shouldgive no information to the police. She had drawn back in horror at thesight of the blood of the murdered man! Had she not, by her hesitation,admitted her own guilt?
"You don't trust me," she observed, with an air of bitter reproach.
"No," I answered, very bluntly; "I do not."
"You are at least plain and outspoken," she responded. "But as ourinterests are mutual, I surely may presume to advise you to accept theconditions. Life is better than death, even though one may be blind."
"And you hold back from me the chance to escape from this slow butinevitable fate unless I conform to your wishes?"
"I do."
"Such action as yours cannot inspire confidence."
"I am impelled by circumstances beyond my own control," she answered,with a momentary touch of sadness. "If you knew the truth you certainlywould not hesitate."
"Will you not tell me your name?"
"No. It is useless."
"At least, you can so far confide in me as to tell me your Christianname," I said.
"Edna."
"And you refuse your surname?"
"I do so under compulsion."
The water had by this time risen rapidly. My legs had become benumbed,for it now reached nearly to my knees.
"Why do you longer hesitate?" she went on. "Give me your word that youwill render the assistance I require, and we will at once escape. Letus lose no time. All this seems strange to you, I know; but some day,when you learn the real reason, you will thank me rather than think illof my present actions."
Her determination was, I saw plainly, the outcome of some terror whichheld her fettered, and I knew that, in order to save myself, I must giveher the promise she had so persistently desired to extract from me.
Therefore, with sudden determination, prompted by the natural, instinctof self-preservation than by any desire to assist her, I gave her mybond of secrecy.
Again she sighed deeply, as though released of some oppressive weight bymy words. Then our hands clasped in mutual trust, and without furtherword she led me to the opposite side of the noisome cellar into which myenemies had cast me.
"You shall never regret this decision," she assured me in a strainedvoice, trembling with emotion--"never, never!"
And with a sudden movement she raised my hand and touched it lightlywith her dry, fevered lips.
CHAPTER SIX.
HAND AND HEART.
This impulsive action of hers was as though she were deeply indebted tome. I stood motionless in wonderment.
But only for an instant. She left my side for a moment, and from thesound that escaped her lips appeared to be struggling to open some meansof egress from the place.
"Remain where you are," she said, "and I will return to you in a moment.The way out is rather difficult, and I shall be compelled to assistyou." Her voice sounded above me, as though she had somehow climbed tothe roof of the place.
I heard the drawing of a bolt and the clang of iron; then she climbeddown again to where I anxiously awaited her. The river flood had risenalarmingly, and was still entering rapidly.
"Come, let me guide you," she said, taking my arm and leading me to thewall. "Lift your foot, so!" and taking my foot, she placed it in a kindof narrow step in the rough stone wall, at the same time placing my handupon a piece of iron that seemed to be a large nail driven into themasonry. "Now climb very carefully," she went on.
Without hesitation, I raised myself from the ground slowly, and withinfinite care commenced to scale the wall, while she remained below,wading almost up to her waist in water.
"Take care that you don't strike your head," she cried warningly."Above you is a small hole just large enough for you to get through. Bevery careful, and take your time."
The one hand at liberty I stretched above my head, and found, as shedescribed, a square hole in the roof of the place, and, grasping thestone, I eventually managed to escape through it, finding myself at laststanding upon a boarded floor.
A few moments later she was again at my side, and by the clang of iron Iknew that the aperture of that fatal place was closed again.
I inquired of her where we were, but she only replied--
"I've already explained to you that to seek to elucidate the mystery ofthese adventures of yours is entirely useless. We have promised to eachother mutual faith. That is, in itself, sufficient."
Then, taking my arm, she hurriedly led me across the room, up somesteps, and along two long passages that ran at right angles to eachother, until at length we emerged into the street.
Where we were I had not the slightest idea. I only knew that we werebeside the river bank, for upon my ears there fell the shrill whistle ofa steam-tug.
With her arm linked in mine, and heedless of the water dripping from herskirts, she led me forward through a number of narrow turnings, until bythe bustle about me I knew that we must have reached a main road.
I heard the approaching hoot of a taxi, and the vehicle, at her demand,pulled up at the kerb.
"We must now part," she said, in a low, earnest voice. "Remember thatin this remarkable affair our interests are absolutely identical. Anyorder that you receive you will obey without seeking to discover the whyor wherefore, and above all, silence to the police."
"I have promised," I answered.
"And whatever may occur in the future, recollect that I am still yourprotectress, as I have been to-day. I have forced you to your promise,but for that I ask your forgiveness, because it is essential, if themystery is ever to be solved."
"Are you, too, seeking the truth?"
"Yes," she responded. "But we must not talk here. The condition of ourclothes is attracting attention."
"I shall think always of the mysterious Edna who refuses allinformation," I laughed.
"And I, too, shall not easily forget you--and all I owe to you.Farewell."
Her soft hand grasped mine for an instant, that same cool hand that hadsoothed my brow. Afterwards she assisted me into the cab.
"Good-bye," she cried. Then she became lost to me.
I told the driver where to go, and sat back in the vehicle, plunged inmy own thoughts. I was like a man in a dream. The mystery was mosttantalising. Feeling weak, I stopped at a public-house and had somebrandy. Indeed, I felt so unwell that I sat in the bar-parlour fullyhalf an hour before resuming my drive.
Suddenly I recollected that I might gather something from the driver,and I inquired where he had taken me up.
"In Albert Road, Battersea, sir."
This surprised me, for I had no idea that I had been on the Surrey sideof the river.
I explained to the man my blindness, and asked him to describe the ladywho had put me into this cab.
"Well, sir," he said, "she was very pretty indeed, with grey eyes anddarkish hair."
"She was good-looking--eh?"
"Yes, sir. I don't think I've ever seen a much prettier young lady."
I sighed. How tantalising it was that my poor sightless eyes had beenunable to gaze upon her.
"Describe her more closely," I urged. "I'm anxious to know exactly whatshe's like."
"She had lovely eyes, sir. Her hair seemed a bit untidy, but it was apretty shade of dark-brown. Her face seemed innocent-looking, like achild's. I was surprised to see her like that."
"Like what?"
"Half-drowned like. She had on a black skirt that seemed soaking wetthrough, and covered with mud. She looked in an awful plight, and yether face was merry and smiling. She took another cab as soon as sheparted from you, and drove after us across the Albert Bridge, and thendown Oakley Street. There she stopped the cab to speak to some one."
"Who was it?" I asked eagerly.
"A woman. But I couldn't see distinctly. They were too far away, andturned down Cheyne Walk, so I didn't see 'em any more."
"You say that her clothes were very dirty?"
"Yes, worse than yours, and, great Scott! sir, they're bad enough.You'll want to send 'em to the
cleaners when you get 'ome."
What the man said was perfectly true. The slime of the river emitted asickening stench, but it fortunately served to conceal one thing,namely, the blood-stains upon my coat.
I laughed at this remark of his, but I had no intention to enter uponexplanations.
"From her appearance did my companion lead you to believe that she was alady?"
"Oh yes, sir. By her manner you'd tell her as a lady among tenthousand."
"There was nothing noticeable about whereby I might recognise her again?Try and recollect."
"No, sir," answered the man. "She was a very beautiful young lady, andthat's all I noticed."
"You'd know her again if you saw her?"
"I should just say I would," laughed the man. "When a chap sees a womanas lovely as she is it ain't likely he'll forget her, even though he mayhave a wife and 'arf a dozen kids at 'ome."
"You're smitten by her beauty, it seems," I laughed. "What's yourname?"
"West, sir--Tom West. Number L.C.432. I stand on the rank at Hyde ParkCorner."
"Well, West," I said, taking a card out of my case, and handing it tohim, "if you ever see that lady again, and can find out who and what sheis, and where she lives, I'll give you a present--say twenty pounds."
"Twenty quid!" the man echoed with a whistle. "I'd like to touch theoof, sir, and you bet I'll keep my weather eye open."
"As soon as you've found her, let me know, and the money is yours. Youunderstand that's a bargain."
"Right you are, sir. I'll do my very best."
"If you only knew the driver of the cab she took after we parted youmight, perhaps, learn something."
"That's just what I'm thinking," he said. "The man who drove her was, Ibelieve, an old fellow that we know as `Doughy' but I'm not at all sure.However, as soon as I set you down I'll go and find him. A driver isdifficult to recognise if he wears another overcoat, you see. That'swhy I'm not certain that it really was `Doughy'."
By the sharp descent of the roadway I knew that we were already in EssexStreet, and a few moments later I had paid the man West and wasascending the stair to my own chambers.
The enlistment into my service of this man, the only person who had seenthe mysterious Edna, was, I congratulated myself, a very shrewd andclever commencement of the investigation which I intended, at allhazards, to carry out.
Indeed, my only means of tracing her was through the intermediary ofthis one man, who had seen her and remarked upon her marvellous beauty.He seemed a sharp, witty fellow, and I therefore entertained everyconfidence in his efforts to earn the promised reward. He was now onhis way to find his colleague, the old driver "Doughy," and if Edna hadactually taken his cab I should, without doubt, soon be in possession ofsome information.
Thus, with a light step and reassured feeling, I ascended the stairs,wondering what old Mrs Parker would say to my protracted absence, andhow I should explain it to her. I took out my latch-key and opened thedoor.
As I entered the tiny lobby that served the dual purpose of hall and aplace in which to hang coats, a startling sound broke upon my ears--thesound of a woman's cry.
In an instant I drew back. Fresh mystery greeted me. I stood thererigid, speechless, aghast.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE MYSTERY IS INCREASED.
The voice which greeted me was that of a woman surprised by my suddenentrance; and walking swiftly forward to investigate, I passed into myown dingy sitting-room.
"I have a visitor, it seems," I exclaimed, stopping short. "May I notknow your name?"
There was no response. Instinctively I knew that the woman I had thusdisturbed was still present in that room wherein I spent so many lonelyhours. Her startled cry was sufficient to convince me that she wasthere for some secret purpose. What, I wondered, could it be?
"Speak," I urged. "Kindly explain your business with me, and the reasonof your presence here."
Yet she uttered no word of response, and apparently did not move.
I advanced, crossing towards the window, where I believed she must bestanding, but with a quick movement my mysterious visitor eluded me,passing me by so near that her warm breath fanned my cheek, and nextinstant she had escaped and slammed the outer door of my chambers.
I stood wondering. Her presence there was most extraordinary. Thefaithful Parker, too, was absent, a circumstance which arousedmisgivings within me. Could this strange female visitor have enteredthe place with a false key; or was she a mere pilferer whom I haddisturbed in her search for plunder? Numbers of female thieves hauntthe London streets, and it seemed more than likely that she was one whohad ascended the stairs on pretence of selling something or other.
At any rate, I had returned at an unexpected moment, or she would nothave given vent to that involuntary cry of dismay. I groped about thefamiliar room in order to ascertain whether it were disordered, butcould find nothing whatsoever out of place. I called Parker loudly byname, but all was silence save the quick ticking of the timepiece uponthe mantelshelf.
The clock of St Clement Danes chimed merrily, then slowly struck thehour. I counted, and found that it was eleven o'clock in the morning.How much had happened during the past fifteen hours! I had twice nearlylost my life.
Having cast aside my hat, I sank into my armchair, muddy and dirty, justas I was. My head, where it had been struck in the accident, pained meconsiderably, and I felt that I had a touch of fever coming on. Yet allmy thoughts were concentrated upon the future and what the curiousalliance with my strange protectress might bring upon me. Surely no manhad ever found himself in a more remarkable situation than I was at thatmoment; certainly no man could be more mystified and puzzled. Deeply Ipondered again and again, but could make nothing of that tangled web ofstartling facts.
By no desire or inclination of my own I had fallen among what appearedto be very undesirable company, and had involuntarily promised to becomethe assistant of some person whom I could not see. The strangeoppression that fell upon me seemed precursory of evil.
My wet clothes sticking to me chilled me to the bone, and, with a suddenresolve to shake off the gloomy apprehensions that seemed to havegripped my heart, I rose and passed into my own room to wash and get achange of clothing.
The prolonged absence of Parker caused me much wonder. She never wentout unless to go into the Strand to purchase the diurnal steak ortri-weekly chop which constituted my chief sustenance; or, perhaps, onSunday afternoon she would, on rare occasions, go "to take a cup o' tea"with her daughter, who was a music-hall artiste, and lived somewhere offthe Kensington Road.
Having cleaned myself, I proceeded to dress the wound on my head, my ownmedical knowledge standing me in good stead, and when I hadsatisfactorily bandaged it and put on a dry suit of clothes, I gropedabout through the several small rooms which were my home. Nothingseemed disarranged, nothing missing--only the woman who had ever been sofaithful to me and had treated me as tenderly in my helplessness asthough I had been her own son.
In impatience I took a cigar, lit it, and sat down to wait. No doubt,when she returned I should find that she had been absent upon someerrand connected with her not-over-extensive _cuisine_. The thoughtgrew upon me that my promise to the mysterious Edna, whoever she mightbe, was a rashly foolish one, and must result in some very serious_contretemps_ for me. I had willingly given up my liberty of action andbecome the instrument of a person who had, without doubt, imposed uponme. It seemed most probable, now that I reflected, that she was actingin concert with the man who had so cleverly practised deception upon meand led me to believe that he was a police-constable. That man, it nowseemed plain, had followed me from the house of mystery, allowed me towander sufficiently far to lose my bearings, and then got on in front ofme so that I might approach and accost him. The whole affair had beencarried out with amazing ingenuity, and every precaution had apparentlybeen taken to conceal the remarkable tragedy. Yet the chief feature ofthe affair which puzzled me was the motive in
endeavouring to take mylife in that cellar beside the Thames. I had surely harmed no one, and,being utterly ignorant of the house wherein the affair had taken place,and also knowing me to be blind, they certainly could not fear anyrevelations that I might make. It was an enigma which I strove in vainto solve.
My gloomy thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a latch-keyin the outer door, and as I rose old Mrs Parker entered with anexpression of profound surprise.
"Why, sir?" she cried. "I understood that you'd gone away into thecountry!"
"Into the country?" I echoed. "Who told you so?"
"The lady you sent to tell me."
"Lady? What lady?" I inquired, amazed. "Surely, Parker, you've takenleave of your senses?"
"The lady came about an hour ago, sir, and said that you had sent her totell me that you would be absent for perhaps a week or so--that you hadgone down to your uncle's in Hampshire."
"I've sent no one," I responded, astounded at this fresh phase of theaffair. "What kind of lady was she--old or young?"
"Middle-aged."
"Well-dressed?"
"Yes, sir. She spoke with a funny kind of lisp, which made me think shemight be a foreigner. She said she knew you quite well, being a friendof your aunt's, and that you were travelling down to Hampshire thismorning, your uncle having been taken ill. I remarked