"And you have acted wisely," I said. I saw it was not judicious to continue the conversation further, therefore we rose from the table, and during the morning I left Dora and her lover to wander in the garden and talk together.
After luncheon, on the pretext of playing billiards, I took Jack alone to the billiard-room, where I knew we should be undisturbed. Instead of taking up the cues we sat together smoking in the deep old-fashioned bay-window that overlooked the broad pastures and the winding Nene.
"Well," I said at length. "Now be frank with me, Jack, old fellow; what does all this mean? Why did you leave the country so suddenly and cause all this talk?"
"What has been said about me? Have the papers got hold of it?" he inquired quickly.
"Not to my knowledge."
"Thank Heaven!" he gasped, with a sigh of relief. "Then I am safe up to the present."
Up to the present! He feared the future. This was a confession of his guilt! The fingers that held his cigar trembled slightly as he spoke.
"But you have not told me the reason of your flight. What is it you fear?" I inquired.
"The reason is a secret," he said, as if speaking to himself, looking away fixedly across the meadows and the sun-illumined river. "Some incidents have occurred that, although they have happened in real life, are even more startling and extraordinary than any I have ever imagined in fiction."
"Cannot you explain them to me, your friend?"
"No. I cannot--I--I dare not, believe me. For the present I must preserve my secret," and he shook his head sadly.
"Why?"
"Because my whole future depends upon my ability to remain silent."
For some minutes I did not speak; my bitter thoughts were wandering back to the conversation I had overheard in the garden at Blatherwycke. At last I resolved to attack him point blank.
"Jack," I exclaimed earnestly, looking into his pale, pained face.
"Answer me one question. Did you ever know a woman named Sybil?"
For an instant his brow contracted, and his breath seemed to catch. His hand again trembled as he removed the cigar from his mouth.
"Sybil!" he echoed, his face paler than before. "Yes, it is true, I--I once knew someone of that name. You have discovered the secret of--"
"Captain Bethune," interrupted my father"s man, who, followed by Dora, had entered the billiard-room un.o.bserved, and who stood before us holding a card on a salver.
"Yes," answered Jack, turning sharply.
"A gentleman has called to see you, sir."
Jack took the card, glanced at it for an instant, and then starting suddenly to his feet, stood with clenched fists and glaring eyes.
"My G.o.d, Stuart! He is here! Save me, old fellow! You are my friend.
Save me!"
Next second he sank back again into his chair with his chin upon his breast, rigid and motionless as one dead.
Noticing Dora"s look of surprise at the words he uttered, he set his teeth, steadied himself by dint of great effort, and turning to the man ordered him to show the visitor in. Then, addressing the woman he loved, he added hoa.r.s.ely:
"I must see this man alone, dearest."
"You wish me to leave?" she inquired, her pretty face clouded by a sudden expression of bewilderment. He nodded, without replying, and as she moved slowly towards the door, I followed.
"No, Stuart," he cried anxiously. "No, stay, old fellow, stay! You are my friend, stay!"
Dora turned, glanced at her lover and then disappeared through the doorway, while I returned slowly to where he was standing, staring like one fallen under some occult influence.
"Who is this visitor?" I asked, but before he could reply, the man appeared at the door, and announced:
"Mr Francis Markwick."
At the same moment there advanced into the room the mysterious individual who had been my conductor on the night of my marriage; the man whose intimate acquaintance with Lady Fyneshade was so puzzling! He was well-groomed and sprucely-dressed in a well-cut frock-coat, tightly b.u.t.toned, and wore a flower and grey suede gloves.
"Ah! my dear Bethune!" he cried, walking towards him with extended hand, without apparently noticing me. "I heard you were back, and have taken the earliest opportunity of calling. Where have you been all this time?" But Jack, thrusting his hands into his pockets, made no reply to this man"s effusiveness. His greeting was frigid, for he merely inclined his head. Suddenly the remembrance of those partially charred letters I had found in Jack"s chambers on the night of the murder of Sternroyd flashed through my brain. In them the name "Markwick"
occurred several times, and the writer of one had referred to him as "that vile, despicable coward." Who had penned these words? Sybil had no doubt written one of the letters I had discovered, but did this condemnation emanate from her? I stood watching him and wondering.
When he found Bethune disinclined to enter into any conversation, he turned to me and with a slight start recognised me for the first time.
"I believe, Mr Markwick, we have the pleasure of mutual acquaintance,"
I said, bowing.
He looked at me in silence for a few seconds, then, with an expression of perplexity, replied:
"You really have the advantage of me, sir. I cannot recall where we have met before."
I was certainly not prepared for this disclaimer, but his eyes were unwavering, and there was no sign of confusion. His sinister face was a perfect blank.
"Come," I said, rather superciliously, "you surely remember our meeting one night at Richmond, our strange journey together and its tragic result!"
"Strange journey--tragic result!" he repeated slowly, with well-feigned ignorance. "I confess I have no knowledge of what you mean."
"Complete loss of memory is advantageous sometimes," I remarked dryly.
"But if you deny that you did not meet me one night in the Terrace Gardens at Richmond, that you did not induce me to go to a certain house to have an interview with the woman I loved, and that while in that house an event occurred which--"
"How many whiskies have you had this morning?" he asked with a laugh.
His impa.s.sibility was astounding.
"I tell you if you deny these facts you lie!" I cried angrily.
"I certainly do deny them," he answered firmly. "And what is more, I have never set eyes upon you before today."
"Then you will deny that Lady Fyneshade had a visitor who met her clandestinely--in the shrubbery at Blatherwycke the other night--and that that visitor was yourself? You will deny that you have acted as the Countess"s inquiry agent; that you followed my friend, Captain Bethune, to the Continent, dogged his footsteps through France, Germany and Italy, and made such arrangements that he could be arrested at any moment--"
"What for?" cried Bethune, amazed. "What crime is alleged against me?"
There was silence. Markwick flashed a rapid glance at me.
"None," I said at last I saw that this man Markwick was too wary to show his hand.