question beingapparently uppermost in her mind.
"You love young Chetwode. You may yet marry him."
"No," she answered with a sigh; "I fear that can never be. Happinesscan never be mine--never."
"Does he love you?" inquired the Major, with a note of sympathy in hisvoice.
"Love me? Why, of course he does."
"You have never doubted him?"
"Never."
"And he has asked you to marry him?"
"Yes, a dozen times."
"When was the last occasion?"
"To-night--an hour ago."
"And you, of course, refused?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
"Because of the barrier which prevents my marriage with him."
"And you will allow that to stand in the way of your safety?"
"My safety!" she echoed. "I don't understand."
"Cannot you see that if you married Cyril Chetwode at once, La Gioiawould be powerless?"
"Ah!" she exclaimed suddenly, impressed by the suggestion. "I had neverthought of that?"
"Well," he went on, "if you take my advice, you'll lose no time inbecoming Chetwode's wife. Then you can defy your enemies, and snap yourfingers at La Gioia."
A deep silence fell. The woman who was my wife was reflecting.
"You say that by marriage I could defy my enemies; but that isincorrect. I could not cut myself free of all of them."
"Why? Whom would you fear?"
"You yourself," she answered bluntly.
"You have no confidence in me," he protested with a dissatisfied air.
"I can have no confidence in one who holds me enslaved as you do."
"And yet I have come here at considerable risk and personalinconvenience to give you warning."
"Because you fear discovery yourself."
"No," he laughed; "I'm quite safe. I merely came here to make twosuggestions to you. One I have already made, namely, that you shouldmarry Chetwode without delay. And the other--"
He paused, as though to accurately gauge the extent of his power overher.
"Well? Go on. I am all attention."
"The other is that you should, as before, render me a triflingassistance in a little matter I have in hand which, if successfullycarried out, will place both of us for ever beyond the reach of LaGioia's vengeance."
"Another scheme?" she cried wearily. "Well, what is it? Some furtherdastardly plot or other, no doubt. Explain it."
"No; you are under a misapprehension," he responded quickly. "Theaffair is no dastardly plot, but merely a little piece of ingenuity bywhich we may outwit La Gioia."
"Outwit her!" she cried. "The very devil himself could not outwit LaGioia."
"Ah!" he laughed; "you women are always so ready to jump to ill-formedconclusions. She has one weak point."
"And you have discovered it?"
"Yes; I have discovered it."
"How?"
"That is my affair. It is sufficient to be aware that she, theinvincible, is nevertheless vulnerable."
There was another pause; but at last the woman I loved responded in afirm, determined tone--
"Then, if that is true, I leave it to you. You declare you are myfriend, therefore I can, at least, rely on you for protection,especially as we have so many interests in common."
"But you must assist me," he observed.
"No," she answered, "I refuse to do that. You are quite capable ofcarrying out any villainy without my assistance."
"Need we use the term villainy where La Gioia is concerned?" he asked."You know her well enough to be aware that if she finds you she will bemerciless, and will gloat over your downfall."
"I would kill myself before she discovers me," my wife declared.
"But you might not have time," he suggested. "To die willingly demandsconsiderable resolution. Women's nerve usually fails them at theextreme moment."
"Mine will not, you may rest assured of that," she answered.
"You don't seem capable of listening to reason tonight," he protested.
"I am capable of listening to reason, but not to conspiracy," shereplied with some hauteur. "I know well what is passing in your mind.You would plot to take her life--to murder La Gioia!"
He laughed outright, as though there was something humorous in herwords.
"No, no, my dear," he answered quickly. "You quite misunderstood myintention."
"I misunderstood your intention on a previous occasion," she saidmeaningly.
"But in this affair our interests are entirely mutual," he pointed out."You must assist me."
"I shall not."
"But you must. We have everything to gain by securing her silence."
"And everything to lose by meeting her."
"But when we meet her it will be in defiance. I have thought out aplan."
"Then carry it out," she said. "I will have nothing whatever to do withit."
"I may compel you," he said, with slow distinctness. "You have alreadycompelled me to act as your accomplice, but you have strained my bondsuntil they can resist no longer. I intend to break them."
"That is indeed very interesting!" He laughed, treating her as thoughshe were a spoilt child.
"Yes," she cried furiously, "I will kill myself!"
"And leave me to make a scandalous explanation."
"Then you would besmirch my good name after my death?" she said, turningupon him quickly. "Ah, yes! You show yourself in your true colours.You would even weave about me a web of infamy, so as to prevent metaking my life. I hate and detest you!"
"That's not the first time you have informed me of that fact, my dear,"he responded, perfectly coolly.
"If it were not for you I should now be a happy girl. Thanks to you Iam, however, one of the most wretched of all God's creatures."
"You need not be. You are petted in your own circle of friends, andyour reputation remains unsullied."
"I occupy a false position," she declared. "What would Cyril say if heknew the truth?"
"A woman should never study the man who is to be her husband. It makeshim far too conceited; and, moreover, she is sure to regret it inafter-life."
He was at times shrewdly philosophical, this scoundrel who held my wifebeneath his thrall.
"I have you--only you--to thank for my present position. Believed bythe world to be an honest, innocent girl, and accepted as such, Inevertheless fear from hour to hour that the truth may be revealed, andthat I may find myself in the hands of the police. Death is preferableto this constant, all-consuming dread."
"The unreasonableness and pertinacity of woman is extraordinary!" heexclaimed in a tone of impatience.
"What good can possibly result from this duel between us? Why not letus unite in defeating La Gioia?"
"That I refuse to do."
"But our position is serious--most serious," he pointed out. "Supposethat she discovers you!"
"Well, what then?"
"You must be entirely at her mercy," he said in a deep voice. "And youknow the fiendishness of her vengeance."
"I know," she responded in a voice scarcely above at whisper, the voiceof a woman driven to desperation.
"But you must arm yourself against her," he urged.
"Together we are strong enough to defeat any attack that she may make."
"Tell me plainly," she asked, dropping her voice until it was scarcelyabove a whisper, "do you, yourself, fear her?"
"Yes. She is the only person who, besides ourselves, knows the truth,"he responded in a low tone.
"And you would set a trap into which she will fall?" she went on, stillin a whisper. "Come, do not let us prevaricate longer. You intend tokill her?"
There was dead silence. At last her companion spoke.
"Well," he answered, "and if your surmise is correct?"
"Then, once and for all," she said, raising her voice, "I tell you I'llhave no hand whatsoever in it?"
He was apparently taken abac
k by the suddenness of her decision.
"And you prefer to be left unprotected against the vengeance of LaGioia!" he said harshly.
"Yes, I do," she said determinedly. "And recollect that from to-night Irefuse to be further associated with these vile schemes of yours. Youdeceived me once; you shall never do so again!"
He laughed aloud.
"And you think you can break from me as easily as this. Your actionto-night is foolish--suicidal. You will repent it."
"I shall never repent. My hatred of you is too strong!"
"We shall see," he laughed.
"Let me pass!" she cried, and leaving him, walked quickly down the path,and in a few moments the flutter of her light dress was lost in thedarkness.
Her companion hurried after her.
I emerged quickly from my hiding-place, and followed them as far as thestile. He had overtaken her, and was striding by her side, bending andtalking earnestly as they crossed the open grassland.
To follow sufficiently close to overhear what he said was impossiblewithout detection, therefore I was compelled to remain and watch thereceding figures until they became swallowed up in the darkness. Then,turning, I passed through the belt of wood again, and, scaling a wall,gained the high-road, which, after a walk of half an hour, took me backto Hounslow.
That night I slept but little. The discovery I had made wasextraordinary! Who was this woman with the strange name? "La Gioia"meant in Italian "The Jewel," or "The Joy." Why did they fear hervengeance?
In the morning, as I descended to breakfast, the landlord of the inn,standing in his shirt-sleeves, met me at the foot of the stairs.
"Have you heard the terrible news, sir?" he inquired.
"No," I said in surprise. "What news?"
"There was murder committed last night over in Whitton Park!"
"Murder?" I gasped. "Who has been murdered?"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
I PRACTISE A NEW PROFESSION.
"Why, the Colonel--Colonel Chetwode!" the man answered excitedly.
"Colonel Chetwode!" I gasped. "Impossible!"
"It's a fact," he declared. "The whole thing's a deep mystery. Theyfound him at five o'clock this morning."
"Tell me all about it," I urged.
"Mr Plummer, sergeant of police, was in here half an hour ago, and hetold me all about it. According to what he says, it seems that aworkman going across the park to Twickenham early this morning, saw thebody of a man on the edge of the lake, half in the water. He rushedforward, and to his horror found it was the Colonel, quite dead."
"Drowned?"
"No; he wasn't drowned. That's the curious part of it. He wasmurdered."
"How?"
"By a blow on the head, the police believe. Plummer says that there arelots of marks near the edge of the lake as though a struggle tookplace."
"Extraordinary!" I ejaculated. "You say he was quite dead whendiscovered. Was a doctor called?"
"Yes; the police surgeon, Doctor Douglas. He declared that the poorColonel had been murdered, and had been dead several hours."
"Is there no suspicion of the assassin?" I inquired, as the thought ofthe man whom I had watched in the Park dashed through my brain.
"None whatever," he answered. "The Colonel was very popular everywhere,and was always good to the poor. It's his wife who isn't liked; she's arum un', they say."
"Where was the body found?" I inquired, when I had seated myself at thetable while he had taken up a position before the empty fireplace tocontinue gossiping.
"Ah!" he said, "you wouldn't, of course, know the spot, for you've neverbeen in the park. There's a path which leads across the grass at theback of the house through some thickets, and, skirting the lake, crossesthe brook by a little bridge. It was just by that bridge that the poorfellow was found. They think that just as he had crossed the bridge hewas struck down, and then fell backwards into the lake."
"Ah! I understand," I said. "Let's hope that the detectives willdiscover something when they arrive. It was evidently a most dastardlybit of work."
The man's remark that I had no knowledge of the spot where the body wasfound aroused me to a sense of my own position. If it were known that Ihad entered the park that night, might not a serious suspicion fall uponme?
I recollected how, as I had crossed the bridge, I had heard distinctly ashort cough. The murderer was, without doubt, lurking there when I hadpassed.
"Every one is talking of it. Lots of people are going down to see thespot. I shall go down presently. Do you care to come?" the landlordasked.
I acceded willingly, for I wished to see the place in daylight, and, asone of a crowd of sightseers, I should escape observation.
While I ate my breakfast, the man, full of the mystery, continueddiscussing it in all its phases. I allowed him to run on, for everyword he spoke was, to me, of intense interest.
"The poor Colonel was the very last man to have an enemy who would takehis life," he said.
"But his second wife?"
"Ah!" he said with a knowing air, "he was never quite the same after hemarried again. They say that she flirted indiscriminately with everyman she came across, no matter who he was."
"As bad as that--eh?"
"Of course I don't know for certain. I only tell you what I've 'eard."
"Of course, of course," I said. "People will always talk. But do youreally think it's true that she is as giddy as reported?"
"I really don't know," he responded, raising his eyebrows. "These womenof the upper ten are a queer lot sometimes."
"Well, the Colonel's death is a very mysterious affair, at any rate," Iobserved.
"Very," he said. "And one or two evil-tongued people are alreadysuggesting that she might have had a hand in it."
"That is cruel," I answered. "She may be unpopular, but that's noreason why she should be a murderess. I suppose they base theirsuspicions upon the quarrel of which you told me yesterday."
"I suppose so. The first Mrs Chetwode was a born lady, but of thiswoman nobody ever knew anything of who or what she was before he was somisguided as to marry her."
"Perhaps the police inquiries will throw some light upon that," Iremarked.
"Let's hope so," he responded. And then, having finished my breakfast,we went together to the park.
Fortunately, on the previous night, I had been able to slip out and inunobserved, for the landlord had been absent with his wife at aneighbour's, and was therefore not aware of a fact which might provedamning against me--namely, that I had disguised myself in a suit ofsecond-hand clothes.
The tragedy had been enacted at the bridge I had crossed. I had passedover that very spot, and had actually heard the sound of the assassin'scough.
Was that a signal to an accomplice? It seemed very much as though therehad been two persons lying in wait for the Colonel, and I, having passedat the moment when they expected him, had narrowly escaped being struckdown. That cough was possibly the signal that had saved me.
"Pass along, please! Pass along!" said a constable, as I stood staringin wonder at the spot where the body had been found half in the wateramong the waving reeds.
We receded for some distance, while the publican pointed out thegeographical position of the spot with its relation to the house and thehigh-road.
"It's a lonely place 'ere of a night," he said. "Just the place where aman might commit a murder. Funny, however, that the Colonel waswandering about in the park alone!"
"Curious, too, that his presence was not missed by his wife, or any ofthe household."
"Yes," he said. "Very mysterious, indeed. He must have gone outunknown to any one, and, when the place was locked up for the night, itwas believed he was indoors."
"He was wearing evening dress," I said.
"Oh, I believe so. But I'm not certain. I've not heard how he wasdressed--I say, Harding," he cried, turning to a bent old man whochanced to be passing, "how was the Colonel dressed when
he was found?"
"In his cut-away coat and shirt," was the reply. "They said that hisshirt-stud was stolen."
"Ah!" exclaimed my garrulous friend, the publican, "that looks as thoughit was done with a motive of robbery--don't it?"
"Yes," I said, my thoughts reverting again, as they constantly did, tothat strange conversation which I had overheard in the darkness, thewords of a man who had practically acknowledged himself to be anassassin.
When we again emerged upon the high-road I parted from my companion, hereturning to Hounslow and I continuing my walk along the highway leadingto Twickenham.
I wandered aimlessly, trying to form some resolution. Had any personseen me enter or leave the park on the previous night? If they had thenmy position was certainly one of peril, for, if arrested on suspicion, Ishould experience the utmost difficulty in clearing