a veiled threat!" I cried. "You are aware of thewhole facts, and yet refuse to impart to me the simple information ofthe whereabouts of Mrs Anson. Do you think it possible in such a casethat I can entertain any confidence in you, or in your extraordinarystory regarding the affairs of Bulgaria and its Prince?"
"I am unable to give you any information regarding the lady youmention," she replied, with a slight frown of annoyance.
"But you are acquainted with her?"
"I may be--what then?"
"I demand to know where she is."
"And in reply I tell you that I am in ignorance."
"In that case," I said angrily, "I refuse to have any further dealingswhatsoever with you. From the first I became drawn into a trap by you,bound down and for six years held silent by your threats. But, madam, Inow tell you plainly of my intentions. I mean to-morrow to lay thewhole facts before the Director of Criminal Investigations, includingthis story of yours regarding the Prince and his people."
She rose slowly from her chair, perfectly calm, her dignity unruffled.Her manner was absolutely perfect. Had she been a princess herself shecould not have treated my sudden ebullition of anger with greaterdisdain.
She gathered up the papers she had put before me, and, replacing them inthe dispatch-box, locked it with the golden master-key upon her bangle.
Afterwards, she turned to me and said, in a hard distinct voice--
"Then I understand that I have to inform His Serene Highness that yourefuse to assist him further?"
"Tell him whatever you choose, madam," I answered, rising and taking upmy hat and cane. "I shall, in future, act according to my owninclinations."
"And at your own risk!" she added, in a harsh voice, as, bowing stifflybefore her, I turned towards the door.
"Yes, madam," I answered; "I accept your challenge--at my own risk."
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
MORE SCHEMING.
The mellow summer twilight was fast deepening into night as I strodealong Piccadilly towards the Circus, after leaving the grey-eyed womanwho held the secret.
What she had revealed to me was startling, yet the one fact which causedme more apprehension than all others was the curious means by which shehad discovered my whereabouts. If she had been enabled to do this, thenthe police would, no doubt, very soon find me and return me to myso-called "friends."
In despair I thought of Mabel. Long ago I had surrendered my wholeheart to her. She had at first placed a strong and high-mindedconfidence in me, judging me by her own lofty spirit, but thatunaccountable rupture had occurred, and she had gone from me crushed andheart-broken. In my pocket I carried her letter, and the more I thoughtover it the more puzzled I became. Daily, hourly, I lamented over thebroken and shattered fragments of all that was fairest on earth; I hadbeen borne at once from calm, lofty, and delighted speculations into thevery heart of fear and tribulations. My love for her was now ranked bymyself as a fond record which I must erase for ever from my heart andbrain. Once I had thought to link my destiny with hers; but, alas! Icould not now marry her, nor could I reveal to her, knowing them not,the mysterious influences which had changed the whole current of my lifeand purposes. My secret burden was that of a heart bursting with itsown unuttered grief.
The whole of the events swept past me like a torrent which hurried alongin its dark and restless course all those about me towards someoverwhelming catastrophe. Tormented by remorseful doubts and pursued bydistraction, I felt assured that Mabel, in her unresisting tenderness,her mournful sweetness, her virgin innocence, was doomed to perish bythat relentless power which had linked her destiny with crime andcontest in which she had no part but as a sufferer. It is, alas! theproperty of crime to extend its mischiefs over innocence, as it is ofvirtue to extend its blessing over many that deserve them not.
Plunged in that sea of troubles, of perplexities, of agonies, and ofterrors, I reflected upon all that the woman Edna had told me. Itseemed inconceivable that Bulgaria's ruler should demand assistance ofme--and yet it was undoubtedly true.
Presently I turned down the Haymarket, still walking slowly, deep inreflection.
Should I inform the police? Very calmly I thought it over. My firstimpulse was to go to Scotland Yard and make a plain statement of thewhole facts, laying stress upon the suspicion against the woman Graingeras an accessory. Yet when I came to consider the result of such actionI saw with dismay that my lips were sealed. Such statement could onlyreflect upon myself. First, I should, by going to Scotland Yard, becompelled to reveal my own identity, which would mean my return toDenbury; secondly, I could give no account of those six lost years of mylife; and, thirdly, the statement of one believed not to be exactlyresponsible for his actions must be regarded with but little credence.
No, circumstances themselves had conspired to hold me to silence.
I went on in blind despair towards my hotel.
Determined upon tracing Mabel and ascertaining from her own lips thereason that our engagement had been terminated, I travelled on thefollowing day down to Bournemouth, and made inquiries at the hotel fromwhich her letter had been dated.
After searching the books the hotel-clerk showed me certain entries fromwhich it appeared that Mrs Anson and her daughter had arrived there onMay 12, 1891, and had occupied one of the best suites of rooms untilJune 5, when they paid their bill and left suddenly.
I glanced at Mabel's letter. It was dated June 4. She had left on thefollowing day. I could learn nothing further.
In an excited, unsettled state of mind, unable to decide how to act, Ireturned to London, and then, out of sheer want of something to do, Itravelled down to Heaton. The old place was the same: neglected anddeserted, but full of memories of days bygone. Old Baxter and his wifewere both dead, and the caretakers were fresh servants whom my agent hadapparently engaged. I also learnt that Parker, the faithful old womanwho had tended to my wants in Essex Street, had also passed away morethan two years before.
I spent a dismal day wandering through the house and park, then droveback to Tewkesbury, and on the following morning returned to London. Inthe six years that had elapsed since my last visit to the Manor nothinghad changed save, perhaps, that the grass had grown more luxuriantlyover the gravelled drive, and the stone exterior was being graduallyrendered grey by the lichen which in those parts overgrows everything.
The mystery of the crime, and of the singular events which had followed,formed an enigma which seemed utterly beyond solution.
My nerves were shattered. As the days went by an increasing desirepossessed me to ascertain more of that woman who called herself Graingerand was the confidential emissary of a reigning prince. She alone knewthe truth, therefore why should I not carefully watch her movements, andendeavour to discover her intentions? From the veiled threat she hadmuttered, it was evident that although she did not fear any revelationsthat I might make, yet she regarded me as a person detrimental to herinterests. As long as I had acted as her agent in negotiating loans forthe Principality, she had secured for me high favour in the eyes ofPrince Ferdinand. But the fact that I had gained consciousness andrefused to assist her further had taken her completely by surprise.
That same evening I called at the _Bath Hotel_, and ascertained that"Mrs Grainger" had left some days before. She had not, it appeared,given any address where letters might be forwarded, but a judicious tipadministered to a hall-porter caused him suddenly to recollect that acouple of days before her departure she had sent a dressing-bag to atrunk-maker's a little further down Piccadilly, to be repaired. Thisbag had not been returned to the hotel, therefore it was quite probable,thought the hall-porter, that the trunk-maker had forwarded it to her.
"You know the people at the trunk-maker's, of course?" I said.
"Yes, sir. Many visitors here want repairs done to their boxes andbags."
"The _Bath Hotel_ is therefore a good customer?" I remarked. "Theywould certainly give you her address if you asked for it."
&n
bsp; He seemed a trifle dubious, but at my request went along to the shop,and a quarter of an hour later returned with an address.
She had not moved far, it appeared. Only to the _Midland Hotel_ at StPancras.
Late that night I myself left the _Grand_, and, assuming a name that wasnot my own, took a room at the _Midland_, in order to commence myobservations upon her movements. It was certainly a risky business, forI knew not when I might encounter her in the vestibule, in the lift, orin the public rooms. As soon as my room was assigned to me, I glancedthrough the list eagerly, but it was evident that if she were there she,too, had changed her name. In the long list of visitors was one, thatof Mrs Slade. Slade? The name was familiar. It was that of thedoctor who had given me back my sight. That name struck me as being themost probable. She occupied a room on the same floor as mine, numbered406. The door of that room I intended to watch.
My vigilance on the morrow was rewarded, for about eleven o'clock in themorning I saw Edna emerge from the room dressed to go out. She passedmy door and descended by the stairs, while I took my hat and swiftlyfollowed her at a safe distance from observation.
The porter called her a hansom, and I saw her neat, black-robed figuremount into the conveyance. She had a letter in her hand, and read theaddress to the porter, who in turn repeated it to the driver.
Meanwhile, I had entered another cab, and telling the man to keep Edna'scab in sight, we drove along King's Cross Road and Farringdon Street tothe City, passing along Gresham Street and Lothbury. Suddenly the cab Iwas following turned into Austin Friars, while my driver, an intelligentyoung fellow, pulled up at the corner of Throgmorton Street and said--
"We'd better wait here, sir, if you don't want the lady to notice us.She's going into an office at number 14, opposite the Dutch Church."
"Get down," I said, "and try and find out whose office she's gone into,"and I added a promise to give him an extra gratuity for so doing.
"Very well, sir," he answered. I sat back, hiding my face in anewspaper for fear of being recognised in that great highway ofbusiness, while he went along Austin Friars to endeavour to discoverwhose offices she had entered.
Some ten minutes later he returned with the information that the ladyhad entered the office of a moneylender named Morrison.
The thought occurred to me that she was perhaps still endeavouring toraise the loan for Prince Ferdinand. If so, however, why had she leftthe _Bath Hotel_ and endeavoured to conceal her identity under anothername?
After twenty minutes or so she came out rather flushed and excited,stood for a moment in hesitation upon the kerb, and then giving hercabman an address was driven off. I, of course, followed, but judge myastonishment when the cab pulled up in Old Broad Street and she alightedat Winchester House. After a few moments she found the brass platebearing my name, and ascending to my office, for what purpose I knewnot, and, fearing to reveal my presence in London, I could notascertain.
I sat there in the cab in full view of that row of windows, with theirwire blinds bearing my name, an exile and a fugitive, wondering whatmight be the object of her visit. It was not, however, of longduration, but when she descended again she was accompanied by mysecretary Gedge, who handed her into her cab and afterwards took hisseat beside her. By his manner it was evident they were not strangers,and it became impressed upon me that, in those lost days of mine, I musthave had considerable dealings with her and her princely employer.
They drove to the Liverpool Street Railway-Station, where she dispatcheda telegram; then they lunched at Crosby Hall.
I feared, of courser to approach them sufficiently near to overheartheir conversation, but I peered into the restaurant and saw themsitting at a table in earnest conversation, the subject of which wasevidently myself.
It was a wearisome task waiting for her in Bishopsgate Street, but Ilunched in a neighbouring public-house off a glass of sherry and abiscuit, while my cabman partook gladly of the homely "half-pint" at myexpense, until at length they both came forth.
Gedge called her a cab, and then took leave of her, while I followed herback to the _Midland_, having successfully accomplished my first essayat watching her movements.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
TWO WORDS.
For two days the woman I was watching did not go out. I learnt from thechambermaid who, like all her class, was amenable to half a sovereign inher palm, that she was unwell, suffering from a slight cold. Then Itook the servant into my confidence, and told her that I was in thehotel in order to watch Mrs Slade's movements, giving her to understandthat any assistance she rendered me would be well paid for.
I had an object in view, namely, to enter her room in her absence, andascertain the nature of any letters or papers which might be in herpossession. This I managed to effect, with the connivance of thechambermaid, on the following afternoon. Indeed, the chambermaidassisted me in my eager search, but beyond a few tradesmen's bills andone or two unimportant private letters from friends addressed to her atthe _Royal Hotel_ at Ryde, I found nothing. The dispatch-box with thecoronet was locked, and she carried the key upon her bangle. I madecareful search through all her belongings, the chambermaid standingguard at the door the while, and in the pocket of one of her dresseshanging in the wardrobe I discovered a crumpled telegram.
I smoothed it out, and saw that it had been dispatched fromPhilippopolis, in Bulgaria, about three weeks before, and was addressedto "Mrs Grainger, _Royal Hotel_, Ryde." Its purport, however, I wasunable to learn, for it was either in cipher, or in the Slav language,of which I had no knowledge whatever.
Again baffled, I was about to relinquish my search, when, in the pocketof a long driving-coat of a light drab cloth, I found a letter addressedto her at Ryde, and evidently forwarded by the hotel-clerk.
I caught sight of my own name, and read it through with interest.
"I suppose you have already heard from your friend Gedge, who keeps youin touch with everything, all the most recent news of Heaton," theletter ran. "It appears that he was found on the floor of one of therooms at Denbury, with a wound in his head. He had suddenly gone out ofhis mind. The doctor said that the case was a serious one, but beforearrangements could be made for placing him under restraint he hadescaped, and nothing since has been heard of him. The common idea isthat he has committed suicide owing to business complications. Theyare, to tell the truth, beginning to smell a rat in the City. ThePrince's concessions have not turned out all that they were supposed tobe, and by a side wind I hear that your friend's financial status,considerably weakened during the past few weeks, has, owing to hissudden and unaccountable disappearance, dropped down to zero. If youcan find him, lose no time in doing so. Remember that he must not beallowed to open his mouth. He may, however, be still of use, for hiscredit has not altogether gone, and I hear he has a very satisfactorybalance at his bankers. But find out all from Gedge, and then write tome."
There was neither signature nor address.
The words, "he must not be allowed to open his mouth," were, inthemselves, ominous. Who, I wondered, was the writer of that letter?The postmark was that of "London, E.C.," showing that it had been postedin the City.
I read it through a second time, then replaced it, and after somefurther search returned to my own room.
When the maid brought my hot water next morning she told me that MrsSlade had announced her intention to leave at eleven o'clock; thereforeI packed, and leaving slightly earlier, was enabled to follow her cab toVictoria Station, whence she travelled to Brighton, putting up at the_Metropole_. I pursued similar tactics to those I had adopted inLondon, staying in the same hotel and yet contriving never to be seen byher. She went out but seldom. Sometimes in the morning she wouldstroll beneath her pale mauve sunshade along the King's Road, or atevening take an airing on the pier, but she apparently lived an aimlesslife, spending her time in reading novels in her own apartment. As faras I could learn, she met no one there, and only appeared to be killingtime and
waiting. After a fortnight she moved along to Hastings, thenceto Ilfracombe, and afterwards to Hull.
We arrived at the _North-Eastern Hotel_ at Hull one evening towards theend of August, having travelled by the express from London. Throughnearly a month I had kept close watch upon her, yet none of hermovements had been in the least suspicious. She lived well, alwayshaving her own sitting-room, although she had no maid. Those days ofwatchfulness were full of anxiety, and I had to resort to all sorts ofingenious devices to prevent observation and recognition.
The station hotel at Hull is comfortable, but by no means a gay place ofresidence, and for several days I wondered what might be her object invisiting that Yorkshire port. The room adjoining her sitting-room onthe second floor became vacant on the third day after our arrival, and Ifortunately succeeded in obtaining it. She entertained no suspicionthat I was following her, although I dogged her movements everywhere.
In Hull she only went out twice, once to a stationer's inWhitefriar-gate, and on the other occasion to the telegraph office. Asat Brighton and Ilfracombe, she still appeared to be waiting in patiencefor the arrival of some one whom she expected.
About nine o'clock one evening, after she had remained nearly a week inHull, always taking her meals in her own room and passing her time inreading, I had returned from the coffee-room, and was about to go forthfor a stroll, when suddenly I heard a waiter rap at her door andannounce a visitor.
A locked door separated her sitting-room from mine, and standing by it,listening eagerly, I heard the sound of rustling paper, the hurriedclosing of a box, and her permission to show the visitor up.
A few minutes passed in silence. Then I heard some one enter, and aman's voice exclaimed with a distinctly foreign accent--
"Ah, my dear Edna! At