William Le Queux

“ All the mystery of those past months had sent my brain awhirl.
I had an impulse to go to the police and reveal the secret of that closed house in Porchester Terrace. Yet had she not implored me not to do so? Why? There was only one reason. She feared exposure herself.
No. Ten thousand times no. I would not believe ill of her. Can any man who really loves a woman believe ill of her? Love is blind, it is true, and the scales never fall from the eyes while true affection lasts. And so I put suspicion from my mind, and swallowed the cup of coffee Browning put before me. ”

“ On opening the door of the taxi I stood amazed to find that the occupant was not a man—but a woman.
It was Sylvia!
She started at sight of me. Her countenance blanched to the lips as she drew back and sat erect, a cry of dismay escaping her lips.
“You!” I gasped, utterly dumbfounded.
“Why—Mr. Biddulph!” she cried, recovering herself in a moment and stretching forth her small gloved hand; “fancy meeting you like this!”
What words I uttered I scarcely knew. This sudden transformation of the scoundrel Forbes into Sylvia Pennington held me bewildered. ”

“ Perhaps she was annoyed that I had told Shuttleworth the truth. Yes, I had acted very foolishly. My tongue had loosened involuntarily. My wild joy had led me into an injudicious confession—one that I had never dreamed would be fraught with sorrow.
“Mr. Shuttleworth,” I said at last, “please do not distress yourself on my account. I love Sylvia, and she has promised to be mine. If disaster occurs, then I am fully prepared to meet it. You seem in close touch with this remarkable association of thieves and assassins, or you would hardly be so readily aware of their evil intentions.” ”

“ CHAPTER FIVE THE DARK HOUSE IN BAYSWATER
Edmund Shuttleworth, the thin-faced, clean-shaven Hampshire rector, had spoken the truth. His manner and speech were that of an honest man.
Within myself I could but admit it. Yet I loved Sylvia. Why, I cannot tell. How can a man tell why he loves? First love is more than the mere awakening of a passion: it is transition to another state of being. When it is born the man is new-made. ”

“ But my voice in that small room somehow seemed dulled and drowned.
“Sylvia,” I shouted, “I am here! I—Owen Biddulph! Where are you?”
But there was no response. That horrible snake rose erect, looking at me with its never-wavering gaze. I saw the pointed tongue darting from its mouth. There—before me—soon to be released, was Death in reptile form—Death the most revolting and most terrible.
That silence appalled me. Sylvia had not replied! Was she already dead—stricken down by the fatal fang?
I called again: “Sylvia! Sylvia!” ”

“ It was already past eleven o’clock. Morning shopping in Regent Street had now commenced in real earnest. The thoroughfare was lined with carriages, for was it not the height of the London season?
In and out of the big drapery establishment passed crowds of well-dressed women, most of them with pet dogs, and others with male friends led like lambs to the slaughter. The spectacle of a man in silk hat out shopping with a lady friend is always a pitiable one. His very look craves the sympathy of the onlooker, especially if he be laden with soft-paper parcels. ”

“ He was rather too intimately acquainted with the doings of Harriman and his gang to suit my liking. Even as he stood there beneath the light of the street-lamp, I saw that his bright eyes twinkled behind those gold pince-nez, while the big old-fashioned amethyst he wore on his finger was a conspicuous object. He gave one the appearance of a prosperous merchant or shopkeeper.
“What makes you suggest that the attempt was due to my affection for Sylvia?” I asked him.
“Well, it furnishes a motive, does it not?”
“No, it doesn’t. I have no enemies—as far as I am aware.” ”

“ But during the time I was dressing I reflected whether I should go to Scotland Yard and relate my strange experience. Such clever fiends as Reckitt and Forbes deserved punishment. What fearful crimes had been committed in that weird, neglected house I dreaded to think. My only hesitation, however, was caused by the thought that perhaps Sylvia might be implicated. I felt somehow impelled to try and solve the problem for myself. I had lost a thousand pounds. Yet had I not fallen into that trap in utter disregard of Sylvia’s warning? ”

“ There was nothing unusual there, save upon a small work-table lay some embroidery work, where apparently it had been put down. An open novel lay near, while close by was a big bowl filled with yellow roses. Yet the apartment seemed to have been long closed and neglected, while the atmosphere had a musty odour which was not dispelled by the sweet perfume of the flowers.
Had Sylvia been in this room when she had shrieked?
I saw something upon the floor, and picked it up. It proved to be a narrow band of turquoise-blue velvet, the ornament from a woman’s hair. Did it belong to her? ”

“ The pretty house in which his host, Philip Poland, alias Louis Lessar, lived, stood back a little distance from the London road, two miles or so out of the quiet market-town of Andover, a small picturesque old place surrounded by high old elms wherein the rooks cawed incessantly, and commanding extensive views over Harewood Forest and the undulating meadow-lands around, while close by, at the foot of the hill, nestled a cluster of homely thatched cottages, with a square church-tower, the obscure village of Middleton. ”

“ And yet, had she not rescued me from the serpent’s fang?
“Sylvia,” I cried, “Sylvia—for I feel that I must call you by your Christian name—let us forget it all. The trap set by those blackguards was most ingenious, and in innocence I fell into it. I should have lost my life—except for you. You were present in that house of death. They told me you were there—they showed me your picture, and, to add to my horror, said that you, their betrayer, were to share the same fate as myself.” ”

“ Every man-about-town in London knows what a crowd of professional players and blackmailers infest the big hotels, on the look-out for pigeons to pluck. The American bars of London each have their little circle of well-dressed sharks, and woe betide the victims who fall into their unscrupulous hands. I had believed Jack Marlowe to be more wary. He was essentially a man of the world, and had always laughed at the idea that he could be “had” by sharpers, or induced to play with strangers. ”

“ Biddulph,” she responded in a curious, strained voice, “passion may be perilously misleading. Ask yourself if you are not injudicious in making this declaration—to a woman like myself?”
“Why?” I cried. “Why should it be injudicious? I trust you, because—because I owe my life to you—because you have already proved yourself my devoted little friend. What I beg and pray is that your friendship may, in course of time, ripen into love—that you may reciprocate my affection—that you may really love me!” ”

“ Truly the night mysteries of London are many and gruesome. The public never dream of half the brutal crimes that are committed and never detected. Only the police, if they are frank, will tell you of the many cases in which persons missing are suspected of having been victims of foul play. Yet they are mysteries never solved.
I went across to White’s and dined alone. I was in no mood for the companionship of friends. No one save myself knew that my wife had disappeared. Jack suspected something wrong, but was not aware of what it exactly was. ”

“ Because he, Phil Poland, had endeavoured to cut himself adrift from his ingenious friends, they were about to make him the scapegoat.
He contemplated flight, but, if he fled, whither should he go? Where could he hide successfully? Those who desired that he should pay the penalty would search every corner of the earth. No. Death itself would be preferable to either arrest or flight, and as he contemplated how he might cheat his enemies a bitter smile played upon his grey lips. ”

“ I am helpless and defenceless. If I only dared, I could tell you a strange story—for surely mine is as strange as any ever printed in the pages of fiction. But Mr. Shuttleworth will not permit it.”
“You may speak—if you deem it wise,” exclaimed the rector in a strangely altered voice. He seemed much annoyed at my open defiance. “Mr. Biddulph may as well, perhaps, know the truth at first as at last.”
“The truth!” I echoed. “Yes, tell me the truth,” I begged her. ”

“ I cried passionately. “All I know, Sylvia, is that my heart is yours—that I have loved only once in my life, and it is now!”
Her slim fingers played nervously with the ribbon upon her cool summer gown, but she made no response.
“I know I have not much to recommend me,” I went on. “Perhaps I am too hulking, too English. You who have lived so much abroad are more used, no doubt, to the elegant manners and the prettily turned compliments of the foreigner than the straight speech of a fellow like myself. ”

“ I protested.
“Who can fathom human enmity, or the ingenious cunning of the evil-doer?” asked the grey-faced rector quite calmly. “Have you never stopped to wonder at the marvellous subtlety of human wickedness?”
“Those men are veritable fiends,” I cried. “Yet why have I aroused their animosity? If you know so much concerning them, Mr. Shuttleworth, don’t you think that it is your duty to protect your fellow-creatures?—to make it your business to inform the police?” ”

“ At last, I suppose, I must have tired him out, for suddenly he hastened from his hiding-place, and, creeping beneath the shadow of the hotel, succeeded in reaching the door through which Sylvia had passed.
As he entered, the light from the lounge within gave me a swift glance of his features. He was a thin, grey-faced, rather sad-looking man, dressed in black, but, to my surprise, I noticed that his collar was that of an English clergyman!
This struck me as most remarkable. Clergymen are not usually persons to be feared. ”

“ Continental life attracted me, just as it attracts most young men. Paris, with its glare and glitter, its superficial gaiety, its bright boulevards, and its feminine beauty, is the candle to the moth of youth. I revelled in Paris just as many a thousand other young men had done before me. I knew French, Italian and German, and I was vain enough to believe that I might have within me the making of a cosmopolitan. So many young men believe that—and, alas! so many fail on account of either indolence, or of narrow-mindedness. ”

“ When one remembers how many persons are every year reported to the London police as missing, one can only believe that the difficulties in getting rid of the corpse of a victim are not so great as is popularly imagined.
Speak with any detective officer of the Metropolitan Police, and, if he is frank, he will tell you that a good many people meet with foul play each year in every quarter of London—they disappear and are never again heard of. ”

“ Why should this man Delanne, the friend of Reckitt and no doubt a member of a gang of blackmailers and assassins, openly pursue him to the death? It was an entire enigma. I could discern no light through the veil of mystery which had, all along, so completely enshrouded Pennington and his daughter. ”

“ The fact that he was an associate of Reckitt puzzled me. I felt highly resentful that the fellow should have thus intruded upon my privacy and broken up my very pleasant evening. He had intruded himself upon me once before, causing me both annoyance and chagrin. I looked forth into the corridor, and there saw the figures of two men in the act of getting through the window at the end, while a waiter and a femme-de-chambre stood looking on in surprise.
“Who is that man?” I asked of Sylvia, as I turned back into our salon.
“His real name is Guertin,” she replied. ”

“ He wished her to marry Forbes, and thus, on account of her great beauty, remain the decoy of the gang. But she met you, and loved you. Her love for you was the cause of their hatred. Because of her affection, she risked her life by revealing to me certain things concerning her associates, whom she knew were plotting to kill you. The very man who was posing as her father—and who afterwards affected friendship for you—told that pair of unscrupulous assassins, Reckitt and Forbes, a fictitious story of how Sonia—for that is her real name—had denounced them. ”

“ Your life was, you recollect, heavily insured at Pennington’s suggestion, and you had made over a large sum of money to Sonia in case of your demise. Therefore it was to the interests of the whole gang that you should meet with some accident which should prove fatal. The theft of the jewels of the Archduchess delayed the conspiracy from being put into execution, and by that means your life was undoubtedly spared. Ah! monsieur, the gang recently led by Arnold Du Cane was once one of the most daring, the most unscrupulous, and the most formidable in the whole of Europe. ”

“ CHAPTER ELEVEN WHAT THE POLICE KNEW
As I pushed my way through the tangle of weeds and undergrowth, Jack followed closely at my heels.
The dark figure leapt away in an instant, and dashed round the corner by the ruined conservatory, but I was too quick for him. I caught him up when he gained the front of the house, and there, in the light of the street-lamp, my eyes fell upon a strange-looking object.
He proved to be a ragged, hunchbacked youth, so deformed as to be extremely ugly, both in face and figure. ”

“ But to such I would reply that in your hearts the flame of real love has never yet burned. You may have experienced what you have fondly believed to have been [Pg 226] love—a faint flame that has perhaps flickered for a time and, dying out, has long been forgotten. Only if you have really loved a woman—loved her with that all-consuming passion that arises within a man once in his whole lifetime when he meets his affinity, can you understand why I made Sylvia my wife.
I had the car brought up to meet us in Perth, and with it Sylvia and I had explored all the remotest beauties of the Highlands. ”