grim untenanted mansion in GloucesterSquare? I took the portrait from my pocket and in the fading lightglanced at it as I slowly walked. Yes, there was no mistaking thefeatures, nor the oddly-shaped scarf-pin. It was undoubtedly the sameman.
CHAPTER TEN.
TATTLE AND TRAGEDY.
When half-an-hour later I sat drinking tea _en famille_ with LadyStretton and her daughter, I confess I felt ill at ease, notwithstandingtheir light and pleasant gossip.
"I really don't think you are looking very well, Stuart," the old ladywas saying, as the footman handed her her cup. "Town life does notagree with you, perhaps."
"No," I said. "I always prefer the country."
"So do I. If it were not for dear Dora's sake, I think I should live atBlatherwycke altogether."
"You would very soon tire of it, mother," her daughter laughed. "Youknow very well when we are down there you are always wanting to see yourfriends in town." Lady Stretton looked always stiff and formal in herrich satins. Nearly sixty, with a profusion of white hair and a ratherred face, she brimmed over with corpulence, and still preserved someremnant of the beauty that was half sunken beneath her grossness. To meshe was always complimentary and caressing. But she said "My dear" toeverybody, spoke in a high-pitched voice, and played the child with thatdoleful languor characteristic of corpulent persons. She loved secrets,made everything a matter of confidence, talked gossip, and was fond ofspeaking in one's ear. She pitied others; pitied herself; she bewailedher misfortunes and her physical ills. Nothing could have been morepathetic than her constant attacks of indigestion. She took a very realinterest in the career of her friends, for it was part of hercompleteness to be the centre of a set of successful people.
"We are going to Blatherwycke the day after to-morrow," she said. "Thehunting this season has been excellent. Have you been out yet?"
"Not once," I replied. "I haven't been home this season, but I mean togo down in a week or so and have a run with the hounds."
"Oh, that will be awfully jolly," Dora exclaimed, gleefully. "We'rehaving a house-party, so we shall hope to see something of you."
"Thanks," I said. "Memories of our many runs are distinctly pleasant,so I hope we may be companions again."
"Of course. Why, the papers always speak of you as one of the familiarfigures in the field," she said. "The hounds are out three days a weeknow, and foxes are awfully plentiful about Rockingham Forest and awaybeyond Apethorpe."
"Let's hope we shall obtain a few brushes," I said, and then ourconversation was mainly upon past recollections of rapid runs, of theartfulness displayed by various reynards, and of spills, amusing andserious.
No woman who rode with the Fitzwilliam hounds sat her horse somagnificently as Dora Stretton. Even my old friend William Raven, ofKing's Cliffe, for many years one of the most prominent figures inhunting circles in North Northamptonshire, but now of venerable age,white-bearded, and unable to ride to the meet; a thorough hunting man ofthe old school, who, when the hounds pass his window, rises from hiswarm armchair, thrusts his hands deep into his pockets, and sighswistfully because he is not longer agile enough to take part in thesport that he loves; an outspoken critic of all things pertaining to thehunt, and never tired of comparing the splendid riding of twenty yearsago with the sloppy form now displayed by foppish youngsters who comedown from town and hunt "because it is the thing, you know," wascompelled to acknowledge the grace, daring, and firmness alwaysdisplayed by Lady Stretton's youngest daughter. Her pace was usually ahot one; she took dangerous leaps with a recklessness that wasastounding, thought nothing of fatigue, and was almost invariably in atthe death.
The prospect of mad, exhilarating gallops with her was to me verypleasant, for I was passionately fond of the saddle. But alas! myanticipations were chilled by the knowledge of the fearful secret in myinner consciousness.
Dora sat in her low chair, bright, radiant, and happy. Her hair was atrifle disarranged, but it is the prettiest hair that sheds the mosthairpins. What if I told her the terrible nature of my discovery, ofthe awful suspicion that the man who was her hero was a murderer, andhad fled?
But I chatted to them about mutual acquaintances, discussed Jack'slatest book, "The Siren of Strelitz," which the reviewers were declaringto be the novel of the season, and talked of art at the Grosvenor andthe New, without scarcely knowing what words I uttered or what opinion Iendorsed. The mention of "The Siren of Strelitz" caused Lady Strettonsome little annoyance, and I could not help feeling amused. What, Iwondered, would this haughty woman of the world say when in a few briefhours, the papers raised a hue and cry for the popular soldier-novelist,in whose room a man had been found shot dead?
Even as I sat calmly gossiping over the tea-cups the police wires mightalready be at work and the detectives lounging at the ports of departurearoused from their cat-like lethargy to stand with keen eye, watchingevery person embarking on Channel and other steamers. I had no interestin her ladyship's idle talk; I was only waiting for her to go out of theroom so that I might ask a hurried question of her daughter.
At last, the corpulent old lady rose with an effort and a rustling ofsilk, and left us.
"Well," I said, rising and taking up a position before the fire, "haveyou seen anything of Jack to-day?"
"No," she replied, a faint blush suffusing her cheeks. "I was in theRow this morning and looked out for him, but he was not there. I expecthe is still at Hounslow."
"Did he tell you he was going to Hounslow?" I asked. "Yes, he sent mea note yesterday morning, saying that one of his brother-officers hadbeen compelled to obtain leave unexpectedly, and that he was going downto do duty for him."
"For how long?"
"He said he would be back again last night," and placing her hand in herpocket she drew forth the letter, and read it to reassure herself thatshe had made no mistake.
"I want to see him on a most important matter; if he does not return Ishall have to run down to Hounslow," I said. Then, as if suddenlyremembering, I added, "Oh, by the way, do you know any maid namedAshcombe--Annie Ashcombe?"
"Ashcombe," she repeated, puzzled. "Why do you want to know the namesof servant-maids? What interest have you in her?"
"I--er--well, I want to find her, that's all. If I can discover hershe'll hear something to her advantage, as the solicitors'advertisements say."
"I'm sorry I can't help the young person to her good fortune," shelaughed. "However, I'll bear the name in mind, and if I come across herI won't fail to let you know."
"Thanks," I said. "It is most important that I should find her asquickly as possible, so you might render me a real service if you wouldmake inquiries among your friends."
"Of course, I'll do anything to oblige you," she said frankly."Ashcombe--I shall remember the name."
"And you will let me know as soon as you hear from Jack?"
"Certainly," she answered. "I'll send you word at once."
At that moment our tete-a-tete was interrupted by the reappearance ofLady Stretton, who said:
"Dora and I are going to the Lyceum first night. If you'll join us inour box we shall be charmed."
"Thanks very much," I replied. "I shall be delighted." I had noespecial desire to witness an Irving play, but in my gloomy frame ofmind any diversion seemed better than the loneliness of my own chambers.
"Very well. Run home and dress, return and dine with us, and we will goalong together. We shall meet Mr Gilbert Sternroyd there. Do you knowhim?" her ladyship asked.
The mention of the name caused me to start, and I felt that a suddenpallor overspread my face.
"Mabel introduced me," I stammered.
"Charming young fellow! So wealthy, too," exclaimed Lady Stretton, aremark which was received with a little grimace by Dora, at that momentstanding behind her mother.
"I know very little of him," I said in a strained voice. "I only methim once."
Then I left, went home, dressed and returned. Dinner was served withthat old-fas
hioned stateliness that characterised everything in theStretton household, and I was thoroughly glad when dessert was reached.Afterward, we drove to the theatre, and found in several boxes andscattered over the stalls many mutual acquaintances. Several men andwomen came to us and exchanged greetings, and more than once herladyship observed:
"I wonder why Mr Sternroyd does not come, Dora? He promised mefaithfully."
"I don't know, mother," answered her daughter unconcernedly. "I supposehe is better engaged at his club, or elsewhere."
"Well,