in thathour when the clear rose-flush of dawn was still in the sky, and as wewalked the cool wind rose fragrant with the smell of the wet grass,refreshing after the foetid atmosphere of that closed room and itsgruesome occupant.
We chatted on, discussing the startling discoveries we had made, hegiving me certain instructions, until we got to the station and entereda compartment. The latter being crowded with workmen, furtherconversation on the subject was precluded.
Soon after six I returned to Grey's Inn, and making an excuse to Dickfor my absence, snatched an hour's sleep before going down to my office.My heart was hard; my blood fire. Fate had been merciless.
"I began to think something had happened, old chap," Dick had said whenI had entered his room and awakened him. He sat up in bed and looked atme rather strangely, I thought. Then he added: "You don't seem asthough you've had much sleep, wherever you've been."
In my excitement I had quite forgotten that my clothes were dirty andtorn, and my face unwashed, and I fancied that his pointed remark causeda slight flush to rise to my cheeks.
How I performed my duties that morning I scarcely knew, for my brain wasin a whirl with the amazing discoveries of the past night, I loved Eva,yet the contents of those concealed drawers were sufficient inthemselves to convince Boyd of her guilt. A fearful and perpetual dreadseized me lest she should be arrested. Boyd's method of work was, Iknew, always bold and decisive. A detective, to be successful, must actwithout hesitation. In this affair he had obtained evidence which, fromevery point of view, proved but one fact, and one alone--her guilt.Indeed, I now remembered with bitterness how she had to me openlydeclared herself guilty; how she had prophesied that one day I shouldhate all mention of her name. Did it not seem quite clear, too, thatthis very drug which I had found in the small wooden box, the drug whichhad been instantly fatal to the poor brute upon which we tried it, wasthe same which had been administered to me by her hand?
When I thought of that I felt glad that I had assisted my friend ofScotland Yard, and that with my own hands had unearthed evidence whichmust lead to her conviction. Her arrest was, I knew from my friend'sremarks, only a matter of days, perhaps, indeed, of hours.
"You can't now seek to shield Miss Glaslyn," he had remarked when we hadbeen waiting for the train on Richmond platform. "The proofs are fartoo strong. If we could only discover the author of those type-writtenletters we would be able to find out what the Silence refers to, and tomove with much more certainty. As we can't, we must fix our theoryfirmly and act boldly upon it."
"Do you mean that you intend to apply for a warrant against her?" Iinquired, dismayed.
"We shall obtain one against somebody, but who it may be of coursedepends entirely upon the result of our subsequent investigations.People don't keep bodies locked up in their houses without some verystrong motive."
It now struck me as exceedingly strange why Eva should have been soanxious to prevent me revisiting Riverdene. She had hinted that theBlains were my enemies, yet was it not more likely that my presencereminded her too vividly of her sin, and she also feared the vengeanceof Mary Blain? There was undoubtedly some deep motive underlying thiseffort to prevent me visiting the Blains, but as I reflected upon it Ifailed to decide what it might be. She had spoken of it as though itwere for my benefit, and as if she had my welfare at heart, yet I couldnot fail to detect how hollow was the sham, for the Blains were myfriends of long standing, and since my visit at Mary's request mywelcome had always been a most cordial one.
Mary had certainly no cause for jealousy, for she and I had on severaloccasions, when alone on the river, spoken of the past. She had,indeed, ridiculed my boyish love for her, and observed that we were botholder and more discreet nowadays. I had long been assured by her wordsand her attitude that her affection for me--if she had really everentertained any--had entirely passed away.
No, I could not understand Eva's present attitude. It was entirely anenigma. She seemed filled with some nameless terror, the reason ofwhich our discoveries seemed to prove up to the hilt.
Day followed day, each to me full of anxiety and bewilderment. Onparting from Boyd he had told me to remain in patience until hecommunicated with me. I was not to return to Riverdene, neither was Ito mention a single word to Dick regarding recent occurrences.
I wandered from end to end of London day after day, reporting the eventswhich daily crop up in the Metropolis. It seemed to me as if those dayswould never end. I saw nothing but the face of Eva. The world whichhad seemed to me so beautiful had changed; Heaven was cruel. It createdloveliness only to pollute and deform it afterwards. Out of my dreams Iwas brought face to face with facts that sickened me. The old landmarksof my faith were gone. Whatever happy hopefulness of nature I possessedwas crushed. I was bewildered and sick at heart. Yet through it all Icould not thrust away from me Eva's wondrous beauty. Her form, hergaze, her smile, her sigh--I could think of nothing else. Yet themockery of it all stung me to despair, and despair is man's mostfrequent visitor.
A week thus passed. I saw her in the air, in the clouds, everywhere;her voice rang in my ears; she was so lovely--and yet she was so vile--apoisoner!
One afternoon I had returned to Gray's Inn unusually early, about threeo'clock, put on my old lounge-coat, a river "blazer," and sat down towrite up an interview for publication next day, when I heard a ring atthe door, voices outside the room, and a few moments later Mrs. Joadentered, saying--"'Ere's a lady wants to see you, sir."
"A lady?" I exclaimed, turning quickly in my chair. "Ask her in."
I rose, brushing down my hair with my hand, and next moment found myselfface to face with Eva.
She advanced with her hand outstretched and a smile upon her face, thatcountenance that was ever before me in my day-dreams.
"How fortunate I am to find you in," she exclaimed, half breathlessafter the ascent of the stairs. "I've been to your office, and theytold me that you were probably at home."
"It is I who am fortunate," I answered, laughing gaily, placing thearmchair for her and drawing out a little oaken footstool, a relic fromsome bygone generation of men who had tenanted those grimy old rooms.
With a sigh she seated herself, and then for the first time I noticedthe deathly pallor of her cheeks. Even her thick veil did not concealit. She was in black, neat as usual, but her skirt was unbrushed anddusty, and her hair was just a trifle awry, as though she had beentravelling about some hours.
"I have called upon you here for the first and for the last time," shesaid in a broken voice, looking seriously across to me, as the unwontedtears sprang into her eyes.
"The last time!" I echoed. "What do you mean?"
"I have come to wish you farewell," she said in a low, faltering voice."I am leaving London. My mother and I are going abroad."
"Abroad? Where?" I cried, dismayed.
"My mother's health is not good, and the doctor has ordered her to theSouth immediately. He says that she must never return to this climate,because it will hasten her malady to a fatal termination. Therefore, infuture we must be exiles." She was looking straight into my face as shespoke, and those great wondrous eyes of hers that I had believed to beso pure and honest never wavered. "I leave to-morrow and join her," sheadded.
"Then she has already gone!" I exclaimed, the truth at once flashingupon me that Lady Glaslyn had actually fled.
"Yes. The doctor has so frightened her that I could not induce her tostay and pack. I shall join her in Paris," she explained quite calmly."There is no help for it. We must part."
"But surely," I said in desperation, "you will not leave me thus? Youwill return to England sometimes."
"I really don't know," she answered in a strained, hoarse voice.
"At least you will give me hope that some day you will be my wife, Eva,"I said, tenderly grasping her hand, which seemed limp and trembling."You know how fondly I love you, how--"
I started quickly and turned, puzzled at the unusual sound of voices,wit
hout finishing the sentence. One voice I recognised speaking in deeptones to Mrs. Joad, and dropping the hand I held I rushed out, closingthe door behind me.
As I did so, I came face to face with Boyd, accompanied by twoplain-clothes officers.
"We've followed her here," he explained. "She means to get away abroad,therefore we must now execute the warrant. I regret it, for your sake."
A loud piercing shriek from within told me that she had overheard thosefateful words.
"No," I cried. "By Heaven! you shan't arrest her!" and I resolutelybarred his passage to the inner room. "As I love her you shall neverenter there! She shall never be taken as a common criminal!"
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
HER LADYSHIP.
Boyd, seeing my fierce determination, held back, a look of undisguisedannoyance upon his face.
"I have a duty to perform. I beg of you not to obstruct me, Mr. Urwin,"he said coldly. "It is quite as unpleasant to me as to you."
"Unpleasant!" I echoed. "I tell you that you shall not arrest her,"and I stood firmly with my back to the door of my room.
"Come," he said, in a tone of persuasion. "This action of yours cannotbenefit her in the least. She has made every preparation for flight.Her trunk is in the cloakroom at Charing Cross Station, and she meanswithin an hour to get away to the Continent. Let me pass."
"I shall not," I roared.
"In that case I shall be compelled to use force, however much I regretit."
As he uttered these words the door was suddenly flung back, and I sawEva's tragic, almost funereal, figure in the opening. She was white tothe lips, her countenance terribly wan and haggard.
"Enough!" she cried hoarsely. "Let the police enter. I am ready," andshe tottered back, clutching at the corner of my writing-table forsupport.
Her outward purity and innocence were a rare equipment for the committalof a crime. Who, indeed, would have suspected her of guile andintrigue? When Love is dead there is no God.
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We were standing together in my sitting-room, Boyd being our onlycompanion. A dozen times I had implored her to speak the truth, butwithout avail. She stood pale and trembling, yet still silent beforeus. Terror held her dumb.
"Those who turn King's evidence obtain free pardon," the detectivegravely observed, speaking for the first time.
She laughed a little to herself.
"You might have striven for ever in vain to solve the mystery," sheanswered at last, apparently bracing herself up for an effort. "Thosewho aimed that terrible blow, so swift and so fatal, were not the kindof persons to be ever caught napping. They never made a false move, andalways took such elaborate precautions that to solve the enigma would beimpossible to any one unacquainted with previous events."
Her breast rose and fell quickly in her wild agitation. She was stirredby emotion to the depths of her being.
"I was weak and helpless," she faltered. "God knows how I havesuffered; how deep has been my repentance. Hear me to the end," sheurged, turning her fine eyes to mine. "Then, when I have told you mywretched if astounding story, Frank, judge me as you think fit--for I amyours."
"Speak!" I said anxiously. "My justice shall be tempered with mercy."
By that sentence she had acknowledged her love for me, but now Ihesitated. She was accused of murder.
"Then I must begin at the very beginning, for it is a long and mostcomplicated story, a story of a deep-laid intrigue and conspiracy, andof a duplicity extraordinary," she said, her thin, nerveless handtrembling in mine as I held her with my arm about her waist. "In thedays when I had reached my sixteenth year I lived with my mother abroad,in Italy for the most part, because it was cheap, and further because myfather, who had been guilty of certain shady transactions, had beencompelled to fly from England. He had treated my mother shamefully,therefore they were separated, and mother and I lived economically inthese cheap pensions in Florence and Rome which seem to exist as asylumsfor the well-bred needy. A few days after I was sixteen, while we wereat an obscure pension in Siena, my mother took typhoid and died, leavingme absolutely alone in the world, and practically penniless. Nearly ayear before we had received a letter from my father's solicitors inLondon stating that he had died in poverty in Buenos Aires, therefore Iwas utterly alone. The position of a friendless girl on the Continentis always serious," she said, with a catch in her voice. "Acting uponthe advice of some English people in the pension I went to Florence andsaw there the Consul-General, who not only gave me money from theBritish Relief Fund, which is supported by English residents in thatcity, but also interested himself actively upon my behalf and obtainedfor me a post as governess in a wealthy Italian family living nearBologna. In their service I remained nearly three years, until, by thedeath of the head of the house, the family became scattered, when I tooka fresh engagement with a lady who advertised for an English companion.She was a Madame Damant, a good-looking woman of forty-five, whosefather, I understood, had been Italian, and whose mother English. Shespoke English quite as well as I did, and had a fine apartment inFlorence, where she received a good deal, for she was well-known there.With the winter over we travelled first to Paris, where we stayedseveral months, and then to Switzerland. Our life was pleasant, asMadame had plenty of money and we always lived at the best hotels."
She paused and drew a long breath. There was a hardness about hermouth, and tears were in her eyes.
"It was in Zurich that I had my first misgivings, for there one day inlate autumn we were joined by a strange old gentleman, Hartmann by name,whom I understood was Madame's brother, a curious old fellow, whose mainobject in life appeared to be the carrying out of certain scientificexperiments. He remained with us in the same hotel for nearly afortnight, during which time Madame, who was extremely well-educated,held frequent consultations with him upon scientific matters, until oneday I was overjoyed when she announced that we were all three to gostraight to London."
"Then the Lady Glaslyn at The Hollies was not your mother?" I gasped,profoundly amazed at this revelation.
"I am about to explain," she went on in a hard voice. "On the nightbefore our departure from Zurich I chanced to pass the door of Madame'sbedroom after everybody had retired to rest, and seeing a light issuingfrom the keyhole was prompted by natural curiosity to peep within. WhatI saw was certainly strange. In one hand she was holding an unopenedbottle of Benedictine liqueur upside down, while with the other she tooka hypodermic syringe filled with some liquid, and with the long thinneedle pierced the cork, then slowly, and with infinite care, sheinjected the liquid from the tiny glass syringe. Afterwards shewithdrew the hollow needle, glanced at the parchment capsule beneath thelight, and having satisfied herself that the puncture made was quiteunnoticeable, she shook the bottle so as to thoroughly mix the injectedliquid with the liqueur. Then I saw her wrap the bottle carefully in anumber of towels and place it in her trunk. Next day, when packing, Iglanced at the bottle with some curiosity, examining the parchmentcovering the cork, but so tiny had been the puncture that I failed todiscover the hole. The parchment had, I think, been touched with gum,which had caused the tiny hole to close."
"That liqueur was evidently poisoned," Boyd remarked, his brows knit inthought.
"Yes," she answered. "I have every reason to believe so, although thetrue state of affairs did not dawn upon me until long afterwards. Whenalone in our compartment in the _wagon-lit_ between Basle and Calais,Madame, however, made a very extraordinary proposal to me. Sheconfessed that her husband had been made the scapegoat of some financialfraud in England and was in hiding somewhere near Paris, therefore, ingoing back, she feared that if she went under her right name--Damant--that the police would begin to make active inquiries regarding monsieur.She wished, she said, to avoid this and set up a house in some pleasantsuburb of London, so as to have a _pied-a-terre_ in the country she sodearly loved. Now my mother was dead, and no f
riends in England knewher, so many years had she lived on the Continent, why should she notpass as Lady Glaslyn and I as her daughter? At first this proposalutterly staggered me, but when she pointed out how much more I would berespected as her daughter instead of her companion, and told me of themanner in which she intended to live--a manner befitting her assumedstation--I at length gave my consent, for which she made me a presentthere and then of a very acceptable bank-note."
"Then that woman only posed as your mother!" I exclaimed. "She was notthe real Lady Glaslyn?"
"Certainly not," answered my beloved frankly. "At first I was veryindisposed to be a party to any such transaction, but she had shown meso many kindnesses, and had always been so generous, that I, afriendless girl, felt compelled to accede. Ah! if I had but known whatlay behind all that outward show of good feeling and sympathy I wouldhave cast her accursed money from me as I could cast the gold of Satan.I would rather have made matches for a starvation wage, or slaved at ashop-counter, than have remained one day longer beneath her roof. Butshe was full of cool ingenuity and marvellous cunning, and on myacceptance of this proposal instantly set to work to bind me further tosecrecy. This was not difficult, alas! for I was entirely unsuspiciousof treachery, and least of all of my generous friend and benefactor.After some search and many interviews with house-agents we found TheHollies, which she purchased, together with the furniture just as itstood, and ere