Chapter Twenty Five.

Chapter Twenty Five.Whereby Richard Keene is Surprised.In the entrance-hall of the hotel I saw the man Logan, the man who held my love’s secret, seated in a chair patiently awaiting her summons. There were others, well-dressed men and women, in evening toilettes lounging there in the hour before retiring. It is curious with what studied ease women lounge at hotels. The woman who is alert and upright at home falls into the most graceful poses after dinner at a hotel, presumably to court the admiration of strangers.The man Logan, however, still wore his light overcoat over his dinner-jacket, and his head was buried in an evening paper, whether, however, this was to conceal his features or not I was unable to determine. Still, he was wanted by the police, and was therefore taking every precaution against being recognised. From where I stood at the back of the large square hall, I saw that his features had been slightly altered by the darkening of his eyebrows, undoubtedly with that object in view.As I stood watching unseen, a waiter approached, spoke to him, and then he followed the man upstairs to the presence of my adored.Had I done wrong in allowing the fellow to go to her alone? That was the thought which next moment seized me. Yet when I recollected her earnest appeal I could only remain lost in wonderment at her motive. But determined on watching the man in secret, I fetched my hat and overcoat, and sat patiently in the hall to await his return.The clock chimed eleven musically, and a party of Americans noisily left to catch the night mail to London. The staff changed, the night-porter came on duty, and the little group of idlers in the hall gradually diminished. Indeed, they grew so few that I feared in passing out he might recognise me. Therefore at half-past eleven I strode forth into the night. Princes Street with its long line of lights, looked bright and pleasant even at that hour, yet it was almost deserted save for one or two belated wayfarers.I took up my position at the railings on the opposite side of the road, from where I could see each person emerging from the hotel. Long and anxiously I waited, wondering what was transpiring in that room the window of which was straight before me. The blind was down, but no shadow was cast upon it, so I could surmise nothing.At last he came. For a moment he stood on the steps, evidently in hesitation. Then he descended and hurried away. I followed him closely, across the railway, up High Street, and then he plunged into an intricate labyrinth of narrow streets quite unknown to me. At the time I believed he was not aware that I was following him, but when I recollect how cleverly he evaded me I now quite recognise that he must have detected my presence from the first. At any rate, after leading me through a number of narrow thoroughfares in a low quarter of the city, he suddenly turned a corner and disappeared from my sight as completely as though he had vanished into air.My own idea is that he disappeared into a house—probably into one of those whose doors are open always as a refuge for thieves, and there are many in every big city in the kingdom, houses where pressure on the door causes it to yield and close again noiselessly, and from which there is an exit into another thoroughfare.I spent some little time in making an examination of the houses at the spot where he had so suddenly become lost, but finding myself baffled, turned, and after wandering for a full half-hour lost in those crooked streets of old Edinburgh, I at last found myself in a thoroughfare I recognised, and turned to the hotel more than ever convinced of the man’s shrewdness.Next morning, at ten o’clock, I found Lolita alone in her sitting-room, and on entering saw by her countenance that the night had, for her, been a sleepless one.“Well,” I said, raising her hand reverently to my lips as was my wont, “and what was the result of last night’s interview?”She drew a long breath, shook her head sadly, and replied—“The situation is, for me, as perilous as it ever was. I am now convinced that what you have said regarding Marigold is right—she actually is my enemy, and yet I have foolishly taken her into my confidence!”“But you are still hopeful?” I asked anxiously. “This man Logan has surely not refused to stand your friend?”“He refuses to tell me certain facts which, if revealed, would place me in a position of safety,” she responded blankly.“But he must be compelled!” I cried. “I will compel him.”“Ah! you cannot,” she cried despairingly. “If you approach him, you will upset everything. He must not know of your visit to me. If he did it would be fatal—fatal.”I held my breath, for had I not foolishly betrayed my presence to him on the previous night? And had he not cleverly tricked me? I hesitated whether to tell my love the bitter truth of my injudicious act, but at last resolved to do so, and explained the incident briefly, just as I have related it to you.“Ah?” she exclaimed. “Then I fear that all I have arranged with him will be of no avail. He will now believe that I intend to play him false. My only hope now lies in Richard Keene.”“Then I will return to him and act as you wish,” I said.She stood thoughtfully looking out of the window for a long time. At last she said—“I think it best, after all, to return to Sibberton. My aunt had a letter from George this morning asking her to join the house-party at once, and she seems anxious to do this and go to Lord Penarth’s afterwards.”“Very well,” I said eagerly; “let us all return together.” I felt somehow that she would be safer at home beneath my protection than wandering about in hotels exposed to the perils which her unscrupulous enemies were placing before her.And so it happened that on that same night we joined the party assembled in the drawing-room at Sibberton just before dinner, and there, in front of them all, the young Earl introduced Keene and Lolita, believing them to be unacquainted.At the instant the introduction was made I chanced to glance around, and there saw Marigold standing in the doorway, her face pale as death. She had been out, and being unaware of Lolita’s return was, I saw, amazed and filled with apprehension, while Keene on his part bowed over my love’s hand with a distant respect as though they were perfect strangers.Dinner was, as usual, a long function, served with that stateliness and ceremony that characterised everything in the Stanchester household. George made a point of preserving punctiliously all the ancient traditions of his noble house, even to the ceremony, and, after the port, of passing round the snuff to the men in the great old silver box that had been a present of King James the Second to the Earl of his time.I saw that Marigold was ill at ease at Lolita’s return. She had whispered something to her as they went in to dinner, but what it was I knew not. Keene, on the other hand, preserved an utter disregard of what was in progress, except that once I detected a meaning glance cast at the brilliant hostess upon whose throat scintillated the wonderful Stanchester diamonds.Afterwards, in order to learn something more, I played billiards with him. We were alone in the room, for bridge and music were attracting the others. He was, I found, an excellent player, yet not in good practice.“You know,” he said apologetically, “I get so little billiards, living as I do mostly in the forest. I played a good deal in town a few years ago, but nowadays rarely ever touch a cue.”I complimented him upon a break of eighteen he had that moment made, whereupon he exclaimed suddenly—“Oh, by the way! Lord Stanchester told me yesterday that it was you who discovered that mysterious affair in the park here some time ago. Tell me all about it. I’m always fond of mysteries.”He hid his dark-bearded face from me, occupying himself in chalking his cue. But his demand told me that, as I expected, he had not recognised me as Warr’s visitor on the evening when, tired and dusty, he had refreshed himself at theStanchester Arms.“I suppose you read all about it in the papers?” I said, not quite understanding his motive.“George showed me some of the accounts. Most extraordinary affair—wasn’t it? They don’t even know the poor fellow’s name, do they?”“The police axe in ignorance of it as far as I know,” was my response.“But explain to me the exact position in which you found him,” he urged, leaving off playing, leaning with his back against the stone mantelshelf, and drawing heavily at his cigar. “I take a keen interest in such matters as this. Out after big game, we become almost like detectives so necessary it is to follow clues and footprints.”“Well,” I said, “I simply heard a cry in the darkness, and got Warr, the publican from the village, to help me to search—and we found him.”“He was dead, of course—quite dead?” he asked eagerly, as though, it seemed, in fear that the victim had still been conscious and had spoken.“Quite,” I replied, still much puzzled. He had himself invited me to billiards, and it seemed for the purpose of obtaining from me the exact details of the discovery. “He had been struck a cowardly blow in the back which the doctors declared must have proved fatal at once.”“You heard his cry?” he said, looking me straight in the face. “It was that which attracted you?”“I heardacry,” was my answer.“Ah! Then you didn’t recognise the voice?”“How could I recognise the voice of a person unknown to me?” I asked.“I mean that the cry was a man’s?”“No—a woman’s.”“What?” he exclaimed, taking his cigar from his lips, and staring at me with a hardness at the corners of his mouth. “Are you quite sure of that? It isn’t in the evidence I’ve read.”“I know it isn’t,” I said. “There are several things known to me that are not in the depositions.”“And what are they?”“Matters which concern only myself,” I replied. “I’m endeavouring to obtain a solution of the mystery. The police have failed, so I am making independent inquiries on my own account.”His brows again contracted slightly, and I saw that what I said was to him the reverse of welcome.“And what have you discovered?” he asked with a dark look which struck me as curious. “You have surely good scope for your efforts in such an affair. Lord Stanchester is exceedingly anxious that the truth should be revealed. He asked me my opinion—knowing my keen interest in mysteries of all sorts.”“And what is your opinion?”“Shall I tell you, Mr Woodhouse?” he asked with a mysterious smile, bending earnestly towards me and lowering his voice. “Well, my own opinion is that you yourself know more about it than any one.”“Me!” I cried, looking at the fellow. “You don’t imply that I’m guilty of the murder, do you?”“Oh!—not at all—not at all?” he hastened to assure me. “I intended to convey that you are in possession of certain facts unknown to the police. Do you understand me?”“Not exactly,” I replied. “If you suggest that I know the dead man’s real name, then I admit it. His name was Wingfield—Hugh Wingfield.”“What!” he gasped, his sinister countenance turning pale, as he stood aghast. “You know that! Who told you?”“I found out for myself,” I answered, looking him full in the face. “I discovered it by the same means as I discovered other things—that the dead man wore on his finger the portrait of Lady Lolita, and—”“And what else?” he asked breathlessly. “Be frank with me as I will, in a moment, be frank with you. Did you discover anything in his pockets—any letter—or anything written in numbers—a cipher?”“I did.”“Then show it to me,” he urged quickly. “Let me see it.”“I shall do nothing of the sort!” was my firm response. “What is written there is my own affair.”“Of course. But you can’t read it without the key,” he declared with a defiant laugh.“I desire no assistance,” I said briefly.“But if I mistake not, Mr Woodhouse, you entertain affection towards Lady Lolita—and—well, your affection is reciprocated—at least so she tells me,” he added with a slight sneer, I thought.“And what, pray, does that concern the paper found in the dead man’s pocket?” I inquired resentfully. “I know rather more of the affair than you conjecture,” I added. “And as you wish me to speak plainly I may as well remark that I have certainly no confidence in the person who is guest in this house under the name of Smeeton, and whose real name is Richard Keene.”The man drew back with a start and stood glaring at me blankly, open-mouthed, his eyes starting from his head.I smiled when I saw the effect upon him of my sudden accusation.But next moment my smile of triumph died from my lips, and I it was who stood bewildered.

In the entrance-hall of the hotel I saw the man Logan, the man who held my love’s secret, seated in a chair patiently awaiting her summons. There were others, well-dressed men and women, in evening toilettes lounging there in the hour before retiring. It is curious with what studied ease women lounge at hotels. The woman who is alert and upright at home falls into the most graceful poses after dinner at a hotel, presumably to court the admiration of strangers.

The man Logan, however, still wore his light overcoat over his dinner-jacket, and his head was buried in an evening paper, whether, however, this was to conceal his features or not I was unable to determine. Still, he was wanted by the police, and was therefore taking every precaution against being recognised. From where I stood at the back of the large square hall, I saw that his features had been slightly altered by the darkening of his eyebrows, undoubtedly with that object in view.

As I stood watching unseen, a waiter approached, spoke to him, and then he followed the man upstairs to the presence of my adored.

Had I done wrong in allowing the fellow to go to her alone? That was the thought which next moment seized me. Yet when I recollected her earnest appeal I could only remain lost in wonderment at her motive. But determined on watching the man in secret, I fetched my hat and overcoat, and sat patiently in the hall to await his return.

The clock chimed eleven musically, and a party of Americans noisily left to catch the night mail to London. The staff changed, the night-porter came on duty, and the little group of idlers in the hall gradually diminished. Indeed, they grew so few that I feared in passing out he might recognise me. Therefore at half-past eleven I strode forth into the night. Princes Street with its long line of lights, looked bright and pleasant even at that hour, yet it was almost deserted save for one or two belated wayfarers.

I took up my position at the railings on the opposite side of the road, from where I could see each person emerging from the hotel. Long and anxiously I waited, wondering what was transpiring in that room the window of which was straight before me. The blind was down, but no shadow was cast upon it, so I could surmise nothing.

At last he came. For a moment he stood on the steps, evidently in hesitation. Then he descended and hurried away. I followed him closely, across the railway, up High Street, and then he plunged into an intricate labyrinth of narrow streets quite unknown to me. At the time I believed he was not aware that I was following him, but when I recollect how cleverly he evaded me I now quite recognise that he must have detected my presence from the first. At any rate, after leading me through a number of narrow thoroughfares in a low quarter of the city, he suddenly turned a corner and disappeared from my sight as completely as though he had vanished into air.

My own idea is that he disappeared into a house—probably into one of those whose doors are open always as a refuge for thieves, and there are many in every big city in the kingdom, houses where pressure on the door causes it to yield and close again noiselessly, and from which there is an exit into another thoroughfare.

I spent some little time in making an examination of the houses at the spot where he had so suddenly become lost, but finding myself baffled, turned, and after wandering for a full half-hour lost in those crooked streets of old Edinburgh, I at last found myself in a thoroughfare I recognised, and turned to the hotel more than ever convinced of the man’s shrewdness.

Next morning, at ten o’clock, I found Lolita alone in her sitting-room, and on entering saw by her countenance that the night had, for her, been a sleepless one.

“Well,” I said, raising her hand reverently to my lips as was my wont, “and what was the result of last night’s interview?”

She drew a long breath, shook her head sadly, and replied—

“The situation is, for me, as perilous as it ever was. I am now convinced that what you have said regarding Marigold is right—she actually is my enemy, and yet I have foolishly taken her into my confidence!”

“But you are still hopeful?” I asked anxiously. “This man Logan has surely not refused to stand your friend?”

“He refuses to tell me certain facts which, if revealed, would place me in a position of safety,” she responded blankly.

“But he must be compelled!” I cried. “I will compel him.”

“Ah! you cannot,” she cried despairingly. “If you approach him, you will upset everything. He must not know of your visit to me. If he did it would be fatal—fatal.”

I held my breath, for had I not foolishly betrayed my presence to him on the previous night? And had he not cleverly tricked me? I hesitated whether to tell my love the bitter truth of my injudicious act, but at last resolved to do so, and explained the incident briefly, just as I have related it to you.

“Ah?” she exclaimed. “Then I fear that all I have arranged with him will be of no avail. He will now believe that I intend to play him false. My only hope now lies in Richard Keene.”

“Then I will return to him and act as you wish,” I said.

She stood thoughtfully looking out of the window for a long time. At last she said—

“I think it best, after all, to return to Sibberton. My aunt had a letter from George this morning asking her to join the house-party at once, and she seems anxious to do this and go to Lord Penarth’s afterwards.”

“Very well,” I said eagerly; “let us all return together.” I felt somehow that she would be safer at home beneath my protection than wandering about in hotels exposed to the perils which her unscrupulous enemies were placing before her.

And so it happened that on that same night we joined the party assembled in the drawing-room at Sibberton just before dinner, and there, in front of them all, the young Earl introduced Keene and Lolita, believing them to be unacquainted.

At the instant the introduction was made I chanced to glance around, and there saw Marigold standing in the doorway, her face pale as death. She had been out, and being unaware of Lolita’s return was, I saw, amazed and filled with apprehension, while Keene on his part bowed over my love’s hand with a distant respect as though they were perfect strangers.

Dinner was, as usual, a long function, served with that stateliness and ceremony that characterised everything in the Stanchester household. George made a point of preserving punctiliously all the ancient traditions of his noble house, even to the ceremony, and, after the port, of passing round the snuff to the men in the great old silver box that had been a present of King James the Second to the Earl of his time.

I saw that Marigold was ill at ease at Lolita’s return. She had whispered something to her as they went in to dinner, but what it was I knew not. Keene, on the other hand, preserved an utter disregard of what was in progress, except that once I detected a meaning glance cast at the brilliant hostess upon whose throat scintillated the wonderful Stanchester diamonds.

Afterwards, in order to learn something more, I played billiards with him. We were alone in the room, for bridge and music were attracting the others. He was, I found, an excellent player, yet not in good practice.

“You know,” he said apologetically, “I get so little billiards, living as I do mostly in the forest. I played a good deal in town a few years ago, but nowadays rarely ever touch a cue.”

I complimented him upon a break of eighteen he had that moment made, whereupon he exclaimed suddenly—

“Oh, by the way! Lord Stanchester told me yesterday that it was you who discovered that mysterious affair in the park here some time ago. Tell me all about it. I’m always fond of mysteries.”

He hid his dark-bearded face from me, occupying himself in chalking his cue. But his demand told me that, as I expected, he had not recognised me as Warr’s visitor on the evening when, tired and dusty, he had refreshed himself at theStanchester Arms.

“I suppose you read all about it in the papers?” I said, not quite understanding his motive.

“George showed me some of the accounts. Most extraordinary affair—wasn’t it? They don’t even know the poor fellow’s name, do they?”

“The police axe in ignorance of it as far as I know,” was my response.

“But explain to me the exact position in which you found him,” he urged, leaving off playing, leaning with his back against the stone mantelshelf, and drawing heavily at his cigar. “I take a keen interest in such matters as this. Out after big game, we become almost like detectives so necessary it is to follow clues and footprints.”

“Well,” I said, “I simply heard a cry in the darkness, and got Warr, the publican from the village, to help me to search—and we found him.”

“He was dead, of course—quite dead?” he asked eagerly, as though, it seemed, in fear that the victim had still been conscious and had spoken.

“Quite,” I replied, still much puzzled. He had himself invited me to billiards, and it seemed for the purpose of obtaining from me the exact details of the discovery. “He had been struck a cowardly blow in the back which the doctors declared must have proved fatal at once.”

“You heard his cry?” he said, looking me straight in the face. “It was that which attracted you?”

“I heardacry,” was my answer.

“Ah! Then you didn’t recognise the voice?”

“How could I recognise the voice of a person unknown to me?” I asked.

“I mean that the cry was a man’s?”

“No—a woman’s.”

“What?” he exclaimed, taking his cigar from his lips, and staring at me with a hardness at the corners of his mouth. “Are you quite sure of that? It isn’t in the evidence I’ve read.”

“I know it isn’t,” I said. “There are several things known to me that are not in the depositions.”

“And what are they?”

“Matters which concern only myself,” I replied. “I’m endeavouring to obtain a solution of the mystery. The police have failed, so I am making independent inquiries on my own account.”

His brows again contracted slightly, and I saw that what I said was to him the reverse of welcome.

“And what have you discovered?” he asked with a dark look which struck me as curious. “You have surely good scope for your efforts in such an affair. Lord Stanchester is exceedingly anxious that the truth should be revealed. He asked me my opinion—knowing my keen interest in mysteries of all sorts.”

“And what is your opinion?”

“Shall I tell you, Mr Woodhouse?” he asked with a mysterious smile, bending earnestly towards me and lowering his voice. “Well, my own opinion is that you yourself know more about it than any one.”

“Me!” I cried, looking at the fellow. “You don’t imply that I’m guilty of the murder, do you?”

“Oh!—not at all—not at all?” he hastened to assure me. “I intended to convey that you are in possession of certain facts unknown to the police. Do you understand me?”

“Not exactly,” I replied. “If you suggest that I know the dead man’s real name, then I admit it. His name was Wingfield—Hugh Wingfield.”

“What!” he gasped, his sinister countenance turning pale, as he stood aghast. “You know that! Who told you?”

“I found out for myself,” I answered, looking him full in the face. “I discovered it by the same means as I discovered other things—that the dead man wore on his finger the portrait of Lady Lolita, and—”

“And what else?” he asked breathlessly. “Be frank with me as I will, in a moment, be frank with you. Did you discover anything in his pockets—any letter—or anything written in numbers—a cipher?”

“I did.”

“Then show it to me,” he urged quickly. “Let me see it.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort!” was my firm response. “What is written there is my own affair.”

“Of course. But you can’t read it without the key,” he declared with a defiant laugh.

“I desire no assistance,” I said briefly.

“But if I mistake not, Mr Woodhouse, you entertain affection towards Lady Lolita—and—well, your affection is reciprocated—at least so she tells me,” he added with a slight sneer, I thought.

“And what, pray, does that concern the paper found in the dead man’s pocket?” I inquired resentfully. “I know rather more of the affair than you conjecture,” I added. “And as you wish me to speak plainly I may as well remark that I have certainly no confidence in the person who is guest in this house under the name of Smeeton, and whose real name is Richard Keene.”

The man drew back with a start and stood glaring at me blankly, open-mouthed, his eyes starting from his head.

I smiled when I saw the effect upon him of my sudden accusation.

But next moment my smile of triumph died from my lips, and I it was who stood bewildered.

Chapter Twenty Six.Refers to Certain Ugly Facts.Richard Keene placed his cue upon the floor, and leaning upon it, looked straight at me and said—“Yes. It is quite true that I’m in this house under false colours. But do you think it will be to your advantage, Mr Woodhouse, to quarrel with me?”“I only know that your presence here is unwelcome to certain members of Lord Stanchester’s household,” I exclaimed. “And I should consider it a very wise course if you excused yourself and left.”“Why should I?” he asked triumphantly. “I’m really enjoying myself here very much. The Earl gives his guests plenty of sport.”“And you, on your part, are making sport of an innocent woman!” I said, with rising anger at the fellow’s defiance.“I suppose Lady Lolita has told you something, then?” he remarked.“Lady Lolita has told me of your merciless attitude towards her,” I said. “I am quite well aware of your secret communications with Lady Stanchester,” I added. “And it is plain to me in what direction your efforts are directed.”He started again, looking at me as though uncertain how far my knowledge of his past extended. Then he slowly stroked his short-cropped beard.“In other words then the two women have betrayed me—eh?” he observed thoughtfully in a harsh mechanical voice, as though speaking to himself.“Not in the least,” was my answer. “They dare not betray you—that you know quite well. But my affection for Lady Lolita, to which you referred just now, has caused me to make certain inquiries with somewhat curious results. Therefore, I tell you plainly, Mr Keene, that if you are not desirous of exposure you had better leave Sibberton before noon to-morrow.”“And if not?” he inquired, raising his eyebrows.“If not, I shall go to his lordship and tell him your real name.”He laughed in my face.“Well, that’s exactly what would bring matters to a head,” he declared. “Perhaps, after all, it would be best if he did know—for I could then reveal to him, and to the world, a truth that would be both ugly and startling. Tell him who I am, if you wish, but before doing so, is it not better to carefully consider all the eventualities?”At that instant Lolita’s maid Weston opened the door, apparently looking for her mistress. Her eyes met Keene’s, and I saw a look of mutual recognition. But in an instant the young woman closed the door again.Keene made no remark, but I saw surprise and apprehension written upon his sun-bronzed features.“Then, in a word, you refuse to relieve these ladies of your presence?” I said in a firm tone.“I refuse to obey any paid servant of Lord Stanchester,” was his insulting response.“But if you recollect the manner in which you first visited Sibberton—as a hungry tramp who drank beer at theStanchester Arms—you must admit that your presence here is, to say the least, suspicious. You entrusted to Warr a letter to Lady Lolita—and village publicans will gossip, you know.”“What, has that fellow been talking—surely not?” he exclaimed quickly.“I only speak from my own knowledge—not from hearsay.”He took a long draw at his cigar, looking me calmly in the face, as though undecided how to act. At last, after full deliberation, he said, in a much more conciliatory tone—“Really, Mr Woodhouse, I don’t know, after all, whether either of us will gain anything by being antagonists. We both have our own ends to serve. You love Lady Lolita, and wish to—well—to save her; while I, too, have an object in view—a distinct object. Why cannot we unite in a friendly manner?”“Against whom?”“Against those who seek to bring ruin and disgrace upon the woman you love.”“But you are her enemy,” I said. “How can I join you in this affair?”“Ah, there you are quite mistaken. She, too, is mistaken. True, I was once her enemy, but circumstances have changed, and I am now her friend.”“Is your friendship so prone then to being influenced by every adverse wind that blows?” I asked, by no means convinced of the genuineness of his proposals.“Of course you hesitate,” he remarked. “And perhaps that is only natural. Let us, however, call Lady Lolita into consultation.”This suggestion of his I readily acted upon, and ringing for a servant told him to find her ladyship at once, and ask her whether she could make it convenient to see me for a moment in the red room on business connected with next day’s shooting luncheon.Then we put down our cues and together walked through the long corridors to the old wing of the great mansion, to the red room, a small boudoir to which visitors never went, and where I knew that we might exchange confidences in secret.I switched on the electric light, and standing together in the small old-fashioned apartment, furnished in crimson silk damask of a century ago, and red silk upon the walls, we anxiously awaited her coming.At last we heard her light footstep in the corridor, but she halted upon the threshold, utterly taken aback at sight of my companion. She had avoided him studiously all the evening, and was of course, unaware of our present intention.“I regret very much to call your ladyship here,” Keene commenced. “But it seems to have become imperative that Mr Woodhouse and I should, in your presence, arrive at some understanding.”Though radiant in dress, her beautiful face was pale to the lips, and her thin hands trembled nervously.She advanced slowly without a word, like a woman in a dream, and stepping up behind her I closed the door and locked it.“I must explain, Lady Lolita,” said Keene, “that had I known you were returning here I should have left before your arrival, for I have no desire to thrust upon you my presence, which I know must, having regard to the past, be most unwelcome. However, we have met, and I am a guest here in your home. Further circumstances compel me to remain here for some time longer, therefore I am anxious that we should thoroughly understand one another.”“I received the letter handed me by Warr, the innkeeper. It was sufficiently explanatory,” she remarked in a hard unnatural voice, standing with her hand upon the chair back, and looking straight into his calm countenance.“We may, for the present, disregard that letter,” he said. “You will recollect what I said to you confidentially in the hall an hour ago. You admitted that you reciprocate Mr Woodhouse’s affection, and you declared that he was your friend.”“And so I am,” I maintained.“Exactly. Indeed, as far as I can ascertain, it seems that he is a most devoted friend. It is for that very reason that I have asked you to come here and listen to what I have to say.”“I am all attention,” she responded blankly, with that inertness born of despair. “My enemies have combined to crush me—that I know.”“Well, first let me tell you, Lady Lolita, that although I have shown myself antagonistic in the past, my convictions have now become changed, and I regret all that I may have done to cause you pain and injury. If you can really I forgive, will hold out my hand in friendship,” and he stretched forth his hand to her as pledge of his sincerity.At first she hesitated, unable to believe that the man whom she had regarded as her bitterest enemy should have become so completely, and so suddenly her friend. Like myself, she could not at first bring herself to put perfect faith in him. Yet, in a few moments, seeing his evident earnestness, she took his hand, and allowed him to wring hers in genuine friendship.“Very well,” he said in a gratified tone. “That is the first step. The second is to admit to you that while I am ready to render you assistance instead of hounding you down to destruction, as I had intended, I have also a motive—one that must remain my own secret. Mr Woodhouse, here, no doubt regards my return, my actions, and my arrival as guest in this house as suspicious. I admit that all the circumstances are exceedingly remarkable, and require an explanation—which perhaps you will give him later. But what is so immediately important is the course of action which we shall pursue, now that I am united to assist you.”“But do you really mean to act on my behalf, Mr Keene?” asked my love eagerly, as though a new future were opened out to her by the man’s suggestion.“I have given my hand as pledge,” was his reply. “There is an allegation against you—a fact of which I presume Mr Woodhouse is aware. And your bitterest enemy—one who, by a word, could free you—is a woman.”“Willoughby—I mean Mr Woodhouse—has told me. It is Marigold.”“Yes. And she refuses to speak. Our efforts must be made towards compelling her,” he said.But in that moment I recollected how the Countess had defied him, and threatened him with a terrible exposure. Of what?“And Marie Lejeune? Where is she?” inquired Lolita.“She has disappeared, it seems. At least I don’t know where she is at this moment. For the present we need not be concerned about her. We have to deal with a shrewd and clever woman, whose future depends upon your future. If you live she must die,—if you die, she will live.”He spoke the words with slow distinctness, his eyes fixed upon her, watching the effect of his utterances.“How can I live?” she asked, in a low hoarse voice. “You know everything—you know my peril.”“True. I know everything,” was the man’s reply. “I know, too, how you have suffered I know how Mr Woodhouse, loving you as he does, must also suffer. Believe me, Lady Lolita, although I am but a rough man unused nowadays to the ways of good society, I am not altogether devoid of sympathy for a woman, and that sympathy will cause me to guard the secret of your affection. I wish you to consider that, in me, instead of an enemy, you have a sincere friend. I am fully aware of the exposure which Mr Woodhouse might make to George, but it would not only be against my interests, but against yours.”“Yet it would bring Marigold to her knees to beg forgiveness,” my love remarked.“Yes. But surely you know that woman well enough to be aware that her vengeance would fall heavily upon you—that you would be hurled to ruin and disgrace before she herself would give way and fall.”“I believed her to be my friend,” was Lolita’s remark.“You only believed as others believe. There are many persons to whom she acts the false friend—her husband not excepted. You have only to sit in the smoking-rooms of certain London clubs in order to hear the expression of public opinion regarding her. The clubs always know more facts about a man’s wife than her own husband.”“Well,” I exclaimed, “what is your advice? How shall we act?”Even now I was not altogether convinced of Keene’s good-will. The horror and fear in which Lolita had formerly held him somehow clung to me, and I could not help suspecting that this man who had struck up an acquaintance with George in the wilds of the Zambesi, and had come so boldly among those whom it was his intention to unmask, was now playing us false.Yet in word and manner he was perfectly open and straightforward.“Have patience, Lady Lolita,” he urged. “Mr Woodhouse will assist me in this very difficult piece of diplomacy that we are about to undertake. Had it not been for the fact that our friend here unfortunately gave Marie Lejeune warning that night in Chelsea, when the police were waiting to trap her, we should have had no necessity for this present scheming. The truth would then have been revealed and the guilty would have gone to their just punishment.”“I know! I know!” I cried. “It was foolish on my part. But I believed I was acting in Lady Lolita’s interests. I see, however, that I made a mistake—a fatal mistake.”“We must rectify it,” he said. “Her ladyship has been frank with me concerning your mutual affection, and I will not stand by and see her hurled to her grave by the dastardly schemes of her enemies. You admitted to me that you discovered upon the body of Hugh Wingfield a certain paper in cipher. Will you not allow me sight of it?”“A paper in cipher!” gasped my love, glancing at me. “Was that found upon him?”“Yes,” was my reply. “I discovered a paper in a woman’s hand, and written in the chequer-board cipher.”“And the keyword was what?” she inquired in breathless eagerness, turning her great blue eyes to mine.“Ah! I haven’t any idea of the keyword,” I admitted.“Then you haven’t been able to make it out!” she remarked, breathing more freely. “You don’t know to what it refers?”“No,” I responded frankly. “I am in ignorance. But if you will remain a moment I’ll go to my room and fetch it.”“You need not,” was her reply. “It is quite unnecessary.”“Why?”“Well, because I chance to know what is contained in it, and that there was nothing of importance.”Did she imply that she had written that secret message herself? I glanced at her countenance, and somehow became convinced that she was still bent upon the concealment of the truth, a conviction that was both irritating and tantalising.Mystery had succeeded mystery, until I admit that I was now overcome by blank bewilderment.

Richard Keene placed his cue upon the floor, and leaning upon it, looked straight at me and said—

“Yes. It is quite true that I’m in this house under false colours. But do you think it will be to your advantage, Mr Woodhouse, to quarrel with me?”

“I only know that your presence here is unwelcome to certain members of Lord Stanchester’s household,” I exclaimed. “And I should consider it a very wise course if you excused yourself and left.”

“Why should I?” he asked triumphantly. “I’m really enjoying myself here very much. The Earl gives his guests plenty of sport.”

“And you, on your part, are making sport of an innocent woman!” I said, with rising anger at the fellow’s defiance.

“I suppose Lady Lolita has told you something, then?” he remarked.

“Lady Lolita has told me of your merciless attitude towards her,” I said. “I am quite well aware of your secret communications with Lady Stanchester,” I added. “And it is plain to me in what direction your efforts are directed.”

He started again, looking at me as though uncertain how far my knowledge of his past extended. Then he slowly stroked his short-cropped beard.

“In other words then the two women have betrayed me—eh?” he observed thoughtfully in a harsh mechanical voice, as though speaking to himself.

“Not in the least,” was my answer. “They dare not betray you—that you know quite well. But my affection for Lady Lolita, to which you referred just now, has caused me to make certain inquiries with somewhat curious results. Therefore, I tell you plainly, Mr Keene, that if you are not desirous of exposure you had better leave Sibberton before noon to-morrow.”

“And if not?” he inquired, raising his eyebrows.

“If not, I shall go to his lordship and tell him your real name.”

He laughed in my face.

“Well, that’s exactly what would bring matters to a head,” he declared. “Perhaps, after all, it would be best if he did know—for I could then reveal to him, and to the world, a truth that would be both ugly and startling. Tell him who I am, if you wish, but before doing so, is it not better to carefully consider all the eventualities?”

At that instant Lolita’s maid Weston opened the door, apparently looking for her mistress. Her eyes met Keene’s, and I saw a look of mutual recognition. But in an instant the young woman closed the door again.

Keene made no remark, but I saw surprise and apprehension written upon his sun-bronzed features.

“Then, in a word, you refuse to relieve these ladies of your presence?” I said in a firm tone.

“I refuse to obey any paid servant of Lord Stanchester,” was his insulting response.

“But if you recollect the manner in which you first visited Sibberton—as a hungry tramp who drank beer at theStanchester Arms—you must admit that your presence here is, to say the least, suspicious. You entrusted to Warr a letter to Lady Lolita—and village publicans will gossip, you know.”

“What, has that fellow been talking—surely not?” he exclaimed quickly.

“I only speak from my own knowledge—not from hearsay.”

He took a long draw at his cigar, looking me calmly in the face, as though undecided how to act. At last, after full deliberation, he said, in a much more conciliatory tone—

“Really, Mr Woodhouse, I don’t know, after all, whether either of us will gain anything by being antagonists. We both have our own ends to serve. You love Lady Lolita, and wish to—well—to save her; while I, too, have an object in view—a distinct object. Why cannot we unite in a friendly manner?”

“Against whom?”

“Against those who seek to bring ruin and disgrace upon the woman you love.”

“But you are her enemy,” I said. “How can I join you in this affair?”

“Ah, there you are quite mistaken. She, too, is mistaken. True, I was once her enemy, but circumstances have changed, and I am now her friend.”

“Is your friendship so prone then to being influenced by every adverse wind that blows?” I asked, by no means convinced of the genuineness of his proposals.

“Of course you hesitate,” he remarked. “And perhaps that is only natural. Let us, however, call Lady Lolita into consultation.”

This suggestion of his I readily acted upon, and ringing for a servant told him to find her ladyship at once, and ask her whether she could make it convenient to see me for a moment in the red room on business connected with next day’s shooting luncheon.

Then we put down our cues and together walked through the long corridors to the old wing of the great mansion, to the red room, a small boudoir to which visitors never went, and where I knew that we might exchange confidences in secret.

I switched on the electric light, and standing together in the small old-fashioned apartment, furnished in crimson silk damask of a century ago, and red silk upon the walls, we anxiously awaited her coming.

At last we heard her light footstep in the corridor, but she halted upon the threshold, utterly taken aback at sight of my companion. She had avoided him studiously all the evening, and was of course, unaware of our present intention.

“I regret very much to call your ladyship here,” Keene commenced. “But it seems to have become imperative that Mr Woodhouse and I should, in your presence, arrive at some understanding.”

Though radiant in dress, her beautiful face was pale to the lips, and her thin hands trembled nervously.

She advanced slowly without a word, like a woman in a dream, and stepping up behind her I closed the door and locked it.

“I must explain, Lady Lolita,” said Keene, “that had I known you were returning here I should have left before your arrival, for I have no desire to thrust upon you my presence, which I know must, having regard to the past, be most unwelcome. However, we have met, and I am a guest here in your home. Further circumstances compel me to remain here for some time longer, therefore I am anxious that we should thoroughly understand one another.”

“I received the letter handed me by Warr, the innkeeper. It was sufficiently explanatory,” she remarked in a hard unnatural voice, standing with her hand upon the chair back, and looking straight into his calm countenance.

“We may, for the present, disregard that letter,” he said. “You will recollect what I said to you confidentially in the hall an hour ago. You admitted that you reciprocate Mr Woodhouse’s affection, and you declared that he was your friend.”

“And so I am,” I maintained.

“Exactly. Indeed, as far as I can ascertain, it seems that he is a most devoted friend. It is for that very reason that I have asked you to come here and listen to what I have to say.”

“I am all attention,” she responded blankly, with that inertness born of despair. “My enemies have combined to crush me—that I know.”

“Well, first let me tell you, Lady Lolita, that although I have shown myself antagonistic in the past, my convictions have now become changed, and I regret all that I may have done to cause you pain and injury. If you can really I forgive, will hold out my hand in friendship,” and he stretched forth his hand to her as pledge of his sincerity.

At first she hesitated, unable to believe that the man whom she had regarded as her bitterest enemy should have become so completely, and so suddenly her friend. Like myself, she could not at first bring herself to put perfect faith in him. Yet, in a few moments, seeing his evident earnestness, she took his hand, and allowed him to wring hers in genuine friendship.

“Very well,” he said in a gratified tone. “That is the first step. The second is to admit to you that while I am ready to render you assistance instead of hounding you down to destruction, as I had intended, I have also a motive—one that must remain my own secret. Mr Woodhouse, here, no doubt regards my return, my actions, and my arrival as guest in this house as suspicious. I admit that all the circumstances are exceedingly remarkable, and require an explanation—which perhaps you will give him later. But what is so immediately important is the course of action which we shall pursue, now that I am united to assist you.”

“But do you really mean to act on my behalf, Mr Keene?” asked my love eagerly, as though a new future were opened out to her by the man’s suggestion.

“I have given my hand as pledge,” was his reply. “There is an allegation against you—a fact of which I presume Mr Woodhouse is aware. And your bitterest enemy—one who, by a word, could free you—is a woman.”

“Willoughby—I mean Mr Woodhouse—has told me. It is Marigold.”

“Yes. And she refuses to speak. Our efforts must be made towards compelling her,” he said.

But in that moment I recollected how the Countess had defied him, and threatened him with a terrible exposure. Of what?

“And Marie Lejeune? Where is she?” inquired Lolita.

“She has disappeared, it seems. At least I don’t know where she is at this moment. For the present we need not be concerned about her. We have to deal with a shrewd and clever woman, whose future depends upon your future. If you live she must die,—if you die, she will live.”

He spoke the words with slow distinctness, his eyes fixed upon her, watching the effect of his utterances.

“How can I live?” she asked, in a low hoarse voice. “You know everything—you know my peril.”

“True. I know everything,” was the man’s reply. “I know, too, how you have suffered I know how Mr Woodhouse, loving you as he does, must also suffer. Believe me, Lady Lolita, although I am but a rough man unused nowadays to the ways of good society, I am not altogether devoid of sympathy for a woman, and that sympathy will cause me to guard the secret of your affection. I wish you to consider that, in me, instead of an enemy, you have a sincere friend. I am fully aware of the exposure which Mr Woodhouse might make to George, but it would not only be against my interests, but against yours.”

“Yet it would bring Marigold to her knees to beg forgiveness,” my love remarked.

“Yes. But surely you know that woman well enough to be aware that her vengeance would fall heavily upon you—that you would be hurled to ruin and disgrace before she herself would give way and fall.”

“I believed her to be my friend,” was Lolita’s remark.

“You only believed as others believe. There are many persons to whom she acts the false friend—her husband not excepted. You have only to sit in the smoking-rooms of certain London clubs in order to hear the expression of public opinion regarding her. The clubs always know more facts about a man’s wife than her own husband.”

“Well,” I exclaimed, “what is your advice? How shall we act?”

Even now I was not altogether convinced of Keene’s good-will. The horror and fear in which Lolita had formerly held him somehow clung to me, and I could not help suspecting that this man who had struck up an acquaintance with George in the wilds of the Zambesi, and had come so boldly among those whom it was his intention to unmask, was now playing us false.

Yet in word and manner he was perfectly open and straightforward.

“Have patience, Lady Lolita,” he urged. “Mr Woodhouse will assist me in this very difficult piece of diplomacy that we are about to undertake. Had it not been for the fact that our friend here unfortunately gave Marie Lejeune warning that night in Chelsea, when the police were waiting to trap her, we should have had no necessity for this present scheming. The truth would then have been revealed and the guilty would have gone to their just punishment.”

“I know! I know!” I cried. “It was foolish on my part. But I believed I was acting in Lady Lolita’s interests. I see, however, that I made a mistake—a fatal mistake.”

“We must rectify it,” he said. “Her ladyship has been frank with me concerning your mutual affection, and I will not stand by and see her hurled to her grave by the dastardly schemes of her enemies. You admitted to me that you discovered upon the body of Hugh Wingfield a certain paper in cipher. Will you not allow me sight of it?”

“A paper in cipher!” gasped my love, glancing at me. “Was that found upon him?”

“Yes,” was my reply. “I discovered a paper in a woman’s hand, and written in the chequer-board cipher.”

“And the keyword was what?” she inquired in breathless eagerness, turning her great blue eyes to mine.

“Ah! I haven’t any idea of the keyword,” I admitted.

“Then you haven’t been able to make it out!” she remarked, breathing more freely. “You don’t know to what it refers?”

“No,” I responded frankly. “I am in ignorance. But if you will remain a moment I’ll go to my room and fetch it.”

“You need not,” was her reply. “It is quite unnecessary.”

“Why?”

“Well, because I chance to know what is contained in it, and that there was nothing of importance.”

Did she imply that she had written that secret message herself? I glanced at her countenance, and somehow became convinced that she was still bent upon the concealment of the truth, a conviction that was both irritating and tantalising.

Mystery had succeeded mystery, until I admit that I was now overcome by blank bewilderment.

Chapter Twenty Seven.Which Tells of a Heart’s Desire.The result of our consultation did not, as far as I was concerned, enlighten me upon one single point connected with the puzzling affair.Certain matters were arranged between the man Keene and the woman I so dearly loved, but strangely enough both were equally careful to allow me no loop-hole through which to gain knowledge of their motives or the secret they held.I made no mention of the remarkable affair at the lonely farm a few miles distant, nor did I inquire of Keene his object in lying concealed there, or of the identity of those foreigners who were the man Logan’s friends in hiding. I felt it wise to keep all this knowledge to myself.I told Lolita, however, how I had discovered that the police had introduced a female detective as servant to the Stanchester household, and that her inquiries had been directed towards endeavouring to discover the Ownership of the Louis Quinze shoes, the print of which had been found at the spot where Wingfield had fallen.The news fell upon her like a thunderbolt. She stood utterly unable to reply.Keene said nothing. He merely looked at her, and then, sighing, turned away.I did not tell them that a week ago, when passing the cottage of Jacobs, one of the gamekeepers, the man asked me to enter and see something. I had followed the man in, and producing a muddy damp-stained ermine cloak much soiled and ruined by exposure to the weather, he said—“I found this yesterday in the Monk’s Wood, sir, an’ I’ve been wondering if it might belong to anybody up at the Hall?”Instantly I had recognised it as Lolita’s, the one she must evidently have worn on the night of the tragedy! It was torn in one part, and a small piece was missing—the piece which had been found near where the dead man lay!In a moment I had invented an excuse.“Why,” I said, “that’s the cape my sister lost when she was staying with me. She went out with her little daughter to pick wild flowers, laid it down in the wood and forgot all about it.”Then I gladly took possession of it, gave Jacobs a tip, dropping a hint at the same time that it was not necessary for him to talk about it, for if he did there would be all sorts of wild theories formed as to its connexion with the mysterious tragedy. “The police would be sure to begin worrying over nothing,” I added.“I quite understand, sir,” was the gamekeeper’s answer. “Mr Redway and his men are worse than useless. They’ve made a lot of fuss and haven’t even found out yet who the poor young man was! I shall say nothing about it, for they’d only begin to question and worry me, as well as you.”And so I had taken the fur cape, and that same night had surreptitiously buried it in my garden.When at last the stranger’s consultation with Lolita had ended, I recognised how completely my love was in the man’s thraldom. He held power over her inevitable and complete. Why?Was it because he knew her guilty secret?She had, in a moment of desperation, declared that he did, and besought him to spare her.“I will do my best,” was his rather evasive answer. “The man who loves you, Lady Lolita, will help me, and between us we may, I hope, effect your freedom.”“I am ready to do anything—to go anywhere in order to serve her ladyship,” I declared, with deep earnestness. “I am only glad that we have now come to a thorough understanding.”“Your attention must be directed towards the actions of the Countess,” was Keene’s reply. “Watch her, and see what she does, and whom she meets. I am unable to approach her because she fears me, and also—well, to be frank—she is no friend of mine any more than she is of Lady Lolita.”“Very well,” I agreed. “I will leave Lady Lolita to your protection and turn my efforts towards watching the Countess. But,” I added, “I am puzzled by all this mystery and all these conflicting motives.”“No doubt,” he said, as my love wished us good-night, grasping both my hands in trustful thankfulness. “It is but natural. When you know the real facts you will find it to be stranger than you have ever dreamed—more tragic—more terrible—more bewildering. The truth, Mr Woodhouse, will stagger you—as it will the world!”And with that emphatic expression of opinion we rejoined the men in the smoking-room, had a final whisky-and-soda and cigarettes, and then parted for the night.Next morning at five the cry of the hounds passing across the park awakened me, and I knew that the Earl was already out cubbing, leaving his party to go shooting after breakfast. Therefore I rose, and was early at work at my desk, for a quantity of the kennel accounts had come in overnight and required checking.My mind was full of what had passed between us in the red room, and I was anxious to obtain opportunity to watch the young and brilliant mistress of the house.The shoot that day was over at Beanfield Lawns, and after breakfast the men, including Keene, drove there in the new Mercedes car, a merry party, leaving the ladies to accompany the luncheon. Through the morning I was busy. Once I encountered Lolita in one of the corridors, and found her just a trifle more hopeful.“Act on Mr Keene’s suggestion,” she urged. “Watch Marigold closely, and ascertain what she is doing. From what I’ve seen to-day I believe there is something curious in progress.”“Rely upon me,” I answered, “to serve you dearest. I will do anything—that you know.”“Yes—I feel sure you will,” she responded smiling sweetly upon me, a fresh erect figure in her clean cotton blouse. “I put my trust entirely in you.”“And I will not betray it,” I declared in deep earnestness.Then we parted. She had her hat on, and was going out, I knew, to her Saints’ Garden, in order to give directions to the gardener who attended to it. The thought brought back to me a recollection of my recent conversation with the Countess at that same spot, and I returned to my room and was soon again immersed in my rather onerous duties.About noon the ladies left in the Panhard, carrying the luncheon, and a quiet fell upon the great old mansion. I interviewed the house-steward and his wife regarding stores to be ordered, ate my luncheon in my room, and afterwards started out to walk to my house at Sibberton, for when there were guests at the Hall, and especially during the shooting-season, I was seldom able to get home, owing to my multifarious duties.I was passing the Countess’s boudoir—the door of which stood open—and having been urged to keep careful watch upon her, I searched her waste-paper basket. The torn letters, however, were of no account—the usual correspondence a fashionable woman receives. Therefore I was disappointed. In her ladyship’s every movement I now scented suspicion. Hitherto I had watched Lolita, and found mystery in all her movements, and now it was the giddy handsome woman so popular in her own gay set of banjo-playing, skirt-dancing, cake-walking and bridge-playing. I would have gone with the shooting-party over to Beanfield, but I had been prevented by pressure of work, and now I was rather sorry that I had not deferred the accounts and taken a gun.About three o’clock the ladies returned, a gay bevy of well-dressed beauties, and as I stood chatting with them in the hall, a servant handed the hostess a telegram.I watched how her countenance changed as she read it, then crushing it in her hand, she suddenly recovered herself and thrust it into her pocket. The message contained something that caused her anxiety—of that I was convinced. Her guests had not noticed the quick opening of her eyes, and the slight movement of the mouth betraying apprehension, as the words were revealed to her. What could they be? How I longed to discover.Lolita, who, lounging in a chair, was chatting with a pretty young girl in tweeds, the daughter of a very up-to-date mother, looked across at me quickly, as though to place me on the alert, and then I fell to wondering how to obtain knowledge of that message.To try and get hold of it through her maid would be a too risky proceeding, and besides if it contained anything secret she would no doubt destroy it. Therefore the difficulty seemed insurmountable. She had re-composed herself, and had at that moment declared her intention of dressing and going out again to pay an afternoon call, inviting two of her guests to go with her.Of a sudden an idea occurred to me; therefore I went out through the servants’ hall, and obtaining the bicycle belonging to Murdock, his lordship’s valet, I mounted and rode down the avenue to Sibberton post-office.“Oh, Miss Allen,” I said, addressing the daughter of the village post-master, “Lady Stanchester received a telegram just now, and doesn’t quite understand it. She wishes it repeated, please,” and I placed sixpence on the counter, adding, “Her ladyship believes there is some mistake. I suppose it won’t take long to repeat, will it?”“Oh! not very long,” replied the red-haired rustic beauty.Whereupon I told her she need not send the copy up to the Hall, but as I was going back presently I would deliver it myself.Warr was at the door of the inn as I passed, and he called me in. When we were in his back parlour he said to me with a mysterious air—“Do you know, sir, that that tramp who gave me a sovereign tip has been in Sibberton again? I saw him walking through the village the day before yesterday with another gentleman—one who’s staying up at the Hall.”“No, you’re mistaken,” I answered laughing. “It’s Mr Smeeton, who’s very much like him, an old friend of his lordship’s. I fell into just the same error myself when I first saw him,” I added, in order, if possible, to remove any suspicion from the worthy man’s mind.“Well, do you know,” he said laughing, “I could have sworn it was the same man, except that his beard has been trimmed. Of course he looks different, dressed as a gentleman.”“No,” I reassured him. “The man you have evidently seen is Mr Smeeton, with whom his lordship hunted big game in Africa a year or two ago.” Then after a brief chat, in which he expressed surprise that the police had now relinquished all their efforts to discover the identity of the murdered man or his assassin, I went out, returning to the little low-thatched cottage in which was the village post-office.The red-haired girl handed me a telegram addressed to the Countess of Stanchester, remarking that no error had been discovered in its transmission, and placing it in my pocket I mounted the cycle and rode away up the avenue. As soon, however, as I was alone under the trees, I took out the envelope, tore it open, and saw that the message had been handed in at Ovington in Essex. It was unsigned and read—“To-night, Charing Cross, nine. Only bring handbag.”It showed that her ladyship was on the point of flight! Therefore I at once resolved to ascertain her destination and watch her doings.On returning to the Hall I learnt from the servants that she had not gone out visiting as she intended, but was in her room. The men had not returned, so I took Lolita aside, showed her the telegram, and told her to go upstairs and watch if there was any sign of her intended departure. A quarter of an hour later my love came secretly to my room and told me that she had remarked casually to her that she intended to go to town to fit a dress, which she specially wanted for a garden-party, and would probably go up to town that evening.That was sufficient for me. I kissed my love fondly, and telling her to remain under Keene’s care, crammed some things into a bag and took the train at five-thirty from Kettering to St. Pancras.I travelled by the train previous to the one she would catch, therefore I dined leisurely at the caféRoyal, and at a quarter to nine stood beneath the clock on Charing Cross platform, watching the idlers keeping their appointments and the bustle of departing passengers by the midnight mail for the Continent.I had to exercise a good deal of caution to avoid detection; but at last, just before the hour, I saw her approach dressed in a dark-brown travelling-gown with a brown gossamer veil that gave her the appearance of an American globe-trotter, and was so thick that it would prevent recognition of her features.She hurried across from the booking-office to the platform where the Continental express was on the point of starting, as though in fear that some one might detain her.She was not alone, but at her side walked a man in grey felt hat and long grey overcoat. In him all my interest was centred, for he was none other than Logan.I had, however, no time for reflection. Only just sufficient, indeed, to dash back to the booking-office, obtain a ticket for Paris, and enter the last compartment of the train before it moved off to our unknown destination.

The result of our consultation did not, as far as I was concerned, enlighten me upon one single point connected with the puzzling affair.

Certain matters were arranged between the man Keene and the woman I so dearly loved, but strangely enough both were equally careful to allow me no loop-hole through which to gain knowledge of their motives or the secret they held.

I made no mention of the remarkable affair at the lonely farm a few miles distant, nor did I inquire of Keene his object in lying concealed there, or of the identity of those foreigners who were the man Logan’s friends in hiding. I felt it wise to keep all this knowledge to myself.

I told Lolita, however, how I had discovered that the police had introduced a female detective as servant to the Stanchester household, and that her inquiries had been directed towards endeavouring to discover the Ownership of the Louis Quinze shoes, the print of which had been found at the spot where Wingfield had fallen.

The news fell upon her like a thunderbolt. She stood utterly unable to reply.

Keene said nothing. He merely looked at her, and then, sighing, turned away.

I did not tell them that a week ago, when passing the cottage of Jacobs, one of the gamekeepers, the man asked me to enter and see something. I had followed the man in, and producing a muddy damp-stained ermine cloak much soiled and ruined by exposure to the weather, he said—

“I found this yesterday in the Monk’s Wood, sir, an’ I’ve been wondering if it might belong to anybody up at the Hall?”

Instantly I had recognised it as Lolita’s, the one she must evidently have worn on the night of the tragedy! It was torn in one part, and a small piece was missing—the piece which had been found near where the dead man lay!

In a moment I had invented an excuse.

“Why,” I said, “that’s the cape my sister lost when she was staying with me. She went out with her little daughter to pick wild flowers, laid it down in the wood and forgot all about it.”

Then I gladly took possession of it, gave Jacobs a tip, dropping a hint at the same time that it was not necessary for him to talk about it, for if he did there would be all sorts of wild theories formed as to its connexion with the mysterious tragedy. “The police would be sure to begin worrying over nothing,” I added.

“I quite understand, sir,” was the gamekeeper’s answer. “Mr Redway and his men are worse than useless. They’ve made a lot of fuss and haven’t even found out yet who the poor young man was! I shall say nothing about it, for they’d only begin to question and worry me, as well as you.”

And so I had taken the fur cape, and that same night had surreptitiously buried it in my garden.

When at last the stranger’s consultation with Lolita had ended, I recognised how completely my love was in the man’s thraldom. He held power over her inevitable and complete. Why?

Was it because he knew her guilty secret?

She had, in a moment of desperation, declared that he did, and besought him to spare her.

“I will do my best,” was his rather evasive answer. “The man who loves you, Lady Lolita, will help me, and between us we may, I hope, effect your freedom.”

“I am ready to do anything—to go anywhere in order to serve her ladyship,” I declared, with deep earnestness. “I am only glad that we have now come to a thorough understanding.”

“Your attention must be directed towards the actions of the Countess,” was Keene’s reply. “Watch her, and see what she does, and whom she meets. I am unable to approach her because she fears me, and also—well, to be frank—she is no friend of mine any more than she is of Lady Lolita.”

“Very well,” I agreed. “I will leave Lady Lolita to your protection and turn my efforts towards watching the Countess. But,” I added, “I am puzzled by all this mystery and all these conflicting motives.”

“No doubt,” he said, as my love wished us good-night, grasping both my hands in trustful thankfulness. “It is but natural. When you know the real facts you will find it to be stranger than you have ever dreamed—more tragic—more terrible—more bewildering. The truth, Mr Woodhouse, will stagger you—as it will the world!”

And with that emphatic expression of opinion we rejoined the men in the smoking-room, had a final whisky-and-soda and cigarettes, and then parted for the night.

Next morning at five the cry of the hounds passing across the park awakened me, and I knew that the Earl was already out cubbing, leaving his party to go shooting after breakfast. Therefore I rose, and was early at work at my desk, for a quantity of the kennel accounts had come in overnight and required checking.

My mind was full of what had passed between us in the red room, and I was anxious to obtain opportunity to watch the young and brilliant mistress of the house.

The shoot that day was over at Beanfield Lawns, and after breakfast the men, including Keene, drove there in the new Mercedes car, a merry party, leaving the ladies to accompany the luncheon. Through the morning I was busy. Once I encountered Lolita in one of the corridors, and found her just a trifle more hopeful.

“Act on Mr Keene’s suggestion,” she urged. “Watch Marigold closely, and ascertain what she is doing. From what I’ve seen to-day I believe there is something curious in progress.”

“Rely upon me,” I answered, “to serve you dearest. I will do anything—that you know.”

“Yes—I feel sure you will,” she responded smiling sweetly upon me, a fresh erect figure in her clean cotton blouse. “I put my trust entirely in you.”

“And I will not betray it,” I declared in deep earnestness.

Then we parted. She had her hat on, and was going out, I knew, to her Saints’ Garden, in order to give directions to the gardener who attended to it. The thought brought back to me a recollection of my recent conversation with the Countess at that same spot, and I returned to my room and was soon again immersed in my rather onerous duties.

About noon the ladies left in the Panhard, carrying the luncheon, and a quiet fell upon the great old mansion. I interviewed the house-steward and his wife regarding stores to be ordered, ate my luncheon in my room, and afterwards started out to walk to my house at Sibberton, for when there were guests at the Hall, and especially during the shooting-season, I was seldom able to get home, owing to my multifarious duties.

I was passing the Countess’s boudoir—the door of which stood open—and having been urged to keep careful watch upon her, I searched her waste-paper basket. The torn letters, however, were of no account—the usual correspondence a fashionable woman receives. Therefore I was disappointed. In her ladyship’s every movement I now scented suspicion. Hitherto I had watched Lolita, and found mystery in all her movements, and now it was the giddy handsome woman so popular in her own gay set of banjo-playing, skirt-dancing, cake-walking and bridge-playing. I would have gone with the shooting-party over to Beanfield, but I had been prevented by pressure of work, and now I was rather sorry that I had not deferred the accounts and taken a gun.

About three o’clock the ladies returned, a gay bevy of well-dressed beauties, and as I stood chatting with them in the hall, a servant handed the hostess a telegram.

I watched how her countenance changed as she read it, then crushing it in her hand, she suddenly recovered herself and thrust it into her pocket. The message contained something that caused her anxiety—of that I was convinced. Her guests had not noticed the quick opening of her eyes, and the slight movement of the mouth betraying apprehension, as the words were revealed to her. What could they be? How I longed to discover.

Lolita, who, lounging in a chair, was chatting with a pretty young girl in tweeds, the daughter of a very up-to-date mother, looked across at me quickly, as though to place me on the alert, and then I fell to wondering how to obtain knowledge of that message.

To try and get hold of it through her maid would be a too risky proceeding, and besides if it contained anything secret she would no doubt destroy it. Therefore the difficulty seemed insurmountable. She had re-composed herself, and had at that moment declared her intention of dressing and going out again to pay an afternoon call, inviting two of her guests to go with her.

Of a sudden an idea occurred to me; therefore I went out through the servants’ hall, and obtaining the bicycle belonging to Murdock, his lordship’s valet, I mounted and rode down the avenue to Sibberton post-office.

“Oh, Miss Allen,” I said, addressing the daughter of the village post-master, “Lady Stanchester received a telegram just now, and doesn’t quite understand it. She wishes it repeated, please,” and I placed sixpence on the counter, adding, “Her ladyship believes there is some mistake. I suppose it won’t take long to repeat, will it?”

“Oh! not very long,” replied the red-haired rustic beauty.

Whereupon I told her she need not send the copy up to the Hall, but as I was going back presently I would deliver it myself.

Warr was at the door of the inn as I passed, and he called me in. When we were in his back parlour he said to me with a mysterious air—

“Do you know, sir, that that tramp who gave me a sovereign tip has been in Sibberton again? I saw him walking through the village the day before yesterday with another gentleman—one who’s staying up at the Hall.”

“No, you’re mistaken,” I answered laughing. “It’s Mr Smeeton, who’s very much like him, an old friend of his lordship’s. I fell into just the same error myself when I first saw him,” I added, in order, if possible, to remove any suspicion from the worthy man’s mind.

“Well, do you know,” he said laughing, “I could have sworn it was the same man, except that his beard has been trimmed. Of course he looks different, dressed as a gentleman.”

“No,” I reassured him. “The man you have evidently seen is Mr Smeeton, with whom his lordship hunted big game in Africa a year or two ago.” Then after a brief chat, in which he expressed surprise that the police had now relinquished all their efforts to discover the identity of the murdered man or his assassin, I went out, returning to the little low-thatched cottage in which was the village post-office.

The red-haired girl handed me a telegram addressed to the Countess of Stanchester, remarking that no error had been discovered in its transmission, and placing it in my pocket I mounted the cycle and rode away up the avenue. As soon, however, as I was alone under the trees, I took out the envelope, tore it open, and saw that the message had been handed in at Ovington in Essex. It was unsigned and read—

“To-night, Charing Cross, nine. Only bring handbag.”

It showed that her ladyship was on the point of flight! Therefore I at once resolved to ascertain her destination and watch her doings.

On returning to the Hall I learnt from the servants that she had not gone out visiting as she intended, but was in her room. The men had not returned, so I took Lolita aside, showed her the telegram, and told her to go upstairs and watch if there was any sign of her intended departure. A quarter of an hour later my love came secretly to my room and told me that she had remarked casually to her that she intended to go to town to fit a dress, which she specially wanted for a garden-party, and would probably go up to town that evening.

That was sufficient for me. I kissed my love fondly, and telling her to remain under Keene’s care, crammed some things into a bag and took the train at five-thirty from Kettering to St. Pancras.

I travelled by the train previous to the one she would catch, therefore I dined leisurely at the caféRoyal, and at a quarter to nine stood beneath the clock on Charing Cross platform, watching the idlers keeping their appointments and the bustle of departing passengers by the midnight mail for the Continent.

I had to exercise a good deal of caution to avoid detection; but at last, just before the hour, I saw her approach dressed in a dark-brown travelling-gown with a brown gossamer veil that gave her the appearance of an American globe-trotter, and was so thick that it would prevent recognition of her features.

She hurried across from the booking-office to the platform where the Continental express was on the point of starting, as though in fear that some one might detain her.

She was not alone, but at her side walked a man in grey felt hat and long grey overcoat. In him all my interest was centred, for he was none other than Logan.

I had, however, no time for reflection. Only just sufficient, indeed, to dash back to the booking-office, obtain a ticket for Paris, and enter the last compartment of the train before it moved off to our unknown destination.

Chapter Twenty Eight.What! Saw in the Night.The night mail for the Continent backed into Cannon Street for the postal-vans, and then rushed away into the wet stormy night for Dover Pier.The journey, as far as there, proved uneventful, but as soon as I stepped out upon the rain-swept landing-stage, I saw that our crossing was to be a “dirty” one. Beneath the electric lamps brawny seamen passed in shining oil-skins, and amid the bustle and shouting I saw the neat figure of the Countess with her companion hurry across the gangway to the shelter of a private cabin, wherein she entered and closed the door, while Logan went below to get a drink, and change some money with the steward, an action which was that of the constant traveller.Not wishing to appear too obtrusive, I remained on deck watching the mails being counted in, until the last bag had been flung into the hold, the cry “All out!” sounded, the hatches were closed, and then slowly the packet began to move out into the rough open Channel.When Logan emerged on deck I stood back in the darkness, taking a good view of him. He was dressed with every appearance of a gentleman, but from the manner in which he paced the deck I saw that he was greatly agitated and concerned, whether of the Countess’s safety or of his own I could, of course, not determine. Neither had I any idea why the pair were fleeing from England, unless it was to escape some exposure which her ladyship knew to be imminent.That woman was the enemy of my love; she had deceived me. Therefore the compassion I held for her had been succeeded by a fierce and unrelenting antagonism, and I intended to watch her and discover the truth.I sat beneath the bridge under shelter from the driving rain, and hidden by the darkness, while the man Logan walked to and fro, utterly heedless of the storm. He did not go to her ladyship’s cabin to inquire after her, therefore it struck me that perhaps they might have quarrelled. In any case his anxiety was intense.On landing at Calais he took her into the buffet, where they had hot coffee, and a few moments later were joined by a thin black-haired sallow-faced man, evidently a foreigner from the studied manner in which he bowed before her as she sat at the table of the restaurant.Then the trio sat together in earnest consultation.The Paris express was announced to depart, but to my surprise they took no heed. The French capital proved not to be their destination, for presently they rose and walked to the Bâle express, thewagon-litof which they entered, the conductor apparently expecting them.I was compelled therefore to return to the booking-office and obtain a ticket. As, however, there was but one sleeping-car I could not travel in it for fear of detection, and was therefore forced to enter an ordinary first-class carriage, with the prospect of a twelve hours’ tedious journey.On we travelled until the dawn spread into a grey damp day, then the sun shone, it grew warmer, and I stretched myself upon the cushions and slept. To descend to get anything to eat was to invite detection; therefore I starved upon a pull from my flask and a couple of sandwiches with which I had provided myself at the Calais buffet.From Bâle I followed them to Lucerne, and from Lucerne by the Gothard railway to Milan, where we arrived late at night, her ladyship driving alone to theHotel Metropole, opposite theDuomo, and the two men going off in a cab in another direction.As soon as I had watched the Countess into theMetropoleI went along to theCavour, where I quickly turned in and was very soon asleep. Milan seemed to be their destination, for at the station they had been met by a second foreigner, an Italian evidently, a short ferret-eyed little man, smoking the stump of a cigar, and after the exchange of a few words he parted from them quickly and was lost to sight.My own idea was that he had met Logan and his friend and had told them to what address to drive. I, however, could not follow them, being bent upon watching Marigold. Next morning I sent a telegram to Keene informing him of my whereabouts, and then set myself to keep observation on the Countess’s movements.Milan, the most noisy city of modern Italy, was parched and dusty at that season of the year, and save for a few German tourists the hotels seemed empty. There are, of course, visitors from all corners of the earth at all seasons of the year to see the wonders of the cathedral, but to the man who knows his Italy, and who loves it, there is something so incongruous, so ugly, so utterly rasping upon the nerves in Milan that it is decidedly a city to get away from. The place bears the impress of all that is bad in Italian art of to-day, combined with all the worst features of that complex life which is known as Modern Italy.Opposite the hotel stood the great stucco arcade, the Gallery of Victor Emmanuel, one of the greatest, if not actually the greatest, in Europe, and about eleven o’clock her ladyship emerged from her hotel alone and wandered through the arcade looking into the shop windows, some of those establishments being the best and most expensive in Italy.She little dreamed of my presence as I followed her. Previously I had bought a grey felt hat of Italian shape in order that my English “bowler” should not be conspicuous, and with my watchful eyes upon her I sauntered on, wondering why she was waiting. She returned to the hotel to lunch, and in the afternoon went for a drive around the bastions, which, planted with limes now, form thepasseggiataof the prosperous Milanese.It surprised me that Logan and his companion did not return to her, and I regretted that I had not ascertained whither they had gone. At seven o’clock that evening, however, she went alone to the large restaurant in the Galleria known as Biffi’s, and entering found the three men seated at table expecting her. Each greeted her with deep deference, then reseated themselves, and she dined with them.From where I sat, engrossed in myTribuna—the top of my head concealed by my new grey hat—I could see that now and then the conversation was of a confidential character, and I also noticed certain strange meaning looks exchanged between the men when the woman’s attention was otherwise engaged.The three men were certainly not the kind of persons one would have expected as associates of a woman of the Countess of Stanchester’s wealth and social distinction. Her beauty, however, was, I saw, everywhere remarked, even in that foreign café.“Una bellissima donna!” remarked a man seated near to me to his companion, as he sipped his vermouth and seltzer. “English, I believe. I wonder what those thieves want with her? She evidently don’t know their character, or she and the Englishman wouldn’t be seen with them here, in a public restaurant!”I was quickly on the alert. These men, probably petty officials employed in the Municipal Offices, had recognised the sallow-faced man who had met Logan at Calais, and his companion. I recollected the curious incident at Hayes’s Farm, and the fact that two foreigners had been of the mysterious party who had lived in concealment there. Were they, I wondered, these self-same men. They were Italians, no doubt, for had they not read theAvantiand theSecoloand other journals, some of which they had left behind on their sudden flight?Fortunately one of the Continental languages with which I was acquainted was Italian; therefore I turned to the two men seated close to me, and raising my hat politely explained that I had overheard their remarks, and that as the lady and gentleman were my friends I would esteem it a favour if they would give me some further information regarding the two men seated with them at table.“Why do you wish to know?” inquired the man who had made the remark that had so attracted my attention.“Well, because my English friends are negotiating some financial business with them,” I explained.“Oh!” he smiled. “Well then, you can tell your friends that those two men are well-known in Milan, and especially in this café, as knights of industry—persons who live by their wits. I haven’t see them here for months, and believed that they’d fallen into the hands of the law. But it seems that they’re flourishing still.”“What is known against them?” I asked in Italian. “Are you aware of their names?”“Yes,” was his reply. “I may as well tell you that I am adelegatoof police myself, and I happen to know those two very interesting gentlemen. The tall man is Tito Belotto, a Roman, and the other Bernardo Ostini, a Lucchese. And the name of the beautiful Englishwoman? Who is she?”“She is from London—a Mrs Price,” I answered, pronouncing the first name that came into my head, for I was by no means anxious that this detective should know her real name.“Well,” he remarked, “you can warn her to have nothing to do with them, otherwise she must suffer, both in reputation as well as in pocket,” he smiled, and then, having finished his vermouth, he rose with his companion and left.Then the sallow-faced fellow who had met them at Calais was Tito Belotto, an adventurer! And yet as he sat there in evening dress, smoking his cigar and chatting affably with the handsome Englishwoman, his outward appearance was that of a somewhat superior man. In his shirt-front there shone a small diamond of very good water, and on his finger was another gem that caught the electric light and flashed its radiance towards me.He had been relating some humorous anecdote to her ladyship, who was laughing heartily at it. Evidently she was in a good-humour, just as these men wished her to be. Belotto, I noticed, paid for the dinner, and then all four walked down the arcade into the Piazza where they entered a closed cab and were driven off.My own idea is that they were going to a theatre, but as I followed them in another conveyance I quickly found that we were travelling in an opposite direction, namely up the broad Corso Venezia and out by the city gate into that suburb that lies beyond the ancient fortifications. Outside the town the streets are not well-lighted, and the quarter is not one of the most aristocratic. Most of the houses were huge blocks of flats as is usual in Italian cities, and it struck me that they were mostly occupied by labourers. Even at that hour of the night the air seemed close, and a strong odour of garlic permeated everything.The cab in which the four were riding turned at last into a dark deserted street of high prison-like houses and pulled up, when instantly I ordered my man to stop, jumped out, paid him, and secreted myself in a neighbouring doorway before the first man who alighted could detect my presence.From the house where they had stopped a man came forth, carrying a lantern, by the light of which he conducted them into that ponderous house of darkness.The cab then drove off, leaving me alone in the dark dismal street. The house they had entered was a big inartistic place apparently newly-built, for it stood slightly apart from the other buildings, and behind it was a waste plot of ground. From the other tenements in the vicinity came the cries of children, the strumming of a mandoline, a woman’s song, and a man’s voice raised in angry altercation—that babel of noises that one hears at night in every crowded street of an Italian town, and more especially in that noisiest of European cities—Milan.Why, I wondered, had they gone there? That Marigold was unacquainted with the place, and that she was not altogether confident in the assurances of her conductors, was shown to me by the cautious manner in which she followed the man with the lantern. Besides, I saw distinctly that the two Italians, following her, nudged each other.Not a light showed in any single window of the place, for at most of them the wooden sun-shutters were closed, as is the Italian habit at night. In one part of the building, however, the windows were devoid of glass, from which I concluded that the place was not yet completely finished. And then it occurred to me that the man with the lantern might be its first occupant.The minutes lengthened into hours, but I still kept my patient silent vigil. The noises in the other houses around died down, until all was hushed in sleep. I emerged from the doorway and strolled backwards and forwards in the dark and dismal roadway. The closed door of the house where the Countess had been taken was freshly painted, but beyond that I could gather nothing from its exterior.I looked at my watch and found that it was half-past two. Then I sat down upon a heap of stones close by, waiting for the dawn, and thinking always of Lolita.I suppose I had been there some twenty minutes or so, when of a sudden I heard a shrill whistle which, as far as I could judge, proceeded from one of the shuttered windows of the unfinished house.Three times was the whistle blown, when a few moments later I heard the rattle of wheels, and the same cab that had conveyed them there drew up again before the door.There were no lights on it, however, neither did any light show when the door of the house was opened.But as I watched I saw something which caused my eyes to start out of my head in astonishment, for the dim light was just sufficient for me to discern two men emerging from the mysterious place, carrying between them to the cab the inanimate form of a woman covered with a dark cloth.The woman’s arm swung helplessly to the ground as they carried her, and I knew by their suspicious manners, and their hushed whispers, that she was dead.

The night mail for the Continent backed into Cannon Street for the postal-vans, and then rushed away into the wet stormy night for Dover Pier.

The journey, as far as there, proved uneventful, but as soon as I stepped out upon the rain-swept landing-stage, I saw that our crossing was to be a “dirty” one. Beneath the electric lamps brawny seamen passed in shining oil-skins, and amid the bustle and shouting I saw the neat figure of the Countess with her companion hurry across the gangway to the shelter of a private cabin, wherein she entered and closed the door, while Logan went below to get a drink, and change some money with the steward, an action which was that of the constant traveller.

Not wishing to appear too obtrusive, I remained on deck watching the mails being counted in, until the last bag had been flung into the hold, the cry “All out!” sounded, the hatches were closed, and then slowly the packet began to move out into the rough open Channel.

When Logan emerged on deck I stood back in the darkness, taking a good view of him. He was dressed with every appearance of a gentleman, but from the manner in which he paced the deck I saw that he was greatly agitated and concerned, whether of the Countess’s safety or of his own I could, of course, not determine. Neither had I any idea why the pair were fleeing from England, unless it was to escape some exposure which her ladyship knew to be imminent.

That woman was the enemy of my love; she had deceived me. Therefore the compassion I held for her had been succeeded by a fierce and unrelenting antagonism, and I intended to watch her and discover the truth.

I sat beneath the bridge under shelter from the driving rain, and hidden by the darkness, while the man Logan walked to and fro, utterly heedless of the storm. He did not go to her ladyship’s cabin to inquire after her, therefore it struck me that perhaps they might have quarrelled. In any case his anxiety was intense.

On landing at Calais he took her into the buffet, where they had hot coffee, and a few moments later were joined by a thin black-haired sallow-faced man, evidently a foreigner from the studied manner in which he bowed before her as she sat at the table of the restaurant.

Then the trio sat together in earnest consultation.

The Paris express was announced to depart, but to my surprise they took no heed. The French capital proved not to be their destination, for presently they rose and walked to the Bâle express, thewagon-litof which they entered, the conductor apparently expecting them.

I was compelled therefore to return to the booking-office and obtain a ticket. As, however, there was but one sleeping-car I could not travel in it for fear of detection, and was therefore forced to enter an ordinary first-class carriage, with the prospect of a twelve hours’ tedious journey.

On we travelled until the dawn spread into a grey damp day, then the sun shone, it grew warmer, and I stretched myself upon the cushions and slept. To descend to get anything to eat was to invite detection; therefore I starved upon a pull from my flask and a couple of sandwiches with which I had provided myself at the Calais buffet.

From Bâle I followed them to Lucerne, and from Lucerne by the Gothard railway to Milan, where we arrived late at night, her ladyship driving alone to theHotel Metropole, opposite theDuomo, and the two men going off in a cab in another direction.

As soon as I had watched the Countess into theMetropoleI went along to theCavour, where I quickly turned in and was very soon asleep. Milan seemed to be their destination, for at the station they had been met by a second foreigner, an Italian evidently, a short ferret-eyed little man, smoking the stump of a cigar, and after the exchange of a few words he parted from them quickly and was lost to sight.

My own idea was that he had met Logan and his friend and had told them to what address to drive. I, however, could not follow them, being bent upon watching Marigold. Next morning I sent a telegram to Keene informing him of my whereabouts, and then set myself to keep observation on the Countess’s movements.

Milan, the most noisy city of modern Italy, was parched and dusty at that season of the year, and save for a few German tourists the hotels seemed empty. There are, of course, visitors from all corners of the earth at all seasons of the year to see the wonders of the cathedral, but to the man who knows his Italy, and who loves it, there is something so incongruous, so ugly, so utterly rasping upon the nerves in Milan that it is decidedly a city to get away from. The place bears the impress of all that is bad in Italian art of to-day, combined with all the worst features of that complex life which is known as Modern Italy.

Opposite the hotel stood the great stucco arcade, the Gallery of Victor Emmanuel, one of the greatest, if not actually the greatest, in Europe, and about eleven o’clock her ladyship emerged from her hotel alone and wandered through the arcade looking into the shop windows, some of those establishments being the best and most expensive in Italy.

She little dreamed of my presence as I followed her. Previously I had bought a grey felt hat of Italian shape in order that my English “bowler” should not be conspicuous, and with my watchful eyes upon her I sauntered on, wondering why she was waiting. She returned to the hotel to lunch, and in the afternoon went for a drive around the bastions, which, planted with limes now, form thepasseggiataof the prosperous Milanese.

It surprised me that Logan and his companion did not return to her, and I regretted that I had not ascertained whither they had gone. At seven o’clock that evening, however, she went alone to the large restaurant in the Galleria known as Biffi’s, and entering found the three men seated at table expecting her. Each greeted her with deep deference, then reseated themselves, and she dined with them.

From where I sat, engrossed in myTribuna—the top of my head concealed by my new grey hat—I could see that now and then the conversation was of a confidential character, and I also noticed certain strange meaning looks exchanged between the men when the woman’s attention was otherwise engaged.

The three men were certainly not the kind of persons one would have expected as associates of a woman of the Countess of Stanchester’s wealth and social distinction. Her beauty, however, was, I saw, everywhere remarked, even in that foreign café.

“Una bellissima donna!” remarked a man seated near to me to his companion, as he sipped his vermouth and seltzer. “English, I believe. I wonder what those thieves want with her? She evidently don’t know their character, or she and the Englishman wouldn’t be seen with them here, in a public restaurant!”

I was quickly on the alert. These men, probably petty officials employed in the Municipal Offices, had recognised the sallow-faced man who had met Logan at Calais, and his companion. I recollected the curious incident at Hayes’s Farm, and the fact that two foreigners had been of the mysterious party who had lived in concealment there. Were they, I wondered, these self-same men. They were Italians, no doubt, for had they not read theAvantiand theSecoloand other journals, some of which they had left behind on their sudden flight?

Fortunately one of the Continental languages with which I was acquainted was Italian; therefore I turned to the two men seated close to me, and raising my hat politely explained that I had overheard their remarks, and that as the lady and gentleman were my friends I would esteem it a favour if they would give me some further information regarding the two men seated with them at table.

“Why do you wish to know?” inquired the man who had made the remark that had so attracted my attention.

“Well, because my English friends are negotiating some financial business with them,” I explained.

“Oh!” he smiled. “Well then, you can tell your friends that those two men are well-known in Milan, and especially in this café, as knights of industry—persons who live by their wits. I haven’t see them here for months, and believed that they’d fallen into the hands of the law. But it seems that they’re flourishing still.”

“What is known against them?” I asked in Italian. “Are you aware of their names?”

“Yes,” was his reply. “I may as well tell you that I am adelegatoof police myself, and I happen to know those two very interesting gentlemen. The tall man is Tito Belotto, a Roman, and the other Bernardo Ostini, a Lucchese. And the name of the beautiful Englishwoman? Who is she?”

“She is from London—a Mrs Price,” I answered, pronouncing the first name that came into my head, for I was by no means anxious that this detective should know her real name.

“Well,” he remarked, “you can warn her to have nothing to do with them, otherwise she must suffer, both in reputation as well as in pocket,” he smiled, and then, having finished his vermouth, he rose with his companion and left.

Then the sallow-faced fellow who had met them at Calais was Tito Belotto, an adventurer! And yet as he sat there in evening dress, smoking his cigar and chatting affably with the handsome Englishwoman, his outward appearance was that of a somewhat superior man. In his shirt-front there shone a small diamond of very good water, and on his finger was another gem that caught the electric light and flashed its radiance towards me.

He had been relating some humorous anecdote to her ladyship, who was laughing heartily at it. Evidently she was in a good-humour, just as these men wished her to be. Belotto, I noticed, paid for the dinner, and then all four walked down the arcade into the Piazza where they entered a closed cab and were driven off.

My own idea is that they were going to a theatre, but as I followed them in another conveyance I quickly found that we were travelling in an opposite direction, namely up the broad Corso Venezia and out by the city gate into that suburb that lies beyond the ancient fortifications. Outside the town the streets are not well-lighted, and the quarter is not one of the most aristocratic. Most of the houses were huge blocks of flats as is usual in Italian cities, and it struck me that they were mostly occupied by labourers. Even at that hour of the night the air seemed close, and a strong odour of garlic permeated everything.

The cab in which the four were riding turned at last into a dark deserted street of high prison-like houses and pulled up, when instantly I ordered my man to stop, jumped out, paid him, and secreted myself in a neighbouring doorway before the first man who alighted could detect my presence.

From the house where they had stopped a man came forth, carrying a lantern, by the light of which he conducted them into that ponderous house of darkness.

The cab then drove off, leaving me alone in the dark dismal street. The house they had entered was a big inartistic place apparently newly-built, for it stood slightly apart from the other buildings, and behind it was a waste plot of ground. From the other tenements in the vicinity came the cries of children, the strumming of a mandoline, a woman’s song, and a man’s voice raised in angry altercation—that babel of noises that one hears at night in every crowded street of an Italian town, and more especially in that noisiest of European cities—Milan.

Why, I wondered, had they gone there? That Marigold was unacquainted with the place, and that she was not altogether confident in the assurances of her conductors, was shown to me by the cautious manner in which she followed the man with the lantern. Besides, I saw distinctly that the two Italians, following her, nudged each other.

Not a light showed in any single window of the place, for at most of them the wooden sun-shutters were closed, as is the Italian habit at night. In one part of the building, however, the windows were devoid of glass, from which I concluded that the place was not yet completely finished. And then it occurred to me that the man with the lantern might be its first occupant.

The minutes lengthened into hours, but I still kept my patient silent vigil. The noises in the other houses around died down, until all was hushed in sleep. I emerged from the doorway and strolled backwards and forwards in the dark and dismal roadway. The closed door of the house where the Countess had been taken was freshly painted, but beyond that I could gather nothing from its exterior.

I looked at my watch and found that it was half-past two. Then I sat down upon a heap of stones close by, waiting for the dawn, and thinking always of Lolita.

I suppose I had been there some twenty minutes or so, when of a sudden I heard a shrill whistle which, as far as I could judge, proceeded from one of the shuttered windows of the unfinished house.

Three times was the whistle blown, when a few moments later I heard the rattle of wheels, and the same cab that had conveyed them there drew up again before the door.

There were no lights on it, however, neither did any light show when the door of the house was opened.

But as I watched I saw something which caused my eyes to start out of my head in astonishment, for the dim light was just sufficient for me to discern two men emerging from the mysterious place, carrying between them to the cab the inanimate form of a woman covered with a dark cloth.

The woman’s arm swung helplessly to the ground as they carried her, and I knew by their suspicious manners, and their hushed whispers, that she was dead.

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