Ellerdale Street. It must be either one or the other, for they arethe only two in London?" I said.
"How far are they apart?" she inquired, looking up from the book,dismayed.
"I don't know the distance," I was compelled to admit. "But the one ison one side of London, and the other is in the opposite direction--perhaps nearly eight miles away."
"I believe it's Ellerdale Street. I've always called it that, andneither of my aunts has corrected me." Then suddenly, as she glancedround the room, she started as if in terror, and pointing to the littleside-table, cried--
"Oh, look!"
I turned quickly, but saw nothing.
"Why, what is it?" I inquired in quick concern. But in an instant herface, a moment before suddenly blanched by some mysterious fear, relaxedinto a smile, as she answered--
"Nothing! It was really nothing. I thought--I thought I saw somethingin that corner."
"Saw something!" I exclaimed, advancing to the table. "What do youmean?"
"Nothing," and she laughed a strange, forced laugh. "It was reallynothing, I assure you."
"But surely your imagination did not cause you to start like that," Isaid dubiously. She was, I felt convinced, trying to conceal somethingfrom me. Could she, I wondered, be subject to hallucinations?
Then, as if to change the subject, she crossed to my side, and pointingto an antique ivory cross upon an ebony stand, much battered and yellowwith age, which I had picked up in a shop on the Ponte Vecchio, inFlorence, long ago, she exclaimed--
"What a quaint old crucifix!"
And she took it up and examined it closely, as a connoisseur might lookat it.
"The figure, I see, is in silver," she observed. "And it is very old.Italian, I should say."
"Yes," I replied, rather surprised at her knowledge. "How did you knowthat?"
But she smiled, and declared that she only guessed it to be so, as I hadhalf an hour ago spoken of a recent winter spent in Italy. Then, afteradmiring it, she placed it down, and again turned, sighed heavily, andbent over the Directory, which was still open upon the table.
As she did so, she suddenly burst forth--
"At last! I've found it. Look! there can be no mistake. It isn'tEllerdale Street, but Ellerdale Road!"
And bending beside her I read where she pointed with her slim finger thewords, "16, Popejoy, Mrs"
"Is that your aunt's name?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"And yours?" I asked.
But she pursed up her lips and did not seem inclined to impart thisknowledge to me.
"My name is really of no account," she said. "We shall not meet again."
"Not meet again?" I cried, for the thought of losing a friend sobeautiful and so charming was an exceedingly unhappy one. "Why shall wenot meet? You are going to live in London now, you say," and taking acard from my cigarette-case I handed it to her.
With her clear, brilliant eyes fixed upon mine, she took the card almostmechanically, then glanced at it.
"I'm greatly indebted to you, Mr Cleeve," she said. "But I don't seethere is any necessity for you to know my name. It is sufficient,surely, for you to reflect that you one night befriended one who was indistress."
"But I must know your name," I protested. "Come, do tell me."
She hesitated, then lifted her eyes again to mine and answered--
"My name is Aline."
"Aline," I repeated. "A name as charming as its owner."
"You want to pay me compliments," she laughed, blushing deeply.
"And your surname?" I went on.
"Cloud," she replied. "Aline Cloud."
"Then your aunt's name is Popejoy, and you are living at 16, EllerdaleRoad, Hampstead," I said, laughing. "Well, we have discovered it all atlast."
"Yes, thanks to you," she replied, with a sigh of relief. Then lookinganxiously at the clock, she added, "It's late, therefore I must begoing. I can get there in a cab, I suppose?"
"Certainly," I answered; "and if you'll wait a moment while I get athick coat I'll see you safely there--if I may be allowed."
"No," she said, putting up her little hand as if to arrest me, "Icouldn't think of taking you out all that way at this hour."
I laughed, for I was used to late hours at the club, and had on many amorning crossed Leicester Square on my way home when the sun wasshining.
So disregarding her, I went into my room, exchanged my light overcoatfor a heavier one, placed a silk muffler around my neck, and havingfortified myself with a whiskey and soda, we both went out, and enteringa cab started forth on our long drive up to Hampstead.
The cabman was ignorant of Ellerdale Road, but when I directed him toFitzjohn's Avenue he at once asserted that he would quickly find it.
"I hope we may meet again. We must!" I exclaimed, when at last we grewnear our journey's end. "This is certainly a very strange meeting, butif at any time I can render you another service, command me."
"You are extremely good," she answered, turning to me after looking outfixedly upon the dark, deserted street, for rain was falling, and it wasmuddy and cheerless. "We had, however, better not meet again."
"Why?" I inquired. Her beauty had cast a spell about me, and I wascapable of any foolishness.
"Because it is unnecessary," she replied, with a strange vagueness, yetwithout hesitation.
We were passing at that moment the end of a winding thoroughfare, and ata word the cabman turned his horse and proceeded slowly in search ofNumber 16.
Without much difficulty we found it, a good-sized detached house, builtin modern style, with gable ends and long windows; a house of acharacter far better than I had expected. I had believed the street tobe a mean one, of those poor-looking houses which bear the stamp ofweekly rents, but was surprised to find a quiet, eminently respectablesuburban road at the very edge of London. At the back of the houseswere open fields, and one or two of the residences had carriage-drivesbefore them.
There was still a light over the door, which showed that the lost onewas expected, and as she descended she allowed her little, well-glovedhand to linger for a moment in mine.
"Good night," she said, merrily, "and thank you ever so much. I shallnever forget your kindness--never."
"Then you will repay me by meeting me again?" I urged.
"No," she answered, in an instant serious. "It is best not."
"Why? I trust I have not offended you?"
"Of course not. It is because you have been my friend to-night that Iwish to keep apart from you."
"Is that the way you treat your friends?" I inquired.
"Yes," she replied, meaningly. Then, after a pause, added, "I have nodesire to bring evil upon you."
"Evil!" I exclaimed, gazing in wonderment at her beauty. "What evilcan you possibly bring upon me?"
"You will, perhaps, discover some day," she answered, with a hollow,artificial laugh. "But I'm so very late. Good night, and thank youagain so much."
Then turning quickly, with a graceful bow she entered the gate leadingto the house, and rang the bell.
I saw her admitted by a smart maid, and having lit a fresh cigarettesettled myself in a corner, and told the cabman to drive back to CharingCross Mansions.
The man opened the trap-door in the roof of the conveyance, and began tochat, as night-cabmen will do to while away the time, yet the outlookwas very dismal--that broad, long, never-ending road glistening withwet, and lit by two straight rows of street-lamps as far as the eyecould reach right down to Oxford Street.
I was thinking regretfully of Aline; of her grace, her beauty, and ofthe strange circumstances in which we had become acquainted. Hercurious declaration that she might cause me some mysterious evil sorelypuzzled me, and I felt impelled to seek some further explanation.
I entered my chambers with my latch-key, and the ever-watchful Simescame forward, took my hat and coat, drew forward my particular armchair,and placed the whiskey and syphon at my elbow.
I had mixed a final drink, and was raising my glass, when suddenly myeyes fell upon the little triangular side-table where the curios weredisplayed.
What I saw caused me to start and open my eyes in amazement. Then Iwalked across to inspect it more closely.
The ivory crucifix, the most treasured in my collection, had beenentirely consumed by fire. Nothing remained of it but its ashes, asmall white heap, the silver effigy fused to a mass.
"Simes!" I cried. "What's the meaning of this?"
"I don't know, sir," he answered, pale in alarm.