sonia, to whom he was so entirely devoted, +he lived as a gentleman of leisure.</p> + +<p>Seldom he went to London, and hardly ever called <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>upon his neighbours. +With Sonia he led a most retired existence, reading much, fishing a +little, and taking long walks or cycling with his daughter and her +fox-terrier, “Spot,” over all the country-side.</p> + +<p>To the village he had been somewhat of a mystery ever since he had +taken the house, three years before. Yet, being apparently comfortably +off, subscribing to every charity, and a regular attendant at +Middleton church, the simple country-folk had grown to tolerate him, +even though he was somewhat of a recluse. Country-folk are very slow +to accept the stranger at his own valuation.</p> + +<p>Little did they dream that when he went away each winter he went with +a mysterious purpose—that the source of his income was a mystery.</p> + +<p>As he stood there, leaning against the roll-top writing-table of his +prettily furnished little study and facing the man who had travelled +half across Europe to see him, Phil Poland, with clean-shaven face and +closely-cropped hair tinged with grey, presented the smart and dapper +appearance of a typical British naval officer, as, indeed, he had +been, for, prior to his downfall, he had been first lieutenant on +board one of his Majesty’s first-class cruisers. His had been a +strangely adventurous career, his past being one that would not bear +investigation.</p> + +<p>In the smart, go-ahead set wherein he had moved when he was still in +the Navy opinion regarding him had been divided. There were some who +refused to believe the truth of the scandals circulated concerning +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>him, while others believed and quickly embellished the reports which +ran through the service clubs and ward-rooms.</p> + +<p>Once he had been one of the most popular officers afloat, yet +to-day—well, he found it convenient to thus efface himself in rural +Hampshire, and live alone with the sweet young girl who was all in all +to him, and who was happy in her belief that her devoted father was a +gentleman.</p> + +<p>This girl with the blue eyes and hair of sunshine was the only link +between Phil Poland and his past—that past when he held a brilliant +record as a sailor and had been honoured and respected. He held her +aloof from every one, being ever in deadly fear lest, by some chance +word, she should learn the bitter truth—the truth concerning that +despicable part which he had been compelled to play. Ah, yes, his was +a bitter story indeed.</p> + +<p>Before Sonia should know the truth he would take his own life. She was +the only person remaining dear to him, the only one for whom he had a +single thought or care, the only person left to him to respect and to +love. Her influence upon him was always for good. For the past year he +had been striving to cut himself adrift from evil, to reform, to hold +back from participating in any dishonest action—for her dear sake. +Her soft-spoken words so often caused him to hate himself and to bite +his lip in regret, for surely she was as entirely ignorant of the +hideous truth as Mr. Shuttleworth, the white-headed parson, or the +rustic villagers themselves.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p><p>Yes, Phil Poland’s position was indeed a strange one.</p> + +<p>What Du Cane had just suggested to him would, he saw, put at least +twenty thousand pounds into the pockets of their ingenious +combination, yet he had refused—refused because of the fair-headed +girl he loved so well.</p> + +<p>Within himself he had made a solemn vow to reform. Reformation would +probably mean a six-roomed cottage with a maid-of-all-work, yet even +that would be preferable to a continuance of the present mode of life.</p> + +<p>Bitter memories had, of late, constantly arisen within him. +Certain scenes of violence, even of tragedy, in that beautiful +flower-embowered villa beside the Mediterranean at Beaulieu, half-way +between Nice and Monte Carlo, had recurred vividly to him. He was +unable to wipe those horrible visions from the tablets of his memory. +He had realized, at last, what a pitiless blackguard he had been, so +he had resolved to end it all.</p> + +<p>And now, just as he had made up his mind, Arnold Du Cane had arrived +unexpectedly from Milan with an entirely new and original scheme—one +in which the risk of detection was infinitesimal, while the stakes +were high enough to merit serious consideration.</p> + +<p>He had refused to be a party to the transaction, whereupon Du Cane had +revived a subject which he had fondly believed to be buried for +ever—that terrible affair which had startled and mystified the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>whole +world, and which had had such an important political bearing that, by +it, the destinies of a great nation had actually been changed.</p> + +<p>A certain man—a great man—had died, but until that hour Phil +Poland’s connection with the tragedy had never been suspected.</p> + +<p>Yet, from what Arnold Du Cane had just said, he saw that the truth was +actually known, and he realized that his own position was now one of +distinct insecurity.</p> + +<p>He was silent, full of wonder. How could Arnold have gained his +knowledge? What did he know? How much did he know? The strength of his +defiance must be gauged upon the extent of Arnold’s knowledge.</p> + +<p>He set his teeth hard. The scandal was one which must never see the +light of day, he told himself. Upon the suppression of the true facts +depended the honour and welfare of a nation.</p> + +<p>Arnold Du Cane knew the truth. Of that, there could be no doubt. Did +he intend to use this knowledge in order to secure his assistance in +this latest dastardly scheme?</p> + +<p>At last, after a long silence, Poland asked in as cool a voice as he +could—</p> + +<p>“What causes you to suspect that Sonia knows anything?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” replied this crafty, round-faced visitor, “considering how +that young Russian let out at you when you were walking with her that +moonlight night out in the garden, I don’t think there can be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>much +doubt that she is fully aware of the mysterious source of her father’s +income.”</p> + +<p>“Sonia doesn’t know Russian. The fellow spoke in that language, I +remember,” was his reply. “Yet I was a fool, I know, to have taken her +over that accursed place—that hell in paradise. She is always +perfectly happy at the Hôtel de Luxembourg at Nice, where each season +she makes some pleasant friends, and never suspects the reason of my +absences.”</p> + +<p>“All of us are fools at times, Phil,” was his visitor’s response, as +he selected a fresh cigar from the silver box upon the table and +slowly lit it. “But,” he went on, “I do really think you are going too +far in expecting that you can conceal the truth from the girl much +longer. She isn’t a child, you must recollect.”</p> + +<p>“She must never know!” cried the unhappy man in a hoarse voice. “By +Gad! she must never know of my shame, Arnold.”</p> + +<p>“Then go in with us in this new affair. It’ll pay you well.”</p> + +<p>“No,” he cried. “I—I feel that I can’t! I couldn’t face her, if she +knew. Her mother was one of the best and purest women who ever lived, +and——”</p> + +<p>“Of course, of course. I know all that, my dear fellow,” cried the +other hastily. “I know all the tragedy of your marriage—but that’s +years ago. Let the past bury itself, and have an eye to the main +chance and the future. Just take my advice, Phil. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>Drop all this +humbug about your girl and her feelings if she learnt her father’s +real profession. She’ll know it one day, that’s certain. You surely +aren’t going to allow her to stand in your way and prevent you from +participating in what is real good solid business—eh? You want money, +you know.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve given my answer,” was the man’s brief response.</p> + +<p>Then a silence fell between the pair of well-dressed cosmopolitans—a +dead, painful silence, broken only by the low hum of the insects, the +buzzing of a fly upon the window-pane, and the ticking of the old +grandfather clock in the corner.</p> + +<p>“Reflect,” urged Du Cane at last, as he rose to his feet. Then, +lowering his voice, he said in a hoarse whisper, “You may find +yourself in a corner over that affair of young Burke. If so, it’s only +I and my friends who could prove an alibi. Remember that.”</p> + +<p>“And you offer that, in return for my assistance?” Poland said +reflectively, hesitating for a moment and turning to the window.</p> + +<p>His visitor nodded in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>Next second the man to whom those terms had been offered quickly faced +his friend. His countenance was haggard, blanched to the lips, for he +had been quick to realize the full meaning of that covert threat.</p> + +<p>“Arnold!” he said in a hoarse, strained voice, full of bitter +reproach, “you may turn upon me, give me away to the police—tell them +the truth—but my <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>decision remains the same. I will lend no hand in +that affair.”</p> + +<p>“You are prepared to face arrest—eh?”</p> + +<p>“If it is your will—yes.”</p> + +<p>“And your daughter?”</p> + +<p>“That is my own affair.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then. As you will,” was the bald-headed man’s response, as +he put on his grey felt hat and, taking his stick, strode through the +open French windows and disappeared.</p> + +<p>Phil Poland stood rigid as a statue. The blow had fallen. His secret +was out.</p> + +<p>He sprang forward towards the garden, in order to recall his visitor. +But next instant he drew himself back.</p> + +<p>No. Now that the friend whom he had trusted had turned upon him, he +would face the music rather than add another crime to his discredit +and dishonour.</p> + +<p>Philip Poland, alias Louis Lessar and half-a-score of other names, +halted, and raised his pale, repentant face to Heaven for help and +guidance.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h3>CONCERNS TWO STRANGERS</h3> + +<p>That night Phil Poland glanced longingly around the well-furnished +dining-room with its white napery, its antique plate, and its great +bowl of yellow roses in the centre of the table between the silver +candelabra with white silk shades. Alone he sat at his dinner, being +waited upon by Felix, the thin-faced, silent Frenchman in black who +was so devoted to his master and so faithful in his service.</p> + +<p>It was the last time he would eat his dinner there, he reflected. The +choice of two things lay before him—flight, or arrest.</p> + +<p>Sonia was on a visit to an old school-fellow in London, and would not +return until the morrow. For some reasons he was glad, for he desired +to be alone—alone in order to think.</p> + +<p>Since the abrupt departure of his visitor he had become a changed man. +His usually merry face was hard and drawn, his cheeks pale, with red +spots in the centre, and about his clean-shaven mouth a hardness quite +unusual.</p> + +<p>Dinner concluded, he had strolled out upon the lawn, and, reclining in +a long deck-chair, sipped his coffee and curaçao, his face turned to +the crimson sundown showing across the dark edge of the forest. He was +full of dark forebodings.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p><p>The end of his career—a scandalous career—was near. The truth was +out!</p> + +<p>As he lay back with his hot, fevered head upon the cushion of the long +cane chair, his dead cigar between his nerveless fingers, a thousand +bitter thoughts crowded upon him. He had striven to reform, he had +tried hard to turn aside and lead an honest life, yet it seemed as +though his good intentions had only brought upon him exposure and +disaster.</p> + +<p>He thought it all over. His had, indeed, been an amazing career of +duplicity. What a sensation would be caused when the truth became +revealed! At first he had heaped opprobrium upon the head of the man +who had been his friend, but now, on mature consideration, he realized +that Du Cane’s motive in exposing him was twofold—in order to save +himself, and also to curry favour in certain high quarters affected by +the mysterious death of the young Parliamentary Under-Secretary who +had placed to his lips that fatal cigar. Self-preservation being the +first instinct of the human race, it surely was not surprising that +Arnold Du Cane should seek to place himself in a position of security.</p> + +<p>Enormous eventualities would be consequent upon solving the mystery of +that man’s death. Medical science had pronounced it to have been due +to natural causes. Dare the authorities re-open the question, and +allege assassination? Aye, that was the question. There was the press, +political parties and public opinion all to consider, in addition to +the national prestige.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><p>He held his breath, gazing blankly away at the blood-red afterglow. +How strange, how complicated, how utterly amazing and astounding was +it all. If the truth of that dastardly plot were ever told, it would +not be believed. The depths of human wickedness were surely +unfathomable.</p> + +<p>Because he, Phil Poland, had endeavoured to cut himself adrift from +his ingenious friends, they were about to make him the scapegoat.</p> + +<p>He contemplated flight, but, if he fled, whither should he go? Where +could he hide successfully? Those who desired that he should pay the +penalty would search every corner of the earth. No. Death itself would +be preferable to either arrest or flight, and as he contemplated how +he might cheat his enemies a bitter smile played upon his grey lips.</p> + +<p>The crimson light slowly faded. The balmy stillness of twilight had +settled upon everything, the soft evening air became filled with the +sweet fragrance of the flowers, and the birds were chattering before +roosting. He glanced across the lawns and well-kept walks at the +rose-embowered house itself, his harbour of refuge, the cosy place +which Sonia loved so well, and as his eyes wandered he sighed sadly. +He knew, alas! that he must bid farewell to it for ever, bid farewell +to his dear daughter—bid farewell to life itself.</p> + +<p>He drew at his dead cigar. Then he cast it from him. It tasted bitter.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the grave-faced Felix, the man who seldom, if ever, spoke, +and who was such a mystery <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>in the village, came across the lawn, and, +bowing, exclaimed in French that the curé, M’sieur Shuttleworth, had +called.</p> + +<p>“Ah! yes,” exclaimed his master, quickly arousing himself. “How very +foolish of me! I quite forgot I had invited Mr. Shuttleworth to come +in and smoke to-night. Ask him to come out here, and bring the cigars +and whisky.”</p> + +<p>“Oui, M’sieur,” replied the funereal-looking butler, bowing low as he +turned to go back to the house.</p> + +<p>“How strange!” laughed Poland to himself. “What would the parson think +if he knew who I am, and the charge against me? What will he say +afterwards, I wonder?”</p> + +<p>Then, a few moments later, a thin, grey-faced, rather ascetic-looking +clergyman, the Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, rector of Middleton, came +across the grass and grasped his host’s hand in warmest greeting.</p> + +<p>When he had seated himself in the low chair which Poland pulled +forward, and Felix had handed the cigars, the two men commenced to +gossip, as was their habit.</p> + +<p>Phil Poland liked the rector, because he had discovered that, +notwithstanding his rather prim exterior and most approved clerical +drawl, he was nevertheless a man of the world. In the pulpit he +preached forgiveness, and, unlike many country rectors and their +wives, was broad-minded enough to admit the impossibility of a sinless +life. Both he and Mrs. Shuttleworth <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>treated both chapel and +church-going folk with equal kindliness, and the deserving poor never +went empty away.</p> + +<p>Both in the pulpit and out of it the rector of Middleton called a +spade a spade with purely British bluntness, and though his parish was +only a small one he was the most popular man in it—a fact which +surely spoke volumes for a parson.</p> + +<p>“I was much afraid I shouldn’t be able to come to-night,” he said +presently. “Old Mrs. Dixon, over at Forest Farm, is very ill, and I’ve +been with her all the afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Then you didn’t go to Lady Medland’s garden-party?”</p> + +<p>“No. I wanted to go very much, but was unable. I fear poor old Mrs. +Dixon may not last the night. She asked after Miss Sonia, and +expressed a great wish to see her. You have no idea how popular your +daughter is among the poor of Middleton, Mr. Poland.”</p> + +<p>“Sonia returns from London to-morrow afternoon,” her father said. “She +shall go over and see Mrs. Dixon.”</p> + +<p>“If the old lady is still here,” said the rector. “I fear her life is +fast ebbing, but it is reassuring to know she has made peace with her +Maker, and will pass happily away into the unknown beyond.”</p> + +<p>His host was silent. The bent old woman, the wife of a farm-labourer, +had made repentance. If there was repentance for her, was there not +repentance for him? He held his breath at the thought.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>Little did Shuttleworth dream that the merry, easy-going man who sat +before him was doomed—a man whose tortured soul was crying aloud for +help and guidance; a man with a dread and terrible secret upon his +conscience; a man threatened by an exposure which he could never live +to face.</p> + +<p>Poland allowed his visitor to chatter on—to gossip about the work in +his parish. He was reviewing his present position. He desired some one +in whom he could confide; some one of whom he might seek advice and +counsel. Could he expose his real self in all his naked shame; dare he +speak in confidence to Edmund Shuttleworth? Dare he reveal the ghastly +truth, and place the seal of the confessional upon his lips?</p> + +<p>Twilight deepened into night, and the crescent moon rose slowly. Yet +the two men still sat smoking and chatting, Shuttleworth somewhat +surprised to notice how unusually preoccupied his host appeared.</p> + +<p>At last, when the night wind blew chill, they rose and passed into the +study, where Poland closed the French windows, and then, with sudden +resolve and a word of apology to his visitor, he crossed the room and +turned the key in the lock, saying in a hard, strained tone—</p> + +<p>“Shuttleworth, I—I want to speak to you in—in strictest +confidence—to ask your advice. Yet—yet it is upon such a serious +matter that I hesitate—fearing——”</p> + +<p>“Fearing what?” asked the rector, somewhat surprised at his tone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>“Because, in order to speak, I must reveal to you a truth—a shameful +truth concerning myself. May I rely upon your secrecy?”</p> + +<p>“Any fact you may reveal to me I shall regard as sacred. That is my +duty as a minister of religion, Poland,” was the other’s quiet reply.</p> + +<p>“You swear to say nothing?” cried his host eagerly, standing before +him.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I swear to regard your confidence,” replied his visitor.</p> + +<p>And then the Honourable Philip Poland slowly sank into the chair on +the opposite side of the fireplace, and in brief, hesitating sentences +related one of the strangest stories that ever fell from any sane +man’s lips—a story which held its hearer aghast, transfixed, +speechless in amazement.</p> + +<p>“There is repentance for me, Shuttleworth—tell me that there is!” +cried the man who had confessed, his eyes staring and haggard in his +agony. “I have told you the truth because—because when I am gone I +want you, if you will, to ask your wife to take care of my darling +Sonia. Financially, she is well provided for. I have seen to all that, +but—ah!” he cried wildly, “she must never know that her father +was——”</p> + +<p>“Hush, Poland!” urged the rector, placing his hand tenderly upon his +host’s arm. “Though I wear these clothes, I am still a man of the +world like yourself. I haven’t been sinless. You wish to repent—to +atone for the past. It is my duty to assist you.” And he put out his +strong hand frankly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>His host drew back. But next instant he grasped it, and in doing so +burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“I make no excuse for myself,” he faltered. “I am a blackguard, and +unworthy the friendship of a true honest man like yourself, +Shuttleworth. But I love my darling child. She is all that has +remained to me, and I want to leave her in the care of a good woman. +She must forget me—forget what her father was——”</p> + +<p>“Enough!” cried the other, holding up his hand; and then, until far +into the night, the two men sat talking in low, solemn tones, +discussing the future, while the attitude of Philip Poland, as he sat +pale and motionless, his hands clasped upon his knees, was one of deep +repentance.</p> + +<p>That same night, if the repentant transgressor could but have seen +Edmund Shuttleworth, an hour later, pacing the rectory study; if he +could have witnessed the expression of fierce, murderous hatred upon +that usually calm and kindly countenance; if he could have overheard +the strangely bitter words which escaped the dry lips of the man in +whom he had confided his secret, he would have been held +aghast—aghast at the amazing truth, a truth of which he had never +dreamed.</p> + +<p>His confession had produced a complication unheard of, undreamed of, +so cleverly had the rector kept his countenance and controlled his +voice. But when alone he gave full vent to his anger, and laughed +aloud in the contemplation of a terrible vengeance which, he declared +aloud to himself, should be his.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>“That voice!” he cried in triumph. “Why did I not recognize it before? +But I know the truth now—I know the amazing truth!”</p> + +<p>And he laughed harshly to himself as he paced his room.</p> + +<p>Next day Philip Poland spent in his garden, reading beneath the big +yew, as was his wont. But his thoughts ever wandered from his book, as +he grew apprehensive of the evil his enemy was about to hurl upon him. +His defiance, he knew, must cost him his liberty—his life. Yet he was +determined. For Sonia’s sake he had become a changed man.</p> + +<p>At noon Shuttleworth, calm and pleasant, came across the lawn with +outstretched hand. He uttered low words of encouragement and comfort. +He said that poor Mrs. Dixon had passed away, and later on he left to +attend to his work in the parish. After luncheon, served by the silent +Felix, Poland retired to his study with the newspaper, and sat for two +hours, staring straight before him, until, just after four o’clock, +the door was suddenly flung open, and a slim, athletic young girl, +with a wealth of soft fair hair, a perfect countenance, a sweet, +lovable expression, and a pair of merry blue eyes, burst into the +room, crying—</p> + +<p>“Hallo, dad! Here I am—so glad to be back again with you!” And, +bending over him, she gave him a sounding kiss upon the cheek.</p> + +<p>She was verily a picture of youthful beauty, in her cool, pale grey +gown, her hair dressed low, and secured by a bow of black velvet, +while her big black <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>hat suited her to perfection, her blue eyes +adoring in their gaze and her lovely face flushed with pleasure at her +home-coming.</p> + +<p>Her father took her hand, and, gazing lovingly into her eyes, said in +a slow voice—</p> + +<p>“And I, too, darling, am glad to have you at home. Life here is very +dull indeed without you.”</p> + +<p>That night, when seated together in the pretty old-fashioned +drawing-room before retiring to bed—a room of bright chintzes, costly +knick-knacks, and big blue bowls of sweet-smelling pot-pourri—Sonia +looked delightful in her black net dinner-gown, cut slightly +<i>décolleté</i>, and wearing around her slim white throat a simple +necklace of pale pink coral.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” exclaimed her father in a slow, hesitating way, after her +fingers had been running idly over the keys of the piano, “I want to +speak very seriously to you for a few moments.”</p> + +<p>She rose in surprise, and came beside his chair. He grasped her soft +hand, and she sank upon her knees, as she so often did when they spoke +in confidence.</p> + +<p>“Well—I’ve been wondering, child, what—what you will do in future,” +he said, with a catch in his voice. “Perhaps—perhaps I may have to go +away for a very, very long time—years perhaps—on a long journey, and +I shall, I fear, be compelled to leave you, to——”</p> + +<p>“To leave me, dad!” gasped the girl, dismayed. “No—surely—you won’t +do that? What could I do without you—without my dear, devoted dad—my +only friend!”</p> + +<p>“You will have to—to do without me, dearest—to—to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>forget your +father,” said the white-faced man in a low, broken voice. “I couldn’t +take you with me. It would be impossible.”</p> + +<p>The girl was silent; her slim hand was clutching his convulsively; her +eyes filled with the light of unshed tears.</p> + +<p>“But what should I do, dad, without you?” she cried. “Why do you speak +so strangely? Why do you hide so many things from me still—about our +past? I’m eighteen now, remember, dad, and you really ought to speak +to me as a woman—not as a child. Why all this mystery?”</p> + +<p>“Because—because it is imperative, Sonia,” he replied in a tone quite +unusual. “I—I would tell you all, only—only you would think ill of +me. So I prefer that you, my daughter, should remain in ignorance, and +still love me—still——”</p> + +<p>His words were interrupted by Felix, who opened the door, and, +advancing with silent tread, said—</p> + +<p>“A gentleman wishes to speak with m’sieur on very urgent business. You +are unacquainted with him, he says. His name is Max Morel, and he must +see you at once. He is in the hall.”</p> + +<p>Poland’s face went a trifle paler. Whom could the stranger be? Why did +he desire an interview at that hour?—for it was already eleven +o’clock.</p> + +<p>“Sonia dear,” he said quietly, turning to his daughter, “will you +leave me for a few moments? I must see what this gentleman wants.”</p> + +<p>The girl followed Felix out somewhat reluctantly, when, a few seconds +later, a short, middle-aged <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>Frenchman, with pointed grey beard and +wearing gold pince-nez, was ushered in.</p> + +<p>Philip Poland started and instantly went pale at sight of his visitor.</p> + +<p>“I need no introduction, m’sieur. You recognize me, I see,” remarked +the stranger, in French.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the other’s reply. “You are Henri Guertin, chief inspector +of the sûreté of Paris. We have met before—once.”</p> + +<p>“And you are no doubt aware of the reason of my visit?”</p> + +<p>“I can guess,” replied the unhappy man. “You are here to arrest me—I +know. I——”</p> + +<p>The renowned detective—one of the greatest criminal investigators in +Europe—glanced quickly at the closed door, and, dropping his voice, +said—</p> + +<p>“I am here, not to arrest you, M’sieur Poland—but to afford you an +opportunity of escape.”</p> + +<p>“Of escape!” gasped the other, his drawn countenance blanched to the +lips.</p> + +<p>“Yes, escape. Listen. My instructions are to afford you an easy +opportunity of—well, of escaping the ignominy of arrest, exposure, +trial, and penalty, by a very simple means—death by your own hand.”</p> + +<p>“Suicide!” echoed Poland, after a painful pause. “Ah! I quite +understand! The Government are not anxious that the scandal should be +made public, eh?” he cried bitterly.</p> + +<p>“I have merely told you my instructions,” was the detective’s +response, as, with a quick, foreign gesture, he displayed on his left +hand a curious old engraved <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>amethyst set in a ring—probably an +episcopal ring of ages long ago. “At midnight I have an appointment at +the cross-roads, half-a-mile away, with Inspector Watts of Scotland +Yard, who holds a warrant for your arrest and extradition to France. +If you are still alive when we call, then you must stand your +trial—that is all. Trial will mean exposure, and——”</p> + +<p>“And my exposure will mean the downfall and ruin of those political +thieves now in power—eh?” cried Poland. “They are not at all anxious +that I should fall into the hands of the police.”</p> + +<p>“And you are equally anxious that the world—and more especially your +daughter—shall not know the truth,” remarked the detective, speaking +in a meaning tone. “I have given you the alternative, and I shall now +leave. At midnight I shall return—officially—when I hope you will +have escaped by the loophole so generously allowed you by the +authorities.”</p> + +<p>“If I fled, would you follow?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly. It would be my duty. You cannot escape—only by +death. I regret, m’sieur, that I have been compelled to put the +alternative so bluntly, but you know full well the great issues at +stake in this affair. Therefore I need say nothing further, except to +bid you <i>au revoir</i>—till midnight.”</p> + +<p>Then the portly man bowed—bowed as politely as though he were in the +presence of a crowned head—and, turning upon his heel, left the room, +followed by his host, who personally opened the door for him as he +bade him good-night.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>One hour’s grace had been given Philip Poland. After that, the +blackness of death.</p> + +<p>His blanched features were rigid as he stood staring straight before +him. His enemy had betrayed him. His defiance had, alas! cost him his +life.</p> + +<p>He recollected Shuttleworth’s slowly uttered words on the night +before, and his finger-nails clenched themselves into his palms. Then +he passed across the square, old-fashioned hall to the study, dim-lit, +save for the zone of light around the green-shaded reading-lamp; the +sombre room where the old grandfather clock ticked so solemnly in the +corner.</p> + +<p>Sonia had returned to the drawing-room as he let his visitor out. He +could hear her playing, and singing in her sweet contralto a tuneful +French love-song, ignorant of the hideous crisis that had fallen, +ignorant of the awful disaster which had overwhelmed him.</p> + +<p>Three-quarters of an hour had passed when, stealthily on tiptoe, the +girl crept into the room, and there found her father seated by the +fireplace, staring in blank silence.</p> + +<p>The long old brass-faced clock in the shadow struck three times upon +its strident bell. Only fifteen minutes more, and then the police +would enter and charge him with that foul crime. Then the solution of +a remarkable mystery which had puzzled the whole world would be +complete.</p> + +<p>He started, and, glancing around, realized that Sonia, with her soft +hand in his, was again at his side.</p> + +<p>“Why, dad,” cried the girl in alarm, “how pale <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>you are! Whatever ails +you? What can I get you?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, child, nothing,” was the desperate man’s hoarse response. +“I’m—I’m quite well—only a little upset at some bad news I’ve had, +that’s all. But come. Let me kiss you, dear. It’s time you were in +bed.”</p> + +<p>And he drew her down until he could print a last fond caress upon her +white open brow.</p> + +<p>“But, dad,” exclaimed the girl anxiously, “I really can’t leave you. +You’re not well. You’re not yourself to-night.”</p> + +<p>As she uttered those words, Felix entered the room, saying in an +agitated voice—</p> + +<p>“May I speak with you alone, m’sieur?”</p> + +<p>His master started violently, and, rising, went forth into the hall, +where the butler, his face scared and white, whispered—</p> + +<p>“Something terrible has occurred, m’sieur! Davis, the groom, has just +found a gentleman lying dead in the drive outside. He’s been murdered, +m’sieur!”</p> + +<p>“Murdered!” gasped Poland breathlessly. “Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“The gentleman who called upon you three-quarters of an hour ago. He’s +lying dead—out yonder.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s a lantern? Let me go and see!” cried Poland. And a few +moments later master and man were standing with the groom beside the +lifeless body of Henri Guertin, the great detective, the terror of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>all French criminals. The white countenance, with its open, staring +eyes, bore a horrified expression, but the only wound that could be +distinguished was a deep cut across the palm of the right hand, a +clean cut, evidently inflicted by a keen-edged knife.</p> + +<p>Davis, on his way in, had, he explained, stumbled across the body in +the darkness, ten minutes before.</p> + +<p>Philip Poland had knelt, his hand upon the dead man’s heart, when +suddenly all three were startled by the sound of footsteps upon the +gravel, and next moment two men loomed up into the uncertain light of +the lantern.</p> + +<p>One was tall and middle-aged, in dark tweeds and a brown hat of soft +felt; the other, short and stout, wearing gold pince-nez.</p> + +<p>A loud cry of dismay broke from Poland’s fevered lips as his eyes fell +upon the latter.</p> + +<p>“Hallo! What’s this?” cried a sharp, imperious voice in French, the +voice of the man in pince-nez, as, next moment, he stood gazing down +upon the dead unknown, who, strangely enough, resembled him in +countenance, in dress—indeed, in every particular.</p> + +<p>The startled men halted for a moment, speechless. The situation was +staggering.</p> + +<p>Henri Guertin stood there alive, and as he bent over the prostrate +body an astounding truth became instantly revealed: the dead man had +been cleverly made-up to resemble the world-renowned police official.</p> + +<p>The reason of this was an entire mystery, although <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>one fact became +plain: he had, through posing as Guertin, been foully and swiftly +assassinated.</p> + +<p>Who was he? Was he really the man who came there to suggest suicide in +preference to arrest, or had that strange suggestion been conveyed by +Guertin himself?</p> + +<p>The point was next moment decided.</p> + +<p>“You see, m’sieur,” exclaimed Poland defiantly, turning to the great +detective, “I have preferred to take my trial—to allow the public the +satisfaction of a solution of the problem, rather than accept the +generous terms you offered me an hour ago.”</p> + +<p>“Terms I offered you!” cried the Frenchman. “What are you saying? I +was not here an hour ago. If you have had a visitor, it must have been +this impostor—this man who has lost his life because he has +impersonated me!”</p> + +<p>Philip Poland, without replying, snatched at the detective’s left hand +and examined it. There was no ring upon it.</p> + +<p>Swiftly he bent beside the victim, and there, sure enough, upon the +dead white finger was revealed the curious ring he had noticed—an +oval amethyst engraved with a coat-of-arms surmounted by a cardinal’s +hat—the ring worn by the man who had called upon him an hour before!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_STORY_OF_OWEN_BIDDULPH" id="THE_STORY_OF_OWEN_BIDDULPH"></a>THE STORY OF OWEN BIDDULPH</h2> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_ONE" id="CHAPTER_ONE"></a>CHAPTER ONE</h2> + +<h3>BESIDE STILL WATERS</h3> + +<p>If I make too frequent use of the first person singular in these +pages, I crave forgiveness of the reader.</p> + +<p>I have written down this strange story for two reasons: first, because +I venture to believe it to be one of the most remarkable sequences of +curious events that have ever occurred in a man’s life; and secondly, +by so doing, I am able to prove conclusively before the world the +innocence of one sadly misjudged, and also to set at rest certain +scandalous tales which have arisen in consequence.</p> + +<p>At risk of betraying certain confidences; at risk of placing myself in +the unenviable position of chronicler of my own misfortunes; at risk +even of defying those who have threatened my life should I dare speak +the truth, I have resolved to recount the whole amazing affair, just +as it occurred to me, and further, to reveal completely what has +hitherto been regarded as a mystery by readers of the daily +newspapers.</p> + +<p>You already know my name—Owen Biddulph. As introduction, I suppose I +ought to add that, after coming down from Oxford, I pretended to read +for the Bar, just to please the dear old governor—Sir <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>Alfred +Biddulph, Knight. At the age of twenty-five, owing to his unfortunate +death in the hunting-field, I found myself possessor of Carrington +Court, our fine Elizabethan place in North Devon, and town-house, 64a +Wilton Street, Belgrave Square, together with a comfortable income of +about nine thousand a year, mostly derived from sound industrial +enterprises.</p> + +<p>My father, before his retirement, had been a Liverpool ship-owner, +and, like many others of his class, had received his knighthood on the +occasion of Queen Victoria’s Jubilee. My mother had been dead long +since. I had but few relatives, and those mostly poor ones; therefore, +on succeeding to the property, I went down to Carrington just to +interview Browning, the butler, and the other servants, all of them +old and faithful retainers; and then, having given up all thought of a +legal career, I went abroad, in order to attain my long-desired +ambition to travel, and to “see the world.”</p> + +<p>Continental life attracted me, just as it attracts most young men. +Paris, with its glare and glitter, its superficial gaiety, its bright +boulevards, and its feminine beauty, is the candle to the moth of +youth. I revelled in Paris just as many a thousand other young men had +done before me. I knew French, Italian and German, and I was vain +enough to believe that I might have within me the making of a +cosmopolitan. So many young men believe that—and, alas! so many fail +on account of either indolence, or of narrow-mindedness. To be a +thorough-going <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>cosmopolitan one must be imbued with the true spirit +of adventure, and must be a citizen of all cities, a countryman of all +countries. This I tried to be, and perhaps—in a manner—succeeded. At +any rate, I spent nearly three whole years travelling hither and +thither across the face of Europe, from Trondhjem to Constantinople, +and from Bordeaux to Petersburg.</p> + +<p>Truly, if one has money, one can lead a very pleasant life, year in, +year out, at the various European health and pleasure resorts, without +even setting foot in our dear old England. I was young—and +enthusiastic. I spent the glorious golden autumn in Florence and in +Perugia, the Tuscan vintage in old Siena; December in Sicily; January +in Corsica; February and March at Nice, taking part in the Carnival +and Battles of Flowers; April in Venice; May at the Villa d’Este on +the Lake of Como; June and July at Aix; August, the month of the Lion, +among the chestnut-woods high up at Vallombrosa, and September at San +Sebastian in Spain, that pretty town of sea-bathing and of gambling. +Next year I spent the winter in Russia, the guest of a prince who +lived near Moscow; the early spring at the Hermitage at Monte Carlo; +May at the Meurice in Paris; the summer in various parts of +Switzerland, and most of the autumn in the high Tatra, the foot-hills +of the Carpathians.</p> + +<p>And so, with my faithful Italian valet, Lorenzo, a dark-haired, smart +man of thirty, who had been six years in my service, and who had, on +so many occasions, proved himself entirely trustworthy, I passed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>away +the seasons as they came and went, always living in the best hotels, +and making a good many passing acquaintances. Life was, indeed, a +perfect phantasmagoria.</p> + +<p>Now there is a certain section of English society who, being for some +reason or another beyond the pale at home, make their happy +hunting-ground in the foreign hotel. Men and women, consumptive sons +and scraggy daughters, they generally live in the cheapest rooms <i>en +pension</i>, and are ever ready to scrape up acquaintance with anybody of +good appearance and of either sex, as long as they are possessed of +money. Every one who has lived much on the Continent knows them—and, +be it said, gives them a wide berth.</p> + +<p>I was not long before I experienced many queer acquaintanceships in +hotels, some amusing, some the reverse. At Verona a man, an Englishman +named Davis, who had been at my college in Oxford, borrowed fifty +pounds of me, but disappeared from the hotel next morning before I +came down; while, among other similar incidents, a dear, +quiet-mannered old widow—a Russian, who spoke English—induced me at +Ostend to assist her to pay her hotel bill of one thousand six hundred +francs, giving me a cheque upon her bank in Petersburg, a cheque +which, in due course, was returned to me marked “no account.”</p> + +<p>Still, I enjoyed myself. The carelessness of life suited me, for I +managed to obtain sunshine the whole year round, and to have a good +deal of fun for my money.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>I had a fine sixty horse-power motor-car, and usually travelled from +place to place on it, my friend Jack Marlowe, who had been at Oxford +with me, and whose father’s estates marched with mine on the edge of +Dartmoor, frequently coming out to spend a week or two with me on the +roads. He was studying for the diplomatic service, but made many +excuses for holidays, which he invariably spent at my side. And we had +a merry time together, I can assure you.</p> + +<p>For nearly three years I had led this life of erratic wandering, +returning to London only for a week or so in June, to see my lawyers +and put in an appearance for a few days at Carrington to interview old +Browning. And I must confess I found the old place deadly dull and +lonely.</p> + +<p>Boodles, to which I belonged, just as my father had belonged, I found +full of pompous bores and old fogeys; and though at White’s there was +a little more life and movement now they had built a new roof, yet I +preferred the merry recklessness of Monte Carlo, or the gaiety of the +white-and-gold casinos at Nice or Cannes.</p> + +<p>Thus nearly three years went by, careless years of luxury and +idleness, years of living <i>à la carte</i> at restaurants of the first +order, from the Reserve at Beaulieu to the Hermitage at Moscow, from +Armenonville in the Bois to Salvini’s in Milan—years of the education +of an epicure.</p> + +<p>The first incident of this strange history, however, occurred while I +was spending the early spring at Gardone. Possibly you, as an English +reader, have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>never heard of the place. If, however, you were +Austrian, you would know it as one of the most popular resorts on the +beautiful mountain-fringed Lake of Garda, that deep blue lake, half in +Italian territory and half in Austrian, with the quaint little town of +Desenzano at the Italian end, and Riva, with its square old +church-tower and big white hotels, at the extreme north.</p> + +<p>Of all the spring resorts on the Italian lakes, Gardone appeals to the +visitor as one of the quietest and most picturesque. The Grand Hotel, +with its long terrace at the lake-side, is, during February and March, +filled with a gay crowd who spend most of their time in climbing the +steep mountain-sides towards the jealously guarded frontier, or taking +motor-boat excursions up and down the picturesque lake.</p> + +<p>From the balcony of my room spread a panorama as beautiful as any in +Europe; more charming, indeed, than at Lugano or Bellagio, or other of +the many lake-side resorts, for here along the sheltered banks grew +all the luxuriant vegetation of the Riviera—the camellias, magnolias, +aloes and palms.</p> + +<p>I had been there ten days or so when, one evening at dinner in the +long restaurant which overlooked the lake, there came to the small +table opposite mine a tall, fair-haired girl with great blue eyes, +dressed elegantly but quietly in black chiffon, with a band of pale +pink velvet twisted in her hair.</p> + +<p>She glanced at me quickly as she drew aside her skirt and took her +seat opposite her companion, a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>rather stout, dark, bald-headed man, +red-faced and well-dressed, whose air was distinctly paternal as he +bent and handed the menu across to her.</p> + +<p>The man turned and glanced sharply around. By his well-cut +dinner-coat, the way his dress-shirt fitted, and his refinement of +manner, I at once put him down as a gentleman, and her father.</p> + +<p>I instantly decided, on account of their smartness of dress, that they +were not English. Indeed, the man addressed her in French, to which +she responded. Her coiffure was in the latest mode of Paris, her gown +showed unmistakably the hand of the French dressmaker, while her +elegance was essentially that of the Parisienne. There is always a +something—something indescribable—about the Frenchwoman which is +marked and distinctive, and which the English-bred woman can never +actually imitate.</p> + +<p>Not that I like Frenchwomen. Far from it. They are too vain and +shallow, too fond of gaiety and flattery to suit my taste. No; among +all the many women I have met I have never found any to compare with +those of my own people.</p> + +<p>I don’t know why I watched the new-comers so intently. Perhaps it was +on account of the deliberate and careful manner in which the man +selected his dinner, his instructions to the <i>maître d’hotel</i> as to +the manner the entrée was to be made, and the infinite pains he took +over the exact vintage he required. He spoke in French, fluent and +exact, and his manner was entirely that of the epicure.</p> + +<p>Or was it because of that girl?—the girl with eyes <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>of that deep, +fathomless blue, the wonderful blue of the lake as it lay in the +sunlight—the lake that was nearly a mile in depth. In her face I +detected a strange, almost wistful look, an expression which showed +that her thoughts were far away from the laughter and chatter of that +gay restaurant. She looked at me without seeing me; she spoke to her +father without knowing what she replied. There was, in those wonderful +eyes, a strange, far-off look, and it was that which, more than +anything else, attracted my attention and caused me to notice the +pair.</p> + +<p>Her fair, sweet countenance was perfect in its contour, her cheeks +innocent of the Parisienne’s usual aids to beauty, her lips red and +well moulded, while two tiny dimples gave a piquancy to a face which +was far more beautiful than any I had met in all my wanderings.</p> + +<p>Again she raised her eyes from the table and gazed across the flowers +at me fixedly, with just a sudden inquisitiveness shown by her +slightly knit brows. Then, suddenly starting, as though realizing she +was looking at a stranger, she dropped her eyes again, and replied to +some question her father had addressed to her.</p> + +<p>Her dead black gown was cut just discreetly <i>décolleté</i>, which well +became a girl not yet twenty, while at her throat, suspended by a very +thin gold chain, was a single stone, a splendid ruby of enormous size, +and of evident value. The only other ornament she wore was a curious +antique bracelet in the form <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>of a jewelled snake, the tail of which +was in its mouth—the ancient emblem of Eternity.</p> + +<p>Why she possessed such an attraction for me I cannot tell, except that +she seemed totally unlike any other woman I had ever met before—a +face that was as perfect as any I had seen on the canvases of the +great painters, or in the marbles of the Louvre or the Vatican.</p> + +<p>Again she raised her eyes to mine. Again I realized that the +expression was entirely unusual. Then she dropped them again, and in a +slow, inert way ate the crayfish soup which the waiter had placed +before her.</p> + +<p>Others in the big, long room had noticed her beauty, for I saw people +whispering among themselves, while her father, leaning back in his +chair on placing down his spoon, was entirely conscious of the +sensation his daughter had evoked.</p> + +<p>Throughout the meal I watched the pair carefully, trying to overhear +their conversation. It was, however, always in low, confidential +tones, and, strain my ears how I might, I could gather nothing. They +spoke in French, which I detected from the girl’s monosyllables, but +beyond that I could understand nothing.</p> + +<p>From the obsequious manner of the <i>maître d’hotel</i> I knew that her +father was a person of importance. Yet the man who knows what to order +in a restaurant, and orders it with instructions, is certain to +receive marked attention. The epicure always commands the respect of +those who serve him. And surely this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>stranger was an epicure, for +after his dessert I heard him order with his coffee a <i>petit verre</i> of +gold-water of Dantzig, a rare liqueur only known and appreciated by +the very select few who really know what is what—a bottle of which, +if you search Europe from end to end, you will not find in perhaps +twenty restaurants, and those only of the very first order.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the fair-haired girl haunted me. Instinctively I knew that +she was no ordinary person. Her apathy and listlessness, her strangely +vacant look, combined with the wonderful beauty of her countenance, +held me fascinated.</p> + +<p>Who was she? What mystery surrounded her? I felt, by some strange +intuition, that there was a mystery, and that that curious wistfulness +in her glance betrayed itself because, though accompanied by her +father, she was nevertheless in sore need of a friend.</p> + +<p>When her father had drained his coffee they rose and passed into the +great lounge, with its many little tables set beneath the palms, where +a fine orchestra was playing Maillart’s tuneful “Les Dragons de +Villars.”</p> + +<p>As they seated themselves many among that well-dressed, gay crowd of +winter idlers turned to look at them. I, however, seldom went into the +nightly concert; therefore I strolled along the wide corridor to the +hall-porter, and inquired the names of the fresh arrivals.</p> + +<p>“Yes, monsieur,” replied the big, dark-bearded German; “you mean, of +course, numbers one <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>hundred and seventeen and one hundred and +forty-six—English, father and daughter, arrived by the five o’clock +boat from Riva with a great deal of baggage—here are the names,” and +he showed me the slips signed by them on arrival. “They are the only +new-comers to-day.”</p> + +<p>There I saw, written on one in a man’s bold hand, “Richard Pennington, +rentier, Salisbury, England,” and on the other, “Sylvia Pennington.”</p> + +<p>“I thought they were French,” I remarked.</p> + +<p>“So did I, monsieur; they speak French so well. I was surprised when +they registered themselves as English.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWO" id="CHAPTER_TWO"></a>CHAPTER TWO</h2> + +<h3>TOLD IN THE NIGHT</h3> + +<p>Sylvia Pennington! The face, the name, those wistful, appealing eyes +haunted me in my dreams that night.</p> + +<p>Why? Even now I am at a loss to tell, unless—well, unless I had +become fascinated by that strange, mysterious, indescribable +expression; fascinated, perhaps, by her marvellous beauty, unequalled +in all my experience.</p> + +<p>Next morning, while my man Lorenzo was waiting for me, I told him to +make discreet inquiry regarding the pair when in the steward’s room, +where he ate his meals. Soon after noon he came to me, saying he had +discovered that the young lady had been heard by the night-porter +weeping alone in her room for hours, and that, as soon as it was dawn, +she had gone out for a long walk alone along the lake-side. It was +apparent that she and her father were not on the very best of terms.</p> + +<p>“The servants believe they are French, sir,” my man added; “but it +seems that they tell people they are English. The man speaks English +like an Englishman. I heard him, half-an-hour ago, asking the +hall-porter about a telegram.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><p>“Well, Lorenzo,” I said, “just keep your eyes and ears open. I want to +learn all I can about Mr. Pennington and his daughter. She hasn’t a +maid, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Not with her, sir,” he replied. “If she had, I’d soon get to know all +about them.”</p> + +<p>I was well aware of that, for Lorenzo Merli, like all Italians, was a +great gossip, and quite a lady-killer in the servants’ hall. He was a +dark-haired, good-looking young man whose character was excellent, and +who had served me most faithfully. His father was farm-bailiff to an +Italian marquis I knew, and with whom I had stayed near Parma, while +before entering my service he had been valet to the young Marchese di +Viterbo, one of the beaux of Roman society.</p> + +<p>When I reposed a confidence in Lorenzo I knew he would never betray +it. And I knew that, now I had expressed an ardent desire for +information regarding the man Pennington and his daughter, he would +strain every effort to learn what I wanted to know.</p> + +<p>The pair sat at their usual table at luncheon. She was in a neat gown +of navy blue serge, and wore a pretty cream hat which suited her +admirably. Her taste in dress was certainly wonderful for an +Englishwoman. Yet the pair always spoke French together, and presented +no single characteristic of the British whatsoever.</p> + +<p>Because of his epicurean tastes, the stout, bald-headed man received +the greatest attention from the waiters; but those splendid eyes of +his daughter <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>betrayed no evidence of either tears or sleeplessness. +They were the same, wistful yet wonderful, with just that slightest +trace of sadness which had filled me with curiosity.</p> + +<p>After luncheon he strolled along the broad palm-lined terrace in the +sunshine beside the water’s edge, while she lolled in one of the long +cane chairs. Yet, as I watched, I saw that she was not enjoying the +warm winter sunshine or the magnificent view of snow-capped mountains +rising on the far horizon.</p> + +<p>Presently she rose and walked beside her father, who spoke to her +rapidly and earnestly, but she only replied in monosyllables. It +seemed that all his efforts to arouse her interest utterly failed.</p> + +<p>I was lounging upon the low wall of the terrace, pretending to watch +the arrival of the little black-and-white paddle-steamer on its way to +Riva, when, as they passed me, Pennington halted to light a cigar.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he glanced up at me with a strangely suspicious look. His +dark eyes were furtive and searching, as though he had detected and +resented my undue interest in his daughter.</p> + +<p>Therefore I strolled down to the landing-stage, and, going on board +the steamer, spent the afternoon travelling up to Riva, the pretty +little town with the tiny harbour at the Austrian end of the lake. The +afternoon was lovely, and the panorama of mountain mirrored in the +water, with picturesque villages and hamlets nestling at the water’s +edge, was inexpressibly grand. The deep azure of the unruffled water +stood out in contrast to the dazzling snow above, and as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>the steamer, +hugging the shore, rounded one rocky point after another, the scene +was certainly, as the Italian contadino puts it, “a bit of Paradise +fallen from heaven upon earth.”</p> + +<p>But, to you who know the north Italian lakes, why need I describe it?</p> + +<p>Suffice it to say that I took tea in the big hall of the Lido Palace +Hotel at Riva, and then, boarding the steamer again, returned to +Gardone just in time to dress for dinner.</p> + +<p>I think that Pennington had forbidden his daughter to look at me, for +never once during dinner the next evening, as far as I could detect, +did she raise her eyes to mine. When not eating, she sat, a pretty +figure in cream chiffon, with her elbows upon the table, her chin upon +her clasped hands, talking to her father in that low, confidential +tone. Were they talking secrets?</p> + +<p>Just before they rose I heard him say in English—</p> + +<p>“I’m going out for an hour—just for a stroll. I may be longer. If I’m +not back all night, don’t be anxious. I may be detained.”</p> + +<p>“Where are you going?” she asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“That is my affair,” was his abrupt reply. Her face assumed a strange +expression. Then she passed along the room, he following.</p> + +<p>As soon as they had gone my mind was made up. I scented mystery. I +ascended in the lift to my room, got my coat, and, going outside into +the ill-lit road beyond the zone of the electric lights in front of +the hotel, I waited.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p><p>The man was not long in coming. He wore a golf-cap and a thick +overcoat, and carried a stout stick. On the steps of the hotel he +paused, lit his cigar, and then set off to the left, down the +principal street—the highroad which led to the clean little town of +Salo and the southern end of the lake.</p> + +<p>I lounged along after him at a respectable distance, all curiosity at +the reason why, in that rural retreat, he intended to be absent all +night.</p> + +<p>He went along at a swinging pace, passing around the lake-front of the +town which almost adjoins Gardone, and then began to ascend the steep +hill beyond. Upon the still night air I could scent the aroma of his +cigar. He was now on his way out into a wild and rather desolate +country, high above the lake. But after walking about a mile he came +to a point where the roads branched, one to Verona, the other to +Brescia.</p> + +<p>There he halted, and, seating himself upon a big stone at the wayside, +smoked in patience, and waited. I advanced as near as I could without +risk of detection, and watched.</p> + +<p>He struck a match in order to look at his watch. Then he rose and +listened intently. The night was dark and silent, with heavy clouds +hanging about the mountains, threatening rain.</p> + +<p>I suppose he had waited fully another quarter of an hour, when +suddenly, far away over the brow of the hill in the direction of +Brescia, I saw a peculiar light in the sky. At first I was puzzled, +but as it gradually grew larger and whiter I knew that it came <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>from +the head-lights of an approaching motor-car. Next moment the hum of +the engine fell on my ears, and suddenly the whole roadway became +illuminated, so suddenly, indeed, that I had only just time to crouch +down in order to avoid detection.</p> + +<p>Pennington shouted to the driver, and he instantly pulled up. Then two +men in thick overcoats descended, and welcomed him warmly in English.</p> + +<p>“Come along, old man!” I heard one of them cry. “Come inside. We must +be off again, for we haven’t a moment to spare. How’s the girl?”</p> + +<p>Then they entered the car, which was quickly turned, and a few moments +later disappeared swiftly along the road it had come.</p> + +<p>I stood, full of wonder, watching the white light fade away.</p> + +<p>Who were Pennington’s friends, that he should meet them in so secret a +manner?</p> + +<p>“How’s the girl?” Had that man referred to Sylvia? There was mystery +somewhere. I felt certain of it.</p> + +<p>Down the hill I retraced my steps, on through the little town, now +wrapped in slumber, and back to the Grand Hotel, where nearly every +one had already retired to bed. In a corner of the big lounge, +however, Pennington’s daughter was seated alone, reading a Tauchnitz +novel.</p> + +<p>I felt in no humour to turn in just then, for I was rather used to +late hours; therefore I passed through the lounge and out upon the +terrace, in order to smoke and think. The clouds were lifting, and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>moon was struggling through, casting an uncertain light across the +broad dark waters.</p> + +<p>I had thrown myself into a wicker chair near the end of the terrace, +and, with a cigarette, was pondering deeply, when, of a sudden, I saw +a female figure, wrapped in a pale blue shawl, coming in my direction.</p> + +<p>I recognized the cream skirt and the shawl. It was Sylvia! Ah! how +inexpressibly charming and dainty she looked!</p> + +<p>When she had passed, I rose and, meeting her face to face, raised my +hat and spoke to her.</p> + +<p>She started slightly and halted. What words I uttered I hardly knew, +but a few moments later I found myself strolling at her side, chatting +merrily in English. Her chiffons exuded the delicate scent of Rose +d’Orsay, that sweet perfume which is the hall-mark of the modern +well-dressed woman.</p> + +<p>And she was undoubtedly English, after all!</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” she declared in a low, musical voice, in response to a fear I +had expressed, “I am not at all cold. This place is so charming, and +so warm, to where my father and I have recently been—at Uleaborg, in +Finland.”</p> + +<p>“At Uleaborg!” I echoed. “Why, that is away—out of the world—at the +northern end of the Gulf of Bothnia!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she declared, with a light laugh. “It is so windy and cold, and +oh! so wretchedly dull.”</p> + +<p>“I should rather think so!” I cried. “Why, it is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>almost within the +Arctic Circle. Why did you go up there—so far north—in winter?”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she sighed, “we are always travelling. My father is the modern +Wandering Jew, I think. Our movements are always sudden, and our +journeys always long ones—from one end of Europe to the other very +often.”</p> + +<p>“You seem tired of it!” I remarked.</p> + +<p>“Tired!” she gasped, her voice changing. “Ah! if you only knew how I +long for peace, for rest—for home!” and she sighed.</p> + +<p>“Where is your home?”</p> + +<p>“Anywhere, now-a-days,” was her rather despondent reply. “We are +wanderers. We lived in England once—but, alas! that is now all of the +past. My father is compelled to travel, and I must, of necessity, go +with him. I am afraid,” she added quickly, “that I bore you with this +chronicle of my own troubles. I really ought not to say this—to you, +a stranger,” she said, with a low, nervous little laugh.</p> + +<p>“Though I may be a stranger, yet, surely, I may become your friend,” I +remarked, looking into her beautiful face, half concealed by the blue +wrap.</p> + +<p>For a moment she hesitated; then, halting in the gravelled path and +looking at me, she replied very seriously—</p> + +<p>“No; please do not speak of that again.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Well—only because you must not become my friend.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>“You are lonely,” I blurted forth. “I have watched you, and I have +seen that you are in sore need of a friend. Do you deny that?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she faltered. “I—I—yes, what you say is, alas! correct. How +can I deny it? I have no friend; I am alone.”</p> + +<p>“Then allow me to be one. Put to me whatever test you will,” I +exclaimed, “and I hope I may bear it satisfactorily. I, too, am a +lonely man—a wanderer. I, too, am in need of a friend in whom I can +confide, whose guidance I can ask. Surely there is no friend better +for a lonely man than a good woman?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, no,” she cried, suddenly covering her face with both her hands. +“You don’t know—you are ignorant. Why do you say this?”</p> + +<p>“Why? Shall I tell you why?” I asked, gallantly bending to her in deep +earnestness. “Because I have watched you—because I know you are very +unhappy!”</p> + +<p>She held her breath. By the faint ray of the distant electric light I +saw her face had become changed. She betrayed her emotions and her +nervousness by the quick twitching of her fingers and her lips.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said at last very decisively; “you must abandon all thought +of friendship with me. It is impossible—quite impossible!”</p> + +<p>“Would my friendship be so repugnant to you, then?” I asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“No, no, not that,” she cried, laying her trembling fingers upon my +coat-sleeve. “You—you don’t <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>understand—you cannot dream of my +horrible position—of the imminent peril of yours.”</p> + +<p>“Peril! What do you mean?” I asked, very much puzzled.</p> + +<p>“You are in grave danger. Be careful of yourself,” she said anxiously. +“You should always carry some weapon with you, because——” and she +broke off short, without concluding her sentence.</p> + +<p>“Because—why?”</p> + +<p>“Well, because an accident might happen to you—an accident planned by +those who are your enemies.”</p> + +<p>“I really don’t understand you,” I said. “Do you mean to imply that +there is some conspiracy afoot against me?”</p> + +<p>“I warn you in all seriousness,” she said. “I—well, the fact is, I +came out here—I followed you out—in order to tell you this in +secret. Leave here, I beg of you; leave early to-morrow morning, and +do not allow the hotel people to know your new address. Go +somewhere—far away—and live in secret under an assumed name. Let +Owen Biddulph disappear as though the earth had swallowed him up.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are aware of my name!” I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” she replied. “But do—I beg of you for your own +sake—heed my warning! Ah! it is cruel and horrible that I—of all +women—have to tell you this!”</p> + +<p>“I always carry a revolver,” I replied, “and I have long ago learned +to shoot straight.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>“Be guarded always against a secret and insidious attack,” she urged. +“I must go in—now that I have told you the truth.”</p> + +<p>“And do you, then, refuse to become my friend, Miss Pennington?” I +asked very earnestly. “Surely you are my friend already, because you +have told me this!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered, adding, “Ah! you do not know the real facts! You +would not ask this if you were aware of the bitter, ghastly truth. You +would not ask my friendship—nay, you would hate and curse me +instead!”</p> + +<p>“But why?” I asked, amazed at her words. “You speak in enigmas.”</p> + +<p>She was silent again. Then her nervous fingers once more gripped my +arm, as, looking into my face, her eyes shining with a weird, unusual +light, she replied in quick, breathless sentences—</p> + +<p>“Because—because friendship between us must never, never be; it would +be fatal to you, just as it would be fatal to me! Death—yes, +death—will come to me quickly and swiftly—perhaps to-night, perhaps +to-morrow, perhaps in a week’s time. For it, I am quite prepared. All +is lost—lost to me for ever! Only have a care of yourself, I beseech +of you! Heed what I say. Escape the cruel fate which your enemies have +marked out for you—escape while there is yet time, and—and,” she +faltered in a low, hoarse voice, full of emotion, “some day in the +future, perhaps, you will give a passing thought to the memory of a +woman who revealed to you the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>truth—who saved you from an untimely +end—the unhappy woman without a friend!”</p> + +<p>“But I will be your friend!” I repeated.</p> + +<p>“No. That can never be—<i>never</i>!” and she shuddered. “I dare not risk +it. Reflect—and escape—get away in secret, and take care that you +are not followed. Remember, however, we can never be friends. Such a +course would be fatal—yes, alas! <i>fatal</i>!”</p> + +<p>Instinctively she put out her tiny white hand in frank farewell. Then, +when I had held it for a second in my own, she turned and, drawing her +shawl about her, hurried back to the big hotel.</p> + +<p>Utterly dumbfounded, I stood for a few seconds dazed and wondering, +the sweet odour of Rose d’Orsay filling my nostrils. What did she +know?</p> + +<p>Then suddenly I held my breath, for there I saw for the first time, +standing back in the shadow of the trees, straight before me, +motionless as a statue, the tall, dark figure of a man who had +evidently watched us the whole time, and who had, no doubt, overheard +all our conversation!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_THREE" id="CHAPTER_THREE"></a>CHAPTER THREE</h2> + +<h3>THE CLERGYMAN FROM HAMPSHIRE</h3> + +<p>What was the meaning of it all? Why had that tall, mysterious stranger +watched so intently? I looked across at him, but he did not budge, +even though detected.</p> + +<p>In a flash, all the strange warnings of Sylvia Pennington crowded upon +my mind.</p> + +<p>I stood facing the man as he lurked there in the shadow, determined +that he should reveal his face. Those curious words of the mysterious +girl had placed me upon my mettle. Who were the unknown enemies of +mine who were conspiring against me?</p> + +<p>Should I take her advice and leave Gardone, or should I remain on my +guard, and hand them over to the police at first sign of attack?</p> + +<p>The silent watcher did not move. He stood back there in the darkness, +motionless as a statue, while I remained full in the light of the +moon, which had now come forth, causing the lake and mountains to look +almost fairy-like.</p> + +<p>In order to impress upon him the fact that I was in no hurry, I lit a +cigarette, and seated myself upon the low wall of the terrace, softly +whistling an air of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>the café chantant. The night was now glorious, +the mountain crests showing white in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>Who was this man, I wondered? I regretted that we had not discovered +his presence before Sylvia had left. She would, no doubt, have +recognized him, and told me the reason of his watchfulness.</p> + +<p>At last, I suppose, I must have tired him out, for suddenly he +hastened from his hiding-place, and, creeping beneath the shadow of +the hotel, succeeded in reaching the door through which Sylvia had +passed.</p> + +<p>As he entered, the light from the lounge within gave me a swift glance +of his features. He was a thin, grey-faced, rather sad-looking man, +dressed in black, but, to my surprise, I noticed that his collar was +that of an English clergyman!</p> + +<p>This struck me as most remarkable. Clergymen are not usually persons +to be feared.</p> + +<p>I smiled to myself, for, after all, was it not quite possible that the +reverend gentleman had found himself within earshot of us, and had +been too embarrassed to show himself at once? What sinister motive +could such a man possess?</p> + +<p>I looked around the great lounge, with its many tables and great +palms, but it was empty. He had passed through and ascended in the +lift to his room.</p> + +<p>Inquiry of the night-porter revealed that the man’s name was the +Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, and that he came from Andover, in +England. He had arrived at six o’clock that evening, and was only +remaining the night, having expressed his intention of going on to +Riva on the morrow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><p>So, laughing at my fears—fears which had been aroused by that strange +warning of Sylvia’s—I ascended to my room.</p> + +<p>I did not leave next morning, as my fair-faced little friend had +suggested, neither did Pennington return.</p> + +<p>About eleven o’clock I strolled forth into the warm sunshine on the +terrace, and there, to my surprise, saw Sylvia sitting upon one of the +seats, with a cream sunshade over her head, a book in her lap, while +by her side lounged the mysterious watcher of the night before—the +English clergyman, Mr. Shuttleworth of Andover.</p> + +<p>Neither noticed me. He was speaking to her slowly and earnestly, she +listening attentively to his words. I saw that she sighed deeply, her +fine eyes cast upon the ground.</p> + +<p>It all seemed as though he were reproaching her with something, for +she was silent, in an attitude almost of penitence.</p> + +<p>Now that I obtained a full view of the reverend gentleman’s features +in full daylight they seemed less mysterious, less sinister than in +the half-light of midnight. He looked a grave, earnest, sober-living +man, with that slight affectation of the Church which one finds more +in the rural districts than in cities, for the black clerical straw +hat and the clerical drawl seem always to go together. It is strange +that the village curate is always more affected in his speech than the +popular preacher of the West End, and the country vicar’s wife is even +more exclusive in her tea-and-tennis <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>acquaintances than the wife of +the lord bishop himself.</p> + +<p>For a few moments I watched unseen. I rather liked the appearance of +the Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, whoever he might be. He had the look +of an honest, open, God-fearing man.</p> + +<p>Yet why was he in such earnest consultation with the mysterious +Sylvia?</p> + +<p>With his forefinger he was touching the palm of his left hand, +apparently to emphasize his words, while she looked pale, even +frightened. She was listening without comment, without protest, while +I stood watching them from behind. Many other visitors were idling +about the terrace, reading letters or newspapers, or chatting or +flirting—the usual morning occupations of a fashionable lake-side +hotel far removed from the strenuous turmoil of the business or social +worlds.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she objected to some words which he uttered, objected +strongly, with rapid interruption and quick protest.</p> + +<p>But he laid his hand quietly upon her arm, and seemed to convince her +of the truth or justice of his words.</p> + +<p>Then, as she turned, she recognized me, and I raised my hat politely +in passing.</p> + +<p>Shuttleworth’s eyes met mine, and he stared at me. But I passed on, in +pretence that I had not recognized him as the watcher of the previous +night.</p> + +<p>I idled about the terrace and the little landing-stage till noon, when +the steamer for Riva came up <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>from Desenzano; and Shuttleworth, taking +leave of Sylvia, boarded the little craft with his two kit-bags, and +waved her farewell as the vessel drew away, making a wide wake upon +the glassy surface of the deep blue waters.</p> + +<p>When he had gone, I crossed to her and spoke. She looked inexpressibly +charming in her white cotton gown and neat straw sailor hat with black +velvet band. There was nothing ostentatious about her dress, but it +was always well cut and fitted her to perfection. She possessed a +style and elegance all her own.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Mr. Biddulph!” she exclaimed reproachfully. “Why have you not +heeded my words last night? Why have you not left? Go!—go, before it +is too late!” she urged, looking straight into my face with those +wonderful eyes of hers.</p> + +<p>“But I don’t understand you, Miss Pennington,” I replied. “Why should +I leave here? What danger threatens me?”</p> + +<p>“A grave one—a very grave one,” she said in a low, hoarse whisper. +“If you value your life you should get away from this place.”</p> + +<p>“Who are these enemies of mine?” I demanded. “You surely should tell +me, so that I can take precautions against them.”</p> + +<p>“Your only precaution lies in flight,” she said.</p> + +<p>“But will you not tell me what is intended? If there is a conspiracy +against me, is it not your duty, as a friend, to reveal it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>“Did I not tell you last night that I am not your friend—that our +friendship is forbidden?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand you,” I said. “As far as I know, I haven’t an +enemy in the world. Why should I fear the unknown?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! will you not take heed of what I have told you?” she +cried in desperation. “Leave here. Return to England—hide +yourself—anywhere—for a time, until the danger passes.”</p> + +<p>“I have no fear of this mysterious danger, Miss Pennington,” I said. +“If these secret enemies of mine attack me, then I am perfectly ready +and able to defend myself.”</p> + +<p>“But they will not attack openly. They will strike at a moment when +you least expect it—and strike with accuracy and deadly effect.”</p> + +<p>“Last night, after you had left me, I found a man standing in the +shadow watching us,” I said. “He was the clergyman whom I saw sitting +with you just now. Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Shuttleworth—an old friend of mine in England. An intimate +friend of my father’s. To him, I owe very much. I had no idea he was +here until an hour ago, when we met quite accidentally on the terrace. +I haven’t seen him for a year. We once lived in his parish near +Andover, in Hampshire. He was about our only friend.”</p> + +<p>“Why did he spy upon us?”</p> + +<p>“I had no idea that he did. It must have been only by chance,” she +assured me. “From Edmund Shuttleworth you certainly have nothing to +fear. He <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>and his wife are my best friends. She is staying up at Riva, +it seems, and he is on his way to join her.”</p> + +<p>“Your father is absent,” I said abruptly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she replied, with slight hesitation. “He has gone away on +business. I don’t expect he will be back till to-night.”</p> + +<p>“And how long do you remain here?”</p> + +<p>“Who knows? Our movements are always so sudden and erratic. We may +leave to-night for the other end of Europe, or we may remain here for +weeks yet. Father is so uncertain always.”</p> + +<p>“But why are you so eager that I shall leave you?” I asked, as we +strolled together along the terrace. “You have admitted that you are +in need of a friend, and yet you will not allow me to approach you +with the open hand of friendship.”</p> + +<p>“Because—ah! have I not already explained the reason why—why I dare +not allow you to show undue friendship towards me?”</p> + +<p>“Well, tell me frankly,” I said, “who is this secret enemy of mine?”</p> + +<p>She was silent. In that hesitation I suspected an intention to +deceive.</p> + +<p>“Is it against your own father that you are warning me?” I exclaimed +in hesitation. “You fear him, evidently, and you urge me to leave here +and return to England. Why should I not remain here in defiance?”</p> + +<p>“In some cases defiance is distinctly injudicious,” she remarked. “It +is so in this. Your only safety is in escape. I can tell you no more.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>“These words of yours, Miss Pennington, are remarkably strange,” I +said. “Surely our position is most curious. You are my friend, and yet +you conceal the identity of my enemy.”</p> + +<p>She only shrugged her shoulders, without any reply falling from her +lips.</p> + +<p>“Will you not take my advice and get back to England at once?” she +asked very seriously, as she turned to me a few minutes later. “I have +suggested this in your own interests.”</p> + +<p>“But why should I go in fear of this unknown enemy?” I asked. “What +harm have I done? Why should any one be my bitter enemy?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, how do I know?” she cried in despair. “We all of us have enemies +where we least suspect them. Sometimes the very friend we trust most +implicitly reveals himself as our worst antagonist. Truly one should +always pause and ponder deeply before making a friend.”</p> + +<p>“You are perfectly right,” I remarked. “A fierce enemy is always +better than a false friend. Yet I would dearly like to know what I +have done to merit antagonism. Where has your father gone?”</p> + +<p>“To Brescia, I believe—to meet his friends.”</p> + +<p>“Who are they?”</p> + +<p>“His business friends. I only know them very slightly; they are +interested in mining properties. They meet at intervals. The last time +he met them was in Stockholm a month ago.”</p> + +<p>This struck me as curious. Why should he meet <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>his business friends so +clandestinely—why should they come at night in a car to cross-roads?</p> + +<p>But I told her nothing of what I had witnessed. I decided to keep my +knowledge to myself.</p> + +<p>“The boat leaves at two o’clock,” she said, after a pause, her hand +upon her breast as though to stay the wild beating of her heart. “Will +you not take my advice and leave by that? Go to Milan, and then +straight on to England,” she urged in deep earnestness, her big, +wide-open eyes fixed earnestly upon mine.</p> + +<p>“No, Miss Pennington,” I replied promptly; “the fact is, I do not feel +disposed to leave here just at present. I prefer to remain—and to +take the risk, whatever it may be.”</p> + +<p>“But why?” she cried, for we were standing at the end of the terrace, +and out of hearing.</p> + +<p>“Because you are in need of a friend—because you have admitted that +you, too, are in peril. Therefore I have decided to remain near you.”</p> + +<p>“No,” she cried breathlessly. “Ah! you do not know the great risk you +are running! You must go—do go, Mr. Biddulph—go, for—<i>for my +sake</i>!”</p> + +<p>I shook my head.</p> + +<p>“I have no fear of myself,” I declared. “I am anxious on your behalf.”</p> + +<p>“Have no thought of me,” she cried. “Leave, and return to England.”</p> + +<p>“And see you no more—eh?”</p> + +<p>“If you will leave to-day, I—I will see you in England—perhaps.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p><p>“Perhaps!” I cried. “That is not a firm promise.”</p> + +<p>“Then, if you really wish,” she replied in earnestness, “I will +promise. I’ll promise anything. I’ll promise to see you in +England—when the danger has passed, if—if disaster has not already +fallen upon me,” she added in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>“But my place is here—near you,” I declared. “To fly from danger +would be cowardly. I cannot leave you.”</p> + +<p>“No,” she urged, her pale face hard and anxious. “Go, Mr. Biddulph; go +and save yourself. Then, if you so desire, we shall meet again in +secret—in England.”</p> + +<p>“And that is an actual promise?” I asked, holding forth my hand.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered, taking it eagerly. “It is a real promise. Give me +your address, and very soon I shall be in London to resume our +acquaintanceship—but, remember, not our friendship. That must never +be—<i>never</i>!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_FOUR" id="CHAPTER_FOUR"></a>CHAPTER FOUR</h2> + +<h3>THE PERIL BEYOND</h3> + +<p>My taxi pulled up before my own white-enamelled door in Wilton Street, +off Belgrave Square, and, alighting, I entered with my latch-key.</p> + +<p>I had been home about ten days—back again once more in dear, dirty +old London, spending most of my time idling in White’s or Boodle’s; +for in May one meets everybody in St. James’s Street, and men +foregather in the club smoking-room from the four ends of the earth.</p> + +<p>The house in Wilton Street was a small bijou place which my father had +occupied as a <i>pied-à-terre</i> in town, he being a widower. He had been +a man of artistic tastes, and the house, though small, was furnished +lightly and brightly in the modern style. At Carrington he always +declared there was enough of the heaviness of the antique. Here, in +the dulness of London, he preferred light decorations and modern art +in furnishing.</p> + +<p>Through the rather narrow carpeted hall I passed into the study which +lay behind the dining-room, a small, cosy apartment—the acme of +comfort. I, as a bachelor, hated the big terra-cotta-and-white +drawing-room <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>upstairs. When there, I made the study my own den.</p> + +<p>I had an important letter to write, but scarcely had I seated myself +at the table when old Browning, grave, grey-faced and solemn, entered, +saying—</p> + +<p>“A clergyman called to see you about three o’clock, sir. He asked if +you were at home. When I replied that you were at the club, he became +rather inquisitive concerning your affairs, and asked me quite a lot +of questions as to where you had been lately, and who you were. I was +rather annoyed, sir, and I’m afraid I may have spoken rudely. But as +he would leave no card, I felt justified in refusing to answer his +inquiries.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right, Browning,” I replied. “But what kind of a man was he? +Describe him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, he was rather tall, of middle age, thin-faced and drawn, +as though he had seen a lot of trouble. He spoke with a pronounced +drawl, and his clerical coat was somewhat shabby. I noticed, too, sir, +that he wore a black leather watch-guard.”</p> + +<p>That last sentence at once revealed my visitor’s identity. It was the +Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth! But why had he returned so suddenly from +Riva? And why was he making secret inquiry concerning myself?</p> + +<p>“I think I know the gentleman, Browning,” I replied, while the +faithful old fellow stood, a quaint, stout figure in a rather +tight-fitting coat and grey trousers, his white-whiskered face full of +mystery. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>I fancy Browning viewed me with considerable suspicion. In +his eyes, “young Mr. Owen” had always been far too erratic. On many +occasions in my boyhood days he had expressed to my father his strong +disapproval of what he termed “Master Owen’s carryings-on.”</p> + +<p>“If he should call again, tell him that I have a very great desire to +renew our acquaintance. I met him abroad,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir,” replied my man. “But I don’t suppose he will call +again, sir. I was rude to him.”</p> + +<p>“Your rudeness was perfectly justifiable, Browning. Please refuse to +answer any questions concerning me.”</p> + +<p>“I know my duty, sir,” was the old man’s stiff reply, “and I hope I +shall always perform it.”</p> + +<p>And he retired, closing the door silently behind him.</p> + +<p>With my elbows upon the table, I sat thinking deeply.</p> + +<p>Had I not acted like a fool? Those strange words, and that curious +promise of Sylvia Pennington sounded ever in my ears. She had +succeeded in inducing me to return home by promising to meet me +clandestinely in England. Why clandestinely?</p> + +<p>Before me every moment that I now lived arose that pale, beautiful +face—that exquisite countenance with the wonderful eyes—that face +which had held me in fascination, that woman who, indeed, held me now +for life or death.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><p>In those ten days which had passed, the first days of my +home-coming after my long absence, I knew, by the blankness of our +separation—though I would not admit it to myself—that she was my +affinity. I was hers. She, the elegant little wanderer, possessed me, +body and soul. I felt for her a strong affection, and affection is the +half-and-half of love.</p> + +<p>Why had her friend, that thin-faced country clergyman, called? +Evidently he was endeavouring to satisfy himself as to my <i>bona +fides</i>. And yet, for what reason? What had I to do with him? She had +told me that she owed very much to that man. Why, however, should he +interest himself in me?</p> + +<p>I took down a big black volume from the shelf—<i>Crockford’s +Clerical Directory</i>—and from it learned that Edmund Charles +Talbot Shuttleworth, M.A., was rector of the parish of +Middleton-cum-Bowbridge, near Andover, in the Bishopric of Winchester. +He had held his living for the past eight years, and its value was +£550 per annum. He had had a distinguished career at Cambridge, and +had been curate in half-a-dozen places in various parts of the +country.</p> + +<p>I felt half inclined to run down to Middleton and call upon him. I +could make some excuse or other, for I felt that he might, perhaps, +give me some further information regarding the mysterious Pennington +and his daughter.</p> + +<p>Yet, on further reflection, I hesitated, for I saw that by acting thus +I might incur Sylvia’s displeasure.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><p>During the three following days I remained much puzzled. I deeply +regretted that Browning had treated the country parson abruptly, and +wondered whether I could not make excuse to call by pretending to +express regret for the rudeness of my servant.</p> + +<p>I was all eagerness to know something concerning this man Pennington, +and was prepared even to sink my own pride in order to learn it.</p> + +<p>Jack Marlowe was away in Copenhagen, and would not return for a week. +In London I had many friends, but there were few who interested me, +for I was ever thinking of Sylvia—of her only and always.</p> + +<p>At last, one morning I made up my mind, and, leaving Waterloo, +travelled down to Andover Junction, where I hired a trap, and, after +driving through the little old-fashioned town out upon the dusty +London Road for a couple of miles or so, I came to the long straggling +village of Middleton, at the further end of which stood the ancient +little church, and near it the comfortable old-world rectory.</p> + +<p>Entering the gateway, I found myself in pretty, well-wooded and +well-kept grounds; the house itself, long, low, and covered with +trailing roses, was a typical English country rectory. Beyond that lay +a paddock, while in the distance the beautiful Harewood Forest showed +away upon the skyline.</p> + +<p>Yes, Mr. Shuttleworth was at home, the neat maid told me, and I was +ushered into a long old-fashioned study, the French windows of which +opened out upon a well-rolled tennis-lawn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>The place smelt of tobacco-smoke. Upon the table lay a couple of +well-seasoned briars, and on the wall an escutcheon bearing its +owner’s college arms. Crossed above the window was a pair of +rowing-sculls, and these, with a pair of fencing-foils in close +proximity, told mutely of long-past athletics. It was a quiet, +book-lined den, an ideal retreat for a studious man.</p> + +<p>As my eyes travelled around the room, they suddenly fell upon a +photograph in a dark leather frame, the picture of a young girl of +seventeen or so, with her hair dressed low and secured by a big black +bow. I started at sight of it. It was the picture of Sylvia +Pennington!</p> + +<p>I crossed to look at it more closely, but as I did so the door opened, +and I found myself face to face with the rector of Middleton.</p> + +<p>He halted as he recognized me—halted for just a second in hesitation; +then, putting out his hand, he welcomed me, saying in his habitual +drawl—</p> + +<p>“Mr. Biddulph, I believe?” and invited me to be seated.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” I exclaimed, with a smile, “I see you recognize me, though we +were only passers-by on the Lake of Garda! I must apologize for this +intrusion, but, as a matter of fact, my servant Browning described a +gentleman who called upon me a few days ago, and I at once recognized +him to have been you. He was rather rude to you, I fear, and——”</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow!” he interrupted, with a hearty, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>good-natured laugh. +“He only did his duty as your servant. He objected to my infernal +impertinence—and very rightly, too.”</p> + +<p>“It was surely no impertinence to call upon me!” I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s all a question of one’s definition of impertinence,” he +said. “I made certain inquiries—rather searching inquiries regarding +you—that was all.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” I asked.</p> + +<p>He moved uneasily in his padded writing-chair, then reached over and +placed a box of cigarettes before me. After we had both lit up, he +answered in a rather low, changed voice—</p> + +<p>“Well, I wanted to satisfy myself as to who you were, Mr. Biddulph,” +he laughed. “Merely to gratify a natural curiosity.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just it,” I said. “Why should your curiosity have been aroused +concerning me? I do not think I have ever made a secret to any one +regarding my name or my position, or anything else.”</p> + +<p>“But you might have done, remember,” replied the thin-faced rector, +looking at me calmly yet mysteriously with those straight grey eyes of +his.</p> + +<p>“I don’t follow you, Mr. Shuttleworth,” I said, much puzzled.</p> + +<p>“Probably not,” was his response; “I had no intention to obtrude +myself upon you. I merely called at Wilton Street in order to learn +what I could, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>and I came away quite satisfied, even though your +butler spoke so sharply.”</p> + +<p>“But with what motive did you make your inquiries?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Well, as a matter of fact, my motive was in your own interests, Mr. +Biddulph,” he replied, as he thoughtfully contemplated the end of his +cigarette. “This may sound strange to you, but the truth, could I but +reveal it to you, would be found much stranger—a truth utterly +incredible.”</p> + +<p>“The truth of what?”</p> + +<p>“The truth concerning a certain young lady in whom, I understand, you +have evinced an unusual interest,” was his reply.</p> + +<p>I could see that he was slightly embarrassed. I recollected how he had +silently watched us on that memorable night by the moonlit lake, and a +feeling of resentment arose within me.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said anxiously next moment, “I am here to learn the truth +concerning Miss Pennington. Tell me about her. She has explained to me +that you are her friend—and I see, yonder, you have her photograph.”</p> + +<p>“It is true,” he said very slowly, in a low, earnest voice, “quite +true, Son—er, Sylvia—is my friend,” and he coughed quickly to +conceal the slip in the name.</p> + +<p>“Then tell me something about her, and her father. Who is he?” I +urged. “At her request I left Gardone suddenly, and came home to +England.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p><p>“At her request!” he echoed in surprise. “Why did she send you away +from her side?”</p> + +<p>I hesitated. Should I reveal to him the truth?</p> + +<p>“She declared that it was better for us to remain apart,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he sighed. “And she spoke the truth, Mr. Biddulph—the entire +truth, remember.”</p> + +<p>“Why? Do tell me what you know concerning the man Pennington.”</p> + +<p>“I regret that I am not permitted to do that.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>For some moments he did not reply. He twisted his cigarette in his +thin, nervous fingers, his gaze being fixed upon the lawn outside. At +last, however, he turned to me, and in a low, rather strained tone +said slowly—</p> + +<p>“The minister of religion sometimes learns strange family secrets, +but, as a servant of God, the confidences and confessions reposed in +him must always be treated as absolutely sacred. Therefore,” he added, +“please do not ask me again to betray my trust.”</p> + +<p>His was, indeed, a stern rebuke. I saw that, in my eager enthusiasm, I +had expected him to reveal a forbidden truth. Therefore I stammered an +apology.</p> + +<p>“No apology is needed,” was his grave reply, his keen eyes fixed upon +me. “But I hope you will forgive me if I presume to give you, in your +own interests, a piece of advice.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>“And what is that?”</p> + +<p>“To keep yourself as far as possible from both Pennington and his +daughter,” he responded slowly and distinctly, a strange expression +upon his clean-shaven face.</p> + +<p>“But why do you tell me this?” I cried, still much mystified. “Have +you not told me that you are Sylvia’s friend?”</p> + +<p>“I have told you this because it is my duty to warn those in whose +path a pitfall is spread.”</p> + +<p>“And is a pitfall spread in mine?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the grave-faced, ascetic-looking rector, as he leaned +forward to emphasize his words. “Before you, my dear sir, there lies +an open grave. Behind it stands that girl yonder”—and he pointed with +his lean finger to the framed photograph—“and if you attempt to reach +her you must inevitably fall into the pit—that death-trap so +cunningly prepared. Do not, I beg of you, attempt to approach the +unattainable.”</p> + +<p>I saw that he was in dead earnest.</p> + +<p>“But why?” I demanded in my despair, for assuredly the enigma was +increasing hourly. “Why are you not open and frank with me? I—I +confess I——”</p> + +<p>“You love her, eh?” he asked, looking at me quickly as he interrupted +me. “Ah, yes,” he sighed, as a dark shadow overspread his thin, pale +face, “I guessed as much—a fatal love. You are young and +enthusiastic, and her pretty face, her sweet voice and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>her soft eyes +have fascinated you. How I wish, Mr. Biddulph, that I could reveal to +you the ghastly, horrible truth. Though I am your friend—and hers, +yet I must, alas! remain silent! The inviolable seal of The +Confessional is upon my lips!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_FIVE" id="CHAPTER_FIVE"></a>CHAPTER FIVE</h2> + +<h3>THE DARK HOUSE IN BAYSWATER</h3> + +<p>Edmund Shuttleworth, the thin-faced, clean-shaven Hampshire rector, +had spoken the truth. His manner and speech were that of an honest +man.</p> + +<p>Within myself I could but admit it. Yet I loved Sylvia. Why, I cannot +tell. How can a man tell why he loves? First love is more than the +mere awakening of a passion: it is transition to another state of +being. When it is born the man is new-made.</p> + +<p>Yet, as the spring days passed, I lived in suspicion and wonder, ever +mystified, ever apprehensive.</p> + +<p>Each morning I looked eagerly for a letter from her, yet each morning +I was disappointed.</p> + +<p>It seemed true, as Shuttleworth had said, that an open gulf lay +between us.</p> + +<p>Where was she, I wondered? I dared not write to Gardone, as she had +begged me not to do so. She had left there, no doubt, for was she not +a constant wanderer? Was not her stout, bald-headed father the modern +incarnation of the Wandering Jew?</p> + +<p>May lengthened into June, with its usual society functions and all the +wild gaiety of the London <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>season. The Derby passed and Ascot came, +the Park was full every day, theatres and clubs were crowded, and the +hotels overflowed with Americans and country cousins. I had many +invitations, but accepted few. Somehow, my careless cosmopolitanism +had left me. I had become a changed man.</p> + +<p>And if I were to believe the woman who had come so strangely and so +suddenly into my life, I was a marked man also.</p> + +<p>Disturbing thoughts often arose within me in the silence of the night, +but, laughing at them, I crushed them down. What had I possibly to +fear? I had no enemy that I was aware of. The whole suggestion seemed +so utterly absurd and far-fetched.</p> + +<p>Jack Marlowe came back from Denmark hale and hearty, and more than +once I was sorely tempted to explain to him the whole situation. Only +I feared he would jeer at me as a love-sick idiot.</p> + +<p>What was the secret held by that grey-faced country parson? Whatever +it might be, it was no ordinary one. He had spoken of the seal of The +Confessional. What sin had Sylvia Pennington confessed to him?</p> + +<p>Day after day, as I sat in my den at Wilton Street smoking moodily and +thinking, I tried vainly to imagine what cardinal sin she could have +committed. My sole thoughts were of her, and my all-consuming +eagerness was to meet her again.</p> + +<p>On the night of the twentieth of June—I remember the date well +because the Gold Cup had been run that afternoon—I had come in from +supper at the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>Ritz about a quarter to one, and retired to bed. I +suppose I must have turned in about half-an-hour, when the telephone +at my bedside rang, and I answered.</p> + +<p>“Hulloa!” asked a voice. “Is that you, Owen?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“Jack speaking—Jack Marlowe,” exclaimed the distant voice. “Is that +you, Owen? Your voice sounds different.”</p> + +<p>“So does yours, a bit,” I said. “Voices often do on the ’phone. Where +are you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m out in Bayswater—Althorp House, Porchester Terrace,” my friend +replied. “I’m in a bit of a tight corner. Can you come here? I’m so +sorry to trouble you, old man. I wouldn’t ask you to turn out at this +hour if it weren’t imperative.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I’ll come,” I said, my curiosity at once aroused. “But +what’s up?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing very alarming,” he laughed. “Nothing to worry over. I’ve +been playing cards, and lost a bit, that’s all. Bring your +cheque-book; I want to pay up before I leave. You understand. I know +you’ll help me, like the good pal you always are.”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course I will, old man,” was my prompt reply.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to pay up my debts for the whole week—nearly a thousand. +Been infernally unlucky. Never had such vile luck. Have you got it in +the bank? I can pay you all right at the end of next week.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p><p>“Yes,” I said, “I can let you have it.”</p> + +<p>“These people know you, and they’ll take your cheque, they say.”</p> + +<p>“Right-ho!” I said; “I’ll get a taxi and be up with you in +half-an-hour.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a real good pal, Owen. Remember the address: Althorp House, +Porchester Terrace,” cried my friend cheerily. “Get here as soon as +you can, as I want to get home. So-long.”</p> + +<p>And, after promising to hurry, I hung up the receiver again.</p> + +<p>Dear old Jack always was a bit reckless. He had a good income allowed +him by his father, but was just a little too fond of games of chance. +He had been hard hit in February down at Monte Carlo, and I had lent +him a few hundreds to tide him over. Yet, by his remarks over the +’phone, I could only gather that he had fallen into the hands of +sharpers, who held him up until he paid—no uncommon thing in London. +Card-sharpers are generally blackmailers as well, and no doubt these +people were bleeding poor Jack to a very considerable tune.</p> + +<p>I rose, dressed, and, placing my revolver in my hip pocket in case of +trouble, walked towards Victoria Station, where I found a belated +taxi.</p> + +<p>Within half-an-hour I alighted before a large dark house about +half-way up Porchester Terrace, Bayswater, standing back from the +road, with small garden in front; a house with closely-shuttered +windows, the only light showing being that in the fanlight over the +door.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p><p>My approaching taxi was being watched for, I suppose, for as I crossed +the gravel the door fell back, and a smart, middle-aged man-servant +admitted me.</p> + +<p>“I want to see Mr. Marlowe,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Are you Mr. Biddulph?” he inquired, eyeing me with some suspicion.</p> + +<p>I replied in the affirmative, whereupon he invited me to step +upstairs, while I followed him up the wide, well-carpeted staircase +and along a corridor on the first floor into a small sitting-room at +the rear of the house.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Marlowe will be here in a few moments, sir,” he said; “he left a +message asking you to wait. He and Mr. Forbes have just gone across +the road to a friend’s house. I’ll send over and tell him you are +here, if you’ll kindly take a seat.”</p> + +<p>The room was small, fairly well furnished, but old-fashioned, and lit +by an oil-lamp upon the table. The air was heavy with tobacco-smoke, +and near the window was a card-table whereat four players had been +seated. The cigar-ash bore testimony to recent occupation of the four +chairs, while two packs of cards had been flung down just as the men +had risen.</p> + +<p>The window was hidden by long curtains of heavy moss-green plush, +while in one corner of the room, upon a black marble pedestal, stood a +beautiful sculptured statuette of a girl, her hands uplifted together +above her head in the act of diving. I examined the exquisite work of +art, and saw upon its brass plate the name of an eminent French +sculptor.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p><p>The carpet, of a peculiar shade of red which contrasted well with the +dead-white enamelled walls, was soft to the tread, so that my +footsteps fell noiselessly as I moved.</p> + +<p>Beside the fireplace was a big inviting saddle-bag chair, into which I +presently sank, awaiting Jack.</p> + +<p>Who were his friends, I wondered?</p> + +<p>The house seemed silent as the grave. I listened for Jack’s footsteps, +but could hear nothing.</p> + +<p>I was hoping that the loss of nearly a thousand pounds would cure my +friend of his gambling propensities. Myself, I had never experienced a +desire to gamble. A sovereign or so on a race was the extent of my +adventures.</p> + +<p>The table, the cards, the tantalus-stand and the empty glasses told +their own tale. I was sorry, truly sorry, that Jack should mix with +such people—professional gamblers, without a doubt.</p> + +<p>Every man-about-town in London knows what a crowd of professional +players and blackmailers infest the big hotels, on the look-out for +pigeons to pluck. The American bars of London each have their little +circle of well-dressed sharks, and woe betide the victims who fall +into their unscrupulous hands. I had believed Jack Marlowe to be more +wary. He was essentially a man of the world, and had always laughed at +the idea that he could be “had” by sharpers, or induced to play with +strangers.</p> + +<p>I think I must have waited for about a quarter of an hour. As I sat +there, I felt overcome by a curious drowsiness, due, no doubt, to the +strenuous day I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>had had, for I had driven down to Ascot in the car, +and had gone very tired to bed.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, without a sound, the door opened, and a youngish, +dark-haired, clean-shaven man in evening dress entered swiftly, +accompanied by another man a few years older, tall and thin, whose +nose and pimply face was that of a person much dissipated. Both were +smoking cigars.</p> + +<p>“You are Mr. Biddulph, I believe!” exclaimed the younger. “Marlowe +expects you. He’s over the road, talking to the girl.”</p> + +<p>“What girl?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, a little girl who lives over there,” he said, with a mysterious +smile. “But have you brought the cheque?” he asked. “He told us that +you’d settle up with us.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said, “I have my cheque-book in my pocket.”</p> + +<p>“Then perhaps you’ll write it?” he said, taking a pen-and-ink and +blotter from a side-table and placing it upon the card-table. “The +amount altogether is one thousand one hundred and ten pounds,” he +remarked, consulting an envelope he took from his pocket.</p> + +<p>“I shall give you a cheque for it when my friend comes,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but we don’t want to be here all night, you know,” laughed the +pimply-faced man. “You may as well draw it now, and hand it over to us +when he comes in.”</p> + +<p>“How long is he likely to be?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p><p>“How can we tell? He’s a bit gone on her.”</p> + +<p>“Who is she?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! a little girl my friend Reckitt here knows,” interrupted the +younger man. “Rather pretty. Reckitt is a fair judge of good looks. +Have a cigarette?” and the man offered me a cigarette, which, out of +common courtesy, I was bound to take from his gold case.</p> + +<p>I sat back in my chair and lit up, and as I did so my ears caught the +faint sound of a receding motor-car.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you going to draw the cheque?” asked the man with the pimply +face. “Marlowe said you would settle at once; Charles Reckitt is my +name. Make it out to me.”</p> + +<p>“And so I will, as soon as he arrives,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“Why not now? We’ll give you a receipt.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know at what amount he acknowledges the debt,” I pointed out.</p> + +<p>“But we’ve told you, haven’t we? One thousand one hundred and ten +pounds.”</p> + +<p>“That’s according to your reckoning. He may add up differently, you +know,” I said, with a doubtful smile.</p> + +<p>“You mean that you doubt us, eh?” asked Reckitt a trifle angrily.</p> + +<p>“Not in the least,” I assured him, with a smile. “If the game is fair, +then the loss is fair also. A good sportsman like my friend never +objects to pay what he has lost.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><p>“But you evidently object to pay for him, eh?” he sneered.</p> + +<p>“I do not,” I protested. “If it were double the amount I would pay it. +Only I first want to know what he actually owes.”</p> + +<p>“That he’ll tell you when he returns. Yet I can’t see why you should +object to make out the cheque now, and hand it to us on his arrival. +I’ll prepare the receipt, at any rate. I, for one, want to get off to +bed.”</p> + +<p>And the speaker sat down in one of the chairs at the card-table, and +wrote out a receipt for the amount, signing it “Charles Reckitt” +across the stamp he stuck upon it.</p> + +<p>Then presently he rose impatiently, and, crossing the room, +exclaimed—</p> + +<p>“How long are we to be humbugged like this? I’ve got to get out to +Croydon—and it’s late. Come on, Forbes. Let’s go over and dig Marlowe +out, eh?”</p> + +<p>So the pair left the room, promising to return with Jack in a few +minutes, and closed the door after them.</p> + +<p>When they had gone, I sat for a moment reflecting. I did not like the +look of either of them. Their faces were distinctly sinister and their +manner overbearing. I felt that the sooner I left that silent house +the better.</p> + +<p>So, crossing to the table, I drew out my cheque-book, and hastily +wrote an open cheque, payable to “Charles Reckitt,” for one thousand +one hundred <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>and ten pounds. I did so in order that I should have it +in readiness on Jack’s return—in order that we might get away +quickly.</p> + +<p>Whatever possessed my friend to mix with such people as those I could +not imagine.</p> + +<p>A few moments later, I had already put the cheque back into my +breast-pocket, and was re-seated in the arm-chair, when of a sudden, +and apparently of its own accord, the chair gave way, the two arms +closing over my knees in such a manner that I was tightly held there.</p> + +<p>It happened in a flash. So quickly did it collapse that, for a moment, +I was startled, for the chair having tipped back, I had lost my +balance, my head being lower than my legs.</p> + +<p>And at that instant, struggling in such an undignified position and +unable to extricate myself, the chair having closed upon me, the door +suddenly opened, and the man Reckitt, with his companion Forbes, +re-entered the room.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_SIX" id="CHAPTER_SIX"></a>CHAPTER SIX</h2> + +<h3>A GHASTLY TRUTH</h3> + +<p>Ere I could recover myself or utter a word, the pair dashed towards +me, seized my hands deftly and secured them behind the chair.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by this, you infernal blackguards!” I cried angrily. +“Release me!”</p> + +<p>They only grinned in triumph. I struggled to free my right hand, in +order to get at my revolver. But it was held far too securely.</p> + +<p>I saw that I had been cleverly entrapped!</p> + +<p>The man with the pimply face placed his hand within my breast pocket +and took therefrom its contents with such confidence that it appeared +certain I had been watched while writing the cheque. He selected it +from among my letters and papers, and, opening it, said in a tone of +satisfaction—</p> + +<p>“That’s all right—as far as it goes. But we must have another +thousand.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll have nothing from me,” I replied, sitting there powerless, yet +defiant. “I don’t believe Marlowe has been here at all! It’s only a +trap, and I’ve fallen into it!”</p> + +<p>“You’ve paid your friend’s debts,” replied the man gruffly; “now +you’ll pay your own.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>“I owe you nothing, you infernal swindler!” I responded quickly. “This +is a pretty game you are playing—one which you’ve played before, it +seems! The police shall know of this. It will interest them.”</p> + +<p>“They won’t know through you,” laughed the fellow. “But we don’t want +to discuss that matter. I’m just going to write out a cheque for one +thousand, and you’ll sign it.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do nothing of the sort!” I declared firmly.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, you will,” remarked the younger man. “You’ve got money, and +you can easily afford a thousand.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll not give you one single penny,” I declared. “And, further, I +shall stop that cheque you’ve stolen from me.”</p> + +<p>Reckitt had already seated himself, opened my cheque-book, and was +writing out a draft.</p> + +<p>When he had finished it he crossed to me, with the book and pen in +hand, saying—</p> + +<p>“Now you may as well just sign this at first, as at last.”</p> + +<p>“I shall do no such thing,” was my answer. “You’ve entrapped me here, +but you are holding me at your peril. You can’t frighten me into +giving you a thousand pounds, for I haven’t it at the bank.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, you have,” replied the man with the red face. “We’ve already +taken the precaution to find out. We don’t make haphazard guesses, you +know. Now sign it, and at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning you shall +be released—after we have cashed your cheques.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><p>“Where is Marlowe?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>“With the girl, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“What girl?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” exclaimed the other, “her photograph is in the next room; +perhaps you’d like to see it.”</p> + +<p>“It does not interest me,” I replied.</p> + +<p>But the fellow Forbes left the room for a moment and returned with a +fine panel photograph in his hand. He held it before my gaze. I +started in utter amazement.</p> + +<p>It was the picture of Sylvia! The same that I had seen in +Shuttleworth’s study.</p> + +<p>“You know her—eh?” remarked Reckitt, with a grim smile.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I gasped. “Where is she?”</p> + +<p>“Across the road—with your friend Jack Marlowe.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a lie! A confounded lie! I won’t believe it,” I cried. Yet at +that moment I realized the ghastly truth, that I had tumbled into the +hidden pitfall against which both Shuttleworth and Sylvia had warned +me.</p> + +<p>Could it be possible, I asked myself, that Sylvia—my adored +Sylvia—had some connection with these blackguards—that she had been +aware of their secret intentions?</p> + +<p>“Sign this cheque, and you shall see her if you wish,” said the man +who had written out the draft. “She will remain with you here till +eleven to-morrow.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>“Why should I give you a thousand pounds?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Is not a thousand a small price to pay for the service we are +prepared to render you—to return to you your lost lady-love?” queried +the fellow.</p> + +<p>I was dying with anxiety to see her, to speak with her, to hold her +hand. Had she not warned me against this cunningly-devised trap, yet +had I not foolishly fallen into it? They had followed me to England, +and run me to earth at home!</p> + +<p>“And supposing that I gave you the money, how do I know that you would +keep faith with me?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“We shall keep faith with you, never fear,” Reckitt replied, his +sinister face broadening into a smile. “It is simply for you to pay +for your release; or we shall hold you here—until you submit. Just +your signature, and to-morrow at eleven you are a free man.”</p> + +<p>“And if I refuse, what then?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“If you refuse—well, I fear that you will ever regret it, that’s all. +I can only tell you that it is not wise to refuse. We are not in the +habit of being met with refusal—the punishment is too severe.” The +man spoke calmly, leaning with his back against the table, the cheque +and pen still in his hand.</p> + +<p>“And if I sign, you will bring Sylvia here? You will promise me +that—upon your word of honour?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we promise you,” was the man’s reply.</p> + +<p>“I want to see Marlowe, if he is here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><p>“I tell you he’s not here. He’s across the way with her.”</p> + +<p>I believe, if I could have got to my revolver at that moment, I should +have shot the fellow dead. I bit my lip, and remained silent.</p> + +<p>I now felt no doubt that this was the trap of which Sylvia had given +me warning on that moonlit terrace beside the Italian lake. By some +unaccountable means she knew what was intended against me. This clever +trapping of men was apparently a regular trade of theirs!</p> + +<p>If I could but gain time I felt that I might outwit them. Yet, sitting +there like a trussed fowl, I must have cut a pretty sorry figure. How +many victims had, like myself, sat there and been “bled”?</p> + +<p>“Come,” exclaimed the red-faced adventurer impatiently, “we are losing +time. Are you going to sign the cheque, or not?”</p> + +<p>“I shall not,” was my firm response. “You already have stolen one +cheque of mine.”</p> + +<p>“And we shall cash it when your bank opens in the morning, my dear +sir,” remarked Forbes airily.</p> + +<p>“And make yourselves scarce afterwards, eh? But I’ve had a good look +at you, remember; I could identify you anywhere,” I said.</p> + +<p>“You won’t have that chance, I’m afraid,” declared Reckitt meaningly. +“You must think we’re blunderers, if you contemplate that!” and he +grinned at his companion.</p> + +<p>“Now,” he added, turning again to me; “for the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>last time I ask you if +you will sign this cheque I have written.”</p> + +<p>“And for the last time I tell you that you are a pair of blackguards, +and that I will do nothing of the sort.”</p> + +<p>“Not even if we bring the girl here—to you?”</p> + +<p>I hesitated, much puzzled by the strangeness of the attitude of the +pair. Their self-confidence was amazing.</p> + +<p>“Sign it,” he urged. “Sign it in your own interests—and in hers.”</p> + +<p>“Why in hers?”</p> + +<p>“You will see, after you have appended your signature.”</p> + +<p>“When I have seen her I will sign,” I replied at last; “but not +before. You seem to have regarded me as a pigeon to pluck. But you’ll +find out I’m a hawk before you’ve done with me.”</p> + +<p>“I think not,” smiled the cool-mannered Reckitt. “Even if you are a +hawk, you’re caged. You must admit that!”</p> + +<p>“I shall shout murder, and alarm the police,” I threatened.</p> + +<p>“Shout away, my dear fellow,” replied my captor. “No sound can be +heard outside this room. Shriek! We shall like to hear you. You won’t +have opportunity to do so very much longer.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because refusal will bring upon you a fate more <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>terrible than you +have ever imagined,” was the fellow’s hard reply. “We are men of our +word, remember! It is not wise to trifle with us.”</p> + +<p>“And I am also a man of my word. You cannot obtain money from me by +threats.”</p> + +<p>“But we offer you a service in return—to bring Sylvia to you.”</p> + +<p>“Where is her father?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“You’d better ask her,” replied Forbes, with a grin. “Sign this, and +see her. She is anxious—very anxious to meet you.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?”</p> + +<p>“We know more than you think, Mr. Biddulph,” was the sharper’s reply.</p> + +<p>His exterior was certainly that of a gentleman, in his well-cut dinner +jacket and a fine diamond stud in his shirt.</p> + +<p>I could only think that the collapsible chair in which I sat was +worked by a lever from outside the room. There was a spy-hole +somewhere, at which they could watch the actions of their victims, and +take them unawares as I had been taken.</p> + +<p>“And now,” asked Reckitt, “have you fully reflected upon the serious +consequences of your refusal to sign this cheque?”</p> + +<p>“I have,” was my unwavering reply. “Do as you will, I refuse to be +blackmailed.”</p> + +<p>“Your refusal will cause disaster to yourself—and to her! You will +share the same fate—a horrible one. She tried to warn you, and you +refused to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>heed her. So you will both experience the same horror.”</p> + +<p>“What horror? I have no fear of you,” I said.</p> + +<p>“He refuses,” Reckitt said, with a harsh laugh, addressing his +accomplice. “We will now let him see what is in store for him—how we +punish those who remain defiant. Bring in the table.”</p> + +<p>Forbes disappeared for a moment and then returned, bearing a small +round table upon which stood a silver cigar-box and a lighted candle.</p> + +<p>The table he placed at my side, close to my elbow. Then Forbes took +something from a drawer, and ere I was aware of it he had slipped a +leathern collar over my head and strapped it to the back of the chair +so that in a few seconds I was unable to move my head from side to +side.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing, you blackguards?” I cried in fierce anger. “You +shall pay for this, I warrant.”</p> + +<p>But they only laughed in triumph, for, held as I was, I was utterly +helpless in their unscrupulous hands and unable to lift a finger in +self-defence, my defiance must have struck them as ridiculous.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said Reckitt, standing near the small table, “you see this!” +and, leaning forward, he touched the cigar-box, the lid of which +opened with a spring.</p> + +<p>Next second something shot quite close to my face, startling me.</p> + +<p>I looked, and instantly became filled with an inexpressible horror, +for there, upon the table, lay a small, black, venomous snake. To its +tail was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>attached a fine green silken cord, and this was, in turn, +fastened to the candle. The wooden candle-stick was, I saw, screwed +down to the table. The cord entered the wax candle about two inches +lower than the flame.</p> + +<p>I gave a cry of horror, whereat both men laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said Reckitt, “I promised you an unexpected surprise. There it +is! In half-an-hour the flame will reach the cord, and sever it. Then +the snake will strike. That half-hour will give you ample time for +reflection.”</p> + +<p>“You fiends!” I cried, struggling desperately to free myself. In doing +so I moved my head slightly, when the snake again darted at me like a +flash, only falling short about an inch from my cheek.</p> + +<p>The reptile fell back, recoiled itself, and with head erect, its +cruel, beady eyes watching me intently, sat up ready to strike again.</p> + +<p>The blood froze in my veins. I was horrified, held there only one +single inch from death.</p> + +<p>“We wish you a very good night,” laughed Forbes, as both he and his +companion walked towards the door. “You will have made a closer +acquaintance with the snake ere we cash your cheque in the morning.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Reckitt, turning upon me with a grin. “And Sylvia too will +share the same fate as yourself, for daring to warn you against us!”</p> + +<p>“No!” I cried; “spare her, spare her!” I implored.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>But the men had already passed out of the room, locking the door +securely after them.</p> + +<p>I lay back silent, motionless, listening, not daring to move a muscle +because of that hideous reptile closely guarding me.</p> + +<p>I suppose ten minutes must have passed—ten of the most awful minutes +of terror and disgust I have ever experienced in all my life—then a +sound broke the dead stillness of the night.</p> + +<p>I heard a woman’s loud, piercing scream—a scream of sudden horror.</p> + +<p>Sylvia’s voice! It seemed to emanate from the room beyond!</p> + +<p>Again it was repeated. I heard her shriek distinctly—</p> + +<p>“Ah! No, spare me! Not that—<i>not that</i>!”</p> + +<p>Only a wall divided us, yet I was powerless, held there face to face +with a terrible and revolting death, unable to save her, unable to +raise my hand in self-defence.</p> + +<p>She shrieked again, in an agony of terror.</p> + +<p>I lay there breathless, petrified by horror.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_SEVEN" id="CHAPTER_SEVEN"></a>CHAPTER SEVEN</h2> + +<h3>THE FLAME OF THE CANDLE</h3> + +<p>I shuddered at the horrible fate to which those scoundrels had +abandoned me.</p> + +<p>Again the cruel flat head of the snake darted forth viciously to +within a single inch of my left cheek. I tried to draw back, but to +move was impossible, held as I was by that leathern collar, made +expressly for securing the head immovable.</p> + +<p>My eyes were fixed upon the steady candle-flame. It was burning lower +and lower each moment. I watched it in fascination. Each second I grew +nearer that terrible, revolting end.</p> + +<p>What had happened to Sylvia? I strained my ears to catch any further +sound. But there was none. The house was now silent as the grave.</p> + +<p>That pair of scoundrels had stolen my cheque, and in the morning, +after my death, would cash it and escape with the proceeds!</p> + +<p>I glanced around that weird room. How many previous victims had sat in +that fatal chair and awaited death as I was waiting, I wondered? The +whole plot betrayed a devilish ingenuity and cunning. Its very +character showed that the conspirators were no ordinary +criminals—they were past-masters in crime.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>The incidents of the night in London are too often incredible. A man +can meet with adventures in the metropolis as strange, as exciting and +as perilous as any in unknown lands. Here, surely, was one in point.</p> + +<p>I remember experiencing a strange dizziness, a curious nausea, due, +perhaps, to the fact that my head lay lower than my body. My thoughts +became muddled. I regretted deeply that I had not signed the cheque +and saved Sylvia. Yet were they not absolute blackguards? Would they +have kept faith with me?</p> + +<p>I was breathless in apprehension. What had happened to Sylvia?</p> + +<p>By slow, imperceptible degrees the candle burned lower. The flame was +long and steady. Nearer and nearer it approached that thin green cord +which alone separated me from death.</p> + +<p>Again the serpent hissed and darted forth, angry at being so near its +prey, and yet prevented from striking—angry that its tail was knotted +to the cord.</p> + +<p>I saw it writhing and twisting upon the table, and noted its peculiar +markings of black and yellow. Its eyes were bright and searching. I +had read of the fascination which a snake’s gaze exercises over its +prey, and now I experienced it—a fatal fascination. I could not keep +my eyes off the deadly reptile. It watched me intently, as though it +knew full well that ere long it must be victorious.</p> + +<p>Victorious! What did that mean? A sharp, stinging pain, and then an +agonizing, painful death, my <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>head swollen hideously to twice its +size, my body held there in that mechanical vice, suffering all the +tortures of the damned!</p> + +<p>The mere contemplation of that awful fate held me transfixed by +horror.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I heard Sylvia’s shriek repeated. I shouted, but no words +came back to me in return. Was she suffering the same fearful agony of +mind as myself? Had those brutes carried out their threat? They knew +she had betrayed them, it seemed, and they had, therefore, taken their +bitter and cowardly revenge.</p> + +<p>Where was Pennington, that he did not rescue her?</p> + +<p>I cursed myself for being such an idiot. Yet I had no idea that such a +cunningly-devised trap could be prepared. I had never dreamed, when I +went forth to pull Jack out of a hole, that I was deliberately placing +my head in such a noose.</p> + +<p>What did it all mean? Why had these men formed this plot against me? +What had I done to merit such deadly vengeance as this?—a torture of +the Middle Ages!</p> + +<p>Vainly I tried to think. As far as I knew, I had never met either +Forbes or Reckitt before in all my life. They were complete strangers +to me. I remembered there had been something about the man-servant who +admitted me that seemed familiar, but what it was, I could not decide. +Perhaps I had seen him before somewhere in the course of my +wanderings, but where, I knew not.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><p>I recollected that soon after I had entered there I had heard the +sound of a motor-car receding. My waiting taxi had evidently been +paid, and dismissed.</p> + +<p>How would they dispose of my body, I lay wondering? There were many +ways of doing so, I reflected. They might burn it, or bury it, or pack +it in a trunk and consign it to some distant address. When one +remembers how many persons are every year reported to the London +police as missing, one can only believe that the difficulties in +getting rid of the corpse of a victim are not so great as is popularly +imagined.</p> + +<p>Speak with any detective officer of the Metropolitan Police, and, if +he is frank, he will tell you that a good many people meet with foul +play each year in every quarter of London—they disappear and are +never again heard of. Sometimes their disappearance is reported in the +newspapers—a brief paragraph—but in the case of people of the middle +class only their immediate relatives know that they are missing.</p> + +<p>Many a London house with deep basement and a flight of steps leading +to its front door could, if its walls had lips, tell a tragic and +terrible story.</p> + +<p>For one assassination discovered, ten remain unknown or merely vaguely +suspected.</p> + +<p>How many thousands of pounds had these men, Forbes and Reckitt, +secured, I wondered? And how many poor helpless victims had felt the +serpent’s fang and breathed their last in that fatal chair I now +occupied?</p> + +<p>A dog howled dismally somewhere at the back. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>The men had told me that +no sound could be heard beyond those walls, yet had I not heard +Sylvia’s shrieks? If I had heard them, then she could also hear me!</p> + +<p>I shouted her name—shouted as loud as I could. But my voice in that +small room somehow seemed dulled and drowned.</p> + +<p>“Sylvia,” I shouted, “I am here! I—Owen Biddulph! Where are you?”</p> + +<p>But there was no response. That horrible snake rose erect, looking at +me with its never-wavering gaze. I saw the pointed tongue darting from +its mouth. There—before me—soon to be released, was Death in reptile +form—Death the most revolting and most terrible.</p> + +<p>That silence appalled me. Sylvia had not replied! Was she already +dead—stricken down by the fatal fang?</p> + +<p>I called again: “Sylvia! Sylvia!”</p> + +<p>But there came no answer. I set my teeth, and struggled to free myself +until the veins in my forehead were knotted and my bonds cut into the +flesh. But, alas! I was held as in the tentacles of an octopus. Every +limb was gripped, so that already a numbness had overspread them, +while my senses were frozen with horror.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the lamp failed and died out, and the room was plunged in +darkness, save for the zone of light shed by the unflickering flame of +the candle. And there lay the weird and horrible reptile coiled, +awaiting its release.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p><p>It seemed to watch the lessening candle, just as I myself watched it.</p> + +<p>That sudden failure of the light caused me anxious reflections.</p> + +<p>A moment later I heard the front door bang. That decided me. It was as +I had feared. The pair of scoundrels had departed and left me to my +fate.</p> + +<p>The small marble clock upon the mantelshelf opposite struck three. I +counted the strokes. I had been in that room nearly an hour and a +half.</p> + +<p>How did they know of Jack Marlowe and his penchant for cards? Surely +the trap had been well baited, and devised with marvellous cunning. +That cheque of mine would be cashed at my bank in the morning without +question. I should be dead—and they would be free.</p> + +<p>For myself, I did not care so very much. My chief thought was of +Sylvia, and of the awful fate which had overtaken her because she had +dared to warn me—that fate of which she had spoken so strangely on +the night when we had talked on the hotel terrace at Gardone.</p> + +<p>That moonlit scene—the whole of it—passed through my fevered, +unbalanced brain. I lived those moments of ecstasy over again. I felt +her soft hand in mine. I looked again into those wonderful, fathomless +eyes; I heard that sweet, musical voice; I listened to those solemn +words of warning. I believed myself to be once more beside the +mysterious girl who had come into my life so strangely—who had held +me in fascination for life or death.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><p>The candle-flame, still straight and unflickering, seemed like a +pillar of fire, while beyond, lay a cavernous blackness. I thought I +heard a slight noise, as though my enemies were lurking there in the +shadow. Yet it was a mere chimera of my overwrought brain.</p> + +<p>I recollected the strange bracelet of Sylvia’s—the serpent with its +tail in its mouth—the ancient symbol of Eternity. And I soon would be +launched into Eternity by the poisonous fang of that flat-headed +little reptile.</p> + +<p>Thoughts of Sylvia—that strange, sweet-faced girl of my +dreams—filled my senses. Those shrieks resounded in my ears. She had +cried for help, and yet I was powerless to rescue her from the hands +of that pair of hell-fiends.</p> + +<p>I struggled, and succeeded in moving slightly.</p> + +<p>But the snake, maddened by its bond, struck again at me viciously, his +darting tongue almost touching my shrinking flesh.</p> + +<p>A blood-red mist rose suddenly before my eyes. My head swam. My +overwrought brain, paralyzed by horror, became unbalanced. I felt a +tightness in the throat. In my ears once again I heard the hiss of the +loathsome reptile, a venomous, threatening hiss, as its dark shadow +darted before me, struggling to strike my cheek.</p> + +<p>Through the red mist I saw that the candle burned so low that the edge +of the wax was on a level with the green silk cord, that slender +thread which withheld Death from me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>I looked again. A groan of agony escaped me.</p> + +<p>Again the angry hiss of the serpent sounded. Again its dark form shot +between my eyes and the unflickering flame of the candle.</p> + +<p>That flame was slowly but surely consuming the cord!</p> + +<p>I shrieked for help in my abject despair.</p> + +<p>The mist grew more red, more impenetrable. A lump arose in my throat, +preventing me from breathing.</p> + +<p>And then I lapsed into the blackness of unconsciousness.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_EIGHT" id="CHAPTER_EIGHT"></a>CHAPTER EIGHT</h2> + +<h3>PRESENTS ANOTHER PROBLEM</h3> + +<p>When, by slow degrees, I became aware of things about me, I found +myself in total darkness, save that, straight before my eyes, some few +feet away, showed a thin, narrow line of light.</p> + +<p>Next second, a flood of the most horrible recollections surged through +my brain. I dare not move a muscle, fearing that the reptile was +lurking near my face. My senses seemed dulled and dazed, yet my +recollections were quite clear. Every detail of those moments of awful +terror stood out clear and fearsome in my mind.</p> + +<p>Slowly, so slow, indeed, as to be imperceptible, I managed to turn my +head aside, and glance at the small table. But it was in darkness. I +could distinguish nothing. To my surprise, I discovered, however, that +though I still remained in that position, my legs higher than my head, +yet the arms of the chair had unclasped, and my bonds had been freed!</p> + +<p>What had happened?</p> + +<p>In fear of bringing the watchful reptile upon me, I moved slightly. +But there was no movement from that table in the darkness.</p> + +<p>I waited, dreading lest I should be suddenly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>attacked. Then, +summoning courage, I suddenly sprang out of the chair on the side +opposite the table, and dashed across to where showed that narrow +streak of light.</p> + +<p>I saw that it came through the lower crevice of the heavy wooden +shutters. With frantic haste my hands slid over them. I found an iron +bar, and, this unlatched, I threw them back, and let in the broad +light of day.</p> + +<p>For a moment my eyes were dazzled by the sunlight.</p> + +<p>Then, on looking behind me, I saw that upon the table the candle had +burned itself to its socket, while on the floor, near by, lay the +small black reptile stretched out motionless.</p> + +<p>I feared at first to approach it. To its tail the cord was still +attached, but it had been severed. I crept towards it, and, bending +down, realized with great relief that it was dead.</p> + +<p>The leathern collar which had secured my head had been loosened and +the mechanism of the chair reversed, allowing me my freedom. I looked +around the room in wonder. There stood the littered card-table and the +empty glasses of the previous night, while the air was still heavy +with the odour of stale cigars.</p> + +<p>Making quite certain that the reptile was dead, I turned my attention +to the chair, and noted how cleverly the devilish mechanism had been +hidden. It could, as I had suspected, be worked from without. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>The +victim, once seated there, had no chance whatever of escape.</p> + +<p>In the light of day, the room—that fatal apartment wherein more than +one innocent man had, no doubt, met with a horrible end—looked very +shabby and dingy. The furniture was cheap and tawdry, and the carpet +very dirty.</p> + +<p>There, upon the card-table, stood the ink, while the pen used by +Reckitt lay upon the floor. My wallet lay open near by. I took it up +quickly to glance through its contents. As far as I could discover, +nothing had been taken except the cheque I had written out, believing +I was to assist Jack Marlowe.</p> + +<p>Eagerly I glanced at my watch, and found it was already a quarter past +ten.</p> + +<p>The scoundrels had, no doubt, already been to the bank, cashed my +cheque, and were by this time clear away!</p> + +<p>Remembering Sylvia, I drew my revolver, which still remained in my +hip-pocket, and, finding the door unlocked, went forth to search for +her. The fact that the door was now unlocked showed that some one had +entered there during my unconsciousness, and released me. From the +appearance of the snake, it seemed to have been killed by a sharp blow +across its back.</p> + +<p>Some one had rescued me just in the nick of time.</p> + +<p>I entered the front room on the same floor, the room whence those +woman’s screams had emanated. It was a big bare drawing-room, +furnished in the ugly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>Early Victorian style, musty-smelling and +moth-eaten. The dirty holland blinds fitted badly and had holes in +them; therefore sufficient light was admitted to afford me a good view +of the large apartment.</p> + +<p>There was nothing unusual there, save upon a small work-table lay some +embroidery work, where apparently it had been put down. An open novel +lay near, while close by was a big bowl filled with yellow roses. Yet +the apartment seemed to have been long closed and neglected, while the +atmosphere had a musty odour which was not dispelled by the sweet +perfume of the flowers.</p> + +<p>Had Sylvia been in this room when she had shrieked?</p> + +<p>I saw something upon the floor, and picked it up. It proved to be a +narrow band of turquoise-blue velvet, the ornament from a woman’s +hair. Did it belong to her?</p> + +<p>In vain I looked around for a candle—for evidences of the same +mediæval torture to which I had been submitted, but there were none.</p> + +<p>In fear and trepidation I entered yet another room on the same floor, +but it was dusty and neglected—a kind of sitting-room, or perhaps +boudoir, for there was an old-fashioned high-backed piano in it. Yet +there was no sign that anybody had entered there for weeks—perhaps +for months. In the sunlight, I saw that there were cobwebs everywhere. +Surely it was a very strange house. It struck me that its owner had +perhaps died years ago, and since then it had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>remained untenanted. +Everywhere the style of furniture was that of sixty years ago, and +thick dust was covering all.</p> + +<p>On entering the previous night I had not noticed this, but now, in the +broad light of day, the place looked very different. I saw, to my +surprise, that the windows had not been cleaned for years, and that +cobwebs hung everywhere.</p> + +<p>Revolver in hand, I searched the place to the basement, but there was +no evidence of occupation. The doors of the kitchens had not, +apparently, been opened for years!</p> + +<p>Upstairs, the bedrooms were old-fashioned, with heavy hangings, grey +with dust, and half hidden by festoons of cobwebs. In not a single +room was a bed that had been slept in. Indeed, I question if any one +had ascended to the second floor for several years!</p> + +<p>As I stood in one of the rooms, gazing round in wonder, and half +suffocated by the dust my footsteps had disturbed, it suddenly +occurred to me that the pair of assassins, believing that I had died, +would, no doubt, return and dispose of my body. To me it seemed +certain that this was not the first occasion that they had played the +dastardly and brutal game. Yes, I felt positive they would return.</p> + +<p>I searched the place to find a telephone, but there was none. The +bogus message sent to me had been sent from elsewhere.</p> + +<p>The only trace of Sylvia I could find was that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>piece of velvet +ribbon, the embroidery which had so hastily been flung down, and the +bowl of fresh roses.</p> + +<p>Why had she been there? The book and the embroidery showed that she +had waited. For what? That bowl of roses had been placed there to make +the room look fresh, for some attempt had been made to clean the +apartment, just as it had been made in the room wherein I had suffered +such torture.</p> + +<p>Why had Sylvia uttered those screams of horror? I recollected those +words of hers. I recognized her voice. I would, indeed, have +recognized it among the voices of a thousand women.</p> + +<p>I returned to the drawing-room, and gazed around it in wonder. If, as +it seemed, Reckitt and Forbes had taken unlawful possession of an +untenanted house, then it was probable they would not return to get +rid of my remains. The whole affair was incomprehensible. It seemed +evident that Sylvia had not fallen a victim to the vengeance of the +pair, as I had feared, but that perhaps I had owed my life to her.</p> + +<p>Could it be that she had learned of my peril, released me, killed the +venomous reptile, and escaped?</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as my eyes wandered about the dingy old room, I caught sight +of something shining. A golden bangle of curious Indian design was +lying upon the mantelshelf. I took it up, and in a moment <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>recognized +it as one I had seen upon her wrist one evening while she sat at +dinner at Gardone.</p> + +<p>I replaced it, stood for a moment deep in thought, and then, with +sudden resolve, returned to the chamber of horror, obtained my hat, +and, descending the stairs, went forth into Porchester Terrace.</p> + +<p>I had to walk as far as Bayswater Road before I could find a taxi. The +sun was now shining brightly, and there were many people about in the +streets. Finding a cab at last, I told the man to drive with all speed +to my bank in Oxford Street.</p> + +<p>It was just eleven when I went up to the counter to one of the paying +cashiers I knew, and asked him breathlessly if a cheque of mine had +been paid to a person named Reckitt. He saw by my manner that I was in +hot haste.</p> + +<p>“I’ve cashed it not a moment ago, Mr. Biddulph,” was his reply. “Why, +you must have passed the man as you came in! He’s only this moment +gone out.”</p> + +<p>Without a word I dashed back to the swing-doors, and there, sure +enough, only a few yards away, I caught sight of Forbes, in a smart +grey flannel suit, entering a taxi. I shouted, but the taxi man did +not hear me. He was facing westward, and ere I could attract his +attention he was slowly moving in the direction of the Marble Arch.</p> + +<p>The quick eyes of Forbes had, however, detected me, and, leaning out, +he said something to his driver. Quickly I re-entered my cab, and told +my man to turn and follow, pointing out the taxi in front. Mine <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>was +open, while that in which the assassin sat was closed.</p> + +<p>In his pocket the scoundrel carried over a thousand pounds of my +money.</p> + +<p>My first impulse was to stop and inform a police-constable, but if I +did so I saw that he must escape. I shouted to my driver to try and +see the number of the cab, but there was a lot of traffic, and he was +unable to see it clearly.</p> + +<p>I suppose I must have cut a sorry figure, dishevelled as I was by my +night’s weird experience, and covered with the dust of that untenanted +house. What the bank-clerk must have thought, I know not.</p> + +<p>It was an exciting chase. For a moment we were held up by the police +at Regent Circus, for there was much traffic, but only for a brief +space; then we tore after the receding cab at a pace which made many +passers-by stare. The cab in which Forbes was, being closed, the +driver did not see us, but I knew that the assassin was watching us +from the tiny window in the back, and was giving his driver +instructions through the front window.</p> + +<p>My man had entered fully into the spirit of the chase.</p> + +<p>“That fellow in yonder taxi has just stolen a thousand pounds!” I told +him.</p> + +<p>“All right, sir,” replied my driver, as he bent over his wheel; “we +shall catch him presently, never fear. I’m keeping my eye upon him all +right.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p><p>There were many taxis coming into the line of traffic from Bond Street +and from the other main thoroughfares crossing Oxford Street—red +taxis, just like the one in which Forbes was escaping. Yet we both +kept our eyes fixed upon that particular one, the driver of which +presently bent sideways, and shot back a glance at us.</p> + +<p>Then he put on speed, and with marvellous dexterity threaded in and +out of the motor-buses and carts in front of him. I was compelled to +admire his driving. I could only suppose that Forbes had offered him +something handsome if he got safely away.</p> + +<p>At the Marble Arch he suddenly turned down Park Lane, where the +traffic was less, and there gaining upon us, he turned into one of the +smaller streets, through Upper Grosvenor Street, winding in and out +the intricate thoroughfares which lay between Grosvenor Square and +Regent Street. Across Hanover Square and along Hanover Street we sped, +until, passing out on to the opposite side of Regent Street, the +driver, evidently believing that he had outwitted us, slowed down, and +then pulled up suddenly before a shop.</p> + +<p>Ere the fugitive could escape, indeed ere the door could be opened, we +had pulled up a few yards away, and I dashed out and up to the door of +the cab, my revolver gripped in my hand.</p> + +<p>My driver had descended also, and gained the other side of the cab +almost as soon as I had.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p><p>I opened the door, and met the fugitive boldly face to face.</p> + +<p>Next second I fell back as though I had received a blow. I stood +aghast.</p> + +<p>I could utter no word. The mystery had, I realized in that second, +been increased a hundredfold.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_NINE" id="CHAPTER_NINE"></a>CHAPTER NINE</h2> + +<h3>FACE TO FACE</h3> + +<p>On opening the door of the taxi I stood amazed to find that the +occupant was not a man—but a woman.</p> + +<p>It was Sylvia!</p> + +<p>She started at sight of me. Her countenance blanched to the lips as +she drew back and sat erect, a cry of dismay escaping her lips.</p> + +<p>“You!” I gasped, utterly dumbfounded.</p> + +<p>“Why—Mr. Biddulph!” she cried, recovering herself in a moment and +stretching forth her small gloved hand; “fancy meeting you like this!”</p> + +<p>What words I uttered I scarcely knew. This sudden transformation of +the scoundrel Forbes into Sylvia Pennington held me bewildered. All I +could imagine was that Sylvia must have been awaiting the man in +another cab close to the bank, and that, in the course of our chase, +we had confused the two taxis. Forbes had succeeded in turning away +into some side street, while we had followed the cab of his companion.</p> + +<p>She had actually awaited him in another cab while he had entered the +bank and cashed the stolen cheque!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>My taxi-driver, when he saw that a lady, and not a man, occupied the +fugitive cab, drew back, returning to his seat.</p> + +<p>“Do you know!” exclaimed the girl, with wonderful calmness, “only +yesterday I was thinking of you, and wondering whether you were in +London!”</p> + +<p>“And only yesterday, too, Miss Pennington, I also was thinking of +you,” I said meaningly.</p> + +<p>She was dressed very quietly in dead black, which increased the +fairness of her skin and hair, wearing a big black hat and black +gloves. She was inexpressibly smart, from the thin gauzy veil to the +tips of her tiny patent-leather shoes, with a neat waist and a figure +that any woman might envy. Indeed, in her London attire she seemed +even smarter than she had appeared on the terrace beside the blue +Italian lake.</p> + +<p>“Where is your father?” I managed to ask.</p> + +<p>“Oh!—well, he’s away just now. He was with me in London only the +other day,” she replied. “But, as you know, he’s always travelling.” +Then she added: “I’m going into this shop a moment. Will you wait for +me? I’m so pleased to see you again, and looking so well. It seems +really ages since we were at Gardone, doesn’t it?” and she smiled that +old sweet smile I so well remembered.</p> + +<p>“I’ll wait, of course,” I replied, and, assisting her out, I watched +her pass into the big drapery establishment. Then I idled outside amid +the crowd of women who were dawdling before the attractive windows, as +is the feminine habit.</p> + +<p>If it had been she who had rescued me from death <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>and had released me, +what a perfect actress she was. Her confusion had only lasted for a +few seconds. Then she had welcomed me, and expressed pleasure at our +re-encounter.</p> + +<p>I recollected the bow of ribbon-velvet which reposed in my pocket, and +the Indian bangle I had found. I remembered, too, those agonized, +terrified cries in the night—and all the mysteries of that weird and +silent house!</p> + +<p>When she came forth I would question her; I would obtain from her the +truth anent those remarkable happenings.</p> + +<p>Was it of that most ingenious and dastardly plot she had warned me? +Was her own conviction that she must suffer the penalty of death based +upon the knowledge of the deadly instrument, that venomous reptile +used by the assassins?</p> + +<p>Could it be that Pennington himself—her own father—was implicated in +this shameful method of obtaining money and closing the lips of the +victims?</p> + +<p>As I stood there amid the morning bustle of Regent Street out in the +broad sunshine, all the ghastly horrors of the previous night crowded +thickly upon me. Why had she shrieked: “Ah! not that—<i>not that</i>!” Had +she, while held prisoner in that old-fashioned drawing-room, been told +of the awful fate to which I had been consigned?</p> + +<p>I remembered how I had called to her, but received no response. And +yet she must have been in the adjoining room.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, like myself, she had fainted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>I recalled her voice distinctly. I certainly had made no mistake. She +had been actually present in that house of black torture. Therefore, +being my friend, there seemed no doubt that, to her, I owed my +mysterious salvation. But how? Aye, that was the question.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as I stood there on the crowded pavement, I became conscious +that I was attracting attention. I recollected my dusty clothes and +dirty, dishevelled face. I must have presented a strange, dissipated, +out-all-night appearance. And further, I had lost a thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>Up and down before the long range of shop-windows I walked, patiently +awaiting her reappearance. I was anxious to know the truth concerning +the previous night’s happenings—a truth which I intended she should +not conceal from me.</p> + +<p>I glanced at my watch. It was already past eleven o’clock. Morning +shopping in Regent Street had now commenced in real earnest. The +thoroughfare was lined with carriages, for was it not the height of +the London season?</p> + +<p>In and out of the big drapery establishment passed crowds of +well-dressed women, most of them with pet dogs, and others with male +friends led like lambs to the slaughter. The spectacle of a man in +silk hat out shopping with a lady friend is always a pitiable one. His +very look craves the sympathy of the onlooker, especially if he be +laden with soft-paper parcels.</p> + +<p>My brain was awhirl. My only thought was of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>Sylvia and of her strange +connection with these undesirable persons who had so ingeniously +stolen my money, and who had baited such a fatal trap.</p> + +<p>Anxious as I was to get to a telephone and ring up Jack, yet I could +not leave my post—I had promised to await her.</p> + +<p>Nearly an hour went by; I entered the shop and searched its labyrinth +of “departments.” But I could not distinguish her anywhere. Upstairs +and downstairs I went, inquiring here and there, but nobody seemed to +have seen the fair young lady in black; the great emporium seemed to +have swallowed her up.</p> + +<p>It was now noon. Even though she might have been through a +dress-fitting ordeal, an hour was certainly ample time. Therefore I +began to fear that she had missed me. There were several other exits +higher up the street, and also one which I discovered in a side +street.</p> + +<p>I returned to her taxi, for I had already paid off my man. The driver +had not seen his “fare.”</p> + +<p>“I was hailed by the lady close to Chapel Street,” he said, “and I +drove ’er to Oxford Street, not far from Tottenham Court Road. We +stood at the kerb for about ten minutes. Then she ordered me to drive +with all speed over ’ere.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see her speak with any gentleman?”</p> + +<p>“She was with a dark, youngish gentleman when they hailed me. She got +in and left ’im in Chapel Street. I heard ’im say as we went off that +he’d see ’er again soon.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p><p>“That’s all you know of her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. I’ve never seen ’er before,” replied the driver. Then he +added with a smile, “Your man’s been tellin’ me as how you thought I +had a bank-thief in my cab!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but I was mistaken,” I said. “I must have made a mistake in the +cab.”</p> + +<p>“That’s very easy, sir. We’re so much alike—us red ’uns.”</p> + +<p>Sylvia’s non-appearance much puzzled me. What could it mean? For +another half-hour—an anxious, impatient, breathless half-hour—I +waited, but she did not return.</p> + +<p>Had she, too, cleverly escaped by entering the shop, and passing out +by another entrance?</p> + +<p>Another careful tour of the establishment revealed the fact that she +certainly was not there.</p> + +<p>And so, after a wait of nearly two hours, I was compelled to accept +the hard and very remarkable fact that she had purposely evaded me, +and escaped!</p> + +<p>Then she was in league with the men who had stolen my thousand pounds! +And yet had not that selfsame man declared that she, having betrayed +him, was to meet the same terrible fate as that prepared for me?</p> + +<p>For a final five minutes I waited; then annoyed, disappointed and +dismayed, entered the taxi, and drove to Wilton Street.</p> + +<p>On entering with my latch-key, Browning came forward with a puzzled +expression, surprised, no doubt, at my dishevelled appearance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>“I’ve been very anxious about you, Mr. Owen,” exclaimed the old man. I +was always Mr. Owen to him, just as I had been when a lad. “When I +went to your room this morning I found your bed empty. I wondered +where you had gone.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve had a strange adventure, Browning,” I laughed, rather forcedly I +fear. “Has Mr. Marlowe rung me up?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. But somebody else rang up about an hour ago, and asked +whether you were in.”</p> + +<p>“Who was it?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t quite catch the name, sir. It sounded like +Shuffle—something.”</p> + +<p>“Shuttleworth!” I cried. “Did he leave any message?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. He merely asked if you were in—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>As Sylvia was in London, perhaps Shuttleworth was in town also, I +reflected. Yet she had cleverly made her escape—in order to avoid +being questioned. Her secret was a guilty one!</p> + +<p>I called up Jack, who answered cheerily as usual.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t ring me up about one o’clock this morning, did you?” I +inquired.</p> + +<p>“No. Why?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh—well, nothing,” I said. “I thought perhaps it might have been +you—that’s all. What time shall you be in at White’s?”</p> + +<p>“About four. Will you be there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p><p>“Right-ho! Good-bye, old man,” and he rang off.</p> + +<p>I ascended to my room, changed my clothes, and made myself +respectable. But during the time I was dressing I reflected whether I +should go to Scotland Yard and relate my strange experience. Such +clever fiends as Reckitt and Forbes deserved punishment. What fearful +crimes had been committed in that weird, neglected house I dreaded to +think. My only hesitation, however, was caused by the thought that +perhaps Sylvia might be implicated. I felt somehow impelled to try and +solve the problem for myself. I had lost a thousand pounds. Yet had I +not fallen into that trap in utter disregard of Sylvia’s warning?</p> + +<p>Therefore, I resolved to keep my own counsel for the present, and to +make a few inquiries in order to satisfy my curiosity. So, putting on +a different suit, a different collar, and a soft felt hat which I +never wore, in a perhaps feeble attempt to transform myself from my +usual appearance, I went forth again.</p> + +<p>My first visit was to the bank, where I saw the manager and explained +that the cheque had been stolen from my pocket, though I did not +expose the real facts. Then, after he had condoled with me upon my +loss, and offered to send the description of the thief to the police +at once, I re-entered the taxi, and drove back to Porchester Terrace, +alighting a short distance from Althorp House.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TEN" id="CHAPTER_TEN"></a>CHAPTER TEN</h2> + +<h3>CONTAINS A FURTHER SURPRISE</h3> + +<p>It was nearly one o’clock, and the sun was high, as I walked beneath +the dingy brick walls which separate each short garden from the +pavement. In some gardens were stunted trees, blackened by the London +smoke, while the houses were mostly large and comfortable, for it is +still considered a “genteel,” if somewhat decayed neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>Before that house of horror I paused for a moment. The dingy blinds of +yellow holland were drawn at each of the soot-grimed windows, +blackened by age and dirt. The garden was weedy and neglected, for the +grass grew high on the patch of lawn, and the dead leaves of the +tulips and daffodils of spring had not been removed.</p> + +<p>The whole place presented a sadly neglected, sorry appearance—a state +of uncared-for disorder which, in the darkness of night, I had, of +course, not noticed.</p> + +<p>As I looked within the garden I saw lying behind the wall an old +weather-beaten notice-board which bore the words “To be let, +Furnished,” and giving the name of a well-known firm of estate agents +in Pall Mall.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p><p>The house next door was smart and well kept, therefore I resolved to +make inquiry there.</p> + +<p>Of the tall, thin, old man-servant who answered my ring, I inquired +the name of the occupant of Althorp House.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” he replied, “there hasn’t been an occupant since I’ve +been in service here, and that’s ten years last March. An old lady +lived there, I’ve heard—a rather eccentric old lady. They’ve tried to +let it furnished, but nobody has taken it. It is said that the old +lady left instructions in her will that the furniture was to be left +just as it was for twenty years after her death. I expect the place +must be fine and dirty! An old woman goes there once every six weeks +or so, I believe, just to open the doors and let in a little air. But +it’s never cleaned.”</p> + +<p>“And nobody has been over it with a view to renting it?”</p> + +<p>“Not to my knowledge, sir.”</p> + +<p>“There’s never been anybody going in or out—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ve never seen them, sir,” was the man’s reply.</p> + +<p>“But there have been people coming and going, have there not?”</p> + +<p>The man hesitated for a moment, apparently slightly puzzled at my +question.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, to tell the truth, there’s been a very funny story about +lately. It is said that some of the old woman’s relatives have +returned, and they’ve <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>been seen going in and out—but always in the +middle of the night.”</p> + +<p>“What sort of people?” I asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“Oh! two men and a woman—so they say. But of course I’ve never seen +anybody. I’ve asked the constables on night duty, and they’ve never +seen any one, or they would, no doubt, have reported it.”</p> + +<p>“Then who has seen them?”</p> + +<p>“I really don’t know. I heard the gossip over in the Royal Oak. How it +originated, or whether it had any foundation in fact, I can’t find +out.”</p> + +<p>“I see the board has fallen down.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s been down for a couple of months or more—blown down by +the wind, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t heard cabs stopping outside at night, for instance?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I sleep at the back, and should therefore not hear.”</p> + +<p>I could see that he was a little uncertain as to the reason of my +inquiries, therefore I made an excuse that having been struck by the +appearance of the house so long neglected my curiosity had been +aroused.</p> + +<p>“You’ve never heard of cabs stopping there at night?” I asked, a few +moments later.</p> + +<p>“Well, this morning the cook, who sleeps upstairs in front, funnily +enough, told me a curious story of how in the night a taxi stopped and +a gentleman got out and entered the house. A few minutes later +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>another man came forth from the house, paid the taxi-driver, and he +moved off. But,” laughed the man-servant, “I fancy cook had been +dreaming. I’m going to ask the constable when he comes on duty +to-night if he saw any strangers here.”</p> + +<p>I smiled. The man whom the cook saw had evidently been myself.</p> + +<p>Then, after a further chat, I pressed half-a-crown into his ready palm +and left.</p> + +<p>My next visit was to the estate agents in Pall Mall, where, presenting +myself as a possible tenant, the clerk at whose table I had taken a +seat said—</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, Althorp House is in such a bad, neglected state that we do +not now-a-days send clients to view it. Old Mrs. Carpenter died some +thirteen years ago, and according to her will the place had to be left +undisturbed, and let furnished. The solicitors placed it in our hands, +but the property until the twenty years have elapsed, is quite +untenantable. The whole place has now gone to rack and ruin. We have a +number of other furnished houses which I will be most delighted to +give you orders to view.”</p> + +<p>In pretence that I wanted a house I allowed him to select three for +me, and while doing so learnt some further particulars regarding the +dark house in Porchester Terrace. As far as he knew, the story of Mrs. +Carpenter’s relatives taking secret possession was a myth.</p> + +<p>The caretaker had been withdrawn two years ago, and the place simply +locked up and left. If burglars <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>broke in, there was nothing of value +for them to take, he added.</p> + +<p>Thus the result of my inquiries went to confirm my suspicion that the +ingenious pair of malefactors had taken possession of the place +temporarily, in order to pursue their nefarious plans.</p> + +<p>There was a garden at the rear. Might it not also be the grave wherein +the bodies of their innocent victims were interred?</p> + +<p>That afternoon, at four, I met Jack Marlowe in White’s, and as we sat +in our big arm-chairs gazing through the windows out into the sunshine +of St. James’s Street, I asked him whether he would be prepared to +accompany me upon an adventurous visit to a house in Bayswater.</p> + +<p>The long-legged, clean-shaven, clean-limbed fellow with the fairish +hair and merry grey eyes looked askance for a moment, and then +inquired—</p> + +<p>“What’s up, old man? What’s the game?” He was always eager for an +adventure, I knew.</p> + +<p>“Well, the fact is I want to look around a house in Porchester +Terrace, that’s all. I want to search the garden when nobody’s about.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“In order to satisfy myself about something.”</p> + +<p>“Become an amateur detective—eh, Owen?”</p> + +<p>“Well, my curiosity has certainly been aroused, and I intend to go to +the house late to-night and look round the garden. Will you come?”</p> + +<p>He was one of the best of good fellows, overflowing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>with good humour +and good nature. His face seemed to wear a perpetual smile of +contentment.</p> + +<p>“Of course. But tell me more,” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I will—afterwards,” I said. “Let’s dine together somewhere, and turn +in at the Empire afterwards. We don’t want to get to Bayswater before +midnight, as we mustn’t be seen. Don’t dress. I’ll bring an electric +torch.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got one. I’ll bring mine also,” he replied, at once entering +into the spirit of the adventure. “Only you might tell me what’s in +the wind, Owen,” he added.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you afterwards, old chap,” I promised.</p> + +<p>And then we separated, agreeing to meet at eight at a well-known +restaurant which we often patronized.</p> + +<p>That night, when the curtain fell at the Empire, we both went forth +and strolled along to St. James’s Street to get a drink at the club. +The later we went forth on our nocturnal inquiry, the better.</p> + +<p>I recollected that look of terror and astonishment on Forbes’s +countenance when his gaze had met mine outside the bank—a look which +showed that he had believed me to be safely out of the way. He had +never dreamed I was still alive! Hence it seemed to me certain that +the pair of malefactors, having secured the money, would at once make +themselves scarce. How, I wondered, could they have known of Jack +Marlowe, unless they had watched us both in secret, as seemed most +likely.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p><p>That they would not return again to that house of horror in Bayswater +seemed certain.</p> + +<p>Towards one o’clock we took a taxi off the stand outside White’s and +drove to Porchester Terrace, alighting some distance from our +destination. We passed the constable strolling slowly in the opposite +direction, and when at last we gained the rusty iron gate we both +slipped inside, quietly and unobserved.</p> + +<p>The street lamp in the vicinity lit up the front of the dingy house, +therefore fearing observation from any of the servants next door, we +moved noiselessly in the shadow of the bushes along the side of the +premises, past a small conservatory, many panes of glass of which were +broken, and so into the darkness of the small back garden, which +seemed knee-deep in grass and weeds, and which, from its position, +hemmed in by blank walls, could not be overlooked save from the house +itself.</p> + +<p>All was silence. The scene was weird in the extreme. In the distance +could be heard the faint hum of the never-ceasing traffic of London. +Above, showed the dark windows of that grim old place wherein I had so +nearly lost my life.</p> + +<p>“I want to examine this garden thoroughly,” I whispered to Jack, and +then I switched on my torch and showed a light around. A tangle of +weeds and undergrowth was revealed—a tangle so great that to +penetrate it without the use of a bill-hook appeared impossible.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>Still we went forward, examining everywhere with our powerful electric +lights.</p> + +<p>“What will the people say?” laughed Jack. “They’ll take us for +burglars, old chap!”</p> + +<p>“The place is empty,” I replied. “Our only fear is of the police. To +them we would be compelled to make an explanation—and that’s just +what I don’t want to do.”</p> + +<p>For some time we carefully searched, conversing only in whispers. My +hands were scratched, and stung by nettles, and Jack had his coat +badly torn by thorns. The garden had been allowed to run wild for all +the years since old Mrs. Carpenter’s death, and the two ash trees had +spread until their thick branches overshadowed a large portion of the +ground.</p> + +<p>Beneath one of these trees I suddenly halted as an ejaculation escaped +me. Near the trunk, and in such a position that it would not be seen +even from the windows of the house, yawned a hole, and at its side a +mound of newly-dug earth.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” I cried. “This is what I’ve been in search of!” The discovery +revealed a ghastly truth. I shuddered at the sight of it.</p> + +<p>“What, that hole?” asked Jack, in a low voice as we approached and +peered into it. I judged it to be about three feet or so in depth. +“What a funny thing to search for!”</p> + +<p>“That hole, Jack, was intended for a man’s grave!” I whispered +hoarsely, “and the man intended was <i>myself</i>!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>“You!” he gasped. “What do you mean, Owen?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that that grave yonder was dug in order to conceal my dead +body,” was my low, meaning answer. “And I fear—fear very much—that +the remains of others who have met with foul play have been concealed +here!”</p> + +<p>“You mean that murder was actually intended!” he exclaimed in +astonishment. “When?”</p> + +<p>“Last night. I was entrapped here and narrowly escaped.”</p> + +<p>“How? Tell me all about it,” he urged.</p> + +<p>“Later on. Not here,” I said. “Let us see if there is any further +evidence of recent digging,” and together we examined the ground +beneath the second tree.</p> + +<p>Presently Jack in the course of searching about, came to a spot where +the ground seemed perceptibly softer. My stick sank in, while in other +parts the ground seemed hard. Beneath the trees the weeds and grass +grew thinly, and I presumed that the miscreants could work there under +the canopy of leaves without fear of observation.</p> + +<p>I bent down and carefully examined the surface, which, for about four +feet square, bore plain traces of having recently been moved.</p> + +<p>Something had evidently been interred there. Yet tiny fresh blades of +green were just springing up, as though grass-seed had been sprinkled +over in order to obliterate traces of the recent excavation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p><p>“What do you think of it?” I inquired of my companion.</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps somebody has really been buried here—eh?” he said. +“Don’t you think you ought to go and tell the police at once?”</p> + +<p>I was silent, in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“My own opinion is, Owen, that if a serious attempt has been made upon +you, and you really suspect that that hole yonder was prepared to +receive you, then it is your duty to tell the police. Others may fall +into the trap,” Jack added.</p> + +<p>“Not here,” I said. “The assassins will not return, never fear. They +know of their failure in my case, and by this time they are, in all +probability, out of the country.”</p> + +<p>“But surely we ought to examine this spot and ascertain whether the +remains of any one is concealed here!” exclaimed my old friend.</p> + +<p>Yet I still hesitated, hesitated because I feared that any exposure +must implicate that sweet little girl who, though my friend, had so +ingeniously escaped me.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, however, our ears both caught a slight movement +among the tangled shrubs under the wall at the extreme end of the +garden. Instantly we shut off our lamps, and stood motionless, +listening.</p> + +<p>At first I believed it to be only the scrambling of a cat. But next +second Jack nudged my arm, and straining my eyes I saw a dark figure +moving <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>stealthily along, half crouching so as to be less conspicuous, +but moving slowly towards that side of the house which was the only +exit.</p> + +<p>Fearing discovery there, our examination being so thorough, the +intruder was slowly creeping off, endeavouring to escape observation.</p> + +<p>For an instant I remained motionless, watching the dark, crouching +figure. Then, drawing my revolver, I made a dash straight in its +direction.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_ELEVEN" id="CHAPTER_ELEVEN"></a>CHAPTER ELEVEN</h2> + +<h3>WHAT THE POLICE KNEW</h3> + +<p>As I pushed my way through the tangle of weeds and undergrowth, Jack +followed closely at my heels.</p> + +<p>The dark figure leapt away in an instant, and dashed round the corner +by the ruined conservatory, but I was too quick for him. I caught him +up when he gained the front of the house, and there, in the light of +the street-lamp, my eyes fell upon a strange-looking object.</p> + +<p>He proved to be a ragged, hunchbacked youth, so deformed as to be +extremely ugly, both in face and figure. His hair, long and lank, hung +about his shoulders, while his dark eyes stood out in terror when I +ordered him to halt, and covered him with my shining weapon.</p> + +<p>His was the most weird figure that I had seen for many a day. I judged +him to be about eighteen or nineteen, though he looked older. His legs +were short, his head seemed far too big for his crooked body, while +his arms were long and ape-like, and his fingers thin, like talons.</p> + +<p>“Now then, what are you doing here?” I demanded in a firm, commanding +voice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p><p>But he only quivered, and crouched against the wall like a whipped +dog.</p> + +<p>“Speak!” I said. “Who are you?”</p> + +<p>He gave vent to a loud, harsh laugh, almost a screech, and then +grinned horribly in my face.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” I repeated. “Where do you live?”</p> + +<p>But though his mouth moved, as though he replied, no sound escaped +him.</p> + +<p>I spoke again, but he only laughed wildly, his thin fingers twitching.</p> + +<p>“Ho! ho! ho!” he ejaculated, pointing back to the neglected garden.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what he means!” exclaimed Jack.</p> + +<p>“Why, I believe he’s an idiot!” I remarked.</p> + +<p>“He has every appearance of one,” declared my companion, who then +addressed him, with the same negative result.</p> + +<p>Again the weird, repulsive youth pointed back to the garden, and, +laughing hideously, uttered some words in gibberish which were quite +unintelligible.</p> + +<p>“If we remain here chattering, the constable will find us,” I +remarked, so we all three went forth into the street, the ugly +hunchback walking at my side, quite tractable and quiet.</p> + +<p>Presently, unable to gather a single intelligible sentence from him, +Jack and I resolved to leave him, and afterwards follow him and +ascertain where he lived.</p> + +<p>Why had he pointed to the garden and laughed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>so hilariously? Had he +witnessed any of those nocturnal preparations—or interments?</p> + +<p>At last, at the corner of Bishop’s Road, we wished him farewell and +turned away. Then, at a respectable distance, we drew into a gateway +to watch. He remained standing where we had left him for some ten +minutes or so, until a constable slowly approached, and, halting, +began to chat to him.</p> + +<p>Apparently he was a well-known figure, for we could hear the policeman +speaking, and could distinguish the poor fellow laughing that queer, +harsh, discordant laugh—the laugh of the idiot.</p> + +<p>Presently the constable moved forward again, whereupon I said—</p> + +<p>“I’ll get on and have a chat with the policeman, Jack. You follow the +hunchback if he moves away.”</p> + +<p>“Right-ho,” replied my friend, while I sped off, crossing the road and +making a detour until I met the constable.</p> + +<p>Having wished him good-night, I inquired the identity of the deformed +youth.</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir,” he laughed, “that’s Mad ’Arry. ’E’s quite ’armless. ’E’s +out most nights, but we never see ’im in the day, poor chap. I’ve +known ’im ever since he was about nine.”</p> + +<p>“Does no work, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“None. ’Ow can ’e? ’E’s as mad as a hatter, as the sayin’ goes,” +replied the constable, his thumbs hitched in his belt as he stood.</p> + +<p>“A kind of midnight wanderer, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ’e’s always a-pryin’ about at night. Not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>long ago ’e found +burglars in a ’ouse in Gloucester Terrace, and gave us the alarm. We +copped four of ’em. The magistrate gave ’im a guinea out o’ the +poor-box.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! so he’s of use to you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, ’e’s most intelligent where there’s any suspicious +characters about. I’ve often put ’im on the watch myself.”</p> + +<p>“Then he’s not quite insane?”</p> + +<p>“Not on that point, at any rate,” laughed the officer.</p> + +<p>“Where does he live?”</p> + +<p>“’Is father’s a hackney-carriage driver, and ’e lives with ’im up in +Gloucester Mews, just at the back of Porchester Mews—I don’t know if +you know it?”</p> + +<p>I was compelled to confess ignorance of the locality, but he directed +me.</p> + +<p>“Are you on night-duty in Porchester Terrace, constable?” I asked a +few moments later.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, sometimes. Why?”</p> + +<p>“You know Althorp House, of course?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the ’aunted ’ouse, as some people call it. Myself, I don’t +believe in ghosts.”</p> + +<p>“Neither do I,” I laughed, “but I’ve heard many funny stories about +that place. Have you ever heard any?”</p> + +<p>“Lots, sir,” replied the man. “We’re always being told of strange +things that ’ave ’appened there, yet when we ’ave a look around we +never find anything, so we’ve ceased to trouble. Our inspector’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>given us orders not to make any further inquiries, ’e’s been worried +too often over idle gossip.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the latest story afloat concerning the place?” I asked. “I’m +always interested in mysteries of that sort.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I ’eard yesterday that somebody was seen to get out of a taxi-cab +and enter. And ’e ’asn’t been seen to come forth again.”</p> + +<p>“That’s curious,” I said. “And haven’t you looked over the place?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not on duty there. Perhaps my mate ’as. I don’t know. +But, funnily enough,” added the officer, “Mad ’Arry has been +tellin’ me something about it a moment ago—something I can’t +understand—something about the garden. I suppose ’e’s been a-fancyin’ +something or other. Everybody seems to see something in the garden, or +at the windows. Why, about a week ago, a servant from one of the +’ouses in the Terrace came up to me at three o’clock in the afternoon, +in broad daylight, and said as how she’d distinctly seen at the +drawin’-room window the face of a pretty, fair-haired girl a-peerin’ +through the side of the dirty blind. She described the girl, too, and +said that as soon as she saw she was noticed the inmate of the place +drew back instantly.”</p> + +<p>“A fair-haired girl!” I exclaimed, quickly interested.</p> + +<p>“Yes; she described her as wearin’ a black velvet band on her hair.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you do?” I asked anxiously.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>“Why, nothing. I’ve ’eard too many o’ them kind o’ tales before.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said reflectively. “Of course all kinds of legends and +rumours must naturally spring up around a house so long closed.”</p> + +<p>“Of course. It’s all in people’s imagination. I suppose they’ll say +next that a murder’s been committed in the place!” he laughed.</p> + +<p>“I suppose so,” I said, and then, putting a shilling in his hand, +wished him good-night, and passed along.</p> + +<p>Jack and the idiot had gone, but, knowing the direction they had +taken—for the youth was, no doubt, on his way home—I was not long +before I caught up my friend, and then together we retraced our steps +towards the Bayswater Road, in search of a taxi.</p> + +<p>I could not forget that curious statement that a girl’s face had been +seen at the drawing-room window—a fair-headed girl with a band of +black velvet in her hair.</p> + +<p>Could it have been Sylvia Pennington?</p> + +<p>It was past three o’clock in the morning before I retraced my steps to +Wilton Street. We were unable to find a cab, therefore we walked down +Park Lane together.</p> + +<p>On the way Jack had pressed me to tell him the reason of my visit to +that weird house and the circumstances in which my life had been +attempted. For the present, however, I refused to satisfy his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>curiosity. I promised him I would tell him the whole facts of the +case some day.</p> + +<p>“But why are you at home now?” he asked. “I can’t really make you out +lately, Owen. You told me you hated London, and preferred life on the +Continent, yet here you are, back again, and quite settled down in +town!”</p> + +<p>“Well, a fellow must come here for the London season sometimes,” I +said. “I feel that I’ve been away far too long, and am a bit out of +touch with things. Why, my tailor hardly knew me, and the hall-porter +at White’s had to look twice before he realized who I was.”</p> + +<p>“But there’s some attraction which has brought you to London,” he +declared. “I’m sure there is!”</p> + +<p>It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him how cleverly the two +scoundrels had used his name wherewith to entrap me on the previous +night. But I refrained. Instead, I asked—</p> + +<p>“Have you ever met two men named Reckitt and Forbes, Jack?”</p> + +<p>“Not to my knowledge,” was his prompt reply. “Who are they? What are +they like?”</p> + +<p>I gave him a minute description of both, but he apparently did not +recognize them.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you’ve never met a fellow called Pennington—eh? A +stoutish, dark-haired man with a baldish head and a reddish face?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” he replied thoughtfully, “I’ve met a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>good many men who might +answer to that description. What is he?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t exactly know. I’ve met him on the Continent.”</p> + +<p>“And I suppose some people one meets at Continental hotels are +undesirables, aren’t they?” he said.</p> + +<p>I nodded in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>Then I asked—</p> + +<p>“You’ve never known a person named Shuttleworth—Edmund Shuttleworth? +Lives at a little village close to Andover.”</p> + +<p>“Shuttleworth!” he echoed, looking straight into my face. “What do you +know of Edmund Shuttleworth?” he asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“Very little. Do you know him?”</p> + +<p>“Er—well—no, not exactly,” was his faltering reply, and I saw in his +slight hesitation an intention to conceal the actual knowledge which +he possessed. “I’ve heard of him—through a friend of mine—a lady +friend.”</p> + +<p>“A lady! Who’s she?” I inquired quickly.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he laughed a trifle uneasily, “the fact is, old chap, perhaps +it wouldn’t be fair to tell the story. You understand?”</p> + +<p>I was silent. What did he mean? In a second the allegation made by +that pair of scoundrels recurred to me. They had declared that Sylvia +had been in a house opposite, and that my friend had fallen in love +with her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>Yet he had denied acquaintanceship with Pennington!</p> + +<p>No doubt the assassins had lied to me, yet my suspicions had been +aroused. Jack had admitted his acquaintance with the thin-faced +village rector—he knew of him through a woman. Was that woman Sylvia +herself?</p> + +<p>From his manner and the great curiosity he evinced, I felt assured +that he had never known of Althorp House before. Reckitt and Forbes +had uttered lies when they had shown me that photograph, and told me +that she was beloved by my best friend. It had been done to increase +my anger and chagrin. Yet might there not, after all, have been some +foundation in truth in what they had said? The suggestion gripped my +senses.</p> + +<p>Again I asked him to tell me the lady’s name.</p> + +<p>But, quite contrary to his usual habit of confiding in me all his most +private affairs, he steadfastly refused.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear old chap,” he replied, “I really can’t tell you that. +Please excuse me, but it is a matter I would rather not discuss.”</p> + +<p>So at the corner of Piccadilly we parted, for it was now broad +daylight, and while he returned to his rooms, I walked down Grosvenor +Place to Wilton Street, more than ever puzzled and confounded.</p> + +<p>Was I a fool, that I loved Sylvia Pennington with such an +all-absorbing passion?</p> + +<p>It was strangely true, as Shuttleworth had declared, the grave lay as +a gulf between us.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWELVE" id="CHAPTER_TWELVE"></a>CHAPTER TWELVE</h2> + +<h3>THE WORD OF A WOMAN</h3> + +<p>A week went by—a week of keen anxiety and apprehension.</p> + +<p>Jack had spoken the truth when he had declared that it was my duty to +go to Scotland Yard and reveal what I had discovered regarding that +dark house in Bayswater.</p> + +<p>Yet somehow I felt that any such action on my part must necessarily +reflect upon my fair-haired divinity, that sweet, soft-spoken girl who +had warned me, and who, moreover, was my affinity.</p> + +<p>Had you found yourself in such a position, how would you have acted?</p> + +<p>Remember that, notwithstanding the veil of mystery which overspread +Sylvia Pennington, I loved her, and tried to conceal the truth from +myself a hundred times, but it was impossible. She had warned me, and +I, unfortunately, had not heeded. I had fallen into a trap, and +without a doubt it had been she who had entered and rescued me from a +fate most horrible to contemplate.</p> + +<p>I shuddered when I lived that hour of terror over again. I longed once +more to see that pale, sweet, wistful face which was now ever in my +dreams. Had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>not Shuttleworth told me that the grave lay between my +love and myself? And he had spoken the truth!</p> + +<p>Jack met me at the club daily, but he only once referred to our +midnight search and the gruesome discovery in the neglected garden.</p> + +<p>Frequently it crossed my mind that Mad Harry might have watched there +unseen, and witnessed strange things. How many men reported to the +police as missing had been interred in that private burying-ground of +the assassins! I dreaded to think of it.</p> + +<p>In vain I waited for Mr. Shuttleworth to call again. He had inquired +if I were at home, and, finding me absent, had gone away.</p> + +<p>I therefore, a week later, made it an excuse to run down to Andover +and see him, hoping to obtain from him some further information +regarding Sylvia.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was bright and warm, and the country looked its best, +with the scent of new-mown hay in the air, and flowers everywhere, as +I descended from the station fly and walked up the rectory garden to +the house.</p> + +<p>The maid admitted me to the study, saying that Mr. Shuttleworth was +only “down the paddock,” and would be back in a few minutes. And as I +seated myself in the big, comfortable arm-chair, I saw, straight +before me, in its frame the smiling face of the mysterious woman I +loved.</p> + +<p>Through the open French windows came the warm sunlight, the song of +the birds, and the drowsy hum <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>of the insects. The lawn was marked for +tennis, and beyond lay the paddock and the dark forest-border.</p> + +<p>I had remained there some few minutes, when suddenly I heard a quick +footstep in the hall outside; then, next moment, the door was opened, +and there, upon the threshold, stood Sylvia herself.</p> + +<p>“You!” she gasped, starting back. “I—I didn’t know you were here!” +she stammered in confusion.</p> + +<p>She was evidently a guest there, and was about to pass through the +study into the garden. Charming in a soft white ninon gown and a big +white hat, she held a tennis-racket in her hand, presenting a pretty +picture framed by the dark doorway.</p> + +<p>“Sylvia!” I cried, springing forward to her in joy, and catching her +small white trembling hand in mine. “Fancy you—here!”</p> + +<p>She held her breath, suffering me to lead her into the room and to +close the door.</p> + +<p>“I had no idea you were here,” I said. “I—lost you the other day in +Regent Street—I——”</p> + +<p>She made a quick gesture, as though she desired me to refrain from +referring to that incident. I saw that her cheeks were deadly pale, +and that in her face was an expression of utter confusion.</p> + +<p>“This meeting,” she said slowly in a low voice, “is certainly an +unexpected one. Mr. Shuttleworth doesn’t know you are here, does he?”</p> + +<p>“No,” I replied. “He’s down in the paddock, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“He has been called out suddenly,” she said. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>“He’s driven over to +Clatford with Mrs. Shuttleworth.”</p> + +<p>“And you are here alone?” I exclaimed quickly.</p> + +<p>“No. There’s another guest—Elsie Durnford,” she answered. “But,” she +added, her self-possession at once returning, “but why are you here, +Mr. Biddulph?”</p> + +<p>“I wanted to see Mr. Shuttleworth. Being a friend of yours, I believed +that he would know where you were. But, thank Heaven, I have found you +at last. Now,” I said, smiling as I looked straight into her +fathomless eyes, “tell me the truth, Miss Pennington. I did not lose +you the other morning—on the contrary, you lost me—didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she gave vent to a nervous little +laugh.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she answered, after a moment’s hesitation, “to tell the truth, +I did. I had reasons—important ones.”</p> + +<p>“I was <i>de trop</i>—eh?”</p> + +<p>She shrugged her well-formed shoulders, and smiled reproachfully.</p> + +<p>“But why?” I asked. “When I found you, it was under very curious +circumstances. A man—a thief—had just cashed a cheque of mine for a +thousand pounds, and made off with the proceeds—and——”</p> + +<p>“Ah! please do not refer to it, Mr. Biddulph!” she exclaimed quickly, +laying her slim fingers upon my arm. “Let us speak of something +else—anything but that.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p><p>“I have no wish to reproach you, Miss Pennington,” I hastened to +assure her. “The past is to me of the past. That man has a thousand +pounds of mine, and he’s welcome to it, so long as——” and I +hesitated.</p> + +<p>“So long as what?” she asked in a voice of trepidation.</p> + +<p>“So long as you are alive and well,” I replied in slow, meaning tones, +my gaze fixed immovably on hers. “In Gardone you expressed fear for +your own safety, but so long as you are still safe I have no care as +to what has happened to myself.”</p> + +<p>“But——”</p> + +<p>“I know,” I went on, “the ingenious attempt upon my life of which you +warned me has been made by those two scoundrels, and I have narrowly +escaped. To you, Miss Pennington, I owe my life.”</p> + +<p>She started, and lowered her eyes. Apparently she could not face me. +The hand I held trembled within my grasp, and I saw that her white +lips quivered.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds a silence fell between us. Then slowly she raised +her eyes to mine again, and said—</p> + +<p>“Mr. Biddulph, this is an exceedingly painful subject to me. May we +not drop it? Will you not forget it—if you really are my friend?”</p> + +<p>“To secure your further friendship, I will do anything you wish!” I +declared. “You have already proved yourself my friend by rescuing me +from death,” I added.</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?” she asked quickly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>“Because you were alone with me in that house of death in Bayswater. +It was you who killed the hideous reptile and who severed the bonds +which held me. They intended that I should die. My grave had already +been prepared. Cannot you tell me the motive of that dastardly +attack?” I begged of her.</p> + +<p>“Alas! I cannot,” she said. “I warned you when at Gardone that I knew +what was intended, but of the true motive I was, and am still, +entirely ignorant. Their motives are always hidden ones.”</p> + +<p>“They endeavoured to get from me another thousand pounds,” I +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“It is well that you did not give it to them. The result would have +been just the same. They intended that you should die, fearing lest +you should inform the police.”</p> + +<p>“And you were outside the bank with Forbes when he cashed my cheque!” +I remarked in slow tones.</p> + +<p>“I know,” she answered hoarsely. “I know that you must believe me to +be their associate, perhaps their accomplice. Ah! well. Judge me, Mr. +Biddulph, as you will. I have no defence. Only recollect that I warned +you to go into hiding—to efface yourself—and you would not heed. You +believed that I only spoke wildly—perhaps that I was merely an +hysterical girl, making all sorts of unfounded assertions.”</p> + +<p>“I believed, nay, I knew, Miss Pennington, that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>you were my friend. +You admitted in Gardone that you were friendless, and I offered you +the friendship of one who, I hope, is an honest man.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! thank you!” she cried, taking my hand warmly in hers. “You have +been so very generous, Mr. Biddulph, that I can only thank you from +the bottom of my heart. It is true an attempt was made upon you, but +you fortunately escaped, even though they secured a thousand pounds of +your money. Yet, had you taken my advice and disappeared, they would +soon have given up the chase.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” I urged in deep earnestness, “others have been entrapped in +that dark house—have they not? That mechanical chair—that devilish +invention—was not constructed for me alone.”</p> + +<p>She did not answer, but I regarded her silence as an affirmative +response.</p> + +<p>“Your friends at least seem highly dangerous persons,” I said, +smiling. “I’ve been undecided, since discovering that my grave was +already prepared, whether to go to Scotland Yard and reveal the whole +game.”</p> + +<p>“No!” she cried in quick apprehension. “No, don’t do that. It could +serve no end, and would only implicate certain innocent +persons—myself included.”</p> + +<p>“But how could you be implicated?”</p> + +<p>“Was I not at the bank when the cheque was cashed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Why were you there?” I asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>But she only excused herself from replying to my question.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she cried wildly a moment later, clutching my arm convulsively, +“you do not know my horrible position—you cannot dream what I have +suffered, or how much I have sacrificed.”</p> + +<p>I saw that she was now terribly in earnest, and, by the quick rising +and falling of the lace upon her bodice, I knew that she was stirred +by a great emotion. She had refused to allow me to stand her friend +because she feared what the result might be. And yet, had she not +rescued me from the serpent’s fang?</p> + +<p>“Sylvia,” I cried, “Sylvia—for I feel that I must call you by your +Christian name—let us forget it all. The trap set by those +blackguards was most ingenious, and in innocence I fell into it. I +should have lost my life—except for you. You were present in that +house of death. They told me you were there—they showed me your +picture, and, to add to my horror, said that you, their betrayer, were +to share the same fate as myself.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, I know!” she cried, starting. “Oh, it was all too +terrible—too terrible! How can I face you, Mr. Biddulph, after that!”</p> + +<p>“My only desire is to forget it all, Sylvia,” was my low and quiet +response. “It was all my fault—my fault, for not heeding your +warning. I never realized the evil machinations of those unknown +enemies. How should I? As far as I know, I had never set eyes upon +them before.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>“You would have done wiser to have gone into hiding, as I suggested,” +she remarked quietly.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” I said cheerily. “It is all past. Let us dismiss it. +There is surely no more danger—now that I am forearmed.”</p> + +<p>“May they not fear your reprisals?” she exclaimed. “They did not +intend that you should escape, remember.”</p> + +<p>“No, they had already prepared my grave. I have seen it.”</p> + +<p>“That grave was prepared for both of us,” she said in a calm, +reflective voice.</p> + +<p>“Then how did you escape?” I inquired, with curiosity.</p> + +<p>“I do not know. I can only guess.”</p> + +<p>“May I not know?” I asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>“When I have confirmed my belief, I will tell you,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Then let us dismiss the subject. It is horrible, gruesome. Look how +lovely and bright the world is outside. Let us live in peace and in +happiness. Let us turn aside these grim shadows which have lately +fallen upon us.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she exclaimed, with a sigh, “you are indeed generous to me, Mr. +Biddulph. But could you be so generous, I wonder, if you knew the +actual truth? Alas! I fear you would not. Instead of remaining my +friend, you would hate me—just—just as I hate myself!”</p> + +<p>“Sylvia,” I said, placing my hand again tenderly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>upon her shoulder +and trying to calm her, and looking earnestly into her blue, wide-open +eyes, “I shall never hate you. On the contrary, let me confess, now +and openly,” I whispered, “let me tell you that I—I love you!”</p> + +<p>She started, her lips parted at the suddenness of my impetuous +declaration, and stood for a moment, motionless as a statue, pale and +rigid.</p> + +<p>Then I felt a convulsive tremor run through her, and her breast heaved +and fell rapidly. She placed her hand to her heart, as though to calm +the rising tempest of emotion within her. Her breath came and went +rapidly.</p> + +<p>“Love me!” she echoed in a strange, hoarse tone. “Ah! no, Mr. +Biddulph, no, a thousand times no! You do not know what you are +saying. Recall those words—I beg of you!”</p> + +<p>And I saw by her hard, set countenance and the strange look in her +eyes that she was deadly in earnest.</p> + +<p>“Why should I recall them?” I cried, my hand still upon her shoulder. +“You are not my enemy, Sylvia, even though you may be the friend of my +enemies. I love you, and I fear nothing—nothing!”</p> + +<p>“Hush! Do not say that,” she protested very quietly.</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because—well, because even though you have escaped, they——” and +she hesitated, her lips set as though unable to articulate the truth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p><p>“They what?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Because, Mr. Biddulph—because, alas! I know these men only too well. +You have triumphed; but yours is, I fear, but a short-lived victory. +They still intend that you shall die!”</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?” I asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” she said hoarsely. “I will tell you.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_THIRTEEN" id="CHAPTER_THIRTEEN"></a>CHAPTER THIRTEEN</h2> + +<h3>THE DEATH KISS</h3> + +<p>Sylvia sank into a chair, while I stood upon the hearth-rug facing +her, eager to hear her explanation.</p> + +<p>Her hands were clasped as she raised her wonderful blue eyes to mine. +Yes, her beauty was perfect—more perfect than any I had ever seen in +all my wandering, erratic life.</p> + +<p>“Why do those men still intend that I shall die?” I asked. “Now that I +know the truth I shall remain wary.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes,” she responded. “But they will take you unawares. You do not +know the devilish cunning and ingenuity of such men as they, who live +upon their wits, and are utterly unscrupulous.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what do they now intend?” I asked, much interested, for it +seemed that she knew very much more than she would admit.</p> + +<p>“You have escaped,” she said, looking straight into my face. “They +naturally fear that you will tell the police.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not do that—not at present, at least,” I replied. “I am +keeping my own counsel.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. But cannot you see that while you live you are a menace to their +dastardly plans? They <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>dare not return to that deserted house in +Bayswater.”</p> + +<p>“Where are they now?”</p> + +<p>“Abroad, I believe. They always take care to have an outlet for +escape,” she answered. “Ah! you don’t know what a formidable +combination they are. They snap their fingers at the police of +Europe.”</p> + +<p>“What? Then you really admit that there have been other victims?” I +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“I have no actual knowledge,” she declared, “only suspicions.”</p> + +<p>“Why are you friendly with them?” I asked. “What does your father say +to such acquaintances?”</p> + +<p>“I am friendly only under compulsion,” she answered. “Ah! Mr. +Biddulph, you cannot know how I hate the very sight or knowledge of +those inhuman fiends. Their treatment of you is, in itself, sufficient +proof of their pitiless plans.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me this, Sylvia,” I said, after a second’s pause. “Have you any +knowledge of a man—a great friend of mine—named Jack Marlowe?”</p> + +<p>Her face changed. It became paler, and I saw she was slightly +confused.</p> + +<p>“I—well, I believe we met once,” she said. “His father lives +somewhere down in Devonshire.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said quickly. “What do you know of him?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. We met only once.”</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>“Well—our meeting was under rather curious circumstances. He is your +friend, therefore please <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>pardon me if I do not reply to your +question,” was her vague response.</p> + +<p>“Then what do you anticipate from those men, Reckitt and Forbes?” I +asked.</p> + +<p>“Only evil—distinct evil,” she replied. “They will return, and strike +when you least expect attack.”</p> + +<p>“But if I do not go to the police, why should they fear me? They are +quite welcome to the money they have stolen—so long as they allow me +peace in the future.”</p> + +<p>“Which I fear they will not do,” replied the girl, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>“You speak very apprehensively,” I said. “What is there really to +fear? Perhaps it would be best if I went to the police at once. They +would then dig over that neglected garden and reveal its secrets.”</p> + +<p>“No!” she cried again, starting wildly from her chair as though in +sudden terror. “I beg of you not to do that, Mr. Biddulph. It would +serve no purpose, and only create a great sensation. But the culprits +would never be brought to justice. They are far too clever, and their +conspiracies are too far-reaching. No, remain patient. Take the +greatest care of your own personal safety—and you may yet be able to +combat your enemies with their own weapons.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be able, Sylvia—providing that you assist me,” I said.</p> + +<p>She held her breath, and remained silent. She evidently feared them.</p> + +<p>I tried to obtain from her some details of the occurrences of that +night of horror, but she refused to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>satisfy my curiosity. Apparently +she feared to incriminate herself. Could it be possible that she had +only learnt at the last moment that it was I who was embraced in the +next room by that fatal chair!</p> + +<p>Yet it was all so puzzling, so remarkable. Surely a girl with such a +pure, open, innocent face could not be the accomplice of dastardly +criminals! She was their friend. That much she had admitted to me. But +her friendship with them was made under compulsion. She urged me not +to go to the police. Why?</p> + +<p>Did she fear that she herself would be implicated in a series of dark +and terrible crimes?</p> + +<p>“Where is your father?” I inquired presently.</p> + +<p>“In Scotland,” was her prompt reply. “I heard from him at the +Caledonian Hotel, at Edinburgh, last Friday. I am staying here with +Mr. Shuttleworth until his return.”</p> + +<p>Was it not strange that she should be guest of a quiet-mannered +country parson, if she were actually the accomplice of a pair of +criminals! I felt convinced that Shuttleworth knew the truth—that he +could reveal a very remarkable story—if he only would.</p> + +<p>“Your father is a friend of Mr. Shuttleworth—eh?” I asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded in the affirmative. Then she stood with her gaze fixed +thoughtfully upon the sunlit lawn outside.</p> + +<p>Mystery was written upon her fair countenance. She held a dread secret +which she was determined not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>to reveal. She knew of those awful +crimes committed in that dark house in Bayswater, but her intention +seemed to be to shield at all hazards her dangerous “friends.”</p> + +<p>“Sylvia,” I said tenderly at last, again taking her hand in mine, “why +cannot you be open and frank with me?” She allowed her hand to lie +soft and inert in mine, sighing the while, her gaze still fixed beyond +as though her thoughts were far away. “I love you,” I whispered. +“Cannot you see how you puzzle me?—for you seem to be my friend at +one moment, and at the next the accomplice of my enemies.”</p> + +<p>“I have told you that you must never love me, Mr. Biddulph,” was her +low reply, as she withdrew her hand slowly, but very firmly.</p> + +<p>“Ah! no,” I cried. “Do not take offence at my words. I’m aware that +I’m a hopeless blunderer in love. All I know, Sylvia, is that my only +thought is of you. And I—I’ve wondered whether you, on your part, can +ever entertain a spark of affection for me?”</p> + +<p>She was silent, her white lips pressed close together, a strange +expression crossing her features. Again she held her breath, as though +what I had said had caused her great surprise. Then she answered—</p> + +<p>“How can you love me? Am I not, after all, a mere stranger?”</p> + +<p>“I know you sufficiently well,” I cried, “to be aware that for me +there exists no other woman. I fear I’m a blunt man. It is my nature. +Forgive me, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>Sylvia, for speaking the truth, but—well, as a matter of +fact, I could not conceal the truth any longer.”</p> + +<p>“And you tell me this, after—after all that has happened!” she +faltered in a low, tremulous voice, as I again took her tiny hand in +mine.</p> + +<p>“Yes—because I truly and honestly love you,” I said, “because ever +since we have met I have found myself thinking of you—recalling +you—nay, dreaming of happiness at your side.”</p> + +<p>She raised her splendid eyes, and looked into mine for a moment; then, +sighing, shook her head sadly.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Mr. Biddulph,” she responded in a curious, strained voice, +“passion may be perilously misleading. Ask yourself if you are not +injudicious in making this declaration—to a woman like myself?”</p> + +<p>“Why?” I cried. “Why should it be injudicious? I trust you, +because—because I owe my life to you—because you have already proved +yourself my devoted little friend. What I beg and pray is that your +friendship may, in course of time, ripen into love—that you may +reciprocate my affection—that you may really love me!”</p> + +<p>A slight hardness showed at the corners of her small mouth. Her eyes +were downcast, and she swallowed the lump that arose in her throat.</p> + +<p>She was silent, standing rigid and motionless.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a great and distressing truth occurred to me. Did she believe +that I pitied her? I hoped not. Any woman of common sensibility would +almost die of shame at the thought of being loved out of pity; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>and, +what is more, she would think none the better of the man who pitied +her. The belief that “pity melts the heart to love” is an unfounded +one.</p> + +<p>So I at once endeavoured to remove the wrong impression which I feared +I had conveyed.</p> + +<p>What mad, impetuous words I uttered I can scarcely tell. I know that I +raised her soft white hand to my lips and kissed it fervently, +repeating my avowal and craving a word of hope from her lips.</p> + +<p>But she again shook her head, and with sadness responded in a low, +faltering tone—</p> + +<p>“It is quite impossible, Mr. Biddulph. Leave me—let us forget all you +have said. It will be better thus—far better for us both. You do not +know who or what I am; you——”</p> + +<p>“I do not know, neither do I care!” I cried passionately. “All I know, +Sylvia, is that my heart is yours—that I have loved only once in my +life, and it is now!”</p> + +<p>Her slim fingers played nervously with the ribbon upon her cool summer +gown, but she made no response.</p> + +<p>“I know I have not much to recommend me,” I went on. “Perhaps I am too +hulking, too English. You who have lived so much abroad are more used, +no doubt, to the elegant manners and the prettily turned compliments +of the foreigner than the straight speech of a fellow like myself. Yet +I swear that my only thought has been of you, that I love you with all +my heart—with all my soul.”</p> + +<p>I caught her hand and again looked into her eyes, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>trying to read what +response lay hidden in their depths.</p> + +<p>I felt her tremble. For a moment she seemed unable to reply. The +silence was unbroken save for the drowsy hum of the insects in the +summer heat outside, while the sweet perfume of the flowers filled our +nostrils. In the tension of those moments each second seemed an hour. +You who have experienced the white heat of the love-flame can only +know my eager, breathless apprehension, the honest whole-heartedness +of my declaration. Perhaps, in your case, the flames are all burnt +out, but even now you can tell of the white core and centre of fire +within you. Years may have gone, but it still remains—the sweet +memory of your well-beloved.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Sylvia,” I whispered once more. “Tell me, will you not break +down this strange invisible barrier which you have set up between us? +Forget the past, as I have already forgotten it—and be mine—my own!”</p> + +<p>She burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she cried. “If I only could—if I only dared!”</p> + +<p>“Will you not dare to do it—for my sake?” I asked very quietly. “Will +you not promise to be mine? Let me stand your friend—your champion. +Let me defend you against your enemies. Let me place myself beside you +and defy them.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, no!” she gasped, “not to defy them. Defiance would only bring +death—death to both of us!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p><p>“Your love, Sylvia, would mean life and happiness, not death—to +me—to both of us!” I cried. “Will you not give me your promise? Let +our love be in secret, if you so desire—only let us love each other. +Promise me!” I cried, my arm stealing around her narrow waist. +“Promise me that you will try and love me, and I, too, will promise to +be worthy of your affection.”</p> + +<p>For a moment she remained silent, her handsome head downcast.</p> + +<p>Then slowly, with a sweet love-look upon her beautiful countenance, +she raised her face to mine, and then for the first time our lips met +in a fierce and passionate caress.</p> + +<p>Thus was our solemn compact sealed.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_FOURTEEN" id="CHAPTER_FOURTEEN"></a>CHAPTER FOURTEEN</h2> + +<h3>OF THINGS UNMENTIONABLE</h3> + +<p>I remained in that cosy, book-lined den for perhaps an hour—one whole +hour of sweet, delightful ecstasy.</p> + +<p>With her fair head buried upon my shoulder she shed tears of joy, +while, time after time, I smothered her white brow with my kisses. Ah! +yes, I loved her. I closed my eyes to all. I put away all my dark +suspicions, and lived only for the present in the knowledge that +Sylvia was mine—<i>mine!</i></p> + +<p>My hot, fevered declarations of affection caused her to cling to me +more closely, yet she uttered but few words, and those half-incoherent +ones, overcome as she was by a flood of emotion. She seemed to have +utterly broken down beneath the great strain, and now welcomed the +peace and all-absorbing happiness of affection. Alone and friendless, +as she had admitted herself to be, she had, perhaps, longed for the +love of an honest man. At least, that is what I was egotistical enough +to believe. Possibly I might have been wrong, for until that moment I +had ever been a confirmed bachelor, and had but little experience of +the fantastic workings of a woman’s mind.</p> + +<p>Like so many other men of my age, I had vainly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>believed myself to be +a philosopher. Yet are not philosophers merely soured cynics, after +all? And I certainly was neither cynical nor soured. Therefore my +philosophy was but a mere ridiculous affectation to which so many men +and women are prone.</p> + +<p>But in those moments of ecstasy I abandoned myself entirely to love, +imprinting lingering, passionate kisses upon her lips, her closed +eyes, her wide white brow, while she returned my caresses, smiling +through her hot tears.</p> + +<p>Presently, when she grew calmer, she said in a low, sweet voice—</p> + +<p>“I—hardly know whether this is wise. I somehow fear——”</p> + +<p>“Fear what?” I asked, interrupting her.</p> + +<p>“I fear what the future may hold for us,” she answered. “Remember I—I +am poor, while you are wealthy, and——”</p> + +<p>“What does that matter, pray? Thank Heaven! I have sufficient for us +both—sufficient to provide for you the ordinary comforts of life, +Sylvia. I only now long for the day, dearest, when I may call you +wife.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she said, with a wistful smile, “and I, too, shall be content +when I can call you husband.”</p> + +<p>And so we sat together upon the couch, holding each other’s hand, and +speaking for the first time not as friends—but as lovers.</p> + +<p>You who love, or who have loved, know well the joyful, careless +feeling of such moments; the great <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>peace which overspreads the mind +when the passion of affection burns within.</p> + +<p>Need I say more, except to tell you that our great overwhelming love +was mutual, and that our true hearts beat in unison?</p> + +<p>Thus the afternoon slipped by until, of a sudden, we heard a girl’s +voice call: “Sylvia! Sylvia!”</p> + +<p>We sprang apart. And not a moment too soon, for next second there +appeared at the French windows the tall figure of a rather pretty +dark-haired girl in cream.</p> + +<p>“I—I beg your pardon!” she stammered, on recognizing that Sylvia was +not alone.</p> + +<p>“This is Mr. Biddulph,” exclaimed my well-beloved. “Miss Elsie +Durnford.”</p> + +<p>I bowed, and then we all three went forth upon the lawn.</p> + +<p>I found Sylvia’s fellow-guest a very quiet young girl, and understood +that she lived somewhere in the Midlands. Her father, she told me, was +very fond of hunting, and she rode to hounds a good deal.</p> + +<p>We wandered about the garden awaiting Shuttleworth’s return, for both +girls would not hear of me leaving before tea.</p> + +<p>“Mr. and Mrs. Shuttleworth are certain to be back in time,” Sylvia +declared, “and I’m sure they’d be horribly annoyed if you went away +without seeing them.”</p> + +<p>“Do you really wish me to stay?” I asked, with a laugh, as we halted +beneath the shadow of the great spreading cedar upon the lawn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p><p>“Of course we do,” declared Elsie, laughing. “You really must remain +and keep us company, Mr. Biddulph. Sylvia, you know, is quite a +stranger. She’s always travelling now-a-days. I get letters from her +from the four corners of the earth. I never know where to write so as +to catch her.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied my well-beloved, with a slight sigh. “When we were at +school at Eastbourne I thought it would be so jolly to travel and see +the world, but now-a-days, alas! I confess I’m already tired of it. I +would give anything to settle down quietly in the beautiful country in +England—the country which is incomparable.”</p> + +<p>“You will—one day,” I remarked meaningly.</p> + +<p>And as she lifted her eyes to mine she replied—</p> + +<p>“Perhaps—who knows?”</p> + +<p>The village rector returned at last, greeting me with some surprise, +and introducing his wife, a rather stout, homely woman, who bore +traces of good looks, and who wore a visiting gown of neat black, for +she had been paying a call.</p> + +<p>“I looked in to see you the other day in town, Mr. Biddulph,” he said. +“But I was unfortunate. Your man told me you were out. He was not rude +to me this time,” he added humorously, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“No,” I said, smiling. “He was profuse in his apologies. Old servants +are sometimes a little trying.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you’re right. But he seems a good sort. I blame myself, you +know. He’s not to blame in the least.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p><p>Then we strolled together to a tent set beneath the cedar, whither the +maid had already taken the tea and strawberries, and there we sat +around gossiping.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when Shuttleworth rose, he said—</p> + +<p>“Come across to my study and have a smoke. You’re not in a great hurry +to get back to town. Perhaps you’ll play a game of tennis presently?”</p> + +<p>I followed him through the pretty pergola of roses, back into the +house, and when I had seated myself in the big old arm-chair, he gave +me an excellent cigar.</p> + +<p>“Do you know, Mr. Biddulph,” he said after we had been smoking some +minutes, “I’m extremely glad to have this opportunity of a chat with +you. I called at Wilton Street, because I wished to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Well, for several reasons,” was his slow, earnest reply. His face +looked thinner, more serious. Somehow I had taken a great fancy to +him, for though a clergyman, he struck me as a broad-minded man of the +world. He was keen-eyed, thoughtful and earnest, yet at the same time +full of that genuine, hearty bonhomie so seldom, alas! found in +religious men. The good fellowship of a leader appeals to men more +than anything else, and yet somehow it seems always more apparent in +the Roman Catholic priest than in the Protestant clergyman.</p> + +<p>“The reason I called to-day was because I thought you might wish to +speak to me,” I said.</p> + +<p>He rose and closed the French windows. Then, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>re-seating himself, he +removed his old briar pipe from his lips, and, bending towards me in +his chair, said very earnestly—</p> + +<p>“I wonder whether I might presume to say something to you strictly in +private, Mr. Biddulph? I know that I ought not to interfere in your +private affairs—yet, as a minister of religion, I perhaps am a +slightly privileged person in that respect. At least you will, I +trust, believe in my impartiality.”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly I do, Mr. Shuttleworth,” I replied, somewhat surprised +at his manner.</p> + +<p>“Well, you recollect our conversation on the last occasion you were +here?” he said. “You remember what I told you?”</p> + +<p>“I remember that we spoke of Miss Sylvia,” I exclaimed, “and that you +refused to satisfy my curiosity.”</p> + +<p>“I refused, because I am not permitted,” was his calm rejoinder.</p> + +<p>“Since I saw you,” I said, “a dastardly attempt has been made upon my +life. I was enticed to an untenanted house in Bayswater, and after a +cheque for a thousand pounds had been obtained from me by a trick, I +narrowly escaped death by a devilish device. My grave, I afterwards +found, was already prepared.”</p> + +<p>“Is this a fact!” he gasped.</p> + +<p>“It is. I was rescued—by Sylvia herself.”</p> + +<p>He was silent, drawing hard at his pipe, deep in thought.</p> + +<p>“The names of the two men who made the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>dastardly attempt upon me were +Reckitt and Forbes—friends of Sylvia Pennington,” I went on.</p> + +<p>He nodded. Then, removing his pipe, exclaimed—</p> + +<p>“Yes. I understand. But did I not warn you?”</p> + +<p>“You did. But, to be frank, Mr. Shuttleworth, I really did not follow +you then. Neither do I now.”</p> + +<p>“Have I not told you, my dear sir, that I possess certain knowledge +under vow of absolute secrecy—knowledge which it is not permitted to +me, as a servant of God, to divulge.”</p> + +<p>“But surely if you knew that assassination was contemplated, it was +your duty to warn me.”</p> + +<p>“I did—but you took no heed,” he declared. “Sylvia warned you also, +when you met in Gardone, and yet you refused to take her advice and go +into hiding!”</p> + +<p>“But why should an innocent, law-abiding, inoffensive man be compelled +to hide himself like a fugitive from justice?” I protested.</p> + +<p>“Who can fathom human enmity, or the ingenious cunning of the +evil-doer?” asked the grey-faced rector quite calmly. “Have you never +stopped to wonder at the marvellous subtlety of human wickedness?”</p> + +<p>“Those men are veritable fiends,” I cried. “Yet why have I aroused +their animosity? If you know so much concerning them, Mr. +Shuttleworth, don’t you think that it is your duty to protect your +fellow-creatures?—to make it your business to inform the police?” I +added.</p> + +<p>“Probably it is,” he said reflectively. “But there <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>are times when +even the performance of one’s duty may be injudicious.”</p> + +<p>“Surely it is not injudicious to expose the methods of such +blackguards!” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” he said. “I am compelled to differ with that opinion. +Were you in possession of the same knowledge as myself, you too, +would, I feel sure, deem it injudicious.”</p> + +<p>“But what is this secret knowledge?” I demanded. “I have narrowly +escaped being foully done to death. I have been robbed, and I feel +that it is but right that I should now know the truth.”</p> + +<p>“Not from me, Mr. Biddulph,” he answered. “Have I not already told you +the reason why no word of the actual facts may pass my lips?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot see why you should persist in thus mystifying me as to the +sinister motive of that pair of assassins. If they wished to rob me, +they could have done so without seeking to take my life by those +horrible means.”</p> + +<p>“What means did they employ?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Briefly and vividly I explained their methods, as he sat silent, +listening to me to the end. He evinced neither horror nor surprise. +Perhaps he knew their mode of procedure only too well.</p> + +<p>“I warned you,” was all he vouchsafed. “Sylvia warned you also.”</p> + +<p>“It is over—of the past, Mr. Shuttleworth,” I said, rising from my +chair. “I feel confident that Sylvia, though she possessed knowledge +of what was intended, had no hand whatever in it. Indeed, so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>confident am I of her loyalty to me, that to-day—yes, let me confess +it to you—for I know you are my friend as well as hers, to-day, +here—only an hour ago, I asked Sylvia to become my wife.”</p> + +<p>“Your wife!” he gasped, starting to his feet, his countenance pale and +drawn.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my wife.”</p> + +<p>“And what was her answer?” he asked dryly, in a changed tone.</p> + +<p>“She has consented.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Biddulph,” he said very gravely, looking straight into my face, +“this must never be! Have I not already told you the ghastly +truth?—that there is a secret—an unmentionable secret——”</p> + +<p>“A secret concerning her!” I cried. “What is it? Come, Mr. +Shuttleworth, you shall tell me, I demand to know!”</p> + +<p>“I can only repeat that between you and Sylvia Pennington there still +lies the open gulf—and that gulf is, indeed, the grave. In your +ignorance of the strange but actual facts you do not realize your own +dread peril, or you would never ask her to become your wife. Abandon +all thought of her, I beg of you,” he urged earnestly. “Take this +advice of mine, for one day you will assuredly thank me for my +counsel.”</p> + +<p>“I love her with all the strength of my being, and for me that is +sufficient,” I declared.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he cried in despair as he paced the room. “To think of the irony +of it all! That you should actually woo her—of all women!” Then, +halting <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>before me, his eye grew suddenly aflame, he clenched his +hands and cried: “But you shall not! Understand me, you shall hate +her; you shall curse her very name. You shall never love +her—never—I, Edmund Shuttleworth, forbid it! It must not be!”</p> + +<p>At that instant the <i>frou-frou</i> of a woman’s skirts fell upon my ears, +and, turning quickly, I saw Sylvia herself standing at the open French +windows.</p> + +<p>Entering unobserved she had heard those wild words of the rector’s, +and stood pale, breathless, rigid as a statue.</p> + +<p>“There!” he cried, pointing at her with his thin, bony finger. “There +she is! Ask her yourself, now—before me—the reason why she can never +be your wife—the reason that her love is forbidden! If she really +loves you, as she pretends, she will tell you the truth with her own +lips!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_FIFTEEN" id="CHAPTER_FIFTEEN"></a>CHAPTER FIFTEEN</h2> + +<h3>FORBIDDEN LOVE</h3> + +<p>I stood before Shuttleworth angry and defiant.</p> + +<p>I had crossed to Sylvia and had taken her soft hand.</p> + +<p>“I really cannot see, sir, by what right you interfere between us!” I +cried, looking at him narrowly. “You forbid! What do I care—why, +pray, should you forbid my actions?”</p> + +<p>“I forbid,” repeated the thin-faced clergyman, “because I have a +right—a right which one day will be made quite plain to you.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Mr. Shuttleworth,” gasped Sylvia, now pale as death, “what are +you saying?”</p> + +<p>“The truth, my child. You know too well that, for you, love and +marriage are forbidden,” he exclaimed, looking at her meaningly.</p> + +<p>She sighed, and her tiny hand trembled within my grasp. Her mouth +trembled, and I saw that tears were welling in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ah! yes,” she cried hoarsely a moment later. “I know, alas! that I am +not like other women. About me there have been forged bonds of +steel—bonds which I can never break.”</p> + +<p>“Only by one means,” interrupted Shuttleworth, terribly calm and +composed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>“No, no!” she protested quickly, covering her face with her hands as +though in shame. “Not that—never that! Do not let us speak of it!”</p> + +<p>“Then you have no right to accept this man’s love,” he said +reproachfully, “no right to allow him to approach nearer the brink of +the grave than he has done. You know full well that, for him, your +love must prove fatal!”</p> + +<p>She hung her head as though not daring to look again into my eyes. The +strange clergyman’s stern rebuke had utterly confused and confounded +her. Yet I knew she loved me dearly. That sweet, intense love-look of +hers an hour ago could never be feigned. It spoke far more truly than +mere words.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she was annoyed that I had told Shuttleworth the truth. Yes, I +had acted very foolishly. My tongue had loosened involuntarily. My +wild joy had led me into an injudicious confession—one that I had +never dreamed would be fraught with sorrow.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Shuttleworth,” I said at last, “please do not distress yourself +on my account. I love Sylvia, and she has promised to be mine. If +disaster occurs, then I am fully prepared to meet it. You seem in +close touch with this remarkable association of thieves and assassins, +or you would hardly be so readily aware of their evil intentions.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he responded, with a slight sigh, “you are only speaking in +ignorance. If you were aware of the true facts, you would, on the +contrary, thank me for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>revealing the peril in which love for this +young lady will assuredly place you.”</p> + +<p>“But have I not already told you that I am fearless? I am prepared to +meet this mysterious peril, whatever it is, for her sake!” I +protested.</p> + +<p>A curious, cynical smile overspread his grey, ascetic face.</p> + +<p>“You speak without knowledge, my dear sir,” he remarked. “Could I but +reveal the truth, you would quickly withdraw that assertion. You +would, indeed, flee from this girl as you would from the plague!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said, “your words are at least very remarkable, sir. One +would really imagine Miss Pennington to be a hell-fiend—from your +denunciation.”</p> + +<p>“You mistake me. I make no denunciation. On the other hand, I am +trying to impress upon you the utter futility of your love.”</p> + +<p>“Why should you do that? What is your motive?” I asked quickly, trying +to discern what could be at the back of this man’s mind. How strange +it was! Hitherto I had rather liked the tall, quiet, kind-mannered +country rector. Yet he had suddenly set himself out in open antagonism +to my plans—to my love!</p> + +<p>“My motive,” he declared, “is to protect the best interests of you +both. I have no ends to serve, save those of humanity, Mr. Biddulph.”</p> + +<p>“You urged Miss Pennington to make confession <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>to me. You implied that +her avowal of affection was false,” I said, with quick indignation.</p> + +<p>“I asked her to confess—to tell you the truth, because I am unable so +to do,” was his slow reply. “Ah! Mr. Biddulph,” he sighed, “if only +the real facts could be exposed to you—if only you could be told the +ghastly, naked truth.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you say all this, Mr. Shuttleworth?” protested Sylvia in a +low, pained voice. “Why should Mr. Biddulph be mystified further? If +you are determined that I should sacrifice myself—well, I am ready. +You have been my friend—yet now you seem to have suddenly turned +against me, and treat me as an enemy.”</p> + +<p>“Only as far as this unfortunate affair is concerned, my child,” he +said. “Remember my position—recall all the past, and put to yourself +the question whether I have not a perfect right to forbid you to +sacrifice the life of a good, honest man like the one before you,” he +said, his clerical drawl becoming more accentuated as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Rubbish, my dear sir,” I laughed derisively. “Put aside all this cant +and hypocrisy. It ill becomes you. Speak out, like a man of the world +that you are. What specific charge do you bring against this lady? +Come, tell me.”</p> + +<p>“None,” he replied. “Evil is done through her—not by her.”</p> + +<p>And she stood silent, unable to protest.</p> + +<p>“But can’t you be more explicit?” I cried, my <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>anger rising. “If you +make charges, I demand that you shall substantiate them. Recollect all +that I have at stake in this matter.”</p> + +<p>“I know—your life,” he responded. “Well, I have already told you what +to expect.”</p> + +<p>“Sylvia,” I said, turning to the pale girl standing trembling at my +side, “will you not speak? Will you not tell me what all this means? +By what right does this man speak thus? Has he any right?”</p> + +<p>She was silent for a few moments. Then slowly she nodded her head in +an affirmative.</p> + +<p>“What right has he to forbid our affection?” I demanded. “I love you, +and I tell you that no man shall come between us!”</p> + +<p>“He alone has a right, Owen,” she said, addressing me for the first +time by my Christian name.</p> + +<p>“What right?”</p> + +<p>But she would not answer. She merely stood with head downcast, and +said—</p> + +<p>“Ask him.”</p> + +<p>This I did, but the thin-faced man refused to reply. All he would say +was—</p> + +<p>“I have forbidden this fatal folly, Mr. Biddulph. Please do not let us +discuss it further.”</p> + +<p>I confess I was both angry and bewildered. The mystery was hourly +increasing. Sylvia had admitted that Shuttleworth had a right to +interfere. Yet I could not discern by what right a mere friend could +forbid a girl to entertain affection. I felt that the ever-increasing +problem was even stranger and more <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg180]</a></span>remarkable than I had anticipated, +and that when I fathomed it, it would be found to be utterly +astounding!</p> + +<p>Sylvia was unwavering in her attachment to myself. Her antagonism +towards Shuttleworth’s pronouncement was keen and bitter, yet, with +her woman’s superior judgment, she affected carelessness.</p> + +<p>“You asked this lady to confess,” I said, addressing him. “Confess +what?”</p> + +<p>“The truth.”</p> + +<p>Then I turned to my well-beloved and asked—</p> + +<p>“What is the truth? Do you love me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Owen, I do,” was her frank and fervent response.</p> + +<p>“I did not mean that,” said Shuttleworth hastily. “I meant the truth +concerning yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Biddulph knows what I am.”</p> + +<p>“But he does not know who you are.”</p> + +<p>“Then you may tell him,” was her hoarse reply. “Tell him!” she cried +wildly. “Tear from me all that I hold sacred—all that I hold most +dear—dash me back into degradation and despair—if you will! I am in +your hands.”</p> + +<p>“Sylvia!” he said reproachfully. “I am your friend—and your father’s +friend. I am not your enemy. I regret if you have ever thought I have +lifted a finger against you.”</p> + +<p>“Are you not standing as a barrier between myself and Mr. Biddulph?” +she protested, her eyes flashing.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p><p>“Because I see that only misfortune—ah! death—can arise. You know +full well the promise I have made. You know, too, what has been told +me in confidence, because—because my profession happens to be what it +is—a humble servant of God.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she faltered, “I know—I know! Forgive me if I have spoken +harshly, Mr. Shuttleworth. I know you are my friend—and you are +Owen’s. Only—only it seems very hard that you should thus put this +ban upon us—you, who preach the gospel of truth and love.”</p> + +<p>Shuttleworth drew a deep breath. His thin lips were pursed; his grey +eyebrows contracted slightly, and I saw in his countenance a +distinctly pained expression.</p> + +<p>“I have spoken with all good intention, Sylvia,” he said. “Your love +for Mr. Biddulph must only bring evil upon both of you. Surely you +realize that?”</p> + +<p>“Sylvia has already realized it,” I declared. “But we have resolved to +risk it.”</p> + +<p>“The risk is, alas! too great,” he declared. “Already you are a marked +man. Your only chance of escape is to take Sylvia’s advice and to go +into hiding. Go away—into the country—and live in some quiet, remote +village under another name. It is your best mode of evading disaster. +To remain and become the lover of Sylvia Pennington is, I tell you, +the height of folly—it is suicide!”</p> + +<p>“Let it be so,” I responded in quiet defiance. “I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>will never forsake +the woman I love. Frankly, I suspect a hidden motive in this +suggestion of yours; therefore I refuse to accept it.”</p> + +<p>“Not to save your own life?”</p> + +<p>“Not even to save my life. This is surely my own affair.”</p> + +<p>“And hers.”</p> + +<p>“I shall protect Sylvia, never fear. I am not afraid. Let our enemies +betray their presence by sign or word, and I will set myself out to +combat them. They have already those crimes in Bayswater to account +for. And they will take a good deal of explaining away.”</p> + +<p>“Then you really intend to reveal the secret of that house in +Porchester Terrace?” he asked, not without some apprehension.</p> + +<p>“My enemies, you say, intend to plot and encompass my death. Good! +Then I shall take my own means of vindication. Naturally I am a quiet, +law-abiding man. But if any enemy rises against me without cause, then +I strike out with a sledgehammer.”</p> + +<p>“You are hopeless,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“I am, where my love is concerned,” I admitted. “Sylvia has promised +to-day that she will become my wife. The future is surely our own +affair, Mr. Shuttleworth—not yours!”</p> + +<p>“And if her father forbids?” he asked quite quietly, his eyes fixed +straight upon my well-beloved.</p> + +<p>“Let me meet him face to face,” I said in defiance. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>“He will not +interfere after I have spoken,” I added, with confidence. “I, perhaps, +know more than you believe concerning him.”</p> + +<p>Sylvia started, staring at me, her face blanched in an instant. The +scene was tragic and painful.</p> + +<p>“What do you know?” she asked breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, dearest, which will interfere with our love,” I reassured +her. “Your father’s affairs are not yours, and for his doings you +cannot be held responsible.”</p> + +<p>She exchanged a quick glance with Shuttleworth, I noticed.</p> + +<p>Then it seemed as though a great weight were lifted from her mind by +my words, for, turning to me, she smiled sweetly, saying—</p> + +<p>“Ah! how can I thank you sufficiently? I am helpless and defenceless. +If I only dared, I could tell you a strange story—for surely mine is +as strange as any ever printed in the pages of fiction. But Mr. +Shuttleworth will not permit it.”</p> + +<p>“You may speak—if you deem it wise,” exclaimed the rector in a +strangely altered voice. He seemed much annoyed at my open defiance. +“Mr. Biddulph may as well, perhaps, know the truth at first as at +last.”</p> + +<p>“The truth!” I echoed. “Yes, tell me the truth,” I begged her.</p> + +<p>“No,” she cried wildly, again covering her fair face with her hands. +“No—forgive me. I can’t—<i>I can’t!</i>”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>“No,” remarked Shuttleworth in a strange, hard, reproachful tone, and +with a cruel, cynical smile upon his lips. “You cannot—for it is too +hideous—too disgraceful—too utterly scandalous! It is for that +reason I forbid you to love!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_SIXTEEN" id="CHAPTER_SIXTEEN"></a>CHAPTER SIXTEEN</h2> + +<h3>THE MAN IN GOLD PINCE-NEZ</h3> + +<p>For a whole month our engagement was kept a profound secret.</p> + +<p>Only Shuttleworth and his wife knew. The first-named had been +compelled to bow to the inevitable, and for him, it must be said that +he behaved splendidly. Sylvia remained his guest, and on several days +each week I travelled down from Waterloo to Andover and spent the warm +summer hours with her, wandering in the woods, or lounging upon the +pretty lawn of the old rectory.</p> + +<p>The rector had ceased to utter warnings, yet sometimes I noticed a +strange, apprehensive look upon his grave countenance. Elsie Durnford +still remained there, and she and Sylvia were close friends.</p> + +<p>Through those four happy weeks I had tried to get into communication +with Mr. Pennington. I telegraphed to an address in Scotland which +Sylvia had given me, but received no reply. I then telegraphed to the +Caledonian Hotel in Edinburgh, and then learned, with considerable +surprise, that nobody named Pennington was, or had been, staying +there.</p> + +<p>I told Sylvia this. But she merely remarked—</p> + +<p>“Father is so erratic in his movements that he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>probably never went to +Edinburgh, after all. I have not heard from him now for a full week.”</p> + +<p>I somehow felt, why, I cannot well explain, that she was rather +disinclined to allow me to communicate with Pennington. Did she fear +that he might forbid our marriage?</p> + +<p>Without seeing him or obtaining his consent, I confess I did not feel +absolute security. The mystery surrounding her was such a curious and +complicated one that the deeper I probed into it, the more complex did +it appear.</p> + +<p>Some few days later, in reply to my question, she said that she had +heard from her father, who was at the Midland Grand Hotel in +Manchester. He would not, however, be in London for two or three +weeks, as he was about to leave in two days’ time, by way of Hook of +Holland, for Berlin, where he had business.</p> + +<p>Therefore, early the following morning, I took train to Manchester, +and made inquiry at the big hotel.</p> + +<p>“We have no gentleman of that name here, sir,” replied the smart +reception clerk, referring to his list. “He hasn’t arrived yet, I +expect. A lady was asking for a Mr. Pennington yesterday—a French +lady.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know the name, then?”</p> + +<p>He replied in the negative.</p> + +<p>“No doubt he is expected, if the lady called to see him?”</p> + +<p>“No doubt, sir. Perhaps he’ll be here to-day.”</p> + +<p>And with that, I was compelled to turn disappointed away. I wandered +into the restaurant, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>there ate my lunch alone. The place was +crowded, as it always is, mostly by people interested in cotton and +its products, for it is, perhaps, one of the most cosmopolitan hotels +in the whole kingdom. Sick of the chatter and clatter of the place, I +paid my bill and passed out into the big smoking-lounge to take my +coffee and liqueur and idle over the newspaper.</p> + +<p>I was not quite certain whether to remain there the night and watch +for Pennington’s arrival, or to return to London. As a matter of fact, +so certain had I been of finding him that I had not brought a +suit-case.</p> + +<p>I suppose I had been in the lounge half-an-hour or so, when I looked +up, and then, to my surprise, saw Pennington, smartly dressed, and +looking very spruce for his years, crossing from the bureau with a +number of letters in his hand. It was apparent that he had just +received them from the mail-clerk.</p> + +<p>And yet I had been told that he was not staying there!</p> + +<p>I held my paper in such position as to conceal my face while I watched +his movements.</p> + +<p>He halted, opened a telegram, and read it eagerly. Then, crushing it +in his hand with a gesture of annoyance, he thrust it into his jacket +pocket.</p> + +<p>He was dressed in a smart dark grey suit, which fitted him perfectly, +a grey soft felt hat, while his easy manner and bearing were those of +a gentleman of wealth and leisure. He held a cigar between his +fingers, and, walking slowly as he opened one of the letters, he +presently threw himself into one of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>big arm-chairs near me, and +became absorbed in his correspondence.</p> + +<p>There was a waste-paper basket near, and into this he tossed something +as valueless. One of the letters evidently caused him considerable +annoyance, for, removing his hat, he passed his hand slowly over his +bald head as he sat staring at it in mystification. Then he rang the +bell, and ordered something from a waiter. A liqueur of brandy was +brought, and, tossing it off at a gulp, he rose, wrote a telegram at +the table near him, and went quickly out.</p> + +<p>After he had gone I also rose, and, without attracting attention, +crossed, took up another paper, and then seated myself in the chair he +had vacated.</p> + +<p>My eye was upon the waste-paper basket, and when no one was looking I +reached out and took therefrom a crumpled blue envelope—the paper he +had flung away.</p> + +<p>Smoothing it out, I found that it was not addressed to him, but to +“Arnold Du Cane, Esq., Travellers’ Club, Paris,” and had been +re-directed to this hotel.</p> + +<p>This surprised me.</p> + +<p>I rose, and, crossing to the mail-clerk, asked—</p> + +<p>“You gave some letters and a telegram to a rather short gentleman in +grey a few minutes ago. Was that Mr. Du Cane?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “He went across yonder into the lounge.”</p> + +<p>“You know him—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, sir. He’s often been here. Not lately. At one time, however, +he was a frequent visitor.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p><p>And so Sylvia’s father was living there under the assumed name of +Arnold Du Cane!</p> + +<p>For business purposes names are often assumed, of course. But +Pennington’s business was such a mysterious one that, even against my +will, I became filled with suspicion.</p> + +<p>I resolved to wait and catch him on his return. He had probably only +gone to the telegraph office. Had Sylvia wilfully concealed the fact +that her father travelled under the name of Du Cane, in order that I +should not meet him? Surely there could be no reason why she should +have done so.</p> + +<p>Therefore I returned to a chair near the entrance to the +smoking-lounge, and waited in patience.</p> + +<p>My vigil was not a long one, for after ten minutes or so he +re-entered, spruce and gay, and cast a quick glance around, as though +in search of somebody.</p> + +<p>I rose from my chair, and as I did so saw that he regarded me +strangely, as though half conscious of having met me somewhere before.</p> + +<p>Walking straight up to him, I said—</p> + +<p>“I believe, sir, that you are Mr. Pennington?”</p> + +<p>He looked at me strangely, and I fancied that he started at mention of +the name.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” was his calm reply, “I have not the pleasure of knowing +you.” I noted that he neither admitted that he was Pennington, nor did +he deny it.</p> + +<p>“We met some little time ago on the Lake of Garda,” I said. “I, +unfortunately, did not get the chance of a chat with you then. You +left suddenly. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>Don’t you recollect that I sat alone opposite you in +the restaurant of the Grand at Gardone?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes!” he laughed. “How very foolish of me! Forgive me. I thought I +recognized you, and yet couldn’t, for the life of me, recall where we +had met. How are you?” and he put out his hand and shook mine warmly. +“Let’s sit down. Have a drink, Mr.—er. I haven’t the pleasure of your +name.”</p> + +<p>“Biddulph,” I said. “Owen Biddulph.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Biddulph,” he said in a cheery way, “I’m very glad you +recognized me. I’m a very bad hand at recollecting people, I fear. +Perhaps I meet so many.” And then he gave the waiter an order for some +refreshment. “Since I was at Gardone I’ve been about a great deal—to +Cairo, Bucharest, Odessa, and other places. I’m always travelling, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“And your daughter has remained at home—with Mr. Shuttleworth, near +Andover,” I remarked.</p> + +<p>He started perceptibly at my words.</p> + +<p>“Ah! of course. The girl was with me at Gardone. You met her there, +perhaps—eh?”</p> + +<p>I replied in the affirmative. It, however, struck me as strange that +he should refer to her as “the girl.” Surely that was the term used by +one of his strange motoring friends when he kept that midnight +appointment on the Brescia road.</p> + +<p>“I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Sylvia,” I went on. “And more, we +have become very firm friends.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p><p>“Oh!” he exclaimed, opening his eyes widely. “I’m delighted to hear +it.”</p> + +<p>Though his manner was so open and breezy, I yet somehow detected a +curious sinister expression in his glance. He did not seem exactly at +his ease in my presence.</p> + +<p>“The fact is, Mr. Pennington,” I said, after we had been chatting for +some time, “I have been wanting to meet you for some weeks past. I +have something to say to you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! What’s that?” he asked, regarding me with some surprise. “I +suppose Sylvia told you that I was in Manchester, and you came here to +see me—eh? This was not a chance meeting—was it?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly,” I admitted. “I came here from London expressly to have +a chat with you—a confidential chat.”</p> + +<p>His expression altered slightly, I thought.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he asked, twisting his cigar thoughtfully in his fingers. +“Speak; I’m listening.”</p> + +<p>For a second I hesitated. Then, in a blundering way, blurted forth—</p> + +<p>“The fact is, Mr. Pennington, I love Sylvia! She has promised to +become my wife, and I am here to beg your consent.”</p> + +<p>He half rose from his chair, staring at me in blank amazement.</p> + +<p>“What?” he cried. “Sylvia loves you—a perfect stranger?”</p> + +<p>“She does,” was my calm response. “And <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>though I may be a stranger to +you, Mr. Pennington, I hope it may not be for long. I am not without +means, and I am in a position to maintain your daughter properly, as +the wife of a country gentleman.”</p> + +<p>He was silent for a few moments, his brows knit thoughtfully, his eyes +upon the fine ring upon his well-manicured hand.</p> + +<p>“What is your income?” he asked quite bluntly, raising his keen eyes +to mine.</p> + +<p>I told him, giving him a few details concerning my parentage and my +possessions.</p> + +<p>“And what would you be prepared to settle on my daughter, providing I +gave my consent? Have you thought of that matter?”</p> + +<p>I confessed that I had not, but that I would be ready, if she so +desired, to settle upon her twenty thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>“And that wouldn’t cripple you—eh?”</p> + +<p>“No, I’m pleased to say it would not. I have kept my inheritance +practically intact,” I added.</p> + +<p>“Well, I must first hear what Sylvia has to say,” he said; then he +added airily, “I suppose you would make over the greater part of your +estate to her, in case of your death? And there are life assurances, +of course? One never knows what may happen, you know. Pardon me for +speaking thus frankly. As a father, however, it is my duty to see that +my daughter’s future is safeguarded.”</p> + +<p>“I quite understand all that,” I replied, with a smile. “Of course, +Sylvia would inherit all I could <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>legally bequeath to her, and as for +life assurances, I would insure myself for what sum you suggest.”</p> + +<p>“You are young,” he said. “Insure for ten thousand. The premiums would +be not so very heavy.”</p> + +<p>“As you wish,” I replied. “If I carry out your desires, I understand +that I have your consent to pay my attentions to Sylvia?”</p> + +<p>“If what you tell me proves, on inquiry, to be the truth, Mr. +Biddulph, I shall have the greatest pleasure in welcoming you as my +son-in-law. I can’t say more,” he replied. “Here’s my hand,” and as I +took his, he gripped me heartily. “I confess I like you now,” he +added, “and I feel sure I shall like you more when I know more +concerning you.”</p> + +<p>Then he added, with a laugh—</p> + +<p>“Oh, by the way, I’m not known here as Pennington, but as Du Cane. The +fact is, I had some unfortunate litigation some time ago, which led to +bankruptcy, and so, for business reasons, I’m Arnold Du Cane. You’ll +understand, won’t you?” he laughed.</p> + +<p>“Entirely,” I replied, overjoyed at receiving Pennington’s consent. +“When shall we meet in London?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be back on the 10th—that’s sixteen days from now,” he replied. +“I have to go to Brussels, and on to Riga. Tell Sylvia and dear old +Shuttleworth you’ve seen me. Give them both my love. We shall meet +down at Middleton, most certainly.”</p> + +<p>And so for a long time we chatted on, finishing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>our cigars, I +replying to many questions he put to me relative to my financial and +social position—questions which were most natural in the +circumstances of our proposed relationship.</p> + +<p>But while we were talking a rather curious incident arrested my +attention. Pennington was sitting with his back to the door of the +lounge, when, among those who came and went, was a rather stout +foreigner of middle age, dressed quietly in black, wearing a gold +pince-nez, and having the appearance of a French business man.</p> + +<p>He had entered the lounge leisurely, when, suddenly catching sight of +Sylvia’s father, he drew back and made a hurried exit, apparently +anxious to escape the observation of us both.</p> + +<p>So occupied was my mind with my own affairs that the occurrence +completely passed from me until that same night, when, at ten o’clock, +on descending the steps of White’s and proceeding to walk down St. +James’s Street in the direction of home, I suddenly heard footsteps +behind me, and, turning, found, to my dismay, the Frenchman from +Manchester quietly walking in the same direction.</p> + +<p>This greatly mystified me. The broad-faced foreigner in gold +pince-nez, evidently in ignorance that I had seen him in Manchester, +must have travelled up to London by the same train as myself, and must +have remained watching outside White’s for an hour or more!</p> + +<p>Why had the stranger so suddenly become interested in me?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p><p>Was yet another attempt to be made upon me, as Shuttleworth had so +mysteriously predicted?</p> + +<p>I was determined to show a bold front and defy my enemies; therefore, +when I had crossed Pall Mall against St. James’s Palace, I suddenly +faced about, and, meeting the stranger full tilt, addressed him before +he could escape.</p> + +<p>Next moment, alas! I knew that I had acted injudiciously.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_SEVENTEEN" id="CHAPTER_SEVENTEEN"></a>CHAPTER SEVENTEEN</h2> + +<h3>THE MAN IN THE STREET</h3> + +<p>I had asked the Frenchman, rather angrily I fear, why he was following +me, whereat he merely bowed with the exquisite politeness of his race, +and replied in good English—</p> + +<p>“I was not aware of following m’sieur. I regret extremely if I have +caused annoyance. I ask a thousand pardons.”</p> + +<p>“Well, your surveillance upon me annoys me,” I declared abruptly. “I +saw you spying upon me in Manchester this afternoon, and you have +followed me to London!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes,” he replied, with a slight gesticulation; “it is true that I +was in Manchester. But our meeting here must be by mere chance. I was +unaware that monsieur was in Manchester,” he assured me in a suave +manner.</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said in French, “yours is a very lame story, monsieur. I saw +you, and you also saw me talking to Mr. Pennington in the Midland +Hotel. Perhaps you’ll deny that you know Mr. Pennington—eh?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly do not deny that,” he said, with a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>smile. “I have known +Monsieur Penning-ton for some years. It is true that I saw him at the +Midland.”</p> + +<p>“And you withdrew in order to escape his observation—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur has quick eyes,” he said. “Yes, that is quite true.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“For reasons of my own.”</p> + +<p>“And you deny having followed me here?”</p> + +<p>He hesitated for a second, looking straight into my face in the +darkness.</p> + +<p>“Come,” I said, “you may as well admit that you followed me from +Manchester.”</p> + +<p>“Why should I admit what is not the truth?” he asked. “What motive +could I have to follow you—a perfect stranger?”</p> + +<p>“Well, as a matter of fact, I’m a bit suspicious,” I declared, still +speaking in French. “Of late there was a desperate attempt upon my +life.”</p> + +<p>“By whom?” he inquired quickly. “Please tell me, Monsieur Biddulph; I +am greatly interested in this.”</p> + +<p>“Then you know my name?” I exclaimed, surprised.</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“Why are you interested in me?”</p> + +<p>“I may now have a motive,” was his calm yet mysterious reply. “Tell me +in what manner an attempt has been made upon you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p><p>At first I hesitated, then, after a second’s reflection, I explained +the situation in a few words.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Of course, I quite see that monsieur’s mind must be filled by +suspicion,” he responded; “yet I regret if I have been the cause of +any annoyance. By the way, how long have you known Monsieur +Penning-ton?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, some months,” I replied. “The fact is, I’m engaged to his +daughter.”</p> + +<p>“His daughter!” echoed the Frenchman, looking at me quickly with a +searching glance. Then he gave vent to a low grunt, and stroked his +grey pointed beard.</p> + +<p>“And it was after this engagement that the attempt was made upon +you—eh?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“No, before.”</p> + +<p>The foreigner remained silent for a few moments. He seemed +considerably puzzled. I could not make him out. The fact that he was +acquainted with my name showed that he was unduly interested in me, +even though he had partially denied it.</p> + +<p>“Why do you ask this?” I demanded, as we still stood together at the +bottom of St. James’s Street.</p> + +<p>“Ah, nothing,” he laughed. “But—well, I really fear I’ve aroused your +suspicions unduly. Perhaps it is not so very extraordinary, after all, +that in these days of rapid communication two men should catch sight +of each other in a Manchester hotel, and, later on, meet in a street +in London—eh?”</p> + +<p>“I regard the coincidence as a strange one, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>monsieur,” I replied +stiffly, “if it is really an actual coincidence.”</p> + +<p>For aught I knew, the fellow might be a friend of Pennington, or an +accomplice of those rascally assassins. Had I not been warned by +Shuttleworth, and also by Sylvia herself, of another secret attempt +upon my life?</p> + +<p>I was wary now, and full of suspicion.</p> + +<p>Instinctively I did not like this mysterious foreigner. The way in +which he had first caught sight of my face as I descended the steps of +White’s, and how he had glided after me down St. James’s Street, was +not calculated to inspire confidence.</p> + +<p>He asked permission to walk at my side along the Mall, which I rather +reluctantly granted. It seemed that, now I had addressed him, I could +not shake him off. Without doubt his intention was to watch, and see +where I lived. Therefore, instead of going in the direction of +Buckingham Palace, I turned back eastward towards the steps at the +foot of the Duke of York’s Column.</p> + +<p>As we strolled in the darkness along the front of Carlton House +Terrace he chatted affably with me, then said suddenly—</p> + +<p>“Do you know, Monsieur Biddulph, we met once before—in rather strange +circumstances. You did not, however, see me. It was in Paris, some +little time ago. You were staying at the Grand Hotel, and became +acquainted with a certain American named Harriman.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p><p>“Harriman!” I echoed, with a start, for that man’s name brought back +to me an episode I would fain forget. The fact is, I had trusted him, +and I had believed him to be an honest man engaged in big financial +transactions, until I discovered the truth. My friendship with him +cost me nearly one thousand eight hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>“Harriman was very smart, was he not?” laughed my friend, with a touch +of sarcasm.</p> + +<p>Could it be, I wondered, that this Frenchman was a friend of the +shrewd and unscrupulous New Yorker?</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I replied rather faintly.</p> + +<p>“Sharp—until found out,” went on the stranger, speaking in French. +“His real name is Bell, and he——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know; he was arrested for fraud in my presence as he came down +the staircase in the hotel,” I interrupted.</p> + +<p>“He was arrested upon a much more serious charge,” exclaimed the +stranger. “He was certainly wanted in Berlin and Hanover for frauds in +connection with an invention, but the most serious charge against him +was one of murder.”</p> + +<p>“Murder!” I gasped. “I never knew that!”</p> + +<p>“Yes—the murder of a young English statesman named Ronald Burke at a +villa near Nice. Surely you read reports of the trial?”</p> + +<p>I confessed that I had not done so.</p> + +<p>“Well, it was proved conclusively that he was a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>member of a very +dangerous gang of criminals who for several years had committed some +of the most clever and audacious thefts. The organization consisted of +over thirty men and women, of varying ages, all of them expert jewel +thieves, safe-breakers, or card-sharpers. Twice each year this +interesting company held meetings—at which every member was +present—and at such meetings certain members were allotted certain +districts, or certain profitable pieces of business. Thus, if +half-a-dozen were to-day operating in London as thieves or receivers, +they would change, and in a week would be operating in St. Petersburg, +while those from Russia would be here. So cleverly was the band +organized that it was practically impossible for the police to make +arrests. It was a more widespread and wealthy criminal organization +than has ever before been unearthed. But the arrest of your friend +Harriman, alias Bell, on a charge of murder was the means of exposing +the conspiracy, and the ultimate breaking up of the gang.”</p> + +<p>“And what of Bell?”</p> + +<p>“He narrowly escaped the guillotine, and is now imprisoned for life at +Devil’s Island.”</p> + +<p>“And you saw him with me at Paris?” I remarked, in wonder at this +strange revelation. “He certainly never struck me as an assassin. He +was a shrewd man—a swindler, no doubt, but his humorous bearing and +his good-nature were entirely opposed to the belief that his was a +sinister nature.”</p> + +<p>“Yet it was proved beyond the shadow of a doubt <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>that he and another +man killed and robbed a young Englishman named Burke,” responded the +Frenchman. “Perhaps you, yourself, had a narrow escape. Who knows? It +was no doubt lucky for you that he was arrested.”</p> + +<p>“But I understood that the charge was one of fraud,” I said. “I +intended to go to the trial, but I was called to Italy.”</p> + +<p>“The charge of fraud was made in order not to alarm his accomplice,” +replied the stranger.</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>“Well”—he hesitated—“that came out at the trial. There were full +accounts of it in the Paris <i>Matin</i>.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care for reading Assize Court horrors,” I replied, still +puzzled regarding my strange companion’s intimate knowledge concerning +the man whose dramatic and sudden arrest had, on that memorable +afternoon, so startled me.</p> + +<p>“When I saw your face just now,” he said, “I recognized you as being +at the Grand Hotel with Bell. Do you know,” he laughed, “you were such +a close friend of the accused that you were suspected of being a +member of the dangerous association! Indeed, you very narrowly escaped +arrest on suspicion. It was only because the reception clerk in the +hotel knew you well, and vouched for your respectability and that +Biddulph was your real name. Yet, for a full week, you were watched +closely by the <i>sûreté</i>.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p><p>“And I was all unconscious of it!” I cried, realizing how narrowly I +had escaped a very unpleasant time. “How do you know all this?” I +asked.</p> + +<p>But the Frenchman with the gold glasses and the big amethyst ring upon +his finger merely laughed, and refused to satisfy me.</p> + +<p>From him, however, I learned that the depredations of the formidable +gang had been unequalled in the annals of crime. Many of the greatest +jewel robberies in the European capitals in recent years had, it was +now proved, been effected by them, as well as the theft of the +Marchioness of Mottisfont’s jewels at Victoria Station, which were +valued at eighteen thousand pounds, and were never recovered; the +breaking open of the safe of Levi & Andrews, the well-known +diamond-merchants of Hatton Garden, and the theft of a whole vanload +of furs before a shop in New Bond Street, all of which are, no doubt, +fresh within the memory of the reader of the daily newspapers.</p> + +<p>Every single member of that remarkable association of thieves was an +expert in his or her branch of dishonesty, while the common fund was a +large one, hence members could disguise themselves as wealthy persons, +if need be. One, when arrested, was found occupying a fine old castle +in the Tyrol, he told me; another—an expert burglar—was a doctor in +good practice at Hampstead; another kept a fine jeweller’s shop in +Marseilles, while another, a lady, lived in style in a great château +near Nevers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p><p>“And who exposed them?” I asked, much interested. “Somebody must have +betrayed them.”</p> + +<p>“Somebody did betray them—by anonymous letters to the police—letters +which were received at intervals at the Préfecture in Paris, and led +to the arrest of one after another of the chief members of the gang. +It seemed to have been done by some one irritated by Bell’s arrest. +But the identity of the informant has never been ascertained. He +deemed it best to remain hidden—for obvious reasons,” laughed my +friend at my side.</p> + +<p>“You seem to know a good many facts regarding the affair,” I said. +“Have you no idea of the identity of the mysterious informant?”</p> + +<p>“Well”—he hesitated—“I have a suspicion that it was some person +associated with them—some one who became conscience-stricken. Ah! +M’sieur Biddulph, if you only knew the marvellous cunning of that +invulnerable gang. Had it not been for that informant, they would +still be operating—in open defiance of the police of Europe. Criminal +methods, if expert, only fail for want of funds. Are not some of our +wealthiest financiers mere criminals who, by dealing in thousands, as +other men deal in francs, conceal their criminal methods? Half your +successful financiers are merely successful adventurers. The +<i>dossiers</i> of some of them, preserved in the police bureaux, would be +astounding reading to those who admire them and proclaim them the +successful men of to-day—kings of finance they call them!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p><p>“You are certainly something of a philosopher,” I laughed, compelled +to admit the truth of his argument; “but tell me—how is it that you +know so much concerning George Harriman, alias Bell, and his +antecedents?”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_EIGHTEEN" id="CHAPTER_EIGHTEEN"></a>CHAPTER EIGHTEEN</h2> + +<h3>PROOF POSITIVE</h3> + +<p>I was greatly interested, even though I was now filled with suspicion.</p> + +<p>Somehow I had become impressed with the idea that the stranger might +have been one of the daring and dangerous association, and that he had +related that strange story for the purpose of misleading me.</p> + +<p>But the stranger, who had, in the course of our conversation, told me +that his name was Pierre Delanne, only said—</p> + +<p>“You could have read it all in the <i>Matin</i>, my dear monsieur.”</p> + +<p>His attitude was that of a man who knew more than he intended to +reveal. Surely it was a curious circumstance, standing there in the +night, listening to the dramatic truth concerning the big-faced +American, Harriman, whom I had for so long regarded as an enigma.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Monsieur Delanne,” I said, “for what reason have you +followed me to London?”</p> + +<p>He laughed as he strode easily along at my side towards the Duke of +York’s steps.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t I already told you that I did not purposely follow you?” he +exclaimed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p><p>“Yes, but I don’t believe it,” was my very frank reply. He had +certainly explained that, but his manner was not earnest. I could see +that he was only trifling with me, trifling in an easy, good-natured +way.</p> + +<p>“<i>Bien!</i>” he said; “and if I followed you, Monsieur Biddulph, I assert +that it is with no sinister intent.”</p> + +<p>“How do I know that?” I queried. “You are a stranger.”</p> + +<p>“I admit that. But you are not a stranger to me, my dear monsieur.”</p> + +<p>“Well, let us come to the point,” I said. “What do you want with me?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” he laughed. “Was it not you yourself who addressed me?”</p> + +<p>“But you followed me!” I cried. “You can’t deny that.”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur may hold of me whatever opinion he pleases,” was Delanne’s +polite reply. “I repeat my regrets, and I ask pardon.”</p> + +<p>He spoke English remarkably well. But I recollected that the +international thief—the man who is a cosmopolitan, and who commits +theft in one country to-night, and is across the frontier in the +morning—is always a perfect linguist. Harriman was. Though American, +with all his nasal intonation and quaint Americanisms, he spoke +half-a-dozen Continental languages quite fluently.</p> + +<p>My bitter experiences of the past caused considerable doubt to arise +within me. I had had warnings <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>that my mysterious enemies would attack +me secretly, by some subtle means. Was this Frenchman one of them?</p> + +<p>He saw that I treated him with some suspicion, but it evidently amused +him. His face beamed with good-nature.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the broad flight of stairs which lead up to the +United Service Club and Pall Mall, I halted.</p> + +<p>“Now look here, Monsieur Delanne,” I said, much puzzled and mystified +by the man’s manner and the curious story he had related, “I have +neither desire nor inclination for your company further. You +understand?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, monsieur, a thousand pardons,” cried the man, raising his hat and +bowing with the elegance of the true Parisian. “I have simply spoken +the truth. Did you not put to me questions which I have answered? You +have said you are engaged to the daughter of my friend Penning-ton. +That has interested me.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because the daughter of my friend Penning-ton always interests me,” +was his curious reply.</p> + +<p>“Is that an intended sarcasm?” I asked resentfully.</p> + +<p>“Not in the least, m’sieur,” he said quickly. “I have every admiration +for the young lady.”</p> + +<p>“Then you know her—eh?”</p> + +<p>“By repute.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p><p>“Well, her father was connected with one of the strangest and most +extraordinary incidents in my life,” he said. “Even to-day, the +mystery of it all has not been cleared up. I have tried, times without +number, to elucidate it, but have always failed.”</p> + +<p>“What part did Sylvia play in the affair, may I ask?”</p> + +<p>“Really,” he replied, “I scarcely know. It was so utterly +extraordinary—beyond human credence.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me—explain to me,” I said, instantly interested. What could +this man know of my well-beloved?</p> + +<p>He was silent for some minutes. We were still standing by the steps. +Surely it was scarcely the place for an exchange of confidences.</p> + +<p>“I fear that monsieur must really excuse me. The matter is +purely a personal one—purely confidential, and concerns myself +alone—just—just as your close acquaintanceship with Mademoiselle +Sylvia concerns you.”</p> + +<p>“It seems that it concerns other persons as well, if one may judge by +what has recently occurred.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Then your enemies have arisen because of your engagement to the +girl—eh?”</p> + +<p>“The girl!” How strange! Pennington’s mysterious friends of the +Brescia road had referred to her as “the girl.” So had those two +assassins in Porchester Terrace! Was it a mere coincidence, or had he, +too, betrayed a collusion with those mean blackguards who had put me +to that horrible torture?</p> + +<p>Had you met this strange man at night in St. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>James’s Park, would you +have placed any faith in him? I think not. I maintain that I was +perfectly justified in treating him as an enemy. He was rather too +intimately acquainted with the doings of Harriman and his gang to suit +my liking. Even as he stood there beneath the light of the +street-lamp, I saw that his bright eyes twinkled behind those gold +pince-nez, while the big old-fashioned amethyst he wore on his finger +was a conspicuous object. He gave one the appearance of a prosperous +merchant or shopkeeper.</p> + +<p>“What makes you suggest that the attempt was due to my affection for +Sylvia?” I asked him.</p> + +<p>“Well, it furnishes a motive, does it not?”</p> + +<p>“No, it doesn’t. I have no enemies—as far as I am aware.”</p> + +<p>“But there exists some person who is highly jealous of mademoiselle, +and who is therefore working against you in secret.”</p> + +<p>“Is that your opinion?”</p> + +<p>“I regret to admit that it is. Indeed, Monsieur Biddulph, you have +every need to exercise the greatest care. Otherwise misfortune will +occur to you. Mark what I—a stranger—tell you.”</p> + +<p>I started. Here again was a warning uttered! The situation was growing +quite uncanny.</p> + +<p>“What makes you expect this?”</p> + +<p>“It is more than mere surmise,” he said slowly and in deep +earnestness. “I happen to know.”</p> + +<p>From that last sentence of his I jumped to the conclusion that he was, +after all, one of the malefactors. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>He was warning me with the +distinct object of putting me off my guard. His next move, no doubt, +would be to try and pose as my friend and adviser! I laughed within +myself, for I was too wary for him.</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said, after a few moments’ silence, as together we ascended +the broad flight of steps, with the high column looming in the +darkness, “the fact is, I’ve become tired of all these warnings. +Everybody I meet seems to predict disaster for me. Why, I can’t make +out.”</p> + +<p>“No one has revealed to you the reason—eh?” he asked in a low, +meaning voice.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Then, of course, you cannot discern the peril. It is but natural +that you should treat all well-meant advice lightly. Probably I +should, <i>mon cher ami</i>, if I were in your place.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I exclaimed impatiently, halting again, “now, what is it that +you really know? Don’t beat about the bush any longer. Tell me, +frankly and openly.”</p> + +<p>The man merely raised his shoulders significantly, but made no +response. In the ray of light which fell upon him, his gold-rimmed +spectacles glinted, while his shrewd dark eyes twinkled behind them, +as though he delighted in mystifying me.</p> + +<p>“Surely you can reply,” I cried in anger. “What is the reason of all +this? What have I done?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! it is what monsieur has not done.”</p> + +<p>“Pray explain.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p><p>“Pardon. I cannot explain. Why not ask mademoiselle? She knows +everything.”</p> + +<p>“Everything!” I echoed. “Then why does she not tell me?”</p> + +<p>“She fears—most probably.”</p> + +<p>Could it be that this strange foreigner was purposely misleading me? I +gazed upon his stout, well-dressed figure, and the well-brushed silk +hat which he wore with such jaunty air.</p> + +<p>In Pall Mall a string of taxi-cabs was passing westward, conveying +homeward-bound theatre folk, while across at the brightly-lit entrance +of the Carlton, cabs and taxis were drawing up and depositing +well-dressed people about to sup.</p> + +<p>At the corner of the Athenæum Club we halted again, for I wanted to +rid myself of him. I had acted foolishly in addressing him in the +first instance. For aught I knew, he might be an accomplice of those +absconding assassins of Porchester Terrace.</p> + +<p>As we stood there, he had the audacity to produce his cigarette-case +and offer me one. But I resentfully declined it.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he laughed, stroking his greyish beard again, “I fear, Monsieur +Biddulph, that you are displeased with me. I have annoyed you by not +satisfying your natural curiosity. But were I to do so, it would be +against my own interests. Hence my silence. Am I not perfectly honest +with you?”</p> + +<p>That speech of his corroborated all my suspicions. His motive in +following me, whatever it could be, was a sinister one. He had +admitted knowledge of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>Harriman, the man found guilty and sentenced +for the murder of the young English member of Parliament, Ronald +Burke. His intimate acquaintance with Harriman’s past and with his +undesirable friends showed that he must have been an associate of that +daring and dangerous gang.</p> + +<p>I was a diligent reader of the English papers, but had never seen any +mention of the great association of expert criminals. His assertion +that the Paris <i>Matin</i> had published all the details was, in all +probability, untrue. I instinctively mistrusted him, because he had +kept such a watchful eye upon me ever since I had sat with Sylvia’s +father in the lounge of that big hotel in Manchester.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you are honest with me, Monsieur Delanne,” I said +stiffly. “Therefore I refuse to believe you further.”</p> + +<p>“As you wish,” laughed my companion. “You will believe me, however, +ere long—when you have proof. Depend upon it.”</p> + +<p>And he glanced at his watch, closing it quickly with a snap.</p> + +<p>“You see——” he began, but as he uttered the words a taxi, coming +from the direction of Charing Cross, suddenly pulled up at the kerb +where we were standing—so suddenly that, for a moment, I did not +notice that it had come to a standstill.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed, when he saw the cab, “I quite forgot! I have an +appointment. I will wish you <i>bon soir</i>, Monsieur Biddulph. We may +meet again—perhaps.” And he raised his hat in farewell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>As he turned towards the taxi to enter it, I realized that some one +was inside—that the person in the cab had met the strange foreigner +by appointment at that corner!</p> + +<p>A man’s face peered out for a second, and a voice exclaimed cheerily—</p> + +<p>“Hulloa! Sorry I’m late, old chap!”</p> + +<p>Then, next instant, on seeing me, the face was withdrawn into the +shadow.</p> + +<p>Delanne had entered quickly, and, slamming the door, told the man to +drive with all speed to Paddington Station.</p> + +<p>The taxi was well on its way down Pall Mall ere I could recover from +my surprise.</p> + +<p>The face of the man in the cab was a countenance the remembrance of +which will ever haunt me if I live to be a hundred years—the evil, +pimply, dissipated face of Charles Reckitt!</p> + +<p>My surmise had been correct, after all. Delanne was his friend!</p> + +<p>Another conspiracy was afoot against me!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_NINETEEN" id="CHAPTER_NINETEEN"></a>CHAPTER NINETEEN</h2> + +<h3>THROUGH THE MISTS</h3> + +<p>It was now the end of September.</p> + +<p>All my fears had proved groundless, and I had, at last, learned to +laugh at them. For me, a new vista of life had been opened out, for +Sylvia had now been my wife for a whole week—seven long dreamy days +of perfect love and bliss.</p> + +<p>Scarce could we realize the truth that we were actually man and wife.</p> + +<p>Pennington had, after all, proved quite kind and affable, his sole +thought being of his daughter’s future happiness. I had invited them +both down to Carrington, and he had expressed delight at the provision +I had made for Sylvia. Old Browning, in his brand-new suit, was at the +head of a new staff of servants. There were new horses and carriages +and a landaulette motor, while I had also done all I could to +refurnish and renovate some of the rooms for Sylvia’s use.</p> + +<p>The old place had been very dark and dreary, but it now wore an air of +brightness and freshness, thanks to the London upholsterers and +decorators into whose hands I had given the work.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p><p>Pennington appeared highly pleased with all he saw, while Sylvia, her +arms entwined about my neck, kissed me in silent thanks for my efforts +on her behalf.</p> + +<p>Then came the wedding—a very quiet one at St. Mary Abbot’s, +Kensington. Besides Jack Marlowe and a couple of other men who were +intimate friends, not more than a dozen persons were present. +Shuttleworth assisted the vicar, but Pennington was unfortunately ill +in bed at the Hôtel Métropole, suffering from a bad cold. Still, we +held the wedding luncheon at the Savoy, and afterwards went up to +Scarborough, where we were now living in a pretty suite at the Grand +Hotel overlooking the harbour, the blue bay, and the castle-crowned +cliffs.</p> + +<p>It was disappointing to Sylvia that her father had not been present at +the wedding, but Elsie Durnford and her mother were there, as well as +two or three other of her girl friends. The ceremony was very plain. +At her own request, she had been married in her travelling-dress, +while I, man-like, had secretly been glad that there was no fuss.</p> + +<p>Just a visit to the church, the brief ceremony, the signature in the +register, and a four-line announcement in the <i>Times</i> and <i>Morning +Post</i>, and Sylvia and I had become man and wife.</p> + +<p>I had resolved, on the morning of my marriage, to put behind me all +thought of the mysteries and gruesomeness of the past. Now that I was +Sylvia’s husband, I felt that she would have my protection, as well as +that of her father. I had said nothing to her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>of her strange +apprehensions, for we had mutually allowed them to drop.</p> + +<p>We had come to Scarborough in preference to going abroad, for my +well-beloved declared that she had had already too much of Continental +life, and preferred a quiet time in England. So we had chosen the East +Coast, and now each day we either drove out over the Yorkshire moors, +or wandered by the rolling seas.</p> + +<p>She was now my own—my very own! Ah! the sweet significance of those +words when I uttered them and she clung to me, raising her full red +lips to mine to kiss.</p> + +<p>I loved her—aye, loved her with an all-consuming love. I told myself +a thousand times that no man on earth had ever loved a woman more than +I loved Sylvia. She was my idol, and more, we were wedded, firmly +united to one another, insunderably joined with each other so that we +two were one.</p> + +<p>You satirists, cynics, misogamists and misogynists may sneer at love, +and jeer at marriage. So melancholy is this our age that even by some +women marriage seems to be doubted. Yet we may believe that there is +not a woman in all Christendom who does not dote upon the name of +“wife.” It carries a spell which even the most rebellious suffragette +must acknowledge. They may speak of the subjection, the trammel, the +“slavery,” and the inferiority to which marriage reduces them, but, +after all, “wife” is a word against which they cannot harden their +hearts.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p><p>Ah! how fervently we loved each other. As Sylvia and I wandered +together by the sea on those calm September evenings, avoiding the +holiday crowd, preferring the less-frequented walks to the fashionable +promenades of the South Cliff or the Spa, we linked arm in arm, and I +often, when not observed, kissed her upon the brow.</p> + +<p>One evening, with the golden sunset in our faces, we were walking over +the cliffs to Cayton Bay, a favourite walk of ours, when we halted at +a stile, and sat together upon it to rest.</p> + +<p>The wide waters deep below, bathed in the green and gold of the +sinking sun, were calm, almost unruffled, unusual indeed for the North +Sea, while about us the birds were singing their evening song, and the +cattle in the fields were lying down in peace. There was not a breath +of wind. The calmness was the same as the perfect calmness of our own +hearts.</p> + +<p>“How still it is, Owen,” remarked my love, after sitting in silence +for a few minutes. From where we sat we could see that it was high +tide, and the waves were lazily lapping the base of the cliffs deep +below. Now and then a gull would circle about us with its shrill, +plaintive cry, while far on the distant horizon lay the trail of smoke +from a passing steamer. “How delightful it is to be here—alone with +you!”</p> + +<p>My arm stole round her slim waist, and my lips met hers in a fond, +passionate caress. She looked very dainty in a plain walking costume +of cream serge, with a boa of ostrich feathers about her throat, and a +large straw hat trimmed with autumn flowers. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>It was exceptionally +warm for the time of year; yet at night, on the breezy East Coast, +there is a cold nip in the air even in the height of summer.</p> + +<p>That afternoon we had, by favour of its owner, Mr. George Beeforth, +one of the pioneers of Scarborough, wandered through the beautiful +private gardens of the Belvedere, which, with their rose-walks, lawns +and plantations, stretched from the promenade down to the sea, and had +spent some charming hours in what its genial owner called “the +sun-trap.” In all the north of England there are surely no more +beautiful gardens beside the sea than those, and happily their +good-natured owner is never averse to granting a stranger permission +to visit them.</p> + +<p>As we now sat upon that stile our hearts were too full for words, +devoted as we were to each other.</p> + +<p>“Owen,” my wife exclaimed at last, her soft little hand upon my +shoulder as she looked up into my face, “are you certain you will +never regret marrying me?”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course not, dearest,” I said quickly, looking into her great +wide-open eyes.</p> + +<p>“But—but, somehow——”</p> + +<p>“Somehow, what?” I asked slowly.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she sighed, gazing away towards the far-off horizon, her +wonderful eyes bluer than the sea itself, “I have a strange, +indescribable feeling of impending evil—a presage of disaster.”</p> + +<p>“My darling,” I exclaimed, “why trouble yourself over what are merely +melancholy fancies? We are happy in each other’s love; therefore why +should <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>we anticipate evil? If it comes, then we will unite to resist +it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes, Owen,” she replied quickly, “but this strange feeling came +over me yesterday when we were together at Whitby. I cannot describe +it—only it is a weird, uncanny feeling, a fixed idea that something +must happen to mar this perfect happiness of ours.”</p> + +<p>“What can mar our happiness when we both trust each other—when we +both love each other, and our two hearts beat as one?”</p> + +<p>“Has not the French poet written a very serious truth in those lines: +‘<i>Plaisir d’amour ne dure qu’un moment; chagrin d’amour dure toute la +vie</i>’?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but we shall experience no chagrin, sweetheart,” I assured her. +“After another week here we will travel where you will. If you wish, +we will go to Carrington. There we shall be perfectly happy together, +away in beautiful Devonshire.”</p> + +<p>“I know you want to go there for the shooting, Owen,” she said +quietly, yet regarding me somewhat strangely, I thought. “You have +asked Mr. Marlowe?”</p> + +<p>“With your permission, dearest.”</p> + +<p>But her face changed, and she sighed slightly.</p> + +<p>In an instant I recollected the admission that they had either met +before, or at least they knew something concerning each other.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you do not desire to entertain company yet?” I said quickly. +“Very well; I’ll ask your father; he and I can have some sport +together.”</p> + +<p>“Owen,” she said at last, turning her fair face <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>again to mine, “would +you think it very, very strange of me, after all that you have done at +beautiful old Carrington, if I told you that I—well, that I do not +exactly like the place?”</p> + +<p>This rather surprised me, for she had hitherto been full of admiration +of the fine, well-preserved relic of the Elizabethan age.</p> + +<p>“Dearest, if you do not care for Carrington we will not go there. We +can either live at Wilton Street, or travel.”</p> + +<p>“I’m tired of travelling, dear,” she declared. “Ah, so tired! So, if +you are content, let us live in Wilton Street. Carrington is so huge. +When we were there I always felt lost in those big old rooms and long, +echoing corridors.”</p> + +<p>“But your own rooms that I’ve had redecorated and furnished are +smaller,” I said. “I admit that the old part of the house is very dark +and weird—full of ghosts of other times. There are a dozen or more +legends concerning it, as you know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I read them in the guide-book to Devon. Some are distinctly +quaint, are they not?”</p> + +<p>“Some are tragic also—especially the story of little Lady Holbrook, +who was so brutally killed by the Roundheads because she refused to +reveal the whereabouts of her husband,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Poor little lady!” sighed Sylvia. “But that is not mere legend: it is +historical fact.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said, “if you do not care for Carrington—if it is too dull +for you—we’ll live in London. Personally, I, too, should soon grow +tired of a country <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>life; and yet how could I grow tired of life with +you, my own darling, at my side?”</p> + +<p>“And how could I either, Owen?” she asked, kissing me fondly. “With +you, no place can ever be dull. It is not the dulness I dread, but +other things.”</p> + +<p>“What things?”</p> + +<p>“Catastrophe—of what kind, I know not. But I have been seized with a +kind of instinctive dread.”</p> + +<p>For a few moments I was silent, my arm still about her neat waist. +This sudden depression of hers was not reassuring.</p> + +<p>“Try and rid yourself of the idea, dearest,” I urged presently. “You +have nothing to fear. We may both have enemies, but they will not now +dare to attack us. Remember, I am now your husband.”</p> + +<p>“And I your wife, Owen,” she said, with a sweet love-look. Then, with +a heavy sigh, she gazed thoughtfully away with her eyes fixed upon the +darkening sea, and added: “I only fear, dearest—for your sake.”</p> + +<p>I was silent again.</p> + +<p>“Sylvia,” I said slowly at last, “have you learnt anything—anything +fresh which has awakened these strange apprehensions of yours?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she faltered, “nothing exactly fresh. It is only a strange and +unaccountable dread which has seized me—a dread of impending +disaster.”</p> + +<p>“Forget it,” I urged, endeavouring to laugh. “All your fears are now +without foundation, dearest. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>Now we are wedded, we will fearlessly +face the world together.”</p> + +<p>“I have no fear when I am at your side, Owen,” she replied, looking at +me pale and troubled. “But when we are parted I—I always fear. The +day before yesterday I was full of apprehension all the time you had +gone to York. I felt that something was to happen to you.”</p> + +<p>“Really, dear,” I said, smiling, “you make me feel quite creepy. Don’t +allow your mind to run on the subject. Try and think of something +else.”</p> + +<p>“But I can’t,” she declared. “That’s just it. I only wish I could rid +myself of this horrible feeling of insecurity.”</p> + +<p>“We are perfectly secure,” I assured her. “My enemies are now aware +that I’m quite wide awake.” And in a few brief sentences I explained +my curious meeting with the Frenchman Delanne.</p> + +<p>The instant I described him—his stout body, his grey pointed beard, +his gold pince-nez, his amethyst ring—she sat staring at me, white to +the lips.</p> + +<p>“Why,” she gasped, “I know! The description is exact. And—and you say +he saw my father in Manchester! He actually rode away in the same cab +as Reckitt! Impossible! You must have dreamt it all, Owen.”</p> + +<p>“No, dearest,” I said quite calmly. “It all occurred just as I have +repeated it to you.”</p> + +<p>“And he really entered the taxi with Reckitt? He said, too, that he +knew my father—eh?”</p> + +<p>“He did.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>She held her breath. Her eyes were staring straight before her, her +breath came and went quickly, and she gripped the wooden post to +steady herself, for she swayed forward suddenly, and I stretched out +my hand, fearing lest she should fall.</p> + +<p>What I had told her seemed to stagger her. It revealed something of +intense importance to her—something which, to me, remained hidden.</p> + +<p>It was still a complete enigma.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY</h2> + +<h3>THE STRANGER IN THE RUE DE RIVOLI</h3> + +<p>From Scarborough we had gone up to the Highlands, spending a fortnight +at Grantown, a week at Blair Atholl, returning south through Callander +and the Trossachs—one of the most glorious autumns I had ever spent.</p> + +<p>Ours was now a peaceful, uneventful life, careless of the morrow, and +filled with perfect love and concord. I adored my young beautiful +wife, and I envied no man.</p> + +<p>I had crushed down all feelings of misgivings that had hitherto so +often arisen within me, for I felt confident in Sylvia’s affection. +She lived only for me, possessing me body and soul.</p> + +<p>Not a pair in the whole of England loved each other with a truer or +more fervent passion. Our ideas were identical, and certainly I could +not have chosen a wife more fitted for me—even though she rested +beneath such a dark cloud of suspicion.</p> + +<p>I suppose some who read this plain statement of fact will declare me +to have been a fool. But to such I would reply that in your hearts the +flame of real love has never yet burned. You may have experienced what +you have fondly believed to have been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>love—a faint flame that has +perhaps flickered for a time and, dying out, has long been forgotten. +Only if you have really loved a woman—loved her with that +all-consuming passion that arises within a man once in his whole +lifetime when he meets his affinity, can you understand why I made +Sylvia my wife.</p> + +<p>I had the car brought up to meet us in Perth, and with it Sylvia and I +had explored all the remotest beauties of the Highlands. We ran up as +far north as Inverness, and around to Oban, delighting in all the +beauties of the heather-clad hills, the wild moors, the autumn-tinted +glades, and the broad unruffled lochs. Afterwards we went round the +Trossachs and motored back to London through Carlisle, the Lakes, +North Wales and the Valley of the Wye, the most charming of all +motor-runs in England.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, Sylvia wanted to do some shopping, and we went over to +Paris for ten days. There, while at the Meurice, her father, who +chanced to be passing through Paris on his way from Brussels to Lyons, +came unexpectedly one evening and dined with us in our private salon.</p> + +<p>Pennington was just as elegant and epicurean as ever. He delighted in +the dinner set before him, the hotel, of course, being noted for its +cooking.</p> + +<p>That evening we were a merry trio. I had not seen my father-in-law +since the morning of our marriage, when I had called, and found him +confined to his bed. Therefore we had both a lot to relate to him +regarding our travels.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>“I, too, have been moving about incessantly,” he remarked, as he +poised his wine-glass in his hand, regarding the colour of its +contents. “I was in Petersburg three weeks ago. I’m interested in some +telegraph construction works there. We’ve just secured a big +Government contract to lay a new line across Siberia.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve written to you half-a-dozen times,” remarked his daughter, “but +you never replied.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve never had your letters, child,” he said. “Where did you address +them?”</p> + +<p>“Two I sent to the Travellers’ Club, here. Another I sent to the Hôtel +de France, in Petersburg.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! I was at the Europe,” he laughed. “I find their cooking better. +Their sterlet is even better than the Hermitage at Moscow. Jules, the +chef, was at Cubat’s, in the Nevski, for years.”</p> + +<p>Pennington always gauged a hotel by the excellence of its chef. He +told us of tiny obscure places in Italy which he knew, where the rooms +were carpetless and comfortless, but where the cooking could vie with +the Savoy or Carlton in London. He mentioned the Giaponne in Leghorn, +the Tazza d’Oro in Lucca, and the Vapore in Venice, of all three of +which I had had experience, and I fully corroborated what he said. He +was a man who ate his strawberries with a quarter of a liqueur-glass +of maraschino thrown over them, and a slight addition of pepper, and +he always mixed his salads himself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>“Perhaps you think me very whimsical,” he laughed across the table, +“but really, good cooking makes so much difference to life.”</p> + +<p>I told him that, as an Englishman, I preferred plainly-cooked food.</p> + +<p>“Which is usually heavy and indigestible, I fear,” he declared. “What, +now, could be more indigestible than our English roast beef and plum +pudding—eh?”</p> + +<p>My own thoughts were, however, running in an entirely different +channel, and when presently Sylvia, who looked a delightful picture in +ivory chiffon, and wearing the diamond necklet I had given her as one +of her wedding presents, rose and left us to our cigars, I said +suddenly—</p> + +<p>“I say, Pennington, do you happen to know a stout, grey-bearded +Frenchman who wears gold-rimmed glasses—a man named Pierre Delanne?”</p> + +<p>“Delanne?” he repeated. “No, I don’t recollect the name.”</p> + +<p>“I saw him in Manchester,” I exclaimed. “He was at the Midland, and +said he knew you—and also Sylvia.”</p> + +<p>“In Manchester! Was he at the Midland while I was there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. He was dressed in black, with a silk hat and wore on his finger +a great amethyst ring—a rather vulgar-looking ornament.”</p> + +<p>Pennington’s lips were instantly pressed together.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed, almost with a start, “I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>think I know who you +mean. His beard is pointed, and his eyes rather small and shining. He +has the air of a bon-vivant, and speaks English extremely well. He +wears the amethyst on the little finger of his left hand.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>“And, to you, he called himself Pierre Delanne, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. What is his real name, then?”</p> + +<p>“Who knows? I’ve heard that he uses half-a-dozen different aliases,” +replied my father-in-law.</p> + +<p>“Then you know him?”</p> + +<p>“Well—not very well,” was Pennington’s response in a rather strange +voice, I thought. “Did he say anything regarding myself?”</p> + +<p>“Only that he had seen you in Manchester.”</p> + +<p>“When did you see him last?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said, “as a matter of fact he met me in London the same +night, and I fancy I have caught sight of him twice since. The first +occasion was a fortnight ago in Princes Street, Edinburgh, when I saw +him coming forth from the North British Hotel with another man, also a +foreigner. They turned up Princes Street, and then descended the steps +to the station before I could approach sufficiently close. I was +walking with Sylvia, so could not well hasten after them. The second +occasion was yesterday, when I believe I saw him in a taxi passing us +as we drove out to tea at Armenonville.”</p> + +<p>“Did he see you?” asked Pennington quickly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>“I think so. I fancy he recognized me.”</p> + +<p>“Did Sylvia see him?” he asked almost breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” and he seemed to breathe again more freely.</p> + +<p>“Apparently he is not a very great friend of yours,” I ventured to +remark.</p> + +<p>“No—he isn’t; and if I were you, Biddulph, I would avoid him like the +plague. He is not the kind of person desirable as a friend. You +understand.”</p> + +<p>“I gathered from his conversation that he was something of an +adventurer,” I said.</p> + +<p>“That’s just it. Myself, I always avoid him,” he replied. Then he +turned the conversation into a different channel. He congratulated me +upon our marriage and told me how Sylvia, when they had been alone +together for a few moments before dinner, had declared herself +supremely happy.</p> + +<p>“I only hope that nothing may occur to mar your pleasant lives, my +dear fellow,” he said, slowly knocking the ash from his cigar. “In the +marriage state one never knows whether adversity or prosperity lies +before one.”</p> + +<p>“I hope I shall meet with no adversity,” I said.</p> + +<p>“I hope not—for Sylvia’s sake,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“What is for Sylvia’s sake?” asked a cheery voice, and, as we both +looked up in surprise, we found that she had re-entered noiselessly, +and was standing laughing mischievously by the open door. “It is so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>dull being alone that I’ve ventured to come back. I don’t mind the +smoke in the least.”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, darling!” I cried, jumping from my chair and pulling +forward an arm-chair for her.</p> + +<p>I saw that it was a bright night outside, and that the autos with +their sparkling lights like shooting stars were passing and repassing +with honking horns up and down the Rue de Rivoli. For a moment she +stood at my side by the window, looking down into the broad +thoroughfare below.</p> + +<p>Then, a second later, she suddenly cried—</p> + +<p>“Why, look, Owen! Do you see that man with the short dark overcoat +standing under the lamp over there? I’ve seen him several times +to-day. Do you know, he seems to be watching us!”</p> + +<p>“Watching you!” cried her father, starting to his feet and joining us. +The long wooden sun-shutters were closed, so, on opening the windows +which led to the balcony we could see between the slats without being +observed from outside.</p> + +<p>I looked at the spot indicated by my wife, and then saw on the other +side of the way a youngish-looking man idly smoking a cigarette and +gazing in the direction of the Place de la Concorde, as though +expecting some one.</p> + +<p>I could not distinguish his features, yet I saw that he wore brown +boots, and that the cut of his clothes and the shape of his hat were +English.</p> + +<p>“Where have you seen him before?” I asked of her.</p> + +<p>“I first met him when I came out of Lentheric’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>this morning. Then, +again, when we lunched at the Volnay he was standing at the corner of +the Rue de la Paix and the Rue Daunou. He followed us in the Rue +Royale later on.”</p> + +<p>“And now he seems to have mounted guard outside, eh?” I remarked, +somewhat puzzled. “Why did you not tell me this before?”</p> + +<p>“I did not wish to cause you any anxiety, Owen,” was her simple reply, +while her father asked—</p> + +<p>“Do you know the fellow? Ever seen him before, Sylvia?”</p> + +<p>“Never in my life,” she declared. “It’s rather curious, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Very,” I said.</p> + +<p>And as we all three watched we saw him move away a short distance and +join a taller man who came from the direction he had been looking. For +a few moments they conversed. Then the new-comer crossed the road +towards us and was lost to sight.</p> + +<p>In a few seconds a ragged old man, a cripple, approached the +mysterious watcher with difficulty, and said something to him as he +passed.</p> + +<p>“That cripple is in the business!” cried Pennington, who had been +narrowly watching. “He’s keeping observation, and has told him +something. Some deep game is being played here, Biddulph.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder why they are watching?” I asked, somewhat apprehensive of +the coming evil that had been so long predicted.</p> + +<p>Father and daughter exchanged curious glances. It <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>seemed to me as +though a startling truth had dawned upon them both. I stood by in +silence.</p> + +<p>“It is certainly distinctly unpleasant to be watched like +this—providing, of course, that Sylvia has not made a mistake,” +Pennington said.</p> + +<p>“I have made no mistake,” she declared quickly. “I’ve been much +worried about it all day, but did not like to arouse Owen’s +suspicions;” and I saw by her face that she was in dead earnest.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, however, a light tap was heard upon the door and a +waiter opened it, bowing as he announced—</p> + +<p>“Monsieur Pierre Delanne to see Monsieur Biddulph.”</p> + +<p>“Great Heavens, Sylvia!” cried Pennington, standing pale-faced and +open-mouthed. “It’s Guertin! He must not discover that I am in Paris!” +Then, turning to me in fear, he implored: “Save me from this meeting, +Biddulph! Save me—if you value your wife’s honour, I beg of you. I’ll +explain all afterwards. <i>Only save me!</i>”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-ONE" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-ONE"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE</h2> + +<h3>DESCRIBES AN UNWELCOME VISIT</h3> + +<p>Pennington’s sudden fear held me in blank surprise.</p> + +<p>Ere I could reply to him he had slipped through the door which led +into my bedroom, closing it after him, just as Delanne’s stout figure +and broad, good-humoured face appeared in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed, “Meester Biddulph!” and he bowed politely over my +hand.</p> + +<p>Then, turning to Sylvia, who stood pale and rigid, he put forth his +hand, and also bowed low over hers, saying in English: “My +respects—and heartiest congratulations to madame.”</p> + +<p>His quick eyes wandered around the room, then he added—</p> + +<p>“Meester Pennington is here; where is he? I am here to speak with +him.”</p> + +<p>“Pennington was here,” I replied, “but he has gone.”</p> + +<p>“Then he only went out this moment! I must see him. He is in the +hotel!” my visitor exclaimed quickly.</p> + +<p>“I suppose he is,” I replied rather faintly; “we <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>had better ask the +waiter. He is not stopping here. He merely came to-night to dine with +us.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Delanne. “He arrived by the 2.37 train from +Bruxelles, went to the Hôtel Dominici, near the Place Vendôme, sent +you a <i>petit-bleu</i>, and arrived here at 6.30. I am here because I wish +to see him most particularly. I was in Orleans when the news of my +friend’s arrival in Paris was telephoned to me—I have only just +arrived.”</p> + +<p>I opened the door leading to my bedroom, and called my father-in-law, +but there was no response. In an instant Delanne dashed past me, and +in a few seconds had searched the suite.</p> + +<p>“Ah, of course!” he cried, noticing that the door of my wife’s room +led back to the main corridor; “my friend has avoided me. He has +passed out by this way. Still, he must be in the hotel.”</p> + +<p>He hurried back to the salon, and, opening the shutters, took off his +hat.</p> + +<p>Was it some signal to the watchers outside? Ere I could reach his +side, however, he had replaced his hat, and was re-entering the room.</p> + +<p>“Phew! this place is stifling hot, my dear friend,” he said. “I wonder +you do not have the windows open for a little!”</p> + +<p>Sylvia had stood by in silence. I saw by her face that the Frenchman’s +sudden appearance had caused her the greatest alarm and dismay. If +Delanne was her father’s friend, why did the latter flee in such fear? +Why had he implored me to save him? From what?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p><p>The Frenchman seemed highly disappointed, for finding the waiter in +the corridor he asked him in French which way the Englishman had fled.</p> + +<p>The waiter, however, declared that he had seen nobody in the corridor, +a reply which sorely puzzled Delanne.</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” he demanded of Sylvia.</p> + +<p>“I have no idea,” was her faltering reply. “He simply went into the +next room a few moments ago.”</p> + +<p>“And slipped out in an endeavour to make his exit, eh?” asked the man, +with a short, harsh laugh. “I quite expected as much. That is why I +intended to have a straight business talk with him.”</p> + +<p>“He is in no mood to talk business just now,” said my wife, and +then—and only then—did I recollect that this man was the associate +of the assassin Reckitt.</p> + +<p>This fact alone aroused my antagonism towards him. Surely I was glad +that Pennington had got away if, as it seemed, he did not wish to meet +his unwelcome visitor.</p> + +<p>“He <i>shall</i> talk business!” cried the Frenchman, “and very serious +business!”</p> + +<p>Then turning, he hurried along the corridor in the direction of the +main staircase and disappeared.</p> + +<p>“What does all this mean?” I asked Sylvia, who still stood there pale +and panting.</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know, Owen,” she gasped. Then, rushing across to the +window, she looked out.</p> + +<p>“That man has gone!” she cried. “I—I knew he was watching, but had no +idea of the reason.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p><p>“He was evidently watching for your father,” I said.</p> + +<p>“He was watching us—you and I—not him.”</p> + +<p>We heard two men pass the door quickly. One of them exclaimed in +French—</p> + +<p>“See! The window at the end! It would be easy to get from there to the +roof of the next house.”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” cried his companion. “He has evidently gone that way. We must +follow.”</p> + +<p>“Hark!” I said. “Listen to what they are saying! Delanne is following +your father!”</p> + +<p>“He is his worst enemy,” she said simply. “Do you not remember that he +was watching him in Manchester?”</p> + +<p>The fact that he was an associate of Reckitt puzzled me. I felt highly +resentful that the fellow should have thus intruded upon my privacy +and broken up my very pleasant evening. He had intruded himself upon +me once before, causing me both annoyance and chagrin. I looked forth +into the corridor, and there saw the figures of two men in the act of +getting through the window at the end, while a waiter and a +<i>femme-de-chambre</i> stood looking on in surprise.</p> + +<p>“Who is that man?” I asked of Sylvia, as I turned back into our salon.</p> + +<p>“His real name is Guertin,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“He told me that he knew you.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” she laughed, just a trifle uneasily, I thought. “I only +know that he is my father’s enemy. He is evidently here to hunt him +down, and to denounce him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p><p>“As what?”</p> + +<p>But she only shrugged her shoulders. Next instant I saw that I had +acted wrongly in asking Sylvia to expose her own father, whatever his +faults might have been.</p> + +<p>Again somebody rushed past the door and then back again to the head of +the staircase. The whole of the quiet aristocratic hotel seemed to +have suddenly awakened from its lethargy. Indeed, a hue and cry seemed +to have been started after the man who had until a few moments before +been my guest.</p> + +<p>What could this mean? Had it not been for the fact that Guertin—or +Delanne, as he called himself—was a friend of the assassin Reckitt, I +would have believed him to have been an agent of the <i>sûreté</i>.</p> + +<p>We heard shouting outside the window at the end of the corridor. It +seemed as though a fierce chase had begun after the fugitive +Englishman, for yet another man, a thin, respectably-dressed mechanic, +had run along and slipped out of the window with ease as though +acquired by long practice.</p> + +<p>I, too, ran to the window and looked out. But all I could see in the +night was a bewildering waste of roofs and chimneys extending along +the Rue de Rivoli towards the Louvre. I could only distinguish one of +the pursuers outlined against the sky. Then I returned to where Sylvia +was standing pale and breathless.</p> + +<p>Her face was haggard and drawn, and I knew of the great tension her +nerves must be undergoing. Her father was certainly no coward. Fearing +that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>he could not escape by either the front or back door of the +hotel his mind had been quickly made up, and he had made his exit by +that window, taking his chance to hide and avoid detection on those +many roofs in the vicinity.</p> + +<p>The position was, to me, extremely puzzling. I could not well press +Sylvia to tell me the truth concerning her father, for I had noticed +that she always had shielded him, as was natural for a daughter, after +all.</p> + +<p>Was he an associate of Reckitt and Forbes, as I had once suspected? +Yet if he were, why should Delanne be his enemy, for he certainly was +Reckitt’s intimate friend.</p> + +<p>Sylvia was filled with suppressed excitement. She also ran along the +corridor and peered out of the window at the end. Then, apparently +satisfied that her father had avoided meeting Delanne, she returned +and stood again silent, her eyes staring straight before her as though +dreading each second to hear shouts of triumph at the fugitive’s +detection.</p> + +<p>I saw the manager and remonstrated with him. I was angry that my +privacy should thus be disturbed by outsiders.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur told the clerk that he was a friend,” he replied politely. +“Therefore he gave permission for him to be shown upstairs. I had no +idea of such a contretemps, or such a regrettable scene as this!”</p> + +<p>I saw he was full of regret, for the whole hotel seemed startled, and +guests were asking each other what had occurred to create all that +hubbub.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>For an hour we waited, but Delanne did not return. He and the others +had gone away over the roofs, on what seemed to be an entirely +fruitless errand.</p> + +<p>“Were they the police?” I heard a lady ask anxiously of a waiter.</p> + +<p>“No, madame, we think not. They are strangers—and entirely unknown.”</p> + +<p>Sylvia also heard the man’s reply, and exclaimed—</p> + +<p>“I hope my father has successfully escaped his enemies. It was, +however, a very narrow shave. If they had seen him, they would have +shot him dead, and afterwards declared it to have been an accident!”</p> + +<p>“Surely not!” I cried. “That would have been murder.”</p> + +<p>“Of course. But they are desperate, and they would have wriggled out +of it somehow. That was why I feared for him. But, thank Heaven, he is +evidently safe.”</p> + +<p>And she turned from the window that looked forth into the Rue de +Rivoli, and then made an excuse to go to her room.</p> + +<p>I saw that she was greatly perturbed. Her heart beat quickly, and her +face, once pale as death, was now flushed crimson.</p> + +<p>“How your father got away so rapidly was simply marvellous!” I +declared. “Why, scarcely ten seconds elapsed from the time he closed +that door to Delanne’s appearance on the threshold.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. But he instantly realized his peril, and did not hesitate.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry, dearest, that this exciting incident <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>should have so +upset our evening,” I said, kissing her upon the brow, for she now +declared herself much fatigued. “When you have gone to your room, I +shall go downstairs and learn what I can about the curious affair. +Your father’s enemies evidently knew of his arrival from Brussels, for +Delanne admitted that word of it was telephoned to Orleans, and he +came to Paris at once.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he admitted that,” she said hurriedly. “But do not let us speak +of it. My father has got away in safety. For me that is +all-sufficient. Good-night, Owen, dear.” And she kissed me fondly.</p> + +<p>“Good-night, darling,” I said, returning her sweet caress; and then, +when she had passed from the room, I seized my hat and descended the +big flight of red-carpeted stairs, bent on obtaining some solution of +the mystery of that most exciting and curious episode.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-TWO" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-TWO"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO</h2> + +<h3>MORE MYSTERY</h3> + +<p>Nothing definite, however, could I gather from the hotel people.</p> + +<p>They knew nothing, and seemed highly annoyed that such an incident +should occur in their quiet and highly aristocratic house.</p> + +<p>Next day Sylvia waited for news of her father, but none came.</p> + +<p>Delanne called about eleven o’clock in the morning, and had a brief +interview with her in private. What passed between them I know not, +save that the man, whose real name was Guertin, met me rather coldly +and afterwards bade me adieu.</p> + +<p>I hated the fellow. He was always extremely polite, always just a +little sarcastic, and yet, was he not the associate of the man +Reckitt?</p> + +<p>I wished to leave Paris and return to London, but Sylvia appeared a +little anxious to remain. She seemed to expect some secret +communication from her father.</p> + +<p>“Thank Heaven!” she said, on the day following Delanne’s call, “father +has escaped them. That was surely a daring dash he made. He knew that +they intended to kill him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p><p>“But I don’t understand,” I said. “Do you mean they would kill him +openly?”</p> + +<p>“Of course. They have no fear. Their only fear is while he remains +alive.”</p> + +<p>“But the law would punish them.”</p> + +<p>“No, it would not,” she responded, shaking her head gravely. “They +would contrive an ‘accident.’”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said, “he has evaded them, and we must be thankful for that. +Do you expect to hear from him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she replied, “I shall probably receive a message to-night. That +is why I wish to remain, Owen. I wonder,” she added rather +hesitatingly, “I wonder whether you would consider it very strange of +me if I asked you to let me go out to-night at ten o’clock alone?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I rather fear your going out alone and unprotected at that +hour, darling,” I responded.</p> + +<p>“Ah! have no fear whatever for me. I shall be safe enough. They will +not attempt anything just now. I am quite confident of that. I—I want +to go forth alone, for an hour or so.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, if it is your distinct wish, how can I refuse, dear?”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she cried, putting her arm fondly about my neck, “I knew you +would not refuse me. I shall go out just before ten, and I will be +back long before midnight. You will excuse my absence, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” I said. And thus it was arranged.</p> + +<p>Her request, I admit, puzzled me greatly, and also <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>caused me +considerable fear. My past experience had aroused within me a constant +phantom of suspicion.</p> + +<p>We lunched at the Ritz, and in the afternoon took a taxi into the +Bois, where we spent an hour upon a seat in one of the by-paths of +that beautiful wood of the Parisians. On our return to the hotel, +Sylvia was all eagerness for a message, but there was none.</p> + +<p>“Ah! he is discreet!” she exclaimed to me, when the <i>concierge</i> had +given her a negative reply. “He fears to send me word openly.”</p> + +<p>At ten o’clock that night, however, she had exchanged her dinner gown +for a dark stuff dress, and, with a small black hat, and a boa about +her neck, she came to kiss me.</p> + +<p>“I won’t be very long, dearest,” she said cheerily. “I’ll get back the +instant I can. Don’t worry after me. I shall be perfectly safe, I +assure you.”</p> + +<p>But recollections of Reckitt and his dastardly accomplice arose within +me, and I hardly accepted her assurance, even though I made pretence +of so doing.</p> + +<p>For a few moments I held her in my arms tenderly, then releasing her, +she bade me <i>au revoir</i> merrily, and we descended into the hall +together.</p> + +<p>A taxi was called, and I heard her direct the driver to go to the +Boulevard Pereire. Then, waving her hand from the cab window, she +drove away.</p> + +<p>Should I follow? To spy upon her would be a mean action. It would show +a lack of confidence, and would certainly irritate and annoy her. Yet +was she <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>not in peril? Had she not long ago admitted herself to be in +some grave and mysterious danger?</p> + +<p>I had only a single moment in which to decide. Somehow I felt impelled +to follow and watch that she came to no harm; yet, at the same time, I +knew that it was not right. She was my wife, and I dearly loved her +and trusted her. If discovered, my action would show her that I was +suspicious.</p> + +<p>Still I felt distinctly apprehensive, and it was that apprehension +which caused me, a second later, to seize my hat, and, walking out of +the hotel, hail a passing taxi, and drive quickly to the quiet, highly +respectable boulevard to which she had directed her driver.</p> + +<p>I suppose it was, perhaps, a quarter of an hour later when we turned +into the thoroughfare down the centre of which runs the railway in a +deep cutting. The houses were large ones, let out in fine flats, the +residences mostly of the professional and wealthier tradesman classes.</p> + +<p>We went along, until presently I caught sight of another taxi standing +at the kerb. Therefore I dismissed mine, and, keeping well in the +shadow, sauntered along the boulevard, now quiet and deserted.</p> + +<p>With great precaution I approached the standing taxi on the opposite +side of the way. There was nobody within. It was evidently awaiting +some one, and as it was the only one in sight I concluded that it must +be the same which Sylvia had taken from the hotel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p><p>Some distance further on I walked, when, before me, I recognized her +neat figure, and almost a moment afterwards saw her disappear into a +large doorway which was in complete darkness—the doorway of what +seemed to be an untenanted house.</p> + +<p>I halted quickly and waited—yet almost ashamed of myself for spying +thus.</p> + +<p>A moment later I saw that, having believed herself unobserved, she +struck a match, but for what reason did not seem apparent. She +appeared to be examining the wall. She certainly was not endeavouring +to open the door. From the distance, however, I was unable to +distinguish very plainly.</p> + +<p>The vesta burned out, and she threw it upon the ground. Then she +hurriedly retraced her steps to where she had left her cab, and I was +compelled to bolt into a doorway in order to evade her.</p> + +<p>She passed quite close to me, and when she had driven away I emerged, +and, walking to the doorway, also struck a light and examined the same +stone wall. At first I could discover nothing, but after considerable +searching my eyes at last detected a dark smudge, as though something +had been obliterated.</p> + +<p>It was a cryptic sign in lead pencil, and apparently she had drawn her +hand over it to remove it, but had not been altogether successful. +Examining it closely, I saw that the sign, as originally scrawled upon +the smooth stone, was like two crescents placed back to back, while +both above and below rough circles had been drawn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>The marks had evidently some prearranged meaning—one which she +understood. It was a secret message from her father, without a doubt!</p> + +<p>At risk of detection by some agent of police, I made a further close +examination of the wall, and came upon two other signs which had also +been hurriedly obliterated—one of three double triangles, and another +of two oblongs and a circle placed in conjunction. But there was no +writing; nothing, indeed, to convey any meaning to the uninitiated.</p> + +<p>The wall of that dark entry, however, was no doubt the means of an +exchange of secret messages between certain unknown persons.</p> + +<p>The house was a large one, and had been let out in flats, as were its +neighbours; but for some unaccountable reason—perhaps owing to a law +dispute—it now remained closed.</p> + +<p>I was puzzled as to which of the three half-obliterated signs Sylvia +had sought. But I took notice of each, and then walked back in the +direction whence I had come.</p> + +<p>I returned at once to the hotel, but my wife had not yet come back. +This surprised me. And I was still further surprised when she did not +arrive until nearly one o’clock in the morning. Yet she seemed very +happy—unusually so.</p> + +<p>Where had she been after receiving that secret message, I wondered? +Yet I could not question her, lest I should betray my watchfulness.</p> + +<p>“I’m so sorry to have left you alone all this long <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>time, Owen,” she +said, as she entered the room and came across to kiss me. “But it was +quite unavoidable.”</p> + +<p>“Is all well?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>“Quite,” was her reply. “My father is already out of France.”</p> + +<p>That was all she would vouchsafe to me. Still I saw that she was +greatly gratified at the knowledge of his escape from his mysterious +enemies.</p> + +<p>The whole situation was extraordinary. Why should this man Delanne, +the friend of Reckitt and no doubt a member of a gang of blackmailers +and assassins, openly pursue him to the death? It was an entire +enigma. I could discern no light through the veil of mystery which +had, all along, so completely enshrouded Pennington and his daughter.</p> + +<p>Still I resolved to put aside all apprehensions. Why should I trouble?</p> + +<p>I loved Sylvia with all my heart, and with all my soul. She was mine! +What more could I desire?</p> + +<p>Next evening we returned to Wilton Street. She had suddenly expressed +a desire to leave Paris, perhaps because she did not wish to again +meet her father’s enemy, that fat Frenchman Guertin.</p> + +<p>For nearly a month we lived in perfect happiness, frequently visiting +the Shuttleworths for the day, and going about a good deal in town. +She urged me to go to Carrington to shoot, but, knowing that she did +not like the old place, I made excuses and remained in London.</p> + +<p>“Father is in Roumania,” she remarked to me <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>one morning when she had +been reading her letters at the breakfast-table. “He sends his +remembrances to you from Bucharest. You have never been there, I +suppose? I’m extremely fond of the place. There is lots of life, and +the Roumanians are always so very hospitable.”</p> + +<p>“No,” I said, “I’ve never been to Bucharest, unfortunately, though +I’ve been in Constanza, which is also in Roumania. Remember me to your +father when you write, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. He wonders whether you and I would care to go out there +for a month or two?”</p> + +<p>“In winter?”</p> + +<p>“Winter is the most pleasant time. It is the season in Bucharest.”</p> + +<p>“As you please, dearest,” I replied. “I am entirely in your hands, as +you know,” I laughed.</p> + +<p>“That’s awfully sweet of you, Owen,” she declared. “You are always +indulging me—just like the spoilt child I am.”</p> + +<p>“Because I love you,” I replied softly, placing my hand upon hers and +looking into her wonderful eyes.</p> + +<p>She smiled contentedly, and I saw in those eyes the genuine love-look: +the expression which a woman can never feign.</p> + +<p>Thus the autumn days went past, happy days of peace and joy.</p> + +<p>Sylvia delighted in the theatre, and we went very often, while on days +when it was dry and the sun shone, I took her motoring to Brighton, to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>Guildford, to Tunbridge Wells, or other places on the well-known +roads out of London.</p> + +<p>The clouds which had first marred our happiness had now happily been +dispelled, and the sun of life and love shone upon us perpetually.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I wondered whether that ideal happiness was not too complete +to last. In the years I had lived I had become a pessimist. I feared a +too-complete ideal. The realization of our hopes is always followed by +a poignant despair. In this world there is no cup of sweetness without +dregs of bitterness. The man who troubles after the to-morrow creates +trouble for himself, while he who is regardless of the future is like +an ostrich burying its head in the sand at sign of disaster.</p> + +<p>Still, each of us who marry fondly believe ourselves to be the one +exception to the rule. And perhaps it is only human that it should be +so. I, like you my reader, believed that my troubles were over, and +that all the lowering clouds had drifted away. They were, however, +only low over the horizon, and were soon to reappear. Ah! how +differently would I have acted had I but known what the future—the +future of which I was now so careless—held in store for me!</p> + +<p>One night we had gone in the car to the Coliseum Theatre, for Sylvia +was fond of variety performances as a change from the legitimate +theatre. As we sat in the box, I thought—though I could not be +certain—that she made some secret signal with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>her fan to somebody +seated below amid the crowded audience.</p> + +<p>My back had been turned for a moment, and on looking round I felt +convinced that she had signalled. It was on the tip of my tongue to +refer to it, yet I hesitated, fearing lest she might be annoyed. I +trusted her implicitly, and, after all, I might easily have mistaken a +perfectly natural movement for a sign of recognition. Therefore I +laughed at my own foolish fancy, and turned my attention again to the +performance.</p> + +<p>At last the curtain fell, and as we stood together amid the crush in +the vestibule, the night having turned out wet, I left her, to go in +search of our carriage.</p> + +<p>I suppose I was absent about two or three minutes, but on my return I +could not find her.</p> + +<p>She had vanished as completely as though the earth had swallowed her +up.</p> + +<p>I waited until the theatre was entirely empty. I described her to the +attendants, and I had a chat with the smart and highly popular +manager, but no one had seen her. She had simply disappeared.</p> + +<p>I was frantic, full of the wildest dread as to what had occurred. How +madly I acted I scarcely knew. At last, seeing to remain longer was +useless, now that the theatre had closed, I jumped into the brougham +and drove with all haste to Wilton Street.</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Owen,” replied Browning to my breathless inquiry, “madam has +not yet returned.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p><p>I brushed past him and entered the study.</p> + +<p>Upon my writing-table there lay a note addressed to me.</p> + +<p>I recognized the handwriting in an instant, and with trembling fingers +tore open the envelope.</p> + +<p>What I read there staggered me.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-THREE" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-THREE"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE</h2> + +<h3>IN FULL CRY</h3> + +<p>The amazing letter which I held in my nerveless fingers had been +hurriedly scribbled on a piece of my wife’s own notepaper, and read—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Owen</span>—I feel that our marriage was an entire mistake. +I have grossly deceived you, and I dare not hope ever for +your forgiveness, nor dare I face you to answer your +questions. I know that you love me dearly, as I, too, have +loved you; yet, for your own sake—and perhaps for mine +also—it is far best that we should keep apart.</p> + +<p>“I deeply regret that I have been the means of bringing +misfortune and unhappiness and sorrow upon you, but I have +been the tool of another. In shame and deepest humiliation I +leave you, and if you will grant one favour to an unhappy +and penitent woman, you will never seek to discover my +whereabouts. It would be quite useless. To-night I leave you +in secret, never to meet you again. Accept my deepest +regret, and do not let my action trouble you. I am not +worthy of your love. Good-bye. Your unhappy—<span class="smcap">Sylvia</span>.”</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>I stood staring at the uneven scribbled lines, blurred as they were by +the tears of the writer.</p> + +<p>What had happened? Why had she so purposely left me? Why had she made +that signal from the theatre-box to her accomplice?</p> + +<p>She admitted having grossly deceived me, and that she was unworthy. +What did she mean? In what manner had she deceived me?</p> + +<p>Had she a secret lover?</p> + +<p>That idea struck me suddenly, and staggered me. In some of her recent +actions I read secrecy and suspicion. On several occasions lately she +had been out shopping alone, and one afternoon, about a week before, +she had not returned to dress for dinner until nearly eight o’clock. +Her excuse had been a thin one, but, unsuspicious, I had passed it by.</p> + +<p>Had I really been a fool to marry her, after all? I knew Marlowe’s +opinion of our marriage, though he had never expressed it. That she +had been associated with a shady lot had all along been apparent. The +terrors of that silent house in Porchester Terrace remained only too +fresh within my memory.</p> + +<p>That night I spent in a wild fever of excitement. No sleep came to my +eyes, and I think Browning—to whom I said nothing—believed that I +had taken leave of my senses. The faithful old servant did not retire, +for at five in the morning I found him seated dozing in a chair +outside in the hall, tired out by the watchful vigil he had kept over +me.</p> + +<p>I tried in vain to decide what to do. I wanted to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>find Sylvia, to +induce her to reveal the truth to me, and to allay her fear of my +reproaches.</p> + +<p>I loved her; aye, no man in all the world ever loved a woman better. +Yet she had, of her own accord, because of her own shame at her +deception, bade farewell, and slipped away into the great ocean of +London life.</p> + +<p>Morning dawned at last, cold, grey and foggy, one of those dispiriting +mornings of late autumn which the Londoner knows so well. Still I knew +not how to act. I wanted to discover her, to bring her back, and to +demand of her finally the actual truth. All the mystery of those past +months had sent my brain awhirl.</p> + +<p>I had an impulse to go to the police and reveal the secret of that +closed house in Porchester Terrace. Yet had she not implored me not to +do so? Why? There was only one reason. She feared exposure herself.</p> + +<p>No. Ten thousand times no. I would not believe ill of her. Can any man +who really loves a woman believe ill of her? Love is blind, it is +true, and the scales never fall from the eyes while true affection +lasts. And so I put suspicion from my mind, and swallowed the cup of +coffee Browning put before me.</p> + +<p>The old man, the friend of my youth, knew that his mistress had not +returned, and saw how greatly I was distressed. Yet he was far too +discreet a servant to refer to it.</p> + +<p>I entered the drawing-room, and there, in the grey light, facing me, +stood the fine portrait of my well-beloved <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>in a silver frame, the one +she had had taken at Scarborough a week after our marriage.</p> + +<p>I drew it from its frame and gazed for a long time upon it. Then I put +it into an envelope, and placed it in my pocket.</p> + +<p>Soon after ten o’clock I returned to the Coliseum, and showed the +portrait to a number of the attendants as that of a lady who was +missing. All of them, both male and female, gazed upon the picture, +but nobody recognized her as having been seen before.</p> + +<p>The manager, whom I had seen on the previous night, sympathized with +me, and lent me every assistance. One after another of the staff he +called into his big office on the first floor, but the reply was +always the same.</p> + +<p>At length a smart page-boy entered, and, on being shown the portrait, +at once said to the manager—</p> + +<p>“Why, sir, that’s the lady who went away with the gentleman who spoke +to me!”</p> + +<p>“Who was he?” I demanded eagerly. “What did he say? What was he like?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, it was like this,” replied the boy. “About a quarter of an +hour before the curtain fell last night I was out in the vestibule, +when a tall dark gentleman, with his hair slightly grey and no +moustache, came up to me with a lady’s cloak in his hand—a dark blue +one. He told me that when the audience came out a fair young lady +would come up to me for the cloak, as she wanted to get away very +quickly, and did not want to wait her turn at the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>cloak-room. There +was a car—a big grey car—waiting for her outside.”</p> + +<p>“Then her flight was all prepared!” I exclaimed. “What was the man +like?”</p> + +<p>“He struck me as being a gentleman, yet his clothes seemed shabby and +ill-fitting. Indeed, he had a shabby-genteel look, as though he were a +bit down on his luck.”</p> + +<p>“He was in evening clothes?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. In a suit of brown tweeds.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what happened then?”</p> + +<p>“I waited till the curtain fell, and then I stood close to the +box-office with the cloak over my arm. There was a big crush, as it +was then raining hard. Suddenly a young lady wearing a cream +theatre-wrap came up to me hastily, and asked me to help her on with +the cloak. This I did, and next moment the man in tweeds joined her. I +heard him say, ‘Come along, dear, we haven’t a moment to lose,’ and +then they went out to the car. That’s all I know, sir.”</p> + +<p>I was silent for a few moments. Who was this secret lover, I wondered? +The lad’s statement had come as an amazing revelation to me.</p> + +<p>“What kind of car was it?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“A hired car, sir,” replied the intelligent boy. “I’ve seen it here +before. It comes, I think, from a garage in Wardour Street.”</p> + +<p>“You would know the driver?”</p> + +<p>“I think so, sir.”</p> + +<p>It was therefore instantly arranged that the lad <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>should go with me +round to the garage, and there try to find the man who drove the grey +car on the previous night.</p> + +<p>In this we were quickly successful. On entering the garage there +stood, muddy and dirty, a big grey landaulette, which the boy at once +identified as the one in which Sylvia had escaped. The driver was soon +found, and he explained that it was true he had been engaged on the +previous night by a tall, clean-shaven gentleman to pick up at the +Coliseum. He did so, and the gentleman entered with a lady.</p> + +<p>“Where did you drive them?” I asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“Up the Great North Road—to the George Hotel at Stamford, about a +hundred miles from London. I’ve only been back about a couple of +hours, sir.”</p> + +<p>“The George at Stamford!” I echoed, for I knew the hotel, a quiet, +old-fashioned, comfortable place much patronized by motorists to and +fro on the north road.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t stay there?”</p> + +<p>“Only just to get a drink and fill up with petrol. I wanted to get +back. The lady and gentleman were evidently expected, and seemed in a +great hurry.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Well, near Alconbury the engine was misfiring a little, and I stopped +to open the bonnet. When I did so, the lady put her head out of the +window, highly excited, and asked how long we were likely to be +delayed. I told her; then I heard her say to the gentleman, ‘If they +are away before we reach there, what shall we do?’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p><p>“Then they were on their way to meet somebody or other—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! that I don’t know, sir. I drew up in the yard of the hotel, and +they both got out. The lady hurried in, while the gentleman paid me, +and gave me something for myself. It was then nearly four o’clock in +the morning. I should have been back earlier, only I had a puncture +the other side of Hatfield, and had to put on the ‘Stepney.’”</p> + +<p>“I must go to Stamford,” I said decisively. Then I put something into +his palm, as well as into that of the page-boy, and, entering a taxi, +drove back home.</p> + +<p>An hour later I sat beside my own chauffeur, as we drove through the +steadily falling rain across Hampstead Heath, on our hundred-mile +journey into Lincolnshire.</p> + +<p>We both knew every inch of the road, having been over it many times. +As it was wet, police-traps were unlikely, so, having negotiated the +narrow road as far as Hatfield, we began to “let her out” past +Hitchin, and we buzzed on over the broad open road through Stilton +village. We were hung up at the level-crossing at Wansford, but about +half-past three in the afternoon we swept over the brow of the hill +beneath the high wall of Burghley Park, and saw beneath us the roofs +and many spires of quiet old Stamford.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later we swung into the yard of the ancient George, and, +alighting, entered the broad hall, with its splendid old oak +staircase, in search of the manageress.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p><p>She related a rather curious story.</p> + +<p>On the previous night, about eleven o’clock, there arrived by car two +well-dressed gentlemen who, though English, conversed together in +French. They took rooms, but did not retire to bed, saying that they +expected two friends who were motoring, and who would arrive in the +night. They sat over the fire in the lounge, while the staff of the +hotel all retired, save the night-boots, an old retainer. The latter +stated that during the night, as he passed the door of the lounge, he +saw through the crack of the door the younger of the two men examining +something which shone and sparkled in the light, and he thought to be +diamonds. This struck him as somewhat curious; therefore he kept a +watchful eye upon the pair.</p> + +<p>One he described as rather stout, dark, and bald-headed—the exact +description of Pennington—and the other description the man +afterwards gave to me caused me to feel confident that the second man +was none other than the scoundrel Reckitt. What further piece of +chicanery had they been guilty of, I wondered?</p> + +<p>“About four in the morning a grey car drove up, sir,” went on the +boots, “and a lady with a dark cloak over her evening dress dashed in, +and they both rose quickly and welcomed her. Then, in order that I +should not understand, they again started talking in some foreign +language—French I expect it was. A few moments later the gentleman +came in. They welcomed him warmly, addressing him by the name <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>of +Lewis. I saw the bald-headed man wring his hand heartily, and heard +him exclaim: ‘By Jove! old man, you can’t think how glad we are to see +you back again! You must have had a narrow squeak! Not another single +living man would have acted with the determination and bravery with +which you’ve acted. Only you must be careful, Lewis, old man—deuced +careful. There are enemies about, you know.’ Then the gentleman said: +‘I know! I’m quite aware of my peril, Arnold. You, too, had a narrow +shave in Paris a short time ago—I hear from Sonia.’ ‘Yes,’ laughed +the other, ‘she acted splendidly. But, as you say, it was a very close +thing. Have you seen Shuttleworth yet?’ he asked. The other said: ‘He +met me, in the Ditches at Southampton, two nights ago, and told me all +that’s happened.’ ‘Ah! And Sonia has told you the rest, I suppose?’ he +asked; to which the other man replied in the affirmative, adding: +‘It’s a bad job, I fear, for Owen Biddulph—a very bad job for the +fellow!’ That was all the conversation that I overheard at that time, +for they then rang the bell and ordered whisky and sodas.”</p> + +<p>“And what else did you see or hear?” I asked eagerly, much puzzled by +his statement.</p> + +<p>“They struck me as rather a suspicious lot, sir,” the man said. “After +I had taken them in their drinks they closed the door, and seemed to +hold some sort of a consultation. While this was going on, two men +drove up in another car, and asked if a Mr. Winton was here. I told +him he was—for the bald-headed gentleman had given the name of +Douglas <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 2612</a></span>Winton. They were at once welcomed, and admitted to the +conference.”</p> + +<p>“Rather curious—to hold a conference in such a manner and at such an +hour!” I remarked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. It was a secret meeting, evidently. They all spoke in +another language. The two men who last arrived were no doubt +foreigners.”</p> + +<p>“Was one of them stout and wore gold-rimmed glasses?” I inquired +quickly.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-FOUR" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-FOUR"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR</h2> + +<h3>AN UNFORTUNATE SLIP</h3> + +<p>“No, sir,” the boots replied, “both were youngish men, with dark +moustaches. They wore heavy coats, and were in an open car. They came +from York way, and had evidently driven some distance.”</p> + +<p>“You saw nothing of what went on at their mysterious meeting?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, the fact is, when I had had my suspicions aroused, I crept +out into the yard, and found that I could see into the lounge through +the chink between the blind and the window. They were all seated round +the table, the head of which had been taken by the gentleman who had +arrived from London with the lady. He seemed to be chairman, and he +talked in a low, deliberate, and very earnest tone, being listened to +with greatest interest. He evidently related something which amazed +them. Then a map, or plan, was placed upon the table, and each +examined it in turn. Afterwards two photographs were produced by Mr. +Winton and handed around the assembly. Each man looked long and +steadily at the pictures—both were of women. The young lady present +refused to take any part in the discussion, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>I noticed that she +passed on the photographs without comment—without even glancing at +them.”</p> + +<p>“Did she appear to be present there against her will?” I asked +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“No, not exactly. She seemed very friendly with all the gentlemen. The +two foreigners were strangers to her—for she was introduced to them.”</p> + +<p>“By name?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. Miss Sonia Poland.”</p> + +<p>I bit my lip. Had she already dropped my name, and was now passing +under an alias?</p> + +<p>“Sonia Poland!” I echoed. “Was it for the purpose of concealing her +identity from the foreigners, do you think?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“No, sir. Because Winton and his companion addressed her as Sonia +Poland when she arrived.”</p> + +<p>“And you believed it to be her real name?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it is, sir,” was the man’s reply, for I fear my manner +somewhat mystified him.</p> + +<p>“Well, and what further did you see at this early morning +consultation?” I asked, mindful that his curiosity had no doubt been +aroused by sight of something sparkling in the strange visitor’s hand.</p> + +<p>“The gentleman called Mr. Lewis wrote out a paper very carefully and +handed it round. Every one signed it—except the lady. They asked her +to do so, but she protested vigorously, and the matter was not +pressed. Then the photograph of a man was shown to the two foreigners, +and the lady tried to prevent it. Curiously enough, sir, I caught a +good sight of it—just a head and shoulders—and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>the picture very +much resembled you yourself, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Me!” I cried. “And they showed it to the two young foreigners—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. One of them took it and put it into his pocket. Then the +mysterious Mr. Lewis, as chairman of the meeting, seemed to raise a +protest. The two foreigners gesticulated, jabbered away, and raised +their shoulders a lot. I dearly wish I could have made out a word they +said. Unfortunately I couldn’t. Only I saw that in Mr. Lewis’s face +was a look of fierce determination. They at first defied him. But at +last, with great reluctance, they handed back the photograph, which +Mr. Lewis himself burned on the fire.”</p> + +<p>“He burned my photograph!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. I think it was yours, sir—but of course I can’t be quite +positive.”</p> + +<p>“And what else?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Winton said something, whereupon all of them glanced at the door +and then at the window. One of the foreigners came to the window, but +did not notice that there was a slight crack through which I could +see. Then he turned the key in the door. After he had returned to his +chair, the man who had arrived with Mr. Winton took from his pocket +something that shone. My heart beat quickly. It was a diamond +necklet—the object I had seen in his hand earlier. He passed it round +for the admiration of the others, who each took it and closely +examined it beneath the light—all but the young lady. She was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>standing aside, near the fireplace, watching. Now and then she placed +her hand to her forehead, as though her brain were weary.”</p> + +<p>“And after that?”</p> + +<p>“After the necklet had been passed round the elder of the two +foreigners wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief and placed it in +his pocket. Then Mr. Lewis gave them a long address, emphasizing his +words with his hand, and they listened to him without uttering a word. +Suddenly Mr. Winton sprang up and wrung his hand, afterwards making +what appeared to be some highly complimentary remarks, for Mr. Lewis +smiled and bowed to the assembly, who afterwards rose. Then the young +lady rushed up to Mr. Lewis and implored him to do something, but he +refused. She stood before him, pale-faced and determined. Her eyes +seemed starting from her head. She seemed like one horrified. But he +placed his hand tenderly upon her shoulder, and uttered some quick low +words which instantly calmed her. Very shortly after that the party +broke up, and the door was re-opened. The two foreigners hurriedly +swallowed a liqueur-glass of brandy each, and then, passing into the +yard, wished their companions adieu and drove away in their car—in +the direction of London.”</p> + +<p>“Carrying with them the diamond necklet which the other man had +brought there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And what became of the young lady?” I inquired very anxiously.</p> + +<p>“She first had a long and private conversation with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>the gentleman +named Winton—the bald-headed man.”</p> + +<p>This, it will be remembered, was the person whose description tallied +exactly with that of her father.</p> + +<p>“They went outside together,” said the boots, “out into the yard, and +there conversed alone in half-whispers. Afterwards they rejoined the +others. Mr. Lewis seemed very annoyed with her; nevertheless, after a +cup of tea each, about half-past five the four of them got into the +car in which Winton had arrived and drove away in the direction of +Grantham. Winton gave me a sovereign for myself—an unusually generous +gift, I can assure you, sir,” he laughed.</p> + +<p>“And now what is your own opinion concerning them?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Why, there can only be one opinion, sir—that they are wrong ’uns. I +felt half a mind to tell Mr. Pearson, the police-constable who lives +across in Water Lane, but I didn’t like to without consulting +somebody. And I didn’t want to wake up the manageress.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! and it may now be too late, Cross,” said the lady in question, +who had been standing by all the time. Then, addressing me, she said—</p> + +<p>“The whole affair seemed most mysterious, sir, therefore I went round +and saw the inspector of police this morning, and told him briefly of +our strange visitors. I’m rather glad they’re gone, for one never +likes unpleasantness in a hotel. Yet, of course, the fault cannot be +that of the hotel-keeper if he takes in an undesirable.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p><p>“Of course not. But what view did the inspector hold?”</p> + +<p>“Inspector Deane merely expressed the opinion that they were +suspicious persons—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“So they seem to have been,” I remarked, without satisfying her as to +who I really was. My story there was that I had business relations +with Mr. Lewis, and had followed him there in the hope of catching him +up.</p> + +<p>We were in the manageress’s room, a cosy apartment in the back of the +quaint old hostelry, when a waitress came and announced Inspector +Deane. The official was at once shown in, whereupon he said abruptly—</p> + +<p>“The truth is out, Miss Hammond, regarding your strange visitors of +last night.” And he glanced inquiringly at myself.</p> + +<p>“You can speak openly before this gentleman,” she said, noticing his +hesitation.</p> + +<p>“The fact is, a circular-telegram has just been sent out from Scotland +Yard, saying that by the express from Edinburgh due at King’s Cross at +10.45 last night the Archduchess Marie Louise, niece of the Emperor +Francis Joseph of Austria, was a passenger. She had been staying at +Balmoral, and travelled south in a special saloon. When the luggage +came to be collected a dressing-case was missing—it evidently having +been stolen in transit by somebody who had obtained access to the +saloon while on the journey. The corridor was open between York and +London, so that the restaurant could be reached, and it is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>believed +that the thief, or thieves, managed to pass in unobserved and throw +the bag out upon the line to some confederate awaiting it. The bag +contained a magnificent diamond necklet—a historic heirloom of the +Imperial family of the Hapsburgs—and is valued at fifty thousand +pounds!”</p> + +<p>“And those people who met here were the thieves!” gasped the +manageress, turning instantly pale.</p> + +<p>“Without a doubt. You see, the Great Northern main line runs close by +us—at Essendine. It may be that the thieves were waiting for it near +there—waiting for it to be dropped out in the darkness. All the +platelayers along the line are now searching for the bag, but we here +are certain that the thieves spent the night in Stamford.”</p> + +<p>“Not the thieves,” I said. “The receivers.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>“But the young foreigner has it!” cried the boots. “He and his friend +set off for London with it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. They would reach London in time to catch one of the boat-trains +from Victoria or Charing Cross this morning, and by this time they’re +safely out of the country—carrying the necklet with them. Ah! +Scotland Yard is terribly slow. But the delay seems to have been +caused by the uncertainty of Her Highness as to whether she had +actually brought the dressing-case with her, and she had to telegraph +to Balmoral before she could really state that it had been stolen.”</p> + +<p>“The two men, Douglas Winton and his friend, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>came here in a +motor-car,” I remarked. “They had evidently been waiting somewhere +near the line, in order to pick up the stolen bag.”</p> + +<p>“Without a doubt, sir,” exclaimed the inspector. “Their actions here, +according to what Miss Hammond told me this morning, were most +suspicious. It’s a pity that the boots did not communicate with us.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Deane,” said the man referred to, “I’m very sorry now that I +didn’t. But I felt loath to disturb people at that hour of the +morning.”</p> + +<p>“You took no note of the number of either of the three cars which +came, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“No. We have so many cars here that I hardly noticed even what colour +they were.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! That’s unfortunate. Still, we shall probably pick up some clue to +them along the road. Somebody is certain to have seen them, or know +something about them.”</p> + +<p>“This gentleman here knows something about them,” remarked the +manageress, indicating myself.</p> + +<p>The inspector turned to me in quick surprise, and no doubt saw the +surprise in my face.</p> + +<p>“I—I know nothing,” I managed to exclaim blankly, at once realizing +the terrible pitfall into which I had fallen.</p> + +<p>“But you said you knew Mr. Lewis—the gentleman who acted as president +of that mysterious conference!” Miss Hammond declared, in all +innocence.</p> + +<p>“I think, sir,” added the inspector, “that the matter is such a grave +one that you should at once <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>reveal all you do know. You probably +overlook the fact that if you persist in silence you may be arrested +as an accessory.”</p> + +<p>“But I know nothing,” I protested; “nothing whatever concerning the +robbery!”</p> + +<p>“But you know one of the men,” said Cross the boots.</p> + +<p>“And the lady also, without a doubt!” added the inspector.</p> + +<p>“I refuse to be cross-examined in this manner by you!” I retorted in +anger, yet full of apprehension now that I saw myself suspected of +friendship with the gang.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, then I regret that I must ask you to walk over the bridge +with me to the police-station. I must take you before the +superintendent,” he said firmly.</p> + +<p>“But I know nothing,” I again protested.</p> + +<p>“Come with me,” he said, with a grim smile of disbelief. “That you’ll +be compelled to prove.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-FIVE" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-FIVE"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE</h2> + +<h3>MORE STRANGE FACTS</h3> + +<p>Compelled against my will to accompany the inspector to the police +head-quarters in the High Street, I made a statement—a rather lame +one, I fear.</p> + +<p>I concealed the fact that the lady of the previous night’s conference +was my wife, and explained my visit to Stamford, and my inquiries at +the George, by the fact that I had met the man Lewis abroad, and had +had some financial dealings with him, which, I now suspected, were not +altogether square. So, hearing that he had motored to the north, I had +followed, and had inquired at several of the well-known motoring +hotels for news of him, being unsuccessful until I had arrived at +Stamford.</p> + +<p>This story would, of course, not have held water had Miss Hammond, the +manageress, been present. Happily, however, she had not accompanied +me, hence I was able to concoct a somewhat plausible excuse to the +local superintendent.</p> + +<p>“Then you actually know nothing concerning these people?” he asked, +regarding me shrewdly.</p> + +<p>“Nothing beyond the fact of meeting Lewis abroad, and very foolishly +trusting in his honesty.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p><p>The superintendent smiled. I think he regarded me as a bit of a fool. +Probably I had been.</p> + +<p>“They are a clever gang, no doubt,” he declared. “The Archduchess’s +necklace must have been stolen by some one travelling in the train. +I’ve been on to Scotland Yard by telephone, and there seems a +suspicion because at Grantham—the last stopping-place before +London—a ticket-collector boarded the train. He was a stranger to the +others, but they believed that he had been transferred from one or +other of the branches to the main line, and being in the company’s +uniform they, of course, accepted him. He collected the tickets <i>en +route</i>, as is sometimes done, and at Finsbury Park descended, and was +lost sight of. Here again the busy collectors came and demanded +tickets, much to the surprise of the passengers, and the curious +incident was much commented upon.”</p> + +<p>“Then the bogus collector was the thief, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“No doubt. He somehow secured the dressing-bag and dropped it out at a +point between Grantham and Essendine—a spot where he knew his +accomplices would be waiting—a very neatly-planned robbery.”</p> + +<p>“And by persons who are evidently experts,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” replied the grey-haired superintendent. “The manner in +which the diamonds have been quickly transferred from hand to hand and +carried out of the country is sufficient evidence of that. The gang +have now scattered, and, for aught we know, have all crossed the +Channel by this time.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>“Well,” I assured him; “I know nothing more of the affair than what I +have told you. If I were an accomplice I should hardly be here—making +inquiries concerning them.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know so much about that,” he replied, rather incredulously. +“Such an action has been known before, in order to place the police +upon a wrong scent. I fear I must ask you to remain here, in Stamford, +until this evening, while I make some inquiry into your <i>bona fides</i>, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“What!” I cried. “You intend to detain me!”</p> + +<p>“There is no indignity,” he declared. “You may go about the town where +you will—providing you do not attempt to leave it. I regret, but it +is my duty to ascertain who and what you are, Mr. Biddulph.”</p> + +<p>I had given him my card, and he, seeing the look of annoyance upon my +face, added—</p> + +<p>“I can only express apologies, sir. But you will see it is my duty. +You have admitted knowledge of at least one of the mysterious gang.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” I replied reluctantly; “make what inquiries you will.” +And I gave him the address of my solicitors and my bankers.</p> + +<p>Then, walking out of the office, I strolled down the quiet old High +Street into the market place, full of evil forebodings.</p> + +<p>Who was this man Lewis—or Louis—with whom my wife had escaped?</p> + +<p>He was a blackguardly adventurer, anyhow. He had addressed her as +“dear,” and had been solicitous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>of her welfare throughout! To him she +had signalled from her box in the theatre, well knowing that he was +making secret preparations for her elopement. Indeed, she had written +that note and placed it upon my blotting-pad before we had gone forth +together, she well knowing that she would never again re-cross my +threshold.</p> + +<p>Ah! The poignant bitterness of it all had gripped my heart. My cup of +unhappiness was now assuredly full.</p> + +<p>How brief had been my joy; how quickly my worst fears had been +realized.</p> + +<p>About the quiet, old-world decaying town I wandered, hardly knowing +whither I went. When, every now and then, in the fading light, I found +myself going into the country I turned back, mindful of my promise not +to leave the place without permission.</p> + +<p>About six I returned to the George and sat beside the fire in the +lounge—in that selfsame chair where my fugitive wife had sat. I was +eager to renew the chase, yet until I received word from the police I +was compelled to remain helpless.</p> + +<p>Old Cross, the boots, became inquisitive, but I evaded his questions, +and ate my dinner alone in the small cosy coffee-room, awaiting the +reappearance of Inspector Deane. I had given my chauffeur liberty till +eight o’clock, but I was all anxiety to drive back to London.</p> + +<p>Still, if I returned, what could I do? Sylvia and her companions had +driven away—whither was a mystery.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p><p>The Criminal Investigation Department had already issued an official +description of the persons wanted, for while I had been at the +police-office the inspector had been closely questioning the man Cross +and Miss Hammond.</p> + +<p>Already the police drag-net was out, and the combined police forces of +Europe would, in an hour or two, be on the watch for Sylvia and her +mysterious companions.</p> + +<p>So far as the United Kingdom was concerned sixty thousand officers, +detectives and constables would be furnished with a complete +description of those who had held that secret consultation. The +tightest of tight cordons would be drawn. Every passenger who embarked +at English ports for abroad would be carefully scrutinized by +plain-clothes men. Every hotel-keeper, not only in London, but in the +remote villages and hamlets would be closely questioned as to the +identity and recent movements of his guests. Full descriptions of +Sylvia and her friends would be cabled to America, and the American +police would be asked to keep a sharp look-out on passengers arriving +on all boats from Europe. Descriptions would also be sent to the +police head-quarters in every European capital.</p> + +<p>In face of that, what more could I do?</p> + +<p>The situation had become unbearable. Sylvia’s unaccountable action had +plunged me into a veritable sea of despair. The future seemed blank +and hopeless.</p> + +<p>Just before eight o’clock I strolled back to the police-office and +reported myself, as it were. The <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>superintendent expressed himself +perfectly satisfied with the replies he had received from London, and, +with apologies, gave me leave to depart.</p> + +<p>“Inquiry is being made along the roads in every direction from here,” +he said. “We hear that the three men and the woman called at the Bell, +at Barnby Moor, and had some breakfast. Afterwards they continued +northward.”</p> + +<p>“Barnby Moor!” I echoed. “Why, that’s near Doncaster.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. Motorists patronize the place a good deal.”</p> + +<p>“And is that all that is known?” I inquired eagerly.</p> + +<p>“All at present,” he said. Therefore I left and, returning to the +garage, mounted the car and, with head-lamps alight, drove out into +the pitch darkness in the direction of Grantham. We sped along the +broad old coach-road for nearly three hours, until at last we pulled +up before an ancient wayside inn which had been modernized and adapted +to twentieth-century requirements.</p> + +<p>The manager, in reply to my eager questions, said it was true that the +Doncaster police had been there making inquiries regarding four +motorists—three gentlemen and a lady—who had called there that +morning and had had breakfast in the coffee-room.</p> + +<p>The head-waiter who had attended them was called, and I questioned +him. I think the manager believed me to be a detective, for he was +most courteous, and ready to give me all information.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>“Yes, sir,” replied the tall, slim head-waiter. “They came here in a +great hurry, and seemed to have come a long distance, judging from the +way the car was plastered with mud. The lady was very cold, for they +had an open car, and she wore a gentleman’s overcoat and a shawl tied +around her head. The tallest of the gentlemen drove the car. They +called him Lewis.”</p> + +<p>“Did you hear them address the lady?” I asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>“They called her Sonia, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And you say she seemed very fatigued?”</p> + +<p>“Very. She went upstairs and changed her evening gown for a stuff +dress, which was brought out of the car. Then she came down and joined +the others at breakfast.”</p> + +<p>“They gave you no indication as to their destination, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, I think they were returning to London, for I heard one of +the gentlemen say something about catching the boat-train.”</p> + +<p>“They may have meant the Harwich boat-train from the north,” I +remarked.</p> + +<p>“Very likely, sir. One portion of that train comes through Doncaster +in the afternoon to Peterborough and March, while the other comes down +to Rugby on the North-Western, and then goes across to Peterborough by +way of Market Harborough.”</p> + +<p>“Then they may have joined that, and if so they would just about be +leaving Parkeston Quay by now!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p><p>“If so, the police are certain to spot them,” laughed the waiter. +“They’re wanted for the theft of a princess’s jewels, they say.”</p> + +<p>What should I do? It was now long past ten o’clock, and I could not +possibly arrive at Parkeston before early morning. Besides, if they +had really gone there, they would, no doubt, be arrested. The man with +the pimply face whose description so closely tallied with that of +Reckitt, was surely too clever a criminal to run his neck into a noose +by going to any port of embarkation. Therefore I concluded that +whatever had been said at table had been said with the distinct object +of misleading the waiter. The very manner in which the diamonds had +been stolen showed a cunning and a daring unsurpassed. Such men were +certainly not easily trapped.</p> + +<p>My sole thought was of Sylvia. I could not bring myself to believe +that she had wilfully forsaken her home and her husband. Upon her, I +felt confident, some species of blackmail had been levied, and she had +been forced away from me by reasons beyond her control.</p> + +<p>That incident of the photograph—the picture believed to have been of +myself—which the foreigner tried to secure but which the man Lewis +had himself destroyed, was incomprehensible. What had been intended by +the foreigner?</p> + +<p>I gathered all the information I could in the hotel, and then, after a +hasty meal, re-entered the car and set out upon the dark, cold return +journey to London.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p><p>Where was Sylvia? Who were her mysterious friends? And, chief of all, +who was that man Lewis who addressed her in such endearing terms?</p> + +<p>What could possibly be the solution of the mystery?</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-SIX" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-SIX"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX</h2> + +<h3>“SOME SENSATIONAL REVELATIONS”</h3> + +<p>The days dragged by. The papers were full of the robbery, declaring +that it had been executed so neatly as to betray the hand of experts.</p> + +<p>A gang of Continental thieves was suspected, because, as a matter of +fact, a robbery similar in detail had, six months before, taken place +on the night express between Cologne and Berlin. In that case also a +strange ticket-inspector had been seen. The stolen property had, no +doubt, been thrown from the train to accomplices. Such method was +perfectly safe for the thief, because, unless actually detected in the +act of tossing out a bag or parcel, no evidence could very well be +brought against him.</p> + +<p>Therefore the police, and through them the newspapers, decided that +the same gang was responsible for the theft of the Archduchess’s +necklace as for the robbery in Germany.</p> + +<p>Myself, I read eagerly every line of what appeared in the morning and +evening press.</p> + +<p>Many ridiculous theories were put forward by some journalists in +working up the “story,” and more than once I found cruel and unfounded +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>reflections cast upon the sole female member of the party—my dear +wife.</p> + +<p>This was all extremely painful to me—all so utterly incomprehensible +that, as I sat alone in the silence of my deserted home, I felt that +no further misfortune could fall upon me. The iron of despair had +entered my very soul.</p> + +<p>Marlowe called one afternoon, and I was compelled to make excuse for +Sylvia’s absence, telling him she was down at Mrs. Shuttleworth’s.</p> + +<p>“You don’t look quite yourself, old man,” he had said. “What’s up?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing,” I laughed faintly. “I’m a bit run down, that’s all. +Want a change, I suppose. I think I shall go abroad.”</p> + +<p>“I thought your wife had had sufficient of the Continent,” he +remarked. “Curiously enough,” he added, as he sat back and blew a +cloud of cigarette-smoke from his lips, “I thought I saw her the day +before yesterday standing on the railway platform at Banbury. I was +coming down from Birmingham to Oxford, and the train slowed down in +passing Banbury. I happened to be looking out at the time, and I could +have sworn that I saw her.”</p> + +<p>“At Banbury!” I ejaculated, leaning forward.</p> + +<p>“Yes. She was wearing a dark blue dress, with a jacket to match, and a +small dark blue hat. She was with an elderly lady, and was evidently +waiting for a train. She gave me the impression that she was starting +on a journey.”</p> + +<p>“How old was her companion?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, she was about forty, I should think—neatly dressed in black.”</p> + +<p>“It couldn’t have been she,” I said reflectively.</p> + +<p>“My dear Owen, Mrs. Biddulph’s beauty is too marked for one to be +mistaken—especially a friend, like myself.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are quite certain it was she—eh, Jack?”</p> + +<p>My tall friend stretched his long legs out on the carpet, and +replied—</p> + +<p>“Well, I’d have bet a hundred to a penny that it was she. She wasn’t +at home with you on that day, was she?”</p> + +<p>I was compelled to make a negative reply.</p> + +<p>“Then I’m certain I saw her, old man,” he declared, as he rose and +tossed his cigarette-end away.</p> + +<p>It was upon my tongue to ask him what he had known of her, but I +refrained. She was my wife, and to ask such a question would only +expose to him my suspicions and misgivings.</p> + +<p>So presently he went, and I was left there wretched in my loneliness +and completely mystified. The house seemed full of grim shadows now +that she, the sun of my life, had gone out of it. Old Browning moved +about silent as a ghost, watching me, I knew, and wondering.</p> + +<p>So Sylvia had been seen at Banbury. According to Jack, she was dressed +as though travelling; therefore it seemed apparent that she had hidden +in that quiet little town until compelled to flee owing to police +inquiries. Her dress, as described by Jack, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>was different to any I +had ever seen her wear; hence it seemed as though she had disguised +herself as much as was possible. Her companionship with the elder +woman was also somewhat strange.</p> + +<p>My only fear was that the police might recognize her. While she +remained in one place, she would, no doubt, be safe from detection. +But if she commenced to travel, then most certainly the police would +arrest her.</p> + +<p>Fortunately they were not in possession of her photograph, yet all +along I remained in fear that the manager of the Coliseum might make a +statement, and this would again connect me with the gang.</p> + +<p>Yes, I suppose the reader will dub me a fool to have married Sylvia. +Well, he or she may do so. My only plea in extenuation is that I loved +her dearly and devotedly. My love might have been misplaced, of +course, yet I still felt that, in face of all the black circumstances, +she was nevertheless true to those promises made before the altar. I +was hers—and she was mine.</p> + +<p>Even then, with the papers raising a hue-and-cry after her, as well as +what I had discovered regarding her elopement, I steadfastly refused +to believe in her guilt. Those well-remembered words of affection +which had fallen from her lips from time to time I knew had been +genuine and the truth.</p> + +<p>That same night I read in the evening paper a paragraph as follows—</p> + +<p>“It is understood that the police have obtained an important clue to +the perpetrators of the daring theft <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>of the diamond necklet belonging +to the Archduchess Marie Louise, and that an arrest is shortly +expected. Some highly sensational revelations are likely.”</p> + +<p>I read and re-read those significant lines. What were the “sensational +revelations” promised? Had they any connection with the weird mystery +of that closed house in Porchester Terrace?</p> + +<p>I felt that perhaps I was not doing right in refraining from laying +before the Criminal Investigation Department the facts of my strange +experience in that long-closed house. In that neglected garden, my own +grave lay open. What bodies of other previous victims lay there +interred?</p> + +<p>I recollected that in the metropolis many bodies of murdered persons +had been found buried in cellars and in gardens. A recent case of the +discovery of an unfortunate woman’s body beneath the front doorsteps +of a certain house in North London was fresh within my mind.</p> + +<p>Truly the night mysteries of London are many and gruesome. The public +never dream of half the brutal crimes that are committed and never +detected. Only the police, if they are frank, will tell you of the +many cases in which persons missing are suspected of having been +victims of foul play. Yet they are mysteries never solved.</p> + +<p>I went across to White’s and dined alone. I was in no mood for the +companionship of friends. No one save myself knew that my wife had +disappeared. Jack suspected something wrong, but was not aware of what +it exactly was.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p><p>I went down to Andover next day and called upon the Shuttleworths. +Mrs. Shuttleworth was kind and affable as usual, but whether my +suspicions were ungrounded or not, I thought the rector a trifle +brusque in manner, as though annoyed by my presence there.</p> + +<p>I recollected what the man Lewis had told his friends—that he had +seen Shuttleworth down in the Ditches—one of the lowest +neighbourhoods—of Southampton. The rector had told him all that had +transpired!</p> + +<p>Why was this worthy country rector, living the quiet life of a remote +Hampshire village, in such constant communication with a band of +thieves?</p> + +<p>I sat with him in his well-remembered study for perhaps an hour. But +he was a complete enigma. Casually I referred to the great jewel +theft, which was more or less upon every one’s tongue.</p> + +<p>“I seldom read newspaper horrors,” he replied, puffing at his familiar +pipe. “I saw something in the head-lines of the paper, but I did not +read the details. I’ve been writing some articles for the <i>Guardian</i> +lately, and my time has been so fully occupied.”</p> + +<p>Was this the truth? Or was he merely evading the necessity of +discussing the matter?</p> + +<p>He had inquired after Sylvia, and I had been compelled to admit that +she was away. But I did so in such a manner that I implied she was +visiting friends.</p> + +<p>Outside, the lawn, so bright and pleasant in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>summer, now looked damp +and dreary, littered by the brown drifting leaves of autumn.</p> + +<p>Somehow I read in his grey face a strange expression, and detected an +eagerness to get rid of me. For the first time I found myself an +unwelcome visitor at the rectory.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen Mr. Pennington of late?” I asked presently.</p> + +<p>“No, not for some time. He wrote me from Brussels about a month ago, +and said that business was calling him to Spain. Have you seen him?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“Not very recently,” I replied vaguely.</p> + +<p>Then again I referred to the great robbery, whereat he said—</p> + +<p>“Why, Mr. Biddulph, you appear as though you can’t resist the +fascination that mysterious crime has for you! I suppose you are an +ardent novel-reader—eh? People fond of novels always devour newspaper +mysteries.”</p> + +<p>I admitted a fondness for healthy and exciting fiction, when he +laughed, saying—</p> + +<p>“Well, I myself find that nearly half one reads in some of the +newspapers now-a-days may be classed as fiction. Even party politics +are full of fictions, more or less. Surely the public must find it +very difficult to winnow the truth from all the political lies, both +spoken and written. To me, elections are all mere campaigns of +untruth.”</p> + +<p>And so he again cleverly turned the drift of our conversation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p><p>About five o’clock I left, driving back to Andover Junction, and +arriving at Waterloo in time for dinner.</p> + +<p>I took a taxi at once to Wilton Street, but there was no letter from +Sylvia. She gave no sign. And, indeed, why should she, in face of her +letter of farewell?</p> + +<p>I dressed, and sat down alone to my dinner for the first time in my +own dining-room since my wife’s disappearance.</p> + +<p>Lonely and sad, yet filled with fierce hatred of those blackguardly +adventurers, of whom her own father was evidently one, I sat silent, +while old Browning served the meal with that quiet stateliness which +was one of his chief characteristics. The old man had never once +mentioned his missing mistress, yet I saw, by the gravity of his pale, +furrowed face, that he was anxious and puzzled.</p> + +<p>As I ate, without appetite, he chatted to me, as had been his habit in +my bachelor days, for through long years of service—ever since I was +a lad—he had become more a friend than a mere servant. From many a +boyish scrape he had shielded me, and much good advice had he given me +in those reckless days of my rather wild youth.</p> + +<p>His utter devotion to my father had always endeared him to me, for to +him there was no family respected so much as ours, and his +faithfulness was surely unequalled.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he did not approve of my marriage. I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>held a strong suspicion +that he had not. Yet old servants are generally apt to be resentful at +the advent of a new mistress.</p> + +<p>I was finishing my coffee and thinking deeply, Browning having left me +alone, when suddenly he returned, and, bending, said in his quiet +way—</p> + +<p>“A gentleman has called, Mr. Owen. He wishes to see you very +particularly.” And he handed me a card, upon which I saw the name: +“Henri Guertin.”</p> + +<p>I sprang to my feet, my mind made up in an instant. Here was one +actually of the gang, and I would entrap him in my own house!</p> + +<p>I would compel him to speak the truth, under pain of arrest.</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” I asked breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“I have shown him into the study. He’s a foreign gentleman, Mr. Owen.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know,” I said. “But now, don’t be alarmed, Browning—just stay +outside in the hall. If I ring the bell, go straight to the telephone, +ring up the police-station, and tell them to send a constable here at +once. My study door will be locked until the constable arrives. You +understand?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly, Mr. Owen, but——” And the old man hesitated, looking at +me apprehensively.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing whatever to fear,” I laughed, rather harshly +perhaps. “Carry out my orders, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>And then, in fierce determination, I went along the hall, and, opening +the study door, entered, closing it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>behind me, and as I stood with my +back to it I turned the key and removed it.</p> + +<p>“Well, M’sieur Guertin,” I exclaimed, addressing the stout man in gold +pince-nez in rather a severe tone, “and what, pray, do you want with +me?”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-SEVEN" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-SEVEN"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN</h2> + +<h3>A CONTRETEMPS</h3> + +<p>The stout, round-faced Frenchman rose, and, bowing with his irritating +politeness, answered—</p> + +<p>“I wish to consult you, Monsieur Biddulph, upon a confidential matter +concerning your wife.”</p> + +<p>“What does my wife concern you, pray, sir?” I asked angrily.</p> + +<p>“Ah! calm yourself, m’sieur,” he said suddenly, dropping into French; +“I am here as your friend.”</p> + +<p>“I hardly believe that,” I replied incredulously. “My friend cannot be +the accomplice of my enemies. You are acquainted with Reckitt and with +Pennington—the men implicated in the recent theft of the diamonds of +the Archduchess Marie Louise!”</p> + +<p>He started and looked at me quickly.</p> + +<p>“What do you know of that?” he inquired, with rather undue eagerness.</p> + +<p>“I know more concerning you than you think,” was my firm reply. “And I +give you an alternative, Monsieur Guertin. Either you will reveal to +me the whole truth concerning those men Reckitt and Forbes and my +wife’s connection with them, or I shall telephone to the police, and +have you arrested as a member of the gang.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p><p>“My dear monsieur,” he replied, with a good-humoured smile, “I can’t +tell you facts of which I possess no knowledge. I am here to make +inquiry of you—to——”</p> + +<p>“To mislead me further!” I cried angrily. “You and your friends may be +extremely clever—you have succeeded in enticing my wife away from her +home, and you expect to befool me further. Remember that I nearly lost +my life in that grim house in Bayswater. Therefore at least I can +secure the arrest of one member of the gang.”</p> + +<p>“And you would arrest me—eh?” he asked, looking me straight in the +face, suddenly growing serious.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I intend to,” I replied, whipping out my revolver from my hip +pocket.</p> + +<p>“Put that thing away,” he urged. “Be reasonable. What would you profit +by arresting me?”</p> + +<p>“You shall either speak—tell me the truth, or I will hand you over to +the police. I have only to touch this bell”—and I raised my hand to +the electric button beside the fireplace—“and a telephone message +will call a constable.”</p> + +<p>“And you really would give me in charge—eh?” laughed my visitor.</p> + +<p>“I certainly intend doing so,” I answered angrily.</p> + +<p>“Well, before this is done, let us speak frankly for a few moments,” +suggested the Frenchman. “You tell me that you nearly lost your life +in some house in Bayswater. Where was that?”</p> + +<p>“In Porchester Terrace. What is the use of affecting ignorance?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p><p>“I do not affect ignorance,” he said, and I saw that a change had +completely overspread his countenance. “I only wish to know the extent +of your knowledge of Reckitt and Forbes.”</p> + +<p>“I have but little knowledge of your friends, I’m pleased to say,” was +my quick rejoinder. “Let us leave them out of the question. What I +desire to know is the whereabouts of my wife.”</p> + +<p>He shrugged his broad shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I regret that I have no knowledge of where madame may be.”</p> + +<p>“But you have!” I cried, facing him angrily. “She is probably with +Pennington, her father, who seems to be one of your undesirable +fraternity.”</p> + +<p>“No, she is not with him, most certainly,” my visitor declared. “I +know that for a fact. She is probably with Lewis.”</p> + +<p>“And who is this fellow Lewis?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>For a moment he was silent.</p> + +<p>“I think you had better ask madame, your wife,” he replied at last.</p> + +<p>“Do you intend to cast a slur upon her?” I cried, facing him +resentfully.</p> + +<p>“Not in the least,” was his cool answer. “I have merely replied to +your question.”</p> + +<p>“And have given me most impertinent advice! Will you, or will you not, +tell me who the fellow is?”</p> + +<p>“At present, monsieur, I must refuse.”</p> + +<p>“Then I shall press the bell, and give you into custody.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>“Ah!” he laughed, “that will be distinctly amusing.”</p> + +<p>“For me, perhaps—not for you.”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur is at liberty to act as he deems best,” said my visitor.</p> + +<p>Therefore, irritated by the fellow’s manner, and in the hope that he +would at the eleventh hour relent, I pressed the bell.</p> + +<p>It rang loudly, and I heard old Browning go to the telephone beneath +the stairs. In a few minutes the constable would arrive, and at least +one member of the dangerous gang would be secured.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you will let me pass,” he said, crossing towards the door +immediately after I had rung the bell. But I placed myself against it, +revolver in hand, preventing him and holding him at bay.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he laughed. “I fear, Mr. Biddulph, that you are not +acting judiciously. You refuse to accept my statement that I am here +as your friend!”</p> + +<p>“Because you, on your part, refuse to reply to my questions.”</p> + +<p>But he only shrugged his shoulders again without replying.</p> + +<p>“You know quite well where my wife is.”</p> + +<p>“Alas! I do not,” the fellow declared emphatically. “It was to obtain +information that I called.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot deny that you know that pair of criminals, Reckitt and +Forbes?”</p> + +<p>“I have surely not denied knowledge of them!”</p> + +<p>“Yet you refuse to tell me who this man is who enticed my wife from my +side—the man who presided <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>over that secret council at the George +Hotel at Stamford!”</p> + +<p>“I am prepared to be frank with you in return for your frankness, +monsieur,” he answered.</p> + +<p>But I saw in his evasive replies an intention to mislead me into a +belief that he was actuated towards me by friendly motives. Therefore +my antagonism increased. He had defied me, and I would give him into +custody.</p> + +<p>Presently there came a loud knocking at the door, and, upon my opening +it, a police-sergeant stood upon the threshold.</p> + +<p>“I give this man into custody,” I said, addressing him and pointing to +the Frenchman.</p> + +<p>“Upon what charge, sir?” asked the burly officer, whose broad +shoulders filled the doorway, while I saw a constable standing behind +him.</p> + +<p>“On suspicion of being associated with the theft of the diamonds of +the Archduchess Marie Louise,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“Come, monsieur,” laughed my visitor, speaking again in English, “I +think we have carried this sufficiently far.” And, placing his hand in +his breast-pocket, he produced a small folded yellow card bearing his +photograph, which he handed to me. “Read that!” he added, with a laugh +of triumph.</p> + +<p>I saw that the printed card was headed “Préfecture de Police, Ville de +Paris,” and that it was signed, countersigned, and bore a large red +official seal.</p> + +<p>Quickly I scanned it, and, to my abject dismay, realized that Henri +Guertin was chief of the first <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>section of the <i>sûreté</i>—he was one of +the greatest detectives of France!</p> + +<p>I stammered something, and then, turning to the sergeant, red and +ashamed, I admitted that I had made a mistake in attempting to arrest +so distinguished an official.</p> + +<p>The two metropolitan officers held the card in their hands, and, +unable to read French, asked me to translate it for them, which I did.</p> + +<p>“Why,” cried the sergeant, “Monsieur Guertin is well known! His name +figures in the papers only this morning as arresting two Englishmen in +Paris for a mysterious murder alleged to have been committed in some +house in Bayswater!”</p> + +<p>“In Bayswater!” I gasped. “In Porchester Terrace?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the famous French detective. “It is true that I know +Reckitt and Forbes. But I only knew them in order to get at the truth. +They never suspected me, and early yesterday morning I went to the +snug little apartments they have in the Rue de Rouen, and arrested +them, together with two young Frenchmen named Terassier and Brault. +Concealed beneath a loose board in the bedroom of the last-named man I +found the missing gems.”</p> + +<p>“Then Terassier and Brault were the two men who met the others in +Stamford, and carried the diamonds across to the Continent, intending +to dispose of them?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. There was a hitch in disposing of them in Amsterdam, as had +been intended, and though the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>diamonds had been knocked from their +settings, I found them intact.”</p> + +<p>He told me that Forbes was the actual thief, who had so daringly +travelled to Finsbury Park and collected the tickets <i>en route</i>. He +had practically confessed to having thrown the bag out to Reckitt and +Pennington, who were waiting at a point eight miles north of +Peterborough. They had used an electric flash-lamp as they stood in +the darkness near the line, and the thief, on the look-out for the +light, tossed the bag out on to the embankment.</p> + +<p>“Then my father-in-law is a thief!” I remarked, with chagrin, when the +sergeant and constable had been dismissed. “It was for that reason my +wife dare not face me and make explanation!”</p> + +<p>“You apparently believe Arnold Du Cane, alias Winton, alias +Pennington, to be Sylvia’s father—but such is not the case,” remarked +the great detective slowly. “To his career attaches a very remarkable +story—one which, in my long experience in the unravelling of +mysteries of crime, has never been equalled.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me it,” I implored him eagerly. “Where is my poor wife?”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-EIGHT" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-EIGHT"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT</h2> + +<h3>THE FRENCHMAN MAKES A STATEMENT</h3> + +<p>“Ah! I regret, m’sieur, that I do not know,” replied the Frenchman. +“And yet,” he added, after a second’s hesitation, “I do not exactly +regret. Perhaps it is best, after all, that I should remain in +ignorance. But, Monsieur Biddulph, I would make one request on your +wife’s behalf.”</p> + +<p>“On her behalf!” I gasped. “What is it?”</p> + +<p>“That you do not prejudge her. She has left you because—well, because +she had good reason. But one day, when you know the truth, you will +certainly not judge her too harshly.”</p> + +<p>“I do not judge her harshly,” I protested. “How can I, when I love her +as devotedly as I do! I feel confident that the misfortunes she has +brought upon me were not of her own seeking.”</p> + +<p>“She very narrowly escaped the vengeance of those two assassins,” +Guertin said; “how narrowly, neither you nor she will ever know. For +months I have watched them closely, both here and in France and +Germany, in order to catch them red-handed; but they have been too +clever for me, and we must rely upon the evidence which that +back-garden in Porchester Terrace will now yield up. The gang is part +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>of a great criminal association, that society of international +thieves of which one member was the man you knew as Harriman, and +whose real name was Bell—now at Devil’s Island for the murder of the +rising young English parliamentary Under-Secretary Ronald Burke. The +murder was believed to have been committed with a political motive, +and through certain false evidence furnished by the man Pennington, a +person named Louis Lessar, chief of the band, was first arrested, and +condemned by the Assize Court of the Seine. Both were sent to Devil’s +Island for life, but recently Lessar escaped, and was daring enough to +come to England as Mr. Lewis.”</p> + +<p>“Lewis!” I gasped. “That was the fellow with whom my wife escaped—the +man who presided over the secret deliberations of the gang at their +assembly at Stamford!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Once a British officer, he had been leader of the great criminal +organization before his arrest. They were the most formidable in +Europe, for they always acted on scientific principles, and always +well provided with funds. Some of their coups were utterly amazing. +But on his arrest and imprisonment the society dwindled under the +leadership of Pennington, a low-bred blackguard, who could not even be +loyal to his associates.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, sir,” remarked the sergeant, again shown into the room by +Browning. “Our C.I.D. men have been at work all day in the garden +behind that house in Porchester Terrace. A big hole was found dug +there, and already they’ve turned up the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>remains of two persons—a +man and a woman. I ought to have told you that we had it over the +telegraph at the station about an hour ago. Superintendent Mayhew and +Professor Salt have been there to examine the remains recovered.”</p> + +<p>“Two victims!” I exclaimed. “The open grave found there was prepared +for me!”</p> + +<p>“No doubt,” exclaimed Guertin. “When I first communicated with your +Scotland Yard, they refused to believe my allegations against Reckitt +and Forbes. But I had had my suspicions aroused by their actions in +Paris, and I was positive. But oh! your police methods are so very +painfully slow!”</p> + +<p>Then the sergeant again withdrew.</p> + +<p>“But of Pennington. Tell me more of him,” I urged.</p> + +<p>“He was your worst enemy, and Sylvia’s enemy also, even though he +posed as her father. He wished her to marry Forbes, and thus, on +account of her great beauty, remain the decoy of the gang. But she met +you, and loved you. Her love for you was the cause of their hatred. +Because of her affection, she risked her life by revealing to me +certain things concerning her associates, whom she knew were plotting +to kill you. The very man who was posing as her father—and who +afterwards affected friendship for you—told that pair of unscrupulous +assassins, Reckitt and Forbes, a fictitious story of how Sonia—for +that is her real name—had denounced them. This aroused their hatred, +and they decided to kill you both. From what I heard afterwards, they +entrapped you, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>placed you in that fatal chair beside the venomous +reptile, while they also tortured the poor girl with all the horrors +of the serpent, until her brain became deranged. Suddenly, however, +they became alarmed by discovering a half-witted lad wandering in the +garden where the bodies of previous victims lay concealed, and, making +a quick escape, left you and her without ascertaining that you were +dead. Eventually she escaped and rescued you, hence their fear that +you would inform the police, and their frantic efforts to secure the +death of both of you. Indeed, you would probably have been dead ere +this, had I not taken upon myself the self-imposed duty of being your +protector, and had not Louis Lessar most fortunately escaped from +Devil’s Island to protect his daughter from their relentless hands.”</p> + +<p>“His daughter!” I gasped, staring at him.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Sonia is the daughter of Phil Poland, alias Louis Lessar, the +man who was falsely denounced by Pennington as an accomplice in the +assassination of the young Under-Secretary, Mr. Burke, on the Riviera. +After I had arrested her father one night at the house where he lived +down near Andover, Pennington compelled the girl to pass as his +daughter for a twofold reason. First, because he believed that her +great beauty would render her a useful decoy for the purpose of +attracting young men into their fatal net, and secondly, in order that +Forbes should secure her as his wife, for it was realized how, by her +marriage to him, her lips would be sealed.”</p> + +<p>“But they all along intended to kill me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p><p>“Of course. Your life was, you recollect, heavily insured at +Pennington’s suggestion, and you had made over a large sum of money to +Sonia in case of your demise. Therefore it was to the interests of the +whole gang that you should meet with some accident which should prove +fatal. The theft of the jewels of the Archduchess delayed the +conspiracy from being put into execution, and by that means your life +was undoubtedly spared. Ah! monsieur, the gang recently led by Arnold +Du Cane was once one of the most daring, the most unscrupulous, and +the most formidable in the whole of Europe.”</p> + +<p>“And my dear wife is actually the daughter of the previous leader of +that criminal band!” I exclaimed apprehensively.</p> + +<p>“Yes. She escaped with him because she was in fear of her +life—because she knew that if she were again beneath her own father’s +protection, you—the man she loved—would also be safe from injury. +For Phil Poland is a strong man, a perfect past-master of the criminal +arts, and a leader whose word was the command of every member of that +great international organization, the wide ramifications of which I +have so long tried in vain to ascertain.”</p> + +<p>“Then Poland is a noteworthy man in the world of crime?”</p> + +<p>“He is a very prince of thieves. Yet, at the same time, one must +regard him with some admiration for his daring and audacity, his +wonderful resourcefulness and his strict adhesion to fair play. For +years he lived in France, Italy and Spain, constantly changing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>his +place of abode, his identity, his very face, and always evading us; +yet nobody has ever said that he did a mean action towards a poor man. +He certainly suffered an unjust punishment by that false accusation +made against him by the man who was apparently jealous of his +leadership, and who desired to become his successor.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are of opinion that my wife left me in order to secure my +protection from harm?”</p> + +<p>“I am quite certain of it. You recollect my meeting with her at the +Hôtel Meurice in Paris. She told me several things on that occasion.”</p> + +<p>“And Pennington very nearly fell into your hands.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but with his usual cleverness he escaped me.”</p> + +<p>“Where is he now? Have you any idea?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“I have no exact knowledge, but, with the arrest of four of his +accomplices, it will not be difficult to find out where he is in +hiding,” he laughed.</p> + +<p>“And the same may be said of Poland—eh?”</p> + +<p>“No; on the contrary, while the man Pennington, alias Du Cane, is +hated—and it will be believed by those arrested that he has betrayed +them in order to save himself—yet Poland is beloved. They know it was +Du Cane who made the false charge connecting Poland with Harriman, and +they will never forgive him. The hatred of the international thief is +the worst and most unrelenting hatred existing in the whole world. +Before Poland came to live in retirement <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>here in England at +Middleton, near Andover, his association consisted only of the most +expert criminals of both sexes, and he controlled their actions with +an iron hand. Once every six months the members from all over Europe +held a secret conference in one capital or another, when various tasks +were allotted to various persons. The precautions taken to prevent +blunders were amazing, and we were baffled always because of the +widespread field of their operations, and the large number of experts +engaged. The band, broken up into small and independent gangs, worked +in unison with receivers always ready, and as soon as our suspicions +were aroused by one party they disappeared, and another, complete +strangers, came in their place. Premises likely to yield good results +from burglary were watched for months by a constant succession of +clever watchers, and people in possession of valuables sometimes +engaged servants of irreproachable character who were actually members +of the gang. Were their exploits chronicled, they would fill many +volumes of remarkable fact, only some of which have appeared in recent +years in the columns of the newspapers. Every European nationality and +every phase of life were represented in that extraordinary assembly, +which, while under Poland’s control, never, as far as is known, +committed a single murder. It was only when the great leader was +condemned and exiled, and the band fell away, that Pennington, Reckitt +and Forbes conceived the idea of extorting money by <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>means of the +serpent, allowing the reptile to strike fatally, and so prevent +exposure. By that horrible torture of the innocent and helpless they +must have netted many thousands of pounds.”</p> + +<p>“It was you, you say, who arrested Poland down in Hampshire.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, nearly three years ago. Prior to Harriman’s arrest, I went there +with my friend Watts, of Scotland Yard, and on that evening a strange +affair happened—an affair which is still a mystery. I’ll tell you all +about it later,” he added. “At present I must go to Porchester Terrace +and see what is in progress. I only arrived in London from Paris two +hours ago.”</p> + +<p>I begged him to take me along with him, and with some reluctance he +consented. On the way, Guertin told me a strange story of a dead man +exactly resembling himself at Middleton village on the night of +Poland’s arrest. Arrived at the house of grim shadows, we found a +constable idling outside the gate, but apparently nobody yet knew of +what was transpiring in the garden behind the closed house. At first +the man declined to allow us to enter, but, on Guertin declaring who +he was, we passed through into the tangled, weedy place where the +lights of lanterns were shining weirdly, and we could see men in their +shirt-sleeves working with shovel and pick, while others were clearing +away the dead rank herbage of autumn.</p> + +<p>In the uncertain light I saw that a long trench <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>some four feet in +depth had been dug, and into this the men were flinging the soil they +carefully removed in their progress in a line backwards.</p> + +<p>Beneath a tree, close to where was an open trench—the one prepared +for the reception of my body—lay something covered with a black +cloth. From beneath there stuck out a hideous object—a man’s muddy +patent-leather shoe!</p> + +<p>Even while I stood amid that weird, never-to-be-forgotten scene, one +of the excavators gave an ejaculation of surprise, and a lantern, +quickly brought, revealed a human arm in a dark coat-sleeve embedded +in the soil.</p> + +<p>With a will, half-a-dozen eager hands were at work, and soon a third +body—that of a tall, grey-haired man, whose face, alas! was awful to +gaze upon—was quickly exhumed.</p> + +<p>I could not bear to witness more, and left, gratified to know that the +two fiends were already safely confined in a French prison.</p> + +<p>Justice would, no doubt, be done, and they would meet with their +well-merited punishment.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-NINE" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-NINE"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE</h2> + +<h3>FURTHER REVELATIONS</h3> + +<p>If you are a constant reader of the newspapers, as probably you are, +you will no doubt recollect the great sensation caused next day on the +publication of the news of the gruesome find in that, one of the most +aristocratic thoroughfares of Bayswater.</p> + +<p>The metropolitan police were very reticent regarding the affair, but +many of the papers published photographs of the scene of the +exhumations, the exterior of the long-closed house, and photographs of +the various police officials. That of Guertin, however, was not +included. The famous investigator of crime had no wish for the picture +of his face, with its eyes beaming benignly through his gold glasses, +to be disseminated broadcast.</p> + +<p>The police refused to make any statement; hence the wildest +conjectures were afloat concerning the series of tragedies which must +have taken place within that dark house, with its secluded, tangled +garden.</p> + +<p>As the days went by, the public excitement did not abate, for yet more +remains were found—the body of a young, fair-haired man who had been +identified as Mr. Cyril Wilson, a member of the Travellers’ Club, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>who +had been missing for nearly nine months. The police, impelled by this +fresh discovery, cut down the trees in the garden and laid the whole +place waste, while crowds of the curious waited about in the +neighbourhood, trying to catch a glimpse of the operations.</p> + +<p>And as time wore on I waited in daily expectation of some sign from +the woman I so dearly loved.</p> + +<p>Guertin, who still remained in London, assured me that she was safe in +hiding with her father, Phil Poland.</p> + +<p>“And you will, of course, arrest him when you can discover him,” I +remarked, as I sat with the famous detective in his room at the Grand +Hotel in Trafalgar Square.</p> + +<p>“I do not wish to discover him, my dear Monsieur Biddulph,” was his +kind reply. “I happen to know that he has deeply repented of his +wrongdoing, and even on his sudden reappearance at Stamford with the +remaining portion of his once invulnerable gang, he urged them to turn +aside from evil, and become honest citizens. He has, by his wrongful +conviction of murder, expiated his crimes, and hence I feel that he +may be allowed a certain leniency, providing he does not offend in +future.”</p> + +<p>“But a warrant is out for him, of course?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. His arrest is demanded for breaking from prison. His +escape is one of the most daring on record. He swam for five miles in +the sea on a dark night, and met with most extraordinary <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>adventures +before a Dutch captain allowed him to work his passage to Rotterdam.”</p> + +<p>“But he will not dare to put foot in London, I suppose. He would be +liable to extradition to France.”</p> + +<p>“Who knows? He is one of the most fearless and ingenious men I have +ever known. He can so alter his appearance as to deceive even me.”</p> + +<p>“But the metropolitan police, knowing that Sylvia—I mean Sonia—is +his daughter, may be watching my house!” I exclaimed in alarm.</p> + +<p>“That is more than likely,” he admitted. “Hence, if you want to allow +madame, your wife, an opportunity to approach you, you should go +abroad somewhere—to some quiet place where you would not be +suspected. Let me know where you go, and perhaps I can manage to +convey to them the fact that you are waiting there.”</p> + +<p>The hotel at Gardone—that fine lake-side hotel where I had first seen +Sonia—occurred to me. And I told him.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said cheerfully. “I shall return to Paris to-morrow, +and if I can obtain any information from either of the prisoners, I +will manage to let Poland know that his son-in-law awaits him.”</p> + +<p>Then I thanked the great detective, and, shaking hands warmly, we +parted.</p> + +<p>What Guertin had told me regarding the strange discovery of a man who +closely resembled him outside Poland’s house on the night of the +latter’s arrest held <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>me much puzzled. Even he, the all-powerful chief +of the <i>sûreté</i>, had failed to solve the enigma.</p> + +<p>Next afternoon Shuttleworth called upon me in Wilton Street, and for a +long time sat chatting.</p> + +<p>At last he looked at me gravely, and said—</p> + +<p>“I dare say you have been much puzzled, Mr. Biddulph, to know why I, a +clergyman of the Church of England, have apparently been mixed up with +persons of shady character. But now that four of them are under +arrest, and a fifth, we hope, will shortly be apprehended, I will +explain. As you perhaps know, Sonia was the daughter of the Honourable +Philip Poland, who came to live at the Elms, which is close to the +rectory at Middleton. We became great friends, until one evening he +made a strange confession to me. He told me who he was—Louis Lessar, +who had been the leader of a dangerous band of international +thieves—and he asked my advice in my capacity of spiritual guide. He +had repented, and had gone into retirement there, believing that his +sins would not find him out. But they had done, and he knew he must +shortly be arrested. Well, I advised him to act the man, and put aside +the thoughts of suicide. What he had revealed to me had—I regret to +confess it—aroused my hatred against the man who had betrayed him—a +man named Du Cane. This man Du Cane I had only met once, at the Elms, +and then I did not realize the amazing truth—that this was the +selfsame man who had stolen from me, twenty years before, the woman <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>I +had so dearly loved. He had betrayed her, and left her to starve and +die in a back street in Marseilles. I concealed my outburst of +feeling, yet the very next evening Poland was arrested, and Sonia, +ignorant of the truth, was, with a motive already explained by +Monsieur Guertin, taken under the guardianship of this man whom I had +such just cause to hate—the man who subsequently passed as her +father, Pennington. It was because of that I felt all along such a +tender interest in the unhappy young lady, and I was so delighted to +know when she had at last become your wife.”</p> + +<p>“You certainly concealed your feelings towards Pennington. I believed +you to be his friend,” I said.</p> + +<p>“I was Sonia’s friend—not his, for what poor Poland had told me +revealed the truth that the fellow was an absolute scoundrel.”</p> + +<p>“And you, of course, know about the incident of a man closely +resembling the French detective Guertin being found dead outside the +door of the Elms?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” was his reply; “that is still a complete mystery which +can only be solved by Poland himself. He must know, or else have a +shrewd idea of what occurred.”</p> + +<p>As we chatted on for a long time, he told me frankly many things of +which I had not the least suspicion, at the same time assuring me of +Sonia’s deep devotion towards me, and of his confidence that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>she had +left me because she believed being at her father’s side would ensure +my own safety.</p> + +<p>And now that I knew so much of the truth I longed hourly to meet her, +and to obtain from her—and perhaps from the lips of Philip Poland +himself—the remaining links in that remarkable chain of facts.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_THIRTY" id="CHAPTER_THIRTY"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY</h2> + +<h3>CONCLUSION</h3> + +<p>About ten days afterwards I one morning received by post a brief note +from Guertin, written from the Préfecture in Paris, urging me to go at +once to the Victoria Hotel at Varenna, on the Lake of Como, where, if +I waited in the name of Brown, my patience would be rewarded.</p> + +<p>And there, sure enough, six days later, as I sat one evening in my +private sitting-room, the door suddenly opened and my well-beloved, in +a dark travelling gown, sprang forward and embraced me, sobbing for +very joy.</p> + +<p>Can I adequately describe the happiness of that reunion. Of what I +uttered I have no recollection, for I held her closely in my arms as I +kissed her hot tears away.</p> + +<p>A man stood by—a tall, silent, gentlemanly man, whose hair was grey, +and whose face as he advanced beneath the strong light showed traces +of disguise.</p> + +<p>“I am Philip Poland—Sonia’s father,” he exclaimed in a low voice. +Whereupon I took the hand of the escaped prisoner, and expressed the +utmost satisfaction at that meeting, for he had risked his liberty to +come there to me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p><p>“Sonia has told me everything,” he said; “and I can only regret that +those blackguards have treated you and her as they have. But Guertin, +who is a humane man, even though he be a detective, has tracked them +down, and only yesterday I heard Du Cane—the man who made that false +charge against myself, and stepped into my shoes; the man who intended +that my poor girl should marry that young scoundrel Forbes—has been +discovered in Breslau, and is being extradited to England.”</p> + +<p>“On the night of your arrest, Mr. Poland, a mystery occurred,” I said +presently, as we sat together exchanging many confidences, as I held +my dear wife’s soft little hand in mine.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he replied. “It was only while I was out at Devil’s Island that +I learnt the truth. Du Cane, intending to get me out of the way, hit +upon a very ingenious plan of sending a man made up as Guertin—whom I +only knew by sight—to see me and suggest suicide rather than arrest. +This man—a person named Lefevre—came and made the suggestion. He did +not know that Du Cane had written anonymously to the Préfecture, and +never dreamed that Guertin himself would follow him so quickly. On +leaving, he apparently hung about watching the result of his dastardly +mission, when Harriman—or Bell as we knew him—walked up the drive, +in order to call in secret upon me. He espied a man whom he recognized +as Guertin peering in at the window, and, creeping up behind him, +struck him down before he could <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>utter a word. Afterwards he slipped +away, believing that he had killed our arch-enemy, the chief of the +<i>sûreté</i>. Presently, however, the body of the unfortunate Lefevre was +found by Guertin himself, who had come to arrest me.”</p> + +<p>“And Harriman admitted this!” I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Yes. He admitted it to me upon his death-bed. He died of fever a week +before I made my dash for liberty. But,” he added, “Sonia has told me +of that dastardly attempt which those hell-fiends Reckitt and Forbes +made upon you in Porchester Terrace, and how they also tortured her. +But they were fortunately alarmed and fled precipitately, leaving +Sonia unconscious.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” declared my sweet wife. “When I came to myself I recollected, +in horror, what they had told me concerning the fate to which they had +abandoned you in the adjoining room, and with a great effort managed +to free myself and seek you. I cut the straps which bound you, and +succeeded in killing the snake just in time to save you. Then I stole +away and left, fearing that you might suspect me of having had some +hand in the affair.”</p> + +<p>“And you saved my life, darling!” I exclaimed, kissing her fondly on +the lips.</p> + +<p>Then, turning to Poland, I said—</p> + +<p>“The police are hunting for you everywhere. Cannot you get to some +place where you are not liable to be taken back to France?”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow, if I am fortunate,” he said, with a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>faint smile, “I +return to the modest little villa I have rented on the hill-side +outside Athens. In Greece one is still immune from arrest for offences +abroad.”</p> + +<p>“And I shall return to London with you, Owen. Father and I have +travelled to Trieste, and thence here, in order that I should rejoin +you, now that the danger is past.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! darling,” I cried. “I never for one moment doubted you! Yet I +admit that the circumstances once or twice looked very black and +suspicious.”</p> + +<p>“Alas! I could not prevent it,” she declared; “I left you and joined +Dad at the Coliseum, because I went in fear of some further attempt +being made upon us, and I felt you and I would be safe if I were with +him. He had no idea when he met the others at Stamford that Forbes and +Reckitt and Du Cane had effected that <i>coup</i> with the Archduchess’s +jewels.”</p> + +<p>“No. I had no idea of it,” said Poland. “My meeting with them was one +of farewell. I had already severed my connection with them three years +ago, before my arrest.”</p> + +<p>And then, after some further explanations, I clasped my loved one in +my arms and openly repeated my declaration of fervent love and fond +affection.</p> + +<p>Of the rest, what need be said?</p> + +<p>Sonia is now very happy, either down at Carrington or at Wilton +Street, for the black clouds which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>overshadowed the earlier days of +our marriage have rent asunder, and given place to all the sunshine +and brightness of life and hope.</p> + +<p>No pair could be happier than we.</p> + +<p>Twice we have been to Athens as the guest of the tall, grey-haired +Englishman who is such a thorough-going cosmopolitan, and who lives in +Greece for the sake of the even climate and the study of its +antiquities. No one in the Greek capital recognizes Mr. Wilfrid Marsh +as the once-famous Louis Lessar.</p> + +<p>And dear old Jack Marlowe, still our firm and devoted friend, is as +full of good-humoured philosophy as ever, and frequently our visitor. +He still leads his careless existence, and is often to be seen idling +in the window of White’s, smoking and watching the passers-by in St. +James’s Street.</p> + +<p>You who read the newspapers probably know how Arnold Du Cane, alias +Pennington, alias Winton, was recently sentenced at the Old Bailey to +fifteen years, and the two young Frenchmen, Terassier and Brault, to +seven years each, for complicity in the robbery on the Scotch express.</p> + +<p>And probably you also read the account of how two mysterious +Englishmen named Reckitt and Forbes, who had been arrested in Paris, +had, somehow, prior to their extradition to England, managed to obtain +possession of blades of safety-razors, and with them had both +committed suicide.</p> + +<p>In consequence of this there was no trial of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>perpetrators of +those brutal crimes in Porchester Terrace.</p> + +<p>The whole affair was but a nine days’ horror, and as the authorities +saw that no good could accrue from alarming the public by further +publicity or inquiry, it was quickly “Hushed up.”</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.</i></p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> + +<p class="center">“THE MASTER OF MYSTERY”</p> + +<p class="center">WILLIAM LE QUEUX’S NOVELS</p> + +<p class="center">Opinions in 1911</p> + +<p>“Mr. William Le Queux retains his position as ‘The Master of Mystery.’ ... He is far too skilful to allow pause for +thought: he whirls his readers from incident to incident, holding their attention from the first page to the close of +the book.”—<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux is the master of mystery. He never fails to produce the correct illusion. He always leaves us panting +for more—a brilliant feat.”—<i>Daily Graphic.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux is still ‘The Master of Mystery.’”—<i>Madame.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux is a most experienced hand in writing sensational fiction. He never loses the grip of his +readers.”—<i>Publishers’ Circular.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux always grips his reader, and holds him to the last page.”—<i>Bristol Times and Mirror.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux’s books once begun must be read to the end.”—<i>Evening News.</i></p> + +<p>“There is no better companion on a railway journey than Mr. William Le Queux.”—<i>Daily Mail.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux knows his business, and carries it on vigorously and prosperously. His stories are always +fantastic and thrilling.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux is an adept at the semi-detective story. His work is always excellent.”—<i>Review of Reviews.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux is always so refreshing in his stories of adventure that one knows on taking up a new book of his that +one will be amused.”—<i>Birmingham Post.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux’s books are delightfully convincing.”—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux’s books are always exciting and absorbing. His mysteries are enthralling and his skill is +world-famous.”—<i>Liverpool Daily Post.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux has brought the art of the sensational novel to high perfection.”—<i>Northern Whig.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux is so true to his own style that any one familiar with his books would certainly guess him to be the +author, even if his name were not given.”—<i>Methodist Recorder.</i></p> + +<p>“‘As good wine needs no bush’ so no mystery story by Mr. Le Queux, the popular weaver of tales of crime, needs praise +for its skill. Any novel with this author’s name appended is sure to be ingenious in design and cleverly worked +out.”—<i>Bookseller.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux is always reliable. The reader who picks up any of his latest novels knows what to expect.”—<i>Bookman.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux’s admirers are legion, and the issue of a new novel is to them one of the most felicitous events that can +happen.”—<i>Newcastle Daily Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux is the master of the art of mystery-creating.”—<i>Liverpool Daily Post.</i></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<h3>A Descriptive List of</h3> +<h2>NASH’S<br /> +Two-Shilling<br /> +NOVELS</h2> + +<p class="center">The greatest popular<br /> success of modern<br /> publishing.</p> + +<hr class="tiny" /> + +<p class="center">Autumn<br /> 1911</p> + +<div class="centerbox2 bbox"> +<p class="center">Exactly like 6/- Novels in size<br />:: :: quality and appearance :: ::</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p class="center">Recognisable everywhere by their green +cloth covers on which are coloured medallions</p></div></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<div class="centerbox3 bbox"> +<div class="advert"> +<p class="center lgfont">NASH’S 2/- NOVELS</p> +</div></div> + +<h3>LATEST VOLUMES</h3> + +<p><span class="right"><i>An Exchange of Souls</i></span><br /> +<span class="right2">By Barry Pain</span></p> + +<p><span class="right"><i>The Arrest of Arsène Lupin</i></span><br /> +<span class="right2">By Maurice Leblanc</span></p> + +<p><span class="right"><i>The Perfume of the Lady in Black</i></span><br /> +<span class="right2">By Gaston Leroux</span></p> + +<p><span class="right"><i>The Lady of the Hundred Dresses</i></span><br /> +<span class="right2">By S. R. Crockett</span></p> + +<p><span class="right"><i>The Silent House</i></span><br /> +<span class="right2">By Louis Tracy</span></p> + +<p><span class="right"><i>Hushed Up</i></span><br /> +<span class="right2">By William Le Queux</span></p> + +<p><span class="right"><i>Yellow Men and Gold</i></span><br /> +<span class="right2">By Gouverneur Morris</span></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<div class="centerbox3 bbox"> +<div class="advert"> +<p class="center lgfont">NASH’S 2/- NOVELS</p> +</div></div> + +<h3><i>VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED</i></h3> +<h3>MYSTERY & DETECTIVE STORIES</h3> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The Hollow</b></span><i>By Maurice</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Needle</b></span><i>Leblanc</i></div> + +<p>A story of Arsène Lupin, the greatest, most ingenious and most daring +criminal in modern fiction.</p> + +<p>“A thrilling and fascinating story ... not less exciting or less +mystifying than its predecessors.”—<i>Liverpool Daily Post.</i></p> + +<p>“Well worthy of its place in the famous set of +adventures.”—<i>Observer.</i></p> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The Black</b></span><i>By Carlton</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Spider</b></span><i>Dawe</i></div> + +<p>“Described as a sensational story of a female ‘Raffles’ this tale ... +in every way lives up to its description.”—<i>Birmingham Daily Post.</i></p> + +<p>“Full of thrills from beginning to end.”—<i>Western Mail.</i></p> + +<p>“An extremely powerful story ... well worked out, and the mixture of +romance with a story of the ‘Raffles’ type is well calculated to +please.”—<i>T.P.’s Weekly.</i></p> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The Window at</b></span><i>by Mary Roberts</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>The White Cat</b></span><i>Rinehart</i></div> + +<p><i>Author of “The Circular Staircase,” etc.</i></p> + +<p>“The plot is skilful and the incidents exciting. It is something more +than a mere detective story: there is character in it, and a pleasant +love story, and a quite refreshing sense of humour.”—<i>The Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>“We greatly enjoyed the brisk dialogue and the unexpected +ending.”—<i>Evening Times.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>For particulars of further volumes see next page.</i></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<div class="centerbox3 bbox"> +<div class="advert"> +<p class="center lgfont">NASH’S 2/- NOVELS</p> +</div></div> + +<h3><i>VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED</i></h3> +<h3>MYSTERY & DETECTIVE STORIES</h3> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The Wife He</b></span><i>By Max</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Never Saw</b></span><i>Marcin</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“A decidedly clever bit of sensation, ... worked out with +considerable resource. Altogether a fine +thrill.”—<i>Liverpool Courier.</i></p> + +<p>“A vigorous and briskly moving yarn—the best thing of the +kind we have encountered for some considerable +time.”—<i>Birmingham Daily Post.</i></p></div> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The Red</b></span><i>By John</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Symbol</b></span><i>Ironside</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Enthralling, entertaining and powerful ... clean and +wholesome, it is one of the most powerful novels we have had +for a long time ... a fine mystery story most excellently +told and holding its reader in its grasp from start to +finish.”—<i>Dublin Daily Express.</i></p> + +<p>“A love story full of thrilling incidents.”—<i>Country Life.</i></p> + +<p>“Vigour and swing characterise the book, which has no dull +pages, and which keeps its alluring secret until near the +end.”—<i>Glasgow Herald.</i></p></div> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>Raffles</b></span><i>By E. W. Hornung</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Hats off to Raffles.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p></div> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The House of</b></span><i>By William</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Whispers</b></span><i>Le Queux</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Mystery—tantalising and baffling.”—<i>The Yorkshire Post.</i></p> + +<p>“An excellent tale.”—<i>The Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>“Full of arresting situations and making a strong appeal at +every stage to the instinct of curiosity.”—<i>The Pall Mall +Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux will please thousands by this work.”—<i>The +Morning Leader.</i></p></div> + +<p class="center"><i>For particulars of further volumes see next page.</i></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<div class="centerbox3 bbox"> +<div class="advert"> +<p class="center lgfont">NASH’S 2/- NOVELS</p> +</div></div> + +<h3><i>VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED</i></h3> +<h3>MYSTERY & DETECTIVE STORIES</h3> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>Treasure</b></span><i>by William</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>of Israel</b></span><i>Le Queux</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Another of his wonderful mystery stories.”—<i>Liverpool +Daily Post.</i></p> + +<p>“An admirably worked piece of sensationalism ... ought to +please a host of readers.”—<i>The Sunday Times.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Le Queux keeps his readers fascinated to the +end.”—<i>The Yorkshire Post.</i></p> + +<p>“The author is at his raciest; each chapter discloses some +new phase of the mystery, each page supplies a new thrill of +excitement.”—<i>The Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p></div> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The House of the</b></span><i>By Anna</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Whispering Pines</b></span><i>Katharine Green</i></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of “The Leavenworth Case.”</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The author has written nothing so good since her famous +‘Leavenworth Case.’ The story grips one from the first scene.... The book is crammed with incident ... there is not a +dull page from first to last.”—<i>The Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>“So ingenious, plausible, dramatic, and well-thought-out a +plot is a relief after the far-fetched absurdities of many +tales of the kind. The most austere reader ... will find +himself consumed with wonder as to whom the guilty man can +be.”—<i>The Evening Standard.</i></p></div> + +<p class="center"><i>For particulars of further volumes see next page.</i></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<div class="centerbox3 bbox"> +<div class="advert"> +<p class="center lgfont">NASH’S 2/- NOVELS</p> +</div></div> + +<h3><i>VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED</i></h3> +<h3>MYSTERY & DETECTIVE STORIES</h3> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The Man who</b></span><i>By Max</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Drove the Car</b></span><i>Pemberton</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Excellent and thrilling reading.”—<i>The Morning Leader.</i></p> + +<p>“The book is excellent reading.”—<i>The Daily Express.</i></p> + +<p>“Exciting enough to please the most blasé reader of +sensational fiction.”—<i>North Mail.</i></p> + +<p>“A thoroughly delightful book, absorbing, and of tense +interest throughout.”—<i>The Liverpool Daily Post.</i></p></div> + +<p class="center"><b>Humorous & Breezy Books.</b></p> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>Stranleigh’s</b></span><i>By Robert</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Millions</b></span><i>Barr</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“He is a good fellow, and, like Mr. Barr, invariably +entertaining.”—<i>Daily Graphic.</i></p> + +<p>“Very amusing, very delightful.”—<i>The Globe.</i></p></div> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>Sea Dogs</b></span><i>By Morley Roberts</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“A jolly collection.”—<i>The Evening Standard.</i></p> + +<p>“Mighty interesting.”—<i>The Daily Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>“A bright and breezy book.”—<i>The Daily Mail.</i></p> + +<p>“Very funny indeed ... the whole book is one good +laugh.”—<i>The Observer.</i></p> + +<p>“For wit and humour and invention it would be hard to +beat.”—<i>The Referee.</i></p></div> + +<p class="center"><i>For particulars of further volumes see next page.</i></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<div class="centerbox3 bbox"> +<div class="advert"> +<p class="center lgfont">NASH’S 2/- NOVELS</p> +</div></div> + +<h3><i>VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED</i></h3> +<h3>:: :: SOCIAL COMEDIES :: ::</h3> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>A Honeymoon—</b></span><i>By F. C. Philips &</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>And After</b></span><i>Percy Fendall</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“A really clever novel of modern society life.”—<i>The Dundee +Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>“A well-written and clever novel.”—<i>The Dublin Express.</i></p> + +<p>“A bright, well-written story that holds the reader till the +end.”—<i>The Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>“Owes much of its sustained interest to ruthless pictures of +life in frivolous West-end circles.”—<i>The Daily Chronicle.</i></p></div> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>Envious</b></span><i>By Madame</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Eliza</b></span><i>Albanesi</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Eliza is charming.”—<i>The Standard.</i></p> + +<p>“Human and genuine throughout.”—<i>The Morning Leader.</i></p> + +<p>“The reader is carried on to the end with unabated pleasure +and zest.”—<i>The Bookman.</i></p> + +<p>“The authoress has the gift of informing her characters with +life and charm.... The book cannot fail to consolidate the +position which the authoress has won by her earlier +works.”—<i>The Daily News.</i></p></div> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>Jack and</b></span><i>By F. G. Philips</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Three Jills</b></span> </div> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of “As in a Looking Glass,” etc.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“An arresting and clever piece of +observation.”—<i>Bystander.</i></p> + +<p>“An entertaining story of legal life.... Jack ... is frank, +manly, and generally attractive.”—<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p></div> + +<p class="center"><i>For particulars of further volumes see next page.</i></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<div class="centerbox3 bbox"> +<div class="advert"> +<p class="center lgfont">NASH’S 2/- NOVELS</p> +</div></div> + +<h3><i>VOLUMES ALEADY ISSUED</i></h3> +<h3>:: :: SOCIAL COMEDIES :: ::</h3> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The Divine</b></span><i>By May</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Fire</b></span><i>Sinclair</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Judged by almost every standard to which a comedy like this +should be referred, I find her book the most remarkable that +I have read for many years.”—Mr. Owen Seaman in <i>Punch.</i></p> + +<p>“A novel to read, and what is more to keep and read +again.”—<i>Outlook.</i></p></div> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>A Lucky</b></span><i>By F. C. Philips</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Young Woman</b></span> </div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Shows us the author at his best.”—<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p></div> + +<p class="center"><b>Yorkshire Life.</b></p> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>Mr. Poskitt’s</b></span><i>By J. S.</i><br /> +<span style="float:left"><b>Nightcaps</b></span><i>Fletcher</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Excellent ... comic and tragic episodes of Yorkshire life, +rich in character and dramatic force.”—<i>The Morning +Leader.</i></p></div> + +<p class="center"><b>A Masterpiece of Fiction.</b></p> + +<div style="text-align:right;"><span style="float:left"><b>The Nun</b></span><i>By René Bazin</i></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“A book which no one who reads it will ever forget.”—<i>The +Westminster Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>“It is difficult to speak in measured terms of this +exquisite story ... a consummate artist, his work eats into +the heart, and lives in the memory as do but few books from +modern authors.”—<i>The Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>“It is long since we have read a tragedy so intensely moving +as the story of this innocent peasant girl.... ‘The Nun’ is +a masterwork of fiction.”—<i>The Daily Graphic.</i></p></div></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hushed Up, by William Le Queux + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUSHED UP *** + +***** This file should be named 28337-h.htm or 28337-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/3/3/28337/ + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hushed Up + A Mystery of London + +Author: William Le Queux + +Release Date: March 15, 2009 [EBook #28337] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUSHED UP *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + +HUSHED UP! + +_A MYSTERY OF LONDON_ + +BY + +WILLIAM LE QUEUX + +LONDON +EVELEIGH NASH +1911 + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PROLOGUE PAGE + + I IS MAINLY SCANDALOUS 7 + II CONCERNS TWO STRANGERS 18 + + THE STORY OF OWEN BIDDULPH + + CHAP. + + I BESIDE STILL WATERS 35 + II TOLD IN THE NIGHT 46 + III THE CLERGYMAN FROM HAMPSHIRE 58 + IV THE PERIL BEYOND 68 + V THE DARK HOUSE IN BAYSWATER 79 + VI A GHASTLY TRUTH 89 + VII THE FLAME OF THE CANDLE 99 + VIII PRESENTS ANOTHER PROBLEM 107 + IX FACE TO FACE 117 + X CONTAINS A FURTHER SURPRISE 125 + XI WHAT THE POLICE KNEW 136 + XII THE WORD OF A WOMAN 145 + XIII THE DEATH KISS 156 + XIV OF THINGS UNMENTIONABLE 165 + XV FORBIDDEN LOVE 175 + XVI THE MAN IN GOLD PINCE-NEZ 185 + XVII THE MAN IN THE STREET 196 + XVIII PROOF POSITIVE 206 + XIX THROUGH THE MISTS 215 + XX THE STRANGER IN THE RUE DE RIVOLI 225 + XXI DESCRIBES AN UNWELCOME VISIT 234 + XXII MORE MYSTERY 242 + XXIII IN FULL CRY 253 + XXIV AN UNFORTUNATE SLIP 263 + XXV MORE STRANGE FACTS 272 + XXVI "SOME SENSATIONAL REVELATIONS" 281 + XXVII A CONTRETEMPS 291 + XXVIII THE FRENCHMAN MAKES A STATEMENT 298 + XXIX FURTHER REVELATIONS 307 + XXX CONCLUSION 313 + + + + +HUSHED UP! + + + + +PROLOGUE + +I + +IS MAINLY SCANDALOUS + + +"And he died mysteriously?" + +"The doctors certified that he died from natural causes--heart +failure." + +"That is what the world believes, of course. His death was a nation's +loss, and the truth was hushed up. But you, Phil Poland, know it. Upon +the floor was found something--a cigar--eh?" + +"Nothing very extraordinary in that, surely? He died while smoking." + +"Yes," said the bald-headed man, bending towards the other and +lowering his voice into a harsh whisper. "He died while smoking a +cigar--a cigar that had been poisoned! You know it well enough. What's +the use of trying to affect ignorance--_with me_!" + +"Well?" asked Philip Poland after a brief pause, his brows knit darkly +and his face drawn and pale. + +"Well, I merely wish to recall that somewhat unpleasant fact, and to +tell you that I know the truth," said the other with slow +deliberation, his eyes fixed upon the man seated opposite him. + +"Why recall unpleasant facts?" asked Poland, with a faint attempt to +smile. "I never do." + +"A brief memory is always an advantage," remarked Arnold Du Cane, with +a sinister grin. + +"Ah! I quite follow you," Poland said, with a hardness of the mouth. +"But I tell you, Arnold, I refuse to lend any hand in this crooked bit +of business you've just put before me. Let's talk of something else." + +"Crooked business, indeed! Fancy you, Phil Poland, denouncing it as +crooked!" he laughed. "And I'm a crook, I suppose," and he +thoughtfully caressed his small moustache, which bore traces of having +been artificially darkened. + +"I didn't say so." + +"But you implied it. Bah! You'll be teaching the Sunday School of this +delightful English village of yours before long, I expect. No doubt +the villagers believe the gentleman at the Elms to be a model of every +virtue, especially when he wears a frock-coat and trots around with +the plate in church on Sundays!" he sneered. "My hat! Fancy you, Phil, +turning honest in your old age!" + +"I admit that I'm trying to be honest, Arnold--for the girl's sake." + +"And, by Jove! if the good people here, in Middleton, knew the truth, +eh--the truth that you----" + +"Hush! Somebody may overhear!" cried the other, starting and glancing +apprehensively at the closed door of his cosy study. "What's the use +of discussing the business further? I've told you, once and for all, +Arnold, that I refuse to be a party to any such dastardly +transaction." + +"Ho! ho!" laughed Du Cane. "Why, wasn't the Burke affair an equally +blackguardly bit of business--the more so, indeed, when one recollects +that young Ronald Burke had fallen in love with Sonia." + +"Leave my girl's name out of our conversation, Arnold, or, by Gad! you +shall pay for it!" cried the tall, dark-haired, clean-shaven man, as +he sprang from his chair and faced his visitor threateningly. "Taunt +me as much as ever it pleases you. Allege what you like against me. I +know I'm an infernal blackguard, posing here as a smug and respectable +churchgoer. I admit any charge you like to lay at my door, but I'll +not have my girl's name associated with my misdeeds. Understand that! +She's pure and honest, and she knows nothing of her father's life." + +"Don't you believe that, my dear fellow. She's eighteen now, remember, +and I fancy she had her eyes opened last February down at the Villa +Vespa, when that unfortunate little trouble arose." + +Arnold Du Cane, the round-faced man who spoke, was rather short and +stout, with ruddy cheeks, a small moustache and a prematurely bald +head--a man whose countenance showed him to be a _bon vivant_, but +whose quick, shifty eyes would have betrayed to a close observer a +readiness of subterfuge which would have probably aroused suspicion. +His exterior was that of a highly refined and polished man. His grey +tweed suit bore evidence of having been cut by a smart tailor, and as +he lolled back in his big saddle-bag chair he contemplated the fine +diamond upon his white, well-manicured hand, and seemed entirely at +his ease. + +That August afternoon was stiflingly hot, and through the open French +windows leading into the old-world garden, so typically English with +its level lawns, neatly trimmed box-hedges and blazing flowerbeds, +came the drowsy hum of the insects and the sweet scent of a wealth of +roses everywhere. + +The pretty house in which his host, Philip Poland, alias Louis Lessar, +lived, stood back a little distance from the London road, two miles or +so out of the quiet market-town of Andover, a small picturesque old +place surrounded by high old elms wherein the rooks cawed incessantly, +and commanding extensive views over Harewood Forest and the undulating +meadow-lands around, while close by, at the foot of the hill, nestled +a cluster of homely thatched cottages, with a square church-tower, the +obscure village of Middleton. + +In that rural retreat lived the Honourable Philip Poland beneath a +cloak of highest respectability. The Elms was, indeed, delightful +after the glare and glitter of that fevered life he so often led, and +here, with his only child, Sonia, to whom he was so entirely devoted, +he lived as a gentleman of leisure. + +Seldom he went to London, and hardly ever called upon his neighbours. +With Sonia he led a most retired existence, reading much, fishing a +little, and taking long walks or cycling with his daughter and her +fox-terrier, "Spot," over all the country-side. + +To the village he had been somewhat of a mystery ever since he had +taken the house, three years before. Yet, being apparently comfortably +off, subscribing to every charity, and a regular attendant at +Middleton church, the simple country-folk had grown to tolerate him, +even though he was somewhat of a recluse. Country-folk are very slow +to accept the stranger at his own valuation. + +Little did they dream that when he went away each winter he went with +a mysterious purpose--that the source of his income was a mystery. + +As he stood there, leaning against the roll-top writing-table of his +prettily furnished little study and facing the man who had travelled +half across Europe to see him, Phil Poland, with clean-shaven face and +closely-cropped hair tinged with grey, presented the smart and dapper +appearance of a typical British naval officer, as, indeed, he had +been, for, prior to his downfall, he had been first lieutenant on +board one of his Majesty's first-class cruisers. His had been a +strangely adventurous career, his past being one that would not bear +investigation. + +In the smart, go-ahead set wherein he had moved when he was still in +the Navy opinion regarding him had been divided. There were some who +refused to believe the truth of the scandals circulated concerning +him, while others believed and quickly embellished the reports which +ran through the service clubs and ward-rooms. + +Once he had been one of the most popular officers afloat, yet +to-day--well, he found it convenient to thus efface himself in rural +Hampshire, and live alone with the sweet young girl who was all in all +to him, and who was happy in her belief that her devoted father was a +gentleman. + +This girl with the blue eyes and hair of sunshine was the only link +between Phil Poland and his past--that past when he held a brilliant +record as a sailor and had been honoured and respected. He held her +aloof from every one, being ever in deadly fear lest, by some chance +word, she should learn the bitter truth--the truth concerning that +despicable part which he had been compelled to play. Ah, yes, his was +a bitter story indeed. + +Before Sonia should know the truth he would take his own life. She was +the only person remaining dear to him, the only one for whom he had a +single thought or care, the only person left to him to respect and to +love. Her influence upon him was always for good. For the past year he +had been striving to cut himself adrift from evil, to reform, to hold +back from participating in any dishonest action--for her dear sake. +Her soft-spoken words so often caused him to hate himself and to bite +his lip in regret, for surely she was as entirely ignorant of the +hideous truth as Mr. Shuttleworth, the white-headed parson, or the +rustic villagers themselves. + +Yes, Phil Poland's position was indeed a strange one. + +What Du Cane had just suggested to him would, he saw, put at least +twenty thousand pounds into the pockets of their ingenious +combination, yet he had refused--refused because of the fair-headed +girl he loved so well. + +Within himself he had made a solemn vow to reform. Reformation would +probably mean a six-roomed cottage with a maid-of-all-work, yet even +that would be preferable to a continuance of the present mode of life. + +Bitter memories had, of late, constantly arisen within him. +Certain scenes of violence, even of tragedy, in that beautiful +flower-embowered villa beside the Mediterranean at Beaulieu, half-way +between Nice and Monte Carlo, had recurred vividly to him. He was +unable to wipe those horrible visions from the tablets of his memory. +He had realized, at last, what a pitiless blackguard he had been, so +he had resolved to end it all. + +And now, just as he had made up his mind, Arnold Du Cane had arrived +unexpectedly from Milan with an entirely new and original scheme--one +in which the risk of detection was infinitesimal, while the stakes +were high enough to merit serious consideration. + +He had refused to be a party to the transaction, whereupon Du Cane had +revived a subject which he had fondly believed to be buried for +ever--that terrible affair which had startled and mystified the whole +world, and which had had such an important political bearing that, by +it, the destinies of a great nation had actually been changed. + +A certain man--a great man--had died, but until that hour Phil +Poland's connection with the tragedy had never been suspected. + +Yet, from what Arnold Du Cane had just said, he saw that the truth was +actually known, and he realized that his own position was now one of +distinct insecurity. + +He was silent, full of wonder. How could Arnold have gained his +knowledge? What did he know? How much did he know? The strength of his +defiance must be gauged upon the extent of Arnold's knowledge. + +He set his teeth hard. The scandal was one which must never see the +light of day, he told himself. Upon the suppression of the true facts +depended the honour and welfare of a nation. + +Arnold Du Cane knew the truth. Of that, there could be no doubt. Did +he intend to use this knowledge in order to secure his assistance in +this latest dastardly scheme? + +At last, after a long silence, Poland asked in as cool a voice as he +could-- + +"What causes you to suspect that Sonia knows anything?" + +"Well," replied this crafty, round-faced visitor, "considering how +that young Russian let out at you when you were walking with her that +moonlight night out in the garden, I don't think there can be much +doubt that she is fully aware of the mysterious source of her father's +income." + +"Sonia doesn't know Russian. The fellow spoke in that language, I +remember," was his reply. "Yet I was a fool, I know, to have taken her +over that accursed place--that hell in paradise. She is always +perfectly happy at the Hotel de Luxembourg at Nice, where each season +she makes some pleasant friends, and never suspects the reason of my +absences." + +"All of us are fools at times, Phil," was his visitor's response, as +he selected a fresh cigar from the silver box upon the table and +slowly lit it. "But," he went on, "I do really think you are going too +far in expecting that you can conceal the truth from the girl much +longer. She isn't a child, you must recollect." + +"She must never know!" cried the unhappy man in a hoarse voice. "By +Gad! she must never know of my shame, Arnold." + +"Then go in with us in this new affair. It'll pay you well." + +"No," he cried. "I--I feel that I can't! I couldn't face her, if she +knew. Her mother was one of the best and purest women who ever lived, +and----" + +"Of course, of course. I know all that, my dear fellow," cried the +other hastily. "I know all the tragedy of your marriage--but that's +years ago. Let the past bury itself, and have an eye to the main +chance and the future. Just take my advice, Phil. Drop all this +humbug about your girl and her feelings if she learnt her father's +real profession. She'll know it one day, that's certain. You surely +aren't going to allow her to stand in your way and prevent you from +participating in what is real good solid business--eh? You want money, +you know." + +"I've given my answer," was the man's brief response. + +Then a silence fell between the pair of well-dressed cosmopolitans--a +dead, painful silence, broken only by the low hum of the insects, the +buzzing of a fly upon the window-pane, and the ticking of the old +grandfather clock in the corner. + +"Reflect," urged Du Cane at last, as he rose to his feet. Then, +lowering his voice, he said in a hoarse whisper, "You may find +yourself in a corner over that affair of young Burke. If so, it's only +I and my friends who could prove an alibi. Remember that." + +"And you offer that, in return for my assistance?" Poland said +reflectively, hesitating for a moment and turning to the window. + +His visitor nodded in the affirmative. + +Next second the man to whom those terms had been offered quickly faced +his friend. His countenance was haggard, blanched to the lips, for he +had been quick to realize the full meaning of that covert threat. + +"Arnold!" he said in a hoarse, strained voice, full of bitter +reproach, "you may turn upon me, give me away to the police--tell them +the truth--but my decision remains the same. I will lend no hand in +that affair." + +"You are prepared to face arrest--eh?" + +"If it is your will--yes." + +"And your daughter?" + +"That is my own affair." + +"Very well, then. As you will," was the bald-headed man's response, as +he put on his grey felt hat and, taking his stick, strode through the +open French windows and disappeared. + +Phil Poland stood rigid as a statue. The blow had fallen. His secret +was out. + +He sprang forward towards the garden, in order to recall his visitor. +But next instant he drew himself back. + +No. Now that the friend whom he had trusted had turned upon him, he +would face the music rather than add another crime to his discredit +and dishonour. + +Philip Poland, alias Louis Lessar and half-a-score of other names, +halted, and raised his pale, repentant face to Heaven for help and +guidance. + + + + +II + +CONCERNS TWO STRANGERS + + +That night Phil Poland glanced longingly around the well-furnished +dining-room with its white napery, its antique plate, and its great +bowl of yellow roses in the centre of the table between the silver +candelabra with white silk shades. Alone he sat at his dinner, being +waited upon by Felix, the thin-faced, silent Frenchman in black who +was so devoted to his master and so faithful in his service. + +It was the last time he would eat his dinner there, he reflected. The +choice of two things lay before him--flight, or arrest. + +Sonia was on a visit to an old school-fellow in London, and would not +return until the morrow. For some reasons he was glad, for he desired +to be alone--alone in order to think. + +Since the abrupt departure of his visitor he had become a changed man. +His usually merry face was hard and drawn, his cheeks pale, with red +spots in the centre, and about his clean-shaven mouth a hardness quite +unusual. + +Dinner concluded, he had strolled out upon the lawn, and, reclining in +a long deck-chair, sipped his coffee and curacao, his face turned to +the crimson sundown showing across the dark edge of the forest. He was +full of dark forebodings. + +The end of his career--a scandalous career--was near. The truth was +out! + +As he lay back with his hot, fevered head upon the cushion of the long +cane chair, his dead cigar between his nerveless fingers, a thousand +bitter thoughts crowded upon him. He had striven to reform, he had +tried hard to turn aside and lead an honest life, yet it seemed as +though his good intentions had only brought upon him exposure and +disaster. + +He thought it all over. His had, indeed, been an amazing career of +duplicity. What a sensation would be caused when the truth became +revealed! At first he had heaped opprobrium upon the head of the man +who had been his friend, but now, on mature consideration, he realized +that Du Cane's motive in exposing him was twofold--in order to save +himself, and also to curry favour in certain high quarters affected by +the mysterious death of the young Parliamentary Under-Secretary who +had placed to his lips that fatal cigar. Self-preservation being the +first instinct of the human race, it surely was not surprising that +Arnold Du Cane should seek to place himself in a position of security. + +Enormous eventualities would be consequent upon solving the mystery of +that man's death. Medical science had pronounced it to have been due +to natural causes. Dare the authorities re-open the question, and +allege assassination? Aye, that was the question. There was the press, +political parties and public opinion all to consider, in addition to +the national prestige. + +He held his breath, gazing blankly away at the blood-red afterglow. +How strange, how complicated, how utterly amazing and astounding was +it all. If the truth of that dastardly plot were ever told, it would +not be believed. The depths of human wickedness were surely +unfathomable. + +Because he, Phil Poland, had endeavoured to cut himself adrift from +his ingenious friends, they were about to make him the scapegoat. + +He contemplated flight, but, if he fled, whither should he go? Where +could he hide successfully? Those who desired that he should pay the +penalty would search every corner of the earth. No. Death itself would +be preferable to either arrest or flight, and as he contemplated how +he might cheat his enemies a bitter smile played upon his grey lips. + +The crimson light slowly faded. The balmy stillness of twilight had +settled upon everything, the soft evening air became filled with the +sweet fragrance of the flowers, and the birds were chattering before +roosting. He glanced across the lawns and well-kept walks at the +rose-embowered house itself, his harbour of refuge, the cosy place +which Sonia loved so well, and as his eyes wandered he sighed sadly. +He knew, alas! that he must bid farewell to it for ever, bid farewell +to his dear daughter--bid farewell to life itself. + +He drew at his dead cigar. Then he cast it from him. It tasted bitter. + +Suddenly the grave-faced Felix, the man who seldom, if ever, spoke, +and who was such a mystery in the village, came across the lawn, and, +bowing, exclaimed in French that the cure, M'sieur Shuttleworth, had +called. + +"Ah! yes," exclaimed his master, quickly arousing himself. "How very +foolish of me! I quite forgot I had invited Mr. Shuttleworth to come +in and smoke to-night. Ask him to come out here, and bring the cigars +and whisky." + +"Oui, M'sieur," replied the funereal-looking butler, bowing low as he +turned to go back to the house. + +"How strange!" laughed Poland to himself. "What would the parson think +if he knew who I am, and the charge against me? What will he say +afterwards, I wonder?" + +Then, a few moments later, a thin, grey-faced, rather ascetic-looking +clergyman, the Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, rector of Middleton, came +across the grass and grasped his host's hand in warmest greeting. + +When he had seated himself in the low chair which Poland pulled +forward, and Felix had handed the cigars, the two men commenced to +gossip, as was their habit. + +Phil Poland liked the rector, because he had discovered that, +notwithstanding his rather prim exterior and most approved clerical +drawl, he was nevertheless a man of the world. In the pulpit he +preached forgiveness, and, unlike many country rectors and their +wives, was broad-minded enough to admit the impossibility of a sinless +life. Both he and Mrs. Shuttleworth treated both chapel and +church-going folk with equal kindliness, and the deserving poor never +went empty away. + +Both in the pulpit and out of it the rector of Middleton called a +spade a spade with purely British bluntness, and though his parish was +only a small one he was the most popular man in it--a fact which +surely spoke volumes for a parson. + +"I was much afraid I shouldn't be able to come to-night," he said +presently. "Old Mrs. Dixon, over at Forest Farm, is very ill, and I've +been with her all the afternoon." + +"Then you didn't go to Lady Medland's garden-party?" + +"No. I wanted to go very much, but was unable. I fear poor old Mrs. +Dixon may not last the night. She asked after Miss Sonia, and +expressed a great wish to see her. You have no idea how popular your +daughter is among the poor of Middleton, Mr. Poland." + +"Sonia returns from London to-morrow afternoon," her father said. "She +shall go over and see Mrs. Dixon." + +"If the old lady is still here," said the rector. "I fear her life is +fast ebbing, but it is reassuring to know she has made peace with her +Maker, and will pass happily away into the unknown beyond." + +His host was silent. The bent old woman, the wife of a farm-labourer, +had made repentance. If there was repentance for her, was there not +repentance for him? He held his breath at the thought. + +Little did Shuttleworth dream that the merry, easy-going man who sat +before him was doomed--a man whose tortured soul was crying aloud for +help and guidance; a man with a dread and terrible secret upon his +conscience; a man threatened by an exposure which he could never live +to face. + +Poland allowed his visitor to chatter on--to gossip about the work in +his parish. He was reviewing his present position. He desired some one +in whom he could confide; some one of whom he might seek advice and +counsel. Could he expose his real self in all his naked shame; dare he +speak in confidence to Edmund Shuttleworth? Dare he reveal the ghastly +truth, and place the seal of the confessional upon his lips? + +Twilight deepened into night, and the crescent moon rose slowly. Yet +the two men still sat smoking and chatting, Shuttleworth somewhat +surprised to notice how unusually preoccupied his host appeared. + +At last, when the night wind blew chill, they rose and passed into the +study, where Poland closed the French windows, and then, with sudden +resolve and a word of apology to his visitor, he crossed the room and +turned the key in the lock, saying in a hard, strained tone-- + +"Shuttleworth, I--I want to speak to you in--in strictest +confidence--to ask your advice. Yet--yet it is upon such a serious +matter that I hesitate--fearing----" + +"Fearing what?" asked the rector, somewhat surprised at his tone. + +"Because, in order to speak, I must reveal to you a truth--a shameful +truth concerning myself. May I rely upon your secrecy?" + +"Any fact you may reveal to me I shall regard as sacred. That is my +duty as a minister of religion, Poland," was the other's quiet reply. + +"You swear to say nothing?" cried his host eagerly, standing before +him. + +"Yes. I swear to regard your confidence," replied his visitor. + +And then the Honourable Philip Poland slowly sank into the chair on +the opposite side of the fireplace, and in brief, hesitating sentences +related one of the strangest stories that ever fell from any sane +man's lips--a story which held its hearer aghast, transfixed, +speechless in amazement. + +"There is repentance for me, Shuttleworth--tell me that there is!" +cried the man who had confessed, his eyes staring and haggard in his +agony. "I have told you the truth because--because when I am gone I +want you, if you will, to ask your wife to take care of my darling +Sonia. Financially, she is well provided for. I have seen to all that, +but--ah!" he cried wildly, "she must never know that her father +was----" + +"Hush, Poland!" urged the rector, placing his hand tenderly upon his +host's arm. "Though I wear these clothes, I am still a man of the +world like yourself. I haven't been sinless. You wish to repent--to +atone for the past. It is my duty to assist you." And he put out his +strong hand frankly. + +His host drew back. But next instant he grasped it, and in doing so +burst into tears. + +"I make no excuse for myself," he faltered. "I am a blackguard, and +unworthy the friendship of a true honest man like yourself, +Shuttleworth. But I love my darling child. She is all that has +remained to me, and I want to leave her in the care of a good woman. +She must forget me--forget what her father was----" + +"Enough!" cried the other, holding up his hand; and then, until far +into the night, the two men sat talking in low, solemn tones, +discussing the future, while the attitude of Philip Poland, as he sat +pale and motionless, his hands clasped upon his knees, was one of deep +repentance. + +That same night, if the repentant transgressor could but have seen +Edmund Shuttleworth, an hour later, pacing the rectory study; if he +could have witnessed the expression of fierce, murderous hatred upon +that usually calm and kindly countenance; if he could have overheard +the strangely bitter words which escaped the dry lips of the man in +whom he had confided his secret, he would have been held +aghast--aghast at the amazing truth, a truth of which he had never +dreamed. + +His confession had produced a complication unheard of, undreamed of, +so cleverly had the rector kept his countenance and controlled his +voice. But when alone he gave full vent to his anger, and laughed +aloud in the contemplation of a terrible vengeance which, he declared +aloud to himself, should be his. + +"That voice!" he cried in triumph. "Why did I not recognize it before? +But I know the truth now--I know the amazing truth!" + +And he laughed harshly to himself as he paced his room. + +Next day Philip Poland spent in his garden, reading beneath the big +yew, as was his wont. But his thoughts ever wandered from his book, as +he grew apprehensive of the evil his enemy was about to hurl upon him. +His defiance, he knew, must cost him his liberty--his life. Yet he was +determined. For Sonia's sake he had become a changed man. + +At noon Shuttleworth, calm and pleasant, came across the lawn with +outstretched hand. He uttered low words of encouragement and comfort. +He said that poor Mrs. Dixon had passed away, and later on he left to +attend to his work in the parish. After luncheon, served by the silent +Felix, Poland retired to his study with the newspaper, and sat for two +hours, staring straight before him, until, just after four o'clock, +the door was suddenly flung open, and a slim, athletic young girl, +with a wealth of soft fair hair, a perfect countenance, a sweet, +lovable expression, and a pair of merry blue eyes, burst into the +room, crying-- + +"Hallo, dad! Here I am--so glad to be back again with you!" And, +bending over him, she gave him a sounding kiss upon the cheek. + +She was verily a picture of youthful beauty, in her cool, pale grey +gown, her hair dressed low, and secured by a bow of black velvet, +while her big black hat suited her to perfection, her blue eyes +adoring in their gaze and her lovely face flushed with pleasure at her +home-coming. + +Her father took her hand, and, gazing lovingly into her eyes, said in +a slow voice-- + +"And I, too, darling, am glad to have you at home. Life here is very +dull indeed without you." + +That night, when seated together in the pretty old-fashioned +drawing-room before retiring to bed--a room of bright chintzes, costly +knick-knacks, and big blue bowls of sweet-smelling pot-pourri--Sonia +looked delightful in her black net dinner-gown, cut slightly +_decollete_, and wearing around her slim white throat a simple +necklace of pale pink coral. + +"My dear," exclaimed her father in a slow, hesitating way, after her +fingers had been running idly over the keys of the piano, "I want to +speak very seriously to you for a few moments." + +She rose in surprise, and came beside his chair. He grasped her soft +hand, and she sank upon her knees, as she so often did when they spoke +in confidence. + +"Well--I've been wondering, child, what--what you will do in future," +he said, with a catch in his voice. "Perhaps--perhaps I may have to go +away for a very, very long time--years perhaps--on a long journey, and +I shall, I fear, be compelled to leave you, to----" + +"To leave me, dad!" gasped the girl, dismayed. "No--surely--you won't +do that? What could I do without you--without my dear, devoted dad--my +only friend!" + +"You will have to--to do without me, dearest--to--to forget your +father," said the white-faced man in a low, broken voice. "I couldn't +take you with me. It would be impossible." + +The girl was silent; her slim hand was clutching his convulsively; her +eyes filled with the light of unshed tears. + +"But what should I do, dad, without you?" she cried. "Why do you speak +so strangely? Why do you hide so many things from me still--about our +past? I'm eighteen now, remember, dad, and you really ought to speak +to me as a woman--not as a child. Why all this mystery?" + +"Because--because it is imperative, Sonia," he replied in a tone quite +unusual. "I--I would tell you all, only--only you would think ill of +me. So I prefer that you, my daughter, should remain in ignorance, and +still love me--still----" + +His words were interrupted by Felix, who opened the door, and, +advancing with silent tread, said-- + +"A gentleman wishes to speak with m'sieur on very urgent business. You +are unacquainted with him, he says. His name is Max Morel, and he must +see you at once. He is in the hall." + +Poland's face went a trifle paler. Whom could the stranger be? Why did +he desire an interview at that hour?--for it was already eleven +o'clock. + +"Sonia dear," he said quietly, turning to his daughter, "will you +leave me for a few moments? I must see what this gentleman wants." + +The girl followed Felix out somewhat reluctantly, when, a few seconds +later, a short, middle-aged Frenchman, with pointed grey beard and +wearing gold pince-nez, was ushered in. + +Philip Poland started and instantly went pale at sight of his visitor. + +"I need no introduction, m'sieur. You recognize me, I see," remarked +the stranger, in French. + +"Yes," was the other's reply. "You are Henri Guertin, chief inspector +of the surete of Paris. We have met before--once." + +"And you are no doubt aware of the reason of my visit?" + +"I can guess," replied the unhappy man. "You are here to arrest me--I +know. I----" + +The renowned detective--one of the greatest criminal investigators in +Europe--glanced quickly at the closed door, and, dropping his voice, +said-- + +"I am here, not to arrest you, M'sieur Poland--but to afford you an +opportunity of escape." + +"Of escape!" gasped the other, his drawn countenance blanched to the +lips. + +"Yes, escape. Listen. My instructions are to afford you an easy +opportunity of--well, of escaping the ignominy of arrest, exposure, +trial, and penalty, by a very simple means--death by your own hand." + +"Suicide!" echoed Poland, after a painful pause. "Ah! I quite +understand! The Government are not anxious that the scandal should be +made public, eh?" he cried bitterly. + +"I have merely told you my instructions," was the detective's +response, as, with a quick, foreign gesture, he displayed on his left +hand a curious old engraved amethyst set in a ring--probably an +episcopal ring of ages long ago. "At midnight I have an appointment at +the cross-roads, half-a-mile away, with Inspector Watts of Scotland +Yard, who holds a warrant for your arrest and extradition to France. +If you are still alive when we call, then you must stand your +trial--that is all. Trial will mean exposure, and----" + +"And my exposure will mean the downfall and ruin of those political +thieves now in power--eh?" cried Poland. "They are not at all anxious +that I should fall into the hands of the police." + +"And you are equally anxious that the world--and more especially your +daughter--shall not know the truth," remarked the detective, speaking +in a meaning tone. "I have given you the alternative, and I shall now +leave. At midnight I shall return--officially--when I hope you will +have escaped by the loophole so generously allowed you by the +authorities." + +"If I fled, would you follow?" + +"Most certainly. It would be my duty. You cannot escape--only by +death. I regret, m'sieur, that I have been compelled to put the +alternative so bluntly, but you know full well the great issues at +stake in this affair. Therefore I need say nothing further, except to +bid you _au revoir_--till midnight." + +Then the portly man bowed--bowed as politely as though he were in the +presence of a crowned head--and, turning upon his heel, left the room, +followed by his host, who personally opened the door for him as he +bade him good-night. + +One hour's grace had been given Philip Poland. After that, the +blackness of death. + +His blanched features were rigid as he stood staring straight before +him. His enemy had betrayed him. His defiance had, alas! cost him his +life. + +He recollected Shuttleworth's slowly uttered words on the night +before, and his finger-nails clenched themselves into his palms. Then +he passed across the square, old-fashioned hall to the study, dim-lit, +save for the zone of light around the green-shaded reading-lamp; the +sombre room where the old grandfather clock ticked so solemnly in the +corner. + +Sonia had returned to the drawing-room as he let his visitor out. He +could hear her playing, and singing in her sweet contralto a tuneful +French love-song, ignorant of the hideous crisis that had fallen, +ignorant of the awful disaster which had overwhelmed him. + +Three-quarters of an hour had passed when, stealthily on tiptoe, the +girl crept into the room, and there found her father seated by the +fireplace, staring in blank silence. + +The long old brass-faced clock in the shadow struck three times upon +its strident bell. Only fifteen minutes more, and then the police +would enter and charge him with that foul crime. Then the solution of +a remarkable mystery which had puzzled the whole world would be +complete. + +He started, and, glancing around, realized that Sonia, with her soft +hand in his, was again at his side. + +"Why, dad," cried the girl in alarm, "how pale you are! Whatever ails +you? What can I get you?" + +"Nothing, child, nothing," was the desperate man's hoarse response. +"I'm--I'm quite well--only a little upset at some bad news I've had, +that's all. But come. Let me kiss you, dear. It's time you were in +bed." + +And he drew her down until he could print a last fond caress upon her +white open brow. + +"But, dad," exclaimed the girl anxiously, "I really can't leave you. +You're not well. You're not yourself to-night." + +As she uttered those words, Felix entered the room, saying in an +agitated voice-- + +"May I speak with you alone, m'sieur?" + +His master started violently, and, rising, went forth into the hall, +where the butler, his face scared and white, whispered-- + +"Something terrible has occurred, m'sieur! Davis, the groom, has just +found a gentleman lying dead in the drive outside. He's been murdered, +m'sieur!" + +"Murdered!" gasped Poland breathlessly. "Who is he?" + +"The gentleman who called upon you three-quarters of an hour ago. He's +lying dead--out yonder." + +"Where's a lantern? Let me go and see!" cried Poland. And a few +moments later master and man were standing with the groom beside the +lifeless body of Henri Guertin, the great detective, the terror of +all French criminals. The white countenance, with its open, staring +eyes, bore a horrified expression, but the only wound that could be +distinguished was a deep cut across the palm of the right hand, a +clean cut, evidently inflicted by a keen-edged knife. + +Davis, on his way in, had, he explained, stumbled across the body in +the darkness, ten minutes before. + +Philip Poland had knelt, his hand upon the dead man's heart, when +suddenly all three were startled by the sound of footsteps upon the +gravel, and next moment two men loomed up into the uncertain light of +the lantern. + +One was tall and middle-aged, in dark tweeds and a brown hat of soft +felt; the other, short and stout, wearing gold pince-nez. + +A loud cry of dismay broke from Poland's fevered lips as his eyes fell +upon the latter. + +"Hallo! What's this?" cried a sharp, imperious voice in French, the +voice of the man in pince-nez, as, next moment, he stood gazing down +upon the dead unknown, who, strangely enough, resembled him in +countenance, in dress--indeed, in every particular. + +The startled men halted for a moment, speechless. The situation was +staggering. + +Henri Guertin stood there alive, and as he bent over the prostrate +body an astounding truth became instantly revealed: the dead man had +been cleverly made-up to resemble the world-renowned police official. + +The reason of this was an entire mystery, although one fact became +plain: he had, through posing as Guertin, been foully and swiftly +assassinated. + +Who was he? Was he really the man who came there to suggest suicide in +preference to arrest, or had that strange suggestion been conveyed by +Guertin himself? + +The point was next moment decided. + +"You see, m'sieur," exclaimed Poland defiantly, turning to the great +detective, "I have preferred to take my trial--to allow the public the +satisfaction of a solution of the problem, rather than accept the +generous terms you offered me an hour ago." + +"Terms I offered you!" cried the Frenchman. "What are you saying? I +was not here an hour ago. If you have had a visitor, it must have been +this impostor--this man who has lost his life because he has +impersonated me!" + +Philip Poland, without replying, snatched at the detective's left hand +and examined it. There was no ring upon it. + +Swiftly he bent beside the victim, and there, sure enough, upon the +dead white finger was revealed the curious ring he had noticed--an +oval amethyst engraved with a coat-of-arms surmounted by a cardinal's +hat--the ring worn by the man who had called upon him an hour before! + + + + +THE STORY OF OWEN BIDDULPH + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +BESIDE STILL WATERS + + +If I make too frequent use of the first person singular in these +pages, I crave forgiveness of the reader. + +I have written down this strange story for two reasons: first, because +I venture to believe it to be one of the most remarkable sequences of +curious events that have ever occurred in a man's life; and secondly, +by so doing, I am able to prove conclusively before the world the +innocence of one sadly misjudged, and also to set at rest certain +scandalous tales which have arisen in consequence. + +At risk of betraying certain confidences; at risk of placing myself in +the unenviable position of chronicler of my own misfortunes; at risk +even of defying those who have threatened my life should I dare speak +the truth, I have resolved to recount the whole amazing affair, just +as it occurred to me, and further, to reveal completely what has +hitherto been regarded as a mystery by readers of the daily +newspapers. + +You already know my name--Owen Biddulph. As introduction, I suppose I +ought to add that, after coming down from Oxford, I pretended to read +for the Bar, just to please the dear old governor--Sir Alfred +Biddulph, Knight. At the age of twenty-five, owing to his unfortunate +death in the hunting-field, I found myself possessor of Carrington +Court, our fine Elizabethan place in North Devon, and town-house, 64a +Wilton Street, Belgrave Square, together with a comfortable income of +about nine thousand a year, mostly derived from sound industrial +enterprises. + +My father, before his retirement, had been a Liverpool ship-owner, +and, like many others of his class, had received his knighthood on the +occasion of Queen Victoria's Jubilee. My mother had been dead long +since. I had but few relatives, and those mostly poor ones; therefore, +on succeeding to the property, I went down to Carrington just to +interview Browning, the butler, and the other servants, all of them +old and faithful retainers; and then, having given up all thought of a +legal career, I went abroad, in order to attain my long-desired +ambition to travel, and to "see the world." + +Continental life attracted me, just as it attracts most young men. +Paris, with its glare and glitter, its superficial gaiety, its bright +boulevards, and its feminine beauty, is the candle to the moth of +youth. I revelled in Paris just as many a thousand other young men had +done before me. I knew French, Italian and German, and I was vain +enough to believe that I might have within me the making of a +cosmopolitan. So many young men believe that--and, alas! so many fail +on account of either indolence, or of narrow-mindedness. To be a +thorough-going cosmopolitan one must be imbued with the true spirit +of adventure, and must be a citizen of all cities, a countryman of all +countries. This I tried to be, and perhaps--in a manner--succeeded. At +any rate, I spent nearly three whole years travelling hither and +thither across the face of Europe, from Trondhjem to Constantinople, +and from Bordeaux to Petersburg. + +Truly, if one has money, one can lead a very pleasant life, year in, +year out, at the various European health and pleasure resorts, without +even setting foot in our dear old England. I was young--and +enthusiastic. I spent the glorious golden autumn in Florence and in +Perugia, the Tuscan vintage in old Siena; December in Sicily; January +in Corsica; February and March at Nice, taking part in the Carnival +and Battles of Flowers; April in Venice; May at the Villa d'Este on +the Lake of Como; June and July at Aix; August, the month of the Lion, +among the chestnut-woods high up at Vallombrosa, and September at San +Sebastian in Spain, that pretty town of sea-bathing and of gambling. +Next year I spent the winter in Russia, the guest of a prince who +lived near Moscow; the early spring at the Hermitage at Monte Carlo; +May at the Meurice in Paris; the summer in various parts of +Switzerland, and most of the autumn in the high Tatra, the foot-hills +of the Carpathians. + +And so, with my faithful Italian valet, Lorenzo, a dark-haired, smart +man of thirty, who had been six years in my service, and who had, on +so many occasions, proved himself entirely trustworthy, I passed away +the seasons as they came and went, always living in the best hotels, +and making a good many passing acquaintances. Life was, indeed, a +perfect phantasmagoria. + +Now there is a certain section of English society who, being for some +reason or another beyond the pale at home, make their happy +hunting-ground in the foreign hotel. Men and women, consumptive sons +and scraggy daughters, they generally live in the cheapest rooms _en +pension_, and are ever ready to scrape up acquaintance with anybody of +good appearance and of either sex, as long as they are possessed of +money. Every one who has lived much on the Continent knows them--and, +be it said, gives them a wide berth. + +I was not long before I experienced many queer acquaintanceships in +hotels, some amusing, some the reverse. At Verona a man, an Englishman +named Davis, who had been at my college in Oxford, borrowed fifty +pounds of me, but disappeared from the hotel next morning before I +came down; while, among other similar incidents, a dear, +quiet-mannered old widow--a Russian, who spoke English--induced me at +Ostend to assist her to pay her hotel bill of one thousand six hundred +francs, giving me a cheque upon her bank in Petersburg, a cheque +which, in due course, was returned to me marked "no account." + +Still, I enjoyed myself. The carelessness of life suited me, for I +managed to obtain sunshine the whole year round, and to have a good +deal of fun for my money. + +I had a fine sixty horse-power motor-car, and usually travelled from +place to place on it, my friend Jack Marlowe, who had been at Oxford +with me, and whose father's estates marched with mine on the edge of +Dartmoor, frequently coming out to spend a week or two with me on the +roads. He was studying for the diplomatic service, but made many +excuses for holidays, which he invariably spent at my side. And we had +a merry time together, I can assure you. + +For nearly three years I had led this life of erratic wandering, +returning to London only for a week or so in June, to see my lawyers +and put in an appearance for a few days at Carrington to interview old +Browning. And I must confess I found the old place deadly dull and +lonely. + +Boodles, to which I belonged, just as my father had belonged, I found +full of pompous bores and old fogeys; and though at White's there was +a little more life and movement now they had built a new roof, yet I +preferred the merry recklessness of Monte Carlo, or the gaiety of the +white-and-gold casinos at Nice or Cannes. + +Thus nearly three years went by, careless years of luxury and +idleness, years of living _a la carte_ at restaurants of the first +order, from the Reserve at Beaulieu to the Hermitage at Moscow, from +Armenonville in the Bois to Salvini's in Milan--years of the education +of an epicure. + +The first incident of this strange history, however, occurred while I +was spending the early spring at Gardone. Possibly you, as an English +reader, have never heard of the place. If, however, you were +Austrian, you would know it as one of the most popular resorts on the +beautiful mountain-fringed Lake of Garda, that deep blue lake, half in +Italian territory and half in Austrian, with the quaint little town of +Desenzano at the Italian end, and Riva, with its square old +church-tower and big white hotels, at the extreme north. + +Of all the spring resorts on the Italian lakes, Gardone appeals to the +visitor as one of the quietest and most picturesque. The Grand Hotel, +with its long terrace at the lake-side, is, during February and March, +filled with a gay crowd who spend most of their time in climbing the +steep mountain-sides towards the jealously guarded frontier, or taking +motor-boat excursions up and down the picturesque lake. + +From the balcony of my room spread a panorama as beautiful as any in +Europe; more charming, indeed, than at Lugano or Bellagio, or other of +the many lake-side resorts, for here along the sheltered banks grew +all the luxuriant vegetation of the Riviera--the camellias, magnolias, +aloes and palms. + +I had been there ten days or so when, one evening at dinner in the +long restaurant which overlooked the lake, there came to the small +table opposite mine a tall, fair-haired girl with great blue eyes, +dressed elegantly but quietly in black chiffon, with a band of pale +pink velvet twisted in her hair. + +She glanced at me quickly as she drew aside her skirt and took her +seat opposite her companion, a rather stout, dark, bald-headed man, +red-faced and well-dressed, whose air was distinctly paternal as he +bent and handed the menu across to her. + +The man turned and glanced sharply around. By his well-cut +dinner-coat, the way his dress-shirt fitted, and his refinement of +manner, I at once put him down as a gentleman, and her father. + +I instantly decided, on account of their smartness of dress, that they +were not English. Indeed, the man addressed her in French, to which +she responded. Her coiffure was in the latest mode of Paris, her gown +showed unmistakably the hand of the French dressmaker, while her +elegance was essentially that of the Parisienne. There is always a +something--something indescribable--about the Frenchwoman which is +marked and distinctive, and which the English-bred woman can never +actually imitate. + +Not that I like Frenchwomen. Far from it. They are too vain and +shallow, too fond of gaiety and flattery to suit my taste. No; among +all the many women I have met I have never found any to compare with +those of my own people. + +I don't know why I watched the new-comers so intently. Perhaps it was +on account of the deliberate and careful manner in which the man +selected his dinner, his instructions to the _maitre d'hotel_ as to +the manner the entree was to be made, and the infinite pains he took +over the exact vintage he required. He spoke in French, fluent and +exact, and his manner was entirely that of the epicure. + +Or was it because of that girl?--the girl with eyes of that deep, +fathomless blue, the wonderful blue of the lake as it lay in the +sunlight--the lake that was nearly a mile in depth. In her face I +detected a strange, almost wistful look, an expression which showed +that her thoughts were far away from the laughter and chatter of that +gay restaurant. She looked at me without seeing me; she spoke to her +father without knowing what she replied. There was, in those wonderful +eyes, a strange, far-off look, and it was that which, more than +anything else, attracted my attention and caused me to notice the +pair. + +Her fair, sweet countenance was perfect in its contour, her cheeks +innocent of the Parisienne's usual aids to beauty, her lips red and +well moulded, while two tiny dimples gave a piquancy to a face which +was far more beautiful than any I had met in all my wanderings. + +Again she raised her eyes from the table and gazed across the flowers +at me fixedly, with just a sudden inquisitiveness shown by her +slightly knit brows. Then, suddenly starting, as though realizing she +was looking at a stranger, she dropped her eyes again, and replied to +some question her father had addressed to her. + +Her dead black gown was cut just discreetly _decollete_, which well +became a girl not yet twenty, while at her throat, suspended by a very +thin gold chain, was a single stone, a splendid ruby of enormous size, +and of evident value. The only other ornament she wore was a curious +antique bracelet in the form of a jewelled snake, the tail of which +was in its mouth--the ancient emblem of Eternity. + +Why she possessed such an attraction for me I cannot tell, except that +she seemed totally unlike any other woman I had ever met before--a +face that was as perfect as any I had seen on the canvases of the +great painters, or in the marbles of the Louvre or the Vatican. + +Again she raised her eyes to mine. Again I realized that the +expression was entirely unusual. Then she dropped them again, and in a +slow, inert way ate the crayfish soup which the waiter had placed +before her. + +Others in the big, long room had noticed her beauty, for I saw people +whispering among themselves, while her father, leaning back in his +chair on placing down his spoon, was entirely conscious of the +sensation his daughter had evoked. + +Throughout the meal I watched the pair carefully, trying to overhear +their conversation. It was, however, always in low, confidential +tones, and, strain my ears how I might, I could gather nothing. They +spoke in French, which I detected from the girl's monosyllables, but +beyond that I could understand nothing. + +From the obsequious manner of the _maitre d'hotel_ I knew that her +father was a person of importance. Yet the man who knows what to order +in a restaurant, and orders it with instructions, is certain to +receive marked attention. The epicure always commands the respect of +those who serve him. And surely this stranger was an epicure, for +after his dessert I heard him order with his coffee a _petit verre_ of +gold-water of Dantzig, a rare liqueur only known and appreciated by +the very select few who really know what is what--a bottle of which, +if you search Europe from end to end, you will not find in perhaps +twenty restaurants, and those only of the very first order. + +The eyes of the fair-haired girl haunted me. Instinctively I knew that +she was no ordinary person. Her apathy and listlessness, her strangely +vacant look, combined with the wonderful beauty of her countenance, +held me fascinated. + +Who was she? What mystery surrounded her? I felt, by some strange +intuition, that there was a mystery, and that that curious wistfulness +in her glance betrayed itself because, though accompanied by her +father, she was nevertheless in sore need of a friend. + +When her father had drained his coffee they rose and passed into the +great lounge, with its many little tables set beneath the palms, where +a fine orchestra was playing Maillart's tuneful "Les Dragons de +Villars." + +As they seated themselves many among that well-dressed, gay crowd of +winter idlers turned to look at them. I, however, seldom went into the +nightly concert; therefore I strolled along the wide corridor to the +hall-porter, and inquired the names of the fresh arrivals. + +"Yes, monsieur," replied the big, dark-bearded German; "you mean, of +course, numbers one hundred and seventeen and one hundred and +forty-six--English, father and daughter, arrived by the five o'clock +boat from Riva with a great deal of baggage--here are the names," and +he showed me the slips signed by them on arrival. "They are the only +new-comers to-day." + +There I saw, written on one in a man's bold hand, "Richard Pennington, +rentier, Salisbury, England," and on the other, "Sylvia Pennington." + +"I thought they were French," I remarked. + +"So did I, monsieur; they speak French so well. I was surprised when +they registered themselves as English." + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +TOLD IN THE NIGHT + + +Sylvia Pennington! The face, the name, those wistful, appealing eyes +haunted me in my dreams that night. + +Why? Even now I am at a loss to tell, unless--well, unless I had +become fascinated by that strange, mysterious, indescribable +expression; fascinated, perhaps, by her marvellous beauty, unequalled +in all my experience. + +Next morning, while my man Lorenzo was waiting for me, I told him to +make discreet inquiry regarding the pair when in the steward's room, +where he ate his meals. Soon after noon he came to me, saying he had +discovered that the young lady had been heard by the night-porter +weeping alone in her room for hours, and that, as soon as it was dawn, +she had gone out for a long walk alone along the lake-side. It was +apparent that she and her father were not on the very best of terms. + +"The servants believe they are French, sir," my man added; "but it +seems that they tell people they are English. The man speaks English +like an Englishman. I heard him, half-an-hour ago, asking the +hall-porter about a telegram." + +"Well, Lorenzo," I said, "just keep your eyes and ears open. I want to +learn all I can about Mr. Pennington and his daughter. She hasn't a +maid, I suppose?" + +"Not with her, sir," he replied. "If she had, I'd soon get to know all +about them." + +I was well aware of that, for Lorenzo Merli, like all Italians, was a +great gossip, and quite a lady-killer in the servants' hall. He was a +dark-haired, good-looking young man whose character was excellent, and +who had served me most faithfully. His father was farm-bailiff to an +Italian marquis I knew, and with whom I had stayed near Parma, while +before entering my service he had been valet to the young Marchese di +Viterbo, one of the beaux of Roman society. + +When I reposed a confidence in Lorenzo I knew he would never betray +it. And I knew that, now I had expressed an ardent desire for +information regarding the man Pennington and his daughter, he would +strain every effort to learn what I wanted to know. + +The pair sat at their usual table at luncheon. She was in a neat gown +of navy blue serge, and wore a pretty cream hat which suited her +admirably. Her taste in dress was certainly wonderful for an +Englishwoman. Yet the pair always spoke French together, and presented +no single characteristic of the British whatsoever. + +Because of his epicurean tastes, the stout, bald-headed man received +the greatest attention from the waiters; but those splendid eyes of +his daughter betrayed no evidence of either tears or sleeplessness. +They were the same, wistful yet wonderful, with just that slightest +trace of sadness which had filled me with curiosity. + +After luncheon he strolled along the broad palm-lined terrace in the +sunshine beside the water's edge, while she lolled in one of the long +cane chairs. Yet, as I watched, I saw that she was not enjoying the +warm winter sunshine or the magnificent view of snow-capped mountains +rising on the far horizon. + +Presently she rose and walked beside her father, who spoke to her +rapidly and earnestly, but she only replied in monosyllables. It +seemed that all his efforts to arouse her interest utterly failed. + +I was lounging upon the low wall of the terrace, pretending to watch +the arrival of the little black-and-white paddle-steamer on its way to +Riva, when, as they passed me, Pennington halted to light a cigar. + +Suddenly he glanced up at me with a strangely suspicious look. His +dark eyes were furtive and searching, as though he had detected and +resented my undue interest in his daughter. + +Therefore I strolled down to the landing-stage, and, going on board +the steamer, spent the afternoon travelling up to Riva, the pretty +little town with the tiny harbour at the Austrian end of the lake. The +afternoon was lovely, and the panorama of mountain mirrored in the +water, with picturesque villages and hamlets nestling at the water's +edge, was inexpressibly grand. The deep azure of the unruffled water +stood out in contrast to the dazzling snow above, and as the steamer, +hugging the shore, rounded one rocky point after another, the scene +was certainly, as the Italian contadino puts it, "a bit of Paradise +fallen from heaven upon earth." + +But, to you who know the north Italian lakes, why need I describe it? + +Suffice it to say that I took tea in the big hall of the Lido Palace +Hotel at Riva, and then, boarding the steamer again, returned to +Gardone just in time to dress for dinner. + +I think that Pennington had forbidden his daughter to look at me, for +never once during dinner the next evening, as far as I could detect, +did she raise her eyes to mine. When not eating, she sat, a pretty +figure in cream chiffon, with her elbows upon the table, her chin upon +her clasped hands, talking to her father in that low, confidential +tone. Were they talking secrets? + +Just before they rose I heard him say in English-- + +"I'm going out for an hour--just for a stroll. I may be longer. If I'm +not back all night, don't be anxious. I may be detained." + +"Where are you going?" she asked quickly. + +"That is my affair," was his abrupt reply. Her face assumed a strange +expression. Then she passed along the room, he following. + +As soon as they had gone my mind was made up. I scented mystery. I +ascended in the lift to my room, got my coat, and, going outside into +the ill-lit road beyond the zone of the electric lights in front of +the hotel, I waited. + +The man was not long in coming. He wore a golf-cap and a thick +overcoat, and carried a stout stick. On the steps of the hotel he +paused, lit his cigar, and then set off to the left, down the +principal street--the highroad which led to the clean little town of +Salo and the southern end of the lake. + +I lounged along after him at a respectable distance, all curiosity at +the reason why, in that rural retreat, he intended to be absent all +night. + +He went along at a swinging pace, passing around the lake-front of the +town which almost adjoins Gardone, and then began to ascend the steep +hill beyond. Upon the still night air I could scent the aroma of his +cigar. He was now on his way out into a wild and rather desolate +country, high above the lake. But after walking about a mile he came +to a point where the roads branched, one to Verona, the other to +Brescia. + +There he halted, and, seating himself upon a big stone at the wayside, +smoked in patience, and waited. I advanced as near as I could without +risk of detection, and watched. + +He struck a match in order to look at his watch. Then he rose and +listened intently. The night was dark and silent, with heavy clouds +hanging about the mountains, threatening rain. + +I suppose he had waited fully another quarter of an hour, when +suddenly, far away over the brow of the hill in the direction of +Brescia, I saw a peculiar light in the sky. At first I was puzzled, +but as it gradually grew larger and whiter I knew that it came from +the head-lights of an approaching motor-car. Next moment the hum of +the engine fell on my ears, and suddenly the whole roadway became +illuminated, so suddenly, indeed, that I had only just time to crouch +down in order to avoid detection. + +Pennington shouted to the driver, and he instantly pulled up. Then two +men in thick overcoats descended, and welcomed him warmly in English. + +"Come along, old man!" I heard one of them cry. "Come inside. We must +be off again, for we haven't a moment to spare. How's the girl?" + +Then they entered the car, which was quickly turned, and a few moments +later disappeared swiftly along the road it had come. + +I stood, full of wonder, watching the white light fade away. + +Who were Pennington's friends, that he should meet them in so secret a +manner? + +"How's the girl?" Had that man referred to Sylvia? There was mystery +somewhere. I felt certain of it. + +Down the hill I retraced my steps, on through the little town, now +wrapped in slumber, and back to the Grand Hotel, where nearly every +one had already retired to bed. In a corner of the big lounge, +however, Pennington's daughter was seated alone, reading a Tauchnitz +novel. + +I felt in no humour to turn in just then, for I was rather used to +late hours; therefore I passed through the lounge and out upon the +terrace, in order to smoke and think. The clouds were lifting, and the +moon was struggling through, casting an uncertain light across the +broad dark waters. + +I had thrown myself into a wicker chair near the end of the terrace, +and, with a cigarette, was pondering deeply, when, of a sudden, I saw +a female figure, wrapped in a pale blue shawl, coming in my direction. + +I recognized the cream skirt and the shawl. It was Sylvia! Ah! how +inexpressibly charming and dainty she looked! + +When she had passed, I rose and, meeting her face to face, raised my +hat and spoke to her. + +She started slightly and halted. What words I uttered I hardly knew, +but a few moments later I found myself strolling at her side, chatting +merrily in English. Her chiffons exuded the delicate scent of Rose +d'Orsay, that sweet perfume which is the hall-mark of the modern +well-dressed woman. + +And she was undoubtedly English, after all! + +"Oh no," she declared in a low, musical voice, in response to a fear I +had expressed, "I am not at all cold. This place is so charming, and +so warm, to where my father and I have recently been--at Uleaborg, in +Finland." + +"At Uleaborg!" I echoed. "Why, that is away--out of the world--at the +northern end of the Gulf of Bothnia!" + +"Yes," she declared, with a light laugh. "It is so windy and cold, and +oh! so wretchedly dull." + +"I should rather think so!" I cried. "Why, it is almost within the +Arctic Circle. Why did you go up there--so far north--in winter?" + +"Ah!" she sighed, "we are always travelling. My father is the modern +Wandering Jew, I think. Our movements are always sudden, and our +journeys always long ones--from one end of Europe to the other very +often." + +"You seem tired of it!" I remarked. + +"Tired!" she gasped, her voice changing. "Ah! if you only knew how I +long for peace, for rest--for home!" and she sighed. + +"Where is your home?" + +"Anywhere, now-a-days," was her rather despondent reply. "We are +wanderers. We lived in England once--but, alas! that is now all of the +past. My father is compelled to travel, and I must, of necessity, go +with him. I am afraid," she added quickly, "that I bore you with this +chronicle of my own troubles. I really ought not to say this--to you, +a stranger," she said, with a low, nervous little laugh. + +"Though I may be a stranger, yet, surely, I may become your friend," I +remarked, looking into her beautiful face, half concealed by the blue +wrap. + +For a moment she hesitated; then, halting in the gravelled path and +looking at me, she replied very seriously-- + +"No; please do not speak of that again." + +"Why not?" + +"Well--only because you must not become my friend." + +"You are lonely," I blurted forth. "I have watched you, and I have +seen that you are in sore need of a friend. Do you deny that?" + +"No," she faltered. "I--I--yes, what you say is, alas! correct. How +can I deny it? I have no friend; I am alone." + +"Then allow me to be one. Put to me whatever test you will," I +exclaimed, "and I hope I may bear it satisfactorily. I, too, am a +lonely man--a wanderer. I, too, am in need of a friend in whom I can +confide, whose guidance I can ask. Surely there is no friend better +for a lonely man than a good woman?" + +"Ah, no," she cried, suddenly covering her face with both her hands. +"You don't know--you are ignorant. Why do you say this?" + +"Why? Shall I tell you why?" I asked, gallantly bending to her in deep +earnestness. "Because I have watched you--because I know you are very +unhappy!" + +She held her breath. By the faint ray of the distant electric light I +saw her face had become changed. She betrayed her emotions and her +nervousness by the quick twitching of her fingers and her lips. + +"No," she said at last very decisively; "you must abandon all thought +of friendship with me. It is impossible--quite impossible!" + +"Would my friendship be so repugnant to you, then?" I asked quickly. + +"No, no, not that," she cried, laying her trembling fingers upon my +coat-sleeve. "You--you don't understand--you cannot dream of my +horrible position--of the imminent peril of yours." + +"Peril! What do you mean?" I asked, very much puzzled. + +"You are in grave danger. Be careful of yourself," she said anxiously. +"You should always carry some weapon with you, because----" and she +broke off short, without concluding her sentence. + +"Because--why?" + +"Well, because an accident might happen to you--an accident planned by +those who are your enemies." + +"I really don't understand you," I said. "Do you mean to imply that +there is some conspiracy afoot against me?" + +"I warn you in all seriousness," she said. "I--well, the fact is, I +came out here--I followed you out--in order to tell you this in +secret. Leave here, I beg of you; leave early to-morrow morning, and +do not allow the hotel people to know your new address. Go +somewhere--far away--and live in secret under an assumed name. Let +Owen Biddulph disappear as though the earth had swallowed him up." + +"Then you are aware of my name!" I exclaimed. + +"Certainly," she replied. "But do--I beg of you for your own +sake--heed my warning! Ah! it is cruel and horrible that I--of all +women--have to tell you this!" + +"I always carry a revolver," I replied, "and I have long ago learned +to shoot straight." + +"Be guarded always against a secret and insidious attack," she urged. +"I must go in--now that I have told you the truth." + +"And do you, then, refuse to become my friend, Miss Pennington?" I +asked very earnestly. "Surely you are my friend already, because you +have told me this!" + +"Yes," she answered, adding, "Ah! you do not know the real facts! You +would not ask this if you were aware of the bitter, ghastly truth. You +would not ask my friendship--nay, you would hate and curse me +instead!" + +"But why?" I asked, amazed at her words. "You speak in enigmas." + +She was silent again. Then her nervous fingers once more gripped my +arm, as, looking into my face, her eyes shining with a weird, unusual +light, she replied in quick, breathless sentences-- + +"Because--because friendship between us must never, never be; it would +be fatal to you, just as it would be fatal to me! Death--yes, +death--will come to me quickly and swiftly--perhaps to-night, perhaps +to-morrow, perhaps in a week's time. For it, I am quite prepared. All +is lost--lost to me for ever! Only have a care of yourself, I beseech +of you! Heed what I say. Escape the cruel fate which your enemies have +marked out for you--escape while there is yet time, and--and," she +faltered in a low, hoarse voice, full of emotion, "some day in the +future, perhaps, you will give a passing thought to the memory of a +woman who revealed to you the truth--who saved you from an untimely +end--the unhappy woman without a friend!" + +"But I will be your friend!" I repeated. + +"No. That can never be--_never_!" and she shuddered. "I dare not risk +it. Reflect--and escape--get away in secret, and take care that you +are not followed. Remember, however, we can never be friends. Such a +course would be fatal--yes, alas! _fatal_!" + +Instinctively she put out her tiny white hand in frank farewell. Then, +when I had held it for a second in my own, she turned and, drawing her +shawl about her, hurried back to the big hotel. + +Utterly dumbfounded, I stood for a few seconds dazed and wondering, +the sweet odour of Rose d'Orsay filling my nostrils. What did she +know? + +Then suddenly I held my breath, for there I saw for the first time, +standing back in the shadow of the trees, straight before me, +motionless as a statue, the tall, dark figure of a man who had +evidently watched us the whole time, and who had, no doubt, overheard +all our conversation! + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE CLERGYMAN FROM HAMPSHIRE + + +What was the meaning of it all? Why had that tall, mysterious stranger +watched so intently? I looked across at him, but he did not budge, +even though detected. + +In a flash, all the strange warnings of Sylvia Pennington crowded upon +my mind. + +I stood facing the man as he lurked there in the shadow, determined +that he should reveal his face. Those curious words of the mysterious +girl had placed me upon my mettle. Who were the unknown enemies of +mine who were conspiring against me? + +Should I take her advice and leave Gardone, or should I remain on my +guard, and hand them over to the police at first sign of attack? + +The silent watcher did not move. He stood back there in the darkness, +motionless as a statue, while I remained full in the light of the +moon, which had now come forth, causing the lake and mountains to look +almost fairy-like. + +In order to impress upon him the fact that I was in no hurry, I lit a +cigarette, and seated myself upon the low wall of the terrace, softly +whistling an air of the cafe chantant. The night was now glorious, +the mountain crests showing white in the moonlight. + +Who was this man, I wondered? I regretted that we had not discovered +his presence before Sylvia had left. She would, no doubt, have +recognized him, and told me the reason of his watchfulness. + +At last, I suppose, I must have tired him out, for suddenly he +hastened from his hiding-place, and, creeping beneath the shadow of +the hotel, succeeded in reaching the door through which Sylvia had +passed. + +As he entered, the light from the lounge within gave me a swift glance +of his features. He was a thin, grey-faced, rather sad-looking man, +dressed in black, but, to my surprise, I noticed that his collar was +that of an English clergyman! + +This struck me as most remarkable. Clergymen are not usually persons +to be feared. + +I smiled to myself, for, after all, was it not quite possible that the +reverend gentleman had found himself within earshot of us, and had +been too embarrassed to show himself at once? What sinister motive +could such a man possess? + +I looked around the great lounge, with its many tables and great +palms, but it was empty. He had passed through and ascended in the +lift to his room. + +Inquiry of the night-porter revealed that the man's name was the +Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, and that he came from Andover, in +England. He had arrived at six o'clock that evening, and was only +remaining the night, having expressed his intention of going on to +Riva on the morrow. + +So, laughing at my fears--fears which had been aroused by that strange +warning of Sylvia's--I ascended to my room. + +I did not leave next morning, as my fair-faced little friend had +suggested, neither did Pennington return. + +About eleven o'clock I strolled forth into the warm sunshine on the +terrace, and there, to my surprise, saw Sylvia sitting upon one of the +seats, with a cream sunshade over her head, a book in her lap, while +by her side lounged the mysterious watcher of the night before--the +English clergyman, Mr. Shuttleworth of Andover. + +Neither noticed me. He was speaking to her slowly and earnestly, she +listening attentively to his words. I saw that she sighed deeply, her +fine eyes cast upon the ground. + +It all seemed as though he were reproaching her with something, for +she was silent, in an attitude almost of penitence. + +Now that I obtained a full view of the reverend gentleman's features +in full daylight they seemed less mysterious, less sinister than in +the half-light of midnight. He looked a grave, earnest, sober-living +man, with that slight affectation of the Church which one finds more +in the rural districts than in cities, for the black clerical straw +hat and the clerical drawl seem always to go together. It is strange +that the village curate is always more affected in his speech than the +popular preacher of the West End, and the country vicar's wife is even +more exclusive in her tea-and-tennis acquaintances than the wife of +the lord bishop himself. + +For a few moments I watched unseen. I rather liked the appearance of +the Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, whoever he might be. He had the look +of an honest, open, God-fearing man. + +Yet why was he in such earnest consultation with the mysterious +Sylvia? + +With his forefinger he was touching the palm of his left hand, +apparently to emphasize his words, while she looked pale, even +frightened. She was listening without comment, without protest, while +I stood watching them from behind. Many other visitors were idling +about the terrace, reading letters or newspapers, or chatting or +flirting--the usual morning occupations of a fashionable lake-side +hotel far removed from the strenuous turmoil of the business or social +worlds. + +Suddenly she objected to some words which he uttered, objected +strongly, with rapid interruption and quick protest. + +But he laid his hand quietly upon her arm, and seemed to convince her +of the truth or justice of his words. + +Then, as she turned, she recognized me, and I raised my hat politely +in passing. + +Shuttleworth's eyes met mine, and he stared at me. But I passed on, in +pretence that I had not recognized him as the watcher of the previous +night. + +I idled about the terrace and the little landing-stage till noon, when +the steamer for Riva came up from Desenzano; and Shuttleworth, taking +leave of Sylvia, boarded the little craft with his two kit-bags, and +waved her farewell as the vessel drew away, making a wide wake upon +the glassy surface of the deep blue waters. + +When he had gone, I crossed to her and spoke. She looked inexpressibly +charming in her white cotton gown and neat straw sailor hat with black +velvet band. There was nothing ostentatious about her dress, but it +was always well cut and fitted her to perfection. She possessed a +style and elegance all her own. + +"Ah! Mr. Biddulph!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "Why have you not +heeded my words last night? Why have you not left? Go!--go, before it +is too late!" she urged, looking straight into my face with those +wonderful eyes of hers. + +"But I don't understand you, Miss Pennington," I replied. "Why should +I leave here? What danger threatens me?" + +"A grave one--a very grave one," she said in a low, hoarse whisper. +"If you value your life you should get away from this place." + +"Who are these enemies of mine?" I demanded. "You surely should tell +me, so that I can take precautions against them." + +"Your only precaution lies in flight," she said. + +"But will you not tell me what is intended? If there is a conspiracy +against me, is it not your duty, as a friend, to reveal it?" + +"Did I not tell you last night that I am not your friend--that our +friendship is forbidden?" + +"I don't understand you," I said. "As far as I know, I haven't an +enemy in the world. Why should I fear the unknown?" + +"Ah! will you not take heed of what I have told you?" she +cried in desperation. "Leave here. Return to England--hide +yourself--anywhere--for a time, until the danger passes." + +"I have no fear of this mysterious danger, Miss Pennington," I said. +"If these secret enemies of mine attack me, then I am perfectly ready +and able to defend myself." + +"But they will not attack openly. They will strike at a moment when +you least expect it--and strike with accuracy and deadly effect." + +"Last night, after you had left me, I found a man standing in the +shadow watching us," I said. "He was the clergyman whom I saw sitting +with you just now. Who is he?" + +"Mr. Shuttleworth--an old friend of mine in England. An intimate +friend of my father's. To him, I owe very much. I had no idea he was +here until an hour ago, when we met quite accidentally on the terrace. +I haven't seen him for a year. We once lived in his parish near +Andover, in Hampshire. He was about our only friend." + +"Why did he spy upon us?" + +"I had no idea that he did. It must have been only by chance," she +assured me. "From Edmund Shuttleworth you certainly have nothing to +fear. He and his wife are my best friends. She is staying up at Riva, +it seems, and he is on his way to join her." + +"Your father is absent," I said abruptly. + +"Yes," she replied, with slight hesitation. "He has gone away on +business. I don't expect he will be back till to-night." + +"And how long do you remain here?" + +"Who knows? Our movements are always so sudden and erratic. We may +leave to-night for the other end of Europe, or we may remain here for +weeks yet. Father is so uncertain always." + +"But why are you so eager that I shall leave you?" I asked, as we +strolled together along the terrace. "You have admitted that you are +in need of a friend, and yet you will not allow me to approach you +with the open hand of friendship." + +"Because--ah! have I not already explained the reason why--why I dare +not allow you to show undue friendship towards me?" + +"Well, tell me frankly," I said, "who is this secret enemy of mine?" + +She was silent. In that hesitation I suspected an intention to +deceive. + +"Is it against your own father that you are warning me?" I exclaimed +in hesitation. "You fear him, evidently, and you urge me to leave here +and return to England. Why should I not remain here in defiance?" + +"In some cases defiance is distinctly injudicious," she remarked. "It +is so in this. Your only safety is in escape. I can tell you no more." + +"These words of yours, Miss Pennington, are remarkably strange," I +said. "Surely our position is most curious. You are my friend, and yet +you conceal the identity of my enemy." + +She only shrugged her shoulders, without any reply falling from her +lips. + +"Will you not take my advice and get back to England at once?" she +asked very seriously, as she turned to me a few minutes later. "I have +suggested this in your own interests." + +"But why should I go in fear of this unknown enemy?" I asked. "What +harm have I done? Why should any one be my bitter enemy?" + +"Ah, how do I know?" she cried in despair. "We all of us have enemies +where we least suspect them. Sometimes the very friend we trust most +implicitly reveals himself as our worst antagonist. Truly one should +always pause and ponder deeply before making a friend." + +"You are perfectly right," I remarked. "A fierce enemy is always +better than a false friend. Yet I would dearly like to know what I +have done to merit antagonism. Where has your father gone?" + +"To Brescia, I believe--to meet his friends." + +"Who are they?" + +"His business friends. I only know them very slightly; they are +interested in mining properties. They meet at intervals. The last time +he met them was in Stockholm a month ago." + +This struck me as curious. Why should he meet his business friends so +clandestinely--why should they come at night in a car to cross-roads? + +But I told her nothing of what I had witnessed. I decided to keep my +knowledge to myself. + +"The boat leaves at two o'clock," she said, after a pause, her hand +upon her breast as though to stay the wild beating of her heart. "Will +you not take my advice and leave by that? Go to Milan, and then +straight on to England," she urged in deep earnestness, her big, +wide-open eyes fixed earnestly upon mine. + +"No, Miss Pennington," I replied promptly; "the fact is, I do not feel +disposed to leave here just at present. I prefer to remain--and to +take the risk, whatever it may be." + +"But why?" she cried, for we were standing at the end of the terrace, +and out of hearing. + +"Because you are in need of a friend--because you have admitted that +you, too, are in peril. Therefore I have decided to remain near you." + +"No," she cried breathlessly. "Ah! you do not know the great risk you +are running! You must go--do go, Mr. Biddulph--go, for--_for my +sake_!" + +I shook my head. + +"I have no fear of myself," I declared. "I am anxious on your behalf." + +"Have no thought of me," she cried. "Leave, and return to England." + +"And see you no more--eh?" + +"If you will leave to-day, I--I will see you in England--perhaps." + +"Perhaps!" I cried. "That is not a firm promise." + +"Then, if you really wish," she replied in earnestness, "I will +promise. I'll promise anything. I'll promise to see you in +England--when the danger has passed, if--if disaster has not already +fallen upon me," she added in a hoarse whisper. + +"But my place is here--near you," I declared. "To fly from danger +would be cowardly. I cannot leave you." + +"No," she urged, her pale face hard and anxious. "Go, Mr. Biddulph; go +and save yourself. Then, if you so desire, we shall meet again in +secret--in England." + +"And that is an actual promise?" I asked, holding forth my hand. + +"Yes," she answered, taking it eagerly. "It is a real promise. Give me +your address, and very soon I shall be in London to resume our +acquaintanceship--but, remember, not our friendship. That must never +be--_never_!" + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +THE PERIL BEYOND + + +My taxi pulled up before my own white-enamelled door in Wilton Street, +off Belgrave Square, and, alighting, I entered with my latch-key. + +I had been home about ten days--back again once more in dear, dirty +old London, spending most of my time idling in White's or Boodle's; +for in May one meets everybody in St. James's Street, and men +foregather in the club smoking-room from the four ends of the earth. + +The house in Wilton Street was a small bijou place which my father had +occupied as a _pied-a-terre_ in town, he being a widower. He had been +a man of artistic tastes, and the house, though small, was furnished +lightly and brightly in the modern style. At Carrington he always +declared there was enough of the heaviness of the antique. Here, in +the dulness of London, he preferred light decorations and modern art +in furnishing. + +Through the rather narrow carpeted hall I passed into the study which +lay behind the dining-room, a small, cosy apartment--the acme of +comfort. I, as a bachelor, hated the big terra-cotta-and-white +drawing-room upstairs. When there, I made the study my own den. + +I had an important letter to write, but scarcely had I seated myself +at the table when old Browning, grave, grey-faced and solemn, entered, +saying-- + +"A clergyman called to see you about three o'clock, sir. He asked if +you were at home. When I replied that you were at the club, he became +rather inquisitive concerning your affairs, and asked me quite a lot +of questions as to where you had been lately, and who you were. I was +rather annoyed, sir, and I'm afraid I may have spoken rudely. But as +he would leave no card, I felt justified in refusing to answer his +inquiries." + +"Quite right, Browning," I replied. "But what kind of a man was he? +Describe him." + +"Well, sir, he was rather tall, of middle age, thin-faced and drawn, +as though he had seen a lot of trouble. He spoke with a pronounced +drawl, and his clerical coat was somewhat shabby. I noticed, too, sir, +that he wore a black leather watch-guard." + +That last sentence at once revealed my visitor's identity. It was the +Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth! But why had he returned so suddenly from +Riva? And why was he making secret inquiry concerning myself? + +"I think I know the gentleman, Browning," I replied, while the +faithful old fellow stood, a quaint, stout figure in a rather +tight-fitting coat and grey trousers, his white-whiskered face full of +mystery. I fancy Browning viewed me with considerable suspicion. In +his eyes, "young Mr. Owen" had always been far too erratic. On many +occasions in my boyhood days he had expressed to my father his strong +disapproval of what he termed "Master Owen's carryings-on." + +"If he should call again, tell him that I have a very great desire to +renew our acquaintance. I met him abroad," I said. + +"Very well, sir," replied my man. "But I don't suppose he will call +again, sir. I was rude to him." + +"Your rudeness was perfectly justifiable, Browning. Please refuse to +answer any questions concerning me." + +"I know my duty, sir," was the old man's stiff reply, "and I hope I +shall always perform it." + +And he retired, closing the door silently behind him. + +With my elbows upon the table, I sat thinking deeply. + +Had I not acted like a fool? Those strange words, and that curious +promise of Sylvia Pennington sounded ever in my ears. She had +succeeded in inducing me to return home by promising to meet me +clandestinely in England. Why clandestinely? + +Before me every moment that I now lived arose that pale, beautiful +face--that exquisite countenance with the wonderful eyes--that face +which had held me in fascination, that woman who, indeed, held me now +for life or death. + +In those ten days which had passed, the first days of my +home-coming after my long absence, I knew, by the blankness of our +separation--though I would not admit it to myself--that she was my +affinity. I was hers. She, the elegant little wanderer, possessed me, +body and soul. I felt for her a strong affection, and affection is the +half-and-half of love. + +Why had her friend, that thin-faced country clergyman, called? +Evidently he was endeavouring to satisfy himself as to my _bona +fides_. And yet, for what reason? What had I to do with him? She had +told me that she owed very much to that man. Why, however, should he +interest himself in me? + +I took down a big black volume from the shelf--_Crockford's +Clerical Directory_--and from it learned that Edmund Charles +Talbot Shuttleworth, M.A., was rector of the parish of +Middleton-cum-Bowbridge, near Andover, in the Bishopric of Winchester. +He had held his living for the past eight years, and its value was +L550 per annum. He had had a distinguished career at Cambridge, and +had been curate in half-a-dozen places in various parts of the +country. + +I felt half inclined to run down to Middleton and call upon him. I +could make some excuse or other, for I felt that he might, perhaps, +give me some further information regarding the mysterious Pennington +and his daughter. + +Yet, on further reflection, I hesitated, for I saw that by acting thus +I might incur Sylvia's displeasure. + +During the three following days I remained much puzzled. I deeply +regretted that Browning had treated the country parson abruptly, and +wondered whether I could not make excuse to call by pretending to +express regret for the rudeness of my servant. + +I was all eagerness to know something concerning this man Pennington, +and was prepared even to sink my own pride in order to learn it. + +Jack Marlowe was away in Copenhagen, and would not return for a week. +In London I had many friends, but there were few who interested me, +for I was ever thinking of Sylvia--of her only and always. + +At last, one morning I made up my mind, and, leaving Waterloo, +travelled down to Andover Junction, where I hired a trap, and, after +driving through the little old-fashioned town out upon the dusty +London Road for a couple of miles or so, I came to the long straggling +village of Middleton, at the further end of which stood the ancient +little church, and near it the comfortable old-world rectory. + +Entering the gateway, I found myself in pretty, well-wooded and +well-kept grounds; the house itself, long, low, and covered with +trailing roses, was a typical English country rectory. Beyond that lay +a paddock, while in the distance the beautiful Harewood Forest showed +away upon the skyline. + +Yes, Mr. Shuttleworth was at home, the neat maid told me, and I was +ushered into a long old-fashioned study, the French windows of which +opened out upon a well-rolled tennis-lawn. + +The place smelt of tobacco-smoke. Upon the table lay a couple of +well-seasoned briars, and on the wall an escutcheon bearing its +owner's college arms. Crossed above the window was a pair of +rowing-sculls, and these, with a pair of fencing-foils in close +proximity, told mutely of long-past athletics. It was a quiet, +book-lined den, an ideal retreat for a studious man. + +As my eyes travelled around the room, they suddenly fell upon a +photograph in a dark leather frame, the picture of a young girl of +seventeen or so, with her hair dressed low and secured by a big black +bow. I started at sight of it. It was the picture of Sylvia +Pennington! + +I crossed to look at it more closely, but as I did so the door opened, +and I found myself face to face with the rector of Middleton. + +He halted as he recognized me--halted for just a second in hesitation; +then, putting out his hand, he welcomed me, saying in his habitual +drawl-- + +"Mr. Biddulph, I believe?" and invited me to be seated. + +"Ah!" I exclaimed, with a smile, "I see you recognize me, though we +were only passers-by on the Lake of Garda! I must apologize for this +intrusion, but, as a matter of fact, my servant Browning described a +gentleman who called upon me a few days ago, and I at once recognized +him to have been you. He was rather rude to you, I fear, and----" + +"My dear fellow!" he interrupted, with a hearty, good-natured laugh. +"He only did his duty as your servant. He objected to my infernal +impertinence--and very rightly, too." + +"It was surely no impertinence to call upon me!" I exclaimed. + +"Well, it's all a question of one's definition of impertinence," he +said. "I made certain inquiries--rather searching inquiries regarding +you--that was all." + +"Why?" I asked. + +He moved uneasily in his padded writing-chair, then reached over and +placed a box of cigarettes before me. After we had both lit up, he +answered in a rather low, changed voice-- + +"Well, I wanted to satisfy myself as to who you were, Mr. Biddulph," +he laughed. "Merely to gratify a natural curiosity." + +"That's just it," I said. "Why should your curiosity have been aroused +concerning me? I do not think I have ever made a secret to any one +regarding my name or my position, or anything else." + +"But you might have done, remember," replied the thin-faced rector, +looking at me calmly yet mysteriously with those straight grey eyes of +his. + +"I don't follow you, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, much puzzled. + +"Probably not," was his response; "I had no intention to obtrude +myself upon you. I merely called at Wilton Street in order to learn +what I could, and I came away quite satisfied, even though your +butler spoke so sharply." + +"But with what motive did you make your inquiries?" I demanded. + +"Well, as a matter of fact, my motive was in your own interests, Mr. +Biddulph," he replied, as he thoughtfully contemplated the end of his +cigarette. "This may sound strange to you, but the truth, could I but +reveal it to you, would be found much stranger--a truth utterly +incredible." + +"The truth of what?" + +"The truth concerning a certain young lady in whom, I understand, you +have evinced an unusual interest," was his reply. + +I could see that he was slightly embarrassed. I recollected how he had +silently watched us on that memorable night by the moonlit lake, and a +feeling of resentment arose within me. + +"Yes," I said anxiously next moment, "I am here to learn the truth +concerning Miss Pennington. Tell me about her. She has explained to me +that you are her friend--and I see, yonder, you have her photograph." + +"It is true," he said very slowly, in a low, earnest voice, "quite +true, Son--er, Sylvia--is my friend," and he coughed quickly to +conceal the slip in the name. + +"Then tell me something about her, and her father. Who is he?" I +urged. "At her request I left Gardone suddenly, and came home to +England." + +"At her request!" he echoed in surprise. "Why did she send you away +from her side?" + +I hesitated. Should I reveal to him the truth? + +"She declared that it was better for us to remain apart," I said. + +"Yes," he sighed. "And she spoke the truth, Mr. Biddulph--the entire +truth, remember." + +"Why? Do tell me what you know concerning the man Pennington." + +"I regret that I am not permitted to do that." + +"Why?" + +For some moments he did not reply. He twisted his cigarette in his +thin, nervous fingers, his gaze being fixed upon the lawn outside. At +last, however, he turned to me, and in a low, rather strained tone +said slowly-- + +"The minister of religion sometimes learns strange family secrets, +but, as a servant of God, the confidences and confessions reposed in +him must always be treated as absolutely sacred. Therefore," he added, +"please do not ask me again to betray my trust." + +His was, indeed, a stern rebuke. I saw that, in my eager enthusiasm, I +had expected him to reveal a forbidden truth. Therefore I stammered an +apology. + +"No apology is needed," was his grave reply, his keen eyes fixed upon +me. "But I hope you will forgive me if I presume to give you, in your +own interests, a piece of advice." + +"And what is that?" + +"To keep yourself as far as possible from both Pennington and his +daughter," he responded slowly and distinctly, a strange expression +upon his clean-shaven face. + +"But why do you tell me this?" I cried, still much mystified. "Have +you not told me that you are Sylvia's friend?" + +"I have told you this because it is my duty to warn those in whose +path a pitfall is spread." + +"And is a pitfall spread in mine?" + +"Yes," replied the grave-faced, ascetic-looking rector, as he leaned +forward to emphasize his words. "Before you, my dear sir, there lies +an open grave. Behind it stands that girl yonder"--and he pointed with +his lean finger to the framed photograph--"and if you attempt to reach +her you must inevitably fall into the pit--that death-trap so +cunningly prepared. Do not, I beg of you, attempt to approach the +unattainable." + +I saw that he was in dead earnest. + +"But why?" I demanded in my despair, for assuredly the enigma was +increasing hourly. "Why are you not open and frank with me? I--I +confess I----" + +"You love her, eh?" he asked, looking at me quickly as he interrupted +me. "Ah, yes," he sighed, as a dark shadow overspread his thin, pale +face, "I guessed as much--a fatal love. You are young and +enthusiastic, and her pretty face, her sweet voice and her soft eyes +have fascinated you. How I wish, Mr. Biddulph, that I could reveal to +you the ghastly, horrible truth. Though I am your friend--and hers, +yet I must, alas! remain silent! The inviolable seal of The +Confessional is upon my lips!" + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +THE DARK HOUSE IN BAYSWATER + + +Edmund Shuttleworth, the thin-faced, clean-shaven Hampshire rector, +had spoken the truth. His manner and speech were that of an honest +man. + +Within myself I could but admit it. Yet I loved Sylvia. Why, I cannot +tell. How can a man tell why he loves? First love is more than the +mere awakening of a passion: it is transition to another state of +being. When it is born the man is new-made. + +Yet, as the spring days passed, I lived in suspicion and wonder, ever +mystified, ever apprehensive. + +Each morning I looked eagerly for a letter from her, yet each morning +I was disappointed. + +It seemed true, as Shuttleworth had said, that an open gulf lay +between us. + +Where was she, I wondered? I dared not write to Gardone, as she had +begged me not to do so. She had left there, no doubt, for was she not +a constant wanderer? Was not her stout, bald-headed father the modern +incarnation of the Wandering Jew? + +May lengthened into June, with its usual society functions and all the +wild gaiety of the London season. The Derby passed and Ascot came, +the Park was full every day, theatres and clubs were crowded, and the +hotels overflowed with Americans and country cousins. I had many +invitations, but accepted few. Somehow, my careless cosmopolitanism +had left me. I had become a changed man. + +And if I were to believe the woman who had come so strangely and so +suddenly into my life, I was a marked man also. + +Disturbing thoughts often arose within me in the silence of the night, +but, laughing at them, I crushed them down. What had I possibly to +fear? I had no enemy that I was aware of. The whole suggestion seemed +so utterly absurd and far-fetched. + +Jack Marlowe came back from Denmark hale and hearty, and more than +once I was sorely tempted to explain to him the whole situation. Only +I feared he would jeer at me as a love-sick idiot. + +What was the secret held by that grey-faced country parson? Whatever +it might be, it was no ordinary one. He had spoken of the seal of The +Confessional. What sin had Sylvia Pennington confessed to him? + +Day after day, as I sat in my den at Wilton Street smoking moodily and +thinking, I tried vainly to imagine what cardinal sin she could have +committed. My sole thoughts were of her, and my all-consuming +eagerness was to meet her again. + +On the night of the twentieth of June--I remember the date well +because the Gold Cup had been run that afternoon--I had come in from +supper at the Ritz about a quarter to one, and retired to bed. I +suppose I must have turned in about half-an-hour, when the telephone +at my bedside rang, and I answered. + +"Hulloa!" asked a voice. "Is that you, Owen?" + +"Yes," I replied. + +"Jack speaking--Jack Marlowe," exclaimed the distant voice. "Is that +you, Owen? Your voice sounds different." + +"So does yours, a bit," I said. "Voices often do on the 'phone. Where +are you?" + +"I'm out in Bayswater--Althorp House, Porchester Terrace," my friend +replied. "I'm in a bit of a tight corner. Can you come here? I'm so +sorry to trouble you, old man. I wouldn't ask you to turn out at this +hour if it weren't imperative." + +"Certainly I'll come," I said, my curiosity at once aroused. "But +what's up?" + +"Oh, nothing very alarming," he laughed. "Nothing to worry over. I've +been playing cards, and lost a bit, that's all. Bring your +cheque-book; I want to pay up before I leave. You understand. I know +you'll help me, like the good pal you always are." + +"Why, of course I will, old man," was my prompt reply. + +"I've got to pay up my debts for the whole week--nearly a thousand. +Been infernally unlucky. Never had such vile luck. Have you got it in +the bank? I can pay you all right at the end of next week." + +"Yes," I said, "I can let you have it." + +"These people know you, and they'll take your cheque, they say." + +"Right-ho!" I said; "I'll get a taxi and be up with you in +half-an-hour." + +"You're a real good pal, Owen. Remember the address: Althorp House, +Porchester Terrace," cried my friend cheerily. "Get here as soon as +you can, as I want to get home. So-long." + +And, after promising to hurry, I hung up the receiver again. + +Dear old Jack always was a bit reckless. He had a good income allowed +him by his father, but was just a little too fond of games of chance. +He had been hard hit in February down at Monte Carlo, and I had lent +him a few hundreds to tide him over. Yet, by his remarks over the +'phone, I could only gather that he had fallen into the hands of +sharpers, who held him up until he paid--no uncommon thing in London. +Card-sharpers are generally blackmailers as well, and no doubt these +people were bleeding poor Jack to a very considerable tune. + +I rose, dressed, and, placing my revolver in my hip pocket in case of +trouble, walked towards Victoria Station, where I found a belated +taxi. + +Within half-an-hour I alighted before a large dark house about +half-way up Porchester Terrace, Bayswater, standing back from the +road, with small garden in front; a house with closely-shuttered +windows, the only light showing being that in the fanlight over the +door. + +My approaching taxi was being watched for, I suppose, for as I crossed +the gravel the door fell back, and a smart, middle-aged man-servant +admitted me. + +"I want to see Mr. Marlowe," I said. + +"Are you Mr. Biddulph?" he inquired, eyeing me with some suspicion. + +I replied in the affirmative, whereupon he invited me to step +upstairs, while I followed him up the wide, well-carpeted staircase +and along a corridor on the first floor into a small sitting-room at +the rear of the house. + +"Mr. Marlowe will be here in a few moments, sir," he said; "he left a +message asking you to wait. He and Mr. Forbes have just gone across +the road to a friend's house. I'll send over and tell him you are +here, if you'll kindly take a seat." + +The room was small, fairly well furnished, but old-fashioned, and lit +by an oil-lamp upon the table. The air was heavy with tobacco-smoke, +and near the window was a card-table whereat four players had been +seated. The cigar-ash bore testimony to recent occupation of the four +chairs, while two packs of cards had been flung down just as the men +had risen. + +The window was hidden by long curtains of heavy moss-green plush, +while in one corner of the room, upon a black marble pedestal, stood a +beautiful sculptured statuette of a girl, her hands uplifted together +above her head in the act of diving. I examined the exquisite work of +art, and saw upon its brass plate the name of an eminent French +sculptor. + +The carpet, of a peculiar shade of red which contrasted well with the +dead-white enamelled walls, was soft to the tread, so that my +footsteps fell noiselessly as I moved. + +Beside the fireplace was a big inviting saddle-bag chair, into which I +presently sank, awaiting Jack. + +Who were his friends, I wondered? + +The house seemed silent as the grave. I listened for Jack's footsteps, +but could hear nothing. + +I was hoping that the loss of nearly a thousand pounds would cure my +friend of his gambling propensities. Myself, I had never experienced a +desire to gamble. A sovereign or so on a race was the extent of my +adventures. + +The table, the cards, the tantalus-stand and the empty glasses told +their own tale. I was sorry, truly sorry, that Jack should mix with +such people--professional gamblers, without a doubt. + +Every man-about-town in London knows what a crowd of professional +players and blackmailers infest the big hotels, on the look-out for +pigeons to pluck. The American bars of London each have their little +circle of well-dressed sharks, and woe betide the victims who fall +into their unscrupulous hands. I had believed Jack Marlowe to be more +wary. He was essentially a man of the world, and had always laughed at +the idea that he could be "had" by sharpers, or induced to play with +strangers. + +I think I must have waited for about a quarter of an hour. As I sat +there, I felt overcome by a curious drowsiness, due, no doubt, to the +strenuous day I had had, for I had driven down to Ascot in the car, +and had gone very tired to bed. + +Suddenly, without a sound, the door opened, and a youngish, +dark-haired, clean-shaven man in evening dress entered swiftly, +accompanied by another man a few years older, tall and thin, whose +nose and pimply face was that of a person much dissipated. Both were +smoking cigars. + +"You are Mr. Biddulph, I believe!" exclaimed the younger. "Marlowe +expects you. He's over the road, talking to the girl." + +"What girl?" + +"Oh, a little girl who lives over there," he said, with a mysterious +smile. "But have you brought the cheque?" he asked. "He told us that +you'd settle up with us." + +"Yes," I said, "I have my cheque-book in my pocket." + +"Then perhaps you'll write it?" he said, taking a pen-and-ink and +blotter from a side-table and placing it upon the card-table. "The +amount altogether is one thousand one hundred and ten pounds," he +remarked, consulting an envelope he took from his pocket. + +"I shall give you a cheque for it when my friend comes," I said. + +"Yes, but we don't want to be here all night, you know," laughed the +pimply-faced man. "You may as well draw it now, and hand it over to us +when he comes in." + +"How long is he likely to be?" + +"How can we tell? He's a bit gone on her." + +"Who is she?" + +"Oh! a little girl my friend Reckitt here knows," interrupted the +younger man. "Rather pretty. Reckitt is a fair judge of good looks. +Have a cigarette?" and the man offered me a cigarette, which, out of +common courtesy, I was bound to take from his gold case. + +I sat back in my chair and lit up, and as I did so my ears caught the +faint sound of a receding motor-car. + +"Aren't you going to draw the cheque?" asked the man with the pimply +face. "Marlowe said you would settle at once; Charles Reckitt is my +name. Make it out to me." + +"And so I will, as soon as he arrives," I replied. + +"Why not now? We'll give you a receipt." + +"I don't know at what amount he acknowledges the debt," I pointed out. + +"But we've told you, haven't we? One thousand one hundred and ten +pounds." + +"That's according to your reckoning. He may add up differently, you +know," I said, with a doubtful smile. + +"You mean that you doubt us, eh?" asked Reckitt a trifle angrily. + +"Not in the least," I assured him, with a smile. "If the game is fair, +then the loss is fair also. A good sportsman like my friend never +objects to pay what he has lost." + +"But you evidently object to pay for him, eh?" he sneered. + +"I do not," I protested. "If it were double the amount I would pay it. +Only I first want to know what he actually owes." + +"That he'll tell you when he returns. Yet I can't see why you should +object to make out the cheque now, and hand it to us on his arrival. +I'll prepare the receipt, at any rate. I, for one, want to get off to +bed." + +And the speaker sat down in one of the chairs at the card-table, and +wrote out a receipt for the amount, signing it "Charles Reckitt" +across the stamp he stuck upon it. + +Then presently he rose impatiently, and, crossing the room, +exclaimed-- + +"How long are we to be humbugged like this? I've got to get out to +Croydon--and it's late. Come on, Forbes. Let's go over and dig Marlowe +out, eh?" + +So the pair left the room, promising to return with Jack in a few +minutes, and closed the door after them. + +When they had gone, I sat for a moment reflecting. I did not like the +look of either of them. Their faces were distinctly sinister and their +manner overbearing. I felt that the sooner I left that silent house +the better. + +So, crossing to the table, I drew out my cheque-book, and hastily +wrote an open cheque, payable to "Charles Reckitt," for one thousand +one hundred and ten pounds. I did so in order that I should have it +in readiness on Jack's return--in order that we might get away +quickly. + +Whatever possessed my friend to mix with such people as those I could +not imagine. + +A few moments later, I had already put the cheque back into my +breast-pocket, and was re-seated in the arm-chair, when of a sudden, +and apparently of its own accord, the chair gave way, the two arms +closing over my knees in such a manner that I was tightly held there. + +It happened in a flash. So quickly did it collapse that, for a moment, +I was startled, for the chair having tipped back, I had lost my +balance, my head being lower than my legs. + +And at that instant, struggling in such an undignified position and +unable to extricate myself, the chair having closed upon me, the door +suddenly opened, and the man Reckitt, with his companion Forbes, +re-entered the room. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +A GHASTLY TRUTH + + +Ere I could recover myself or utter a word, the pair dashed towards +me, seized my hands deftly and secured them behind the chair. + +"What do you mean by this, you infernal blackguards!" I cried angrily. +"Release me!" + +They only grinned in triumph. I struggled to free my right hand, in +order to get at my revolver. But it was held far too securely. + +I saw that I had been cleverly entrapped! + +The man with the pimply face placed his hand within my breast pocket +and took therefrom its contents with such confidence that it appeared +certain I had been watched while writing the cheque. He selected it +from among my letters and papers, and, opening it, said in a tone of +satisfaction-- + +"That's all right--as far as it goes. But we must have another +thousand." + +"You'll have nothing from me," I replied, sitting there powerless, yet +defiant. "I don't believe Marlowe has been here at all! It's only a +trap, and I've fallen into it!" + +"You've paid your friend's debts," replied the man gruffly; "now +you'll pay your own." + +"I owe you nothing, you infernal swindler!" I responded quickly. "This +is a pretty game you are playing--one which you've played before, it +seems! The police shall know of this. It will interest them." + +"They won't know through you," laughed the fellow. "But we don't want +to discuss that matter. I'm just going to write out a cheque for one +thousand, and you'll sign it." + +"I'll do nothing of the sort!" I declared firmly. + +"Oh yes, you will," remarked the younger man. "You've got money, and +you can easily afford a thousand." + +"I'll not give you one single penny," I declared. "And, further, I +shall stop that cheque you've stolen from me." + +Reckitt had already seated himself, opened my cheque-book, and was +writing out a draft. + +When he had finished it he crossed to me, with the book and pen in +hand, saying-- + +"Now you may as well just sign this at first, as at last." + +"I shall do no such thing," was my answer. "You've entrapped me here, +but you are holding me at your peril. You can't frighten me into +giving you a thousand pounds, for I haven't it at the bank." + +"Oh yes, you have," replied the man with the red face. "We've already +taken the precaution to find out. We don't make haphazard guesses, you +know. Now sign it, and at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning you shall +be released--after we have cashed your cheques." + +"Where is Marlowe?" I inquired. + +"With the girl, I suppose." + +"What girl?" + +"Well," exclaimed the other, "her photograph is in the next room; +perhaps you'd like to see it." + +"It does not interest me," I replied. + +But the fellow Forbes left the room for a moment and returned with a +fine panel photograph in his hand. He held it before my gaze. I +started in utter amazement. + +It was the picture of Sylvia! The same that I had seen in +Shuttleworth's study. + +"You know her--eh?" remarked Reckitt, with a grim smile. + +"Yes," I gasped. "Where is she?" + +"Across the road--with your friend Jack Marlowe." + +"It's a lie! A confounded lie! I won't believe it," I cried. Yet at +that moment I realized the ghastly truth, that I had tumbled into the +hidden pitfall against which both Shuttleworth and Sylvia had warned +me. + +Could it be possible, I asked myself, that Sylvia--my adored +Sylvia--had some connection with these blackguards--that she had been +aware of their secret intentions? + +"Sign this cheque, and you shall see her if you wish," said the man +who had written out the draft. "She will remain with you here till +eleven to-morrow." + +"Why should I give you a thousand pounds?" I demanded. + +"Is not a thousand a small price to pay for the service we are +prepared to render you--to return to you your lost lady-love?" queried +the fellow. + +I was dying with anxiety to see her, to speak with her, to hold her +hand. Had she not warned me against this cunningly-devised trap, yet +had I not foolishly fallen into it? They had followed me to England, +and run me to earth at home! + +"And supposing that I gave you the money, how do I know that you would +keep faith with me?" I asked. + +"We shall keep faith with you, never fear," Reckitt replied, his +sinister face broadening into a smile. "It is simply for you to pay +for your release; or we shall hold you here--until you submit. Just +your signature, and to-morrow at eleven you are a free man." + +"And if I refuse, what then?" I asked. + +"If you refuse--well, I fear that you will ever regret it, that's all. +I can only tell you that it is not wise to refuse. We are not in the +habit of being met with refusal--the punishment is too severe." The +man spoke calmly, leaning with his back against the table, the cheque +and pen still in his hand. + +"And if I sign, you will bring Sylvia here? You will promise me +that--upon your word of honour?" + +"Yes, we promise you," was the man's reply. + +"I want to see Marlowe, if he is here." + +"I tell you he's not here. He's across the way with her." + +I believe, if I could have got to my revolver at that moment, I should +have shot the fellow dead. I bit my lip, and remained silent. + +I now felt no doubt that this was the trap of which Sylvia had given +me warning on that moonlit terrace beside the Italian lake. By some +unaccountable means she knew what was intended against me. This clever +trapping of men was apparently a regular trade of theirs! + +If I could but gain time I felt that I might outwit them. Yet, sitting +there like a trussed fowl, I must have cut a pretty sorry figure. How +many victims had, like myself, sat there and been "bled"? + +"Come," exclaimed the red-faced adventurer impatiently, "we are losing +time. Are you going to sign the cheque, or not?" + +"I shall not," was my firm response. "You already have stolen one +cheque of mine." + +"And we shall cash it when your bank opens in the morning, my dear +sir," remarked Forbes airily. + +"And make yourselves scarce afterwards, eh? But I've had a good look +at you, remember; I could identify you anywhere," I said. + +"You won't have that chance, I'm afraid," declared Reckitt meaningly. +"You must think we're blunderers, if you contemplate that!" and he +grinned at his companion. + +"Now," he added, turning again to me; "for the last time I ask you if +you will sign this cheque I have written." + +"And for the last time I tell you that you are a pair of blackguards, +and that I will do nothing of the sort." + +"Not even if we bring the girl here--to you?" + +I hesitated, much puzzled by the strangeness of the attitude of the +pair. Their self-confidence was amazing. + +"Sign it," he urged. "Sign it in your own interests--and in hers." + +"Why in hers?" + +"You will see, after you have appended your signature." + +"When I have seen her I will sign," I replied at last; "but not +before. You seem to have regarded me as a pigeon to pluck. But you'll +find out I'm a hawk before you've done with me." + +"I think not," smiled the cool-mannered Reckitt. "Even if you are a +hawk, you're caged. You must admit that!" + +"I shall shout murder, and alarm the police," I threatened. + +"Shout away, my dear fellow," replied my captor. "No sound can be +heard outside this room. Shriek! We shall like to hear you. You won't +have opportunity to do so very much longer." + +"Why?" + +"Because refusal will bring upon you a fate more terrible than you +have ever imagined," was the fellow's hard reply. "We are men of our +word, remember! It is not wise to trifle with us." + +"And I am also a man of my word. You cannot obtain money from me by +threats." + +"But we offer you a service in return--to bring Sylvia to you." + +"Where is her father?" I demanded. + +"You'd better ask her," replied Forbes, with a grin. "Sign this, and +see her. She is anxious--very anxious to meet you." + +"How do you know that?" + +"We know more than you think, Mr. Biddulph," was the sharper's reply. + +His exterior was certainly that of a gentleman, in his well-cut dinner +jacket and a fine diamond stud in his shirt. + +I could only think that the collapsible chair in which I sat was +worked by a lever from outside the room. There was a spy-hole +somewhere, at which they could watch the actions of their victims, and +take them unawares as I had been taken. + +"And now," asked Reckitt, "have you fully reflected upon the serious +consequences of your refusal to sign this cheque?" + +"I have," was my unwavering reply. "Do as you will, I refuse to be +blackmailed." + +"Your refusal will cause disaster to yourself--and to her! You will +share the same fate--a horrible one. She tried to warn you, and you +refused to heed her. So you will both experience the same horror." + +"What horror? I have no fear of you," I said. + +"He refuses," Reckitt said, with a harsh laugh, addressing his +accomplice. "We will now let him see what is in store for him--how we +punish those who remain defiant. Bring in the table." + +Forbes disappeared for a moment and then returned, bearing a small +round table upon which stood a silver cigar-box and a lighted candle. + +The table he placed at my side, close to my elbow. Then Forbes took +something from a drawer, and ere I was aware of it he had slipped a +leathern collar over my head and strapped it to the back of the chair +so that in a few seconds I was unable to move my head from side to +side. + +"What are you doing, you blackguards?" I cried in fierce anger. "You +shall pay for this, I warrant." + +But they only laughed in triumph, for, held as I was, I was utterly +helpless in their unscrupulous hands and unable to lift a finger in +self-defence, my defiance must have struck them as ridiculous. + +"Now," said Reckitt, standing near the small table, "you see this!" +and, leaning forward, he touched the cigar-box, the lid of which +opened with a spring. + +Next second something shot quite close to my face, startling me. + +I looked, and instantly became filled with an inexpressible horror, +for there, upon the table, lay a small, black, venomous snake. To its +tail was attached a fine green silken cord, and this was, in turn, +fastened to the candle. The wooden candle-stick was, I saw, screwed +down to the table. The cord entered the wax candle about two inches +lower than the flame. + +I gave a cry of horror, whereat both men laughed heartily. + +"Now," said Reckitt, "I promised you an unexpected surprise. There it +is! In half-an-hour the flame will reach the cord, and sever it. Then +the snake will strike. That half-hour will give you ample time for +reflection." + +"You fiends!" I cried, struggling desperately to free myself. In doing +so I moved my head slightly, when the snake again darted at me like a +flash, only falling short about an inch from my cheek. + +The reptile fell back, recoiled itself, and with head erect, its +cruel, beady eyes watching me intently, sat up ready to strike again. + +The blood froze in my veins. I was horrified, held there only one +single inch from death. + +"We wish you a very good night," laughed Forbes, as both he and his +companion walked towards the door. "You will have made a closer +acquaintance with the snake ere we cash your cheque in the morning." + +"Yes," said Reckitt, turning upon me with a grin. "And Sylvia too will +share the same fate as yourself, for daring to warn you against us!" + +"No!" I cried; "spare her, spare her!" I implored. + +But the men had already passed out of the room, locking the door +securely after them. + +I lay back silent, motionless, listening, not daring to move a muscle +because of that hideous reptile closely guarding me. + +I suppose ten minutes must have passed--ten of the most awful minutes +of terror and disgust I have ever experienced in all my life--then a +sound broke the dead stillness of the night. + +I heard a woman's loud, piercing scream--a scream of sudden horror. + +Sylvia's voice! It seemed to emanate from the room beyond! + +Again it was repeated. I heard her shriek distinctly-- + +"Ah! No, spare me! Not that--_not that_!" + +Only a wall divided us, yet I was powerless, held there face to face +with a terrible and revolting death, unable to save her, unable to +raise my hand in self-defence. + +She shrieked again, in an agony of terror. + +I lay there breathless, petrified by horror. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +THE FLAME OF THE CANDLE + + +I shuddered at the horrible fate to which those scoundrels had +abandoned me. + +Again the cruel flat head of the snake darted forth viciously to +within a single inch of my left cheek. I tried to draw back, but to +move was impossible, held as I was by that leathern collar, made +expressly for securing the head immovable. + +My eyes were fixed upon the steady candle-flame. It was burning lower +and lower each moment. I watched it in fascination. Each second I grew +nearer that terrible, revolting end. + +What had happened to Sylvia? I strained my ears to catch any further +sound. But there was none. The house was now silent as the grave. + +That pair of scoundrels had stolen my cheque, and in the morning, +after my death, would cash it and escape with the proceeds! + +I glanced around that weird room. How many previous victims had sat in +that fatal chair and awaited death as I was waiting, I wondered? The +whole plot betrayed a devilish ingenuity and cunning. Its very +character showed that the conspirators were no ordinary +criminals--they were past-masters in crime. + +The incidents of the night in London are too often incredible. A man +can meet with adventures in the metropolis as strange, as exciting and +as perilous as any in unknown lands. Here, surely, was one in point. + +I remember experiencing a strange dizziness, a curious nausea, due, +perhaps, to the fact that my head lay lower than my body. My thoughts +became muddled. I regretted deeply that I had not signed the cheque +and saved Sylvia. Yet were they not absolute blackguards? Would they +have kept faith with me? + +I was breathless in apprehension. What had happened to Sylvia? + +By slow, imperceptible degrees the candle burned lower. The flame was +long and steady. Nearer and nearer it approached that thin green cord +which alone separated me from death. + +Again the serpent hissed and darted forth, angry at being so near its +prey, and yet prevented from striking--angry that its tail was knotted +to the cord. + +I saw it writhing and twisting upon the table, and noted its peculiar +markings of black and yellow. Its eyes were bright and searching. I +had read of the fascination which a snake's gaze exercises over its +prey, and now I experienced it--a fatal fascination. I could not keep +my eyes off the deadly reptile. It watched me intently, as though it +knew full well that ere long it must be victorious. + +Victorious! What did that mean? A sharp, stinging pain, and then an +agonizing, painful death, my head swollen hideously to twice its +size, my body held there in that mechanical vice, suffering all the +tortures of the damned! + +The mere contemplation of that awful fate held me transfixed by +horror. + +Suddenly I heard Sylvia's shriek repeated. I shouted, but no words +came back to me in return. Was she suffering the same fearful agony of +mind as myself? Had those brutes carried out their threat? They knew +she had betrayed them, it seemed, and they had, therefore, taken their +bitter and cowardly revenge. + +Where was Pennington, that he did not rescue her? + +I cursed myself for being such an idiot. Yet I had no idea that such a +cunningly-devised trap could be prepared. I had never dreamed, when I +went forth to pull Jack out of a hole, that I was deliberately placing +my head in such a noose. + +What did it all mean? Why had these men formed this plot against me? +What had I done to merit such deadly vengeance as this?--a torture of +the Middle Ages! + +Vainly I tried to think. As far as I knew, I had never met either +Forbes or Reckitt before in all my life. They were complete strangers +to me. I remembered there had been something about the man-servant who +admitted me that seemed familiar, but what it was, I could not decide. +Perhaps I had seen him before somewhere in the course of my +wanderings, but where, I knew not. + +I recollected that soon after I had entered there I had heard the +sound of a motor-car receding. My waiting taxi had evidently been +paid, and dismissed. + +How would they dispose of my body, I lay wondering? There were many +ways of doing so, I reflected. They might burn it, or bury it, or pack +it in a trunk and consign it to some distant address. When one +remembers how many persons are every year reported to the London +police as missing, one can only believe that the difficulties in +getting rid of the corpse of a victim are not so great as is popularly +imagined. + +Speak with any detective officer of the Metropolitan Police, and, if +he is frank, he will tell you that a good many people meet with foul +play each year in every quarter of London--they disappear and are +never again heard of. Sometimes their disappearance is reported in the +newspapers--a brief paragraph--but in the case of people of the middle +class only their immediate relatives know that they are missing. + +Many a London house with deep basement and a flight of steps leading +to its front door could, if its walls had lips, tell a tragic and +terrible story. + +For one assassination discovered, ten remain unknown or merely vaguely +suspected. + +How many thousands of pounds had these men, Forbes and Reckitt, +secured, I wondered? And how many poor helpless victims had felt the +serpent's fang and breathed their last in that fatal chair I now +occupied? + +A dog howled dismally somewhere at the back. The men had told me that +no sound could be heard beyond those walls, yet had I not heard +Sylvia's shrieks? If I had heard them, then she could also hear me! + +I shouted her name--shouted as loud as I could. But my voice in that +small room somehow seemed dulled and drowned. + +"Sylvia," I shouted, "I am here! I--Owen Biddulph! Where are you?" + +But there was no response. That horrible snake rose erect, looking at +me with its never-wavering gaze. I saw the pointed tongue darting from +its mouth. There--before me--soon to be released, was Death in reptile +form--Death the most revolting and most terrible. + +That silence appalled me. Sylvia had not replied! Was she already +dead--stricken down by the fatal fang? + +I called again: "Sylvia! Sylvia!" + +But there came no answer. I set my teeth, and struggled to free myself +until the veins in my forehead were knotted and my bonds cut into the +flesh. But, alas! I was held as in the tentacles of an octopus. Every +limb was gripped, so that already a numbness had overspread them, +while my senses were frozen with horror. + +Suddenly the lamp failed and died out, and the room was plunged in +darkness, save for the zone of light shed by the unflickering flame of +the candle. And there lay the weird and horrible reptile coiled, +awaiting its release. + +It seemed to watch the lessening candle, just as I myself watched it. + +That sudden failure of the light caused me anxious reflections. + +A moment later I heard the front door bang. That decided me. It was as +I had feared. The pair of scoundrels had departed and left me to my +fate. + +The small marble clock upon the mantelshelf opposite struck three. I +counted the strokes. I had been in that room nearly an hour and a +half. + +How did they know of Jack Marlowe and his penchant for cards? Surely +the trap had been well baited, and devised with marvellous cunning. +That cheque of mine would be cashed at my bank in the morning without +question. I should be dead--and they would be free. + +For myself, I did not care so very much. My chief thought was of +Sylvia, and of the awful fate which had overtaken her because she had +dared to warn me--that fate of which she had spoken so strangely on +the night when we had talked on the hotel terrace at Gardone. + +That moonlit scene--the whole of it--passed through my fevered, +unbalanced brain. I lived those moments of ecstasy over again. I felt +her soft hand in mine. I looked again into those wonderful, fathomless +eyes; I heard that sweet, musical voice; I listened to those solemn +words of warning. I believed myself to be once more beside the +mysterious girl who had come into my life so strangely--who had held +me in fascination for life or death. + +The candle-flame, still straight and unflickering, seemed like a +pillar of fire, while beyond, lay a cavernous blackness. I thought I +heard a slight noise, as though my enemies were lurking there in the +shadow. Yet it was a mere chimera of my overwrought brain. + +I recollected the strange bracelet of Sylvia's--the serpent with its +tail in its mouth--the ancient symbol of Eternity. And I soon would be +launched into Eternity by the poisonous fang of that flat-headed +little reptile. + +Thoughts of Sylvia--that strange, sweet-faced girl of my +dreams--filled my senses. Those shrieks resounded in my ears. She had +cried for help, and yet I was powerless to rescue her from the hands +of that pair of hell-fiends. + +I struggled, and succeeded in moving slightly. + +But the snake, maddened by its bond, struck again at me viciously, his +darting tongue almost touching my shrinking flesh. + +A blood-red mist rose suddenly before my eyes. My head swam. My +overwrought brain, paralyzed by horror, became unbalanced. I felt a +tightness in the throat. In my ears once again I heard the hiss of the +loathsome reptile, a venomous, threatening hiss, as its dark shadow +darted before me, struggling to strike my cheek. + +Through the red mist I saw that the candle burned so low that the edge +of the wax was on a level with the green silk cord, that slender +thread which withheld Death from me. + +I looked again. A groan of agony escaped me. + +Again the angry hiss of the serpent sounded. Again its dark form shot +between my eyes and the unflickering flame of the candle. + +That flame was slowly but surely consuming the cord! + +I shrieked for help in my abject despair. + +The mist grew more red, more impenetrable. A lump arose in my throat, +preventing me from breathing. + +And then I lapsed into the blackness of unconsciousness. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +PRESENTS ANOTHER PROBLEM + + +When, by slow degrees, I became aware of things about me, I found +myself in total darkness, save that, straight before my eyes, some few +feet away, showed a thin, narrow line of light. + +Next second, a flood of the most horrible recollections surged through +my brain. I dare not move a muscle, fearing that the reptile was +lurking near my face. My senses seemed dulled and dazed, yet my +recollections were quite clear. Every detail of those moments of awful +terror stood out clear and fearsome in my mind. + +Slowly, so slow, indeed, as to be imperceptible, I managed to turn my +head aside, and glance at the small table. But it was in darkness. I +could distinguish nothing. To my surprise, I discovered, however, that +though I still remained in that position, my legs higher than my head, +yet the arms of the chair had unclasped, and my bonds had been freed! + +What had happened? + +In fear of bringing the watchful reptile upon me, I moved slightly. +But there was no movement from that table in the darkness. + +I waited, dreading lest I should be suddenly attacked. Then, +summoning courage, I suddenly sprang out of the chair on the side +opposite the table, and dashed across to where showed that narrow +streak of light. + +I saw that it came through the lower crevice of the heavy wooden +shutters. With frantic haste my hands slid over them. I found an iron +bar, and, this unlatched, I threw them back, and let in the broad +light of day. + +For a moment my eyes were dazzled by the sunlight. + +Then, on looking behind me, I saw that upon the table the candle had +burned itself to its socket, while on the floor, near by, lay the +small black reptile stretched out motionless. + +I feared at first to approach it. To its tail the cord was still +attached, but it had been severed. I crept towards it, and, bending +down, realized with great relief that it was dead. + +The leathern collar which had secured my head had been loosened and +the mechanism of the chair reversed, allowing me my freedom. I looked +around the room in wonder. There stood the littered card-table and the +empty glasses of the previous night, while the air was still heavy +with the odour of stale cigars. + +Making quite certain that the reptile was dead, I turned my attention +to the chair, and noted how cleverly the devilish mechanism had been +hidden. It could, as I had suspected, be worked from without. The +victim, once seated there, had no chance whatever of escape. + +In the light of day, the room--that fatal apartment wherein more than +one innocent man had, no doubt, met with a horrible end--looked very +shabby and dingy. The furniture was cheap and tawdry, and the carpet +very dirty. + +There, upon the card-table, stood the ink, while the pen used by +Reckitt lay upon the floor. My wallet lay open near by. I took it up +quickly to glance through its contents. As far as I could discover, +nothing had been taken except the cheque I had written out, believing +I was to assist Jack Marlowe. + +Eagerly I glanced at my watch, and found it was already a quarter past +ten. + +The scoundrels had, no doubt, already been to the bank, cashed my +cheque, and were by this time clear away! + +Remembering Sylvia, I drew my revolver, which still remained in my +hip-pocket, and, finding the door unlocked, went forth to search for +her. The fact that the door was now unlocked showed that some one had +entered there during my unconsciousness, and released me. From the +appearance of the snake, it seemed to have been killed by a sharp blow +across its back. + +Some one had rescued me just in the nick of time. + +I entered the front room on the same floor, the room whence those +woman's screams had emanated. It was a big bare drawing-room, +furnished in the ugly Early Victorian style, musty-smelling and +moth-eaten. The dirty holland blinds fitted badly and had holes in +them; therefore sufficient light was admitted to afford me a good view +of the large apartment. + +There was nothing unusual there, save upon a small work-table lay some +embroidery work, where apparently it had been put down. An open novel +lay near, while close by was a big bowl filled with yellow roses. Yet +the apartment seemed to have been long closed and neglected, while the +atmosphere had a musty odour which was not dispelled by the sweet +perfume of the flowers. + +Had Sylvia been in this room when she had shrieked? + +I saw something upon the floor, and picked it up. It proved to be a +narrow band of turquoise-blue velvet, the ornament from a woman's +hair. Did it belong to her? + +In vain I looked around for a candle--for evidences of the same +mediaeval torture to which I had been submitted, but there were none. + +In fear and trepidation I entered yet another room on the same floor, +but it was dusty and neglected--a kind of sitting-room, or perhaps +boudoir, for there was an old-fashioned high-backed piano in it. Yet +there was no sign that anybody had entered there for weeks--perhaps +for months. In the sunlight, I saw that there were cobwebs everywhere. +Surely it was a very strange house. It struck me that its owner had +perhaps died years ago, and since then it had remained untenanted. +Everywhere the style of furniture was that of sixty years ago, and +thick dust was covering all. + +On entering the previous night I had not noticed this, but now, in the +broad light of day, the place looked very different. I saw, to my +surprise, that the windows had not been cleaned for years, and that +cobwebs hung everywhere. + +Revolver in hand, I searched the place to the basement, but there was +no evidence of occupation. The doors of the kitchens had not, +apparently, been opened for years! + +Upstairs, the bedrooms were old-fashioned, with heavy hangings, grey +with dust, and half hidden by festoons of cobwebs. In not a single +room was a bed that had been slept in. Indeed, I question if any one +had ascended to the second floor for several years! + +As I stood in one of the rooms, gazing round in wonder, and half +suffocated by the dust my footsteps had disturbed, it suddenly +occurred to me that the pair of assassins, believing that I had died, +would, no doubt, return and dispose of my body. To me it seemed +certain that this was not the first occasion that they had played the +dastardly and brutal game. Yes, I felt positive they would return. + +I searched the place to find a telephone, but there was none. The +bogus message sent to me had been sent from elsewhere. + +The only trace of Sylvia I could find was that piece of velvet +ribbon, the embroidery which had so hastily been flung down, and the +bowl of fresh roses. + +Why had she been there? The book and the embroidery showed that she +had waited. For what? That bowl of roses had been placed there to make +the room look fresh, for some attempt had been made to clean the +apartment, just as it had been made in the room wherein I had suffered +such torture. + +Why had Sylvia uttered those screams of horror? I recollected those +words of hers. I recognized her voice. I would, indeed, have +recognized it among the voices of a thousand women. + +I returned to the drawing-room, and gazed around it in wonder. If, as +it seemed, Reckitt and Forbes had taken unlawful possession of an +untenanted house, then it was probable they would not return to get +rid of my remains. The whole affair was incomprehensible. It seemed +evident that Sylvia had not fallen a victim to the vengeance of the +pair, as I had feared, but that perhaps I had owed my life to her. + +Could it be that she had learned of my peril, released me, killed the +venomous reptile, and escaped? + +Suddenly, as my eyes wandered about the dingy old room, I caught sight +of something shining. A golden bangle of curious Indian design was +lying upon the mantelshelf. I took it up, and in a moment recognized +it as one I had seen upon her wrist one evening while she sat at +dinner at Gardone. + +I replaced it, stood for a moment deep in thought, and then, with +sudden resolve, returned to the chamber of horror, obtained my hat, +and, descending the stairs, went forth into Porchester Terrace. + +I had to walk as far as Bayswater Road before I could find a taxi. The +sun was now shining brightly, and there were many people about in the +streets. Finding a cab at last, I told the man to drive with all speed +to my bank in Oxford Street. + +It was just eleven when I went up to the counter to one of the paying +cashiers I knew, and asked him breathlessly if a cheque of mine had +been paid to a person named Reckitt. He saw by my manner that I was in +hot haste. + +"I've cashed it not a moment ago, Mr. Biddulph," was his reply. "Why, +you must have passed the man as you came in! He's only this moment +gone out." + +Without a word I dashed back to the swing-doors, and there, sure +enough, only a few yards away, I caught sight of Forbes, in a smart +grey flannel suit, entering a taxi. I shouted, but the taxi man did +not hear me. He was facing westward, and ere I could attract his +attention he was slowly moving in the direction of the Marble Arch. + +The quick eyes of Forbes had, however, detected me, and, leaning out, +he said something to his driver. Quickly I re-entered my cab, and told +my man to turn and follow, pointing out the taxi in front. Mine was +open, while that in which the assassin sat was closed. + +In his pocket the scoundrel carried over a thousand pounds of my +money. + +My first impulse was to stop and inform a police-constable, but if I +did so I saw that he must escape. I shouted to my driver to try and +see the number of the cab, but there was a lot of traffic, and he was +unable to see it clearly. + +I suppose I must have cut a sorry figure, dishevelled as I was by my +night's weird experience, and covered with the dust of that untenanted +house. What the bank-clerk must have thought, I know not. + +It was an exciting chase. For a moment we were held up by the police +at Regent Circus, for there was much traffic, but only for a brief +space; then we tore after the receding cab at a pace which made many +passers-by stare. The cab in which Forbes was, being closed, the +driver did not see us, but I knew that the assassin was watching us +from the tiny window in the back, and was giving his driver +instructions through the front window. + +My man had entered fully into the spirit of the chase. + +"That fellow in yonder taxi has just stolen a thousand pounds!" I told +him. + +"All right, sir," replied my driver, as he bent over his wheel; "we +shall catch him presently, never fear. I'm keeping my eye upon him all +right." + +There were many taxis coming into the line of traffic from Bond Street +and from the other main thoroughfares crossing Oxford Street--red +taxis, just like the one in which Forbes was escaping. Yet we both +kept our eyes fixed upon that particular one, the driver of which +presently bent sideways, and shot back a glance at us. + +Then he put on speed, and with marvellous dexterity threaded in and +out of the motor-buses and carts in front of him. I was compelled to +admire his driving. I could only suppose that Forbes had offered him +something handsome if he got safely away. + +At the Marble Arch he suddenly turned down Park Lane, where the +traffic was less, and there gaining upon us, he turned into one of the +smaller streets, through Upper Grosvenor Street, winding in and out +the intricate thoroughfares which lay between Grosvenor Square and +Regent Street. Across Hanover Square and along Hanover Street we sped, +until, passing out on to the opposite side of Regent Street, the +driver, evidently believing that he had outwitted us, slowed down, and +then pulled up suddenly before a shop. + +Ere the fugitive could escape, indeed ere the door could be opened, we +had pulled up a few yards away, and I dashed out and up to the door of +the cab, my revolver gripped in my hand. + +My driver had descended also, and gained the other side of the cab +almost as soon as I had. + +I opened the door, and met the fugitive boldly face to face. + +Next second I fell back as though I had received a blow. I stood +aghast. + +I could utter no word. The mystery had, I realized in that second, +been increased a hundredfold. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +FACE TO FACE + + +On opening the door of the taxi I stood amazed to find that the +occupant was not a man--but a woman. + +It was Sylvia! + +She started at sight of me. Her countenance blanched to the lips as +she drew back and sat erect, a cry of dismay escaping her lips. + +"You!" I gasped, utterly dumbfounded. + +"Why--Mr. Biddulph!" she cried, recovering herself in a moment and +stretching forth her small gloved hand; "fancy meeting you like this!" + +What words I uttered I scarcely knew. This sudden transformation of +the scoundrel Forbes into Sylvia Pennington held me bewildered. All I +could imagine was that Sylvia must have been awaiting the man in +another cab close to the bank, and that, in the course of our chase, +we had confused the two taxis. Forbes had succeeded in turning away +into some side street, while we had followed the cab of his companion. + +She had actually awaited him in another cab while he had entered the +bank and cashed the stolen cheque! + +My taxi-driver, when he saw that a lady, and not a man, occupied the +fugitive cab, drew back, returning to his seat. + +"Do you know!" exclaimed the girl, with wonderful calmness, "only +yesterday I was thinking of you, and wondering whether you were in +London!" + +"And only yesterday, too, Miss Pennington, I also was thinking of +you," I said meaningly. + +She was dressed very quietly in dead black, which increased the +fairness of her skin and hair, wearing a big black hat and black +gloves. She was inexpressibly smart, from the thin gauzy veil to the +tips of her tiny patent-leather shoes, with a neat waist and a figure +that any woman might envy. Indeed, in her London attire she seemed +even smarter than she had appeared on the terrace beside the blue +Italian lake. + +"Where is your father?" I managed to ask. + +"Oh!--well, he's away just now. He was with me in London only the +other day," she replied. "But, as you know, he's always travelling." +Then she added: "I'm going into this shop a moment. Will you wait for +me? I'm so pleased to see you again, and looking so well. It seems +really ages since we were at Gardone, doesn't it?" and she smiled that +old sweet smile I so well remembered. + +"I'll wait, of course," I replied, and, assisting her out, I watched +her pass into the big drapery establishment. Then I idled outside amid +the crowd of women who were dawdling before the attractive windows, as +is the feminine habit. + +If it had been she who had rescued me from death and had released me, +what a perfect actress she was. Her confusion had only lasted for a +few seconds. Then she had welcomed me, and expressed pleasure at our +re-encounter. + +I recollected the bow of ribbon-velvet which reposed in my pocket, and +the Indian bangle I had found. I remembered, too, those agonized, +terrified cries in the night--and all the mysteries of that weird and +silent house! + +When she came forth I would question her; I would obtain from her the +truth anent those remarkable happenings. + +Was it of that most ingenious and dastardly plot she had warned me? +Was her own conviction that she must suffer the penalty of death based +upon the knowledge of the deadly instrument, that venomous reptile +used by the assassins? + +Could it be that Pennington himself--her own father--was implicated in +this shameful method of obtaining money and closing the lips of the +victims? + +As I stood there amid the morning bustle of Regent Street out in the +broad sunshine, all the ghastly horrors of the previous night crowded +thickly upon me. Why had she shrieked: "Ah! not that--_not that_!" Had +she, while held prisoner in that old-fashioned drawing-room, been told +of the awful fate to which I had been consigned? + +I remembered how I had called to her, but received no response. And +yet she must have been in the adjoining room. + +Perhaps, like myself, she had fainted. + +I recalled her voice distinctly. I certainly had made no mistake. She +had been actually present in that house of black torture. Therefore, +being my friend, there seemed no doubt that, to her, I owed my +mysterious salvation. But how? Aye, that was the question. + +Suddenly, as I stood there on the crowded pavement, I became conscious +that I was attracting attention. I recollected my dusty clothes and +dirty, dishevelled face. I must have presented a strange, dissipated, +out-all-night appearance. And further, I had lost a thousand pounds. + +Up and down before the long range of shop-windows I walked, patiently +awaiting her reappearance. I was anxious to know the truth concerning +the previous night's happenings--a truth which I intended she should +not conceal from me. + +I glanced at my watch. It was already past eleven o'clock. Morning +shopping in Regent Street had now commenced in real earnest. The +thoroughfare was lined with carriages, for was it not the height of +the London season? + +In and out of the big drapery establishment passed crowds of +well-dressed women, most of them with pet dogs, and others with male +friends led like lambs to the slaughter. The spectacle of a man in +silk hat out shopping with a lady friend is always a pitiable one. His +very look craves the sympathy of the onlooker, especially if he be +laden with soft-paper parcels. + +My brain was awhirl. My only thought was of Sylvia and of her strange +connection with these undesirable persons who had so ingeniously +stolen my money, and who had baited such a fatal trap. + +Anxious as I was to get to a telephone and ring up Jack, yet I could +not leave my post--I had promised to await her. + +Nearly an hour went by; I entered the shop and searched its labyrinth +of "departments." But I could not distinguish her anywhere. Upstairs +and downstairs I went, inquiring here and there, but nobody seemed to +have seen the fair young lady in black; the great emporium seemed to +have swallowed her up. + +It was now noon. Even though she might have been through a +dress-fitting ordeal, an hour was certainly ample time. Therefore I +began to fear that she had missed me. There were several other exits +higher up the street, and also one which I discovered in a side +street. + +I returned to her taxi, for I had already paid off my man. The driver +had not seen his "fare." + +"I was hailed by the lady close to Chapel Street," he said, "and I +drove 'er to Oxford Street, not far from Tottenham Court Road. We +stood at the kerb for about ten minutes. Then she ordered me to drive +with all speed over 'ere." + +"Did you see her speak with any gentleman?" + +"She was with a dark, youngish gentleman when they hailed me. She got +in and left 'im in Chapel Street. I heard 'im say as we went off that +he'd see 'er again soon." + +"That's all you know of her?" + +"Yes, sir. I've never seen 'er before," replied the driver. Then he +added with a smile, "Your man's been tellin' me as how you thought I +had a bank-thief in my cab!" + +"Yes, but I was mistaken," I said. "I must have made a mistake in the +cab." + +"That's very easy, sir. We're so much alike--us red 'uns." + +Sylvia's non-appearance much puzzled me. What could it mean? For +another half-hour--an anxious, impatient, breathless half-hour--I +waited, but she did not return. + +Had she, too, cleverly escaped by entering the shop, and passing out +by another entrance? + +Another careful tour of the establishment revealed the fact that she +certainly was not there. + +And so, after a wait of nearly two hours, I was compelled to accept +the hard and very remarkable fact that she had purposely evaded me, +and escaped! + +Then she was in league with the men who had stolen my thousand pounds! +And yet had not that selfsame man declared that she, having betrayed +him, was to meet the same terrible fate as that prepared for me? + +For a final five minutes I waited; then annoyed, disappointed and +dismayed, entered the taxi, and drove to Wilton Street. + +On entering with my latch-key, Browning came forward with a puzzled +expression, surprised, no doubt, at my dishevelled appearance. + +"I've been very anxious about you, Mr. Owen," exclaimed the old man. I +was always Mr. Owen to him, just as I had been when a lad. "When I +went to your room this morning I found your bed empty. I wondered +where you had gone." + +"I've had a strange adventure, Browning," I laughed, rather forcedly I +fear. "Has Mr. Marlowe rung me up?" + +"No, sir. But somebody else rang up about an hour ago, and asked +whether you were in." + +"Who was it?" + +"I couldn't quite catch the name, sir. It sounded like +Shuffle--something." + +"Shuttleworth!" I cried. "Did he leave any message?" + +"No, sir. He merely asked if you were in--that's all." + +As Sylvia was in London, perhaps Shuttleworth was in town also, I +reflected. Yet she had cleverly made her escape--in order to avoid +being questioned. Her secret was a guilty one! + +I called up Jack, who answered cheerily as usual. + +"You didn't ring me up about one o'clock this morning, did you?" I +inquired. + +"No. Why?" he asked. + +"Oh--well, nothing," I said. "I thought perhaps it might have been +you--that's all. What time shall you be in at White's?" + +"About four. Will you be there?" + +"Yes." + +"Right-ho! Good-bye, old man," and he rang off. + +I ascended to my room, changed my clothes, and made myself +respectable. But during the time I was dressing I reflected whether I +should go to Scotland Yard and relate my strange experience. Such +clever fiends as Reckitt and Forbes deserved punishment. What fearful +crimes had been committed in that weird, neglected house I dreaded to +think. My only hesitation, however, was caused by the thought that +perhaps Sylvia might be implicated. I felt somehow impelled to try and +solve the problem for myself. I had lost a thousand pounds. Yet had I +not fallen into that trap in utter disregard of Sylvia's warning? + +Therefore, I resolved to keep my own counsel for the present, and to +make a few inquiries in order to satisfy my curiosity. So, putting on +a different suit, a different collar, and a soft felt hat which I +never wore, in a perhaps feeble attempt to transform myself from my +usual appearance, I went forth again. + +My first visit was to the bank, where I saw the manager and explained +that the cheque had been stolen from my pocket, though I did not +expose the real facts. Then, after he had condoled with me upon my +loss, and offered to send the description of the thief to the police +at once, I re-entered the taxi, and drove back to Porchester Terrace, +alighting a short distance from Althorp House. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +CONTAINS A FURTHER SURPRISE + + +It was nearly one o'clock, and the sun was high, as I walked beneath +the dingy brick walls which separate each short garden from the +pavement. In some gardens were stunted trees, blackened by the London +smoke, while the houses were mostly large and comfortable, for it is +still considered a "genteel," if somewhat decayed neighbourhood. + +Before that house of horror I paused for a moment. The dingy blinds of +yellow holland were drawn at each of the soot-grimed windows, +blackened by age and dirt. The garden was weedy and neglected, for the +grass grew high on the patch of lawn, and the dead leaves of the +tulips and daffodils of spring had not been removed. + +The whole place presented a sadly neglected, sorry appearance--a state +of uncared-for disorder which, in the darkness of night, I had, of +course, not noticed. + +As I looked within the garden I saw lying behind the wall an old +weather-beaten notice-board which bore the words "To be let, +Furnished," and giving the name of a well-known firm of estate agents +in Pall Mall. + +The house next door was smart and well kept, therefore I resolved to +make inquiry there. + +Of the tall, thin, old man-servant who answered my ring, I inquired +the name of the occupant of Althorp House. + +"Well, sir," he replied, "there hasn't been an occupant since I've +been in service here, and that's ten years last March. An old lady +lived there, I've heard--a rather eccentric old lady. They've tried to +let it furnished, but nobody has taken it. It is said that the old +lady left instructions in her will that the furniture was to be left +just as it was for twenty years after her death. I expect the place +must be fine and dirty! An old woman goes there once every six weeks +or so, I believe, just to open the doors and let in a little air. But +it's never cleaned." + +"And nobody has been over it with a view to renting it?" + +"Not to my knowledge, sir." + +"There's never been anybody going in or out--eh?" + +"Well, I've never seen them, sir," was the man's reply. + +"But there have been people coming and going, have there not?" + +The man hesitated for a moment, apparently slightly puzzled at my +question. + +"Well, sir, to tell the truth, there's been a very funny story about +lately. It is said that some of the old woman's relatives have +returned, and they've been seen going in and out--but always in the +middle of the night." + +"What sort of people?" I asked quickly. + +"Oh! two men and a woman--so they say. But of course I've never seen +anybody. I've asked the constables on night duty, and they've never +seen any one, or they would, no doubt, have reported it." + +"Then who has seen them?" + +"I really don't know. I heard the gossip over in the Royal Oak. How it +originated, or whether it had any foundation in fact, I can't find +out." + +"I see the board has fallen down." + +"Yes, that's been down for a couple of months or more--blown down by +the wind, I suppose." + +"You haven't heard cabs stopping outside at night, for instance?" + +"No, sir. I sleep at the back, and should therefore not hear." + +I could see that he was a little uncertain as to the reason of my +inquiries, therefore I made an excuse that having been struck by the +appearance of the house so long neglected my curiosity had been +aroused. + +"You've never heard of cabs stopping there at night?" I asked, a few +moments later. + +"Well, this morning the cook, who sleeps upstairs in front, funnily +enough, told me a curious story of how in the night a taxi stopped and +a gentleman got out and entered the house. A few minutes later +another man came forth from the house, paid the taxi-driver, and he +moved off. But," laughed the man-servant, "I fancy cook had been +dreaming. I'm going to ask the constable when he comes on duty +to-night if he saw any strangers here." + +I smiled. The man whom the cook saw had evidently been myself. + +Then, after a further chat, I pressed half-a-crown into his ready palm +and left. + +My next visit was to the estate agents in Pall Mall, where, presenting +myself as a possible tenant, the clerk at whose table I had taken a +seat said-- + +"Well, sir, Althorp House is in such a bad, neglected state that we do +not now-a-days send clients to view it. Old Mrs. Carpenter died some +thirteen years ago, and according to her will the place had to be left +undisturbed, and let furnished. The solicitors placed it in our hands, +but the property until the twenty years have elapsed, is quite +untenantable. The whole place has now gone to rack and ruin. We have a +number of other furnished houses which I will be most delighted to +give you orders to view." + +In pretence that I wanted a house I allowed him to select three for +me, and while doing so learnt some further particulars regarding the +dark house in Porchester Terrace. As far as he knew, the story of Mrs. +Carpenter's relatives taking secret possession was a myth. + +The caretaker had been withdrawn two years ago, and the place simply +locked up and left. If burglars broke in, there was nothing of value +for them to take, he added. + +Thus the result of my inquiries went to confirm my suspicion that the +ingenious pair of malefactors had taken possession of the place +temporarily, in order to pursue their nefarious plans. + +There was a garden at the rear. Might it not also be the grave wherein +the bodies of their innocent victims were interred? + +That afternoon, at four, I met Jack Marlowe in White's, and as we sat +in our big arm-chairs gazing through the windows out into the sunshine +of St. James's Street, I asked him whether he would be prepared to +accompany me upon an adventurous visit to a house in Bayswater. + +The long-legged, clean-shaven, clean-limbed fellow with the fairish +hair and merry grey eyes looked askance for a moment, and then +inquired-- + +"What's up, old man? What's the game?" He was always eager for an +adventure, I knew. + +"Well, the fact is I want to look around a house in Porchester +Terrace, that's all. I want to search the garden when nobody's about." + +"Why?" + +"In order to satisfy myself about something." + +"Become an amateur detective--eh, Owen?" + +"Well, my curiosity has certainly been aroused, and I intend to go to +the house late to-night and look round the garden. Will you come?" + +He was one of the best of good fellows, overflowing with good humour +and good nature. His face seemed to wear a perpetual smile of +contentment. + +"Of course. But tell me more," he asked. + +"I will--afterwards," I said. "Let's dine together somewhere, and turn +in at the Empire afterwards. We don't want to get to Bayswater before +midnight, as we mustn't be seen. Don't dress. I'll bring an electric +torch." + +"I've got one. I'll bring mine also," he replied, at once entering +into the spirit of the adventure. "Only you might tell me what's in +the wind, Owen," he added. + +"I'll tell you afterwards, old chap," I promised. + +And then we separated, agreeing to meet at eight at a well-known +restaurant which we often patronized. + +That night, when the curtain fell at the Empire, we both went forth +and strolled along to St. James's Street to get a drink at the club. +The later we went forth on our nocturnal inquiry, the better. + +I recollected that look of terror and astonishment on Forbes's +countenance when his gaze had met mine outside the bank--a look which +showed that he had believed me to be safely out of the way. He had +never dreamed I was still alive! Hence it seemed to me certain that +the pair of malefactors, having secured the money, would at once make +themselves scarce. How, I wondered, could they have known of Jack +Marlowe, unless they had watched us both in secret, as seemed most +likely. + +That they would not return again to that house of horror in Bayswater +seemed certain. + +Towards one o'clock we took a taxi off the stand outside White's and +drove to Porchester Terrace, alighting some distance from our +destination. We passed the constable strolling slowly in the opposite +direction, and when at last we gained the rusty iron gate we both +slipped inside, quietly and unobserved. + +The street lamp in the vicinity lit up the front of the dingy house, +therefore fearing observation from any of the servants next door, we +moved noiselessly in the shadow of the bushes along the side of the +premises, past a small conservatory, many panes of glass of which were +broken, and so into the darkness of the small back garden, which +seemed knee-deep in grass and weeds, and which, from its position, +hemmed in by blank walls, could not be overlooked save from the house +itself. + +All was silence. The scene was weird in the extreme. In the distance +could be heard the faint hum of the never-ceasing traffic of London. +Above, showed the dark windows of that grim old place wherein I had so +nearly lost my life. + +"I want to examine this garden thoroughly," I whispered to Jack, and +then I switched on my torch and showed a light around. A tangle of +weeds and undergrowth was revealed--a tangle so great that to +penetrate it without the use of a bill-hook appeared impossible. + +Still we went forward, examining everywhere with our powerful electric +lights. + +"What will the people say?" laughed Jack. "They'll take us for +burglars, old chap!" + +"The place is empty," I replied. "Our only fear is of the police. To +them we would be compelled to make an explanation--and that's just +what I don't want to do." + +For some time we carefully searched, conversing only in whispers. My +hands were scratched, and stung by nettles, and Jack had his coat +badly torn by thorns. The garden had been allowed to run wild for all +the years since old Mrs. Carpenter's death, and the two ash trees had +spread until their thick branches overshadowed a large portion of the +ground. + +Beneath one of these trees I suddenly halted as an ejaculation escaped +me. Near the trunk, and in such a position that it would not be seen +even from the windows of the house, yawned a hole, and at its side a +mound of newly-dug earth. + +"Ah!" I cried. "This is what I've been in search of!" The discovery +revealed a ghastly truth. I shuddered at the sight of it. + +"What, that hole?" asked Jack, in a low voice as we approached and +peered into it. I judged it to be about three feet or so in depth. +"What a funny thing to search for!" + +"That hole, Jack, was intended for a man's grave!" I whispered +hoarsely, "and the man intended was _myself_!" + +"You!" he gasped. "What do you mean, Owen?" + +"I mean that that grave yonder was dug in order to conceal my dead +body," was my low, meaning answer. "And I fear--fear very much--that +the remains of others who have met with foul play have been concealed +here!" + +"You mean that murder was actually intended!" he exclaimed in +astonishment. "When?" + +"Last night. I was entrapped here and narrowly escaped." + +"How? Tell me all about it," he urged. + +"Later on. Not here," I said. "Let us see if there is any further +evidence of recent digging," and together we examined the ground +beneath the second tree. + +Presently Jack in the course of searching about, came to a spot where +the ground seemed perceptibly softer. My stick sank in, while in other +parts the ground seemed hard. Beneath the trees the weeds and grass +grew thinly, and I presumed that the miscreants could work there under +the canopy of leaves without fear of observation. + +I bent down and carefully examined the surface, which, for about four +feet square, bore plain traces of having recently been moved. + +Something had evidently been interred there. Yet tiny fresh blades of +green were just springing up, as though grass-seed had been sprinkled +over in order to obliterate traces of the recent excavation. + +"What do you think of it?" I inquired of my companion. + +"Well, perhaps somebody has really been buried here--eh?" he said. +"Don't you think you ought to go and tell the police at once?" + +I was silent, in bewilderment. + +"My own opinion is, Owen, that if a serious attempt has been made upon +you, and you really suspect that that hole yonder was prepared to +receive you, then it is your duty to tell the police. Others may fall +into the trap," Jack added. + +"Not here," I said. "The assassins will not return, never fear. They +know of their failure in my case, and by this time they are, in all +probability, out of the country." + +"But surely we ought to examine this spot and ascertain whether the +remains of any one is concealed here!" exclaimed my old friend. + +Yet I still hesitated, hesitated because I feared that any exposure +must implicate that sweet little girl who, though my friend, had so +ingeniously escaped me. + +At the same moment, however, our ears both caught a slight movement +among the tangled shrubs under the wall at the extreme end of the +garden. Instantly we shut off our lamps, and stood motionless, +listening. + +At first I believed it to be only the scrambling of a cat. But next +second Jack nudged my arm, and straining my eyes I saw a dark figure +moving stealthily along, half crouching so as to be less conspicuous, +but moving slowly towards that side of the house which was the only +exit. + +Fearing discovery there, our examination being so thorough, the +intruder was slowly creeping off, endeavouring to escape observation. + +For an instant I remained motionless, watching the dark, crouching +figure. Then, drawing my revolver, I made a dash straight in its +direction. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +WHAT THE POLICE KNEW + + +As I pushed my way through the tangle of weeds and undergrowth, Jack +followed closely at my heels. + +The dark figure leapt away in an instant, and dashed round the corner +by the ruined conservatory, but I was too quick for him. I caught him +up when he gained the front of the house, and there, in the light of +the street-lamp, my eyes fell upon a strange-looking object. + +He proved to be a ragged, hunchbacked youth, so deformed as to be +extremely ugly, both in face and figure. His hair, long and lank, hung +about his shoulders, while his dark eyes stood out in terror when I +ordered him to halt, and covered him with my shining weapon. + +His was the most weird figure that I had seen for many a day. I judged +him to be about eighteen or nineteen, though he looked older. His legs +were short, his head seemed far too big for his crooked body, while +his arms were long and ape-like, and his fingers thin, like talons. + +"Now then, what are you doing here?" I demanded in a firm, commanding +voice. + +But he only quivered, and crouched against the wall like a whipped +dog. + +"Speak!" I said. "Who are you?" + +He gave vent to a loud, harsh laugh, almost a screech, and then +grinned horribly in my face. + +"Who are you?" I repeated. "Where do you live?" + +But though his mouth moved, as though he replied, no sound escaped +him. + +I spoke again, but he only laughed wildly, his thin fingers twitching. + +"Ho! ho! ho!" he ejaculated, pointing back to the neglected garden. + +"I wonder what he means!" exclaimed Jack. + +"Why, I believe he's an idiot!" I remarked. + +"He has every appearance of one," declared my companion, who then +addressed him, with the same negative result. + +Again the weird, repulsive youth pointed back to the garden, and, +laughing hideously, uttered some words in gibberish which were quite +unintelligible. + +"If we remain here chattering, the constable will find us," I +remarked, so we all three went forth into the street, the ugly +hunchback walking at my side, quite tractable and quiet. + +Presently, unable to gather a single intelligible sentence from him, +Jack and I resolved to leave him, and afterwards follow him and +ascertain where he lived. + +Why had he pointed to the garden and laughed so hilariously? Had he +witnessed any of those nocturnal preparations--or interments? + +At last, at the corner of Bishop's Road, we wished him farewell and +turned away. Then, at a respectable distance, we drew into a gateway +to watch. He remained standing where we had left him for some ten +minutes or so, until a constable slowly approached, and, halting, +began to chat to him. + +Apparently he was a well-known figure, for we could hear the policeman +speaking, and could distinguish the poor fellow laughing that queer, +harsh, discordant laugh--the laugh of the idiot. + +Presently the constable moved forward again, whereupon I said-- + +"I'll get on and have a chat with the policeman, Jack. You follow the +hunchback if he moves away." + +"Right-ho," replied my friend, while I sped off, crossing the road and +making a detour until I met the constable. + +Having wished him good-night, I inquired the identity of the deformed +youth. + +"Oh, sir," he laughed, "that's Mad 'Arry. 'E's quite 'armless. 'E's +out most nights, but we never see 'im in the day, poor chap. I've +known 'im ever since he was about nine." + +"Does no work, I suppose?" + +"None. 'Ow can 'e? 'E's as mad as a hatter, as the sayin' goes," +replied the constable, his thumbs hitched in his belt as he stood. + +"A kind of midnight wanderer, eh?" + +"Yes, 'e's always a-pryin' about at night. Not long ago 'e found +burglars in a 'ouse in Gloucester Terrace, and gave us the alarm. We +copped four of 'em. The magistrate gave 'im a guinea out o' the +poor-box." + +"Ah! so he's of use to you?" + +"Yes, sir, 'e's most intelligent where there's any suspicious +characters about. I've often put 'im on the watch myself." + +"Then he's not quite insane?" + +"Not on that point, at any rate," laughed the officer. + +"Where does he live?" + +"'Is father's a hackney-carriage driver, and 'e lives with 'im up in +Gloucester Mews, just at the back of Porchester Mews--I don't know if +you know it?" + +I was compelled to confess ignorance of the locality, but he directed +me. + +"Are you on night-duty in Porchester Terrace, constable?" I asked a +few moments later. + +"Yes, sir, sometimes. Why?" + +"You know Althorp House, of course?" + +"Yes, the 'aunted 'ouse, as some people call it. Myself, I don't +believe in ghosts." + +"Neither do I," I laughed, "but I've heard many funny stories about +that place. Have you ever heard any?" + +"Lots, sir," replied the man. "We're always being told of strange +things that 'ave 'appened there, yet when we 'ave a look around we +never find anything, so we've ceased to trouble. Our inspector's +given us orders not to make any further inquiries, 'e's been worried +too often over idle gossip." + +"What's the latest story afloat concerning the place?" I asked. "I'm +always interested in mysteries of that sort." + +"Oh, I 'eard yesterday that somebody was seen to get out of a taxi-cab +and enter. And 'e 'asn't been seen to come forth again." + +"That's curious," I said. "And haven't you looked over the place?" + +"I'm not on duty there. Perhaps my mate 'as. I don't know. +But, funnily enough," added the officer, "Mad 'Arry has been +tellin' me something about it a moment ago--something I can't +understand--something about the garden. I suppose 'e's been a-fancyin' +something or other. Everybody seems to see something in the garden, or +at the windows. Why, about a week ago, a servant from one of the +'ouses in the Terrace came up to me at three o'clock in the afternoon, +in broad daylight, and said as how she'd distinctly seen at the +drawin'-room window the face of a pretty, fair-haired girl a-peerin' +through the side of the dirty blind. She described the girl, too, and +said that as soon as she saw she was noticed the inmate of the place +drew back instantly." + +"A fair-haired girl!" I exclaimed, quickly interested. + +"Yes; she described her as wearin' a black velvet band on her hair." + +"And what did you do?" I asked anxiously. + +"Why, nothing. I've 'eard too many o' them kind o' tales before." + +"Yes," I said reflectively. "Of course all kinds of legends and +rumours must naturally spring up around a house so long closed." + +"Of course. It's all in people's imagination. I suppose they'll say +next that a murder's been committed in the place!" he laughed. + +"I suppose so," I said, and then, putting a shilling in his hand, +wished him good-night, and passed along. + +Jack and the idiot had gone, but, knowing the direction they had +taken--for the youth was, no doubt, on his way home--I was not long +before I caught up my friend, and then together we retraced our steps +towards the Bayswater Road, in search of a taxi. + +I could not forget that curious statement that a girl's face had been +seen at the drawing-room window--a fair-headed girl with a band of +black velvet in her hair. + +Could it have been Sylvia Pennington? + +It was past three o'clock in the morning before I retraced my steps to +Wilton Street. We were unable to find a cab, therefore we walked down +Park Lane together. + +On the way Jack had pressed me to tell him the reason of my visit to +that weird house and the circumstances in which my life had been +attempted. For the present, however, I refused to satisfy his +curiosity. I promised him I would tell him the whole facts of the +case some day. + +"But why are you at home now?" he asked. "I can't really make you out +lately, Owen. You told me you hated London, and preferred life on the +Continent, yet here you are, back again, and quite settled down in +town!" + +"Well, a fellow must come here for the London season sometimes," I +said. "I feel that I've been away far too long, and am a bit out of +touch with things. Why, my tailor hardly knew me, and the hall-porter +at White's had to look twice before he realized who I was." + +"But there's some attraction which has brought you to London," he +declared. "I'm sure there is!" + +It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him how cleverly the two +scoundrels had used his name wherewith to entrap me on the previous +night. But I refrained. Instead, I asked-- + +"Have you ever met two men named Reckitt and Forbes, Jack?" + +"Not to my knowledge," was his prompt reply. "Who are they? What are +they like?" + +I gave him a minute description of both, but he apparently did not +recognize them. + +"I suppose you've never met a fellow called Pennington--eh? A +stoutish, dark-haired man with a baldish head and a reddish face?" + +"Well," he replied thoughtfully, "I've met a good many men who might +answer to that description. What is he?" + +"I don't exactly know. I've met him on the Continent." + +"And I suppose some people one meets at Continental hotels are +undesirables, aren't they?" he said. + +I nodded in the affirmative. + +Then I asked-- + +"You've never known a person named Shuttleworth--Edmund Shuttleworth? +Lives at a little village close to Andover." + +"Shuttleworth!" he echoed, looking straight into my face. "What do you +know of Edmund Shuttleworth?" he asked quickly. + +"Very little. Do you know him?" + +"Er--well--no, not exactly," was his faltering reply, and I saw in his +slight hesitation an intention to conceal the actual knowledge which +he possessed. "I've heard of him--through a friend of mine--a lady +friend." + +"A lady! Who's she?" I inquired quickly. + +"Well," he laughed a trifle uneasily, "the fact is, old chap, perhaps +it wouldn't be fair to tell the story. You understand?" + +I was silent. What did he mean? In a second the allegation made by +that pair of scoundrels recurred to me. They had declared that Sylvia +had been in a house opposite, and that my friend had fallen in love +with her. + +Yet he had denied acquaintanceship with Pennington! + +No doubt the assassins had lied to me, yet my suspicions had been +aroused. Jack had admitted his acquaintance with the thin-faced +village rector--he knew of him through a woman. Was that woman Sylvia +herself? + +From his manner and the great curiosity he evinced, I felt assured +that he had never known of Althorp House before. Reckitt and Forbes +had uttered lies when they had shown me that photograph, and told me +that she was beloved by my best friend. It had been done to increase +my anger and chagrin. Yet might there not, after all, have been some +foundation in truth in what they had said? The suggestion gripped my +senses. + +Again I asked him to tell me the lady's name. + +But, quite contrary to his usual habit of confiding in me all his most +private affairs, he steadfastly refused. + +"No, my dear old chap," he replied, "I really can't tell you that. +Please excuse me, but it is a matter I would rather not discuss." + +So at the corner of Piccadilly we parted, for it was now broad +daylight, and while he returned to his rooms, I walked down Grosvenor +Place to Wilton Street, more than ever puzzled and confounded. + +Was I a fool, that I loved Sylvia Pennington with such an +all-absorbing passion? + +It was strangely true, as Shuttleworth had declared, the grave lay as +a gulf between us. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +THE WORD OF A WOMAN + + +A week went by--a week of keen anxiety and apprehension. + +Jack had spoken the truth when he had declared that it was my duty to +go to Scotland Yard and reveal what I had discovered regarding that +dark house in Bayswater. + +Yet somehow I felt that any such action on my part must necessarily +reflect upon my fair-haired divinity, that sweet, soft-spoken girl who +had warned me, and who, moreover, was my affinity. + +Had you found yourself in such a position, how would you have acted? + +Remember that, notwithstanding the veil of mystery which overspread +Sylvia Pennington, I loved her, and tried to conceal the truth from +myself a hundred times, but it was impossible. She had warned me, and +I, unfortunately, had not heeded. I had fallen into a trap, and +without a doubt it had been she who had entered and rescued me from a +fate most horrible to contemplate. + +I shuddered when I lived that hour of terror over again. I longed once +more to see that pale, sweet, wistful face which was now ever in my +dreams. Had not Shuttleworth told me that the grave lay between my +love and myself? And he had spoken the truth! + +Jack met me at the club daily, but he only once referred to our +midnight search and the gruesome discovery in the neglected garden. + +Frequently it crossed my mind that Mad Harry might have watched there +unseen, and witnessed strange things. How many men reported to the +police as missing had been interred in that private burying-ground of +the assassins! I dreaded to think of it. + +In vain I waited for Mr. Shuttleworth to call again. He had inquired +if I were at home, and, finding me absent, had gone away. + +I therefore, a week later, made it an excuse to run down to Andover +and see him, hoping to obtain from him some further information +regarding Sylvia. + +The afternoon was bright and warm, and the country looked its best, +with the scent of new-mown hay in the air, and flowers everywhere, as +I descended from the station fly and walked up the rectory garden to +the house. + +The maid admitted me to the study, saying that Mr. Shuttleworth was +only "down the paddock," and would be back in a few minutes. And as I +seated myself in the big, comfortable arm-chair, I saw, straight +before me, in its frame the smiling face of the mysterious woman I +loved. + +Through the open French windows came the warm sunlight, the song of +the birds, and the drowsy hum of the insects. The lawn was marked for +tennis, and beyond lay the paddock and the dark forest-border. + +I had remained there some few minutes, when suddenly I heard a quick +footstep in the hall outside; then, next moment, the door was opened, +and there, upon the threshold, stood Sylvia herself. + +"You!" she gasped, starting back. "I--I didn't know you were here!" +she stammered in confusion. + +She was evidently a guest there, and was about to pass through the +study into the garden. Charming in a soft white ninon gown and a big +white hat, she held a tennis-racket in her hand, presenting a pretty +picture framed by the dark doorway. + +"Sylvia!" I cried, springing forward to her in joy, and catching her +small white trembling hand in mine. "Fancy you--here!" + +She held her breath, suffering me to lead her into the room and to +close the door. + +"I had no idea you were here," I said. "I--lost you the other day in +Regent Street--I----" + +She made a quick gesture, as though she desired me to refrain from +referring to that incident. I saw that her cheeks were deadly pale, +and that in her face was an expression of utter confusion. + +"This meeting," she said slowly in a low voice, "is certainly an +unexpected one. Mr. Shuttleworth doesn't know you are here, does he?" + +"No," I replied. "He's down in the paddock, I believe." + +"He has been called out suddenly," she said. "He's driven over to +Clatford with Mrs. Shuttleworth." + +"And you are here alone?" I exclaimed quickly. + +"No. There's another guest--Elsie Durnford," she answered. "But," she +added, her self-possession at once returning, "but why are you here, +Mr. Biddulph?" + +"I wanted to see Mr. Shuttleworth. Being a friend of yours, I believed +that he would know where you were. But, thank Heaven, I have found you +at last. Now," I said, smiling as I looked straight into her +fathomless eyes, "tell me the truth, Miss Pennington. I did not lose +you the other morning--on the contrary, you lost me--didn't you?" + +Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she gave vent to a nervous little +laugh. + +"Well," she answered, after a moment's hesitation, "to tell the truth, +I did. I had reasons--important ones." + +"I was _de trop_--eh?" + +She shrugged her well-formed shoulders, and smiled reproachfully. + +"But why?" I asked. "When I found you, it was under very curious +circumstances. A man--a thief--had just cashed a cheque of mine for a +thousand pounds, and made off with the proceeds--and----" + +"Ah! please do not refer to it, Mr. Biddulph!" she exclaimed quickly, +laying her slim fingers upon my arm. "Let us speak of something +else--anything but that." + +"I have no wish to reproach you, Miss Pennington," I hastened to +assure her. "The past is to me of the past. That man has a thousand +pounds of mine, and he's welcome to it, so long as----" and I +hesitated. + +"So long as what?" she asked in a voice of trepidation. + +"So long as you are alive and well," I replied in slow, meaning tones, +my gaze fixed immovably on hers. "In Gardone you expressed fear for +your own safety, but so long as you are still safe I have no care as +to what has happened to myself." + +"But----" + +"I know," I went on, "the ingenious attempt upon my life of which you +warned me has been made by those two scoundrels, and I have narrowly +escaped. To you, Miss Pennington, I owe my life." + +She started, and lowered her eyes. Apparently she could not face me. +The hand I held trembled within my grasp, and I saw that her white +lips quivered. + +For a few seconds a silence fell between us. Then slowly she raised +her eyes to mine again, and said-- + +"Mr. Biddulph, this is an exceedingly painful subject to me. May we +not drop it? Will you not forget it--if you really are my friend?" + +"To secure your further friendship, I will do anything you wish!" I +declared. "You have already proved yourself my friend by rescuing me +from death," I added. + +"How do you know that?" she asked quickly. + +"Because you were alone with me in that house of death in Bayswater. +It was you who killed the hideous reptile and who severed the bonds +which held me. They intended that I should die. My grave had already +been prepared. Cannot you tell me the motive of that dastardly +attack?" I begged of her. + +"Alas! I cannot," she said. "I warned you when at Gardone that I knew +what was intended, but of the true motive I was, and am still, +entirely ignorant. Their motives are always hidden ones." + +"They endeavoured to get from me another thousand pounds," I +exclaimed. + +"It is well that you did not give it to them. The result would have +been just the same. They intended that you should die, fearing lest +you should inform the police." + +"And you were outside the bank with Forbes when he cashed my cheque!" +I remarked in slow tones. + +"I know," she answered hoarsely. "I know that you must believe me to +be their associate, perhaps their accomplice. Ah! well. Judge me, Mr. +Biddulph, as you will. I have no defence. Only recollect that I warned +you to go into hiding--to efface yourself--and you would not heed. You +believed that I only spoke wildly--perhaps that I was merely an +hysterical girl, making all sorts of unfounded assertions." + +"I believed, nay, I knew, Miss Pennington, that you were my friend. +You admitted in Gardone that you were friendless, and I offered you +the friendship of one who, I hope, is an honest man." + +"Ah! thank you!" she cried, taking my hand warmly in hers. "You have +been so very generous, Mr. Biddulph, that I can only thank you from +the bottom of my heart. It is true an attempt was made upon you, but +you fortunately escaped, even though they secured a thousand pounds of +your money. Yet, had you taken my advice and disappeared, they would +soon have given up the chase." + +"Tell me," I urged in deep earnestness, "others have been entrapped in +that dark house--have they not? That mechanical chair--that devilish +invention--was not constructed for me alone." + +She did not answer, but I regarded her silence as an affirmative +response. + +"Your friends at least seem highly dangerous persons," I said, +smiling. "I've been undecided, since discovering that my grave was +already prepared, whether to go to Scotland Yard and reveal the whole +game." + +"No!" she cried in quick apprehension. "No, don't do that. It could +serve no end, and would only implicate certain innocent +persons--myself included." + +"But how could you be implicated?" + +"Was I not at the bank when the cheque was cashed?" + +"Yes. Why were you there?" I asked. + +But she only excused herself from replying to my question. + +"Ah!" she cried wildly a moment later, clutching my arm convulsively, +"you do not know my horrible position--you cannot dream what I have +suffered, or how much I have sacrificed." + +I saw that she was now terribly in earnest, and, by the quick rising +and falling of the lace upon her bodice, I knew that she was stirred +by a great emotion. She had refused to allow me to stand her friend +because she feared what the result might be. And yet, had she not +rescued me from the serpent's fang? + +"Sylvia," I cried, "Sylvia--for I feel that I must call you by your +Christian name--let us forget it all. The trap set by those +blackguards was most ingenious, and in innocence I fell into it. I +should have lost my life--except for you. You were present in that +house of death. They told me you were there--they showed me your +picture, and, to add to my horror, said that you, their betrayer, were +to share the same fate as myself." + +"Yes, yes, I know!" she cried, starting. "Oh, it was all too +terrible--too terrible! How can I face you, Mr. Biddulph, after that!" + +"My only desire is to forget it all, Sylvia," was my low and quiet +response. "It was all my fault--my fault, for not heeding your +warning. I never realized the evil machinations of those unknown +enemies. How should I? As far as I know, I had never set eyes upon +them before." + +"You would have done wiser to have gone into hiding, as I suggested," +she remarked quietly. + +"Never mind," I said cheerily. "It is all past. Let us dismiss it. +There is surely no more danger--now that I am forearmed." + +"May they not fear your reprisals?" she exclaimed. "They did not +intend that you should escape, remember." + +"No, they had already prepared my grave. I have seen it." + +"That grave was prepared for both of us," she said in a calm, +reflective voice. + +"Then how did you escape?" I inquired, with curiosity. + +"I do not know. I can only guess." + +"May I not know?" I asked eagerly. + +"When I have confirmed my belief, I will tell you," she replied. + +"Then let us dismiss the subject. It is horrible, gruesome. Look how +lovely and bright the world is outside. Let us live in peace and in +happiness. Let us turn aside these grim shadows which have lately +fallen upon us." + +"Ah!" she exclaimed, with a sigh, "you are indeed generous to me, Mr. +Biddulph. But could you be so generous, I wonder, if you knew the +actual truth? Alas! I fear you would not. Instead of remaining my +friend, you would hate me--just--just as I hate myself!" + +"Sylvia," I said, placing my hand again tenderly upon her shoulder +and trying to calm her, and looking earnestly into her blue, wide-open +eyes, "I shall never hate you. On the contrary, let me confess, now +and openly," I whispered, "let me tell you that I--I love you!" + +She started, her lips parted at the suddenness of my impetuous +declaration, and stood for a moment, motionless as a statue, pale and +rigid. + +Then I felt a convulsive tremor run through her, and her breast heaved +and fell rapidly. She placed her hand to her heart, as though to calm +the rising tempest of emotion within her. Her breath came and went +rapidly. + +"Love me!" she echoed in a strange, hoarse tone. "Ah! no, Mr. +Biddulph, no, a thousand times no! You do not know what you are +saying. Recall those words--I beg of you!" + +And I saw by her hard, set countenance and the strange look in her +eyes that she was deadly in earnest. + +"Why should I recall them?" I cried, my hand still upon her shoulder. +"You are not my enemy, Sylvia, even though you may be the friend of my +enemies. I love you, and I fear nothing--nothing!" + +"Hush! Do not say that," she protested very quietly. + +"Why?" + +"Because--well, because even though you have escaped, they----" and +she hesitated, her lips set as though unable to articulate the truth. + +"They what?" I demanded. + +"Because, Mr. Biddulph--because, alas! I know these men only too well. +You have triumphed; but yours is, I fear, but a short-lived victory. +They still intend that you shall die!" + +"How do you know that?" I asked quickly. + +"Listen," she said hoarsely. "I will tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +THE DEATH KISS + + +Sylvia sank into a chair, while I stood upon the hearth-rug facing +her, eager to hear her explanation. + +Her hands were clasped as she raised her wonderful blue eyes to mine. +Yes, her beauty was perfect--more perfect than any I had ever seen in +all my wandering, erratic life. + +"Why do those men still intend that I shall die?" I asked. "Now that I +know the truth I shall remain wary." + +"Ah, yes," she responded. "But they will take you unawares. You do not +know the devilish cunning and ingenuity of such men as they, who live +upon their wits, and are utterly unscrupulous." + +"Well, what do they now intend?" I asked, much interested, for it +seemed that she knew very much more than she would admit. + +"You have escaped," she said, looking straight into my face. "They +naturally fear that you will tell the police." + +"I shall not do that--not at present, at least," I replied. "I am +keeping my own counsel." + +"Yes. But cannot you see that while you live you are a menace to their +dastardly plans? They dare not return to that deserted house in +Bayswater." + +"Where are they now?" + +"Abroad, I believe. They always take care to have an outlet for +escape," she answered. "Ah! you don't know what a formidable +combination they are. They snap their fingers at the police of +Europe." + +"What? Then you really admit that there have been other victims?" I +exclaimed. + +"I have no actual knowledge," she declared, "only suspicions." + +"Why are you friendly with them?" I asked. "What does your father say +to such acquaintances?" + +"I am friendly only under compulsion," she answered. "Ah! Mr. +Biddulph, you cannot know how I hate the very sight or knowledge of +those inhuman fiends. Their treatment of you is, in itself, sufficient +proof of their pitiless plans." + +"Tell me this, Sylvia," I said, after a second's pause. "Have you any +knowledge of a man--a great friend of mine--named Jack Marlowe?" + +Her face changed. It became paler, and I saw she was slightly +confused. + +"I--well, I believe we met once," she said. "His father lives +somewhere down in Devonshire." + +"Yes," I said quickly. "What do you know of him?" + +"Nothing. We met only once." + +"Where?" + +"Well--our meeting was under rather curious circumstances. He is your +friend, therefore please pardon me if I do not reply to your +question," was her vague response. + +"Then what do you anticipate from those men, Reckitt and Forbes?" I +asked. + +"Only evil--distinct evil," she replied. "They will return, and strike +when you least expect attack." + +"But if I do not go to the police, why should they fear me? They are +quite welcome to the money they have stolen--so long as they allow me +peace in the future." + +"Which I fear they will not do," replied the girl, shaking her head. + +"You speak very apprehensively," I said. "What is there really to +fear? Perhaps it would be best if I went to the police at once. They +would then dig over that neglected garden and reveal its secrets." + +"No!" she cried again, starting wildly from her chair as though in +sudden terror. "I beg of you not to do that, Mr. Biddulph. It would +serve no purpose, and only create a great sensation. But the culprits +would never be brought to justice. They are far too clever, and their +conspiracies are too far-reaching. No, remain patient. Take the +greatest care of your own personal safety--and you may yet be able to +combat your enemies with their own weapons." + +"I shall be able, Sylvia--providing that you assist me," I said. + +She held her breath, and remained silent. She evidently feared them. + +I tried to obtain from her some details of the occurrences of that +night of horror, but she refused to satisfy my curiosity. Apparently +she feared to incriminate herself. Could it be possible that she had +only learnt at the last moment that it was I who was embraced in the +next room by that fatal chair! + +Yet it was all so puzzling, so remarkable. Surely a girl with such a +pure, open, innocent face could not be the accomplice of dastardly +criminals! She was their friend. That much she had admitted to me. But +her friendship with them was made under compulsion. She urged me not +to go to the police. Why? + +Did she fear that she herself would be implicated in a series of dark +and terrible crimes? + +"Where is your father?" I inquired presently. + +"In Scotland," was her prompt reply. "I heard from him at the +Caledonian Hotel, at Edinburgh, last Friday. I am staying here with +Mr. Shuttleworth until his return." + +Was it not strange that she should be guest of a quiet-mannered +country parson, if she were actually the accomplice of a pair of +criminals! I felt convinced that Shuttleworth knew the truth--that he +could reveal a very remarkable story--if he only would. + +"Your father is a friend of Mr. Shuttleworth--eh?" I asked. + +She nodded in the affirmative. Then she stood with her gaze fixed +thoughtfully upon the sunlit lawn outside. + +Mystery was written upon her fair countenance. She held a dread secret +which she was determined not to reveal. She knew of those awful +crimes committed in that dark house in Bayswater, but her intention +seemed to be to shield at all hazards her dangerous "friends." + +"Sylvia," I said tenderly at last, again taking her hand in mine, "why +cannot you be open and frank with me?" She allowed her hand to lie +soft and inert in mine, sighing the while, her gaze still fixed beyond +as though her thoughts were far away. "I love you," I whispered. +"Cannot you see how you puzzle me?--for you seem to be my friend at +one moment, and at the next the accomplice of my enemies." + +"I have told you that you must never love me, Mr. Biddulph," was her +low reply, as she withdrew her hand slowly, but very firmly. + +"Ah! no," I cried. "Do not take offence at my words. I'm aware that +I'm a hopeless blunderer in love. All I know, Sylvia, is that my only +thought is of you. And I--I've wondered whether you, on your part, can +ever entertain a spark of affection for me?" + +She was silent, her white lips pressed close together, a strange +expression crossing her features. Again she held her breath, as though +what I had said had caused her great surprise. Then she answered-- + +"How can you love me? Am I not, after all, a mere stranger?" + +"I know you sufficiently well," I cried, "to be aware that for me +there exists no other woman. I fear I'm a blunt man. It is my nature. +Forgive me, Sylvia, for speaking the truth, but--well, as a matter of +fact, I could not conceal the truth any longer." + +"And you tell me this, after--after all that has happened!" she +faltered in a low, tremulous voice, as I again took her tiny hand in +mine. + +"Yes--because I truly and honestly love you," I said, "because ever +since we have met I have found myself thinking of you--recalling +you--nay, dreaming of happiness at your side." + +She raised her splendid eyes, and looked into mine for a moment; then, +sighing, shook her head sadly. + +"Ah! Mr. Biddulph," she responded in a curious, strained voice, +"passion may be perilously misleading. Ask yourself if you are not +injudicious in making this declaration--to a woman like myself?" + +"Why?" I cried. "Why should it be injudicious? I trust you, +because--because I owe my life to you--because you have already proved +yourself my devoted little friend. What I beg and pray is that your +friendship may, in course of time, ripen into love--that you may +reciprocate my affection--that you may really love me!" + +A slight hardness showed at the corners of her small mouth. Her eyes +were downcast, and she swallowed the lump that arose in her throat. + +She was silent, standing rigid and motionless. + +Suddenly a great and distressing truth occurred to me. Did she believe +that I pitied her? I hoped not. Any woman of common sensibility would +almost die of shame at the thought of being loved out of pity; and, +what is more, she would think none the better of the man who pitied +her. The belief that "pity melts the heart to love" is an unfounded +one. + +So I at once endeavoured to remove the wrong impression which I feared +I had conveyed. + +What mad, impetuous words I uttered I can scarcely tell. I know that I +raised her soft white hand to my lips and kissed it fervently, +repeating my avowal and craving a word of hope from her lips. + +But she again shook her head, and with sadness responded in a low, +faltering tone-- + +"It is quite impossible, Mr. Biddulph. Leave me--let us forget all you +have said. It will be better thus--far better for us both. You do not +know who or what I am; you----" + +"I do not know, neither do I care!" I cried passionately. "All I know, +Sylvia, is that my heart is yours--that I have loved only once in my +life, and it is now!" + +Her slim fingers played nervously with the ribbon upon her cool summer +gown, but she made no response. + +"I know I have not much to recommend me," I went on. "Perhaps I am too +hulking, too English. You who have lived so much abroad are more used, +no doubt, to the elegant manners and the prettily turned compliments +of the foreigner than the straight speech of a fellow like myself. Yet +I swear that my only thought has been of you, that I love you with all +my heart--with all my soul." + +I caught her hand and again looked into her eyes, trying to read what +response lay hidden in their depths. + +I felt her tremble. For a moment she seemed unable to reply. The +silence was unbroken save for the drowsy hum of the insects in the +summer heat outside, while the sweet perfume of the flowers filled our +nostrils. In the tension of those moments each second seemed an hour. +You who have experienced the white heat of the love-flame can only +know my eager, breathless apprehension, the honest whole-heartedness +of my declaration. Perhaps, in your case, the flames are all burnt +out, but even now you can tell of the white core and centre of fire +within you. Years may have gone, but it still remains--the sweet +memory of your well-beloved. + +"Tell me, Sylvia," I whispered once more. "Tell me, will you not break +down this strange invisible barrier which you have set up between us? +Forget the past, as I have already forgotten it--and be mine--my own!" + +She burst into tears. + +"Ah!" she cried. "If I only could--if I only dared!" + +"Will you not dare to do it--for my sake?" I asked very quietly. "Will +you not promise to be mine? Let me stand your friend--your champion. +Let me defend you against your enemies. Let me place myself beside you +and defy them." + +"Ah, no!" she gasped, "not to defy them. Defiance would only bring +death--death to both of us!" + +"Your love, Sylvia, would mean life and happiness, not death--to +me--to both of us!" I cried. "Will you not give me your promise? Let +our love be in secret, if you so desire--only let us love each other. +Promise me!" I cried, my arm stealing around her narrow waist. +"Promise me that you will try and love me, and I, too, will promise to +be worthy of your affection." + +For a moment she remained silent, her handsome head downcast. + +Then slowly, with a sweet love-look upon her beautiful countenance, +she raised her face to mine, and then for the first time our lips met +in a fierce and passionate caress. + +Thus was our solemn compact sealed. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +OF THINGS UNMENTIONABLE + + +I remained in that cosy, book-lined den for perhaps an hour--one whole +hour of sweet, delightful ecstasy. + +With her fair head buried upon my shoulder she shed tears of joy, +while, time after time, I smothered her white brow with my kisses. Ah! +yes, I loved her. I closed my eyes to all. I put away all my dark +suspicions, and lived only for the present in the knowledge that +Sylvia was mine--_mine!_ + +My hot, fevered declarations of affection caused her to cling to me +more closely, yet she uttered but few words, and those half-incoherent +ones, overcome as she was by a flood of emotion. She seemed to have +utterly broken down beneath the great strain, and now welcomed the +peace and all-absorbing happiness of affection. Alone and friendless, +as she had admitted herself to be, she had, perhaps, longed for the +love of an honest man. At least, that is what I was egotistical enough +to believe. Possibly I might have been wrong, for until that moment I +had ever been a confirmed bachelor, and had but little experience of +the fantastic workings of a woman's mind. + +Like so many other men of my age, I had vainly believed myself to be +a philosopher. Yet are not philosophers merely soured cynics, after +all? And I certainly was neither cynical nor soured. Therefore my +philosophy was but a mere ridiculous affectation to which so many men +and women are prone. + +But in those moments of ecstasy I abandoned myself entirely to love, +imprinting lingering, passionate kisses upon her lips, her closed +eyes, her wide white brow, while she returned my caresses, smiling +through her hot tears. + +Presently, when she grew calmer, she said in a low, sweet voice-- + +"I--hardly know whether this is wise. I somehow fear----" + +"Fear what?" I asked, interrupting her. + +"I fear what the future may hold for us," she answered. "Remember I--I +am poor, while you are wealthy, and----" + +"What does that matter, pray? Thank Heaven! I have sufficient for us +both--sufficient to provide for you the ordinary comforts of life, +Sylvia. I only now long for the day, dearest, when I may call you +wife." + +"Ah!" she said, with a wistful smile, "and I, too, shall be content +when I can call you husband." + +And so we sat together upon the couch, holding each other's hand, and +speaking for the first time not as friends--but as lovers. + +You who love, or who have loved, know well the joyful, careless +feeling of such moments; the great peace which overspreads the mind +when the passion of affection burns within. + +Need I say more, except to tell you that our great overwhelming love +was mutual, and that our true hearts beat in unison? + +Thus the afternoon slipped by until, of a sudden, we heard a girl's +voice call: "Sylvia! Sylvia!" + +We sprang apart. And not a moment too soon, for next second there +appeared at the French windows the tall figure of a rather pretty +dark-haired girl in cream. + +"I--I beg your pardon!" she stammered, on recognizing that Sylvia was +not alone. + +"This is Mr. Biddulph," exclaimed my well-beloved. "Miss Elsie +Durnford." + +I bowed, and then we all three went forth upon the lawn. + +I found Sylvia's fellow-guest a very quiet young girl, and understood +that she lived somewhere in the Midlands. Her father, she told me, was +very fond of hunting, and she rode to hounds a good deal. + +We wandered about the garden awaiting Shuttleworth's return, for both +girls would not hear of me leaving before tea. + +"Mr. and Mrs. Shuttleworth are certain to be back in time," Sylvia +declared, "and I'm sure they'd be horribly annoyed if you went away +without seeing them." + +"Do you really wish me to stay?" I asked, with a laugh, as we halted +beneath the shadow of the great spreading cedar upon the lawn. + +"Of course we do," declared Elsie, laughing. "You really must remain +and keep us company, Mr. Biddulph. Sylvia, you know, is quite a +stranger. She's always travelling now-a-days. I get letters from her +from the four corners of the earth. I never know where to write so as +to catch her." + +"Yes," replied my well-beloved, with a slight sigh. "When we were at +school at Eastbourne I thought it would be so jolly to travel and see +the world, but now-a-days, alas! I confess I'm already tired of it. I +would give anything to settle down quietly in the beautiful country in +England--the country which is incomparable." + +"You will--one day," I remarked meaningly. + +And as she lifted her eyes to mine she replied-- + +"Perhaps--who knows?" + +The village rector returned at last, greeting me with some surprise, +and introducing his wife, a rather stout, homely woman, who bore +traces of good looks, and who wore a visiting gown of neat black, for +she had been paying a call. + +"I looked in to see you the other day in town, Mr. Biddulph," he said. +"But I was unfortunate. Your man told me you were out. He was not rude +to me this time," he added humorously, with a laugh. + +"No," I said, smiling. "He was profuse in his apologies. Old servants +are sometimes a little trying." + +"Yes, you're right. But he seems a good sort. I blame myself, you +know. He's not to blame in the least." + +Then we strolled together to a tent set beneath the cedar, whither the +maid had already taken the tea and strawberries, and there we sat +around gossiping. + +Afterwards, when Shuttleworth rose, he said-- + +"Come across to my study and have a smoke. You're not in a great hurry +to get back to town. Perhaps you'll play a game of tennis presently?" + +I followed him through the pretty pergola of roses, back into the +house, and when I had seated myself in the big old arm-chair, he gave +me an excellent cigar. + +"Do you know, Mr. Biddulph," he said after we had been smoking some +minutes, "I'm extremely glad to have this opportunity of a chat with +you. I called at Wilton Street, because I wished to see you." + +"Why?" I asked. + +"Well, for several reasons," was his slow, earnest reply. His face +looked thinner, more serious. Somehow I had taken a great fancy to +him, for though a clergyman, he struck me as a broad-minded man of the +world. He was keen-eyed, thoughtful and earnest, yet at the same time +full of that genuine, hearty bonhomie so seldom, alas! found in +religious men. The good fellowship of a leader appeals to men more +than anything else, and yet somehow it seems always more apparent in +the Roman Catholic priest than in the Protestant clergyman. + +"The reason I called to-day was because I thought you might wish to +speak to me," I said. + +He rose and closed the French windows. Then, re-seating himself, he +removed his old briar pipe from his lips, and, bending towards me in +his chair, said very earnestly-- + +"I wonder whether I might presume to say something to you strictly in +private, Mr. Biddulph? I know that I ought not to interfere in your +private affairs--yet, as a minister of religion, I perhaps am a +slightly privileged person in that respect. At least you will, I +trust, believe in my impartiality." + +"Most certainly I do, Mr. Shuttleworth," I replied, somewhat surprised +at his manner. + +"Well, you recollect our conversation on the last occasion you were +here?" he said. "You remember what I told you?" + +"I remember that we spoke of Miss Sylvia," I exclaimed, "and that you +refused to satisfy my curiosity." + +"I refused, because I am not permitted," was his calm rejoinder. + +"Since I saw you," I said, "a dastardly attempt has been made upon my +life. I was enticed to an untenanted house in Bayswater, and after a +cheque for a thousand pounds had been obtained from me by a trick, I +narrowly escaped death by a devilish device. My grave, I afterwards +found, was already prepared." + +"Is this a fact!" he gasped. + +"It is. I was rescued--by Sylvia herself." + +He was silent, drawing hard at his pipe, deep in thought. + +"The names of the two men who made the dastardly attempt upon me were +Reckitt and Forbes--friends of Sylvia Pennington," I went on. + +He nodded. Then, removing his pipe, exclaimed-- + +"Yes. I understand. But did I not warn you?" + +"You did. But, to be frank, Mr. Shuttleworth, I really did not follow +you then. Neither do I now." + +"Have I not told you, my dear sir, that I possess certain knowledge +under vow of absolute secrecy--knowledge which it is not permitted to +me, as a servant of God, to divulge." + +"But surely if you knew that assassination was contemplated, it was +your duty to warn me." + +"I did--but you took no heed," he declared. "Sylvia warned you also, +when you met in Gardone, and yet you refused to take her advice and go +into hiding!" + +"But why should an innocent, law-abiding, inoffensive man be compelled +to hide himself like a fugitive from justice?" I protested. + +"Who can fathom human enmity, or the ingenious cunning of the +evil-doer?" asked the grey-faced rector quite calmly. "Have you never +stopped to wonder at the marvellous subtlety of human wickedness?" + +"Those men are veritable fiends," I cried. "Yet why have I aroused +their animosity? If you know so much concerning them, Mr. +Shuttleworth, don't you think that it is your duty to protect your +fellow-creatures?--to make it your business to inform the police?" I +added. + +"Probably it is," he said reflectively. "But there are times when +even the performance of one's duty may be injudicious." + +"Surely it is not injudicious to expose the methods of such +blackguards!" I cried. + +"Pardon me," he said. "I am compelled to differ with that opinion. +Were you in possession of the same knowledge as myself, you too, +would, I feel sure, deem it injudicious." + +"But what is this secret knowledge?" I demanded. "I have narrowly +escaped being foully done to death. I have been robbed, and I feel +that it is but right that I should now know the truth." + +"Not from me, Mr. Biddulph," he answered. "Have I not already told you +the reason why no word of the actual facts may pass my lips?" + +"I cannot see why you should persist in thus mystifying me as to the +sinister motive of that pair of assassins. If they wished to rob me, +they could have done so without seeking to take my life by those +horrible means." + +"What means did they employ?" he asked. + +Briefly and vividly I explained their methods, as he sat silent, +listening to me to the end. He evinced neither horror nor surprise. +Perhaps he knew their mode of procedure only too well. + +"I warned you," was all he vouchsafed. "Sylvia warned you also." + +"It is over--of the past, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, rising from my +chair. "I feel confident that Sylvia, though she possessed knowledge +of what was intended, had no hand whatever in it. Indeed, so +confident am I of her loyalty to me, that to-day--yes, let me confess +it to you--for I know you are my friend as well as hers, to-day, +here--only an hour ago, I asked Sylvia to become my wife." + +"Your wife!" he gasped, starting to his feet, his countenance pale and +drawn. + +"Yes, my wife." + +"And what was her answer?" he asked dryly, in a changed tone. + +"She has consented." + +"Mr. Biddulph," he said very gravely, looking straight into my face, +"this must never be! Have I not already told you the ghastly +truth?--that there is a secret--an unmentionable secret----" + +"A secret concerning her!" I cried. "What is it? Come, Mr. +Shuttleworth, you shall tell me, I demand to know!" + +"I can only repeat that between you and Sylvia Pennington there still +lies the open gulf--and that gulf is, indeed, the grave. In your +ignorance of the strange but actual facts you do not realize your own +dread peril, or you would never ask her to become your wife. Abandon +all thought of her, I beg of you," he urged earnestly. "Take this +advice of mine, for one day you will assuredly thank me for my +counsel." + +"I love her with all the strength of my being, and for me that is +sufficient," I declared. + +"Ah!" he cried in despair as he paced the room. "To think of the irony +of it all! That you should actually woo her--of all women!" Then, +halting before me, his eye grew suddenly aflame, he clenched his +hands and cried: "But you shall not! Understand me, you shall hate +her; you shall curse her very name. You shall never love +her--never--I, Edmund Shuttleworth, forbid it! It must not be!" + +At that instant the _frou-frou_ of a woman's skirts fell upon my ears, +and, turning quickly, I saw Sylvia herself standing at the open French +windows. + +Entering unobserved she had heard those wild words of the rector's, +and stood pale, breathless, rigid as a statue. + +"There!" he cried, pointing at her with his thin, bony finger. "There +she is! Ask her yourself, now--before me--the reason why she can never +be your wife--the reason that her love is forbidden! If she really +loves you, as she pretends, she will tell you the truth with her own +lips!" + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +FORBIDDEN LOVE + + +I stood before Shuttleworth angry and defiant. + +I had crossed to Sylvia and had taken her soft hand. + +"I really cannot see, sir, by what right you interfere between us!" I +cried, looking at him narrowly. "You forbid! What do I care--why, +pray, should you forbid my actions?" + +"I forbid," repeated the thin-faced clergyman, "because I have a +right--a right which one day will be made quite plain to you." + +"Ah! Mr. Shuttleworth," gasped Sylvia, now pale as death, "what are +you saying?" + +"The truth, my child. You know too well that, for you, love and +marriage are forbidden," he exclaimed, looking at her meaningly. + +She sighed, and her tiny hand trembled within my grasp. Her mouth +trembled, and I saw that tears were welling in her eyes. + +"Ah! yes," she cried hoarsely a moment later. "I know, alas! that I am +not like other women. About me there have been forged bonds of +steel--bonds which I can never break." + +"Only by one means," interrupted Shuttleworth, terribly calm and +composed. + +"No, no!" she protested quickly, covering her face with her hands as +though in shame. "Not that--never that! Do not let us speak of it!" + +"Then you have no right to accept this man's love," he said +reproachfully, "no right to allow him to approach nearer the brink of +the grave than he has done. You know full well that, for him, your +love must prove fatal!" + +She hung her head as though not daring to look again into my eyes. The +strange clergyman's stern rebuke had utterly confused and confounded +her. Yet I knew she loved me dearly. That sweet, intense love-look of +hers an hour ago could never be feigned. It spoke far more truly than +mere words. + +Perhaps she was annoyed that I had told Shuttleworth the truth. Yes, I +had acted very foolishly. My tongue had loosened involuntarily. My +wild joy had led me into an injudicious confession--one that I had +never dreamed would be fraught with sorrow. + +"Mr. Shuttleworth," I said at last, "please do not distress yourself +on my account. I love Sylvia, and she has promised to be mine. If +disaster occurs, then I am fully prepared to meet it. You seem in +close touch with this remarkable association of thieves and assassins, +or you would hardly be so readily aware of their evil intentions." + +"Ah!" he responded, with a slight sigh, "you are only speaking in +ignorance. If you were aware of the true facts, you would, on the +contrary, thank me for revealing the peril in which love for this +young lady will assuredly place you." + +"But have I not already told you that I am fearless? I am prepared to +meet this mysterious peril, whatever it is, for her sake!" I +protested. + +A curious, cynical smile overspread his grey, ascetic face. + +"You speak without knowledge, my dear sir," he remarked. "Could I but +reveal the truth, you would quickly withdraw that assertion. You +would, indeed, flee from this girl as you would from the plague!" + +"Well," I said, "your words are at least very remarkable, sir. One +would really imagine Miss Pennington to be a hell-fiend--from your +denunciation." + +"You mistake me. I make no denunciation. On the other hand, I am +trying to impress upon you the utter futility of your love." + +"Why should you do that? What is your motive?" I asked quickly, trying +to discern what could be at the back of this man's mind. How strange +it was! Hitherto I had rather liked the tall, quiet, kind-mannered +country rector. Yet he had suddenly set himself out in open antagonism +to my plans--to my love! + +"My motive," he declared, "is to protect the best interests of you +both. I have no ends to serve, save those of humanity, Mr. Biddulph." + +"You urged Miss Pennington to make confession to me. You implied that +her avowal of affection was false," I said, with quick indignation. + +"I asked her to confess--to tell you the truth, because I am unable so +to do," was his slow reply. "Ah! Mr. Biddulph," he sighed, "if only +the real facts could be exposed to you--if only you could be told the +ghastly, naked truth." + +"Why do you say all this, Mr. Shuttleworth?" protested Sylvia in a +low, pained voice. "Why should Mr. Biddulph be mystified further? If +you are determined that I should sacrifice myself--well, I am ready. +You have been my friend--yet now you seem to have suddenly turned +against me, and treat me as an enemy." + +"Only as far as this unfortunate affair is concerned, my child," he +said. "Remember my position--recall all the past, and put to yourself +the question whether I have not a perfect right to forbid you to +sacrifice the life of a good, honest man like the one before you," he +said, his clerical drawl becoming more accentuated as he spoke. + +"Rubbish, my dear sir," I laughed derisively. "Put aside all this cant +and hypocrisy. It ill becomes you. Speak out, like a man of the world +that you are. What specific charge do you bring against this lady? +Come, tell me." + +"None," he replied. "Evil is done through her--not by her." + +And she stood silent, unable to protest. + +"But can't you be more explicit?" I cried, my anger rising. "If you +make charges, I demand that you shall substantiate them. Recollect all +that I have at stake in this matter." + +"I know--your life," he responded. "Well, I have already told you what +to expect." + +"Sylvia," I said, turning to the pale girl standing trembling at my +side, "will you not speak? Will you not tell me what all this means? +By what right does this man speak thus? Has he any right?" + +She was silent for a few moments. Then slowly she nodded her head in +an affirmative. + +"What right has he to forbid our affection?" I demanded. "I love you, +and I tell you that no man shall come between us!" + +"He alone has a right, Owen," she said, addressing me for the first +time by my Christian name. + +"What right?" + +But she would not answer. She merely stood with head downcast, and +said-- + +"Ask him." + +This I did, but the thin-faced man refused to reply. All he would say +was-- + +"I have forbidden this fatal folly, Mr. Biddulph. Please do not let us +discuss it further." + +I confess I was both angry and bewildered. The mystery was hourly +increasing. Sylvia had admitted that Shuttleworth had a right to +interfere. Yet I could not discern by what right a mere friend could +forbid a girl to entertain affection. I felt that the ever-increasing +problem was even stranger and more remarkable than I had anticipated, +and that when I fathomed it, it would be found to be utterly +astounding! + +Sylvia was unwavering in her attachment to myself. Her antagonism +towards Shuttleworth's pronouncement was keen and bitter, yet, with +her woman's superior judgment, she affected carelessness. + +"You asked this lady to confess," I said, addressing him. "Confess +what?" + +"The truth." + +Then I turned to my well-beloved and asked-- + +"What is the truth? Do you love me?" + +"Yes, Owen, I do," was her frank and fervent response. + +"I did not mean that," said Shuttleworth hastily. "I meant the truth +concerning yourself." + +"Mr. Biddulph knows what I am." + +"But he does not know who you are." + +"Then you may tell him," was her hoarse reply. "Tell him!" she cried +wildly. "Tear from me all that I hold sacred--all that I hold most +dear--dash me back into degradation and despair--if you will! I am in +your hands." + +"Sylvia!" he said reproachfully. "I am your friend--and your father's +friend. I am not your enemy. I regret if you have ever thought I have +lifted a finger against you." + +"Are you not standing as a barrier between myself and Mr. Biddulph?" +she protested, her eyes flashing. + +"Because I see that only misfortune--ah! death--can arise. You know +full well the promise I have made. You know, too, what has been told +me in confidence, because--because my profession happens to be what it +is--a humble servant of God." + +"Yes," she faltered, "I know--I know! Forgive me if I have spoken +harshly, Mr. Shuttleworth. I know you are my friend--and you are +Owen's. Only--only it seems very hard that you should thus put this +ban upon us--you, who preach the gospel of truth and love." + +Shuttleworth drew a deep breath. His thin lips were pursed; his grey +eyebrows contracted slightly, and I saw in his countenance a +distinctly pained expression. + +"I have spoken with all good intention, Sylvia," he said. "Your love +for Mr. Biddulph must only bring evil upon both of you. Surely you +realize that?" + +"Sylvia has already realized it," I declared. "But we have resolved to +risk it." + +"The risk is, alas! too great," he declared. "Already you are a marked +man. Your only chance of escape is to take Sylvia's advice and to go +into hiding. Go away--into the country--and live in some quiet, remote +village under another name. It is your best mode of evading disaster. +To remain and become the lover of Sylvia Pennington is, I tell you, +the height of folly--it is suicide!" + +"Let it be so," I responded in quiet defiance. "I will never forsake +the woman I love. Frankly, I suspect a hidden motive in this +suggestion of yours; therefore I refuse to accept it." + +"Not to save your own life?" + +"Not even to save my life. This is surely my own affair." + +"And hers." + +"I shall protect Sylvia, never fear. I am not afraid. Let our enemies +betray their presence by sign or word, and I will set myself out to +combat them. They have already those crimes in Bayswater to account +for. And they will take a good deal of explaining away." + +"Then you really intend to reveal the secret of that house in +Porchester Terrace?" he asked, not without some apprehension. + +"My enemies, you say, intend to plot and encompass my death. Good! +Then I shall take my own means of vindication. Naturally I am a quiet, +law-abiding man. But if any enemy rises against me without cause, then +I strike out with a sledgehammer." + +"You are hopeless," he declared. + +"I am, where my love is concerned," I admitted. "Sylvia has promised +to-day that she will become my wife. The future is surely our own +affair, Mr. Shuttleworth--not yours!" + +"And if her father forbids?" he asked quite quietly, his eyes fixed +straight upon my well-beloved. + +"Let me meet him face to face," I said in defiance. "He will not +interfere after I have spoken," I added, with confidence. "I, perhaps, +know more than you believe concerning him." + +Sylvia started, staring at me, her face blanched in an instant. The +scene was tragic and painful. + +"What do you know?" she asked breathlessly. + +"Nothing, dearest, which will interfere with our love," I reassured +her. "Your father's affairs are not yours, and for his doings you +cannot be held responsible." + +She exchanged a quick glance with Shuttleworth, I noticed. + +Then it seemed as though a great weight were lifted from her mind by +my words, for, turning to me, she smiled sweetly, saying-- + +"Ah! how can I thank you sufficiently? I am helpless and defenceless. +If I only dared, I could tell you a strange story--for surely mine is +as strange as any ever printed in the pages of fiction. But Mr. +Shuttleworth will not permit it." + +"You may speak--if you deem it wise," exclaimed the rector in a +strangely altered voice. He seemed much annoyed at my open defiance. +"Mr. Biddulph may as well, perhaps, know the truth at first as at +last." + +"The truth!" I echoed. "Yes, tell me the truth," I begged her. + +"No," she cried wildly, again covering her fair face with her hands. +"No--forgive me. I can't--_I can't!_" + +"No," remarked Shuttleworth in a strange, hard, reproachful tone, and +with a cruel, cynical smile upon his lips. "You cannot--for it is too +hideous--too disgraceful--too utterly scandalous! It is for that +reason I forbid you to love!" + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +THE MAN IN GOLD PINCE-NEZ + + +For a whole month our engagement was kept a profound secret. + +Only Shuttleworth and his wife knew. The first-named had been +compelled to bow to the inevitable, and for him, it must be said that +he behaved splendidly. Sylvia remained his guest, and on several days +each week I travelled down from Waterloo to Andover and spent the warm +summer hours with her, wandering in the woods, or lounging upon the +pretty lawn of the old rectory. + +The rector had ceased to utter warnings, yet sometimes I noticed a +strange, apprehensive look upon his grave countenance. Elsie Durnford +still remained there, and she and Sylvia were close friends. + +Through those four happy weeks I had tried to get into communication +with Mr. Pennington. I telegraphed to an address in Scotland which +Sylvia had given me, but received no reply. I then telegraphed to the +Caledonian Hotel in Edinburgh, and then learned, with considerable +surprise, that nobody named Pennington was, or had been, staying +there. + +I told Sylvia this. But she merely remarked-- + +"Father is so erratic in his movements that he probably never went to +Edinburgh, after all. I have not heard from him now for a full week." + +I somehow felt, why, I cannot well explain, that she was rather +disinclined to allow me to communicate with Pennington. Did she fear +that he might forbid our marriage? + +Without seeing him or obtaining his consent, I confess I did not feel +absolute security. The mystery surrounding her was such a curious and +complicated one that the deeper I probed into it, the more complex did +it appear. + +Some few days later, in reply to my question, she said that she had +heard from her father, who was at the Midland Grand Hotel in +Manchester. He would not, however, be in London for two or three +weeks, as he was about to leave in two days' time, by way of Hook of +Holland, for Berlin, where he had business. + +Therefore, early the following morning, I took train to Manchester, +and made inquiry at the big hotel. + +"We have no gentleman of that name here, sir," replied the smart +reception clerk, referring to his list. "He hasn't arrived yet, I +expect. A lady was asking for a Mr. Pennington yesterday--a French +lady." + +"You don't know the name, then?" + +He replied in the negative. + +"No doubt he is expected, if the lady called to see him?" + +"No doubt, sir. Perhaps he'll be here to-day." + +And with that, I was compelled to turn disappointed away. I wandered +into the restaurant, and there ate my lunch alone. The place was +crowded, as it always is, mostly by people interested in cotton and +its products, for it is, perhaps, one of the most cosmopolitan hotels +in the whole kingdom. Sick of the chatter and clatter of the place, I +paid my bill and passed out into the big smoking-lounge to take my +coffee and liqueur and idle over the newspaper. + +I was not quite certain whether to remain there the night and watch +for Pennington's arrival, or to return to London. As a matter of fact, +so certain had I been of finding him that I had not brought a +suit-case. + +I suppose I had been in the lounge half-an-hour or so, when I looked +up, and then, to my surprise, saw Pennington, smartly dressed, and +looking very spruce for his years, crossing from the bureau with a +number of letters in his hand. It was apparent that he had just +received them from the mail-clerk. + +And yet I had been told that he was not staying there! + +I held my paper in such position as to conceal my face while I watched +his movements. + +He halted, opened a telegram, and read it eagerly. Then, crushing it +in his hand with a gesture of annoyance, he thrust it into his jacket +pocket. + +He was dressed in a smart dark grey suit, which fitted him perfectly, +a grey soft felt hat, while his easy manner and bearing were those of +a gentleman of wealth and leisure. He held a cigar between his +fingers, and, walking slowly as he opened one of the letters, he +presently threw himself into one of the big arm-chairs near me, and +became absorbed in his correspondence. + +There was a waste-paper basket near, and into this he tossed something +as valueless. One of the letters evidently caused him considerable +annoyance, for, removing his hat, he passed his hand slowly over his +bald head as he sat staring at it in mystification. Then he rang the +bell, and ordered something from a waiter. A liqueur of brandy was +brought, and, tossing it off at a gulp, he rose, wrote a telegram at +the table near him, and went quickly out. + +After he had gone I also rose, and, without attracting attention, +crossed, took up another paper, and then seated myself in the chair he +had vacated. + +My eye was upon the waste-paper basket, and when no one was looking I +reached out and took therefrom a crumpled blue envelope--the paper he +had flung away. + +Smoothing it out, I found that it was not addressed to him, but to +"Arnold Du Cane, Esq., Travellers' Club, Paris," and had been +re-directed to this hotel. + +This surprised me. + +I rose, and, crossing to the mail-clerk, asked-- + +"You gave some letters and a telegram to a rather short gentleman in +grey a few minutes ago. Was that Mr. Du Cane?" + +"Yes, sir," was the reply. "He went across yonder into the lounge." + +"You know him--eh?" + +"Oh yes, sir. He's often been here. Not lately. At one time, however, +he was a frequent visitor." + +And so Sylvia's father was living there under the assumed name of +Arnold Du Cane! + +For business purposes names are often assumed, of course. But +Pennington's business was such a mysterious one that, even against my +will, I became filled with suspicion. + +I resolved to wait and catch him on his return. He had probably only +gone to the telegraph office. Had Sylvia wilfully concealed the fact +that her father travelled under the name of Du Cane, in order that I +should not meet him? Surely there could be no reason why she should +have done so. + +Therefore I returned to a chair near the entrance to the +smoking-lounge, and waited in patience. + +My vigil was not a long one, for after ten minutes or so he +re-entered, spruce and gay, and cast a quick glance around, as though +in search of somebody. + +I rose from my chair, and as I did so saw that he regarded me +strangely, as though half conscious of having met me somewhere before. + +Walking straight up to him, I said-- + +"I believe, sir, that you are Mr. Pennington?" + +He looked at me strangely, and I fancied that he started at mention of +the name. + +"Well, sir," was his calm reply, "I have not the pleasure of knowing +you." I noted that he neither admitted that he was Pennington, nor did +he deny it. + +"We met some little time ago on the Lake of Garda," I said. "I, +unfortunately, did not get the chance of a chat with you then. You +left suddenly. Don't you recollect that I sat alone opposite you in +the restaurant of the Grand at Gardone?" + +"Oh yes!" he laughed. "How very foolish of me! Forgive me. I thought I +recognized you, and yet couldn't, for the life of me, recall where we +had met. How are you?" and he put out his hand and shook mine warmly. +"Let's sit down. Have a drink, Mr.--er. I haven't the pleasure of your +name." + +"Biddulph," I said. "Owen Biddulph." + +"Well, Mr. Biddulph," he said in a cheery way, "I'm very glad you +recognized me. I'm a very bad hand at recollecting people, I fear. +Perhaps I meet so many." And then he gave the waiter an order for some +refreshment. "Since I was at Gardone I've been about a great deal--to +Cairo, Bucharest, Odessa, and other places. I'm always travelling, you +know." + +"And your daughter has remained at home--with Mr. Shuttleworth, near +Andover," I remarked. + +He started perceptibly at my words. + +"Ah! of course. The girl was with me at Gardone. You met her there, +perhaps--eh?" + +I replied in the affirmative. It, however, struck me as strange that +he should refer to her as "the girl." Surely that was the term used by +one of his strange motoring friends when he kept that midnight +appointment on the Brescia road. + +"I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Sylvia," I went on. "And more, we +have become very firm friends." + +"Oh!" he exclaimed, opening his eyes widely. "I'm delighted to hear +it." + +Though his manner was so open and breezy, I yet somehow detected a +curious sinister expression in his glance. He did not seem exactly at +his ease in my presence. + +"The fact is, Mr. Pennington," I said, after we had been chatting for +some time, "I have been wanting to meet you for some weeks past. I +have something to say to you." + +"Oh! What's that?" he asked, regarding me with some surprise. "I +suppose Sylvia told you that I was in Manchester, and you came here to +see me--eh? This was not a chance meeting--was it?" + +"Not exactly," I admitted. "I came here from London expressly to have +a chat with you--a confidential chat." + +His expression altered slightly, I thought. + +"Well?" he asked, twisting his cigar thoughtfully in his fingers. +"Speak; I'm listening." + +For a second I hesitated. Then, in a blundering way, blurted forth-- + +"The fact is, Mr. Pennington, I love Sylvia! She has promised to +become my wife, and I am here to beg your consent." + +He half rose from his chair, staring at me in blank amazement. + +"What?" he cried. "Sylvia loves you--a perfect stranger?" + +"She does," was my calm response. "And though I may be a stranger to +you, Mr. Pennington, I hope it may not be for long. I am not without +means, and I am in a position to maintain your daughter properly, as +the wife of a country gentleman." + +He was silent for a few moments, his brows knit thoughtfully, his eyes +upon the fine ring upon his well-manicured hand. + +"What is your income?" he asked quite bluntly, raising his keen eyes +to mine. + +I told him, giving him a few details concerning my parentage and my +possessions. + +"And what would you be prepared to settle on my daughter, providing I +gave my consent? Have you thought of that matter?" + +I confessed that I had not, but that I would be ready, if she so +desired, to settle upon her twenty thousand pounds. + +"And that wouldn't cripple you--eh?" + +"No, I'm pleased to say it would not. I have kept my inheritance +practically intact," I added. + +"Well, I must first hear what Sylvia has to say," he said; then he +added airily, "I suppose you would make over the greater part of your +estate to her, in case of your death? And there are life assurances, +of course? One never knows what may happen, you know. Pardon me for +speaking thus frankly. As a father, however, it is my duty to see that +my daughter's future is safeguarded." + +"I quite understand all that," I replied, with a smile. "Of course, +Sylvia would inherit all I could legally bequeath to her, and as for +life assurances, I would insure myself for what sum you suggest." + +"You are young," he said. "Insure for ten thousand. The premiums would +be not so very heavy." + +"As you wish," I replied. "If I carry out your desires, I understand +that I have your consent to pay my attentions to Sylvia?" + +"If what you tell me proves, on inquiry, to be the truth, Mr. +Biddulph, I shall have the greatest pleasure in welcoming you as my +son-in-law. I can't say more," he replied. "Here's my hand," and as I +took his, he gripped me heartily. "I confess I like you now," he +added, "and I feel sure I shall like you more when I know more +concerning you." + +Then he added, with a laugh-- + +"Oh, by the way, I'm not known here as Pennington, but as Du Cane. The +fact is, I had some unfortunate litigation some time ago, which led to +bankruptcy, and so, for business reasons, I'm Arnold Du Cane. You'll +understand, won't you?" he laughed. + +"Entirely," I replied, overjoyed at receiving Pennington's consent. +"When shall we meet in London?" + +"I'll be back on the 10th--that's sixteen days from now," he replied. +"I have to go to Brussels, and on to Riga. Tell Sylvia and dear old +Shuttleworth you've seen me. Give them both my love. We shall meet +down at Middleton, most certainly." + +And so for a long time we chatted on, finishing our cigars, I +replying to many questions he put to me relative to my financial and +social position--questions which were most natural in the +circumstances of our proposed relationship. + +But while we were talking a rather curious incident arrested my +attention. Pennington was sitting with his back to the door of the +lounge, when, among those who came and went, was a rather stout +foreigner of middle age, dressed quietly in black, wearing a gold +pince-nez, and having the appearance of a French business man. + +He had entered the lounge leisurely, when, suddenly catching sight of +Sylvia's father, he drew back and made a hurried exit, apparently +anxious to escape the observation of us both. + +So occupied was my mind with my own affairs that the occurrence +completely passed from me until that same night, when, at ten o'clock, +on descending the steps of White's and proceeding to walk down St. +James's Street in the direction of home, I suddenly heard footsteps +behind me, and, turning, found, to my dismay, the Frenchman from +Manchester quietly walking in the same direction. + +This greatly mystified me. The broad-faced foreigner in gold +pince-nez, evidently in ignorance that I had seen him in Manchester, +must have travelled up to London by the same train as myself, and must +have remained watching outside White's for an hour or more! + +Why had the stranger so suddenly become interested in me? + +Was yet another attempt to be made upon me, as Shuttleworth had so +mysteriously predicted? + +I was determined to show a bold front and defy my enemies; therefore, +when I had crossed Pall Mall against St. James's Palace, I suddenly +faced about, and, meeting the stranger full tilt, addressed him before +he could escape. + +Next moment, alas! I knew that I had acted injudiciously. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +THE MAN IN THE STREET + + +I had asked the Frenchman, rather angrily I fear, why he was following +me, whereat he merely bowed with the exquisite politeness of his race, +and replied in good English-- + +"I was not aware of following m'sieur. I regret extremely if I have +caused annoyance. I ask a thousand pardons." + +"Well, your surveillance upon me annoys me," I declared abruptly. "I +saw you spying upon me in Manchester this afternoon, and you have +followed me to London!" + +"Ah, yes," he replied, with a slight gesticulation; "it is true that I +was in Manchester. But our meeting here must be by mere chance. I was +unaware that monsieur was in Manchester," he assured me in a suave +manner. + +"Well," I said in French, "yours is a very lame story, monsieur. I saw +you, and you also saw me talking to Mr. Pennington in the Midland +Hotel. Perhaps you'll deny that you know Mr. Pennington--eh?" + +"I certainly do not deny that," he said, with a smile. "I have known +Monsieur Penning-ton for some years. It is true that I saw him at the +Midland." + +"And you withdrew in order to escape his observation--eh?" + +"Monsieur has quick eyes," he said. "Yes, that is quite true." + +"Why?" + +"For reasons of my own." + +"And you deny having followed me here?" + +He hesitated for a second, looking straight into my face in the +darkness. + +"Come," I said, "you may as well admit that you followed me from +Manchester." + +"Why should I admit what is not the truth?" he asked. "What motive +could I have to follow you--a perfect stranger?" + +"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm a bit suspicious," I declared, still +speaking in French. "Of late there was a desperate attempt upon my +life." + +"By whom?" he inquired quickly. "Please tell me, Monsieur Biddulph; I +am greatly interested in this." + +"Then you know my name?" I exclaimed, surprised. + +"Certainly." + +"Why are you interested in me?" + +"I may now have a motive," was his calm yet mysterious reply. "Tell me +in what manner an attempt has been made upon you?" + +At first I hesitated, then, after a second's reflection, I explained +the situation in a few words. + +"Ah! Of course, I quite see that monsieur's mind must be filled by +suspicion," he responded; "yet I regret if I have been the cause of +any annoyance. By the way, how long have you known Monsieur +Penning-ton?" + +"Oh, some months," I replied. "The fact is, I'm engaged to his +daughter." + +"His daughter!" echoed the Frenchman, looking at me quickly with a +searching glance. Then he gave vent to a low grunt, and stroked his +grey pointed beard. + +"And it was after this engagement that the attempt was made upon +you--eh?" he inquired. + +"No, before." + +The foreigner remained silent for a few moments. He seemed +considerably puzzled. I could not make him out. The fact that he was +acquainted with my name showed that he was unduly interested in me, +even though he had partially denied it. + +"Why do you ask this?" I demanded, as we still stood together at the +bottom of St. James's Street. + +"Ah, nothing," he laughed. "But--well, I really fear I've aroused your +suspicions unduly. Perhaps it is not so very extraordinary, after all, +that in these days of rapid communication two men should catch sight +of each other in a Manchester hotel, and, later on, meet in a street +in London--eh?" + +"I regard the coincidence as a strange one, monsieur," I replied +stiffly, "if it is really an actual coincidence." + +For aught I knew, the fellow might be a friend of Pennington, or an +accomplice of those rascally assassins. Had I not been warned by +Shuttleworth, and also by Sylvia herself, of another secret attempt +upon my life? + +I was wary now, and full of suspicion. + +Instinctively I did not like this mysterious foreigner. The way in +which he had first caught sight of my face as I descended the steps of +White's, and how he had glided after me down St. James's Street, was +not calculated to inspire confidence. + +He asked permission to walk at my side along the Mall, which I rather +reluctantly granted. It seemed that, now I had addressed him, I could +not shake him off. Without doubt his intention was to watch, and see +where I lived. Therefore, instead of going in the direction of +Buckingham Palace, I turned back eastward towards the steps at the +foot of the Duke of York's Column. + +As we strolled in the darkness along the front of Carlton House +Terrace he chatted affably with me, then said suddenly-- + +"Do you know, Monsieur Biddulph, we met once before--in rather strange +circumstances. You did not, however, see me. It was in Paris, some +little time ago. You were staying at the Grand Hotel, and became +acquainted with a certain American named Harriman." + +"Harriman!" I echoed, with a start, for that man's name brought back +to me an episode I would fain forget. The fact is, I had trusted him, +and I had believed him to be an honest man engaged in big financial +transactions, until I discovered the truth. My friendship with him +cost me nearly one thousand eight hundred pounds. + +"Harriman was very smart, was he not?" laughed my friend, with a touch +of sarcasm. + +Could it be, I wondered, that this Frenchman was a friend of the +shrewd and unscrupulous New Yorker? + +"Yes," I replied rather faintly. + +"Sharp--until found out," went on the stranger, speaking in French. +"His real name is Bell, and he----" + +"Yes, I know; he was arrested for fraud in my presence as he came down +the staircase in the hotel," I interrupted. + +"He was arrested upon a much more serious charge," exclaimed the +stranger. "He was certainly wanted in Berlin and Hanover for frauds in +connection with an invention, but the most serious charge against him +was one of murder." + +"Murder!" I gasped. "I never knew that!" + +"Yes--the murder of a young English statesman named Ronald Burke at a +villa near Nice. Surely you read reports of the trial?" + +I confessed that I had not done so. + +"Well, it was proved conclusively that he was a member of a very +dangerous gang of criminals who for several years had committed some +of the most clever and audacious thefts. The organization consisted of +over thirty men and women, of varying ages, all of them expert jewel +thieves, safe-breakers, or card-sharpers. Twice each year this +interesting company held meetings--at which every member was +present--and at such meetings certain members were allotted certain +districts, or certain profitable pieces of business. Thus, if +half-a-dozen were to-day operating in London as thieves or receivers, +they would change, and in a week would be operating in St. Petersburg, +while those from Russia would be here. So cleverly was the band +organized that it was practically impossible for the police to make +arrests. It was a more widespread and wealthy criminal organization +than has ever before been unearthed. But the arrest of your friend +Harriman, alias Bell, on a charge of murder was the means of exposing +the conspiracy, and the ultimate breaking up of the gang." + +"And what of Bell?" + +"He narrowly escaped the guillotine, and is now imprisoned for life at +Devil's Island." + +"And you saw him with me at Paris?" I remarked, in wonder at this +strange revelation. "He certainly never struck me as an assassin. He +was a shrewd man--a swindler, no doubt, but his humorous bearing and +his good-nature were entirely opposed to the belief that his was a +sinister nature." + +"Yet it was proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he and another +man killed and robbed a young Englishman named Burke," responded the +Frenchman. "Perhaps you, yourself, had a narrow escape. Who knows? It +was no doubt lucky for you that he was arrested." + +"But I understood that the charge was one of fraud," I said. "I +intended to go to the trial, but I was called to Italy." + +"The charge of fraud was made in order not to alarm his accomplice," +replied the stranger. + +"How do you know that?" I inquired. + +"Well"--he hesitated--"that came out at the trial. There were full +accounts of it in the Paris _Matin_." + +"I don't care for reading Assize Court horrors," I replied, still +puzzled regarding my strange companion's intimate knowledge concerning +the man whose dramatic and sudden arrest had, on that memorable +afternoon, so startled me. + +"When I saw your face just now," he said, "I recognized you as being +at the Grand Hotel with Bell. Do you know," he laughed, "you were such +a close friend of the accused that you were suspected of being a +member of the dangerous association! Indeed, you very narrowly escaped +arrest on suspicion. It was only because the reception clerk in the +hotel knew you well, and vouched for your respectability and that +Biddulph was your real name. Yet, for a full week, you were watched +closely by the _surete_." + +"And I was all unconscious of it!" I cried, realizing how narrowly I +had escaped a very unpleasant time. "How do you know all this?" I +asked. + +But the Frenchman with the gold glasses and the big amethyst ring upon +his finger merely laughed, and refused to satisfy me. + +From him, however, I learned that the depredations of the formidable +gang had been unequalled in the annals of crime. Many of the greatest +jewel robberies in the European capitals in recent years had, it was +now proved, been effected by them, as well as the theft of the +Marchioness of Mottisfont's jewels at Victoria Station, which were +valued at eighteen thousand pounds, and were never recovered; the +breaking open of the safe of Levi & Andrews, the well-known +diamond-merchants of Hatton Garden, and the theft of a whole vanload +of furs before a shop in New Bond Street, all of which are, no doubt, +fresh within the memory of the reader of the daily newspapers. + +Every single member of that remarkable association of thieves was an +expert in his or her branch of dishonesty, while the common fund was a +large one, hence members could disguise themselves as wealthy persons, +if need be. One, when arrested, was found occupying a fine old castle +in the Tyrol, he told me; another--an expert burglar--was a doctor in +good practice at Hampstead; another kept a fine jeweller's shop in +Marseilles, while another, a lady, lived in style in a great chateau +near Nevers. + +"And who exposed them?" I asked, much interested. "Somebody must have +betrayed them." + +"Somebody did betray them--by anonymous letters to the police--letters +which were received at intervals at the Prefecture in Paris, and led +to the arrest of one after another of the chief members of the gang. +It seemed to have been done by some one irritated by Bell's arrest. +But the identity of the informant has never been ascertained. He +deemed it best to remain hidden--for obvious reasons," laughed my +friend at my side. + +"You seem to know a good many facts regarding the affair," I said. +"Have you no idea of the identity of the mysterious informant?" + +"Well"--he hesitated--"I have a suspicion that it was some person +associated with them--some one who became conscience-stricken. Ah! +M'sieur Biddulph, if you only knew the marvellous cunning of that +invulnerable gang. Had it not been for that informant, they would +still be operating--in open defiance of the police of Europe. Criminal +methods, if expert, only fail for want of funds. Are not some of our +wealthiest financiers mere criminals who, by dealing in thousands, as +other men deal in francs, conceal their criminal methods? Half your +successful financiers are merely successful adventurers. The +_dossiers_ of some of them, preserved in the police bureaux, would be +astounding reading to those who admire them and proclaim them the +successful men of to-day--kings of finance they call them!" + +"You are certainly something of a philosopher," I laughed, compelled +to admit the truth of his argument; "but tell me--how is it that you +know so much concerning George Harriman, alias Bell, and his +antecedents?" + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + +PROOF POSITIVE + + +I was greatly interested, even though I was now filled with suspicion. + +Somehow I had become impressed with the idea that the stranger might +have been one of the daring and dangerous association, and that he had +related that strange story for the purpose of misleading me. + +But the stranger, who had, in the course of our conversation, told me +that his name was Pierre Delanne, only said-- + +"You could have read it all in the _Matin_, my dear monsieur." + +His attitude was that of a man who knew more than he intended to +reveal. Surely it was a curious circumstance, standing there in the +night, listening to the dramatic truth concerning the big-faced +American, Harriman, whom I had for so long regarded as an enigma. + +"Tell me, Monsieur Delanne," I said, "for what reason have you +followed me to London?" + +He laughed as he strode easily along at my side towards the Duke of +York's steps. + +"Haven't I already told you that I did not purposely follow you?" he +exclaimed. + +"Yes, but I don't believe it," was my very frank reply. He had +certainly explained that, but his manner was not earnest. I could see +that he was only trifling with me, trifling in an easy, good-natured +way. + +"_Bien!_" he said; "and if I followed you, Monsieur Biddulph, I assert +that it is with no sinister intent." + +"How do I know that?" I queried. "You are a stranger." + +"I admit that. But you are not a stranger to me, my dear monsieur." + +"Well, let us come to the point," I said. "What do you want with me?" + +"Nothing," he laughed. "Was it not you yourself who addressed me?" + +"But you followed me!" I cried. "You can't deny that." + +"Monsieur may hold of me whatever opinion he pleases," was Delanne's +polite reply. "I repeat my regrets, and I ask pardon." + +He spoke English remarkably well. But I recollected that the +international thief--the man who is a cosmopolitan, and who commits +theft in one country to-night, and is across the frontier in the +morning--is always a perfect linguist. Harriman was. Though American, +with all his nasal intonation and quaint Americanisms, he spoke +half-a-dozen Continental languages quite fluently. + +My bitter experiences of the past caused considerable doubt to arise +within me. I had had warnings that my mysterious enemies would attack +me secretly, by some subtle means. Was this Frenchman one of them? + +He saw that I treated him with some suspicion, but it evidently amused +him. His face beamed with good-nature. + +At the bottom of the broad flight of stairs which lead up to the +United Service Club and Pall Mall, I halted. + +"Now look here, Monsieur Delanne," I said, much puzzled and mystified +by the man's manner and the curious story he had related, "I have +neither desire nor inclination for your company further. You +understand?" + +"Ah, monsieur, a thousand pardons," cried the man, raising his hat and +bowing with the elegance of the true Parisian. "I have simply spoken +the truth. Did you not put to me questions which I have answered? You +have said you are engaged to the daughter of my friend Penning-ton. +That has interested me." + +"Why?" + +"Because the daughter of my friend Penning-ton always interests me," +was his curious reply. + +"Is that an intended sarcasm?" I asked resentfully. + +"Not in the least, m'sieur," he said quickly. "I have every admiration +for the young lady." + +"Then you know her--eh?" + +"By repute." + +"Why?" + +"Well, her father was connected with one of the strangest and most +extraordinary incidents in my life," he said. "Even to-day, the +mystery of it all has not been cleared up. I have tried, times without +number, to elucidate it, but have always failed." + +"What part did Sylvia play in the affair, may I ask?" + +"Really," he replied, "I scarcely know. It was so utterly +extraordinary--beyond human credence." + +"Tell me--explain to me," I said, instantly interested. What could +this man know of my well-beloved? + +He was silent for some minutes. We were still standing by the steps. +Surely it was scarcely the place for an exchange of confidences. + +"I fear that monsieur must really excuse me. The matter is +purely a personal one--purely confidential, and concerns myself +alone--just--just as your close acquaintanceship with Mademoiselle +Sylvia concerns you." + +"It seems that it concerns other persons as well, if one may judge by +what has recently occurred." + +"Ah! Then your enemies have arisen because of your engagement to the +girl--eh?" + +"The girl!" How strange! Pennington's mysterious friends of the +Brescia road had referred to her as "the girl." So had those two +assassins in Porchester Terrace! Was it a mere coincidence, or had he, +too, betrayed a collusion with those mean blackguards who had put me +to that horrible torture? + +Had you met this strange man at night in St. James's Park, would you +have placed any faith in him? I think not. I maintain that I was +perfectly justified in treating him as an enemy. He was rather too +intimately acquainted with the doings of Harriman and his gang to suit +my liking. Even as he stood there beneath the light of the +street-lamp, I saw that his bright eyes twinkled behind those gold +pince-nez, while the big old-fashioned amethyst he wore on his finger +was a conspicuous object. He gave one the appearance of a prosperous +merchant or shopkeeper. + +"What makes you suggest that the attempt was due to my affection for +Sylvia?" I asked him. + +"Well, it furnishes a motive, does it not?" + +"No, it doesn't. I have no enemies--as far as I am aware." + +"But there exists some person who is highly jealous of mademoiselle, +and who is therefore working against you in secret." + +"Is that your opinion?" + +"I regret to admit that it is. Indeed, Monsieur Biddulph, you have +every need to exercise the greatest care. Otherwise misfortune will +occur to you. Mark what I--a stranger--tell you." + +I started. Here again was a warning uttered! The situation was growing +quite uncanny. + +"What makes you expect this?" + +"It is more than mere surmise," he said slowly and in deep +earnestness. "I happen to know." + +From that last sentence of his I jumped to the conclusion that he was, +after all, one of the malefactors. He was warning me with the +distinct object of putting me off my guard. His next move, no doubt, +would be to try and pose as my friend and adviser! I laughed within +myself, for I was too wary for him. + +"Well," I said, after a few moments' silence, as together we ascended +the broad flight of steps, with the high column looming in the +darkness, "the fact is, I've become tired of all these warnings. +Everybody I meet seems to predict disaster for me. Why, I can't make +out." + +"No one has revealed to you the reason--eh?" he asked in a low, +meaning voice. + +"No." + +"Ah! Then, of course, you cannot discern the peril. It is but natural +that you should treat all well-meant advice lightly. Probably I +should, _mon cher ami_, if I were in your place." + +"Well," I exclaimed impatiently, halting again, "now, what is it that +you really know? Don't beat about the bush any longer. Tell me, +frankly and openly." + +The man merely raised his shoulders significantly, but made no +response. In the ray of light which fell upon him, his gold-rimmed +spectacles glinted, while his shrewd dark eyes twinkled behind them, +as though he delighted in mystifying me. + +"Surely you can reply," I cried in anger. "What is the reason of all +this? What have I done?" + +"Ah! it is what monsieur has not done." + +"Pray explain." + +"Pardon. I cannot explain. Why not ask mademoiselle? She knows +everything." + +"Everything!" I echoed. "Then why does she not tell me?" + +"She fears--most probably." + +Could it be that this strange foreigner was purposely misleading me? I +gazed upon his stout, well-dressed figure, and the well-brushed silk +hat which he wore with such jaunty air. + +In Pall Mall a string of taxi-cabs was passing westward, conveying +homeward-bound theatre folk, while across at the brightly-lit entrance +of the Carlton, cabs and taxis were drawing up and depositing +well-dressed people about to sup. + +At the corner of the Athenaeum Club we halted again, for I wanted to +rid myself of him. I had acted foolishly in addressing him in the +first instance. For aught I knew, he might be an accomplice of those +absconding assassins of Porchester Terrace. + +As we stood there, he had the audacity to produce his cigarette-case +and offer me one. But I resentfully declined it. + +"Ah!" he laughed, stroking his greyish beard again, "I fear, Monsieur +Biddulph, that you are displeased with me. I have annoyed you by not +satisfying your natural curiosity. But were I to do so, it would be +against my own interests. Hence my silence. Am I not perfectly honest +with you?" + +That speech of his corroborated all my suspicions. His motive in +following me, whatever it could be, was a sinister one. He had +admitted knowledge of Harriman, the man found guilty and sentenced +for the murder of the young English member of Parliament, Ronald +Burke. His intimate acquaintance with Harriman's past and with his +undesirable friends showed that he must have been an associate of that +daring and dangerous gang. + +I was a diligent reader of the English papers, but had never seen any +mention of the great association of expert criminals. His assertion +that the Paris _Matin_ had published all the details was, in all +probability, untrue. I instinctively mistrusted him, because he had +kept such a watchful eye upon me ever since I had sat with Sylvia's +father in the lounge of that big hotel in Manchester. + +"I don't think you are honest with me, Monsieur Delanne," I said +stiffly. "Therefore I refuse to believe you further." + +"As you wish," laughed my companion. "You will believe me, however, +ere long--when you have proof. Depend upon it." + +And he glanced at his watch, closing it quickly with a snap. + +"You see----" he began, but as he uttered the words a taxi, coming +from the direction of Charing Cross, suddenly pulled up at the kerb +where we were standing--so suddenly that, for a moment, I did not +notice that it had come to a standstill. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, when he saw the cab, "I quite forgot! I have an +appointment. I will wish you _bon soir_, Monsieur Biddulph. We may +meet again--perhaps." And he raised his hat in farewell. + +As he turned towards the taxi to enter it, I realized that some one +was inside--that the person in the cab had met the strange foreigner +by appointment at that corner! + +A man's face peered out for a second, and a voice exclaimed cheerily-- + +"Hulloa! Sorry I'm late, old chap!" + +Then, next instant, on seeing me, the face was withdrawn into the +shadow. + +Delanne had entered quickly, and, slamming the door, told the man to +drive with all speed to Paddington Station. + +The taxi was well on its way down Pall Mall ere I could recover from +my surprise. + +The face of the man in the cab was a countenance the remembrance of +which will ever haunt me if I live to be a hundred years--the evil, +pimply, dissipated face of Charles Reckitt! + +My surmise had been correct, after all. Delanne was his friend! + +Another conspiracy was afoot against me! + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN + +THROUGH THE MISTS + + +It was now the end of September. + +All my fears had proved groundless, and I had, at last, learned to +laugh at them. For me, a new vista of life had been opened out, for +Sylvia had now been my wife for a whole week--seven long dreamy days +of perfect love and bliss. + +Scarce could we realize the truth that we were actually man and wife. + +Pennington had, after all, proved quite kind and affable, his sole +thought being of his daughter's future happiness. I had invited them +both down to Carrington, and he had expressed delight at the provision +I had made for Sylvia. Old Browning, in his brand-new suit, was at the +head of a new staff of servants. There were new horses and carriages +and a landaulette motor, while I had also done all I could to +refurnish and renovate some of the rooms for Sylvia's use. + +The old place had been very dark and dreary, but it now wore an air of +brightness and freshness, thanks to the London upholsterers and +decorators into whose hands I had given the work. + +Pennington appeared highly pleased with all he saw, while Sylvia, her +arms entwined about my neck, kissed me in silent thanks for my efforts +on her behalf. + +Then came the wedding--a very quiet one at St. Mary Abbot's, +Kensington. Besides Jack Marlowe and a couple of other men who were +intimate friends, not more than a dozen persons were present. +Shuttleworth assisted the vicar, but Pennington was unfortunately ill +in bed at the Hotel Metropole, suffering from a bad cold. Still, we +held the wedding luncheon at the Savoy, and afterwards went up to +Scarborough, where we were now living in a pretty suite at the Grand +Hotel overlooking the harbour, the blue bay, and the castle-crowned +cliffs. + +It was disappointing to Sylvia that her father had not been present at +the wedding, but Elsie Durnford and her mother were there, as well as +two or three other of her girl friends. The ceremony was very plain. +At her own request, she had been married in her travelling-dress, +while I, man-like, had secretly been glad that there was no fuss. + +Just a visit to the church, the brief ceremony, the signature in the +register, and a four-line announcement in the _Times_ and _Morning +Post_, and Sylvia and I had become man and wife. + +I had resolved, on the morning of my marriage, to put behind me all +thought of the mysteries and gruesomeness of the past. Now that I was +Sylvia's husband, I felt that she would have my protection, as well as +that of her father. I had said nothing to her of her strange +apprehensions, for we had mutually allowed them to drop. + +We had come to Scarborough in preference to going abroad, for my +well-beloved declared that she had had already too much of Continental +life, and preferred a quiet time in England. So we had chosen the East +Coast, and now each day we either drove out over the Yorkshire moors, +or wandered by the rolling seas. + +She was now my own--my very own! Ah! the sweet significance of those +words when I uttered them and she clung to me, raising her full red +lips to mine to kiss. + +I loved her--aye, loved her with an all-consuming love. I told myself +a thousand times that no man on earth had ever loved a woman more than +I loved Sylvia. She was my idol, and more, we were wedded, firmly +united to one another, insunderably joined with each other so that we +two were one. + +You satirists, cynics, misogamists and misogynists may sneer at love, +and jeer at marriage. So melancholy is this our age that even by some +women marriage seems to be doubted. Yet we may believe that there is +not a woman in all Christendom who does not dote upon the name of +"wife." It carries a spell which even the most rebellious suffragette +must acknowledge. They may speak of the subjection, the trammel, the +"slavery," and the inferiority to which marriage reduces them, but, +after all, "wife" is a word against which they cannot harden their +hearts. + +Ah! how fervently we loved each other. As Sylvia and I wandered +together by the sea on those calm September evenings, avoiding the +holiday crowd, preferring the less-frequented walks to the fashionable +promenades of the South Cliff or the Spa, we linked arm in arm, and I +often, when not observed, kissed her upon the brow. + +One evening, with the golden sunset in our faces, we were walking over +the cliffs to Cayton Bay, a favourite walk of ours, when we halted at +a stile, and sat together upon it to rest. + +The wide waters deep below, bathed in the green and gold of the +sinking sun, were calm, almost unruffled, unusual indeed for the North +Sea, while about us the birds were singing their evening song, and the +cattle in the fields were lying down in peace. There was not a breath +of wind. The calmness was the same as the perfect calmness of our own +hearts. + +"How still it is, Owen," remarked my love, after sitting in silence +for a few minutes. From where we sat we could see that it was high +tide, and the waves were lazily lapping the base of the cliffs deep +below. Now and then a gull would circle about us with its shrill, +plaintive cry, while far on the distant horizon lay the trail of smoke +from a passing steamer. "How delightful it is to be here--alone with +you!" + +My arm stole round her slim waist, and my lips met hers in a fond, +passionate caress. She looked very dainty in a plain walking costume +of cream serge, with a boa of ostrich feathers about her throat, and a +large straw hat trimmed with autumn flowers. It was exceptionally +warm for the time of year; yet at night, on the breezy East Coast, +there is a cold nip in the air even in the height of summer. + +That afternoon we had, by favour of its owner, Mr. George Beeforth, +one of the pioneers of Scarborough, wandered through the beautiful +private gardens of the Belvedere, which, with their rose-walks, lawns +and plantations, stretched from the promenade down to the sea, and had +spent some charming hours in what its genial owner called "the +sun-trap." In all the north of England there are surely no more +beautiful gardens beside the sea than those, and happily their +good-natured owner is never averse to granting a stranger permission +to visit them. + +As we now sat upon that stile our hearts were too full for words, +devoted as we were to each other. + +"Owen," my wife exclaimed at last, her soft little hand upon my +shoulder as she looked up into my face, "are you certain you will +never regret marrying me?" + +"Why, of course not, dearest," I said quickly, looking into her great +wide-open eyes. + +"But--but, somehow----" + +"Somehow, what?" I asked slowly. + +"Well," she sighed, gazing away towards the far-off horizon, her +wonderful eyes bluer than the sea itself, "I have a strange, +indescribable feeling of impending evil--a presage of disaster." + +"My darling," I exclaimed, "why trouble yourself over what are merely +melancholy fancies? We are happy in each other's love; therefore why +should we anticipate evil? If it comes, then we will unite to resist +it." + +"Ah, yes, Owen," she replied quickly, "but this strange feeling came +over me yesterday when we were together at Whitby. I cannot describe +it--only it is a weird, uncanny feeling, a fixed idea that something +must happen to mar this perfect happiness of ours." + +"What can mar our happiness when we both trust each other--when we +both love each other, and our two hearts beat as one?" + +"Has not the French poet written a very serious truth in those lines: +'_Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment; chagrin d'amour dure toute la +vie_'?" + +"Yes, but we shall experience no chagrin, sweetheart," I assured her. +"After another week here we will travel where you will. If you wish, +we will go to Carrington. There we shall be perfectly happy together, +away in beautiful Devonshire." + +"I know you want to go there for the shooting, Owen," she said +quietly, yet regarding me somewhat strangely, I thought. "You have +asked Mr. Marlowe?" + +"With your permission, dearest." + +But her face changed, and she sighed slightly. + +In an instant I recollected the admission that they had either met +before, or at least they knew something concerning each other. + +"Perhaps you do not desire to entertain company yet?" I said quickly. +"Very well; I'll ask your father; he and I can have some sport +together." + +"Owen," she said at last, turning her fair face again to mine, "would +you think it very, very strange of me, after all that you have done at +beautiful old Carrington, if I told you that I--well, that I do not +exactly like the place?" + +This rather surprised me, for she had hitherto been full of admiration +of the fine, well-preserved relic of the Elizabethan age. + +"Dearest, if you do not care for Carrington we will not go there. We +can either live at Wilton Street, or travel." + +"I'm tired of travelling, dear," she declared. "Ah, so tired! So, if +you are content, let us live in Wilton Street. Carrington is so huge. +When we were there I always felt lost in those big old rooms and long, +echoing corridors." + +"But your own rooms that I've had redecorated and furnished are +smaller," I said. "I admit that the old part of the house is very dark +and weird--full of ghosts of other times. There are a dozen or more +legends concerning it, as you know." + +"Yes, I read them in the guide-book to Devon. Some are distinctly +quaint, are they not?" + +"Some are tragic also--especially the story of little Lady Holbrook, +who was so brutally killed by the Roundheads because she refused to +reveal the whereabouts of her husband," I said. + +"Poor little lady!" sighed Sylvia. "But that is not mere legend: it is +historical fact." + +"Well," I said, "if you do not care for Carrington--if it is too dull +for you--we'll live in London. Personally, I, too, should soon grow +tired of a country life; and yet how could I grow tired of life with +you, my own darling, at my side?" + +"And how could I either, Owen?" she asked, kissing me fondly. "With +you, no place can ever be dull. It is not the dulness I dread, but +other things." + +"What things?" + +"Catastrophe--of what kind, I know not. But I have been seized with a +kind of instinctive dread." + +For a few moments I was silent, my arm still about her neat waist. +This sudden depression of hers was not reassuring. + +"Try and rid yourself of the idea, dearest," I urged presently. "You +have nothing to fear. We may both have enemies, but they will not now +dare to attack us. Remember, I am now your husband." + +"And I your wife, Owen," she said, with a sweet love-look. Then, with +a heavy sigh, she gazed thoughtfully away with her eyes fixed upon the +darkening sea, and added: "I only fear, dearest--for your sake." + +I was silent again. + +"Sylvia," I said slowly at last, "have you learnt anything--anything +fresh which has awakened these strange apprehensions of yours?" + +"No," she faltered, "nothing exactly fresh. It is only a strange and +unaccountable dread which has seized me--a dread of impending +disaster." + +"Forget it," I urged, endeavouring to laugh. "All your fears are now +without foundation, dearest. Now we are wedded, we will fearlessly +face the world together." + +"I have no fear when I am at your side, Owen," she replied, looking at +me pale and troubled. "But when we are parted I--I always fear. The +day before yesterday I was full of apprehension all the time you had +gone to York. I felt that something was to happen to you." + +"Really, dear," I said, smiling, "you make me feel quite creepy. Don't +allow your mind to run on the subject. Try and think of something +else." + +"But I can't," she declared. "That's just it. I only wish I could rid +myself of this horrible feeling of insecurity." + +"We are perfectly secure," I assured her. "My enemies are now aware +that I'm quite wide awake." And in a few brief sentences I explained +my curious meeting with the Frenchman Delanne. + +The instant I described him--his stout body, his grey pointed beard, +his gold pince-nez, his amethyst ring--she sat staring at me, white to +the lips. + +"Why," she gasped, "I know! The description is exact. And--and you say +he saw my father in Manchester! He actually rode away in the same cab +as Reckitt! Impossible! You must have dreamt it all, Owen." + +"No, dearest," I said quite calmly. "It all occurred just as I have +repeated it to you." + +"And he really entered the taxi with Reckitt? He said, too, that he +knew my father--eh?" + +"He did." + +She held her breath. Her eyes were staring straight before her, her +breath came and went quickly, and she gripped the wooden post to +steady herself, for she swayed forward suddenly, and I stretched out +my hand, fearing lest she should fall. + +What I had told her seemed to stagger her. It revealed something of +intense importance to her--something which, to me, remained hidden. + +It was still a complete enigma. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY + +THE STRANGER IN THE RUE DE RIVOLI + + +From Scarborough we had gone up to the Highlands, spending a fortnight +at Grantown, a week at Blair Atholl, returning south through Callander +and the Trossachs--one of the most glorious autumns I had ever spent. + +Ours was now a peaceful, uneventful life, careless of the morrow, and +filled with perfect love and concord. I adored my young beautiful +wife, and I envied no man. + +I had crushed down all feelings of misgivings that had hitherto so +often arisen within me, for I felt confident in Sylvia's affection. +She lived only for me, possessing me body and soul. + +Not a pair in the whole of England loved each other with a truer or +more fervent passion. Our ideas were identical, and certainly I could +not have chosen a wife more fitted for me--even though she rested +beneath such a dark cloud of suspicion. + +I suppose some who read this plain statement of fact will declare me +to have been a fool. But to such I would reply that in your hearts the +flame of real love has never yet burned. You may have experienced what +you have fondly believed to have been love--a faint flame that has +perhaps flickered for a time and, dying out, has long been forgotten. +Only if you have really loved a woman--loved her with that +all-consuming passion that arises within a man once in his whole +lifetime when he meets his affinity, can you understand why I made +Sylvia my wife. + +I had the car brought up to meet us in Perth, and with it Sylvia and I +had explored all the remotest beauties of the Highlands. We ran up as +far north as Inverness, and around to Oban, delighting in all the +beauties of the heather-clad hills, the wild moors, the autumn-tinted +glades, and the broad unruffled lochs. Afterwards we went round the +Trossachs and motored back to London through Carlisle, the Lakes, +North Wales and the Valley of the Wye, the most charming of all +motor-runs in England. + +Afterwards, Sylvia wanted to do some shopping, and we went over to +Paris for ten days. There, while at the Meurice, her father, who +chanced to be passing through Paris on his way from Brussels to Lyons, +came unexpectedly one evening and dined with us in our private salon. + +Pennington was just as elegant and epicurean as ever. He delighted in +the dinner set before him, the hotel, of course, being noted for its +cooking. + +That evening we were a merry trio. I had not seen my father-in-law +since the morning of our marriage, when I had called, and found him +confined to his bed. Therefore we had both a lot to relate to him +regarding our travels. + +"I, too, have been moving about incessantly," he remarked, as he +poised his wine-glass in his hand, regarding the colour of its +contents. "I was in Petersburg three weeks ago. I'm interested in some +telegraph construction works there. We've just secured a big +Government contract to lay a new line across Siberia." + +"I've written to you half-a-dozen times," remarked his daughter, "but +you never replied." + +"I've never had your letters, child," he said. "Where did you address +them?" + +"Two I sent to the Travellers' Club, here. Another I sent to the Hotel +de France, in Petersburg." + +"Ah! I was at the Europe," he laughed. "I find their cooking better. +Their sterlet is even better than the Hermitage at Moscow. Jules, the +chef, was at Cubat's, in the Nevski, for years." + +Pennington always gauged a hotel by the excellence of its chef. He +told us of tiny obscure places in Italy which he knew, where the rooms +were carpetless and comfortless, but where the cooking could vie with +the Savoy or Carlton in London. He mentioned the Giaponne in Leghorn, +the Tazza d'Oro in Lucca, and the Vapore in Venice, of all three of +which I had had experience, and I fully corroborated what he said. He +was a man who ate his strawberries with a quarter of a liqueur-glass +of maraschino thrown over them, and a slight addition of pepper, and +he always mixed his salads himself. + +"Perhaps you think me very whimsical," he laughed across the table, +"but really, good cooking makes so much difference to life." + +I told him that, as an Englishman, I preferred plainly-cooked food. + +"Which is usually heavy and indigestible, I fear," he declared. "What, +now, could be more indigestible than our English roast beef and plum +pudding--eh?" + +My own thoughts were, however, running in an entirely different +channel, and when presently Sylvia, who looked a delightful picture in +ivory chiffon, and wearing the diamond necklet I had given her as one +of her wedding presents, rose and left us to our cigars, I said +suddenly-- + +"I say, Pennington, do you happen to know a stout, grey-bearded +Frenchman who wears gold-rimmed glasses--a man named Pierre Delanne?" + +"Delanne?" he repeated. "No, I don't recollect the name." + +"I saw him in Manchester," I exclaimed. "He was at the Midland, and +said he knew you--and also Sylvia." + +"In Manchester! Was he at the Midland while I was there?" + +"Yes. He was dressed in black, with a silk hat and wore on his finger +a great amethyst ring--a rather vulgar-looking ornament." + +Pennington's lips were instantly pressed together. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, almost with a start, "I think I know who you +mean. His beard is pointed, and his eyes rather small and shining. He +has the air of a bon-vivant, and speaks English extremely well. He +wears the amethyst on the little finger of his left hand." + +"Exactly." + +"And, to you, he called himself Pierre Delanne, eh?" + +"Yes. What is his real name, then?" + +"Who knows? I've heard that he uses half-a-dozen different aliases," +replied my father-in-law. + +"Then you know him?" + +"Well--not very well," was Pennington's response in a rather strange +voice, I thought. "Did he say anything regarding myself?" + +"Only that he had seen you in Manchester." + +"When did you see him last?" + +"Well," I said, "as a matter of fact he met me in London the same +night, and I fancy I have caught sight of him twice since. The first +occasion was a fortnight ago in Princes Street, Edinburgh, when I saw +him coming forth from the North British Hotel with another man, also a +foreigner. They turned up Princes Street, and then descended the steps +to the station before I could approach sufficiently close. I was +walking with Sylvia, so could not well hasten after them. The second +occasion was yesterday, when I believe I saw him in a taxi passing us +as we drove out to tea at Armenonville." + +"Did he see you?" asked Pennington quickly. + +"I think so. I fancy he recognized me." + +"Did Sylvia see him?" he asked almost breathlessly. + +"No." + +"Ah!" and he seemed to breathe again more freely. + +"Apparently he is not a very great friend of yours," I ventured to +remark. + +"No--he isn't; and if I were you, Biddulph, I would avoid him like the +plague. He is not the kind of person desirable as a friend. You +understand." + +"I gathered from his conversation that he was something of an +adventurer," I said. + +"That's just it. Myself, I always avoid him," he replied. Then he +turned the conversation into a different channel. He congratulated me +upon our marriage and told me how Sylvia, when they had been alone +together for a few moments before dinner, had declared herself +supremely happy. + +"I only hope that nothing may occur to mar your pleasant lives, my +dear fellow," he said, slowly knocking the ash from his cigar. "In the +marriage state one never knows whether adversity or prosperity lies +before one." + +"I hope I shall meet with no adversity," I said. + +"I hope not--for Sylvia's sake," he declared. + +"What is for Sylvia's sake?" asked a cheery voice, and, as we both +looked up in surprise, we found that she had re-entered noiselessly, +and was standing laughing mischievously by the open door. "It is so +dull being alone that I've ventured to come back. I don't mind the +smoke in the least." + +"Why, of course, darling!" I cried, jumping from my chair and pulling +forward an arm-chair for her. + +I saw that it was a bright night outside, and that the autos with +their sparkling lights like shooting stars were passing and repassing +with honking horns up and down the Rue de Rivoli. For a moment she +stood at my side by the window, looking down into the broad +thoroughfare below. + +Then, a second later, she suddenly cried-- + +"Why, look, Owen! Do you see that man with the short dark overcoat +standing under the lamp over there? I've seen him several times +to-day. Do you know, he seems to be watching us!" + +"Watching you!" cried her father, starting to his feet and joining us. +The long wooden sun-shutters were closed, so, on opening the windows +which led to the balcony we could see between the slats without being +observed from outside. + +I looked at the spot indicated by my wife, and then saw on the other +side of the way a youngish-looking man idly smoking a cigarette and +gazing in the direction of the Place de la Concorde, as though +expecting some one. + +I could not distinguish his features, yet I saw that he wore brown +boots, and that the cut of his clothes and the shape of his hat were +English. + +"Where have you seen him before?" I asked of her. + +"I first met him when I came out of Lentheric's this morning. Then, +again, when we lunched at the Volnay he was standing at the corner of +the Rue de la Paix and the Rue Daunou. He followed us in the Rue +Royale later on." + +"And now he seems to have mounted guard outside, eh?" I remarked, +somewhat puzzled. "Why did you not tell me this before?" + +"I did not wish to cause you any anxiety, Owen," was her simple reply, +while her father asked-- + +"Do you know the fellow? Ever seen him before, Sylvia?" + +"Never in my life," she declared. "It's rather curious, isn't it?" + +"Very," I said. + +And as we all three watched we saw him move away a short distance and +join a taller man who came from the direction he had been looking. For +a few moments they conversed. Then the new-comer crossed the road +towards us and was lost to sight. + +In a few seconds a ragged old man, a cripple, approached the +mysterious watcher with difficulty, and said something to him as he +passed. + +"That cripple is in the business!" cried Pennington, who had been +narrowly watching. "He's keeping observation, and has told him +something. Some deep game is being played here, Biddulph." + +"I wonder why they are watching?" I asked, somewhat apprehensive of +the coming evil that had been so long predicted. + +Father and daughter exchanged curious glances. It seemed to me as +though a startling truth had dawned upon them both. I stood by in +silence. + +"It is certainly distinctly unpleasant to be watched like +this--providing, of course, that Sylvia has not made a mistake," +Pennington said. + +"I have made no mistake," she declared quickly. "I've been much +worried about it all day, but did not like to arouse Owen's +suspicions;" and I saw by her face that she was in dead earnest. + +At the same moment, however, a light tap was heard upon the door and a +waiter opened it, bowing as he announced-- + +"Monsieur Pierre Delanne to see Monsieur Biddulph." + +"Great Heavens, Sylvia!" cried Pennington, standing pale-faced and +open-mouthed. "It's Guertin! He must not discover that I am in Paris!" +Then, turning to me in fear, he implored: "Save me from this meeting, +Biddulph! Save me--if you value your wife's honour, I beg of you. I'll +explain all afterwards. _Only save me!_" + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE + +DESCRIBES AN UNWELCOME VISIT + + +Pennington's sudden fear held me in blank surprise. + +Ere I could reply to him he had slipped through the door which led +into my bedroom, closing it after him, just as Delanne's stout figure +and broad, good-humoured face appeared in the doorway. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, "Meester Biddulph!" and he bowed politely over my +hand. + +Then, turning to Sylvia, who stood pale and rigid, he put forth his +hand, and also bowed low over hers, saying in English: "My +respects--and heartiest congratulations to madame." + +His quick eyes wandered around the room, then he added-- + +"Meester Pennington is here; where is he? I am here to speak with +him." + +"Pennington was here," I replied, "but he has gone." + +"Then he only went out this moment! I must see him. He is in the +hotel!" my visitor exclaimed quickly. + +"I suppose he is," I replied rather faintly; "we had better ask the +waiter. He is not stopping here. He merely came to-night to dine with +us." + +"Of course," said Delanne. "He arrived by the 2.37 train from +Bruxelles, went to the Hotel Dominici, near the Place Vendome, sent +you a _petit-bleu_, and arrived here at 6.30. I am here because I wish +to see him most particularly. I was in Orleans when the news of my +friend's arrival in Paris was telephoned to me--I have only just +arrived." + +I opened the door leading to my bedroom, and called my father-in-law, +but there was no response. In an instant Delanne dashed past me, and +in a few seconds had searched the suite. + +"Ah, of course!" he cried, noticing that the door of my wife's room +led back to the main corridor; "my friend has avoided me. He has +passed out by this way. Still, he must be in the hotel." + +He hurried back to the salon, and, opening the shutters, took off his +hat. + +Was it some signal to the watchers outside? Ere I could reach his +side, however, he had replaced his hat, and was re-entering the room. + +"Phew! this place is stifling hot, my dear friend," he said. "I wonder +you do not have the windows open for a little!" + +Sylvia had stood by in silence. I saw by her face that the Frenchman's +sudden appearance had caused her the greatest alarm and dismay. If +Delanne was her father's friend, why did the latter flee in such fear? +Why had he implored me to save him? From what? + +The Frenchman seemed highly disappointed, for finding the waiter in +the corridor he asked him in French which way the Englishman had fled. + +The waiter, however, declared that he had seen nobody in the corridor, +a reply which sorely puzzled Delanne. + +"Where is he?" he demanded of Sylvia. + +"I have no idea," was her faltering reply. "He simply went into the +next room a few moments ago." + +"And slipped out in an endeavour to make his exit, eh?" asked the man, +with a short, harsh laugh. "I quite expected as much. That is why I +intended to have a straight business talk with him." + +"He is in no mood to talk business just now," said my wife, and +then--and only then--did I recollect that this man was the associate +of the assassin Reckitt. + +This fact alone aroused my antagonism towards him. Surely I was glad +that Pennington had got away if, as it seemed, he did not wish to meet +his unwelcome visitor. + +"He _shall_ talk business!" cried the Frenchman, "and very serious +business!" + +Then turning, he hurried along the corridor in the direction of the +main staircase and disappeared. + +"What does all this mean?" I asked Sylvia, who still stood there pale +and panting. + +"I--I don't know, Owen," she gasped. Then, rushing across to the +window, she looked out. + +"That man has gone!" she cried. "I--I knew he was watching, but had no +idea of the reason." + +"He was evidently watching for your father," I said. + +"He was watching us--you and I--not him." + +We heard two men pass the door quickly. One of them exclaimed in +French-- + +"See! The window at the end! It would be easy to get from there to the +roof of the next house." + +"Yes!" cried his companion. "He has evidently gone that way. We must +follow." + +"Hark!" I said. "Listen to what they are saying! Delanne is following +your father!" + +"He is his worst enemy," she said simply. "Do you not remember that he +was watching him in Manchester?" + +The fact that he was an associate of Reckitt puzzled me. I felt highly +resentful that the fellow should have thus intruded upon my privacy +and broken up my very pleasant evening. He had intruded himself upon +me once before, causing me both annoyance and chagrin. I looked forth +into the corridor, and there saw the figures of two men in the act of +getting through the window at the end, while a waiter and a +_femme-de-chambre_ stood looking on in surprise. + +"Who is that man?" I asked of Sylvia, as I turned back into our salon. + +"His real name is Guertin," she replied. + +"He told me that he knew you." + +"Perhaps," she laughed, just a trifle uneasily, I thought. "I only +know that he is my father's enemy. He is evidently here to hunt him +down, and to denounce him." + +"As what?" + +But she only shrugged her shoulders. Next instant I saw that I had +acted wrongly in asking Sylvia to expose her own father, whatever his +faults might have been. + +Again somebody rushed past the door and then back again to the head of +the staircase. The whole of the quiet aristocratic hotel seemed to +have suddenly awakened from its lethargy. Indeed, a hue and cry seemed +to have been started after the man who had until a few moments before +been my guest. + +What could this mean? Had it not been for the fact that Guertin--or +Delanne, as he called himself--was a friend of the assassin Reckitt, I +would have believed him to have been an agent of the _surete_. + +We heard shouting outside the window at the end of the corridor. It +seemed as though a fierce chase had begun after the fugitive +Englishman, for yet another man, a thin, respectably-dressed mechanic, +had run along and slipped out of the window with ease as though +acquired by long practice. + +I, too, ran to the window and looked out. But all I could see in the +night was a bewildering waste of roofs and chimneys extending along +the Rue de Rivoli towards the Louvre. I could only distinguish one of +the pursuers outlined against the sky. Then I returned to where Sylvia +was standing pale and breathless. + +Her face was haggard and drawn, and I knew of the great tension her +nerves must be undergoing. Her father was certainly no coward. Fearing +that he could not escape by either the front or back door of the +hotel his mind had been quickly made up, and he had made his exit by +that window, taking his chance to hide and avoid detection on those +many roofs in the vicinity. + +The position was, to me, extremely puzzling. I could not well press +Sylvia to tell me the truth concerning her father, for I had noticed +that she always had shielded him, as was natural for a daughter, after +all. + +Was he an associate of Reckitt and Forbes, as I had once suspected? +Yet if he were, why should Delanne be his enemy, for he certainly was +Reckitt's intimate friend. + +Sylvia was filled with suppressed excitement. She also ran along the +corridor and peered out of the window at the end. Then, apparently +satisfied that her father had avoided meeting Delanne, she returned +and stood again silent, her eyes staring straight before her as though +dreading each second to hear shouts of triumph at the fugitive's +detection. + +I saw the manager and remonstrated with him. I was angry that my +privacy should thus be disturbed by outsiders. + +"Monsieur told the clerk that he was a friend," he replied politely. +"Therefore he gave permission for him to be shown upstairs. I had no +idea of such a contretemps, or such a regrettable scene as this!" + +I saw he was full of regret, for the whole hotel seemed startled, and +guests were asking each other what had occurred to create all that +hubbub. + +For an hour we waited, but Delanne did not return. He and the others +had gone away over the roofs, on what seemed to be an entirely +fruitless errand. + +"Were they the police?" I heard a lady ask anxiously of a waiter. + +"No, madame, we think not. They are strangers--and entirely unknown." + +Sylvia also heard the man's reply, and exclaimed-- + +"I hope my father has successfully escaped his enemies. It was, +however, a very narrow shave. If they had seen him, they would have +shot him dead, and afterwards declared it to have been an accident!" + +"Surely not!" I cried. "That would have been murder." + +"Of course. But they are desperate, and they would have wriggled out +of it somehow. That was why I feared for him. But, thank Heaven, he is +evidently safe." + +And she turned from the window that looked forth into the Rue de +Rivoli, and then made an excuse to go to her room. + +I saw that she was greatly perturbed. Her heart beat quickly, and her +face, once pale as death, was now flushed crimson. + +"How your father got away so rapidly was simply marvellous!" I +declared. "Why, scarcely ten seconds elapsed from the time he closed +that door to Delanne's appearance on the threshold." + +"Yes. But he instantly realized his peril, and did not hesitate." + +"I am sorry, dearest, that this exciting incident should have so +upset our evening," I said, kissing her upon the brow, for she now +declared herself much fatigued. "When you have gone to your room, I +shall go downstairs and learn what I can about the curious affair. +Your father's enemies evidently knew of his arrival from Brussels, for +Delanne admitted that word of it was telephoned to Orleans, and he +came to Paris at once." + +"Yes, he admitted that," she said hurriedly. "But do not let us speak +of it. My father has got away in safety. For me that is +all-sufficient. Good-night, Owen, dear." And she kissed me fondly. + +"Good-night, darling," I said, returning her sweet caress; and then, +when she had passed from the room, I seized my hat and descended the +big flight of red-carpeted stairs, bent on obtaining some solution of +the mystery of that most exciting and curious episode. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO + +MORE MYSTERY + + +Nothing definite, however, could I gather from the hotel people. + +They knew nothing, and seemed highly annoyed that such an incident +should occur in their quiet and highly aristocratic house. + +Next day Sylvia waited for news of her father, but none came. + +Delanne called about eleven o'clock in the morning, and had a brief +interview with her in private. What passed between them I know not, +save that the man, whose real name was Guertin, met me rather coldly +and afterwards bade me adieu. + +I hated the fellow. He was always extremely polite, always just a +little sarcastic, and yet, was he not the associate of the man +Reckitt? + +I wished to leave Paris and return to London, but Sylvia appeared a +little anxious to remain. She seemed to expect some secret +communication from her father. + +"Thank Heaven!" she said, on the day following Delanne's call, "father +has escaped them. That was surely a daring dash he made. He knew that +they intended to kill him." + +"But I don't understand," I said. "Do you mean they would kill him +openly?" + +"Of course. They have no fear. Their only fear is while he remains +alive." + +"But the law would punish them." + +"No, it would not," she responded, shaking her head gravely. "They +would contrive an 'accident.'" + +"Well," I said, "he has evaded them, and we must be thankful for that. +Do you expect to hear from him?" + +"Yes," she replied, "I shall probably receive a message to-night. That +is why I wish to remain, Owen. I wonder," she added rather +hesitatingly, "I wonder whether you would consider it very strange of +me if I asked you to let me go out to-night at ten o'clock alone?" + +"Well, I rather fear your going out alone and unprotected at that +hour, darling," I responded. + +"Ah! have no fear whatever for me. I shall be safe enough. They will +not attempt anything just now. I am quite confident of that. I--I want +to go forth alone, for an hour or so." + +"Oh, well, if it is your distinct wish, how can I refuse, dear?" + +"Ah!" she cried, putting her arm fondly about my neck, "I knew you +would not refuse me. I shall go out just before ten, and I will be +back long before midnight. You will excuse my absence, won't you?" + +"Certainly," I said. And thus it was arranged. + +Her request, I admit, puzzled me greatly, and also caused me +considerable fear. My past experience had aroused within me a constant +phantom of suspicion. + +We lunched at the Ritz, and in the afternoon took a taxi into the +Bois, where we spent an hour upon a seat in one of the by-paths of +that beautiful wood of the Parisians. On our return to the hotel, +Sylvia was all eagerness for a message, but there was none. + +"Ah! he is discreet!" she exclaimed to me, when the _concierge_ had +given her a negative reply. "He fears to send me word openly." + +At ten o'clock that night, however, she had exchanged her dinner gown +for a dark stuff dress, and, with a small black hat, and a boa about +her neck, she came to kiss me. + +"I won't be very long, dearest," she said cheerily. "I'll get back the +instant I can. Don't worry after me. I shall be perfectly safe, I +assure you." + +But recollections of Reckitt and his dastardly accomplice arose within +me, and I hardly accepted her assurance, even though I made pretence +of so doing. + +For a few moments I held her in my arms tenderly, then releasing her, +she bade me _au revoir_ merrily, and we descended into the hall +together. + +A taxi was called, and I heard her direct the driver to go to the +Boulevard Pereire. Then, waving her hand from the cab window, she +drove away. + +Should I follow? To spy upon her would be a mean action. It would show +a lack of confidence, and would certainly irritate and annoy her. Yet +was she not in peril? Had she not long ago admitted herself to be in +some grave and mysterious danger? + +I had only a single moment in which to decide. Somehow I felt impelled +to follow and watch that she came to no harm; yet, at the same time, I +knew that it was not right. She was my wife, and I dearly loved her +and trusted her. If discovered, my action would show her that I was +suspicious. + +Still I felt distinctly apprehensive, and it was that apprehension +which caused me, a second later, to seize my hat, and, walking out of +the hotel, hail a passing taxi, and drive quickly to the quiet, highly +respectable boulevard to which she had directed her driver. + +I suppose it was, perhaps, a quarter of an hour later when we turned +into the thoroughfare down the centre of which runs the railway in a +deep cutting. The houses were large ones, let out in fine flats, the +residences mostly of the professional and wealthier tradesman classes. + +We went along, until presently I caught sight of another taxi standing +at the kerb. Therefore I dismissed mine, and, keeping well in the +shadow, sauntered along the boulevard, now quiet and deserted. + +With great precaution I approached the standing taxi on the opposite +side of the way. There was nobody within. It was evidently awaiting +some one, and as it was the only one in sight I concluded that it must +be the same which Sylvia had taken from the hotel. + +Some distance further on I walked, when, before me, I recognized her +neat figure, and almost a moment afterwards saw her disappear into a +large doorway which was in complete darkness--the doorway of what +seemed to be an untenanted house. + +I halted quickly and waited--yet almost ashamed of myself for spying +thus. + +A moment later I saw that, having believed herself unobserved, she +struck a match, but for what reason did not seem apparent. She +appeared to be examining the wall. She certainly was not endeavouring +to open the door. From the distance, however, I was unable to +distinguish very plainly. + +The vesta burned out, and she threw it upon the ground. Then she +hurriedly retraced her steps to where she had left her cab, and I was +compelled to bolt into a doorway in order to evade her. + +She passed quite close to me, and when she had driven away I emerged, +and, walking to the doorway, also struck a light and examined the same +stone wall. At first I could discover nothing, but after considerable +searching my eyes at last detected a dark smudge, as though something +had been obliterated. + +It was a cryptic sign in lead pencil, and apparently she had drawn her +hand over it to remove it, but had not been altogether successful. +Examining it closely, I saw that the sign, as originally scrawled upon +the smooth stone, was like two crescents placed back to back, while +both above and below rough circles had been drawn. + +The marks had evidently some prearranged meaning--one which she +understood. It was a secret message from her father, without a doubt! + +At risk of detection by some agent of police, I made a further close +examination of the wall, and came upon two other signs which had also +been hurriedly obliterated--one of three double triangles, and another +of two oblongs and a circle placed in conjunction. But there was no +writing; nothing, indeed, to convey any meaning to the uninitiated. + +The wall of that dark entry, however, was no doubt the means of an +exchange of secret messages between certain unknown persons. + +The house was a large one, and had been let out in flats, as were its +neighbours; but for some unaccountable reason--perhaps owing to a law +dispute--it now remained closed. + +I was puzzled as to which of the three half-obliterated signs Sylvia +had sought. But I took notice of each, and then walked back in the +direction whence I had come. + +I returned at once to the hotel, but my wife had not yet come back. +This surprised me. And I was still further surprised when she did not +arrive until nearly one o'clock in the morning. Yet she seemed very +happy--unusually so. + +Where had she been after receiving that secret message, I wondered? +Yet I could not question her, lest I should betray my watchfulness. + +"I'm so sorry to have left you alone all this long time, Owen," she +said, as she entered the room and came across to kiss me. "But it was +quite unavoidable." + +"Is all well?" I inquired. + +"Quite," was her reply. "My father is already out of France." + +That was all she would vouchsafe to me. Still I saw that she was +greatly gratified at the knowledge of his escape from his mysterious +enemies. + +The whole situation was extraordinary. Why should this man Delanne, +the friend of Reckitt and no doubt a member of a gang of blackmailers +and assassins, openly pursue him to the death? It was an entire +enigma. I could discern no light through the veil of mystery which +had, all along, so completely enshrouded Pennington and his daughter. + +Still I resolved to put aside all apprehensions. Why should I trouble? + +I loved Sylvia with all my heart, and with all my soul. She was mine! +What more could I desire? + +Next evening we returned to Wilton Street. She had suddenly expressed +a desire to leave Paris, perhaps because she did not wish to again +meet her father's enemy, that fat Frenchman Guertin. + +For nearly a month we lived in perfect happiness, frequently visiting +the Shuttleworths for the day, and going about a good deal in town. +She urged me to go to Carrington to shoot, but, knowing that she did +not like the old place, I made excuses and remained in London. + +"Father is in Roumania," she remarked to me one morning when she had +been reading her letters at the breakfast-table. "He sends his +remembrances to you from Bucharest. You have never been there, I +suppose? I'm extremely fond of the place. There is lots of life, and +the Roumanians are always so very hospitable." + +"No," I said, "I've never been to Bucharest, unfortunately, though +I've been in Constanza, which is also in Roumania. Remember me to your +father when you write, won't you?" + +"Certainly. He wonders whether you and I would care to go out there +for a month or two?" + +"In winter?" + +"Winter is the most pleasant time. It is the season in Bucharest." + +"As you please, dearest," I replied. "I am entirely in your hands, as +you know," I laughed. + +"That's awfully sweet of you, Owen," she declared. "You are always +indulging me--just like the spoilt child I am." + +"Because I love you," I replied softly, placing my hand upon hers and +looking into her wonderful eyes. + +She smiled contentedly, and I saw in those eyes the genuine love-look: +the expression which a woman can never feign. + +Thus the autumn days went past, happy days of peace and joy. + +Sylvia delighted in the theatre, and we went very often, while on days +when it was dry and the sun shone, I took her motoring to Brighton, to +Guildford, to Tunbridge Wells, or other places on the well-known +roads out of London. + +The clouds which had first marred our happiness had now happily been +dispelled, and the sun of life and love shone upon us perpetually. + +Sometimes I wondered whether that ideal happiness was not too complete +to last. In the years I had lived I had become a pessimist. I feared a +too-complete ideal. The realization of our hopes is always followed by +a poignant despair. In this world there is no cup of sweetness without +dregs of bitterness. The man who troubles after the to-morrow creates +trouble for himself, while he who is regardless of the future is like +an ostrich burying its head in the sand at sign of disaster. + +Still, each of us who marry fondly believe ourselves to be the one +exception to the rule. And perhaps it is only human that it should be +so. I, like you my reader, believed that my troubles were over, and +that all the lowering clouds had drifted away. They were, however, +only low over the horizon, and were soon to reappear. Ah! how +differently would I have acted had I but known what the future--the +future of which I was now so careless--held in store for me! + +One night we had gone in the car to the Coliseum Theatre, for Sylvia +was fond of variety performances as a change from the legitimate +theatre. As we sat in the box, I thought--though I could not be +certain--that she made some secret signal with her fan to somebody +seated below amid the crowded audience. + +My back had been turned for a moment, and on looking round I felt +convinced that she had signalled. It was on the tip of my tongue to +refer to it, yet I hesitated, fearing lest she might be annoyed. I +trusted her implicitly, and, after all, I might easily have mistaken a +perfectly natural movement for a sign of recognition. Therefore I +laughed at my own foolish fancy, and turned my attention again to the +performance. + +At last the curtain fell, and as we stood together amid the crush in +the vestibule, the night having turned out wet, I left her, to go in +search of our carriage. + +I suppose I was absent about two or three minutes, but on my return I +could not find her. + +She had vanished as completely as though the earth had swallowed her +up. + +I waited until the theatre was entirely empty. I described her to the +attendants, and I had a chat with the smart and highly popular +manager, but no one had seen her. She had simply disappeared. + +I was frantic, full of the wildest dread as to what had occurred. How +madly I acted I scarcely knew. At last, seeing to remain longer was +useless, now that the theatre had closed, I jumped into the brougham +and drove with all haste to Wilton Street. + +"No, Mr. Owen," replied Browning to my breathless inquiry, "madam has +not yet returned." + +I brushed past him and entered the study. + +Upon my writing-table there lay a note addressed to me. + +I recognized the handwriting in an instant, and with trembling fingers +tore open the envelope. + +What I read there staggered me. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE + +IN FULL CRY + + +The amazing letter which I held in my nerveless fingers had been +hurriedly scribbled on a piece of my wife's own notepaper, and read-- + + "DEAR OWEN--I feel that our marriage was an entire mistake. + I have grossly deceived you, and I dare not hope ever for + your forgiveness, nor dare I face you to answer your + questions. I know that you love me dearly, as I, too, have + loved you; yet, for your own sake--and perhaps for mine + also--it is far best that we should keep apart. + + "I deeply regret that I have been the means of bringing + misfortune and unhappiness and sorrow upon you, but I have + been the tool of another. In shame and deepest humiliation I + leave you, and if you will grant one favour to an unhappy + and penitent woman, you will never seek to discover my + whereabouts. It would be quite useless. To-night I leave you + in secret, never to meet you again. Accept my deepest + regret, and do not let my action trouble you. I am not + worthy of your love. Good-bye. Your unhappy--SYLVIA." + +I stood staring at the uneven scribbled lines, blurred as they were by +the tears of the writer. + +What had happened? Why had she so purposely left me? Why had she made +that signal from the theatre-box to her accomplice? + +She admitted having grossly deceived me, and that she was unworthy. +What did she mean? In what manner had she deceived me? + +Had she a secret lover? + +That idea struck me suddenly, and staggered me. In some of her recent +actions I read secrecy and suspicion. On several occasions lately she +had been out shopping alone, and one afternoon, about a week before, +she had not returned to dress for dinner until nearly eight o'clock. +Her excuse had been a thin one, but, unsuspicious, I had passed it by. + +Had I really been a fool to marry her, after all? I knew Marlowe's +opinion of our marriage, though he had never expressed it. That she +had been associated with a shady lot had all along been apparent. The +terrors of that silent house in Porchester Terrace remained only too +fresh within my memory. + +That night I spent in a wild fever of excitement. No sleep came to my +eyes, and I think Browning--to whom I said nothing--believed that I +had taken leave of my senses. The faithful old servant did not retire, +for at five in the morning I found him seated dozing in a chair +outside in the hall, tired out by the watchful vigil he had kept over +me. + +I tried in vain to decide what to do. I wanted to find Sylvia, to +induce her to reveal the truth to me, and to allay her fear of my +reproaches. + +I loved her; aye, no man in all the world ever loved a woman better. +Yet she had, of her own accord, because of her own shame at her +deception, bade farewell, and slipped away into the great ocean of +London life. + +Morning dawned at last, cold, grey and foggy, one of those dispiriting +mornings of late autumn which the Londoner knows so well. Still I knew +not how to act. I wanted to discover her, to bring her back, and to +demand of her finally the actual truth. All the mystery of those past +months had sent my brain awhirl. + +I had an impulse to go to the police and reveal the secret of that +closed house in Porchester Terrace. Yet had she not implored me not to +do so? Why? There was only one reason. She feared exposure herself. + +No. Ten thousand times no. I would not believe ill of her. Can any man +who really loves a woman believe ill of her? Love is blind, it is +true, and the scales never fall from the eyes while true affection +lasts. And so I put suspicion from my mind, and swallowed the cup of +coffee Browning put before me. + +The old man, the friend of my youth, knew that his mistress had not +returned, and saw how greatly I was distressed. Yet he was far too +discreet a servant to refer to it. + +I entered the drawing-room, and there, in the grey light, facing me, +stood the fine portrait of my well-beloved in a silver frame, the one +she had had taken at Scarborough a week after our marriage. + +I drew it from its frame and gazed for a long time upon it. Then I put +it into an envelope, and placed it in my pocket. + +Soon after ten o'clock I returned to the Coliseum, and showed the +portrait to a number of the attendants as that of a lady who was +missing. All of them, both male and female, gazed upon the picture, +but nobody recognized her as having been seen before. + +The manager, whom I had seen on the previous night, sympathized with +me, and lent me every assistance. One after another of the staff he +called into his big office on the first floor, but the reply was +always the same. + +At length a smart page-boy entered, and, on being shown the portrait, +at once said to the manager-- + +"Why, sir, that's the lady who went away with the gentleman who spoke +to me!" + +"Who was he?" I demanded eagerly. "What did he say? What was he like?" + +"Well, sir, it was like this," replied the boy. "About a quarter of an +hour before the curtain fell last night I was out in the vestibule, +when a tall dark gentleman, with his hair slightly grey and no +moustache, came up to me with a lady's cloak in his hand--a dark blue +one. He told me that when the audience came out a fair young lady +would come up to me for the cloak, as she wanted to get away very +quickly, and did not want to wait her turn at the cloak-room. There +was a car--a big grey car--waiting for her outside." + +"Then her flight was all prepared!" I exclaimed. "What was the man +like?" + +"He struck me as being a gentleman, yet his clothes seemed shabby and +ill-fitting. Indeed, he had a shabby-genteel look, as though he were a +bit down on his luck." + +"He was in evening clothes?" + +"No, sir. In a suit of brown tweeds." + +"Well, what happened then?" + +"I waited till the curtain fell, and then I stood close to the +box-office with the cloak over my arm. There was a big crush, as it +was then raining hard. Suddenly a young lady wearing a cream +theatre-wrap came up to me hastily, and asked me to help her on with +the cloak. This I did, and next moment the man in tweeds joined her. I +heard him say, 'Come along, dear, we haven't a moment to lose,' and +then they went out to the car. That's all I know, sir." + +I was silent for a few moments. Who was this secret lover, I wondered? +The lad's statement had come as an amazing revelation to me. + +"What kind of car was it?" I asked. + +"A hired car, sir," replied the intelligent boy. "I've seen it here +before. It comes, I think, from a garage in Wardour Street." + +"You would know the driver?" + +"I think so, sir." + +It was therefore instantly arranged that the lad should go with me +round to the garage, and there try to find the man who drove the grey +car on the previous night. + +In this we were quickly successful. On entering the garage there +stood, muddy and dirty, a big grey landaulette, which the boy at once +identified as the one in which Sylvia had escaped. The driver was soon +found, and he explained that it was true he had been engaged on the +previous night by a tall, clean-shaven gentleman to pick up at the +Coliseum. He did so, and the gentleman entered with a lady. + +"Where did you drive them?" I asked quickly. + +"Up the Great North Road--to the George Hotel at Stamford, about a +hundred miles from London. I've only been back about a couple of +hours, sir." + +"The George at Stamford!" I echoed, for I knew the hotel, a quiet, +old-fashioned, comfortable place much patronized by motorists to and +fro on the north road. + +"You didn't stay there?" + +"Only just to get a drink and fill up with petrol. I wanted to get +back. The lady and gentleman were evidently expected, and seemed in a +great hurry." + +"Why?" + +"Well, near Alconbury the engine was misfiring a little, and I stopped +to open the bonnet. When I did so, the lady put her head out of the +window, highly excited, and asked how long we were likely to be +delayed. I told her; then I heard her say to the gentleman, 'If they +are away before we reach there, what shall we do?'" + +"Then they were on their way to meet somebody or other--eh?" + +"Ah! that I don't know, sir. I drew up in the yard of the hotel, and +they both got out. The lady hurried in, while the gentleman paid me, +and gave me something for myself. It was then nearly four o'clock in +the morning. I should have been back earlier, only I had a puncture +the other side of Hatfield, and had to put on the 'Stepney.'" + +"I must go to Stamford," I said decisively. Then I put something into +his palm, as well as into that of the page-boy, and, entering a taxi, +drove back home. + +An hour later I sat beside my own chauffeur, as we drove through the +steadily falling rain across Hampstead Heath, on our hundred-mile +journey into Lincolnshire. + +We both knew every inch of the road, having been over it many times. +As it was wet, police-traps were unlikely, so, having negotiated the +narrow road as far as Hatfield, we began to "let her out" past +Hitchin, and we buzzed on over the broad open road through Stilton +village. We were hung up at the level-crossing at Wansford, but about +half-past three in the afternoon we swept over the brow of the hill +beneath the high wall of Burghley Park, and saw beneath us the roofs +and many spires of quiet old Stamford. + +Ten minutes later we swung into the yard of the ancient George, and, +alighting, entered the broad hall, with its splendid old oak +staircase, in search of the manageress. + +She related a rather curious story. + +On the previous night, about eleven o'clock, there arrived by car two +well-dressed gentlemen who, though English, conversed together in +French. They took rooms, but did not retire to bed, saying that they +expected two friends who were motoring, and who would arrive in the +night. They sat over the fire in the lounge, while the staff of the +hotel all retired, save the night-boots, an old retainer. The latter +stated that during the night, as he passed the door of the lounge, he +saw through the crack of the door the younger of the two men examining +something which shone and sparkled in the light, and he thought to be +diamonds. This struck him as somewhat curious; therefore he kept a +watchful eye upon the pair. + +One he described as rather stout, dark, and bald-headed--the exact +description of Pennington--and the other description the man +afterwards gave to me caused me to feel confident that the second man +was none other than the scoundrel Reckitt. What further piece of +chicanery had they been guilty of, I wondered? + +"About four in the morning a grey car drove up, sir," went on the +boots, "and a lady with a dark cloak over her evening dress dashed in, +and they both rose quickly and welcomed her. Then, in order that I +should not understand, they again started talking in some foreign +language--French I expect it was. A few moments later the gentleman +came in. They welcomed him warmly, addressing him by the name of +Lewis. I saw the bald-headed man wring his hand heartily, and heard +him exclaim: 'By Jove! old man, you can't think how glad we are to see +you back again! You must have had a narrow squeak! Not another single +living man would have acted with the determination and bravery with +which you've acted. Only you must be careful, Lewis, old man--deuced +careful. There are enemies about, you know.' Then the gentleman said: +'I know! I'm quite aware of my peril, Arnold. You, too, had a narrow +shave in Paris a short time ago--I hear from Sonia.' 'Yes,' laughed +the other, 'she acted splendidly. But, as you say, it was a very close +thing. Have you seen Shuttleworth yet?' he asked. The other said: 'He +met me, in the Ditches at Southampton, two nights ago, and told me all +that's happened.' 'Ah! And Sonia has told you the rest, I suppose?' he +asked; to which the other man replied in the affirmative, adding: +'It's a bad job, I fear, for Owen Biddulph--a very bad job for the +fellow!' That was all the conversation that I overheard at that time, +for they then rang the bell and ordered whisky and sodas." + +"And what else did you see or hear?" I asked eagerly, much puzzled by +his statement. + +"They struck me as rather a suspicious lot, sir," the man said. "After +I had taken them in their drinks they closed the door, and seemed to +hold some sort of a consultation. While this was going on, two men +drove up in another car, and asked if a Mr. Winton was here. I told +him he was--for the bald-headed gentleman had given the name of +Douglas Winton. They were at once welcomed, and admitted to the +conference." + +"Rather curious--to hold a conference in such a manner and at such an +hour!" I remarked. + +"Yes, sir. It was a secret meeting, evidently. They all spoke in +another language. The two men who last arrived were no doubt +foreigners." + +"Was one of them stout and wore gold-rimmed glasses?" I inquired +quickly. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR + +AN UNFORTUNATE SLIP + + +"No, sir," the boots replied, "both were youngish men, with dark +moustaches. They wore heavy coats, and were in an open car. They came +from York way, and had evidently driven some distance." + +"You saw nothing of what went on at their mysterious meeting?" + +"Well, sir, the fact is, when I had had my suspicions aroused, I crept +out into the yard, and found that I could see into the lounge through +the chink between the blind and the window. They were all seated round +the table, the head of which had been taken by the gentleman who had +arrived from London with the lady. He seemed to be chairman, and he +talked in a low, deliberate, and very earnest tone, being listened to +with greatest interest. He evidently related something which amazed +them. Then a map, or plan, was placed upon the table, and each +examined it in turn. Afterwards two photographs were produced by Mr. +Winton and handed around the assembly. Each man looked long and +steadily at the pictures--both were of women. The young lady present +refused to take any part in the discussion, and I noticed that she +passed on the photographs without comment--without even glancing at +them." + +"Did she appear to be present there against her will?" I asked +breathlessly. + +"No, not exactly. She seemed very friendly with all the gentlemen. The +two foreigners were strangers to her--for she was introduced to them." + +"By name?" + +"Yes, sir. Miss Sonia Poland." + +I bit my lip. Had she already dropped my name, and was now passing +under an alias? + +"Sonia Poland!" I echoed. "Was it for the purpose of concealing her +identity from the foreigners, do you think?" I asked. + +"No, sir. Because Winton and his companion addressed her as Sonia +Poland when she arrived." + +"And you believed it to be her real name?" + +"I suppose it is, sir," was the man's reply, for I fear my manner +somewhat mystified him. + +"Well, and what further did you see at this early morning +consultation?" I asked, mindful that his curiosity had no doubt been +aroused by sight of something sparkling in the strange visitor's hand. + +"The gentleman called Mr. Lewis wrote out a paper very carefully and +handed it round. Every one signed it--except the lady. They asked her +to do so, but she protested vigorously, and the matter was not +pressed. Then the photograph of a man was shown to the two foreigners, +and the lady tried to prevent it. Curiously enough, sir, I caught a +good sight of it--just a head and shoulders--and the picture very +much resembled you yourself, sir!" + +"Me!" I cried. "And they showed it to the two young foreigners--eh?" + +"Yes, sir. One of them took it and put it into his pocket. Then the +mysterious Mr. Lewis, as chairman of the meeting, seemed to raise a +protest. The two foreigners gesticulated, jabbered away, and raised +their shoulders a lot. I dearly wish I could have made out a word they +said. Unfortunately I couldn't. Only I saw that in Mr. Lewis's face +was a look of fierce determination. They at first defied him. But at +last, with great reluctance, they handed back the photograph, which +Mr. Lewis himself burned on the fire." + +"He burned my photograph!" + +"Yes, sir. I think it was yours, sir--but of course I can't be quite +positive." + +"And what else?" + +"Mr. Winton said something, whereupon all of them glanced at the door +and then at the window. One of the foreigners came to the window, but +did not notice that there was a slight crack through which I could +see. Then he turned the key in the door. After he had returned to his +chair, the man who had arrived with Mr. Winton took from his pocket +something that shone. My heart beat quickly. It was a diamond +necklet--the object I had seen in his hand earlier. He passed it round +for the admiration of the others, who each took it and closely +examined it beneath the light--all but the young lady. She was +standing aside, near the fireplace, watching. Now and then she placed +her hand to her forehead, as though her brain were weary." + +"And after that?" + +"After the necklet had been passed round the elder of the two +foreigners wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief and placed it in +his pocket. Then Mr. Lewis gave them a long address, emphasizing his +words with his hand, and they listened to him without uttering a word. +Suddenly Mr. Winton sprang up and wrung his hand, afterwards making +what appeared to be some highly complimentary remarks, for Mr. Lewis +smiled and bowed to the assembly, who afterwards rose. Then the young +lady rushed up to Mr. Lewis and implored him to do something, but he +refused. She stood before him, pale-faced and determined. Her eyes +seemed starting from her head. She seemed like one horrified. But he +placed his hand tenderly upon her shoulder, and uttered some quick low +words which instantly calmed her. Very shortly after that the party +broke up, and the door was re-opened. The two foreigners hurriedly +swallowed a liqueur-glass of brandy each, and then, passing into the +yard, wished their companions adieu and drove away in their car--in +the direction of London." + +"Carrying with them the diamond necklet which the other man had +brought there?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And what became of the young lady?" I inquired very anxiously. + +"She first had a long and private conversation with the gentleman +named Winton--the bald-headed man." + +This, it will be remembered, was the person whose description tallied +exactly with that of her father. + +"They went outside together," said the boots, "out into the yard, and +there conversed alone in half-whispers. Afterwards they rejoined the +others. Mr. Lewis seemed very annoyed with her; nevertheless, after a +cup of tea each, about half-past five the four of them got into the +car in which Winton had arrived and drove away in the direction of +Grantham. Winton gave me a sovereign for myself--an unusually generous +gift, I can assure you, sir," he laughed. + +"And now what is your own opinion concerning them?" I asked. + +"Why, there can only be one opinion, sir--that they are wrong 'uns. I +felt half a mind to tell Mr. Pearson, the police-constable who lives +across in Water Lane, but I didn't like to without consulting +somebody. And I didn't want to wake up the manageress." + +"Ah! and it may now be too late, Cross," said the lady in question, +who had been standing by all the time. Then, addressing me, she said-- + +"The whole affair seemed most mysterious, sir, therefore I went round +and saw the inspector of police this morning, and told him briefly of +our strange visitors. I'm rather glad they're gone, for one never +likes unpleasantness in a hotel. Yet, of course, the fault cannot be +that of the hotel-keeper if he takes in an undesirable." + +"Of course not. But what view did the inspector hold?" + +"Inspector Deane merely expressed the opinion that they were +suspicious persons--that's all." + +"So they seem to have been," I remarked, without satisfying her as to +who I really was. My story there was that I had business relations +with Mr. Lewis, and had followed him there in the hope of catching him +up. + +We were in the manageress's room, a cosy apartment in the back of the +quaint old hostelry, when a waitress came and announced Inspector +Deane. The official was at once shown in, whereupon he said abruptly-- + +"The truth is out, Miss Hammond, regarding your strange visitors of +last night." And he glanced inquiringly at myself. + +"You can speak openly before this gentleman," she said, noticing his +hesitation. + +"The fact is, a circular-telegram has just been sent out from Scotland +Yard, saying that by the express from Edinburgh due at King's Cross at +10.45 last night the Archduchess Marie Louise, niece of the Emperor +Francis Joseph of Austria, was a passenger. She had been staying at +Balmoral, and travelled south in a special saloon. When the luggage +came to be collected a dressing-case was missing--it evidently having +been stolen in transit by somebody who had obtained access to the +saloon while on the journey. The corridor was open between York and +London, so that the restaurant could be reached, and it is believed +that the thief, or thieves, managed to pass in unobserved and throw +the bag out upon the line to some confederate awaiting it. The bag +contained a magnificent diamond necklet--a historic heirloom of the +Imperial family of the Hapsburgs--and is valued at fifty thousand +pounds!" + +"And those people who met here were the thieves!" gasped the +manageress, turning instantly pale. + +"Without a doubt. You see, the Great Northern main line runs close by +us--at Essendine. It may be that the thieves were waiting for it near +there--waiting for it to be dropped out in the darkness. All the +platelayers along the line are now searching for the bag, but we here +are certain that the thieves spent the night in Stamford." + +"Not the thieves," I said. "The receivers." + +"Exactly." + +"But the young foreigner has it!" cried the boots. "He and his friend +set off for London with it." + +"Yes. They would reach London in time to catch one of the boat-trains +from Victoria or Charing Cross this morning, and by this time they're +safely out of the country--carrying the necklet with them. Ah! +Scotland Yard is terribly slow. But the delay seems to have been +caused by the uncertainty of Her Highness as to whether she had +actually brought the dressing-case with her, and she had to telegraph +to Balmoral before she could really state that it had been stolen." + +"The two men, Douglas Winton and his friend, came here in a +motor-car," I remarked. "They had evidently been waiting somewhere +near the line, in order to pick up the stolen bag." + +"Without a doubt, sir," exclaimed the inspector. "Their actions here, +according to what Miss Hammond told me this morning, were most +suspicious. It's a pity that the boots did not communicate with us." + +"Yes, Mr. Deane," said the man referred to, "I'm very sorry now that I +didn't. But I felt loath to disturb people at that hour of the +morning." + +"You took no note of the number of either of the three cars which +came, I suppose?" + +"No. We have so many cars here that I hardly noticed even what colour +they were." + +"Ah! That's unfortunate. Still, we shall probably pick up some clue to +them along the road. Somebody is certain to have seen them, or know +something about them." + +"This gentleman here knows something about them," remarked the +manageress, indicating myself. + +The inspector turned to me in quick surprise, and no doubt saw the +surprise in my face. + +"I--I know nothing," I managed to exclaim blankly, at once realizing +the terrible pitfall into which I had fallen. + +"But you said you knew Mr. Lewis--the gentleman who acted as president +of that mysterious conference!" Miss Hammond declared, in all +innocence. + +"I think, sir," added the inspector, "that the matter is such a grave +one that you should at once reveal all you do know. You probably +overlook the fact that if you persist in silence you may be arrested +as an accessory." + +"But I know nothing," I protested; "nothing whatever concerning the +robbery!" + +"But you know one of the men," said Cross the boots. + +"And the lady also, without a doubt!" added the inspector. + +"I refuse to be cross-examined in this manner by you!" I retorted in +anger, yet full of apprehension now that I saw myself suspected of +friendship with the gang. + +"Well, sir, then I regret that I must ask you to walk over the bridge +with me to the police-station. I must take you before the +superintendent," he said firmly. + +"But I know nothing," I again protested. + +"Come with me," he said, with a grim smile of disbelief. "That you'll +be compelled to prove." + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE + +MORE STRANGE FACTS + + +Compelled against my will to accompany the inspector to the police +head-quarters in the High Street, I made a statement--a rather lame +one, I fear. + +I concealed the fact that the lady of the previous night's conference +was my wife, and explained my visit to Stamford, and my inquiries at +the George, by the fact that I had met the man Lewis abroad, and had +had some financial dealings with him, which, I now suspected, were not +altogether square. So, hearing that he had motored to the north, I had +followed, and had inquired at several of the well-known motoring +hotels for news of him, being unsuccessful until I had arrived at +Stamford. + +This story would, of course, not have held water had Miss Hammond, the +manageress, been present. Happily, however, she had not accompanied +me, hence I was able to concoct a somewhat plausible excuse to the +local superintendent. + +"Then you actually know nothing concerning these people?" he asked, +regarding me shrewdly. + +"Nothing beyond the fact of meeting Lewis abroad, and very foolishly +trusting in his honesty." + +The superintendent smiled. I think he regarded me as a bit of a fool. +Probably I had been. + +"They are a clever gang, no doubt," he declared. "The Archduchess's +necklace must have been stolen by some one travelling in the train. +I've been on to Scotland Yard by telephone, and there seems a +suspicion because at Grantham--the last stopping-place before +London--a ticket-collector boarded the train. He was a stranger to the +others, but they believed that he had been transferred from one or +other of the branches to the main line, and being in the company's +uniform they, of course, accepted him. He collected the tickets _en +route_, as is sometimes done, and at Finsbury Park descended, and was +lost sight of. Here again the busy collectors came and demanded +tickets, much to the surprise of the passengers, and the curious +incident was much commented upon." + +"Then the bogus collector was the thief, I suppose?" + +"No doubt. He somehow secured the dressing-bag and dropped it out at a +point between Grantham and Essendine--a spot where he knew his +accomplices would be waiting--a very neatly-planned robbery." + +"And by persons who are evidently experts," I said. + +"Of course," replied the grey-haired superintendent. "The manner in +which the diamonds have been quickly transferred from hand to hand and +carried out of the country is sufficient evidence of that. The gang +have now scattered, and, for aught we know, have all crossed the +Channel by this time." + +"Well," I assured him; "I know nothing more of the affair than what I +have told you. If I were an accomplice I should hardly be here--making +inquiries concerning them." + +"I don't know so much about that," he replied, rather incredulously. +"Such an action has been known before, in order to place the police +upon a wrong scent. I fear I must ask you to remain here, in Stamford, +until this evening, while I make some inquiry into your _bona fides_, +sir." + +"What!" I cried. "You intend to detain me!" + +"There is no indignity," he declared. "You may go about the town where +you will--providing you do not attempt to leave it. I regret, but it +is my duty to ascertain who and what you are, Mr. Biddulph." + +I had given him my card, and he, seeing the look of annoyance upon my +face, added-- + +"I can only express apologies, sir. But you will see it is my duty. +You have admitted knowledge of at least one of the mysterious gang." + +"Very well," I replied reluctantly; "make what inquiries you will." +And I gave him the address of my solicitors and my bankers. + +Then, walking out of the office, I strolled down the quiet old High +Street into the market place, full of evil forebodings. + +Who was this man Lewis--or Louis--with whom my wife had escaped? + +He was a blackguardly adventurer, anyhow. He had addressed her as +"dear," and had been solicitous of her welfare throughout! To him she +had signalled from her box in the theatre, well knowing that he was +making secret preparations for her elopement. Indeed, she had written +that note and placed it upon my blotting-pad before we had gone forth +together, she well knowing that she would never again re-cross my +threshold. + +Ah! The poignant bitterness of it all had gripped my heart. My cup of +unhappiness was now assuredly full. + +How brief had been my joy; how quickly my worst fears had been +realized. + +About the quiet, old-world decaying town I wandered, hardly knowing +whither I went. When, every now and then, in the fading light, I found +myself going into the country I turned back, mindful of my promise not +to leave the place without permission. + +About six I returned to the George and sat beside the fire in the +lounge--in that selfsame chair where my fugitive wife had sat. I was +eager to renew the chase, yet until I received word from the police I +was compelled to remain helpless. + +Old Cross, the boots, became inquisitive, but I evaded his questions, +and ate my dinner alone in the small cosy coffee-room, awaiting the +reappearance of Inspector Deane. I had given my chauffeur liberty till +eight o'clock, but I was all anxiety to drive back to London. + +Still, if I returned, what could I do? Sylvia and her companions had +driven away--whither was a mystery. + +The Criminal Investigation Department had already issued an official +description of the persons wanted, for while I had been at the +police-office the inspector had been closely questioning the man Cross +and Miss Hammond. + +Already the police drag-net was out, and the combined police forces of +Europe would, in an hour or two, be on the watch for Sylvia and her +mysterious companions. + +So far as the United Kingdom was concerned sixty thousand officers, +detectives and constables would be furnished with a complete +description of those who had held that secret consultation. The +tightest of tight cordons would be drawn. Every passenger who embarked +at English ports for abroad would be carefully scrutinized by +plain-clothes men. Every hotel-keeper, not only in London, but in the +remote villages and hamlets would be closely questioned as to the +identity and recent movements of his guests. Full descriptions of +Sylvia and her friends would be cabled to America, and the American +police would be asked to keep a sharp look-out on passengers arriving +on all boats from Europe. Descriptions would also be sent to the +police head-quarters in every European capital. + +In face of that, what more could I do? + +The situation had become unbearable. Sylvia's unaccountable action had +plunged me into a veritable sea of despair. The future seemed blank +and hopeless. + +Just before eight o'clock I strolled back to the police-office and +reported myself, as it were. The superintendent expressed himself +perfectly satisfied with the replies he had received from London, and, +with apologies, gave me leave to depart. + +"Inquiry is being made along the roads in every direction from here," +he said. "We hear that the three men and the woman called at the Bell, +at Barnby Moor, and had some breakfast. Afterwards they continued +northward." + +"Barnby Moor!" I echoed. "Why, that's near Doncaster." + +"Yes, sir. Motorists patronize the place a good deal." + +"And is that all that is known?" I inquired eagerly. + +"All at present," he said. Therefore I left and, returning to the +garage, mounted the car and, with head-lamps alight, drove out into +the pitch darkness in the direction of Grantham. We sped along the +broad old coach-road for nearly three hours, until at last we pulled +up before an ancient wayside inn which had been modernized and adapted +to twentieth-century requirements. + +The manager, in reply to my eager questions, said it was true that the +Doncaster police had been there making inquiries regarding four +motorists--three gentlemen and a lady--who had called there that +morning and had had breakfast in the coffee-room. + +The head-waiter who had attended them was called, and I questioned +him. I think the manager believed me to be a detective, for he was +most courteous, and ready to give me all information. + +"Yes, sir," replied the tall, slim head-waiter. "They came here in a +great hurry, and seemed to have come a long distance, judging from the +way the car was plastered with mud. The lady was very cold, for they +had an open car, and she wore a gentleman's overcoat and a shawl tied +around her head. The tallest of the gentlemen drove the car. They +called him Lewis." + +"Did you hear them address the lady?" I asked eagerly. + +"They called her Sonia, sir." + +"And you say she seemed very fatigued?" + +"Very. She went upstairs and changed her evening gown for a stuff +dress, which was brought out of the car. Then she came down and joined +the others at breakfast." + +"They gave you no indication as to their destination, I suppose?" + +"Well, sir, I think they were returning to London, for I heard one of +the gentlemen say something about catching the boat-train." + +"They may have meant the Harwich boat-train from the north," I +remarked. + +"Very likely, sir. One portion of that train comes through Doncaster +in the afternoon to Peterborough and March, while the other comes down +to Rugby on the North-Western, and then goes across to Peterborough by +way of Market Harborough." + +"Then they may have joined that, and if so they would just about be +leaving Parkeston Quay by now!" + +"If so, the police are certain to spot them," laughed the waiter. +"They're wanted for the theft of a princess's jewels, they say." + +What should I do? It was now long past ten o'clock, and I could not +possibly arrive at Parkeston before early morning. Besides, if they +had really gone there, they would, no doubt, be arrested. The man with +the pimply face whose description so closely tallied with that of +Reckitt, was surely too clever a criminal to run his neck into a noose +by going to any port of embarkation. Therefore I concluded that +whatever had been said at table had been said with the distinct object +of misleading the waiter. The very manner in which the diamonds had +been stolen showed a cunning and a daring unsurpassed. Such men were +certainly not easily trapped. + +My sole thought was of Sylvia. I could not bring myself to believe +that she had wilfully forsaken her home and her husband. Upon her, I +felt confident, some species of blackmail had been levied, and she had +been forced away from me by reasons beyond her control. + +That incident of the photograph--the picture believed to have been of +myself--which the foreigner tried to secure but which the man Lewis +had himself destroyed, was incomprehensible. What had been intended by +the foreigner? + +I gathered all the information I could in the hotel, and then, after a +hasty meal, re-entered the car and set out upon the dark, cold return +journey to London. + +Where was Sylvia? Who were her mysterious friends? And, chief of all, +who was that man Lewis who addressed her in such endearing terms? + +What could possibly be the solution of the mystery? + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX + +"SOME SENSATIONAL REVELATIONS" + + +The days dragged by. The papers were full of the robbery, declaring +that it had been executed so neatly as to betray the hand of experts. + +A gang of Continental thieves was suspected, because, as a matter of +fact, a robbery similar in detail had, six months before, taken place +on the night express between Cologne and Berlin. In that case also a +strange ticket-inspector had been seen. The stolen property had, no +doubt, been thrown from the train to accomplices. Such method was +perfectly safe for the thief, because, unless actually detected in the +act of tossing out a bag or parcel, no evidence could very well be +brought against him. + +Therefore the police, and through them the newspapers, decided that +the same gang was responsible for the theft of the Archduchess's +necklace as for the robbery in Germany. + +Myself, I read eagerly every line of what appeared in the morning and +evening press. + +Many ridiculous theories were put forward by some journalists in +working up the "story," and more than once I found cruel and unfounded +reflections cast upon the sole female member of the party--my dear +wife. + +This was all extremely painful to me--all so utterly incomprehensible +that, as I sat alone in the silence of my deserted home, I felt that +no further misfortune could fall upon me. The iron of despair had +entered my very soul. + +Marlowe called one afternoon, and I was compelled to make excuse for +Sylvia's absence, telling him she was down at Mrs. Shuttleworth's. + +"You don't look quite yourself, old man," he had said. "What's up?" + +"Oh, nothing," I laughed faintly. "I'm a bit run down, that's all. +Want a change, I suppose. I think I shall go abroad." + +"I thought your wife had had sufficient of the Continent," he +remarked. "Curiously enough," he added, as he sat back and blew a +cloud of cigarette-smoke from his lips, "I thought I saw her the day +before yesterday standing on the railway platform at Banbury. I was +coming down from Birmingham to Oxford, and the train slowed down in +passing Banbury. I happened to be looking out at the time, and I could +have sworn that I saw her." + +"At Banbury!" I ejaculated, leaning forward. + +"Yes. She was wearing a dark blue dress, with a jacket to match, and a +small dark blue hat. She was with an elderly lady, and was evidently +waiting for a train. She gave me the impression that she was starting +on a journey." + +"How old was her companion?" + +"Oh, she was about forty, I should think--neatly dressed in black." + +"It couldn't have been she," I said reflectively. + +"My dear Owen, Mrs. Biddulph's beauty is too marked for one to be +mistaken--especially a friend, like myself." + +"Then you are quite certain it was she--eh, Jack?" + +My tall friend stretched his long legs out on the carpet, and +replied-- + +"Well, I'd have bet a hundred to a penny that it was she. She wasn't +at home with you on that day, was she?" + +I was compelled to make a negative reply. + +"Then I'm certain I saw her, old man," he declared, as he rose and +tossed his cigarette-end away. + +It was upon my tongue to ask him what he had known of her, but I +refrained. She was my wife, and to ask such a question would only +expose to him my suspicions and misgivings. + +So presently he went, and I was left there wretched in my loneliness +and completely mystified. The house seemed full of grim shadows now +that she, the sun of my life, had gone out of it. Old Browning moved +about silent as a ghost, watching me, I knew, and wondering. + +So Sylvia had been seen at Banbury. According to Jack, she was dressed +as though travelling; therefore it seemed apparent that she had hidden +in that quiet little town until compelled to flee owing to police +inquiries. Her dress, as described by Jack, was different to any I +had ever seen her wear; hence it seemed as though she had disguised +herself as much as was possible. Her companionship with the elder +woman was also somewhat strange. + +My only fear was that the police might recognize her. While she +remained in one place, she would, no doubt, be safe from detection. +But if she commenced to travel, then most certainly the police would +arrest her. + +Fortunately they were not in possession of her photograph, yet all +along I remained in fear that the manager of the Coliseum might make a +statement, and this would again connect me with the gang. + +Yes, I suppose the reader will dub me a fool to have married Sylvia. +Well, he or she may do so. My only plea in extenuation is that I loved +her dearly and devotedly. My love might have been misplaced, of +course, yet I still felt that, in face of all the black circumstances, +she was nevertheless true to those promises made before the altar. I +was hers--and she was mine. + +Even then, with the papers raising a hue-and-cry after her, as well as +what I had discovered regarding her elopement, I steadfastly refused +to believe in her guilt. Those well-remembered words of affection +which had fallen from her lips from time to time I knew had been +genuine and the truth. + +That same night I read in the evening paper a paragraph as follows-- + +"It is understood that the police have obtained an important clue to +the perpetrators of the daring theft of the diamond necklet belonging +to the Archduchess Marie Louise, and that an arrest is shortly +expected. Some highly sensational revelations are likely." + +I read and re-read those significant lines. What were the "sensational +revelations" promised? Had they any connection with the weird mystery +of that closed house in Porchester Terrace? + +I felt that perhaps I was not doing right in refraining from laying +before the Criminal Investigation Department the facts of my strange +experience in that long-closed house. In that neglected garden, my own +grave lay open. What bodies of other previous victims lay there +interred? + +I recollected that in the metropolis many bodies of murdered persons +had been found buried in cellars and in gardens. A recent case of the +discovery of an unfortunate woman's body beneath the front doorsteps +of a certain house in North London was fresh within my mind. + +Truly the night mysteries of London are many and gruesome. The public +never dream of half the brutal crimes that are committed and never +detected. Only the police, if they are frank, will tell you of the +many cases in which persons missing are suspected of having been +victims of foul play. Yet they are mysteries never solved. + +I went across to White's and dined alone. I was in no mood for the +companionship of friends. No one save myself knew that my wife had +disappeared. Jack suspected something wrong, but was not aware of what +it exactly was. + +I went down to Andover next day and called upon the Shuttleworths. +Mrs. Shuttleworth was kind and affable as usual, but whether my +suspicions were ungrounded or not, I thought the rector a trifle +brusque in manner, as though annoyed by my presence there. + +I recollected what the man Lewis had told his friends--that he had +seen Shuttleworth down in the Ditches--one of the lowest +neighbourhoods--of Southampton. The rector had told him all that had +transpired! + +Why was this worthy country rector, living the quiet life of a remote +Hampshire village, in such constant communication with a band of +thieves? + +I sat with him in his well-remembered study for perhaps an hour. But +he was a complete enigma. Casually I referred to the great jewel +theft, which was more or less upon every one's tongue. + +"I seldom read newspaper horrors," he replied, puffing at his familiar +pipe. "I saw something in the head-lines of the paper, but I did not +read the details. I've been writing some articles for the _Guardian_ +lately, and my time has been so fully occupied." + +Was this the truth? Or was he merely evading the necessity of +discussing the matter? + +He had inquired after Sylvia, and I had been compelled to admit that +she was away. But I did so in such a manner that I implied she was +visiting friends. + +Outside, the lawn, so bright and pleasant in summer, now looked damp +and dreary, littered by the brown drifting leaves of autumn. + +Somehow I read in his grey face a strange expression, and detected an +eagerness to get rid of me. For the first time I found myself an +unwelcome visitor at the rectory. + +"Have you seen Mr. Pennington of late?" I asked presently. + +"No, not for some time. He wrote me from Brussels about a month ago, +and said that business was calling him to Spain. Have you seen him?" +he asked. + +"Not very recently," I replied vaguely. + +Then again I referred to the great robbery, whereat he said-- + +"Why, Mr. Biddulph, you appear as though you can't resist the +fascination that mysterious crime has for you! I suppose you are an +ardent novel-reader--eh? People fond of novels always devour newspaper +mysteries." + +I admitted a fondness for healthy and exciting fiction, when he +laughed, saying-- + +"Well, I myself find that nearly half one reads in some of the +newspapers now-a-days may be classed as fiction. Even party politics +are full of fictions, more or less. Surely the public must find it +very difficult to winnow the truth from all the political lies, both +spoken and written. To me, elections are all mere campaigns of +untruth." + +And so he again cleverly turned the drift of our conversation. + +About five o'clock I left, driving back to Andover Junction, and +arriving at Waterloo in time for dinner. + +I took a taxi at once to Wilton Street, but there was no letter from +Sylvia. She gave no sign. And, indeed, why should she, in face of her +letter of farewell? + +I dressed, and sat down alone to my dinner for the first time in my +own dining-room since my wife's disappearance. + +Lonely and sad, yet filled with fierce hatred of those blackguardly +adventurers, of whom her own father was evidently one, I sat silent, +while old Browning served the meal with that quiet stateliness which +was one of his chief characteristics. The old man had never once +mentioned his missing mistress, yet I saw, by the gravity of his pale, +furrowed face, that he was anxious and puzzled. + +As I ate, without appetite, he chatted to me, as had been his habit in +my bachelor days, for through long years of service--ever since I was +a lad--he had become more a friend than a mere servant. From many a +boyish scrape he had shielded me, and much good advice had he given me +in those reckless days of my rather wild youth. + +His utter devotion to my father had always endeared him to me, for to +him there was no family respected so much as ours, and his +faithfulness was surely unequalled. + +Perhaps he did not approve of my marriage. I held a strong suspicion +that he had not. Yet old servants are generally apt to be resentful at +the advent of a new mistress. + +I was finishing my coffee and thinking deeply, Browning having left me +alone, when suddenly he returned, and, bending, said in his quiet +way-- + +"A gentleman has called, Mr. Owen. He wishes to see you very +particularly." And he handed me a card, upon which I saw the name: +"Henri Guertin." + +I sprang to my feet, my mind made up in an instant. Here was one +actually of the gang, and I would entrap him in my own house! + +I would compel him to speak the truth, under pain of arrest. + +"Where is he?" I asked breathlessly. + +"I have shown him into the study. He's a foreign gentleman, Mr. Owen." + +"Yes, I know," I said. "But now, don't be alarmed, Browning--just stay +outside in the hall. If I ring the bell, go straight to the telephone, +ring up the police-station, and tell them to send a constable here at +once. My study door will be locked until the constable arrives. You +understand?" + +"Perfectly, Mr. Owen, but----" And the old man hesitated, looking at +me apprehensively. + +"There is nothing whatever to fear," I laughed, rather harshly +perhaps. "Carry out my orders, that's all." + +And then, in fierce determination, I went along the hall, and, opening +the study door, entered, closing it behind me, and as I stood with my +back to it I turned the key and removed it. + +"Well, M'sieur Guertin," I exclaimed, addressing the stout man in gold +pince-nez in rather a severe tone, "and what, pray, do you want with +me?" + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN + +A CONTRETEMPS + + +The stout, round-faced Frenchman rose, and, bowing with his irritating +politeness, answered-- + +"I wish to consult you, Monsieur Biddulph, upon a confidential matter +concerning your wife." + +"What does my wife concern you, pray, sir?" I asked angrily. + +"Ah! calm yourself, m'sieur," he said suddenly, dropping into French; +"I am here as your friend." + +"I hardly believe that," I replied incredulously. "My friend cannot be +the accomplice of my enemies. You are acquainted with Reckitt and with +Pennington--the men implicated in the recent theft of the diamonds of +the Archduchess Marie Louise!" + +He started and looked at me quickly. + +"What do you know of that?" he inquired, with rather undue eagerness. + +"I know more concerning you than you think," was my firm reply. "And I +give you an alternative, Monsieur Guertin. Either you will reveal to +me the whole truth concerning those men Reckitt and Forbes and my +wife's connection with them, or I shall telephone to the police, and +have you arrested as a member of the gang." + +"My dear monsieur," he replied, with a good-humoured smile, "I can't +tell you facts of which I possess no knowledge. I am here to make +inquiry of you--to----" + +"To mislead me further!" I cried angrily. "You and your friends may be +extremely clever--you have succeeded in enticing my wife away from her +home, and you expect to befool me further. Remember that I nearly lost +my life in that grim house in Bayswater. Therefore at least I can +secure the arrest of one member of the gang." + +"And you would arrest me--eh?" he asked, looking me straight in the +face, suddenly growing serious. + +"Yes, I intend to," I replied, whipping out my revolver from my hip +pocket. + +"Put that thing away," he urged. "Be reasonable. What would you profit +by arresting me?" + +"You shall either speak--tell me the truth, or I will hand you over to +the police. I have only to touch this bell"--and I raised my hand to +the electric button beside the fireplace--"and a telephone message +will call a constable." + +"And you really would give me in charge--eh?" laughed my visitor. + +"I certainly intend doing so," I answered angrily. + +"Well, before this is done, let us speak frankly for a few moments," +suggested the Frenchman. "You tell me that you nearly lost your life +in some house in Bayswater. Where was that?" + +"In Porchester Terrace. What is the use of affecting ignorance?" + +"I do not affect ignorance," he said, and I saw that a change had +completely overspread his countenance. "I only wish to know the extent +of your knowledge of Reckitt and Forbes." + +"I have but little knowledge of your friends, I'm pleased to say," was +my quick rejoinder. "Let us leave them out of the question. What I +desire to know is the whereabouts of my wife." + +He shrugged his broad shoulders. + +"I regret that I have no knowledge of where madame may be." + +"But you have!" I cried, facing him angrily. "She is probably with +Pennington, her father, who seems to be one of your undesirable +fraternity." + +"No, she is not with him, most certainly," my visitor declared. "I +know that for a fact. She is probably with Lewis." + +"And who is this fellow Lewis?" I demanded. + +For a moment he was silent. + +"I think you had better ask madame, your wife," he replied at last. + +"Do you intend to cast a slur upon her?" I cried, facing him +resentfully. + +"Not in the least," was his cool answer. "I have merely replied to +your question." + +"And have given me most impertinent advice! Will you, or will you not, +tell me who the fellow is?" + +"At present, monsieur, I must refuse." + +"Then I shall press the bell, and give you into custody." + +"Ah!" he laughed, "that will be distinctly amusing." + +"For me, perhaps--not for you." + +"Monsieur is at liberty to act as he deems best," said my visitor. + +Therefore, irritated by the fellow's manner, and in the hope that he +would at the eleventh hour relent, I pressed the bell. + +It rang loudly, and I heard old Browning go to the telephone beneath +the stairs. In a few minutes the constable would arrive, and at least +one member of the dangerous gang would be secured. + +"Perhaps you will let me pass," he said, crossing towards the door +immediately after I had rung the bell. But I placed myself against it, +revolver in hand, preventing him and holding him at bay. + +"Very well," he laughed. "I fear, Mr. Biddulph, that you are not +acting judiciously. You refuse to accept my statement that I am here +as your friend!" + +"Because you, on your part, refuse to reply to my questions." + +But he only shrugged his shoulders again without replying. + +"You know quite well where my wife is." + +"Alas! I do not," the fellow declared emphatically. "It was to obtain +information that I called." + +"You cannot deny that you know that pair of criminals, Reckitt and +Forbes?" + +"I have surely not denied knowledge of them!" + +"Yet you refuse to tell me who this man is who enticed my wife from my +side--the man who presided over that secret council at the George +Hotel at Stamford!" + +"I am prepared to be frank with you in return for your frankness, +monsieur," he answered. + +But I saw in his evasive replies an intention to mislead me into a +belief that he was actuated towards me by friendly motives. Therefore +my antagonism increased. He had defied me, and I would give him into +custody. + +Presently there came a loud knocking at the door, and, upon my opening +it, a police-sergeant stood upon the threshold. + +"I give this man into custody," I said, addressing him and pointing to +the Frenchman. + +"Upon what charge, sir?" asked the burly officer, whose broad +shoulders filled the doorway, while I saw a constable standing behind +him. + +"On suspicion of being associated with the theft of the diamonds of +the Archduchess Marie Louise," I replied. + +"Come, monsieur," laughed my visitor, speaking again in English, "I +think we have carried this sufficiently far." And, placing his hand in +his breast-pocket, he produced a small folded yellow card bearing his +photograph, which he handed to me. "Read that!" he added, with a laugh +of triumph. + +I saw that the printed card was headed "Prefecture de Police, Ville de +Paris," and that it was signed, countersigned, and bore a large red +official seal. + +Quickly I scanned it, and, to my abject dismay, realized that Henri +Guertin was chief of the first section of the _surete_--he was one of +the greatest detectives of France! + +I stammered something, and then, turning to the sergeant, red and +ashamed, I admitted that I had made a mistake in attempting to arrest +so distinguished an official. + +The two metropolitan officers held the card in their hands, and, +unable to read French, asked me to translate it for them, which I did. + +"Why," cried the sergeant, "Monsieur Guertin is well known! His name +figures in the papers only this morning as arresting two Englishmen in +Paris for a mysterious murder alleged to have been committed in some +house in Bayswater!" + +"In Bayswater!" I gasped. "In Porchester Terrace?" + +"Yes," replied the famous French detective. "It is true that I know +Reckitt and Forbes. But I only knew them in order to get at the truth. +They never suspected me, and early yesterday morning I went to the +snug little apartments they have in the Rue de Rouen, and arrested +them, together with two young Frenchmen named Terassier and Brault. +Concealed beneath a loose board in the bedroom of the last-named man I +found the missing gems." + +"Then Terassier and Brault were the two men who met the others in +Stamford, and carried the diamonds across to the Continent, intending +to dispose of them?" + +"Exactly. There was a hitch in disposing of them in Amsterdam, as had +been intended, and though the diamonds had been knocked from their +settings, I found them intact." + +He told me that Forbes was the actual thief, who had so daringly +travelled to Finsbury Park and collected the tickets _en route_. He +had practically confessed to having thrown the bag out to Reckitt and +Pennington, who were waiting at a point eight miles north of +Peterborough. They had used an electric flash-lamp as they stood in +the darkness near the line, and the thief, on the look-out for the +light, tossed the bag out on to the embankment. + +"Then my father-in-law is a thief!" I remarked, with chagrin, when the +sergeant and constable had been dismissed. "It was for that reason my +wife dare not face me and make explanation!" + +"You apparently believe Arnold Du Cane, alias Winton, alias +Pennington, to be Sylvia's father--but such is not the case," remarked +the great detective slowly. "To his career attaches a very remarkable +story--one which, in my long experience in the unravelling of +mysteries of crime, has never been equalled." + +"Tell me it," I implored him eagerly. "Where is my poor wife?" + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT + +THE FRENCHMAN MAKES A STATEMENT + + +"Ah! I regret, m'sieur, that I do not know," replied the Frenchman. +"And yet," he added, after a second's hesitation, "I do not exactly +regret. Perhaps it is best, after all, that I should remain in +ignorance. But, Monsieur Biddulph, I would make one request on your +wife's behalf." + +"On her behalf!" I gasped. "What is it?" + +"That you do not prejudge her. She has left you because--well, because +she had good reason. But one day, when you know the truth, you will +certainly not judge her too harshly." + +"I do not judge her harshly," I protested. "How can I, when I love her +as devotedly as I do! I feel confident that the misfortunes she has +brought upon me were not of her own seeking." + +"She very narrowly escaped the vengeance of those two assassins," +Guertin said; "how narrowly, neither you nor she will ever know. For +months I have watched them closely, both here and in France and +Germany, in order to catch them red-handed; but they have been too +clever for me, and we must rely upon the evidence which that +back-garden in Porchester Terrace will now yield up. The gang is part +of a great criminal association, that society of international +thieves of which one member was the man you knew as Harriman, and +whose real name was Bell--now at Devil's Island for the murder of the +rising young English parliamentary Under-Secretary Ronald Burke. The +murder was believed to have been committed with a political motive, +and through certain false evidence furnished by the man Pennington, a +person named Louis Lessar, chief of the band, was first arrested, and +condemned by the Assize Court of the Seine. Both were sent to Devil's +Island for life, but recently Lessar escaped, and was daring enough to +come to England as Mr. Lewis." + +"Lewis!" I gasped. "That was the fellow with whom my wife escaped--the +man who presided over the secret deliberations of the gang at their +assembly at Stamford!" + +"Yes. Once a British officer, he had been leader of the great criminal +organization before his arrest. They were the most formidable in +Europe, for they always acted on scientific principles, and always +well provided with funds. Some of their coups were utterly amazing. +But on his arrest and imprisonment the society dwindled under the +leadership of Pennington, a low-bred blackguard, who could not even be +loyal to his associates." + +"Excuse me, sir," remarked the sergeant, again shown into the room by +Browning. "Our C.I.D. men have been at work all day in the garden +behind that house in Porchester Terrace. A big hole was found dug +there, and already they've turned up the remains of two persons--a +man and a woman. I ought to have told you that we had it over the +telegraph at the station about an hour ago. Superintendent Mayhew and +Professor Salt have been there to examine the remains recovered." + +"Two victims!" I exclaimed. "The open grave found there was prepared +for me!" + +"No doubt," exclaimed Guertin. "When I first communicated with your +Scotland Yard, they refused to believe my allegations against Reckitt +and Forbes. But I had had my suspicions aroused by their actions in +Paris, and I was positive. But oh! your police methods are so very +painfully slow!" + +Then the sergeant again withdrew. + +"But of Pennington. Tell me more of him," I urged. + +"He was your worst enemy, and Sylvia's enemy also, even though he +posed as her father. He wished her to marry Forbes, and thus, on +account of her great beauty, remain the decoy of the gang. But she met +you, and loved you. Her love for you was the cause of their hatred. +Because of her affection, she risked her life by revealing to me +certain things concerning her associates, whom she knew were plotting +to kill you. The very man who was posing as her father--and who +afterwards affected friendship for you--told that pair of unscrupulous +assassins, Reckitt and Forbes, a fictitious story of how Sonia--for +that is her real name--had denounced them. This aroused their hatred, +and they decided to kill you both. From what I heard afterwards, they +entrapped you, and placed you in that fatal chair beside the venomous +reptile, while they also tortured the poor girl with all the horrors +of the serpent, until her brain became deranged. Suddenly, however, +they became alarmed by discovering a half-witted lad wandering in the +garden where the bodies of previous victims lay concealed, and, making +a quick escape, left you and her without ascertaining that you were +dead. Eventually she escaped and rescued you, hence their fear that +you would inform the police, and their frantic efforts to secure the +death of both of you. Indeed, you would probably have been dead ere +this, had I not taken upon myself the self-imposed duty of being your +protector, and had not Louis Lessar most fortunately escaped from +Devil's Island to protect his daughter from their relentless hands." + +"His daughter!" I gasped, staring at him. + +"Yes. Sonia is the daughter of Phil Poland, alias Louis Lessar, the +man who was falsely denounced by Pennington as an accomplice in the +assassination of the young Under-Secretary, Mr. Burke, on the Riviera. +After I had arrested her father one night at the house where he lived +down near Andover, Pennington compelled the girl to pass as his +daughter for a twofold reason. First, because he believed that her +great beauty would render her a useful decoy for the purpose of +attracting young men into their fatal net, and secondly, in order that +Forbes should secure her as his wife, for it was realized how, by her +marriage to him, her lips would be sealed." + +"But they all along intended to kill me." + +"Of course. Your life was, you recollect, heavily insured at +Pennington's suggestion, and you had made over a large sum of money to +Sonia in case of your demise. Therefore it was to the interests of the +whole gang that you should meet with some accident which should prove +fatal. The theft of the jewels of the Archduchess delayed the +conspiracy from being put into execution, and by that means your life +was undoubtedly spared. Ah! monsieur, the gang recently led by Arnold +Du Cane was once one of the most daring, the most unscrupulous, and +the most formidable in the whole of Europe." + +"And my dear wife is actually the daughter of the previous leader of +that criminal band!" I exclaimed apprehensively. + +"Yes. She escaped with him because she was in fear of her +life--because she knew that if she were again beneath her own father's +protection, you--the man she loved--would also be safe from injury. +For Phil Poland is a strong man, a perfect past-master of the criminal +arts, and a leader whose word was the command of every member of that +great international organization, the wide ramifications of which I +have so long tried in vain to ascertain." + +"Then Poland is a noteworthy man in the world of crime?" + +"He is a very prince of thieves. Yet, at the same time, one must +regard him with some admiration for his daring and audacity, his +wonderful resourcefulness and his strict adhesion to fair play. For +years he lived in France, Italy and Spain, constantly changing his +place of abode, his identity, his very face, and always evading us; +yet nobody has ever said that he did a mean action towards a poor man. +He certainly suffered an unjust punishment by that false accusation +made against him by the man who was apparently jealous of his +leadership, and who desired to become his successor." + +"Then you are of opinion that my wife left me in order to secure my +protection from harm?" + +"I am quite certain of it. You recollect my meeting with her at the +Hotel Meurice in Paris. She told me several things on that occasion." + +"And Pennington very nearly fell into your hands." + +"Yes, but with his usual cleverness he escaped me." + +"Where is he now? Have you any idea?" I asked. + +"I have no exact knowledge, but, with the arrest of four of his +accomplices, it will not be difficult to find out where he is in +hiding," he laughed. + +"And the same may be said of Poland--eh?" + +"No; on the contrary, while the man Pennington, alias Du Cane, is +hated--and it will be believed by those arrested that he has betrayed +them in order to save himself--yet Poland is beloved. They know it was +Du Cane who made the false charge connecting Poland with Harriman, and +they will never forgive him. The hatred of the international thief is +the worst and most unrelenting hatred existing in the whole world. +Before Poland came to live in retirement here in England at +Middleton, near Andover, his association consisted only of the most +expert criminals of both sexes, and he controlled their actions with +an iron hand. Once every six months the members from all over Europe +held a secret conference in one capital or another, when various tasks +were allotted to various persons. The precautions taken to prevent +blunders were amazing, and we were baffled always because of the +widespread field of their operations, and the large number of experts +engaged. The band, broken up into small and independent gangs, worked +in unison with receivers always ready, and as soon as our suspicions +were aroused by one party they disappeared, and another, complete +strangers, came in their place. Premises likely to yield good results +from burglary were watched for months by a constant succession of +clever watchers, and people in possession of valuables sometimes +engaged servants of irreproachable character who were actually members +of the gang. Were their exploits chronicled, they would fill many +volumes of remarkable fact, only some of which have appeared in recent +years in the columns of the newspapers. Every European nationality and +every phase of life were represented in that extraordinary assembly, +which, while under Poland's control, never, as far as is known, +committed a single murder. It was only when the great leader was +condemned and exiled, and the band fell away, that Pennington, Reckitt +and Forbes conceived the idea of extorting money by means of the +serpent, allowing the reptile to strike fatally, and so prevent +exposure. By that horrible torture of the innocent and helpless they +must have netted many thousands of pounds." + +"It was you, you say, who arrested Poland down in Hampshire." + +"Yes, nearly three years ago. Prior to Harriman's arrest, I went there +with my friend Watts, of Scotland Yard, and on that evening a strange +affair happened--an affair which is still a mystery. I'll tell you all +about it later," he added. "At present I must go to Porchester Terrace +and see what is in progress. I only arrived in London from Paris two +hours ago." + +I begged him to take me along with him, and with some reluctance he +consented. On the way, Guertin told me a strange story of a dead man +exactly resembling himself at Middleton village on the night of +Poland's arrest. Arrived at the house of grim shadows, we found a +constable idling outside the gate, but apparently nobody yet knew of +what was transpiring in the garden behind the closed house. At first +the man declined to allow us to enter, but, on Guertin declaring who +he was, we passed through into the tangled, weedy place where the +lights of lanterns were shining weirdly, and we could see men in their +shirt-sleeves working with shovel and pick, while others were clearing +away the dead rank herbage of autumn. + +In the uncertain light I saw that a long trench some four feet in +depth had been dug, and into this the men were flinging the soil they +carefully removed in their progress in a line backwards. + +Beneath a tree, close to where was an open trench--the one prepared +for the reception of my body--lay something covered with a black +cloth. From beneath there stuck out a hideous object--a man's muddy +patent-leather shoe! + +Even while I stood amid that weird, never-to-be-forgotten scene, one +of the excavators gave an ejaculation of surprise, and a lantern, +quickly brought, revealed a human arm in a dark coat-sleeve embedded +in the soil. + +With a will, half-a-dozen eager hands were at work, and soon a third +body--that of a tall, grey-haired man, whose face, alas! was awful to +gaze upon--was quickly exhumed. + +I could not bear to witness more, and left, gratified to know that the +two fiends were already safely confined in a French prison. + +Justice would, no doubt, be done, and they would meet with their +well-merited punishment. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE + +FURTHER REVELATIONS + + +If you are a constant reader of the newspapers, as probably you are, +you will no doubt recollect the great sensation caused next day on the +publication of the news of the gruesome find in that, one of the most +aristocratic thoroughfares of Bayswater. + +The metropolitan police were very reticent regarding the affair, but +many of the papers published photographs of the scene of the +exhumations, the exterior of the long-closed house, and photographs of +the various police officials. That of Guertin, however, was not +included. The famous investigator of crime had no wish for the picture +of his face, with its eyes beaming benignly through his gold glasses, +to be disseminated broadcast. + +The police refused to make any statement; hence the wildest +conjectures were afloat concerning the series of tragedies which must +have taken place within that dark house, with its secluded, tangled +garden. + +As the days went by, the public excitement did not abate, for yet more +remains were found--the body of a young, fair-haired man who had been +identified as Mr. Cyril Wilson, a member of the Travellers' Club, who +had been missing for nearly nine months. The police, impelled by this +fresh discovery, cut down the trees in the garden and laid the whole +place waste, while crowds of the curious waited about in the +neighbourhood, trying to catch a glimpse of the operations. + +And as time wore on I waited in daily expectation of some sign from +the woman I so dearly loved. + +Guertin, who still remained in London, assured me that she was safe in +hiding with her father, Phil Poland. + +"And you will, of course, arrest him when you can discover him," I +remarked, as I sat with the famous detective in his room at the Grand +Hotel in Trafalgar Square. + +"I do not wish to discover him, my dear Monsieur Biddulph," was his +kind reply. "I happen to know that he has deeply repented of his +wrongdoing, and even on his sudden reappearance at Stamford with the +remaining portion of his once invulnerable gang, he urged them to turn +aside from evil, and become honest citizens. He has, by his wrongful +conviction of murder, expiated his crimes, and hence I feel that he +may be allowed a certain leniency, providing he does not offend in +future." + +"But a warrant is out for him, of course?" + +"Certainly. His arrest is demanded for breaking from prison. His +escape is one of the most daring on record. He swam for five miles in +the sea on a dark night, and met with most extraordinary adventures +before a Dutch captain allowed him to work his passage to Rotterdam." + +"But he will not dare to put foot in London, I suppose. He would be +liable to extradition to France." + +"Who knows? He is one of the most fearless and ingenious men I have +ever known. He can so alter his appearance as to deceive even me." + +"But the metropolitan police, knowing that Sylvia--I mean Sonia--is +his daughter, may be watching my house!" I exclaimed in alarm. + +"That is more than likely," he admitted. "Hence, if you want to allow +madame, your wife, an opportunity to approach you, you should go +abroad somewhere--to some quiet place where you would not be +suspected. Let me know where you go, and perhaps I can manage to +convey to them the fact that you are waiting there." + +The hotel at Gardone--that fine lake-side hotel where I had first seen +Sonia--occurred to me. And I told him. + +"Very well," he said cheerfully. "I shall return to Paris to-morrow, +and if I can obtain any information from either of the prisoners, I +will manage to let Poland know that his son-in-law awaits him." + +Then I thanked the great detective, and, shaking hands warmly, we +parted. + +What Guertin had told me regarding the strange discovery of a man who +closely resembled him outside Poland's house on the night of the +latter's arrest held me much puzzled. Even he, the all-powerful chief +of the _surete_, had failed to solve the enigma. + +Next afternoon Shuttleworth called upon me in Wilton Street, and for a +long time sat chatting. + +At last he looked at me gravely, and said-- + +"I dare say you have been much puzzled, Mr. Biddulph, to know why I, a +clergyman of the Church of England, have apparently been mixed up with +persons of shady character. But now that four of them are under +arrest, and a fifth, we hope, will shortly be apprehended, I will +explain. As you perhaps know, Sonia was the daughter of the Honourable +Philip Poland, who came to live at the Elms, which is close to the +rectory at Middleton. We became great friends, until one evening he +made a strange confession to me. He told me who he was--Louis Lessar, +who had been the leader of a dangerous band of international +thieves--and he asked my advice in my capacity of spiritual guide. He +had repented, and had gone into retirement there, believing that his +sins would not find him out. But they had done, and he knew he must +shortly be arrested. Well, I advised him to act the man, and put aside +the thoughts of suicide. What he had revealed to me had--I regret to +confess it--aroused my hatred against the man who had betrayed him--a +man named Du Cane. This man Du Cane I had only met once, at the Elms, +and then I did not realize the amazing truth--that this was the +selfsame man who had stolen from me, twenty years before, the woman I +had so dearly loved. He had betrayed her, and left her to starve and +die in a back street in Marseilles. I concealed my outburst of +feeling, yet the very next evening Poland was arrested, and Sonia, +ignorant of the truth, was, with a motive already explained by +Monsieur Guertin, taken under the guardianship of this man whom I had +such just cause to hate--the man who subsequently passed as her +father, Pennington. It was because of that I felt all along such a +tender interest in the unhappy young lady, and I was so delighted to +know when she had at last become your wife." + +"You certainly concealed your feelings towards Pennington. I believed +you to be his friend," I said. + +"I was Sonia's friend--not his, for what poor Poland had told me +revealed the truth that the fellow was an absolute scoundrel." + +"And you, of course, know about the incident of a man closely +resembling the French detective Guertin being found dead outside the +door of the Elms?" + +"Certainly," was his reply; "that is still a complete mystery which +can only be solved by Poland himself. He must know, or else have a +shrewd idea of what occurred." + +As we chatted on for a long time, he told me frankly many things of +which I had not the least suspicion, at the same time assuring me of +Sonia's deep devotion towards me, and of his confidence that she had +left me because she believed being at her father's side would ensure +my own safety. + +And now that I knew so much of the truth I longed hourly to meet her, +and to obtain from her--and perhaps from the lips of Philip Poland +himself--the remaining links in that remarkable chain of facts. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTY + +CONCLUSION + + +About ten days afterwards I one morning received by post a brief note +from Guertin, written from the Prefecture in Paris, urging me to go at +once to the Victoria Hotel at Varenna, on the Lake of Como, where, if +I waited in the name of Brown, my patience would be rewarded. + +And there, sure enough, six days later, as I sat one evening in my +private sitting-room, the door suddenly opened and my well-beloved, in +a dark travelling gown, sprang forward and embraced me, sobbing for +very joy. + +Can I adequately describe the happiness of that reunion. Of what I +uttered I have no recollection, for I held her closely in my arms as I +kissed her hot tears away. + +A man stood by--a tall, silent, gentlemanly man, whose hair was grey, +and whose face as he advanced beneath the strong light showed traces +of disguise. + +"I am Philip Poland--Sonia's father," he exclaimed in a low voice. +Whereupon I took the hand of the escaped prisoner, and expressed the +utmost satisfaction at that meeting, for he had risked his liberty to +come there to me. + +"Sonia has told me everything," he said; "and I can only regret that +those blackguards have treated you and her as they have. But Guertin, +who is a humane man, even though he be a detective, has tracked them +down, and only yesterday I heard Du Cane--the man who made that false +charge against myself, and stepped into my shoes; the man who intended +that my poor girl should marry that young scoundrel Forbes--has been +discovered in Breslau, and is being extradited to England." + +"On the night of your arrest, Mr. Poland, a mystery occurred," I said +presently, as we sat together exchanging many confidences, as I held +my dear wife's soft little hand in mine. + +"Yes," he replied. "It was only while I was out at Devil's Island that +I learnt the truth. Du Cane, intending to get me out of the way, hit +upon a very ingenious plan of sending a man made up as Guertin--whom I +only knew by sight--to see me and suggest suicide rather than arrest. +This man--a person named Lefevre--came and made the suggestion. He did +not know that Du Cane had written anonymously to the Prefecture, and +never dreamed that Guertin himself would follow him so quickly. On +leaving, he apparently hung about watching the result of his dastardly +mission, when Harriman--or Bell as we knew him--walked up the drive, +in order to call in secret upon me. He espied a man whom he recognized +as Guertin peering in at the window, and, creeping up behind him, +struck him down before he could utter a word. Afterwards he slipped +away, believing that he had killed our arch-enemy, the chief of the +_surete_. Presently, however, the body of the unfortunate Lefevre was +found by Guertin himself, who had come to arrest me." + +"And Harriman admitted this!" I exclaimed. + +"Yes. He admitted it to me upon his death-bed. He died of fever a week +before I made my dash for liberty. But," he added, "Sonia has told me +of that dastardly attempt which those hell-fiends Reckitt and Forbes +made upon you in Porchester Terrace, and how they also tortured her. +But they were fortunately alarmed and fled precipitately, leaving +Sonia unconscious." + +"Yes," declared my sweet wife. "When I came to myself I recollected, +in horror, what they had told me concerning the fate to which they had +abandoned you in the adjoining room, and with a great effort managed +to free myself and seek you. I cut the straps which bound you, and +succeeded in killing the snake just in time to save you. Then I stole +away and left, fearing that you might suspect me of having had some +hand in the affair." + +"And you saved my life, darling!" I exclaimed, kissing her fondly on +the lips. + +Then, turning to Poland, I said-- + +"The police are hunting for you everywhere. Cannot you get to some +place where you are not liable to be taken back to France?" + +"To-morrow, if I am fortunate," he said, with a faint smile, "I +return to the modest little villa I have rented on the hill-side +outside Athens. In Greece one is still immune from arrest for offences +abroad." + +"And I shall return to London with you, Owen. Father and I have +travelled to Trieste, and thence here, in order that I should rejoin +you, now that the danger is past." + +"Ah! darling," I cried. "I never for one moment doubted you! Yet I +admit that the circumstances once or twice looked very black and +suspicious." + +"Alas! I could not prevent it," she declared; "I left you and joined +Dad at the Coliseum, because I went in fear of some further attempt +being made upon us, and I felt you and I would be safe if I were with +him. He had no idea when he met the others at Stamford that Forbes and +Reckitt and Du Cane had effected that _coup_ with the Archduchess's +jewels." + +"No. I had no idea of it," said Poland. "My meeting with them was one +of farewell. I had already severed my connection with them three years +ago, before my arrest." + +And then, after some further explanations, I clasped my loved one in +my arms and openly repeated my declaration of fervent love and fond +affection. + +Of the rest, what need be said? + +Sonia is now very happy, either down at Carrington or at Wilton +Street, for the black clouds which overshadowed the earlier days of +our marriage have rent asunder, and given place to all the sunshine +and brightness of life and hope. + +No pair could be happier than we. + +Twice we have been to Athens as the guest of the tall, grey-haired +Englishman who is such a thorough-going cosmopolitan, and who lives in +Greece for the sake of the even climate and the study of its +antiquities. No one in the Greek capital recognizes Mr. Wilfrid Marsh +as the once-famous Louis Lessar. + +And dear old Jack Marlowe, still our firm and devoted friend, is as +full of good-humoured philosophy as ever, and frequently our visitor. +He still leads his careless existence, and is often to be seen idling +in the window of White's, smoking and watching the passers-by in St. +James's Street. + +You who read the newspapers probably know how Arnold Du Cane, alias +Pennington, alias Winton, was recently sentenced at the Old Bailey to +fifteen years, and the two young Frenchmen, Terassier and Brault, to +seven years each, for complicity in the robbery on the Scotch express. + +And probably you also read the account of how two mysterious +Englishmen named Reckitt and Forbes, who had been arrested in Paris, +had, somehow, prior to their extradition to England, managed to obtain +possession of blades of safety-razors, and with them had both +committed suicide. + +In consequence of this there was no trial of the perpetrators of +those brutal crimes in Porchester Terrace. + +The whole affair was but a nine days' horror, and as the authorities +saw that no good could accrue from alarming the public by further +publicity or inquiry, it was quickly "Hushed up." + + THE END + +_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._ + + + + +"THE MASTER OF MYSTERY" + +WILLIAM LE QUEUX'S NOVELS + +Opinions in 1911 + + + "Mr. William Le Queux retains his position as 'The Master of + Mystery.' ... He is far too skilful to allow pause for + thought: he whirls his readers from incident to incident, + holding their attention from the first page to the close of + the book."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is the master of mystery. He never fails to + produce the correct illusion. He always leaves us panting + for more--a brilliant feat."--_Daily Graphic._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is still 'The Master of Mystery.'"--_Madame._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is a most experienced hand in writing + sensational fiction. He never loses the grip of his + readers."--_Publishers' Circular._ + + "Mr. Le Queux always grips his reader, and holds him to the + last page."--_Bristol Times and Mirror._ + + "Mr. Le Queux's books once begun must be read to the + end."--_Evening News._ + + "There is no better companion on a railway journey than Mr. + William Le Queux."--_Daily Mail._ + + "Mr. Le Queux knows his business, and carries it on + vigorously and prosperously. His stories are always + fantastic and thrilling."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is an adept at the semi-detective story. His + work is always excellent."--_Review of Reviews._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is always so refreshing in his stories of + adventure that one knows on taking up a new book of his that + one will be amused."--_Birmingham Post._ + + "Mr. Le Queux's books are delightfully + convincing."--_Scotsman._ + + "Mr. Le Queux's books are always exciting and absorbing. His + mysteries are enthralling and his skill is + world-famous."--_Liverpool Daily Post._ + + "Mr. Le Queux has brought the art of the sensational novel + to high perfection."--_Northern Whig._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is so true to his own style that any one + familiar with his books would certainly guess him to be the + author, even if his name were not given."--_Methodist + Recorder._ + + "'As good wine needs no bush' so no mystery story by Mr. Le + Queux, the popular weaver of tales of crime, needs praise + for its skill. Any novel with this author's name appended is + sure to be ingenious in design and cleverly worked + out."--_Bookseller._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is always reliable. The reader who picks up + any of his latest novels knows what to expect."--_Bookman._ + + "Mr. Le Queux's admirers are legion, and the issue of a new + novel is to them one of the most felicitous events that can + happen."--_Newcastle Daily Chronicle._ + + "Mr. Le Queux is the master of the art of + mystery-creating."--_Liverpool Daily Post._ + + + + + A Descriptive List of + NASH'S + Two-Shilling + NOVELS + + The greatest popular success of modern publishing. + + Autumn 1911 + + Exactly like 6/- Novels in size + :: :: quality and appearance :: :: + + Recognisable everywhere by their green cloth + covers on which are coloured medallions + + + + +NASH'S 2/- NOVELS + +LATEST VOLUMES + + + _An Exchange of Souls_ + By Barry Pain + + _The Arrest of Arsene Lupin_ + By Maurice Leblanc + + _The Perfume of the Lady in Black_ + By Gaston Leroux + + _The Lady of the Hundred Dresses_ + By S. R. Crockett + + _The Silent House_ + By Louis Tracy + + _Hushed Up_ + By William Le Queux + + _Yellow Men and Gold_ + By Gouverneur Morris + + + + +NASH'S 2/- NOVELS + + _VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED_ + MYSTERY & DETECTIVE STORIES + + + +The Hollow Needle+ _By Maurice Leblanc_ + + A story of Arsene Lupin, the greatest, most ingenious and + most daring criminal in modern fiction. + + "A thrilling and fascinating story ... not less exciting or + less mystifying than its predecessors."--_Liverpool Daily + Post._ + + "Well worthy of its place in the famous set of + adventures."--_Observer._ + + +The Black Spider+ _By Carlton Dawe_ + + "Described as a sensational story of a female 'Raffles' this + tale ... in every way lives up to its + description."--_Birmingham Daily Post._ + + "Full of thrills from beginning to end."--_Western Mail._ + + "An extremely powerful story ... well worked out, and the + mixture of romance with a story of the 'Raffles' type is well + calculated to please."--_T.P.'s Weekly._ + + +The Window at The White Cat+ _by Mary Roberts Rinehart_ + + _Author of "The Circular Staircase," etc._ + + "The plot is skilful and the incidents exciting. It is + something more than a mere detective story: there is + character in it, and a pleasant love story, and a quite + refreshing sense of humour."--_The Outlook._ + + "We greatly enjoyed the brisk dialogue and the unexpected + ending."--_Evening Times._ + + +The Wife He Never Saw+ _By Max Marcin_ + + "A decidedly clever bit of sensation, ... worked out with + considerable resource. Altogether a fine + thrill."--_Liverpool Courier._ + + "A vigorous and briskly moving yarn--the best thing of the + kind we have encountered for some considerable + time."--_Birmingham Daily Post._ + + +The Red Symbol+ _By John Ironside_ + + "Enthralling, entertaining and powerful ... clean and + wholesome, it is one of the most powerful novels we have had + for a long time ... a fine mystery story most excellently + told and holding its reader in its grasp from start to + finish."--_Dublin Daily Express._ + + "A love story full of thrilling incidents."--_Country Life._ + + "Vigour and swing characterise the book, which has no dull + pages, and which keeps its alluring secret until near the + end."--_Glasgow Herald._ + + +Raffles+ _By E. W. Hornung_ + + "Hats off to Raffles."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + +The House of Whispers+ _By William Le Queux_ + + "Mystery--tantalising and baffling."--_The Yorkshire Post._ + + "An excellent tale."--_The Daily Telegraph._ + + "Full of arresting situations and making a strong appeal at + every stage to the instinct of curiosity."--_The Pall Mall + Gazette._ + + "Mr. Le Queux will please thousands by this work."--_The + Morning Leader._ + + +Treasure of Israel+ _by William Le Queux_ + + "Another of his wonderful mystery stories."--_Liverpool + Daily Post._ + + "An admirably worked piece of sensationalism ... ought to + please a host of readers."--_The Sunday Times._ + + "Mr. Le Queux keeps his readers fascinated to the + end."--_The Yorkshire Post._ + + "The author is at his raciest; each chapter discloses some + new phase of the mystery, each page supplies a new thrill of + excitement."--_The Pall Mall Gazette._ + + +The House of the Whispering Pines+ _By Anna Katharine Green_ + + _Author of "The Leavenworth Case."_ + + "The author has written nothing so good since her famous + 'Leavenworth Case.' The story grips one from the first + scene.... The book is crammed with incident ... there is not + a dull page from first to last."--_The Outlook._ + + "So ingenious, plausible, dramatic, and well-thought-out a + plot is a relief after the far-fetched absurdities of many + tales of the kind. The most austere reader ... will find + himself consumed with wonder as to whom the guilty man can + be."--_The Evening Standard._ + + +The Man who Drove the Car+ _By Max Pemberton_ + + "Excellent and thrilling reading."--_The Morning Leader._ + + "The book is excellent reading."--_The Daily Express._ + + "Exciting enough to please the most blase reader of + sensational fiction."--_North Mail._ + + "A thoroughly delightful book, absorbing, and of tense + interest throughout."--_The Liverpool Daily Post._ + + Humorous & Breezy Books. + + +Stranleigh's Millions+ _By Robert Barr_ + + "He is a good fellow, and, like Mr. Barr, invariably + entertaining."--_Daily Graphic._ + + "Very amusing, very delightful."--_The Globe._ + + +Sea Dogs+ _By Morley Roberts_ + + "A jolly collection."--_The Evening Standard._ + + "Mighty interesting."--_The Daily Chronicle._ + + "A bright and breezy book."--_The Daily Mail._ + + "Very funny indeed ... the whole book is one good + laugh."--_The Observer._ + + "For wit and humour and invention it would be hard to + beat."--_The Referee._ + + _VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED_ + :: :: SOCIAL COMEDIES :: :: + + +A Honeymoon--And After+ _By F. C. Philips & Percy Fendall_ + + "A really clever novel of modern society life."--_The Dundee + Advertiser._ + + "A well-written and clever novel."--_The Dublin Express._ + + "A bright, well-written story that holds the reader till the + end."--_The Pall Mall Gazette._ + + "Owes much of its sustained interest to ruthless pictures of + life in frivolous West-end circles."--_The Daily Chronicle._ + + +Envious Eliza+ _By Madame Albanesi_ + + "Eliza is charming."--_The Standard._ + + "Human and genuine throughout."--_The Morning Leader._ + + "The reader is carried on to the end with unabated pleasure + and zest."--_The Bookman._ + + "The authoress has the gift of informing her characters with + life and charm.... The book cannot fail to consolidate the + position which the authoress has won by her earlier + works."--_The Daily News._ + + +Jack and Three Jills+ _By F. G. Philips_ + + _Author of "As in a Looking Glass," etc._ + + "An arresting and clever piece of observation."--_Bystander._ + + "An entertaining story of legal life.... Jack ... is frank, + manly, and generally attractive."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + +The Divine Fire+ _By May Sinclair_ + + "Judged by almost every standard to which a comedy like this + should be referred, I find her book the most remarkable that + I have read for many years."--Mr. Owen Seaman in _Punch._ + + "A novel to read, and what is more to keep and read + again."--_Outlook._ + + +A Lucky Young Woman+ _By F. C. Philips_ + + "Shows us the author at his best."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + Yorkshire Life. + + +Mr. Poskitt's Nightcaps+ _By J. S. Fletcher_ + + "Excellent ... comic and tragic episodes of Yorkshire life, + rich in character and dramatic force."--_The Morning + Leader._ + + A Masterpiece of Fiction. + + +The Nun+ _By Rene Bazin_ + + "A book which no one who reads it will ever forget."--_The + Westminster Gazette._ + + "It is difficult to speak in measured terms of this + exquisite story ... a consummate artist, his work eats into + the heart, and lives in the memory as do but few books from + modern authors."--_The Daily Telegraph._ + + "It is long since we have read a tragedy so intensely moving + as the story of this innocent peasant girl.... 'The Nun' is + a masterwork of fiction."--_The Daily Graphic._ + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: + +1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; +otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's +words and intent. + +2. In the advertising pages, titles were in bold font; + has been used +in this text version to indicate that. + +3. Following the title page, this edition included a page of magazine +and newspaper reviews of William Le Queux's books. 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