admirably.
As she stood in my sitting-room pulling off her gloves I thought thatshe seemed even more strikingly beautiful than on the first night we hadmet, for her perfectly-fitting dress showed off her well-rounded figure,and her cream gauzy veil, drawn tight beneath her pointed chin, added asoftness to her face which rendered it bewitching.
As her bright eyes fell upon me and her full red lips parted in a smile,I could scarcely bring myself to believe that this was actually thewoman whose evil influence was nothing short of supernatural, the womanwhose mission in the world was to supplant evil for good, and whoseevery action was enveloped in mystery impenetrable.
She lifted her veil and placed her delicate nose to the large bowl ofred roses on the table. In summer our gardener sent me a box twiceweekly, and as she sniffed their odour, I remarked--
"They are from Tixover--my father's place. It's near Duddington, on theNorthamptonshire border. Do you know that country?"
"No," she responded quickly. "But the flowers are delicious."
I saw that she had no intention of admitting her visit to Stamford.There was a strange, indescribable fascination about her. She raisedher veil, and turning to the mirror re-arranged her hair coquettishlywith both her hands. Then, as her deep blue eyes again fell upon mecalmly I felt that they penetrated to my very soul. The sunlightstruggling through the smoke-dimmed windows fell upon her, envelopingher head in a halo of golden light, while the flashing of gems caught myeyes, and I saw upon her fingers two magnificent rings, one of rubiesand the other of diamonds.
On the first occasion we had met she had been dressed shabbily, withoutany display of artistic taste, while to-day she presented a graceful,lady-like appearance, her richness of costume being devoid of thatloudness which too often detracts from a woman's natural _chic_.
Simes brought in the tea, and seated in my armchair she took her cup andlaughed gaily to me as she sipped it, declaring that at the moment wehad met she had been contemplating entering a tea-shop, for she couldnot exist without a cup at four o'clock. The majority of men in Londoncan usually go from luncheon to dinner on a whiskey and soda, but I mustconfess myself fond of tea. Therefore we took it in company, laughingand chatting the while. She appeared perfectly at ease, and ourconversation was that of old acquaintance, until, when Simes had gone, Ilooked straight into her face, and boldly said--
"Aline, tell me truthfully. Why did you deceive me so?"
She met my gaze with a strange, determined look, answering--
"Deceived you! I am not aware that I have done so!"
"You told me that you lived with Mrs Popejoy in Hampstead," I said.
"And it was the truth. When I told you that, I did live there."
That was so. She had spoken the truth, and my accusation was so unjustthat I was compelled to mutter an apology.
"But many things have occurred since we last met," I went on. "Oneevent especially has happened which has oppressed and utterly bewilderedme."
"What was that?"
"My friend, Roddy Morgan, is dead."
"I am aware of that," she responded, her face in an instant deathlypale. Although she possessed powers which no other human beingpossessed, she nevertheless was now and then unable to control herselfsufficiently to preserve a perfect calm. In this alone did she betraythat she was, like myself, of the flesh. Yet when I reflected howthings withered at her touch, and how objects dissolved as beneath amagician's wand, I had often been inclined to believe that she was theincarnation of the Evil One in the form of a beautiful woman.
It was this feeling which again crept upon me as I sat there in herpresence, noting her extreme loveliness. I did not love her now. No; Iheld her rather in fear and hatred. Yet she was still the moststrikingly beautiful woman in all the world.
"Then you know how my friend died?" I said, in a rather meaning voice.
"It was in the newspapers," she responded. "I saw by them that you gaveevidence."
I nodded in the affirmative, then said--
"You were here on that fatal morning, and you then told me a fact whichhas puzzled me ever since, namely, that my poor friend committed suicideat Monte Carlo months before. Do you not think you were mistaken, whenyou recollect that he died only half an hour after you left me?"
"What I told you was the truth," she replied. "I was present when hetook his own life."
"At Monte Carlo?"
"At Monte Carlo!"
"Well, how do you account for the fact that for six or seven monthsafterwards he was here, in London, occupying his seat in the House ofCommons, and mixing with his friends, when, if what you say is truth, hewas then lying in a grave in the suicides' cemetery at La Turbie?"
"I do not attempt to reason," she responded, in a voice which sounded sostrange that it appeared far distant, while the cup she still held wasshaken by a slight tremor. "I only tell you the true facts. It wasmyself who identified your friend, and gave his name to theAdministration of the Casino."
"And you say he killed himself because he lost everything?"
"That is what I surmise. Those who have good fortune at the tables donot generally seek the last extremity."
"But I knew nothing of his visit there. Even his man was in ignorance,"I said. "I cannot help thinking that there must be some mistake. Itmust have been a man who resembled him."
"I know that he went to the Riviera secretly."
"Why?"
"Because he had devised some system which, like many others before him,he felt certain must result in large winnings, and he did not tell hisfriends his intentions lest they might jeer at him. He went; he lost;and he killed himself!"
"But he lived in London afterwards!" I protested. "I saw him dozens oftimes--dined with him, played billiards with him, and was visited hereby him. He could not possibly have been dead at the time!"
"But he was dead!" she declared. "Strange though it may seem, I amready to swear in any court of law that I was present when RoderickMorgan, the member for South-West Sussex, committed suicide in the SalleMauresque at Monte Carlo. That fact can no doubt be established in twoways: first, by the register of deaths, and secondly, by exhumation ofthe body."
"But when Roddy was here in London, dining, smoking, and talking withme, how can I believe that he was already dead?"
"It was for a brief space that he came back to his own home," sheresponded, in that same far-away voice, turning her eyes full upon me."And did not life leave him suddenly, in a manner which has sinceremained a mystery?"
"No," I answered determinedly, my mind fully made up. "Not altogether amystery. The police have discovered many things."
"The police!" she gasped. "What have they discovered?"
"They do not generally tell the public the result of theirinvestigations," I answered. "But they have found out that he receiveda visitor clandestinely half an hour before his death, and further, thathe was murdered."
"Murdered!" she exclaimed, with an uneasy glance and stirring in herchair. "Do they suspect any one?"
"Yes," I replied. "They suspect his visitor; and they have discoveredthat this mysterious person who came to see him immediately before hisdeath was a woman!"
Her lips compressed until they became white and bloodless, and the lightdied from her countenance. She tried to speak, but her tongue refusedto utter sound, and she covered her confusion by placing her teacup uponthe table.
"Have they found out who it was who called upon him?" she inquired atlast, in a low, faltering voice.
"They have a strong suspicion," I said firmly. "And they are resolvedthat the one responsible for his death shall be brought to justice."
"There is no proof that he was murdered," she declared quickly.
"Neither is there any proof that he died from natural causes," I argued.Then I added, "Was it not strange, Aline, that you should actually havetold me of my friend's death on the very morning that he died?"
"It was certainly a very remarkable coincidence," sh
e faltered; after apause adding: "If he has been murdered, as you suspect, I hope thepolice will not fail to discover the author of the crime."
"But you declared that Roddy was already dead!" I cried, dumbfounded.
"Certainly!" she answered. "I still maintain the truth of mystatement."
"Then you do not believe he was murdered?"
She shrugged her shoulders without replying.
For an instant I gazed into those eyes which had once held mespell-bound, and said--
"The truth is already known to the police. Roddy Morgan was murdered bya woman, swiftly, silently, and in a manner which