The Wiles of the Wicked Part 21

By her reply I had obtained from her own lips a most important fact in the inquiry I intended now to prosecute, namely, that this house had been her home for nearly two years. Therefore it had been in Mrs Anson's possession at the time of the tragedy.

Since the moment when I had first recognised that; room as the one in which I had been present on the night of the mysterious a.s.sa.s.sination, the possibility had more than once occurred to me that Mrs Anson might have; unwittingly taken it ready furnished after the committal of the crime. Such, however, was not the fact. Mabel had a.s.serted that for nearly two years she had lived, there.

Again, even as I sat there at her side, deep in admiration of her magnificent figure in that striking toilette of coral-pink, with its soft garniture of lace and chiffons, I could not help reflecting upon the curious fact that she should have recognised the dead man's pencil-case. And she had, by her silence, a.s.sented to my suggestion that he had been her lover. That little gold pencil-case that I had found in his pocket when he lay dead at that very spot where we were now sitting had been one of her love-gifts to him.

The mystery hourly grew more puzzling and bewildering. Yet so also each hour that I was at her side I fell deeper and deeper in love with her, longing always for opportunity to declare to her the secret of my heart, yet ever fearing to do so lest she should turn from me.

Our unexpected meeting at Grosvenor Gate, after I had received that letter from my anonymous correspondent, combined with the startling discovery that it was actually in her house that the mysterious tragedy had been enacted; that in that very room the smart, refined young man who had been her lover had fought so fiercely for life, and had yet been struck down so unerringly, formed an enigma inscrutable and perplexing.

The mystery, however, did not for one moment cause me to waver in my affection for her. I had grown to love her fondly and devotedly; to adore her as my idol, as the one who held my whole future in her hands, therefore whatever suspicion arose within my mind--and I admit that grave suspicion did arise on many occasions--I cast it aside and fell down to wors.h.i.+p at the shrine of her incomparable beauty.

Miss Wells's carriage was announced at last, and the Irritating Woman, tinkling and jingling, rose with a wearied sigh and took her leave, expressing her thanks for "a most delightful evening, my dear."

Mabel, mischievous as a school-girl, pulled a grimace when the music of the bangles had faded in the hall outside, at which we laughed in merry chorus.

With Hickman I remained ten minutes or so longer, then rose, also declaring that it was time we left. The grave man-servant Arnold served us with whiskies and sodas in the dining-room, and, Mabel having helped me on with my covert-coat, we shook hands with our hostess and her daughter, and left in company.

The night was bright and starlit, and the air refres.h.i.+ng. Turning to the left after leaving the house, we came immediately to a road which gave entrance to that secluded oval called The Boltons. I looked at the name-plate, and saw it was named Gilston Road. It must have been at this corner that I had been knocked down by a pa.s.sing cab when, on my first adventurous journey alone, I had wandered so far westward.

I turned to look back, and noticed that from the dining-room window of the house we had just left any occurrence at the corner in question could be distinctly seen. Edna had explained that she had witnessed my accident from that window, and in this particular had apparently told me the truth.

The remarkable and unexpected discoveries of that evening had produced a veritable tumult of thoughts within my brain, and as I walked with Hickman I took no note of his merry, irresponsible gossip, until he remarked--

"You're a bit preoccupied, I think. You're pondering over Mabel's good looks, I suppose?"

"No," I answered, starting at this remark. Then, to excuse myself, I added, "I was thinking of other things. I really beg your pardon."

"I was asking your opinion of Mabel. Don't you consider her extremely handsome?"

"Of course," I answered, trying to suppress my enthusiasm. "She's charming."

"A splendid pianist, too."

"Excellent."

"It has always been a wonder to me that she has never become engaged,"

he remarked. "A girl with her personal charms ought to make an excellent match."

"Has she never been engaged?" I inquired quickly, eager to learn the truth about her from this man, who was evidently an old friend of the family.

"Never actually engaged. There have been one or two little love-affairs, I've heard, but none of them was really serious."

"He'd be a lucky fellow who married her," I remarked, still striving to conceal the intense interest I felt.

"Lucky!" he echoed. "I should rather think so, in many ways. It is impossible for a girl of her beauty and n.o.bility of character to go about without lots of fellows falling in love with her. Yet I happen to know that she holds them all aloof, without even a flirtation."

I smiled at this a.s.sertion of his, and congratulated myself that I was the only exception; for had she not expressed pleasure at my companions.h.i.+p on her walks? But recollecting her admission that the victim of the a.s.sa.s.sin's knife had been her lover, I returned to the subject, in order to learn further facts.

"Who were the men with whom she had the minor love-affairs--any one I know?" I inquired.

"I think not, because it all occurred before they returned to live in England," he answered.

"Then you knew them abroad?"

"Slightly. We met in a casual sort of way at Pau, on the Riviera, and elsewhere."

"Both mother and daughter are alike extremely pleasant," I said. "In high spirits Mrs Anson is sometimes almost as juvenile as Mabel."

"Quite so," he laughed. "One would never believe that she's nearly sixty. She's as vivacious and merry as a woman half her age. I've myself been surprised at her sprightliness often and often."

Again and again I endeavoured to turn the conversation back to the ident.i.ty of Mabel's former lover, but he either did not know or purposely refused to tell me. He spoke now and then with an intentional vagueness, as though his loyalty to the Ansons prevented him from betraying any confidences reposed in him as a friend of the family.

Indeed, this cautiousness showed him to be a trustworthy man, and his character became thereby strengthened in my estimation. On first acquaintance I had instantly experienced a violent aversion to him, but now, on this walk together along the Fulham Road, I felt that we should probably end by becoming friends.

He walked with long strides and a swinging, easy gait that seemed almost military, while his air of careless merriment as he laughed and joked, smoking the choice cigar which the man had handed to him in the hall just before our departure, gave him the aspect of an easy-going man-about-town.

"I fully expect, my dear fellow," he laughed--"I fully expect that you'll be falling in love with the pretty Mabel if you're in her company very much."

"You're chaffing," I protested, echoing his laugh.

"Not at all," he a.s.serted. "Only take care. Love-making with her is a dangerous pastime--devilish dangerous, I a.s.sure you."

"Dangerous to the man's heart--eh?"

"Yes," he responded in a vague tone, glancing at me curiously; "if you like to put it in that way."

We had pa.s.sed from the Fulham Road into the King's Road, Chelsea, and at that moment he halted suddenly at the corner of a street of high, regularly built houses, most of which were in darkness, saying--"I live down here. Come in and have a final whisky and soda with me; then you can take a cab back to the Strand. There are cabs all night on the rank in Sloane Square."

"I fear it's too late," I protested, glancing at my watch, and finding it past one o'clock.

"No, no, my dear fellow, come along," he urged. "You'll want a drink before you get home;" and, thus persuaded, I accompanied him up the street to one of the high houses, each exactly similar to its neighbour, with a flight of hearthstoned steps leading up to its front door, and a deep, grimy bas.e.m.e.nt protected by a few yards of iron railings.

In the hall, although the gas had been extinguished, there remained a small hand-lamp alight, evidently placed there for his use. This he took, and conducted me to a front room, upon what the landlady of such a residence would term her "drawing-room floor." The house smelled close and stuffy; the furniture of the sitting-room was covered with plush which had once been crimson, but which was now sadly worn and badly moth-eaten; the threadbare carpet had been perforated in many places by hot cigarette-ends carelessly thrown down, and there was a general air of disorder about the place which seemed incongruous with my friend's smart air and general demeanour. I believed him to be a gentleman, yet found that he lived in a not over-clean lodging. To the practical Londoner, whose fate it is to live in "diggings," apartments in the neighbourhood of the King's Road are notable as being both dear and dirty.

He threw off his overcoat, tossed his hat aside, and pulled up a long, comfortable wicker-chair for me. Then he opened the buffet, and took therefrom a bottle of whisky and a couple of sodas, with which he proceeded to mix the drinks, his cigar-stump still in his mouth, even though he talked all the time, recounting some amusing stories which caused me to laugh.

I could not quite make him out. The remarks he let fall while, over our coffee, we had discussed the chances at roulette, led me to the suspicion that he was a practised gambler, and here in his rooms I detected evidence that he was fond of sport, of betting, and of other games of hazard.

We had lit fresh cigars from his own box, and as he sat in his big armchair he lifted his gla.s.s to me merrily, expressing pleasure at our meeting.

"I hope," he added, "that we shall meet very often. But take my tip, my dear fellow, and don't fall in love with Mabel Anson."

Why he should emphasise this warning just as Channing had done struck me as very curious. It might be, of course, that he was in love with her himself, and regarded me as a possible rival. This, indeed, was the impression conveyed to me by his words, and it aroused within me a vague feeling of distrust. That quick sinister glance when I had been introduced still lingered in my memory.

"I can't think why you should so repeatedly warn me," I remarked, laughing with affected amus.e.m.e.nt. "It really isn't likely that I shall fall in love with her."

He made no response. He only puffed slowly at his cigar, and smiled cynically through the veil of smoke he created.

I replaced my cigar in my mouth--for my friend was evidently a connoisseur of Havanas, and this was an excellent one--but at that instant my tongue, as I twisted it in my mouth, came in contact with the cut end of the weed, and I felt p.r.i.c.ked as if by some sharp point.

Quickly I removed it and examined it closely, exclaiming--