you, being my friend, will refuse to be influencedin any way by evil report. That woman is, as you rightly say, anunscrupulous adventuress. I knew her once--before her conviction--but Ihave since lost sight of her. Yet, I know she is my enemy, and--well,if it were to her interest she would have no compunction in giving meaway to Scotland Yard."
"Then she is your enemy?"
"My worst enemy."
"Ah! Then I understand the reason of her allegations," I said, and amoment later the subject dropped.
We returned to the hotel just before midnight, and I ascended in thelift to my room. Shaw shook my hand and turned into his own room.
From my window I found that I commanded a wide, view of the great PlaceCarnot and the adjacent streets, picturesque with their many lights. Ihad not switched on my light, and was standing gazing below, when, of asudden, I distinguished Shaw hurrying out of the hotel again andcrossing the Place towards the Pont du Midi, the iron bridge on theright which spans the Rhone.
He had in a moment changed both hat and coat, I noticed, and thereforehis sudden exit, after having led me to believe he was about to turn in,struck me as curious. So, without hesitation, I, too, slipped onanother coat, and putting on a golf cap descended in the lift, and wassoon speeding away in the direction he had taken.
When halfway across the bridge I saw him walking slowly before me,therefore I held back and watched. I followed him across the river,when he suddenly turned to the left along the Quai Claude Bernard, untilat the foot of the next bridge, the Guillotiere, he turned to the leftalong the Cours Gambetta until he came to a small square, the Place duPont.
There he suddenly halted beneath a lamp and glanced at his watch. Thenhe idled across to the corner of one of the half-dozen dark, desertedstreets which converged there, as though awaiting some one.
For a quarter of an hour he remained there calmly smoking, and quiteunsuspicious of my proximity.
But his patience was at last rewarded, because from the shadow thereemerged a female figure in dark jacket and skirt, to which after amoment's hesitation he went forward with words of greeting.
They met beneath the light of a street lamp, and from where I stood,hidden in a doorway, I was sufficiently close to get a view of hercountenance.
I held my breath.
It was that of the woman who had stood in the dock of the Old Bailey andbeen convicted of fraud--the woman who now lived in such style atRidgehill Manor, and who was known in Bath as Mrs Olliffe.
For a moment they stood there in the night, their hands clasped, neitheruttering a single word.
And yet Shaw had only an hour before declared her to be his most bitterand dangerous enemy!
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
FALLING SHADOWS.
I watched Shaw strolling slowly with, the woman through the ill-lit backstreets of Lyons, speaking rapidly with her. She, however, appeared tolisten in silent obstinacy.
He grew angry, yet she seemed to remain obdurate.
She was dressed plainly in tweed skirt and blouse _a la touriste_, andwore a hat with a long veil in the fashion so often adopted by Americanwomen visiting Europe.
They traversed the working-class district on the eastern side of theRhone, where from behind the dingy red blinds of the cafes came thesounds of music and laughter, and where many groups of factory handswere idling about enjoying the cool night air. It was a noisy bizarredistrict, which favoured me, for I could watch the pair unobserved.
At the corner of the Place Morand they halted for a few moments, whilehe emphasised his words by striking his palm with his clenched fist, andshe stood listening, her gaze turned towards the ground. Then,together, they crossed the big square to the left and traversed thebridge, passing beneath the deep shadows of the high, handsome Hotel deVille.
Though at times I was quite near them, yet I could not, of course, catcha single word uttered by either. Only by their actions andgesticulations could I judge, and it appeared plain that she had met himunder compulsion, and was refusing to act as he desired.
And yet he had only that very evening declared the woman to be his worstand most dangerous enemy!
I reflected as I strode slowly on, keeping the two dark figures insight. Shaw had, after all, never concealed from me the fact that hewas wanted by the police for some offence. His sportsmanlike attitude,combined with his deep devotion to Asta, caused me involuntarily to likehim. Perhaps it was because I loved her and he was her foster-father,always kind, indulgent, and solicitous for her welfare, that I reallyheld him in esteem, even though he might be an adventurer.
Yet why had this woman Olliffe--as she now called herself--declared thatShaw had been Arnold's bitterest enemy? Surely it had been through myhost himself that the woman knew of my existence, and my friendship withthe dead man of mystery!
But even while I watched them turn the corner by the Hotel de Ville, andstroll up that broad, deserted thoroughfare--in day so busy with itsrows of fine shops, but now quiet and deserted--towards the PlaceBellecour, my thoughts reverted to Asta, she who had lost her lover, butwhom I had grown to love so truly and so well.
Suddenly I turned upon my heel and abandoned pursuit of the pair. Whatmattered it to me? Their affairs, whatever they might be, were theirown. I loved Asta. Indeed, because of my deepening affection for her Ihad accompanied them upon that tour which had for its object my love'sforgetfulness of the black tragedy which had so suddenly overshadowedher young life.
Guy Nicholson had promised to reveal something to me in strictestconfidence, but, alas! his lips had been mysteriously closed before hehad had opportunity. Closed by whom?
I turned down upon the quays and, following the Rhone bank, was soonback at the hotel.
I left my hat in my own room and, on entering our private sitting-roomfound, to my delight, that Asta was still there. She had been readingand had just risen as I entered, for she stood by the pale-greencurtains at the window, holding a fold of them in her hand, and lookingforth into the starlit night, her slim young figure clearly outlinedagainst their dull soft green, a becoming rose-flush upon her cheeks,her lips slightly parted, and her eyes bewitchingly bright.
"I've been waiting for Dad, Mr Kemball," she said. "Do you know wherehe is?"
"Out, I think," was my reply. "I suppose he's smoking in one of thecafes. He believed that you had gone to bed, I expect."
And I threw myself lazily into a chair.
I thought that her eyes filled with tears as she turned back towards thelong open windows and gazed out into the Place below. And I confessthat this surprised me.
"You are upset!" I said softly, rising and standing at her side."What's the matter, Miss Seymour? Tell me, confide in me--your friend."
"I--I hardly know," she faltered, in a strange hoarse voice. I took herhand, and found it trembling. "But--"
"But what?" I asked. Her face was turned away from me towards thenight.
"Well," she said, after a long pause, as though reluctant to tell me, "Ifear that Dad has gone out to meet some one. When we arrived in thishotel I saw among his letters a handwriting which I recognised."
"The writing of a woman, eh?"
She started, turning to me quickly.
"How did you know?" she gasped.
"Well--I guessed," I laughed.
"You guessed correctly. And I have suspicion that he has gone outto-night to meet her in secret--to--"
I waited for her to conclude her sentence, but her lips closed with asnap. The colour had left her cheeks while in her eyes was a strangewild look of fear.
"In confidence, Miss Seymour, I may as well tell you that I saw himhalf-an-hour ago walking with a lady--a person who lives near Bath underthe name of Olliffe."
"Then my suspicions are correct!" she cried. "That woman has regainedher power over him. My poor Dad! He has fallen into her clutches. Ah,Mr Kemball, if you only knew all!" she added. "If only I dare tellyou!"
"Why not tell me? Surely I am your friend! You may tr
ust me not tobetray any secret," I said in deep earnestness.
"They have met to-night. There is some mischief brewing. She is cruel,evil, unscrupulous."
"I know--and a convicted criminal."
"You know her, then?" she asked quickly, looking into my eyes.
"Yes. I am acquainted with Lady Lettice Lancaster, as she was oncecalled, and I know that she was sentenced at the Old Bailey for a seriesof remarkably ingenious frauds. Is she an associate of your father's?"
"She was once, I believe--before her sentence," replied the girl. "Sheexercised over him a strange, incomprehensible fascination, as an evilwoman so often can over a man. He acted at her bidding, and--well, Iknow but little, Mr Kemball, but, alas! what I know is, in itself, toomuch. I am surprised that Dad, knowing the woman's character, shoulddare to again associate himself with her."
"She