exposure?"
"I only dread the scandal that must arise when it becomes known that Iam acquainted with this man," she answered quickly. "As I have beforetold you, there is no thought of affection or regard between us. Whilehating him, I have been compelled to seek his assistance by untowardcircumstances."
"When do you anticipate these attempted revelations?" I asked calmly.
She was silent. The flames shot high in the grate, illuminating thegreat handsome apartment and were reflected in the many mirrors, whileoutside a neighbouring clock slowly struck six. The mansion seemedstrangely quiet and dismal, now that its master, the Earl, had partedfrom his smart wife.
"Bethune will be tried for murder. Some awkward questions will then beasked," she answered at last. "Markwick is quite resolved, then," Icried, starting up. "Quite. I, too, have every reason to believe thatGilbert fell by Bethune's hand."
"Yet you have no proofs," I observed.
"I did not say that Certain proofs will be forthcoming at the trial."
"But I presume you are aware that Jack strenuously denies theallegation?"
"Of course. It is but natural. He fancies himself secure and isconfident we dare not cause his arrest for fear he should make arevelation regarding a strange and startling incident that occurredrecently. But he is quite mistaken. I intend to establish the factthat Gilbert was murdered, and further, that he fell by the hand of yourfriend."
"And the reason for this, Mabel," I exclaimed, bitterly; "the reason forthis is because you have received information that the foolish youthexecuted a will under which, in the event of his death, you inheritthree millions. This fact is already common gossip, although your namehas not yet transpired in the newspapers. It is but natural that youshould wish to prove his death, even though you may have loved him."
"He was a foolish boy, and pretended to admire me, but I swear, on myhonour, that I gave him no encouragement. I treated him kindly, as themarried woman usually treats a love-sick youth."
"And he has left you three millions because you were kind to him," Isaid. "Well, of course you are anxious to prove that he is not merelyill or abroad and likely to turn up again; in fact, it is to your owninterest to show that he was murdered."
"I will prove it, even if I have to face a cross-examination in thewitness-box," she exclaimed with firm determination. "All I ask you is,for the sake of our long friendship, not to reveal the conversation youoverheard in the shrubbery."
"You wish me to assist you against my friend?" I said. "No, Mabel, Icannot give you my promise. What I overheard was suspiciously like aconspiracy formed to convict Jack of murder, and if I am asked I shallspeak the truth."
Her lips quivered. With a pretty woman's wilful egotism she hadanticipated that I would perjure myself to shield her, and herdisappointment and chagrin were apparent. Her face was turned towardthe fire, and for a long time neither of us uttered a word.
"Because my husband has gone and I am defenceless," she said at lastwith much bitterness, "all my whilom friends will, I suppose, now unitein maligning me. You, of all men, know the tragedy of my marriage," shecontinued appealingly. "I married for money and a coronet, but ere myhoneymoon was over, I discovered that to love my husband was impossible,and further that his reputed wealth existed entirely in the imagination;for truth to tell he has been on the verge of bankruptcy ever since ourmarriage. No, my life during these past three years has been awretchedly hollow sham; but because I am Countess of Fyneshade, and amconsidered smart, I have been flattered and courted. Put yourself for amoment in my place, and see whether you would prefer the misery of yourhusband's great, empty, comfortless home to the many happy, well-filled,and brilliant houses always open to you, houses where you are deemed thecentre of attraction, and where admiration and flattery greet you onevery hand. Think, think deeply for a moment, and I feel assured youwill not condemn me so unmercifully as you have."
"I do not condemn you, Mabel," I said quietly, "On the contrary, youhave my most sincere sympathy. If there is anything I can do that willinduce Fyneshade to return and thus avoid the scandal, I will do itwillingly, but, understand, once and for all, I will not perjure myselfin a court of justice."
"Ah, you are cruel and hard-hearted, for you refuse to allay hissuspicions, even though you must know from the character of ourconversation that at least there is not one iota of affection betweenMarkwick and myself. Is it because of Jack that you refuse?"
"Yes," I answered point-blank. "It is because I don't believe he isguilty."
Slowly she rose from her low chair and stood before me, tall and erect,a bewitching figure against the fitful firelight.
"Then let me tell you one fact that may induce you to alter thisopinion," she said. "You will remember that you went to his chambersalone in the darkness, and met him there. You suspected him, but gavehim no inkling of your suspicions, yet when you wanted to enter one ofhis rooms he refused to allow you."
"Yes," I said, amazed. "How do you know that?"
"It matters not by what means I have gained this knowledge; but I tellyou further that in that room at the moment you desired to enter, therewas stretched upon the floor the body of Gilbert Sternroyd!"
Her words came upon me as a bolt from the blue. How she had becomeaware of my visit was an entire mystery, but her allegation fully boreout my horrible suspicion that the murderer was at that moment hidingthe ghastly evidence of his crime.
"Such, then, is the nature of the evidence you intend to adduce againsthim," I said, when I had fully contemplated her startling announcement."You will, however, be compelled to prove that he committed the crime.If you are aware that the body was concealed in that room, you probablyknow where it is at the present time."
"My proofs I retain until the trial," she said. "Gilbert has beenmurdered, and I am but doing my best to bring the culprit to justice.You think I am acting strangely; that my husband perhaps is, under thecircumstances, justified in leaving me to face a scandal and thederision of the women who have envied me. Well, you are welcome to youropinion. I can tell you, however, that when the truth is out, althoughmy reputation may be blighted, some revelations will be made that willamaze you."
"I do not blame you for endeavouring to solve this mystery, Mabel," Isaid rather sympathetically, "but remember Jack Bethune is my friend,and Dora loves him dearly--"
"Because, poor girl, she is ignorant of the terrible truth," sheinterrupted.
"Then let her remain in ignorance until his guilt be proved," I urged."She is happy; do not disturb what unfortunately may be but a briefperiod of joy."
"You may rely on me," she answered. "I shall tell my sister nothing.But if Bethune is arrested do not be surprised."
"I do not anticipate his arrest," I observed. "For when he is broughtto trial, the revelations of which you have spoken will implicate toomany people."
"How do you know? What has he told you?" she inquired quickly.
"Nothing. I have learnt much from my own observations."
"Now, tell me," she said, suddenly placing her hand softly upon my arm."Will you not take upon yourself the identity of Markwick for that briefquarter-of-an-hour in the shrubbery--that is, of course, providing youare asked? I--I appeal to you," she added in a low tone, panting withemotion. "I appeal to you, as a woman clinging to one last hope, toremove this unfounded suspicion attaching to me. Speak, Stuart. Tellme you will remain my friend!"
I was silent. The darting flames showed her hand some face upturned tomine, pale, haggard, anxious. Her breast rose and fell beneath its silkand chiffon, and her white hand grasped my arm convulsively.
"I--I have been reckless," I admit, she went on, brokenly. "Myrecklessness has been caused by an absence of love for my home or myhusband, but I swear that Fyneshade's suspicions are utterly groundless.Ah!--if you knew the terrible secret in my heart you would pity me--youwould shield me, I know you would," and some other words that sheuttered were lost in a sudden fit of hysterical sobbing.
/>
"What is your secret?" I asked calmly, when struggling with heremotion, she again looked up to my face.
"You will remember when we were in the library at Blatherwycke, youasked me if I ever knew a woman named Sybil."
"Yes," I cried eagerly. "Yes. Did you know her?"
"I--I lied to you when I denied all knowledge of her," she answered. "Iam well aware of the strange manner in which you became acquainted withher and of your marriage, but even though these incidents are startling,the secret of her life and death is far more astounding."
"Tell me, Mabel. Tell me all," I cried breathlessly. "No," sheanswered. "No, not until you have promised to swear that you sat withme in the shrubbery, and that Markwick was not present. Only inexchange for your aid will I reveal to you the secret."
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE EARL'S SUSPICIONS.
"Will you--will you swear?" she implored, grasping my hands, her whiteagitated countenance still lifted to mine in earnest appeal.
I had felt confident long ago that she must know something of Sybil,from the fact that Sternroyd's photograph had been placed with that ofmy dead wife, but was entirely unprepared for this strange offer. I wasto commit perjury and thus shield this mysterious scoundrel Markwick aswell as herself, in order to learn some facts about the woman I hadloved. At first, so intense was my desire to obtain a clue to theinscrutable mystery that had enveloped Sybil, that I confess my impulsewas to give my promise. But on reflection I saw the possibility thatshe desired to shield Markwick, and not herself; and I also recognisedthe probability that her promised revelation might, after all, beentirely untrue. These thoughts decided me.
"No," I answered with firmness. "I will not commit perjury, even thoughits price be the secret of my wife's life."
"You will not?" she wailed. "Not for my sake?"
"No," I answered, gravely. "Much as I desire to solve the enigma, Idecline to entertain any such offer."
"Then you, too, are my enemy!" she cried wildly, with a suddenfierceness, staggering back from me a few paces.
"I did not say so. I merely refused to be bribed to perjury," Ianswered as she released my hands.
"And you will not help me?" she said, hoarsely, standing before me andtwirling the ribbons of her gown between her nervous bejewelled fingers.
"I will assist you in any way I can, but I will not swear that I havenot seen that man," I replied.
"Ah! you are prejudiced," she said with a deep sigh. Then in a meaningtone she added, "If you knew the secret that I am ready to divulge inexchange for your silence, you might perhaps have cause for prejudice."
She uttered these words, I knew, for the sole purpose of intensifying mycuriosity. It was a woman's wile. Fortunately, however, I remainedfirm, and answered a trifle indifferently perhaps:
"If I can only learn the truth at such cost, then I prefer to seek asolution of the mystery from some other source."
"Very well," she said, her eyes suddenly flashing with suppressed angerat my blank refusal. "Very well. You refuse to render me a service,therefore I decline to impart to you knowledge that would place yourenemies within your power. Speak the truth if you will, but I tell youthat ere long you will regret your refusal to enter into the compact Ihave suggested--you will come to me humbly--yes, humbly--and beg of meto speak."
"Of what?"
"To tell you the truth," she said quickly, a heavy frown of displeasurecrossing her pale brow. "I am fully aware of the many strangeadventures that have occurred to you during the past few months; thoseincidents that have puzzled and mystified you, as indeed they would anyperson. I could, if I chose, give you an explanation that would astoundyou, and place in your hands a weapon whereby you might defeat the evilmachinations of those who seek your ruin--nay, your death."
"My death!" I echoed. "Who seeks my death?"
"Your friends," she replied with a low cynical laugh, as taking up anunopened note that lay unheeded upon the table, she glanced at itssuperscription and eagerly concealed it in the pocket of her tea-gown.
For a moment she paused, walking slowly toward the fireplace, butsuddenly turning back to me, stretched forth both hands, and with aquiver of intense emotion in her voice, made a final appeal urging me tohide from everyone all knowledge of the interview in the garden atBlatherwycke.
My mind was, however, made up. I shook my head, but no word passed mylips. I regretted deeply that I had responded to her summons.
"You are not more generous than the rest," she cried suddenly betweenher set teeth. "No. You would ruin me, drive me to a suicide's grave!But you shall not. Ha! ha! ha!" she laughed hysterically. "We areenemies now; you and I. Well, let it remain so."
"It must be so if you desire it," I answered briefly, and not desiringto prolong the interview, I bowed and turning upon my heel, strode fromthe room, closing the door behind me.
As I stepped into the hall I encountered a person so suddenly that Ialmost stumbled over him, yet so quickly did he motion me to silence,that my expression of surprise died from my lips. The appearance of theman under these circumstances was certainly as unexpected as it waspuzzling, for it was none other than the Earl of Fyneshade. It was notsurprising that he should loiter in his own house, attired in hat andcoat, but it was more than passing strange that while his wife wasdeploring the fact that he had deserted her, and that a scandal wouldthereby be created, he had actually been standing at the door, and inall probability listening to a conversation which must have beenintensely interesting.
This thought flashed in an instant upon me. If he had overheard hiswife's appeal would it not convince him more than ever that hissuspicions were justifiable? Yet a few moments later, when he motionedme to step into an adjoining room, the door of which he closed quietlyand turned to me in a manner quite friendly and affable, these fearswere at once dispelled. Evidently he had heard nothing, for inexplanation of his mysterious conduct he told me that he wished his wifeto believe he was out of town, and that he had entered with hislatch-key in order to obtain some money.
"I was afraid you would greet me aloud," he said laughing. "Fortunatelyyou didn't. The fact is Mabel and I have had some little differences,and for the present our relations are rather strained. Did she ask youto call?"
"Yes," I replied; adding, "she wanted to speak to me about Dora."
"Ah! poor Dora!" Fyneshade exclaimed rather sadly. "Most lamentableaffair that engagement of hers. She's a charming girl, but I'm afraidthe course of true love will not run very smoothly for her!"
"Why?"
"Well, Bethune is hardly the man one would wish for a husband for one'sdaughter," he answered. "There are ugly rumours afloat regarding hissudden disappearance."
"But he has now returned to face his traducers," I answered hastily.
"Yes, yes, I know. But does not his uneasiness strike you as--well, atleast as curious?"
His words were an admission that he suspected Jack. Had Mabel, Iwondered, told him of her suspicions?
"I really don't know," I said, with affected indifference. He smiledrather incredulously, I thought, and lowering his voice, evidentlyfearing that he might be overheard, he inquired--
"There is a question I want to ask you, Stuart. Are you acquainted witha man named Markwick?"
"He is not an acquaintance of mine," I answered promptly, determined toshow no sign of surprise. "I have seen him at Thackwell's, but haveonly spoken to him twice."
"Do you know who he really is?" he asked, with a strange intensity oftone that surprised me.
"I've known him as Markwick, but if he has another name I am utterlyunaware of it. To me he has always appeared a rather shady individualwhose past is veiled by obscurity."
"And to me also. For weeks I've been trying to discover who the fellowreally is, but no one knows. He has been living at the Victoriarecently, and before that he made the Savoy his headquarters. Heappears to have plenty of money, but according to the information I havegathere
d, his movements are most erratic, and their object a profoundmystery. He met my wife at some reception or another and called on herthe other day." Then, bending toward me he asked: "Do you think--Imean--well, would you suspect him of being a detective?"
I regarded him keenly. His question was a strange one.
"No," I replied. "From my observations I feel perfectly confident thathe is not a detective. He is more likely an adventurer."
"Are you absolutely sure he is not connected with the police?"
"I feel certain he's not," I answered. "From one fact that came undermy notice I have been led to the conclusion that he is an adventurer ofthe first water."
"A criminal?"
"No, I don't go quite so far as that. All I know is that he has anutter contempt for the law."
"Then he has, to your knowledge, committed some offence?" Fyneshadecried quickly, with undisguised satisfaction.
"Not exactly. His action might, however, bring him within the pale ofthe law." I had no desire to impart to this thin, dark-faced peer thewretched story of my marriage.
"What was the nature of his