asyour maid, and that you refuse all information concerning her. Youknow, I daresay, that the police are actively trying to find her on theapplication of her brother, Lord Scarcliff?"
My threat caused her some consternation. I could see that from the wayshe fumed and fidgeted.
"To tell Lady Scarcliff such a thing would only be to throw a blame uponmyself of which I am entirely innocent," she protested. "I assure youthat if I knew where she had gone, I would tell you."
"No, pardon me, madam. You would not. You believe that I'm adetective."
"Your actions certainly betray you," she exclaimed resentfully. "You'vebeen watching us closely--for what reason?"
"Well," I replied slowly. "The fact is, I am fully aware of the secretlove existing between Sybil Burnet and Arthur Rumbold."
"Sybil and Arthur?" she cried, turning pale and looking me straight inthe face. "What do you mean? Arthur--my boy, Arthur!"
I nodded in the affirmative.
"Who are you?" she exclaimed, starting up breathlessly from her chair.She was in fear of me, I saw. "Who are you that you should know this?"she gasped.
"William Morton," was my cool reply. "I thought I sent my name up toyou this morning!"
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
COMPLICATIONS AND CONFESSIONS.
Next morning, after a night journey, I called at the Douglas Hotel, inNewcastle, and was informed that Mrs Morton had arrived on the previousevening.
At last I had run her to earth.
She sent word that she would see me in half an hour, therefore I idledalong Grainger Street West, killing time until she made her appearance.She approached me in the hall of the hotel smiling merrily and puttingout her hand in welcome. Her black dress seemed slightly the worse forwear owing to her constant travelling, yet she was as neat and dainty asever, a woman whose striking beauty caused every head to be turned asshe passed.
We went out, turning to walk towards Blackett Street, and then amid thebustle of the traffic began to talk. She asked me when I had arrived,and how I had fared in London.
I told her nothing of the success of my advertisements, or the discoveryof the plot so ingeniously formed against her, and allowed her tobelieve that I had only just arrived from London. I was waiting to seewhether she would explain her journey to Scotland, and her companionshipwith Mrs Rumbold.
But she said nothing. We walked on together through Albion Place, andpresently found ourselves in Leazes Park, that pretty promenade, gay insummer, but somewhat cheerless on that grey wintry morning.
"You were recognised in Carlisle," I exclaimed after we had beenchatting some time. "Tell me about it. I was surprised to get yournote, and I confess I was also somewhat alarmed. Was the person whorecognised you an enemy or a friend?"
"A friend," was her prompt reply. "But his very friendliness would, Iknew, be fatal to my interests, so I had to fly. He recognised me, evenin this dress, stopped me in the street, raised his hat and spoke. ButI discerned his intention, therefore I passed on with affectedindignation and without answering. Had I opened my mouth my voice mighthave betrayed me. I went on to Glasgow."
"And there? What happened?"
She glanced at me in quick suspicion. I saw she was embarrassed by myquestion.
"Happened?" she echoed, nervously. "What do you mean?"
We were in the Park, and quite alone, therefore I halted, and lookingher straight in the face exclaimed,--
"Something happened there, Sybil. Why don't you tell me?"
"Sybil," she said in a tone of reproach. "Am I no longer Tibbie to you,as of old? You are changed, Wilfrid--changed towards me. There issomething in your manner so very unusual. What is it?"
"I desire to know the truth," I said in a hard voice. "You are tryingto keep back things from me which I ought to know. I trust you, and yetyou do not trust me in return. Indeed, it seems very much as though youare trying to deceive me."
"I am not," she protested. "You still misjudge me, Wilfrid, and merelybecause there are certain things which it would be against my owninterests to explain at this moment. Every woman is permitted to havesecrets; surely I may have mine. If you were in reality my husband,then it would be different. Hitherto, you have been generosity itselftowards me. Why withdraw it now, at the critical moment when I mostrequire your aid and protection."
"Why?"
"Because in Glasgow I was recognised by one of my enemies," she said."Ah! you don't know what a narrow escape I had. He traced me--and camefrom London to hunt me down and denounce me. Yet I managed to meet himwith such careless ease that he was disarmed, and hesitated. And whilehe hesitated I escaped. He is still following me. He may be here, inNewcastle, for all I know. It we meet again, Wilfrid," she added in ahoarse, determined voice, "if we meet again it will all be hopeless. Mydoom will be sealed. I shall kill myself."
"No, no," I urged. "Come, don't contemplate such a step as that!"
"I fear to face him. I can never face him."
"You mean John Parham."
"Who told you?" she started quickly. "How did you know his name?"
"I guessed it. They told me at the hotel that you had had a visitor,and that you had soon afterwards escaped to the north."
"Do you actually know Parham?"
"I met him once," was my reply, but I did not mention the fellow'sconnection with the house with the fatal stairs.
"Does he know that we are friends?"
"How can I tell? But why do you fear him?"
"Ah, it is a long story. I dare not face that man, Wilfrid. Surelythat is sufficient."
"No. It is not sufficient," I replied. "You managed to escape and getup to Fort William."
"Ah! The man at the hotel told you so, I suppose," she said. "Yes, Idid escape, and narrowly. I was betrayed."
"By whom?"
"Unwittingly betrayed by a friend, I think," she replied, as we walkedon together towards the lake. On a winter's morning there are fewpeople in Leazes Park, therefore we had the place to ourselves, save forthe keeper strolling idly some distance away.
"Sybil," I exclaimed presently, halting again, and laying my hand uponher shoulder, "why are you not straightforward and outspoken with me?"
I recollected the postscript of the dead man's letter which I hadsecured in Manchester--the allegation that she was playing me false.
Her eyes were cast down in confusion at my plain question, yet the nextinstant she assumed a boldness that was truly surprising.
"I don't understand you," she declared with a light nervous littlelaugh.
"Then I suppose I must speak more plainly," I said. "It is a pity,Sybil, that you did not tell me the truth from your own lips."
She went pale as her eyes met mine in quick anxiety.
"The truth--about what?"
"About your love for Arthur Rumbold," I said very gravely, my gaze stillfixed steadily upon hers.
In an instant her gloved hands clenched themselves, her lips twitchednervously, and she placed her hand upon her heart as though to stop itswild beating.
"My love?" she gasped blankly--"my love for Arthur Rumbold?"
"Yes, your love for him."
"Ah! Surely you are cruel, Wilfrid, to speak of him--after--after allthat has lately happened," she burst forth in a choking voice. "Youcannot know the true facts--you cannot dream the truth, or that man'sname would never pass your lips."
"No," I said gravely. "I do not know the truth. I am in utterignorance. I only know that you met Mrs Rumbold at Fort William andtravelled back with her to Dumfries."
"That is quite true," she answered. "I have no wish to conceal it."
"But your love for her son--you have concealed that!"
"A woman who loves truly does not always proclaim it to the world," wasthe reply.
"Then if you love him why are you in hiding? Why are you masqueradingas my wife?" I demanded seriously. I was, I admit, piqued by herattitude, which I perhaps misjudged as defiant.
/> She shrugged her shoulders slightly, but met my gaze unflinchingly.
"You promised me your assistance," she sighed. "If you now regret yourpromise I willingly release you from it."
"I have no wish to be released," I answered. "I only desire to know thetruth. By a fortunate circumstance, Sybil, I have discovered yoursecret love for Arthur Rumbold--and yet at Ryhall you said you haddecided to marry Ellice Winsloe."
"A woman does not always marry the man she really loves," she argued."It is a regrettable fact, but horribly