seeher friends, wives of working-men like herself, and they had gossiped,had high tea and discussed the affairs of the neighbourhood.
"Tibbie," I said, presently, after we had been chatting some time, "I amcompelled to leave London, and I confess I am very apprehensive on yourbehalf."
"Leave London!" she exclaimed. "Why?"
"It is imperative. Winsloe is watching me, and is doing all he can todiscover you. Every time I come here I run a great risk."
"I know," she said, frowning. "His spies are no doubt dogging yourfootsteps everywhere."
"Then your position here is unsafe. You would do better to escape fromLondon now, and hide in the country--say in one of the larger towns inthe north."
"Yes; but the police are in search of me, remember. The mater and Jackhave raised a hue and cry. They think I've met with foul play."
"Then all the more reason why you should slip out of London. Thecountry police are slower, and you will stand less chance ofrecognition."
She sighed, exclaiming,--
"Ah, Wilfrid! It is cruel--cruel of them to hunt me down as they arenow doing. Where shall I go? Where do you intend going?"
"Anywhere--out of London. What about Leeds? Neither of us know anyonethere."
She was silent a moment. Then said, "I am in your hands entirely,Wilfrid, and will go to Leeds if you think I can travel without beingrecognised."
"If I anticipated any risk I would not allow you to undertake it," Isaid. "We will go this evening by the 5:45 from King's Cross--`Oswin'strain,' as they call it, because he is the caterer for the dining-car."
"Very well," she answered. "As you wish. But before we go will you dome a favour? Go to the _Daily Telegraph_ office and put in anadvertisement for me."
"An advertisement!" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Yes," she laughed, rather nervously. "I want to--I mean it isnecessary that I should communicate with a friend."
I said nothing, but stood watching her as she took out half a sheet ofnotepaper and commenced to print three lines of jumbled capitals andnumerals--an advertisement apparently in the cipher which I had takenfrom the dead unknown.
Her action astounded me, but I managed to remain as though interestedbut ignorant.
"Why in this cipher?" I asked, when she handed it to me, requesting meto go to Fleet Street after our midday dinner.
"Because--well, because I don't wish it to be read by other people. Itis for the eye of one person only."
I placed it in my pocket without further comment, and after we had eatentogether I went out to do her bidding.
While seated in the tram-car in the Old Kent Road I took out the mysticmessage she had written, and with the key which I had fortunatelycarried away with me from Bolton Street I deciphered the words she hadpenned.
They read,--
"To Nello.--Will make appointment when safe for us to meet. Note thatEric is in Paris. I still trust you.--S."
I sat staring at the paper like a man in a dream.
Was Tibbie, the woman I had promised to save and for whose sake I wassacrificing everything, reputation, honour, even my life, actuallyplaying me false?
How did she know that Eric was in Paris? Was that really true?
And who was Nello to whom she sent that message of trust?
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
GIVES A MESSAGE TO NELLO.
A little after ten o'clock that same evening, in our guise as workingpeople, we walked along the Briggate, in Leeds, and presently found asmall eating-house, where Tibbie obtained accommodation for the night.
Dressed as we were, Tibbie's trunk at the station, and a small bag in myhand, I was unable to go to any of the larger hotels. Therefore, aftersupping off a chop and tomatoes, washed down with a tankard of ale, Ibade her good-night and went off to find a bed round in CommercialStreet.
Next day, in the dull grey morning, we walked the busy streets ofLeeds--Kirkgate, Bond Street, Albion Street, and the neighbouringthoroughfares--and took counsel with each other. Her advertisement,which I saw printed in that morning's _Telegraph_ puzzled me. Yet Icould not admit knowledge of the cipher without also admitting that Iwas in possession of the key.
I showed it to her in the paper, but she only smiled and thanked me,saying,--
"I suppose you suspect that I am communicating with some lover--eh?"
"Well, Tibbie," I remarked, in as calm a voice as I could command, "Imust admit that I'm much surprised. You seem, somehow, to be misleadingme."
"Because I am compelled to do so," was her frank, outspoken answer.
I longed to ask right out who was the man Nello--brief for Lionel--theman to whom she sent a secret message of trust.
We were passing St John's Churchyard towards North Street, and had beendiscussing the advisability of her taking a furnished room in one of therespectable houses in Roundhay Road, where we had seen "Apartments tolet: Furnished," when, catching her countenance, I suddenly said,--
"Eric has disappeared. He left Bolton Street some days ago, and I'veheard nothing of him. I'm getting very anxious."
"Eric!" she echoed. "Well, he's hardly the kind of a man to disappear,is he? I've often heard from his friends that he goes away abroadfrequently and forgets to write. Perhaps he's abroad now."
She did not tell me that he was in Paris, the statement which she madein secret to the man she called Nello.
I discussed the subject further, but she steadfastly refused to admitthat she knew of his whereabouts. By her attitude I was much mystified.
Neither the Sussex Constabulary nor the Scarcliffs themselvesentertained the slightest suspicion that the sudden departure of theHonourable Sybil from Ryhall had any connection with the mysteriousaffair in Charlton Wood. I had made careful inquiry when I had visitedold Lady Scarcliff at Grosvenor Street, and young Lady Wydcombe, visitswhich I had purposely made in town in order to allay any suspicion thatI was aware of Tibbie's place of hiding.
The whole family were, of course, extremely anxious, and I was compelledto play a double game, pretending to make every inquiry in thosequarters in London where she was so well known. I had even inventedstories as to her having been seen at Oddenino's at supper, with twoother ladies, and accompanied by both ladies on the departure platformat St Pancras, stories concocted with a dual purpose, to reassure Jackand his mother that she was well, and also to mislead those who were soeagerly in search of her.
As we walked side by side through that busy centre of commercial life,all of which was so strange to her, I expressed regret that she couldtell me nothing further.
"If I knew the truth," I said, "it would enable me to steer clear ofpitfalls, and render your life happier and brighter."
"You are posing as my husband," she said, looking straight into my facewith those wonderful eyes of hers. "Your self-sacrifice is surelygreat, Wilfrid, for one who entertains no affection. When a man loveshe will do anything--he will ruin himself for the sake of a woman, as somany do. But when love is absent it is all so different."
And she sighed and turned her head away. She was a neat, demure littlefigure in her cheap black dress, her small toque, and her black cottongloves, with the false badge of matrimony underneath.
"I cannot for the life of me imagine what safeguard I am to you--pretending to be your husband."
"Ah?" she said. "You will know everything some day--some day you willrealise my awful peril," and her mouth closed tightly as tears welled inher eyes. Did she refer to the crime in Charlton Wood? That afternoonwe engaged apartments in what seemed to be a pleasant little house inRoundhay Road, kept by an honest old Yorkshire woman, who spoke broadlyand welcomed us warmly. Therefore Tibbie obtained her trunk from thecloak-room, and took up her abode there, while I explained my enforcedabsence from my wife, saying that I was compelled to go to Bradford.Instead of that, however, I returned to my quarters in CommercialStreet, and met her in Kirkgate at eleven o'clock next morning.
Ours was a strange, adventurous life in t
he days that followed, and wereit not for the veil of mystery upon everything, and the grave suspicionwhich I still entertained of my dainty little companion, it would haveall been very pleasant.
In order to kill time, as well as to avoid being met in Leeds togetherby our landlady, we visited the various outlying places of interest,Kirkstall with its ruined abbey and its umbrageous landscapes, the oldchurch of Adel with the pretty glen, _par excellence_ a walk for lovers,Cookridge Hall, Chapeltown, the village on the Great North Road whereone obtains such magnificent views, and lastly the splendid old mansionof Temple Newsham, where walking in the park one sunny, afternoon Tibbiehalted, and looking away to the distant Tudor mansion, said,--
"How strange life is, Wilfrid. Only two years ago I