his intention," whispered theinspector with satisfaction.
Again the newcomer had the same difficulty with the latch, but at lengththe door opened, letting in a flood of grey light into the hall, andthen closed again. We had drawn back behind the half-closed door of theroom wherein we had kept our night vigil, and standing there scarcelydaring to breathe, we watched a dark-haired young man in a brown tweedsuit ascend the stairs. He wore a thick travelling coat, a flat clothcap, and carried a well-worn brown handbag. Evidently he had just comeoff a night journey, for he sighed wearily as humming to himself heascended those fatal stairs.
Fortunately we had removed the settle back to its place, but on arrivalon the first landing we heard him halt and pull a creaking leversomewhere--the mechanism by which the six stairs were held fast andsecure. Then he went on up to the top and entered that well-furnishedlittle sitting-room.
For ten minutes we allowed him to remain there undisturbed--"Just toallow him to settle himself," as Pickering whispered grimly. Then oneby one the officers crept noiselessly up until we had assembled on thelanding outside the closed door.
Then, of a sudden, Pickering drew his revolver, threw open the door, andthe sleek-haired newcomer was revealed.
He fell back as though he had received a blow.
"We are police officers," explained Pickering, "and I arrest you."
Then we saw that from his bag he had taken out a suit of clothes andsome linen, which were flung upon a chair, while upon the table were twopackets of German bank-notes, amounting to a considerable sum. A thirdpacket he still held in his hand, for he had been in the act of countingthem when surprised.
His dark eyes met mine, and the fellow started.
"I know you!" he cried to me. "You are not a detective at any rate.You are Wilfrid Hughes."
"I have, I regret, not the pleasure of your acquaintance," was my quickanswer, somewhat surprised at his declaration.
"That woman has betrayed us--that woman, Sybil Burnet," he criedangrily, his eyes flashing at us. "She shall pay for this--by heaven,she shall! She defied me, but I have not yet said my last word. Arrestme to-day, and to-morrow she will be arrested also," he laughed,triumphantly.
"My name's Ralph Vickers--if you must know," he said to Pickering inreply to a question.
"And you're just back from Germany--eh? Arrived by the night mail _via_the Hook of Holland."
"Well, what of that?"
"And you've been to Germany to dispose of stolen property, and thismoney is the price you received for it. Am I not correct?"
"Find out," was the smooth-haired young man's insulting response.
"Take him to the station, Edwards, and ask Inspector Nicholls to stepround here with two plain-clothes men. I'll wait for him. Search theprisoner, and I'll charge him--when I come round."
And the young man, without a word, was conducted down the stairs. Thenthe inspector began counting the German notes rapidly, taking a note ofthe number in each of the packets secured by pins.
"We've done a good night's work, I think, Mr Hughes," he saidafterwards, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. "Thanks to you we'reon the track of one of the biggest criminal conspiracies that London hasknown for years. But," he added, "who's the woman that fellowmentioned--Sybil Burnet? He seems to know something against her--alleges that she's also a member of the gang. I think we'd betterarrest her, or in any case keep her under observation, for the instantshe hears of the arrests she'll, of course, fly."
I held my breath, and I think I must have turned pale at this unforeseenresult of my information against the malefactors. I recollected theaffair in Charlton Wood. What could I reply?
"It is true, Inspector Pickering, that I am acquainted with Miss SybilBurnet, but I have reason for being confident of her innocence."
"As you are confident of the innocence of your friend Domville--eh?" heasked dubiously with a sarcastic smile.
"Well," I said, desperately, "I am going now, at once, to see her. Andif you leave the matter in my hands and promise that I shall not befollowed, I, on my part, will promise that later she shall reply to anyquestions you may put to her."
He was only half-convinced.
"You take a great responsibility upon yourself, Mr Hughes," heremarked. "Why are you so anxious that this woman's whereabouts shouldnot be known?"
"To avoid a scandal," I said. "She is a gentlewoman."
Pickering smiled again.
"Well, Mr Hughes," he said with great reluctance, "that man Vickers hasmade a direct charge against her, and it must be investigated, as youquite understand, whether she be a gentlewoman or not. But I leave youto question her, on the understanding that you prevent her from warningthe other two men still at liberty--Parham and Winsloe. Probably theywill come here to-day to meet Vickers on his return from Germany--at anyrate, we shall be here in waiting for them."
What might not this terrible exposure mean to Sybil?
CHAPTER THIRTY.
IN WHICH SYBIL SPEAKS.
Sybil saw me from the window as I walked up Neate Street at ten o'clockthat morning. Then, letting myself in with the latchkey, I ascended thestairs, finding her as usual, fresh and dainty, although she was engagedin the prosaic operation of dusting the room.
"Why, Wilfrid!" she gasped, "what's the matter? You're not well,surely!" she cried in anxiety, coming forward towards me.
I threw my cap upon the couch, and halting upon the hearthrug, said in alow, serious voice,--
"Sybil, I think I may speak to you plainly, without preamble. I want toask you a simple question. Who is Ralph Vickers?"
The light died out of her face in an instant. She went pale and herwhite lips trembled at mention of that name.
She was silent. She made no response. The blow that she had so longdreaded had fallen!
"Tell me, Sybil," I urged in a low, kindly tone. "Who is this man?"
"Ah! no, Wilfrid!" she gasped at last, her face cast down as though inshame. "Don't ask that. How--how can I, of all women, tell you?"
"But you must," I said firmly. "All is known. The brutal devilishconspiracy of those men Parham, Winsloe and Vickers is exposed."
"Exposed! Then they know about that--about that awful house inClipstone Street?" she gasped, her eyes starting from her head in abjectterror.
"The horrible truth has been discovered. The police went to the houselast night."
"The police!"
"Yes, and Vickers, who is under arrest, has denounced you as one oftheir accomplices. Tell me," I cried hoarsely, "tell me, Sybil, thereal honest truth."
"I knew he would denounce me," she cried bitterly. "He has been mybitterest enemy from the very first. To that man I owe all my sorrowand degradation. He and his friends are fiends--veritable fiends inhuman shape--vampires who have sucked the blood of the innocent, andcast them away in secret in that dark house in Clipstone Street withoutmercy and without compunction. He carried out his threat once, anddenounced me, but he did not succeed in effecting my ruin. And now,when arrested he has told the police what--what, Wilfrid, is, alas! thetruth."
"The truth!" I gasped, drawing away from her in horror. "The truth,Sybil. Then you are really guilty," I wailed. "Ah! Heaven--I believedyou were innocent!"
She stood swaying to and fro, then staggering unevenly to the table,gripped it to save herself from falling.
Her countenance was bloodless and downcast.
"I--I thought to hide my secret from you, of all men," she faltered. "Ifeared that if you knew all you would hate and despise me, therefore mylips were sealed by fear of those men on the one hand, and on the otherbecause I still strove to retain you as my friend and protector. I haveremained silent, allowing you to form your own conclusions--nay," sheadded bitterly, "allowing you to place yourself in a position of greatpersonal peril, for I knew how they entrapped you in that awful place,and how they believed you dead like the others." And she paused, hernervous fingers twisting the cheap jet brooch at her throat
.
"But you will tell me now," I urged quickly, "you will tell me thetruth, Sybil."
"Yes--yes. I will confess everything," she exclaimed with an effort."Surely there is no woman so sad and unhappy in all London as I am atthis moment--as I have been these past two years! It commenced longago, but I'll relate it all as clearly and briefly as I can. You knowhow, in order to finish my education, I was sent to Madame Perrin's atVersailles. Well, on one of my journeys home for the summer holiday Imet in the train between the Gare du Nord and Calais an extremelyagreeable young Englishman, resident in Paris, who spoke to me,