secret knowledge which he refused to betray, and his evidentfear lest the dead man be identified, aroused our serious suspicions.
"I wonder," suggested Eric, when we were alone in my room on the nightof the inquest, "I wonder whether Ellice was in hiding in those busheswatching us search the body? Do you know, the idea has been in my mindall day," he added.
"If he was, then we are placed in a very awkward position," I said. "Hemay make a statement to the police."
"No. I don't think he'll do that. If he did he would betray his ownknowledge," was my friend's answer.
The next day passed uneventfully, and beyond the general surprise atTibbie's continued absence there was nothing unusual in the household atRyhall Place.
Late that night Mason returned, saying that her mistress had driven thecar to the Bath Hotel, at Bournemouth, and put it into the garage.Three hours later she left the hotel to go for a walk, but did notreturn. After she had gone the maid had, it seemed, found a letter inwhich her mistress ordered her to remain there until Wednesday, andtelling her that if she did not return then she was to go back to Ryhalland send the chauffeur to Bournemouth for the car.
Mason, used to Tibbie's erratic ways, thought little of it. Hermistress travelled a great deal, had a very large circle of friends, andbesides, was entirely unconventional and knew well how to take care ofherself. Therefore the maid had remained until midday on Wednesday andthen returned to Ryhall.
"I'm getting a little anxious about Tibbie," remarked old Lady Scarcliffin the drawing-room that evening. "This kind of thing is not at allproper--flying about the country alone."
Jack laughed.
"No good worrying about Tibbie, mater. She'll turn up all rightto-morrow, or you'll get a wire from her. You remember that time shemet the Hursts in Nice and went off yachting with them down theMediterranean, and we didn't know where she was for three weeks. Andthen she calmly said she'd quite forgotten to tell us where she wasgoing."
"Ah, I remember," said the viscountess, a kind-faced old lady whom Iliked immensely. "I do wish she would consider my feelings a littlemore."
With that the subject dropped.
Next morning I took leave of them all, and promising to meet Eric a fewdays later, took the train up to town to keep the secret tryst with mylittle friend who had so suddenly disappeared.
As I stood at the kerb looking up and down the wet pavement with itsbusy, hurrying crowd carrying umbrellas, I knew that I had commenced avery dangerous game. Would she keep her appointment? Did she reallyintend to go into voluntary exile in some mean street in one of thedismal southern suburbs? Was it possible that she who had from herbirth been used to every luxury and extravagance could pose successfullyas the wife of a compositor with forty shillings a week?
Ah! would not her very voice, her smart expressions, betray her as alady?
I heard the rumbling of a train below, and once again up the grimystairs came a long string of eager men and women returning from the Cityto their homes, tumbling over each other in their anxiety to get backafter the day's toil. They swept past me along the Pentonville Road,and then I stood again, reflecting and watching, until suddenly a figurein neat black halted before me, and I found myself face to face with thefugitive.
"Tibbie!" I cried. "Then you've really come, after all?"
"Of course," was her answer in a low, half-frightened tone. "When Imake an appointment I keep it. Where shall we go? We can't talk here,can we?"
A hansom was passing, and hailing it we got in hurriedly. I told theman to drive across Waterloo Bridge to the Elephant and Castle, aneighbourhood where we would be both quite unknown. Then, as I sankbeside her, she asked, with a pretty, mischievous smile,--
"Well, Wilfrid, and how do you like me as your wife?"
"My wife!" I echoed. "By Jove, yes. I forgot that," and I recollectedthe strange game I was playing.
"Don't Mason's things fit me well? She's just my figure. I took thisdress, jacket and hat from her box and put them into mine when I leftRyhall in the car. I thought they'd come in useful."
I looked at her, and saw that with her brown hair brushed severely fromher forehead, her small close-fitting hat and slightly shabby blackjacket she was quite a demure little figure. The exact prototype of thenewly-married wife of a working-man.
"It's really quite a suitable get-up, I think," I said, laughing.
"Yes. I've decided to explain to the curious that I was a lady's-maid,and that we've been married nearly a year. Recollect that--in order totell the same story. Where's the ring? Did you think of that?" Yes, Ihad thought of it. I felt in my vest pocket, and taking out the plainlittle band of gold that I had bought in a shop in Regent Street thatafternoon, placed it upon the finger, she laughing heartily, and thenbending to examine it more closely in the uncertain light of thegas-lamps in Gray's Inn Road.
"If I told you the truth, Wilfrid, you'd be horribly annoyed," she said,looking at me with those wonderful eyes of hers.
"No. What is it?" I asked.
"Well--only--only that I wish you were my real husband," she answeredfrankly. "If you were, then I should fear nothing. But it cannot be--Iknow that."
"What do you fear, Tibbie?" I asked, very seriously. "Tell me--do tellme."
"I--I can't--I can't now," was her nervous response in a harder voice,turning her gaze away from mine. "If I did, you would withdraw yourhelp--you would not dare to risk your own reputation and mine, as youare now doing, just because we are old boy-and-girl friends."
On we went through the streaming downpour along Chancery Lane and theStrand, the driver lowering the window, for the rain and mud werebeating into our faces.
"Well," I said, "and what do you suggest doing?"
"To-night I must disappear. I shall sleep in some obscure hotel acrossthe water, and to-morrow you must call for me, and we'll go together tofix upon our future `home.'" Then she inquired eagerly what impressionher absence had produced at Ryhall, and I told her.
For a time she remained serious and thoughtful. Her countenance hadchanged.
"Then Mason came back, as I ordered her?"
"Yes," I answered, "but won't she miss those things of hers you are nowwearing?"
"No. Because they were in a trunk that she had packed ready to send upto town. She won't discover they've gone for some weeks, I feel sure."
She described her night run from Chichester to Bournemouth, how she hadescaped from Mason, taken train direct up to Birmingham, remained thatnight at the Grand, then went on to Leicester, where she had spent aday, arriving in London that evening at seven o'clock. In Bull Street,Birmingham, she had been recognised by a friend, the wife of analderman, and had some difficulty in explaining why she was there alone.
Our present position was not without its embarrassments. I looked atthe pretty woman who was about to pose as my wife, and asked,--
"And what name shall we adopt? Have you thought of one?"
"No. Let's see," she said. "How about Morton--Mr and Mrs WilliamMorton?"
"All right, then after to-morrow I shall be known as William Morton,compositor?"
"And I shall be your very loving and devoted wife," she laughed, hereyes dancing. "In any case, life in Camberwell will be an entirely newexperience."
"Yes," I said. "I only hope we sha'n't be discovered. I must becareful--for I shall be compelled to lead a double life. I may befollowed one day."
"Yes, but it is for my sake, Wilfrid," she exclaimed, placing her smalltrembling hand upon my arm. "Remember that by doing this you are savingmy life. Had it not been for you I should have been dead three daysago. My life is entirely in your hands. I am in deadly peril," sheadded, in a low, desperate whisper. "You have promised to save me--andyou will, Wilfrid--I know you will!"
And she gripped my arm tightly, and looked into my face.
Notwithstanding her assumed gaiety of manner, she was in terror.
Was that dead, white face still haunting her--the face o
f the strangerwho had, in secret, fallen by her hand?
CHAPTER TEN.
EXPLAINS CERTAIN IMPORTANT FACTS.
That night she remained at a small quiet hotel near Waterloo Station, aplace patronised by third-class passengers from the West of England, andat ten o'clock next morning I called for her.
To disguise oneself as a working-man is no easy matter. I hadexperienced one difficulty which I had not foreseen, namely, how toallay the suspicions of my man, Budd, when he found me going out in thecheap clothes and hat I had purchased at an outfitter's in the LambethRoad on the previous