One thing gratified me. Edwards had not approached my love, although I knew full well, just as Phrida did, that day after day observation was being kept upon the house in Cromwell Road, yet perhaps only because the detective"s duty demanded it. At least I tried to think so.
Still the one fact remained that, after all our efforts--the efforts of Scotland Yard, of the Belgian police, and of my own eager inquiries--a solution of the problem was as far off as ever.
Somewhere there existed a secret--a secret that, as Phrida had declared to me, was inviolable.
Would it ever be revealed? Would the ghastly truth ever be laid bare?
The affair of Harrington Gardens was indeed a mystery of London--as absolute and perfect an enigma of crime as had ever been placed before that committee of experts at Scotland Yard--the Council of Seven.
Even they had failed to find a solution! How, then, could I ever hope to be successful?
When I thought of it, I paced my lonely room in a frenzy of despair.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE SELLER OF SHAWLS.
After much eloquent persuasion on my part, and much straight talking on the part of the spectacled family doctor, and of Mrs. Shand, Phrida at last, towards the last days of June, allowed us to take her to Dinard, where, at the Hotel Royal, we spent three pleasant weeks, making many automobile excursions to Trouville, to Dinan, and other places in the neighbourhood.
The season had scarcely commenced, nevertheless the weather was perfect, and gradually I had the satisfaction of seeing the colour return to the soft cheeks of my well-beloved.
Before leaving London I had, of course, seen Edwards, and, knowing that watch was being kept upon her, I accepted the responsibility of reporting daily upon my love"s movements, she being still under suspicion.
"I ought not to do this, Mr. Royle," he had said, "but the circ.u.mstances are so unusual that I feel I may stretch a point in the young lady"s favour without neglecting my duty. And after all," he added, "we have no direct evidence--at least not sufficient to justify an arrest."
"Why doesn"t that woman Petre come forward and boldly make her statement personally?" I had queried.
"Well, she may know that you are still alive"--he laughed--"and if so--she"s afraid to go further."
I questioned him regarding his inquiries concerning the actual ident.i.ty of Marie Bracq, but he only raised his eyebrows and replied:
"My dear Mr. Royle, I know nothing more than you do. They no doubt possess some information in Brussels, but they are careful to keep it there."
And so I had accompanied Phrida and her mother, hoping that the change of air and scenery might cause her to forget the shadow of guilt which now seemed to rest upon her and to crush all life and hope from her young heart.
Tiring of Dinard, Mrs. Shand hired a big, grey touring-car, and together we went first through Brittany, then to Vannes, Nantes, and up to Tours, afterwards visiting the famous chateaux of Touraine, Amboise Loches, and the rest, the weather being warm and delightful, and the journey one of the pleasantest and most picturesque in Europe.
When July came, Phrida appeared greatly improved in both health and spirits. Yet was it only pretence? Did she in the lonely watches of the night still suffer that mental torture which I knew, alas! she had suffered, for her own deep-set eyes, and pale, sunken cheeks had revealed to me the truth. Each time I sat down and wrote that confidential note to Edwards, I hated myself--that I was set to spy upon the woman I loved with all my heart and soul.
Would the truth never be told? Would the mystery of that tragic January night in South Kensington never be elucidated?
One evening in the busy but pleasant town of Tours, Mrs. Shand having complained of headache after a long, all-day excursion in the car, Phrida and I sauntered out after dinner, and after a brief walk sat down outside one of those big cafes where the tables are placed out beneath the leafy chestnut trees of the boulevard.
The night was hot and stifling, and as we sat there chatting over our coffee amid a crowd of people enjoying the air after the heat of the day, a dark-faced, narrow-eyed Oriental in a fez, with a number of Oriental rugs and cheap shawls, came and stood before us, in the manner of those itinerant vendors who haunt Continental cafes.
He said nothing, but, standing like a bronze statue, he looked hard at me and pointed solemnly at a quant.i.ty of lace which he held in his left hand.
"No, I want nothing," I replied in French, shaking my head.
"Ve-ry cheep, sare!" he exclaimed in broken English at last. "You no buy for laidee?" and he showed his white teeth with a pleasant grin.
I again replied in the negative, perhaps a little impatiently, when suddenly Phrida whispered to me:
"Why, we saw this same man in Dinard, and in another place--I forget where. He haunts us!"
"These men go from town to town," I explained. "They make a complete round of France."
Then I suddenly recollected that the man"s face was familiar. I had seen him outside the Piccadilly Tube Station on the night of my tryst with Mrs. Petre!
"Yes, laidee!" exclaimed the man, who had overheard Phrida"s words. "I see you Dinard--Hotel Royal--eh?" he said with a smile. "Will you buy my lace--seelk lace; ve-ry cheep?"
"I know it"s cheap," I laughed; "but we don"t want it."
Nevertheless, he placed it upon the little marble-topped table for our inspection, and then bending, he whispered into my ear a question:
"Mee-ster Royle you--eh?"
"Yes," I said, starting.
"I want see you, to-night, alone. Say no-ting to laidee till I see you--outside your hotel eleven o"clock, sare--eh?"
I sat staring at him in blank surprise, but in a low voice I consented.
Then, very cleverly he asked in his normal voice, looking at me with his narrow eyes, with dark brows meeting:
"You no buy at that price--eh? Ah!" and he sighed as he gathered up his wares: "Cheep, laidee--very goot and cheep!"
And bowing, he slung them upon the heavy pile already on his shoulder and stalked away.
"What did he say?" Phrida asked when he had gone.
"Oh, only wanted me to buy the lot for five francs!" I replied, for he had enjoined secrecy, and I knew not but he might be an emissary of Fremy or of Edwards. Therefore I deemed it best for the time to evade her question.
Still, both excited and puzzled, I eagerly kept the appointment.
When I emerged from the hotel on the stroke of eleven I saw the man without his pile of merchandise standing in the shadow beneath a tree, on the opposite side of the boulevard, awaiting me.
Quickly I crossed to him, and asked:
"Well, what do you want with me?"
"Ah, Mee-ster Royle! I have watched you and the young laidee a long time.
You travel so quickly, and I go by train from town to town--slowly."