was, in thewords of a ballad of the time, "A hard-riding devil." As old as theHall, too, were the barns that clustered around it, the thatch of whosepointed gables was weathered to every shade of brown and grey, greenwith moss and golden with clinging lichens. Beyond was the greenwoodland, musical with streams, its stately pine trees springingstraight and tall, its noble oaks just breaking into leaf, its larch andelm and hawthorn in all the pride of their young beauty.
From without it looked warm and cheerful with its brightly-lit windows,and within all was warm, comfortable, and brilliant. The party was alarge one, for all the best people in the county came to Lady Stretton'sdances, and as I entered the great oak-panelled ballroom with its standsof armour and its quaint old chiming clock, I looked eagerly around andsaw Dora in a ravishing toilette with skirt and sleeves of soft whitesatin, a bodice of rose-pink velvet, with the front lightly traced withjet, talking to several men, while at that moment I heard my nameuttered by a well-known voice and turned to greet Mabel who, standingwith her husband, the Earl, was attired in a marvellous gown of palestheliotrope.
As soon as dancing commenced, however, I managed to speak with Dora, andfound she had saved me several dances. Many of the guests were myfriends, and we spent altogether a most delightful night. Lady Strettonalways entertained in first-rate style, and this was no exception.Outside, in the old-world garden, Chinese lanterns were hung in thearched walks, and in the smaller paths similarly arched crossing thecentral one at intervals those who desired air could find cool alleys,where the starlight filtered through the trees.
Along one of these I wandered with Dora after we had been waltzing, andfinding a seat, we sat down to rest heedless of the chill air.
"Well," I exclaimed at length, "have you heard from him?"
"Yes," she answered rather gloomily. "Only three lines. I have broughtit in my pocket so that you may see," and producing a crumpled envelope,she handed it to me.
Striking a vesta I opened the note and read the few words it contained,written hurriedly in pencil; the message ran: "I cannot return yet, buttell no one you have heard from me. I still love you, darling, betterthan my life. Jack." Then I looked at the postmark, and found it hadbeen posted at Bardonnechia, an obscure village on the Italian frontier.
"He reassures you," I said, after a moment's silence. "We must wait."
"Wait," she echoed, sadly. "We can do nothing else. It is strange thathe desires his absence to be concealed," she continued. "Curiouslyenough only this morning a well-dressed man called just as I was goingto the meet and saw me privately. He gave his name as Captain Allen, ofJack's regiment, and said he had come from London to ask me his address,as he wished to send him a telegram on some important business. I toldhim I did not know. Then he asked if I had heard from him, and I toldhim--"
"You told him what?" I gasped, starting up.
"I told him that the letter I received yesterday was posted atBardonnechia."
I sank back upon the seat, nerveless, paralysed.
"Did he not tell you that if you loved him you must remain silent?" Idemanded, fiercely. "Don't you know what you've done?"
"No," she gasped, alarmed. "What--what have I done? Tell me. Whatwill happen?"
But I knew I had nearly betrayed myself, and quickly recovering myself-possession, said:
"You have--well, if he is on a secret mission, as I expect he is, it maybe that you may have placed those who desire to thwart its success in aposition to do so."
"Ah! Heaven! I never thought of that," she cried in despair. "Now, Iremember, the man spoke with a rather foreign accent."
"Yes," I said, severely. "By disobeying his injunctions you may haveplaced him in the hands of his enemies!" She sat silent, her handsclasped before her, and sighing heavily, she shuddered.
Then rising slowly she left me. I did not follow, for I saw she walkedunevenly with bent head, in order to hide her emotion.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
THE DEEPER INDISCRETION.
During a quarter of an hour I sat alone smoking a cigarette inthoughtful silence under the trellis, when suddenly I heard the sound ofpassionate voices on the other side of the ivy. Two persons hadevidently seated themselves in close proximity to myself, and I was, soto speak, in the middle of a scene before I realised that I waslistening.
"You shall not do this thing," cried a woman's voice. "By God! youshan't--you shall listen to reason. He has been murdered, foully doneto death, and--"
"Well, what of that? Can't you whisper, you fool?" and I heard animprecation from between a man's set teeth.
Stealthily, in order not to attract attention, I turned and parting thefoliage saw directly behind me the gleam of a light dress in thedarkness. At first I could not distinguish its wearer, but almost atthat moment her companion struck a match to light his cigar, and itsfickle flame illuminated both their faces.
The woman in the light dress was the Countess of Fyneshade, and the man,wearing a heavy fur travelling-coat, and with several days' growth ofbeard on his dark, frowning face, was the mysterious individual who hadmet me on the night I had been married to Sybil.
"So you have come from Marseilles, for what purpose?" exclaimed Mabelangrily. "Merely to run risk of compromising me, and to tell meabsolutely nothing. You must think me an idiot?"
"Have I not already told you the result of my inquiries into themovements of Bethune?"
"I have surreptitiously read each letter that Dora has received fromhim, and I was well aware of your devilish cunning, for I have alreadyhad experience of it myself."
"So you entertain a suspicion that Gilbert Sternroyd has been murdered--eh?" he said, with a low laugh, not deigning to remark upon theuncomplimentary terms in which she had spoken. "Surely a young manmay--er--disappear for a week or so, without any great harm coming tohim?"
"Mine is not a mere suspicion," she declared quickly. "I am absolutelycertain he has met with foul play."
"Why?"
"Because three days before his disappearance he told me in confidencethat an enemy, whom he would not name, had threatened him."
"But if he had really been murdered, surely his body would have beenfound by this time?" he observed. "You have, I am well aware,communicated your suspicions to the police, and they have made everyinquiry, but without avail. In passing through London this morning Icalled at Scotland Yard on your behalf and was informed that they hadsucceeded in tracing the missing man to the Army and Navy Club on thenight of his disappearance. He left there at midnight to walk home, butsince that moment nothing has been heard of him."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing except the curious fact that on the following morning a checkfor five thousand five hundred pounds in favour of some mysteriousindividual, named Charles Collinson, was handed in at the Temple Barbranch of the London and Westminster Bank, endorsed in an illiteratehand by the bearer, and duly cashed. After that all traces are lost.He has disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened andswallowed him."
"I care nothing for police theories," Mabel said firmly. "I feelconvinced that he has been brutally murdered."
"But who were his enemies?"
"As far as I am aware, he had none," she answered. "The discovery ofthe check, however, is a curious fact, and if this Collinson could befound he could, no doubt, give the police a clue."
"I think not," her companion replied dubiously. "The check was datedthree days before, and therefore, in all probability, had no connectionwhatever with his disappearance."
"But now, with regard to Bethune. Where is he?"
"At the Trombetta at Turin, under the name of Harding. I had a telegramconcerning him this morning. At your instigation a detective hasfollowed him, but I confess I can see no object in this, because nowarrant can be obtained, for the simple reason that the police have noknowledge that Sternroyd is actually dead. He may, after all, bekeeping out of the way for some purpose or another. The most exhaustiveinquiries have been made, but have failed
to elicit any solution of themystery. Even a careful examination of Bethune's chambers, made by twomost expert officers, has failed to show that any tragedy has beenenacted. It is true that the Captain destroyed some papers beforeleafing, but they were mostly billets-doux which he apparently thoughtmight prove compromising to some of his fair correspondents. Thoughtfulof him, wasn't it?"
"Very. He was a friend of Sybil's, I believe?"
"Yes, and was very much attached to her at one time, if reports aretrue," the man answered, with a low, coarse laugh.
Sybil! The mention of her name thrilled me; the words pierced mystrained ears,