31 chapters
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31 chapters
Chapter One.
Chapter One.
“Then you really don’t intend to marry me, Wilfrid?” “The honour of being your husband, Tibbie, I must respectfully decline,” I said. “But I’d make you a very quiet, sociable wife, you know. I can ride to hounds, cook, sew clothes for old people, and drive a motor. What higher qualifications do you want?” “Well—love, for instance.” “Ah! That’s what I’m afraid I don’t possess, any more them you do,” she laughed. “It isn’t a family characteristic. With us, it’s everyone for herself,” and she beat
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Chapter Two.
Chapter Two.
No. What was said was a foul lie. I was quite sure of it. Country yokels are always inventing some story or other concerning the gentlefolk. It was a fable, and I refused to believe it. Tibbie was my friend, and if she was in distress I would help her. And with that resolve I went down to dinner. I found her in the great oak-panelled hall, where hung the faded and tattered banners of the Scarcliffs, a brilliant figure in pale rose, laughing gaily with her brother-in-law, Lord Wydcombe, her sweet
23 minute read
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Chapter Three.
Chapter Three.
“Yes. At all costs we must save her,” he cried quickly. “Let’s go out and see who the fellow is.” “Not yet. Wait for half an hour or so, until they’re all gone to bed. The servants’ hall is all in a flutter, it seems, and the maids will be about frightened and whispering. If we are to get away unseen we must slip out of yonder window. All the doors are closed now, and the dogs are loose in the courtyard.” “You’re right, old fellow. We must wait a bit,” he agreed. “But what’s your private opinion
21 minute read
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Chapter Four.
Chapter Four.
“A mystery, evidently,” said Domville. “Has no weapon been found?” “We haven’t searched yet, sir,” the constable replied. “We’ll have to wait till daylight.” And so, our way lit by the officer’s lantern, we went on past the dump of bushes where my friend declared that some person was in hiding. Both of us glanced across eagerly, but all was quiet—not a leaf stirred. Who was concealed there, I wondered? I knew Eric Domville too well to doubt that his practised eye had been deceived. I longed to g
17 minute read
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Chapter Five.
Chapter Five.
“I don’t know if I can escape them. If so, I shall try and get hold of one of Mason’s dresses and hats and meet you in Serle Street, outside Lincoln’s Inn. But it is very risky. Do be careful that you are not followed.” The next was upon pale green notepaper, bearing in gold the heading, “S.Y. Regina ,” with the added words, “Off the Faroe Islands:— “I am longing to be back again in town, but it cannot be for another four or five weeks. We have decided to do the Fiords. Do not write, as your let
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Chapter Six.
Chapter Six.
“Wilfrid!” she said, in a low, hard voice, suddenly grasping both my hands. “Although you refused to marry me you are still my friend, are you not?” “Your friend! Of course I am,” I answered rather hoarsely. “Did I not tell you so before dinner?” “I know you did, but—” and she dropped her fine eyes, still holding my hands in hers. Her own hands trembled, and apparently she dared not look me full in the face. “But what—?” I asked. “What troubles you? Why are you dressed like this?” “I—I have been
21 minute read
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Chapter Seven.
Chapter Seven.
So I consented. Yes—you may say that I was foolish, that I was injudicious, that I was still beneath the spell of her exquisite grace and matchless beauty. Perhaps I was: yet I tell you that at the moment so stunned was I by the tragedy, by what Eric had revealed, and by her midnight visit, that I hardly knew what I did. “Very well, Sybil,” I said at last. “Let it be so. I will help you to escape, and I will act as though I were your husband. For your sake I will do this, although I tell you pla
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Chapter Eight.
Chapter Eight.
Booth drew the handkerchief from the dead face that seemed to stare at us so grimly in the semi-darkness of the barn, and from my companions escaped exclamations of surprise and horror. “Awful!” gasped the young viscount—who was known as “The Scrambler” to his intimates—a name given to him at Eton; “I wonder who murdered him?” “I wonder!” echoed Ellice Winsloe in a hard, hushed voice. His strange tone attracted me, and my eyes fell upon his countenance. It had, I was amazed to see, blanched in a
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Chapter Nine.
Chapter Nine.
During the two days that followed both of us had watched Winsloe carefully, and had seen his ill-concealed anxiety lest the dead man should be identified by Jack. Once or twice, as was but natural, at table or in the billiard-room, Scarcliff had referred to the strange affair and declared,— “I’m sure I’ve seen the poor chap before, but where, I can’t for the life of me recollect.” The face was constantly puzzling him, and thus Winsloe remained anxious and agitated. In order to watch and learn wh
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Chapter Ten.
Chapter Ten.
With Budd’s ready assistance I slipped out of my chambers into Bolton Street, and half an hour later arrived by omnibus at the obscure hotel where Tibbie awaited me. When she saw me she smiled merrily; and when we were alone together in the Waterloo Bridge Road she burst out laughing, saying,— “What an interesting pair we really do make. Your get-up is delightful, Wilfrid. You look a real compositor. But just put your cap a little on one side—it’s more graceful. What does Budd say?” “He first th
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Chapter Eleven.
Chapter Eleven.
“Then if he knows of our appointment he will certainly follow me!” I said, in utter amazement. “Most certainly he will. You recognise the grave peril of the situation?” “I do,” I said, for I saw that Sybil must at once be seriously compromised. “But who could have known our secret? Who was the woman?” “I’ve never seen her before. She’s an entire stranger. But that she is aware of Tibbie’s movements is beyond doubt. You were evidently seen together when you met last night—or how would he know tha
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Chapter Twelve.
Chapter Twelve.
“What kind of fellow was he?” I asked, explaining that I had bought the tickets from a third person. “Oh, youngish—with a short brown beard. Evidently a gentleman who was hard up. We get lots of them in here.” A brown beard! Had he shaved and disguised himself before his interview with Tibbie? “Tall?” I asked. “No. Not very.” The description did not answer to that of the dead unknown. “A stranger?” “Quite. I’d never seen him before. But the truth is I recollect him because that ruby there is a v
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Chapter Thirteen.
Chapter Thirteen.
I stood gazing at the startling scene, wondering what had occurred. Mrs Parham was, I saw, a brown-haired, good-looking young lady of about twenty-six. Her black silk blouse was fastened at the throat by a beautiful diamond brooch—one from her husband’s stock perhaps—but she wore no other ring except the badge of matrimony. Her eyes were closed, and it appeared as though she had fainted, yet across her left cheek from mouth to ear was a deep livid ridge. A scarf somewhat similar to that used to
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Chapter Fourteen.
Chapter Fourteen.
The object which the jewel-case contained was truly startling. I stood staring at it amazed. Since that moment when I had stood with Sybil in the Long Gallery at Ryhall every hour seemed to bring with it some fresh mystery, or some gruesome problem. That jewel-case contained a most curious and uncommon object, a dark and somewhat shrivelled, but yet well-preserved, human eye! The doctor, leaving the unconscious woman’s side, took it from me, and putting on his pince-nez examined it long and care
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Chapter Fifteen.
Chapter Fifteen.
“We have the only clue that exists,” was his answer. “You saw one of the men.” “Yes, but I doubt if I’d recognise him again. It was only like a shadow passing across the room. He was tall and thin, but I was too far away to distinguish his features.” “Mrs Parham has apparently made no statement to the police of any value, and Parham himself is still absent. He fears, I suppose, certain inquiries regarding the possession of that gruesome object which we found in the false bottom of the secret hid
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Chapter Sixteen.
Chapter Sixteen.
“Hulloa! old fellow!” he cried cheerily. “What are you doing to-night? Come along and dine with me at Boodle’s.” I hesitated. I had no wish for the company of the man who was Tibbie’s secret enemy. Once I had distrusted him; now I hated him, for I saw how ingeniously he had kept observation upon my movements, and how his invitation, so warmly given, was with the ulterior object of ascertaining my movements. In an instant it occurred to me that I might fight him with his own weapons. I could be a
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Chapter Seventeen.
Chapter Seventeen.
Rats, hundreds of them, grey and scuttling, ran helter-skelter on seeing the fickle light; but I stood motionless leaning against the wall and gazing around at my weird surroundings until the match went out. My head reeled, I feared to walk lest I should stagger into the Stygian stream. Knowledge of where I was gave me courage, however. My head was very painful with strange fancies dancing through my imagination. I think that the blow had unbalanced my brain. Which way should I turn? To right or
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Chapter Eighteen.
Chapter Eighteen.
Had he shared the same fate? If so, to try and find him in the sewer was useless. The flush had passed, and would sweep him away to his death. Of course, I had no real proof that he had been in that house other than overhearing his voice. I recalled every word, and now more than ever was I convinced that he had been behind that closed door, held by enemies. From Budd I learned that my friend had gone out about two o’clock, and had not returned. He had, however, left me a message to say that I wa
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Chapter Nineteen.
Chapter Nineteen.
We were passing St. John’s Churchyard towards North Street, and had been discussing the advisability of her taking a furnished room in one of the respectable houses in Roundhay Road, where we had seen “Apartments to let: Furnished,” when, catching her countenance, I suddenly said,— “Eric has disappeared. He left Bolton Street some days ago, and I’ve heard nothing of him. I’m getting very anxious.” “Eric!” she echoed. “Well, he’s hardly the kind of a man to disappear, is he? I’ve often heard from
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Chapter Twenty.
Chapter Twenty.
It passed close to where I was standing on the kerb, and a few moments afterwards I was in a hansom following it at a respectable distance, my head again hidden in a newspaper. Down Edgware Road, past the Marble Arch and along Park Lane we went to Victoria Station, where the dark-eyed girl alighted, and entering the Chatham and Dover terminus passed through the barrier with the return half of a first-class ticket. Without reflection I went to the booking-office, obtained a third for Loughborough
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Chapter Twenty One.
Chapter Twenty One.
No—the more I reflected the more evident did it become that she was playing a double game. As I sat at the window with the dark deserted gardens below me, the row of gas-lamps and the wide river before me, I tried to analyse my real feelings towards the dainty little love of my youth. She was a woman guilty of the terrible crime of murder, and yet I had promised to shield her because she had declared that her enemies intended to crush her. Had I really acted rightly? I asked myself. Truly, I was
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Chapter Twenty Two.
Chapter Twenty Two.
Without hesitation I stopped, and addressing her, exclaimed,— “Excuse me, mum, but do you happen to know a Mr Charles Denton?” The woman scanned me quickly with some suspicion, I thought, but noticing, I supposed, that although a working-man I seemed highly respectable, replied bluntly, in a pronounced Lancashire dialect,— “Yes, I do. What may you want with him?” “I want to see him on some important business,” was my vague reply. “Is he at home?” “No, he ain’t,” was the woman’s response. “Mr Den
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Chapter Twenty Three.
Chapter Twenty Three.
“By what train did the lady leave?” I inquired of the hall-porter who had handed me the letter. “The six-twenty last night, sir,” was the man’s answer. “I got her ticket—a first-class one to Fort William.” “Then she went north—not south,” I exclaimed, surprised. “Of course.” Sybil had misled me in her letter by saying that she had gone to Dumfries, when really she had travelled in the opposite direction. She had purposely misled me. “The lady left hurriedly, it would appear.” “Yes, sir. About fi
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Chapter Twenty Four.
Chapter Twenty Four.
“And there? What happened?” She glanced at me in quick suspicion. I saw she was embarrassed by my question. “Happened?” she echoed, nervously. “What do you mean?” We were in the Park, and quite alone, therefore I halted, and looking her straight in the face exclaimed,— “Something happened there, Sybil. Why don’t you tell me?” “Sybil,” she said in a tone of reproach. “Am I no longer Tibbie to you, as of old? You are changed, Wilfrid—changed towards me. There is something in your manner so very un
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Chapter Twenty Five.
Chapter Twenty Five.
“For loving him!” she echoed, looking straight at me. “No—no. I was a fool because I allowed myself to be misled, and believed what I was told without demanding proof.” “Why do you fear the man who found you in Glasgow?” “Ah! That is quite another matter,” she exclaimed quickly. “I warn you to be careful of John Parham. A word from me would place him under arrest; but, alas! I dare not speak. They have successfully closed my lips!” Was she referring, I wondered, to that house with the fatal stai
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Chapter Twenty Six.
Chapter Twenty Six.
“What did they ask you?” I inquired in some alarm. “Oh, how long you’d been with me, where you worked, how long you’d been married—and all that. Most impudent, I call it. Especially as they were strangers.” “How did you know they were strangers?” “Because they took the photograph of my poor brother Harry to be yours—so they couldn’t have known you.” “Impostors, I expect,” I remarked, in order to allay the good woman’s suspicions. “No doubt they were trying to get some information from you in ord
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Chapter Twenty Seven.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
“It’s bolted,” he declared at last, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “We must try the front door. That’s no doubt only on the latch. If we force this they’ll know we’ve been here, while if we force the latch we can put that right again before we leave.” “Very well, Edwards,” was the inspector’s reply. “Go up alone and do it. It won’t do for us both to be up with you. Force the latch, and let us trust to luck to be able to put it right again. We’ll have to lay a trap here—of that I feel sur
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Chapter Twenty Eight.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
“Yes. We’ll put them back and see who returns to fetch them. There’s evidently a widespread conspiracy here, and it is fortunate, Mr Hughes, that you’ve been able at last to fix the house. By Jove!” the inspector added with a smile, “we ourselves couldn’t have done better—indeed, we couldn’t have done as well as you did.” “I only hope that we shall discover what has become of my friend Domville,” I said. “I intend that his death shall not go unavenged. He was in this room, I’ll swear to that. I’
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Chapter Twenty Nine.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
“True!” he echoed, with a strange, sickly smile, but in a low, hoarse tone. “The police are fools. Let them do as they like. They’ll soon find out that they’ve got hold of the wrong man. You surely know me well enough, Wilfrid, not to believe these fellows without proof.” “Yes,” I cried, “I do, Eric. I believe you are innocent, and I’ll help you to prove it.” Pickering smiled, saying, “At present, Mr Hughes, we must send this gentleman round to the station. We may discuss his innocence later on.
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Chapter Thirty.
Chapter Thirty.
“But you must,” I said firmly. “All is known. The brutal devilish conspiracy of those men Parham, Winsloe and Vickers is exposed.” “Exposed! Then they know about that—about that awful house in Clipstone Street?” she gasped, her eyes starting from her head in abject terror. “The horrible truth has been discovered. The police went to the house last night.” “The police!” “Yes, and Vickers, who is under arrest, has denounced you as one of their accomplices. Tell me,” I cried hoarsely, “tell me, Sybi
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Chapter Thirty One.
Chapter Thirty One.
“Never shall I forget that moment when poor Arthur Rumbold fell dead at my feet—shot down mercilessly because he was in the act of revealing to me the terrible truth,” she cried. “The memory of that ghastly moment lives ever within me—the dead face still stares at me, and I never seem able to get away from it. He had an intuition that his enemies, having found out that he had discovered the grim secret of the house in Clipstone Street, were following him with the intention of killing him in secr
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