that the man about whose endshe was now so anxious had actually betrayed her into the hands of thepolice.
And this refined, soft-spoken, elegant woman had spent some months inprison! It seemed utterly incredible.
Like Shaw, she seemed extremely anxious to know if I were aware whetherArnold had made a will. But I told her that, so far as I knew, therewas none, and, further, I was unaware of the name of his lawyer.
"I fear that Mr Arnold had no solicitors," she said. "He would nottrust them."
"Then who is in charge of the dead man's estate?" I asked, hoping forsome information.
"Ah! That's a complete mystery, Mr Kemball," was her reply. "That MrArnold was wealthy--tremendously wealthy--there is no doubt. Yet he wasas mysterious himself as was the source of his enormous income. It wasderived in the East somewhere, but of its true source even theCommissioners of Income Tax are unaware."
"He was a complete mystery in many ways."
"In every way. I was one of his most intimate friends, but I confessthat I was most puzzled always. He lived in secret, and it appears thathe has died in secret," replied Mrs Olliffe. "I had hoped, MrKemball, that you could perhaps throw some light upon the manner inwhich he has disposed of his property."
"Unfortunately, I know nothing," was my reply. "He merely asked me toperform several little services for him after his death; and having donethem, there my knowledge ends."
She looked me steadily in the face for a few moments with her shrewd,deep-sunken eyes, and then with a smile said--
"I expect you think that I am hoping to benefit under his will. But, onthe contrary, I know full well that I should not. All I can tell you,Mr Kemball, is that if you have accepted any trust of Melvill Arnold's,then only evil can result."
"Why?" I asked quickly, remembering the character of the woman beforeme.
"Because Arnold was a worker of evil."
"Then you were not his friend, eh?"
"Yes, I was. Only I have warned you," was her quick reply.
Curious that Harvey Shaw should have also made a similar assertion. Hadhe not told me that the bronze cylinder which reposed in the safe justbehind where she was seated had brought evil upon those who had held itin their possession?
I found Mrs Olliffe distinctly interesting. As I sat chatting withher, I recollected the strange stories told of her at the Old Bailey,and of her curiously romantic life. Now that she was free, she was,without doubt, again carrying on her old game. Once a woman is anadventuress, she remains ever so until the grave.
Though she had denied all knowledge of Shaw, it seemed to me that onlythrough him could she have learnt of my existence and my acquaintancewith the dead man Arnold.
More and more it appeared plain that the man who had died in that hoteloff the Strand was possessed of great wealth, yet the source of it was amystery complete and profound. She had known him intimately, yet shewould tell me very little concerning him.
"He was, of course, very eccentric," she declared. "One of his fads wasthat he scarcely ever slept in the same bed twice in succession. He wasconstantly changing his address, and he preferred to present theappearance of being poor."
"Where did he live usually?" I asked.
"Half his time he was abroad--in Tunis, Algeria, or Egypt. He seemedextremely fond of North Africa. Why, I could never discover."
I tried to turn the conversation upon Shaw and Asta, but she was far toowary to be drawn into an admission that she knew them, and presently,after she had taken tea with me, she left.
Upon her card I found her address, and resolved to make a few inquiriesconcerning her. Therefore, two days later, I took train to Bath, andfound that she lived in a fine old mansion called Ridgehill Manor, nearKelston, about three miles out of the city.
At the little old-fashioned inn at Kelston village I had tea in the bestroom, and began to chat about the people in the neighbourhood.
"Ah, yes. Mrs Olliffe's a widow," said the stout, white-beardedlandlord, when I mentioned the Manor. "She's been here close on twoyears now. Everybody likes her. Last year she kept a host of companyalways, lots of well-known folk, but this summer there haven't been verymany visitors. Scarcely anybody except Mr Nicholson--and he's alwaysthere, more or less."
"Nicholson!" I cried, startled at mention of the name. "Was he Mr GuyNicholson, from Titmarsh?"
"I don't know where he comes from, sir, but his name is Guy, sir. Hehasn't been here for a week or two now. He often comes over on hismotor-cycle. Sometimes he calls in here, for I do all the station-workfor Mrs Olliffe. He's a very nice, affable young gentleman. I onlywish there were a few more of his sort about."
"He's a friend of Mrs Olliffe's, you say? Has he been coming here forlong?"
"Ever since she's been here. They used to say he came to see MissFarquhar, a young lady who was staying up at the Manor. But he comesjust as much since she's left. Ah!" he added, "now I recollect. Only aweek ago I took a parcel to the station from the Manor addressed to MrNicholson at Titmarsh, near Corby, I think it was."
I asked the landlord to describe the young man we were discussing, andhe gave me an exact description of Guy himself.
When it grew dark, I trudged along the dusty high road up the hill for amile, and obtained a good sight of the Manor. It was, I found, asplendid old Tudor mansion, standing on the side of a hill in a finelytimbered park, and in full view from the high road. Would the countryfolk have held its occupier in such high esteem had they but known thecurious truth?
While standing there gazing across the broad park to the old, gabled,ivy-clad house, with its pointed roofs and twisted chimneys, I heard thehum of an approaching motor-car, and I was only just in time to drawback into a hedge. In it sat Mrs Olliffe herself.
But the discovery I had made had opened up an entirely new train ofthought.
Guy had been that undesirable woman's friend. Was it possible that shehad been implicated in the poor fellow's mysterious end?
That night I lay awake in the York House Hotel in Bath, thinking--thinking very deeply.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
CONTAINS SOME FRESH FACTS.
I was in London again a few days later, and Captain Cardew lunched withme at the club.
"You were poor Guy's intimate friend," I remarked as we sat together."Have you ever heard him speak of a Mrs Olliffe, who lives somewherenear Bath?"
"Oh yes," was his reply, as he sat twisting his wineglass by the stem."He knew her. She had a niece or something, a Miss Farquhar, livingwith her, and he was rather sweet on her at one time, I believe."
"Have you ever met the widow?" I asked.
"Guy introduced me to them one night at the Savoy."
"Where is the young lady now?"
"Somewhere in India, I think. Her father's a civilian out there."
"But this Mrs Olliffe," I said. "Don't you know any thing about her?"
"Only that she is a widow, and very well off; has some fine pheasantshooting, I believe, and gives some gay week-end parties."
"What was her husband?"
"I fancy he was a banker, or something."
I smiled within myself at his reply.
"She's evidently in rather a good set," Cardew went on, "for I've oftenseen in the _Morning Post_ accounts of her parties, which seem toinclude quite a number of distinguished people."
"Well," I said, "as you know, Cardew, I am busy making my own inquiries.It is a slow, tedious process, but I am hopeful of success. I intendto discover by what means poor Guy was killed; therefore his friendsinterest me--especially his women friends. For that reason I am tryingto discover all I can concerning Mrs Olliffe."
He was silent for a moment; then, bending across the table to me, said--
"It has never occurred to me before, Kemball, but somehow, now that Ireflect, I can see that Guy appeared to be in fear of the lady we havejust been discussing."
"In fear of her?"
"Yes. One circumstance made it quite plain
. A little over a month ago,I was staying with him at the Grand at Eastbourne, and wanted him tocome with me to Brighton for the week-end, but he told me he had anappointment on the Sunday which he could not break. I urged him to go,but he would not, and on Sunday night he went out about nine o'clock,and did not return until two in the morning. I chaffed him nextmorning. But he was pale and haggard, and his reply was significant.`No, old chap,' he said. `Sometimes a fellow gets into a bit of a hole.I'm in one--a woman, as you can guess. And I had to keep thatappointment. I couldn't refuse her, for we had some serious business totransact. Ah,' he sighed, `if I could only think that I'd never see heragain, by Gad!