steps towards the Quai de l'Horloge.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
SHEKELS OF JUDAS.
Midnight in Brussels. Six months had passed since Valerie's hurriedexit from Paris had baffled the most expert member of the Parisdetective force.
The streets were quiet, almost deserted; the trees in the boulevardswere stirred slightly by the soft wind, and the long lines of gas lampsflickered and cast an uncertain light as Pierre Rouillier, in eveningdress, and with an Inverness cape about his shoulders, emerged from theRue de Pepin, crossed the boulevard, and turned into the Chausee deWavre. Whistling softly to himself, he continued his walk down thelong, straight thoroughfare until within a few yards of the Rue Wiertz,where, before a large and rather gloomy-looking house, he halted. Hegave two vigorous tugs at the bell, and Nanette opened the door.
"Ah!" the mud exclaimed, with familiarity, "it's a good thing you'vecome. Mademoiselle has been so anxious about you. Most of them are ina fine state."
"What! have they had supper, then?"
"Yes; and there are several fresh people--swells."
"Who are they?"
"You'll see."
"Who's there, Nanette?" asked a shrill, musical voice.
"M'sieur Rouillier, mademoiselle," replied the girl.
"Ah, Pierre!" said the voice; then it could be heard repeating inanother direction: "Our young friend, Pierre, has arrived."
Immediately there was a chorus of approbation, and some one commencedsinging the first verse of the _chansonette_, "Pierre, my long-lostlove," as that distinguished personage walked into the room. Valeriewas standing at the door, and whispered to him--
"There are some rich men here to-night. We can make a big _coup_ if weare careful."
Then, turning to her guests, she exclaimed--
"Cease your chatter, please, just for one moment. Ladies and gentlemen,it is my pleasure to introduce to you--"
This was greeted with discordant cries--
"Enough! Everybody knows Pierre."
"Ladies, do please listen to me," implored Valerie. Continuing, Valerieagain endeavoured to make herself heard.
"Gentlemen, I--"
At that moment somebody commenced to strum a waltz upon the piano, and,as if by magic, the twenty persons in the room rose to their feet andcommenced to whirl madly round, while Valerie and Pierre stood at thedoor whispering and regarding the scene of Bacchanalian revelry withperfect satisfaction.
She liked to see her guests enjoy themselves.
"I want a few moments' private conversation with you," Pierre said,after they had been standing silent for a minute or two.
She acquiesced at once, and led the way to a small anteroom behind thedrawing-room. It was furnished gaudily and cheaply, but quite inkeeping with the rest of the house.
As he closed, the door, Pierre said--
"I've some good news."
"What is it?" she asked.
"Victor has fallen into the trap."
"Arrested?"
"Yes."
"Hurrah!" she cried, almost dancing for joy; "now we are safely rid ofhim we shall have nothing to fear. But, tell me, how did you manage tocarry out the suggestion?"
"It was quite simple. We met in London three weeks ago, and I told himthat he was running a great risk in remaining there, because the girlVivian had discovered that it was he who gave her the little gash in thethroat, and that she had placed the matter in the hands of the police.He asked my advice as to where he should go, and, of course, I suggestedParis. We arranged to go over separately, and meet at the old place aweek later. He went, and as he stepped from the train at the St. Lazarehe fell into the inviting arms of that vulture Chemerault."
"You had previously given information, I suppose?"
"Exactly."
"What was the charge?" she asked in a low tone.
"Complicity in the affair of the Englishman."
"Is he already sentenced?"
"Yes; to-day the Assize Court sent him to penal servitude for ten years.I had a telegram an hour ago. It will be in the papers to-morrow."
"Do you think that he'll peach upon us?" Valerie asked seriously.
"No, never fear that. He does not suspect that we put the police uponhim; besides, he will live in the hope of escaping, and returning to youand your newly-acquired wealth."
"Yes, I suppose he will," she said, laughing. "But you've managed theaffair very cleverly, and although it is hard to send such a booncompanion to prison merely because you and I love one another, yet,after all, I suppose it's the best course."
"Undoubtedly, _ma chere_," he said. "Now both are safely in prison, weneed fear nothing. Our manoeuvres have been successful in obtaining forus a fortune ample for our needs, and by keeping on this house, as wellas yours in the Avenue de la Toison d'Or, we can continue to amuseourselves profitably by getting our guests to stake their louis on the_tapis vert_. We have had many obstacles to face, but they are now allremoved."
"Where is your wedding-ring--the one he gave you?" he asked.
She drew it from her purse, and handed it to him, wondering why herequired it.
"This reminds you of him, I know," he said, as he turned and threw upthe window. "See, I fling it away, for it's merely a worthless bond,"and he tossed the ring as far as he could out into the road.
Valerie sighed. A tear stood in her eye. Even at that moment she wasthinking of Hugh Trethowen. It was unusual for her to be troubled byrecurring pangs of conscience, nevertheless his face had haunted herconstantly during the past few months, and she could not get rid of thethought that some day a terrible Nemesis might fall and crush her.
"Why look so serious?"
"I was only thinking. It is one of woman's privileges," she said,laughing.
"Come, there is no cause for sadness surely. You have a handsomeincome. What more could you desire?"
Soon afterwards the unsuspecting guests departed, with aching heads andempty pockets. And Valerie was left alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
AND YOU--A CLERGYMAN.
"Where is Mr. Holt? I must see him at once."
"He's in the vestry, miss, talking to a gentleman. But he'll bedisengaged in a moment," the verger replied.
"Very well. I'll wait."
The girl who had listened with disgust to the Sunday morning sermonpreached by the Rev. Hubert Holt, and who had afterwards gone round tothe vestry of the church of St. Barnabas, Camberwell, was Dolly Vivian.
A few days previously, while walking along Buckingham Palace Road, sheunexpectedly passed the man who called himself Mansell. Attired as hewas in the garb of a clergyman, she was not quite certain as to hisidentity with the man who had assisted in her abduction. Yet, withjustifiable curiosity, she turned and set herself to watch him. Forhours she dogged his footsteps, always at a respectable distance. Firsthe went up Victoria Street, and along the Embankment to the City, thenhe crossed London Bridge and continued through the Borough and WalworthRoad, ultimately entering one of a terrace of smoke-begrimed houses inBoyson Road, Camberwell. Once or twice while following him shecontrived to obtain an uninterrupted view of his features, and each timefelt more convinced that he was the man for whom she was in search.
When he had disappeared she returned, and noticed upon the railingoutside the house was a small, tarnished brass plate bearing the name,"Rev. Hubert Holt." Carefully noting the number, she proceeded to makediligent inquiries, and was not long in discovering that Holt andMansell was one and the same person, and that he was curate of St.Barnabas church, which was situated at the end of the road.
At first she was prompted to call upon him at once and denounce him; buton reflection she saw that such a course might not effect the object shehad in view. She regarded him as a scoundrel, and in consequencecarefully prepared a tableau by which she could obtain the informationshe sought, and if possible, compass his ruin. The vindictive naturelatent in every woman was aroused in her when she discovered hishypocrisy,
and she saw that if she met him face to face in the midst ofhis holy duties her revenge could be rendered more complete.
As she stood awaiting the interview her cheeks were flushed byexcitement, and she nervously toyed with the buttons of her gloves. Herlips were compressed, her fair forehead was furrowed by an unbecomingfrown of resolution, for she had resolved to meet him boldly, and showhim no mercy.
"What name shall I tell Mr. Holt, miss?" the verger asked, re-enteringthe small, bare anteroom a moment later.
"Never mind," she replied. "He--he doesn't know my name." Then theverger went out.
While she was uttering these words the curate's visitor--a tall,military-looking old