"I have never likedhim."
"He says that he is always abroad," I remarked. "But I'm confident thatwe have met somewhere in England."
"He did not apparently recognise you, when I introduced you."
"No. He didn't wish to. The circumstances of our meeting were not suchas to leave behind any pleasant recollections."
"But you told me that you knew the identity of my husband," she said,after a pause, as we strolled together in the shadow of the great oaks."Were you really serious?"
"No, I was not serious," I answered quickly, for the unexpected arrivalof this man who called himself Ashwicke, and whose name appeared in the_London Directory_ as occupier of the house in Queen's-gate Gardens,caused me to hesitate to tell her the truth. The manner in which theyhad met made it quite plain that some secret understanding existedbetween them. It seemed possible that this man had actually occupiedthe house before the present owner, Mrs Stentiford.
"Then why did you say such a thing?" she asked, in a tone of reproach."My position is no matter for joking."
"Certainly not," I hastened to declare. "Believe me, Miss Wynd, thatyou have all my sympathy. You are unfortunately unique as one who ismarried and yet without knowledge either of her husband or his name."
"Yes," she sighed, a dark shadow of despair crossing her handsome face."There is a shadow of evil ever upon me, just as puzzling and mysteriousas the chill touch of that unseen influence which at intervals strikesboth of us."
"And the presence of this man adds to your uneasiness. Is that not so?"
She nodded, but no word escaped her.
"I noticed when you met and he descended from the trap that he was notyour friend."
"What caused you to suspect that?" she inquired quickly.
"The man's face betrayed his feeling towards you. He is your enemy."
"Yes," she answered slowly, as though carefully weighing each word; "heis my enemy--my bitterest enemy."
"Why?"
"Because I have a firm suspicion that he has discovered the secret of mymarriage--that he alone knows who my unknown husband really is."
And turning her wonderful eyes to mine, her troubled breast slowly roseand fell.
When, oh, when should I succeed in solving the maddening problem and befree to make confession of the truth?
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
SOUGHT OUT.
With untiring astuteness I watched every movement of the new-comer, butdetected nothing suspicious in his actions. We lunched together, onlyfive of us, the others being away at Dodington, and were a merry party.The man with the small eyes was excellent company, full of witty sayingsand droll stories, and was really an acquisition to our party.
Yet I noticed that he spoke little with Beryl, as, though some secretunderstanding existed between them. And when he did address her sheanswered him vacantly, as though her thoughts were afar off.
That night, on the return of the party from the flower-show, his arrivalwas hailed with delight. At all events he was a very popular person atAtworth. He seemed rejuvenated since we had last met, and appearedfully twenty years younger than on the night when he had tempted me.
I had many chats with him. I played him at billiards, and wasafterwards his partner at whist before we parted for the night. I didthis in order to put him off his guard, if possible, and to induce himto believe that I had not recognised him. I had not yet decided how toact.
When at midnight I left my companions, entered my room, and closed thedoor, that strange, weird influence again made itself felt upon me. Mylower limbs became benumbed, my blood seemed frozen in my veins.
I stood glancing around the bedroom in fear and wondering. There wasnothing supernatural there, and yet this unseen influence was as thefinger of Evil. The strange sensation was not of long duration, butgradually faded until I found myself in my normal state. I tested mytemperature with my thermometer, and saw that I had just a slighttendency to fever--due, I supposed, to alarm and excitement.
Then, having satisfied myself that my motor nerves, which had becomepartially paralysed, had regained their strength, and that the sensitiveportion of the spinal nervous system, that had been affected, hadreturned to its normal capacity, I turned in and tried to sleep.
I say I tried to sleep, but I think, if the truth were told, I did nottry. My brain was too perturbed by the events of that day. Beneaththat very roof the Tempter was actually sleeping. I had shaken hishand, and played billiards with him. Truly, I had been patient in myefforts to analyse and dissect the various complications of thatextraordinary mystery.
At sunrise I dressed, and on stepping from my room out into the freshair of the corridor, I again felt that bewildering influence upon me,quite distinctly; yet not so strong as to cause me any inconvenience.The feeling was a kind of cold, creepy one, without any sudden shock.
During the day I lounged at Beryl's side, endeavouring to obtain fromher the truth of her midnight escapade. But she would tell meabsolutely nothing. The man who had posed as her father was undoubtedlyher enemy, and she held him in deadly fear. It was this latter factthat caused me at last to make a resolution, and in the idle hour beforethe dressing-bell went for dinner, I contrived to stroll alone with himout across the park.
With a good cigar between his lips, he walked as jauntily as a man oftwenty, notwithstanding his grey hairs. He laughed and chatted merrily,recounting to me all the fun of last year's house-party, with itsill-natured chatter and its summer flirtations.
Suddenly, when we were a long way from the house, skirting the quietlake that lay deep in a hollow surrounded by a small wood, I turned tohim resolutely, saying--
"Do you know that I have a distinct recollection that we have metbefore?"
He started almost imperceptibly, and glanced at me quickly with hissmall round eyes.
"I think not," he answered. "Not, at least, to my knowledge."
"Defects of memory are sometimes useful," I replied. "Cannot you recallthe twenty-fourth of July?"
"The twenty-fourth of July," he repeated reflectively. "No. There isno event which fixes the date in my memory."
His face had grown older. The light of youthfulness had gone out of it,leaving it the grey, ashen countenance of the Tempter.
"You were in London on that date," I asserted.
"No. I was in Alexandria. I sailed from there on the twenty-second."
"Then, at the outset, you deny that you were in London on the date Ihave mentioned? Good! Well, I will go a step further in order torefresh your memory. On that July night you met your friend,Tattersett."
"My dear fellow," he cried, laughing outright, "I have no idea of whatyou're driving at. Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"No," I answered angrily, "I have not, fortunately for myself.Therefore it is useless to deny the truth."
"I am not denying the truth," he replied. "I am denying theextraordinary assertion you are making."
"Because you fear to face the truth."
"I fear nothing," he responded defiantly. "What, in Heaven's name, haveI to fear?"
"The consequences of the cleverly-planned conspiracy against myself."
He smiled superciliously, and answered, "I don't understand you. Whatconspiracy?"
"Listen!" I cried furiously. "It is useless for you to affect eitherignorance or indifference. This is no case of mistaken identity. Youforget that I am a medical man, and that my eye can detect a mark uponthe flesh where the layman sees nothing. That crinkled depression onthe inside of your wrist is a mark left in infancy. It cannot beimitated, neither can it be obliterated. You may alter your facialexpression, or the outline of your figure; but you cannot alter that."
He glanced at his wrist, and I saw that he had never before noticed theindelible mark upon the flesh.
"You bore that mark on the day we met three months ago, and you bear itnow," I went on. "Do you still deny your presence in London on the dateI have mentioned?"
"Of course I
do," he said.
"Then, you are a liar, and I will treat you as such!" I respondedfirmly.
We were standing facing one another, and I saw in his eyes an evil glintwhich told me plainly that he was no mean antagonist.
"You pay me a compliment," he said coolly. "I cannot see what motiveyou have in thus insulting me."
"It is no insult," I cried. "You are my enemy. You and youraccomplice, Tattersett, devised an ingenious trap, and then called me infor professional consultation. The trap was well baited, and, as youintended, I fell into it. I thank God for one thing--namely, that I didnot commit murder at your instigation."
He smiled again, but no word escaped