loathed her for the vile, despicable part she had played in thedeath of her young admirer, yet I felt an indescribable pity for her asshe sat trembling before me in an attitude of utter dejection, her fatehanging upon my words.
For a brief moment I looked into her great tearful eyes, then gravely Isaid--
"It is not within my province to judge you, Mabel, for I am unaware ofyour offence, still, although I will never swear that Markwick was notwith you on that night, I will grant your request. I promise to assistyou in concealing the truth you wish to hide."
"And you will say I was with you?" she cried eagerly, jumping to herfeet joyfully, grasping my hand with a sudden impulse.
"I will not swear it, remember," I said. "I will, however, let it beunderstood that you and I met clandestinely."
"Ah! you are a real, generous friend, Stuart," she cried, smilingthrough her tears. "I knew when you had heard the truth about my miseryyou would not fail to render me help. Mine has been an existence fullof wretched, hollow shams; but in future I mean to act withoutduplicity, to abandon the schemes I had long ago formed, and to try andlead a better life. To the world I am gay and happy, for am I notacknowledged one of the smartest women in England? Yes, alas! and thepenalty for all this is an agony of mind that is torturing me hour byhour, moment by moment, while the temptation to destroy myself alluresme until I fear that, sooner or later, I must yield."
"No, no; do nothing of the kind," I exclaimed pityingly. "Yourconfession has pained me, but arm yourself against your enemies, and atthe same time count upon my friendship. If you have spoken falsely tome--if I find that you have lied--then ask no further favour, forassuredly I shall be your most bitter enemy, and seek to bring upon youthe punishment merited by your acts."
"Punishment!" she gasped, gazing fixedly across the room with wild,wide-opened eyes. Her lips moved, but she was voiceless. The singleword transfixed her.
"Is it the absolute truth that you were unaware of the theft committedin these rooms by Markwick?" I demanded, after a brief, painful pause.
"I swear I knew nothing of it," she replied frankly, without hesitation."He invited me to play the piano while we waited for your return, andwhile my back was turned he must have abstracted them. But you will doone thing further to appease him, won't you? You'll give me a lineassuring him of your intention not to betray his presence atBlatherwycke?"
I hesitated. My promise was verbal, yet she desired an undertaking inwriting. This was a fresh development of the affair: there was a strongelement of suspicion in it.
She argued, coaxed and urged me until, as the only way of satisfyingher, I took a sheet of notepaper and upon it made a declaration of myintention. Having watched me sign it, she placed it carefully in anenvelope, transferred it to her pocket, and, after a further briefconversation, thanked me and withdrew, leaving me leaning against themantelshelf absorbed in thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
A PROMISE.
While in the Club that afternoon the page-boy handed me a card, utteringthe stereotyped phrase, "Gentleman to see you, sir."
I took it, and, to my surprise, found it was Markwick's. When heentered, a few moments later, he was wearing a crimson flower in thebutton-hole of his grey frock-coat, and carrying his cane with a jauntyair. His swift glance ran round the room, to assure himself that wewere alone, as he greeted me with an air of gay nonchalance.
My recognition was, I am afraid, very frigid; but, tilting his hat, hecast himself into one of the saddle-bag chairs, and, comfortablysettling himself, tapped the sole of his varnished boot with his cane,exclaiming:
"I was just passing, don't you know, and thought I'd look you up. Wehaven't met for an age," and taking out a silver case, he selected acigarette and lit it.
"I think," I said dryly, "it would have been better for me had we nevermet at all."
He smiled sardonically, moved uneasily, and, turning towards me,exclaimed:
"My dear fellow, you entirely misjudge me. I was, I admit,unconsciously the cause of a rather grave catastrophe in your life; butsurely that is all of the past. Why think more of one who is dead?"
"Then, at last, you do now admit that you enticed me to that house?Once you denied it."
"I know," he said, smiling. "From diplomatic motives I was compelled;nevertheless, no blame attaches to me, I assure you. This I shall proveto you before long, I hope."
"Why not now?" I urged eagerly. "Why not tell me what you know ofSybil? That you were intimately acquainted with her is certain; and ifyou wish to assure me of your honesty of purpose, there can be no betterway of doing so than explaining who and what she was."
"Ah! unfortunately I am unable, at least for the present," he said,watching his cigarette smoke curl towards the dark oak-beamed ceiling."I may add, however, that, in return for your assistance in the littlematter concerning Lady Fyneshade, I will before long render you aservice of a character that will, perhaps, astonish you."
"Then she has already seen you?" I exclaimed.
"She has," he said, nodding. "And she has given me your note. It isfor that I looked in to thank you."
We exchanged glances. His thin pimply face wore an expression ofperfect composure. There were no signs of mental agitation, but ratherconfidence and extreme self-satisfaction.
"Will you not, in return for my silence, tell me something of the womanto whom I was so strangely wedded?" I asked at last.
"No. If it were possible I would, but I am precluded by certaincircumstances, the nature of which you shall be later on made aware. Atpresent be patient. The mystery that puzzles you will before long beelucidated, and I will keep my promise made to you on the night we met."
"To tell me all?"
"To explain everything. But, by the way," he added suddenly, "have youany knowledge where your friend Bethune is?"
"Why?"
"Surely you've seen the morning papers, haven't you?" Replying in thenegative I took up the Standard that lay within reach, and found itopened at one of the inside pages. Almost the first thing that caughtmy eyes were the startling head-lines, "The Murder of a Millionaire:Discovery of the Body."
The papers had obtained knowledge of the truth at last.
Eagerly I read the jumble of distorted facts which the representative ofa press agency had gathered from an apparently unreliable source, andfound to my amazement a statement appended, to the effect that after thediscovery of the remains a warrant had been issued against a well-knownperson who had absconded and was now in Germany. The police, however,were fully cognisant of his whereabouts, and his arrest was only amatter of a few hours.
When I lifted my face from the paper my glance met the calm face of myvisitor.
"Well," he asked, "what do you think of it? It points to Bethune. Thepolice seem at last to be on the right scent. They've muddled the wholething, or they would have arrested him long ago."
"Upon that point I can express no opinion," I observed. "He hasevidently, however, failed to get away unnoticed."
"If ever there was a cowardly crime it was the shooting of GilbertSternroyd," the man said bitterly. "His generosity kept a whole schoolof bounders and hangers-on, and only because he refused to beblackmailed and bled they spread damning reports about his admirationfor Lady Fyneshade. Truly the life of a millionaire, young or old, isnot exactly a bed of roses."
"Then you believe implicitly in Bethune's guilt?" I inquired.
"Most decidedly; no sane man who watched him as I watched him when hefled immediately after the crime can doubt that he is the culprit. Itis written on his face."
With this opinion I was unfortunately compelled to agree, and although Iendeavoured by dint of some artful questions to "draw" him upon severalpoints, he parried my attacks with consummate skill and tantalisingsmiles, and left me after promising to see me again in a few days.
The reason he had called was only too evident. He desired to ascertainwhat facts I knew regarding the crime, for he, like others,
was unawarethat I had actually been the first to discover it, and although one ortwo of his questions were artfully directed, I detected the trend of hisstrategy, and combated all his crafty efforts to "pump" me. He wasadmittedly an adventurer of the worst type, and his presence alwaysfilled me with anger which I found difficult of control.
That day was one of interviews, for shortly after four o'clock, whilewriting a letter at the club, Saunders brought me a note, observing thatas Miss Stretton's maid had delivered it, stating that it was veryurgent, he had come with it at once. An excellent man was Saunders. Ipaid him well, and he was untiring in his efforts to secure me comfortand freedom from the minor worries of life.