"But, Teddy--ah! You don"t know how injudicious it was for you to visit them. Why, you might have----"
"Might have what?" I asked, endeavouring to betray no surprise at her words.
"Well, I mean you should not have ventured into the enemy"s camp like that. It was dangerous," she declared.
"Why?"
"They are quite unscrupulous," she replied briefly.
"They are your enemies, I know. But I cannot see why they should be mine," I remarked.
"My enemies--yes!" my love cried bitterly. "It will not be long before that woman makes a charge against me, Teddy--one which I shall not be able to refute."
"But I will a.s.sist you against them. I love you, Phrida, and it is my duty to defend you," I declared.
"Ah! You were always so good and generous," she remarked wistfully. "But in this case I cannot, alas, see how you can render me any aid! The police will make inquiries, and--and then the end," she added in a voice scarce above a whisper.
"No, no!" I urged. "Don"t speak in that hopeless strain, darling. I know your position is a terrible one. We need not refer to details; as they are painful to both of us. But I am straining every nerve--working night and day to clear up the mystery and lift from you this cloud of suspicion. I have already commenced by learning one or two facts--facts of which the police remain in ignorance. Although you refused to tell me--why, I cannot discern--the name of the unfortunate girl who lost her life, I have succeeded in gaining knowledge of it. Was not the girl named Marie Bracq?"
She started again at hearing the name.
"Yes," she replied at once. "Who told you?"
"I discovered it for myself," I replied. "Who was the girl--tell me?"
"A friend of Digby Kemsley"s."
"A foreigner, of course?"
"Yes, Belgian, I believe."
"From Brussels, eh?"
"Perhaps. I don"t know for certain."
"And she learned some great secret of Digby"s, which was the motive of the crime," I suggested.
But my love only shook her pretty head blankly, saying--"I don"t know.
Perhaps she knew something to his detriment."
"And in order to silence her, she was killed," I suggested.
"Perhaps."
She made no protest of her own innocence, I noticed. She seemed to place herself unreservedly in my hands to judge her as I thought fit.
Yet had not her own admissions been extremely strange ones. Had she not practically avowed her guilt?
"Can you tell me nothing concerning this Belgian girl?" I asked her a few moments later.
"I only knew her but very slightly."
"Pardon me putting to you such a pointed question, Phrida. But were you jealous of her?"
"Jealous!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Why, dear me, no. Why should I be jealous?
Who suggested that?"
"Mrs. Petre. She declares that your jealousy was the motive of the crime, and that Digby himself can bear witness to it."
"She said that?" cried my love, her eyes flashing in fierce anger. "She"s a wicked liar."
"I know she is, and I intend to prove her so," I replied with confidence.
"When she and I meet again we have an account to settle. You will see."
"Ah! Teddy, beware of her! She"s a dangerous woman--highly dangerous,"
declared my love apprehensively. "You don"t know her as I do--you do not know the grave evil and utter ruin she has brought upon others. So I beg of you to be careful not to be entrapped."
"Have others been entrapped, then?" I asked with great curiosity.
"I don"t know. No. Please don"t ask me," she protested. "I don"t know."
Her response was unreal. My well-beloved was I knew in possession of some terrible secret which she dared not betray. Yet why were her lips sealed?
What did she fear?
"I intend to find Digby, and demand the truth from him," I said after we had been silent for a long time. "I will never rest until I stand before him face to face."
"Ah! no dear!" she cried in quick alarm, starting up and flinging both her arms about my neck. "No, don"t do that?" she implored.
"Why not?"
"Because he will condemn me--he will think you have learned something from me," she declared in deep distress.
"But I shall reveal to him my sources of information," I said. "Since that fatal night I have learned that the man whom I believed was my firm friend has betrayed me. An explanation is due to me, and I intend to have one."
"At my expense--eh?" she asked in bitter reproach.
"No, dearest. The result shall not fall upon you," I said. "I will see to that. A foul and dastardly crime has been committed, and the a.s.sa.s.sin shall be brought to punishment."
My well-beloved shuddered in my arms as she heard my words--as though the guilt were upon her.
I detected it, and became more than ever puzzled. Why did she seek to secure this man"s freedom?
I asked her that question point-blank, whereupon in a hard, faltering voice, she replied:
"Because, dear, while he is still a fugitive from justice I feel myself safe. The hour he is arrested is the hour of my doom."
"Why speak so despondently?" I asked. "Have I not promised to protect you from those people?"