pouting likea spoiled child. "We have known each other since children and havealways been the best of friends, yet just at the moment when I am mostin need of the aid of an honest man, even you forsake me."
"You have never rendered me any assistance whatever," I exclaimedreproachfully. "Indeed, on the last occasion you visited me, yourcompanion committed a mean, despicable theft, which makes him liable toprosecution."
"A theft!" she echoed, with unfeigned astonishment, "Of what?"
"Of certain fragments of private letters that were in my keeping," Ianswered angrily, adding, "Surely it must throw discredit upon any ladyto be the associate of a thief?"
"Mr Markwick would never descend to such an action," she criedindignantly. "I am absolutely certain that he never took your papers,whatever they were."
"And I am equally convinced that he did," I said in as quiet a tone as Icould command. I had suspected her of complicity in the tragedy, andher words and demeanour corroborated my worst suspicions.
"But what motive could he have to possess himself of them? Were they ofany value?"
"To me, yes. To others they were utterly worthless," I replied,standing with my hands clasped behind me regarding her closely.Evidently she was ill at ease, for her gloved fingers toyed nervouslywith the ribbon decorating the silver handle of her sunshade and hertiny shoe peeping from beneath her plain tailor-made skirt impatientlytapped the carpet. "You are a strange woman, Mabel, as variable as thewind," I added after a pause. "One day you declare that man Markwick tobe what he really is, an adventurer, while on the next you defend him asstrongly as if he were your lover."
"Lover!" she cried, her face crimsoning. "You are constantly makingreflections upon my character and endeavouring to destroy my good name."
"Remember I assert nothing," I declared. "But your extraordinaryfriendship for this man must strike everyone who is aware of it as--well, to say the least, curious." During a few moments she was silent;then, lifting her face to me, said in faltering tones:
"I--I admit all that, Stuart. People may misjudge us as they will. Itis, unfortunately, the way of the world to play fast and loose with asmart woman's reputation, and I have, therefore, long ago ceased to carewhat lies my traducers may amuse themselves by uttering. To you I haveon a previous occasion spoken the truth of my relations with Markwick.Can you never believe me?"
"You admit, then, that Fyneshade was justified in his notion that he isyour lover?"
"I tell you he is not my lover!" she cried fiercely. Then hoarsely sheadded: "I--I fear him, it's true. I am fettered to him because--well,truth to tell, I am powerless to rid myself of his attentions because hehas possessed himself of a great and terrible secret that is mine alone,one that if betrayed would crush me."
I regarded her steadily. Her face was a trifle paler, and in her eyes Ithought I detected signs of tears.
"Is this really the truth, Mabel?" I asked with earnestness. She haddeceived me before, and I was determined not to accept any of herstatements without verification.
"It is the absolute truth," she declared huskily. "I swear I am unableto treat the man as I should wish because I fear he may make known thetruth."
"Is it so serious, then? Is yours a secret of so terrible a nature thatyou dare not face exposure? It is not like you, Mabel, to flinch," Isaid.
"But I cannot let this man speak--I dare not."
"You do not love him?"
"I hate him, but must treat him with tact and discretion. Did I nottell you when we met him unexpectedly at Thackwell's to beware of him?Already I knew how he and certain accursed parasites who surround himhad misled you, and had entrapped you into an impossible marriage. I--"
"Impossible?" I echoed. "Why do you use that word? Do you insinuatethat Sybil was an impossible person?"
"Yes; when you know the truth about her it will amaze you. Indeed, wereit not for the fact that I have witnessed certain things with my owneyes I myself would never believe the story if related to me."
"But tell me, Mabel; tell me more of her," I urged. "Ever since mystrange marriage, under circumstances of which you are apparently wellaware, I have been groping in the dark, seeking always, but findingnothing. I have tried to penetrate the mystery of her past, but, alas!cannot."
"Ah! that is not surprising. The precautions taken to prevent youascertaining the truth are indeed elaborate, every possible contingencyhaving been provided for."
"Do you mean that I am never to obtain the knowledge I seek; that I amalways to remain in ignorance?"
"With Markwick's sanction you will never know. He is implicated far toodeeply."
"How implicated?"
"I am not yet in possession of the whole of the facts. If I were Ishould not be compelled, as I now am, to purchase his silence by riskingmy own reputation. But it is for that very reason I sought you thismorning. If I dared, I would tell you all I know of Sybil; but by doingso I should bring upon my head the exposure that I dread."
What, I wondered, was the nature of the secret which she feared Markwickwould betray? Only one solution of the problem occurred to me, and itrooted itself firmly in my mind. The secret was none other than thefact that she had either lured young Sternroyd to his death or hadactually fired the fatal shot herself. The thought was startling, buther words and manner showed conclusively her guilt, and in those briefmoments, during which a silence fell between us, I told myself that twopersons must be associated in the murder of the young millionaire, andthat their names were Mabel, Countess of Fyneshade, and Captain JohnBethune.
Hers was unmistakably the face of one whose conscience was borne down bya guilty secret, and I felt instinctively to shrink from her as nextsecond she stretched forth her gloved hand and laid it gently on my arm.
"I am powerless, Stuart, utterly powerless to tell you what you desireto know about the woman who was so strangely married to you," she said."For reasons already explained I am forced to remain silent; butfurther, I cast myself upon your generosity. I beseech you once againto help a woman friendless among enemies, who seek her degradation andsocial ruin."
"Well, what do you want?" I asked rather roughly.
"I have told you why I am compelled to still remain friendly with thisman Markwick, a person hated by both of us. He has threatened me; hehas declared that he will disclose my secret if I cannot obtain yoursilence regarding that interview in the garden at Blatherwycke. To-dayI come to you to beg, nay, to pray to you to reconsider your decision."She spoke so earnestly that I confess myself surprised.
"Upon that interview there apparently rests some very importantdevelopment," I observed, thoughtfully, after a pause. "He must havesome exceedingly strong motive if he attempts to secure secrecy by suchmeans. What is it?"
"I have no idea," replied the Countess, quickly. "He does not desirethat his friendship should compromise me, I suppose."
"But has it not already compromised you in the eyes of Fyneshade?" Isuggested, in a tone of suspicion.
"True; but your testimony, the word of a man of honour, will go a longway toward dispelling whatever absurd notions my husband has got intohis head," she urged.
"His notions, viewed by the light of later events, are not altogethersurprising. To say the least, the circumstances are suspicious."
"Ah! I quite admit that. It is for that very reason I cast myself uponyour generosity and beg of your assistance. If I do not secure yoursilence, he--the man who holds me in his power--will not hesitate todenounce and crush me. Your promise may save me."
"Save you? I cannot see how," I said, mechanically, for I was thinkingof the probability that she was the actual culprit.
"Ah! you do not--you cannot, understand," she cried, impatiently. "Iwould prefer death to exposure. If he betrays my secret, then I--I willkill myself."
"Come, come," I said, sympathetically. "This is wild talk. Suicide ismere cowardice."
"But it would avert the greater scandal. If you knew everything youwould not be s
urprised at my rash words, nay, you would wonder how Ihave endured all this mental anguish so long, rather than yield to thetemptation of taking at one draught the contents of a tiny bottle I havelocked away in my room."
I saw that she was genuinely in earnest; she spoke with a gesture thattold me plainly she had confessed the truth. Was it that, seized bybitter remorse at the consequences of her act, she preferred suicide toarrest? This was but natural, I argued. She knew that if Jack Bethunefell into the hands of the police, revelations must ensue that wouldimplicate her deeply, and that she would be placed in the dock besidehim. I