to which she had replied;then, as though with sudden resolve, he had risen from the table wherehe had been sitting, and clenching his fists poured forth a flood ofexecrations upon some person he did not name.
She was surprised at the action, and her surprise increased when, a fewminutes later, he had halted before her saying:
"Though I risk my own liberty in assisting you, Miss Griffin, I will notkeep you here, the innocent victim of that heartless blackguard and hissycophants. I have a daughter of my own--a little daughter who is allin all to me. `Red Mullet'--that's my name, Miss--may bear a pretty badreputation, but he will never lift a finger against a defenceless girl,nor will he act in opposition to a man who has stood his friend. Myonly stipulation is that you will say nothing. We will meet again erelong."
And then, five minutes later, having given her solemn promise ofsecrecy, she had left the house, wandering the dark streets until shehad found herself in Oxford Street, where she had hailed a cab anddriven home.
Over all this she sat thinking, gazing thoughtfully into the dancingflames and wondering.
But from her reverie she was awakened by the re-entry of the maid, whosaid:
"Both the Professor and Mr Farquhar are downstairs, miss. Will youplease go down to them at once?"
She started quickly. A cold shudder ran through her.
With that vow of secrecy upon her, the vow given to the man who had beenher protector, what explanation of her absence could she give to Frank.
She rose slowly from her chair, her great dark eyes fixed straightbefore her.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE FALLING OF THE SHADOW.
Gwen stood before her father and her lover, a pale, wan, tremblingfigure, evasive in all her answers.
With the seal of silence upon her lips what could she say?
As Professor Griffin had entered the door with his latch-key a hansomhad drawn up at the kerb, and Frank, who had come straight from CharingCross, after dropping his kit at his rooms, sprang out and ran up thesteps to the porch to meet the elder man with a merry greeting.
His first inquiry had been of Gwen, but the Professor's face told himthat something was wrong, and they entered the hall together. Nextmoment, however, the maid rushed forward exclaiming: "Miss Gwen's comehome, sir. She's upstairs."
"Tell her we are here," said her father, "and we'd like to see her atonce."
Then the two men walked into the dining-room, where, in a few briefsentences, the Professor explained to young Farquhar his daughter'ssudden disappearance.
Frank was quick to notice that the girl he loved had scarce dared toraise her eyes to his as she entered the room. The grey gown she wore,unrelieved by any touch of colour, served to accentuate the deadlypallor of her soft countenance. A change had been wrought in her--agreat astounding change.
"Why, Gwen dear!" gasped her father. "What's the matter? What hasoccurred?"
"Nothing, dad," faltered the girl.
"That's quite absurd, my child," cried the elder man. "You've beenabsent from home all these days, and sent me no word! Something unusualmust have occurred."
"Nothing, dad dear--at least, nothing that I can tell you."
Frank started, staring straight at her, utterly amazed at her response.
"But, Gwen," he exclaimed, "you surely can explain where you've been.The police, it seems, have been searching for you everywhere."
Her eyes were cast quickly around the room, as though seeking means ofescape from that cross-examination. Then she answered:
"I really don't see what my business concerns any one--so long as I amat home again."
"This is scarcely like you, Gwen," exclaimed the grey-haired manreproachfully. "You are usually so very thoughtful for me, and carefulnot to give me cause for a moment's anxiety."
"It was quite inevitable, dad," she replied. "I would not have remainedsilent intentionally--as you well know."
"But surely," interrupted Frank in a voice which showed that hissuspicions were already aroused, "surely you can at least allow us thesatisfaction of knowing where you've been, dear!"
"No harm has befallen me, has there? Therefore, why trouble about myabsence?" she asked. To utter those words required all herself-control. She knew in what an awkward position she was now placingherself.
"Well, you seem to regard very lightly all the anxiety you have causedme, my child," protested Griffin sharply.
"I am very sorry--truly sorry, dear dad," was the pale-faced girl'sreply, "but my silence really was not my own fault."
"At least you might be frank with us now, Gwen!" declared her lover."You surely have nothing to hide!"
"Nothing whatever," she said, smiling bitterly, "only I am, for certainreasons, compelled to regard my recent whereabouts as a secret."
"Why?"
She was silent. What could she say! What indeed? The man Mullet, whohad been her protector, and who had treated her with such kindness andconsideration, making her confinement much the less irksome than itwould have been; the man who had stood between her and her brutal,red-faced inquisitor, and who, just at the moment when a grave perilthreatened her, had opened the door and allowed her to escape, and laidupon her a solemn vow of secrecy. His words rang distinctly in herears: "Remember, Miss Griffin, if you tell your friends what hashappened to you it will result in my ruin. Our enemies will avengethemselves by giving me over to the police. Therefore, I beg of you toremain silent--at all hazards--for my sake!" And she had promised.
Could she break that pledge, given to the man who had saved her fromshame and dishonour?
By her hesitation, grave suspicions had gathered within the minds ofboth her father and her lover. Ignorant of the true facts, they bothmisjudged her.
Frank's quick jealousy had been fired by her determination not to makeexplanation. Yet he had tried to suppress the bitter thoughts growingwithin him, hoping that it was her father's presence which prevented herfrom telling him in confidence what had occurred.
"I cannot see why you should make such a great mystery of the affair, mydear child," remarked the Professor, clearly annoyed.
"Well," and she laughed nervously, "perhaps I may tell you somethingsome day, dad. But please excuse me now, dear. I--I'm tired and--andvery upset."
The old man recognised from her pale, hard-drawn features that she wasnot herself. Her highly strung nerves were at their greatest tension.And, perhaps, after all, he thought, it was injudicious of him to submither to that cross-examination in Frank's presence.
Indeed, both men desired to speak with her alone, both believing thatthey would then induce her to tell the truth.
Little did they dream that the truth could never issue from her lips--that the vow she had made was to a man to whom the exposure meant lossof his liberty.
Her own position was a ghastly one. She had already realised that. Sheshuddered at the recollection of those hideous insults of that fat,brutal tormentor--and of the fate which he had marked out for herbecause she would not satisfy him concerning either her father or herlover.
Her sole thought was of "Charlie"--Mr Mullet, or "Red Mullet" as hisfriends were in the habit of calling him. She smiled at the humour ofthe appellation. It fitted him so well on account of his red hair andbristly red moustache.
Half an hour later the subject of her absence having by mutual consent,been dropped, the Professor went to his study to write some letters,while Gwen and her lover strolled into the big drawing-room, gaunt andcheerless without a fire.
When they were alone he took her white, trembling hand, and, lookingsteadily into her eyes, begged her to afford him the satisfaction ofknowing the truth about her absence.
She had been dreading that moment, and she only shook her head.
"But, dearest!" he urged, "surely I have a right to know!"
"I thought you said only the day before your departure for Copenhagenthat you could always trust me, Frank," she answered, in a voice full ofquiet reproach.
"I said
so, I admit. But almost immediately I had gone it seems thatyou slipped out of the house without a word, and have only justreturned. You will make no explanation, therefore what am I to think?What can I think!"
"You must think as evil of me as you may, Frank," was the girl's calmreply.
"No, no," he cried. "Come darling, tell me all about it--in confidence.I won't say a word to any living soul."
"I cannot tell you," was her faint response, standing rigid, with hereyes fixed straight before her. "Please do not ask me again."
"Do you refuse, even me?"
"Yes, Frank--even you."
He was silent. What ugly incident could she have to hide from him? Heknew that