over our meal, he cracked hisjokes and beamed with that _bonhomie_ as was his wont in times gone by.
Bob, Ted, Demetrius and myself, were a merry quartette, despite theanxiety and the many maddening thoughts gnawing constantly at my heart.The dinner passed off pleasantly, Ted giving a humorous description oflife among Australian squatters. Although he asserted that dramaticbusiness took him to the Antipodes, he admitted that he had beencompelled to go up-country in search of work, and that his employment atone period had been that of a shepherd in Gippsland.
His description of the shifts which he had been put to in order toobtain a crust--he, a curled darling of Society, whilom actor at a WestEnd theatre, and pet of the ladies--was very amusing, and caused us toroar with laughter.
"And how have you been all this time, Burgoyne?" he asked of me, when hehad finished his narrative.
"Oh! Frank's a Benedict now," interposed Bob, laughing. "Married afair Russian."
"What!" exclaimed Ted in surprise. "Well, well, it's what all of usmust come to, sooner or later. But Burgoyne's different from us poorbeggars; he's rich, and can afford matrimony."
"I don't see what money has to do with it," I said. "Many poor men arehappy with good helpmates."
"Oh! don't you," exclaimed Rivers. "My idea is that marriage withoutmoney is suicide under an euphonious name."
"Opinions differ on that point," remarked Demetrius. "If I married awoman I loved, I think I should be happy with her, money or no money.But excuse me a moment, you fellows, I've left my cigar-case in myovercoat," and rising, he left the table.
"Ah, cigars?" I said, suddenly remembering. "I've some somewhere," andfeeling in my pocket for my case, pulled forth a number of letters andpapers with it.
I did so without a thought, but a second later I regretted, for frombetween the letters there fell a photograph, face upwards upon thetable-cloth.
It was the picture the dead man had given me on the previous night.
I placed my hand upon it, but before I could do so, Bob had snatched itup, exclaiming,--
"Hulloa! carrying Vera's photo about like a love-sick swain, eh? ByJove?" he ejaculated when he had glanced at it. "Ah!--I've caught you,have I? Why, this isn't Vera, but some other woman! I'm surprised atyou," and he feigned the utmost indignation.
"Let's look!" demanded Rivers, taking it from Bob's hand, as I vainlyendeavoured to regain possession of it.
"Ah--Heavens?" exclaimed Ted with a repugnant gesture, when his eyesfell upon it.
"What! you know her, then?" asked Bob.
"No--er--no, my dear fellow," replied the other hurriedly, with acurious smile. "Never saw her in my life. The likeness is very likesome one--some one I once knew," he added hastily, as he scrutinised itcarefully, looking upon the back at the name of the photographer. "ButI see I--I'm mistaken, it isn't she."
And he returned the picture to me.
"Who's the lady?" inquired Bob. "Pretty woman, without a doubt."
"Ask no questions," I replied, smiling mysteriously. "A purely privatematter."
"Hum!--those private matters are entertaining, sometimes," remarked Ted,as he and Bob laughed at my confusion; but as Demetrius returned just atthat moment, the subject dropped.
We went to the smoking-room and sat chatting over coffee and liqueurs,but I noticed a marked difference in the manner of Rivers. He was nolonger gay, but gloomy and taciturn, and more than once I caught himregarding me with an evil, angry glitter in his dark eyes, and a scowlupon his features. The others noticed it also, but made no remark.
When the clock chimed ten Ted rose, and addressing Nugent, said: "Youmust excuse me, old fellow, but I've an engagement which I must keep.Sorry to have to leave you so early, but it's a matter of rather urgentbusiness."
"Oh, no. Stay another hour; the evening's young yet," urged Demetrius.
"Very sorry; but I cannot."
"Put off your engagement till to-morrow," I suggested, but he made noreply, affecting not to have heard me.
"Well, if you must go, _au revoir_," Bob said, offering his hand. "I'mhere every evening, so I hope you'll often drop in, now you havereturned to civilisation."
"Thanks, I shall be glad to accept your hospitality until I can bere-elected a member."
He shook hands with Demetrius, but only placed the tips of his fingersin my hand, withdrawing them as if he were touching some unclean thing.
Without wishing me good-night, he departed.
An hour afterwards I returned to the hotel in deep soliloquy, wonderingwhat this latest development meant. What connection could Rivers havewith the murder of the woman whose photograph I had in my pocket?
Why did he start on seeing the picture, and afterwards deny allknowledge of its original? Why did he eye me so suspiciously?
Was he the murderer of the dead man's wife, the unfortunate Nell, whowas found killed by an unknown hand, on the night after my return fromRussia?
Deeply exercised in mind over this increased complication, I sat in myroom until the small hours, then--heartily sick of it all--I soughtrepose.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
DOUBTS AND FEARS.
"You seemed so out of sorts last night, Frank, old chap, that I thoughtI'd just drop in and see whether you could be cheered up a bit."
"You're very kind, Bob," I said, cracking a matutinal egg, for I wasbreakfasting; "I'm afraid it's a little more serious than being out ofsorts just now."
Bob laid his hand kindly upon my shoulder, exclaiming earnestly,--
"That's exactly what I expected. You and I used to be old chums--now,is it so private that you can't confide in me, and let me see what I cando, if anything?"
"The fact is I'm just desperate, and don't know which way to turn forthe best," was my answer, with a savage curse to myself.
"Look here, Frank, remember that I am speaking seriously. In the olddays we had many a `spree' together--to use a colloquialism--and perhapsour actions, judged from a high standard of morality, were not all theymight have been. You know very well that I've never pretended to be asaint, and that I never preach because I can't be such a confoundedhypocrite as to rail at others for being as foolish as myself--and--andyou'll believe, I hope, that I'm sincere in saying this--that you aredoing yourself an injustice, and Vera also, if there's any truth in whatwe teased you about last night."
Never had I seen Bob so much in earnest before, and certainly he hadnever made such a speech in this life. Dear old Bob, he was a rightgood fellow at heart, after all!
"What do you mean?" I exclaimed, although there was an uneasyconsciousness that I was to blame.
"Why, to speak plainly, if you have married Vera, and love her, youshould not carry another woman's photograph. You should not leave yourwife at Elveham. You know what I mean, well enough."
A light dawned upon me. Bob thought the picture was that of somecourtesan!
"Confound it all, old fellow, you jump to conclusions too readily," Ireplied, with justifiable warmth.
"Well, what does it mean, then?" he asked, adding, "I don't wish to pryinto your secrets, but you'll excuse me endeavouring, even just alittle, to pull you up when you seem off the straight line. I shouldthank any one for doing so for me, if they meant it honestly."
"I'm sure you would, Bob. This, I may tell you, is simply a little tiffwhich Vera and I have had, owing--oh, well, perhaps that's sufficient."
"I see. You don't care to confide in me, therefore as I've businesswaiting for me, I'll wish you good-bye," he said, rather sadly, risingand extending his hand.
"Sit down, Bob, and don't make a fool of yourself. How can I explain toyou what I don't myself understand? Answer me that, my Christianmoraliser."
"Then it has to do with her secret, eh? Have you never fathomed thatyet?" he asked, eagerly, sinking into his chair again.
"What the devil do you know of her secret?" I demanded, in intensesurprise. "How did you know there was one in connection with her?"
"Partly
from my own observation, and partly from what I picked up afteryou left Genoa so suddenly. At that time I did not know you were goingto marry her, or possibly I should not have been so inquisitive," hereplied rather disinterestedly.
"Then perhaps you can solve some of these mysteries that have puzzled meso long? Come, tell me everything about it, Bob, and you'll do me aninestimable service. However it may be viewed, I strive to convincemyself that Vera is not to blame. Don't keep me in suspense--tell me atonce, is that so?"
Here was the grand chance come at last. Now I should hear that forwhich my ears had been on the alert all these weary months.
Bob regarded me with a stare of curiosity, mingled with suspicion, andmaintained silence for a few moments. Then he said, incredulously,--
"Is it possible there is anything unknown to you, save what we used todiscuss when we first met your wife?"
"I'm absolutely ignorant of all save the fact that, with an infatuationfor which I cannot account, I loved Vera and married her. I love herstill, in spite of--Oh, I cannot go further! For Heaven's sake tell meall you know now, at once, or I shall not retain my senses?"
Bob's face was a study for a time. It apparently struck him that I wasplaying a part and wished to learn the depth of his knowledge regardingmy wife. After a short pause, however, he continued, and imparted to methe first facts I had ever learned on this mysteriously-guarded point.
"Well, you see, after you left Genoa business compelled me to return. Iwas thrown on my own resources for a day or two, and during that periodI made it a point to keep my ears open so as to catch anything I couldregarding the mysterious fair one who had so interested us. Having afriend with me who was known at the police bureau it needed not a greatdeal of ingenuity to ascertain a few particulars. The first thing thatcame to light was the fact that old Hertzen, the grumbling uncle, wasliving under an assumed name."
"Vera's uncle! Was he--is he--not her uncle?" I exclaimed.
"Oh, yes; he's her uncle, I believe," replied my friend, placidly. "Itwas not surprising that he was--and is--assuming another patronymic,because, being a Russian exile--"
"An exile!"
"My dear fellow, do not keep interrupting. Yes, I say, being a Russianexile, for some offence or other, it was quite a reasonable deceit topractise. But, while it was almost certain that Hertzen was not hisreal name, it was equally certain that he was some relation of Vera's,for he lavished a vast amount of care and attention on her which couldnot be accounted for on any other supposition. At the same time it wasvery curious that my informant would not say who he believed Hertzen tobe, so on that point I am still quite ignorant."
"Go on, go on, please; and remember that I want to know about Vera," Isaid, with some impatience.
"Listen, then. Your wife's father was a Russian Count, a man of greatwealth, who lived at Warsaw! Vera, his daughter, developed into thebeautiful girl we met. Count Nicholas Seroff, her father, was a braveand loyal soldier, and when the Turko-Russian War broke out in 1877 wasplaced in a responsible position. He had previously served with greatdistinction in the Crimea, where he gained the sky-blue ribbon of StAndrew `For Faith and Loyalty.'" Bob paused.
"After the war, the count retired to his house in the Njazlov at Warsaw,where he bestowed all his paternal affection on Vera. The two becameinseparable, and for a long time, I hear, lived together as one soul."
"For a long time, you hear--what happened then?"
"We met them at Genoa."
"But do you mean to say your information ended abruptly at this point?Have you learned nothing since?"
"Nothing whatever. I did not trouble after my return to think any moreabout the matter. It was only while we were both interested in her thatI was interested. You don't think," added he, in a half-jesting manner,"that I have nothing else to do but to run after every pretty girl whoappears to have a romantic mystery about her, do you?"
"Are you speaking seriously?" I asked, my hopes sinking as rapidly asthey had risen.
"Quite," was his reply.
"Why did you not tell me this on my return, when we saw her at thetheatre, together? You knew all about it then, and you also knew howanxious I was."
"True, but you did not broach the subject, and as soon as we caughtsight of her you seemed fascinated, leaving me almost at once, so that Ihad no chance."
"But there were plenty of occasions afterwards," I contendedimpatiently.
Bob did not seem perturbed in the least. He merely lit anothercigarette, as he replied,--
"Whenever I saw you afterwards you were so distant and uncommunicativethat it appeared as if you knew far more than you apparently did. Asyou were still interested in her and her movements it was not my placeto take the initiative."
"And even if you had," I rejoined, speaking rather warmly, for mydisappointment was galling, "it would not have greatly mattered; youdon't seem to know a great deal, after all. It does not make very muchdifference."
"Look here, Burgoyne, it is no use attempting to hide your thoughts fromme in this matter. It appears as if you wish me to think you are sorryI know so little. Perhaps you are secretly glad that such is the case,eh? It would be awkward for some of your wife's relations to find thatphotograph in your pocket, under these circumstances--what is youropinion? Those hot-blooded counts are very jealous relatives, Ibelieve, and--"
"By Heaven! you wrong me there, Bob," I retorted, touched to the quickby the sneer. "In spite of all Vera's treachery--in spite of ourquarrels, I have never, for an instant been untrue to her--never!"
"Very well," was his cool reply, "let us admit that. Can you, however,honestly explain your confusion--to say nothing of Rivers' amazement--when it was produced?"
This direct question nonplussed me entirely. To explain all the factswithout exposing Vera--which I was determined not to do--at firstappeared a sheer impossibility. Bob watched my vain endeavours to thinkit out with clearness for several minutes.
Neither of us spoke. Leaning back in his chair he watched the smokefrom his cigarette curl upwards. Then he rose again, and said in a toneof voice very sad for me to hear:
"Well, don't trouble to reply to that last query of mine, Frank, if itcauses you pain. I was a fool to make it. Good-bye," and he held forthhis hand.
"Stay," I urged, "I'll explain it as well as I can, if you'll havepatience."
I had made up my mind to tell Bob as much as I could of the mysterysurrounding the dead man, and ask his assistance.
Silently and almost incredulously he listened to my statement, as Ibriefly ran over the events of the night I had spent with the stranger.When I had finished, he asked,--
"And did you leave the body there, and not utter a word to any one?That was scarcely like yourself, was it?"
"But what was I to do? I should have been mixed up in the scandalagain; and the question arises, where would it have ended?"
"And did you not search that box for further proof of his assertion?There might have been valuable evidence there."
"There might! What an idiot I must have been not to think of that atthe time. Supposing there were letters from--from--"
"From the murderer? That is quite possible. Why not go and look atonce?"
After discussing the matter at some length, it was decided that as soonas night fell I should go to the house alone, so as to lessen the riskof detection, and search the box. With this arrangement we separated, aload having been taken off my mind by this even partial confession toBob.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
A MIDNIGHT SEARCH.
The hours crept on very slowly that day. To me they seemedinterminable. A thousand times I glanced at the little clock thatticked so sharply on the mantelshelf, but its small hand sullenly, as itseemed, refused to move any faster.
Feeling that the suspense was becoming unbearable, I tried a short walkin the Strand. Scarcely had I gone a hundred yards along that busythoroughfare before I espied Demetrius. He was strolling along
in thesame aimless fashion as myself. At first my impulse was to go andsalute him, for his cheerful companionship might do much to arrest mymelancholy feelings, and make the time pass rapidly. My next thought,however, was to avoid him, for he would be certain to notice mypreoccupation, and might put me to trouble in framing evasive answers.
While I was thus debating with myself, he settled the point by catchingsight of me and coming cheerfully up.
"Hey-day! and why so cheerless?" he cried, as he clasped me warmly bythe hand. It was a favourite expression of his, and one which he veryfrequently used, in spite of its antiquated ring.
"Did I look cheerful?" I responded, purposely answering his inquiryoppositely. "The fact is I've come out to kill an hour or two, and whenone is seeking amusement it's not difficult to find it in the streets ofthis great city of ours, is it?"
He glanced at me with a curious expression in his eyes, and I wonderedwhether he saw through the forced flippancy of my reply.
"That's it, is it?" he remarked. "Well, come along, and we'll do ourbest to destroy some of your dread enemy, Time, for a while," andforthwith he hurried me along several miles of streets, bustling amongthe people right and