The Temptress Part 21

"Soon--in a few days perhaps."

"A few days," she repeated thoughtfully. "Is she returning to London?"

"No; I have decided to travel back with you to-morrow, and then go on to Belgium."

"You haven't forgotten her, then?" she said in a strained, reproachful tone.

"Forgotten her!" he exclaimed. "Why should I?"

"It would be best," was the brief reply.

The thought occurred to him that she loved him, and that jealousy had prompted her to utter that remark.

"Why?" he inquired, rather sharply.

"Mr. Trethowen--Hugh, hear me," she said imploringly, laying her hand upon his arm. "My friends.h.i.+p is as sincere towards you as towards Mr.

Egerton, but I cannot help telling you frankly what I think."

"Well, and what are those fearful apprehensions of yours, Dolly?" he asked, regarding her with an amused expression.

"Forgive me for speaking so plainly, but I somehow feel confident that this foreign woman will bring you only sorrow and misery."

"That's cheering," he remarked in his usual light and airy manner.

"Think seriously, and you will find I have some cause for apprehension,"

she continued in earnest tones. "Remember Jack, your friend, has warned you. He has told you that she is not a fitting wife for you. Besides, are you not convinced that there is some strange secret tie between them?"

"You are right, Dolly. It is an enigma I cannot solve. Sometimes I have even thought that he is afraid of her," Hugh said gravely.

"I feel sure he is. When she visited him on the first occasion they had high words, and though I could not understand, because they spoke in French, yet I'm absolutely certain she was threatening him."

"It's very curious," he remarked, after a pause.

He was a trifle annoyed that she should have approached such a delicate matter so bluntly, although he was convinced more than ever that the woman who was speaking thus loved him.

"Why go to her? Why not remain here amid these lovely surroundings and try to forget her?" the girl suggested.

"Impossible! I love her, and will not hear her disparaged," he replied, with more impatience than politeness, as he took a cigarette from his case and lit it. "Don't speak again upon the subject, please; we shall never agree. Come, let's turn back."

Murmuring an apology, she drew herself up from her leaning position upon the low rail, and together they pursued their way in silence along the lonely path. As they walked, a cheerful freshness was in the air. The wind was hardly perceptible, because it blew off the sh.o.r.e and was lost in pa.s.sing through the wood whose solemn shadows crowned the cliffside.

But while this exchange of confidence was in progress, Jack Egerton's actions, viewed by even a casual observer, would have appeared strange.

As soon as Dolly and his host had departed, he rose from the writing-table, and, flinging himself into a chair before the fire, abandoned himself to reflections that appeared particularly gloomy. He sat almost motionless for fully half an hour, when Jacob entered with a letter.

"Whom is it for?" asked the artist.

"For the master, sir," replied the old man, placing it upon the table, and retiring.

From where he sat, Egerton noticed a foreign stamp upon the envelope.

He rose, and took it in his hand. A glance sufficed to tell it was from Valerie.

He turned it over and over, reading and re-reading the superscription.

"I wonder," he said aloud, "whether it contains anything of interest?"

Then he turned towards the fire. There was a small copper kettle upon it, which had been ordered by Hugh to be brought up so that they might brew warm whisky. From the spout steam was issuing.

"Am I such a low, mean spy that I should contemplate opening my friend's letters?" he asked himself at last. "Yet--yet it is not for my own benefit. Would Hugh ever forgive me if he knew all? If he knew my secret--ah! by heaven! it's too horrible, the very thought of the crime, of its punishment, unnerves me. Coward--yes, coward at heart; afraid of justice, and under the thrall of a daring unscrupulous gang. What can I do, how can I act? Surely there can be no great harm in opening this."

He stood several moments in silence.

"Yes!" he exclaimed suddenly, "I'll do it!"

Then he held the envelope in the stream of steam. In a few moments the gum had become loosened, and he was reading the missive.

When he had finished it his face grew hard and stern. Slowly he replaced the letter in its envelope and re-gummed the flap in its original position. Standing before the fire, his arms folded, his head bent deep in thought, he muttered to himself:

"So that is your plan, Valerie! As a masterpiece of ingenuity and chicanery, it does you great credit, and fully sustains your reputation.

But the bird is scarcely in the net yet. You have me under your merciless hand, it is true, and you know well that I dare not expose you, for you could send me to a convict's cell, or worse. No, I am not such a fool as to run the risk. I know you and your brutal myrmidons too well for that. I cannot show you in your true colours, except vaguely, and therefore ineffectually; still we may be quits yet."

Taking the lamp from the table, he placed it upon the old bureau wherein Hugh had found the strange letters and photograph.

"You gave me this to use in your interests," he continued, taking a small key from his pocket. "I've searched for the missing letters.

I've been a thief, because I'm compelled, like the cringing slave that I am. But how little you dream of what still remains! The most cleverly-arranged schemes are apt to fail sometimes."

Inserting the key, he unhesitatingly opened the bureau. On pressing one of the dark panels of the side it fell forward, revealing a secret cavity, the existence of which Hugh had never discovered. All it contained was a slip of paper, together with an old copy of the _Gaulois_ newspaper.

"Yes," he said, aloud, "these will prove useful, perhaps, some day.

They will be safer in my possession than here."

Replacing the panel, he closed and locked the bureau, and, turning to the table, first read the words upon the piece of paper, then spread out the newspaper, and became absorbed in a long report which had been marked round with coloured crayon.

"And after all," he reflected, when he had placed the papers in his pocket, "I may be only forging fetters for my own wear. Who knows?"

Then he sank back into his armchair, and, lighting his meerschaum, calmly smoked until the return of the pair who had been gossiping by the sea.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

QUEEN OF THE SILENT KINGDOM.

One of the most pleasant thoroughfares in Brussels is perhaps that broad boulevard, lying on the La Cambre side, between the Fontaine Debroeckere and the Porte de Hal. The Boulevard de Waterloo is scarcely as fas.h.i.+onable as the Bontanique or the Regent, but it certainly possesses another and greater charm, inasmuch as the trees are more abundant, and, being older than those in the other boulevards, their branches meet overhead, forming long avenues of dark foliage which in summer const.i.tute a cool and pleasant promenade.

Hugh Trethowen, dressed with evident care, had strolled from his hotel in the Place Royale one afternoon, three days later, and, walking up the Rue de Namur, had turned into this leafy resort of idlers.

Under a clear blue sky the sun shone upon the fresh green of the spring foliage, lighting up the usually sombre pathways with a s.h.i.+mmering golden light, and presenting the boulevard at its best, with its crowds of _flaneurs_ strolling under the old elms, or seated enjoying the exhilarating air.

But by Hugh the picturesqueness of the scene was unappreciated. He was too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the beauty or charms of his surroundings; he was only bent on finding the house Valerie had given as her address. Crossing the boulevard without scarcely giving it a glance, he found himself before a long row of tall houses which line the left side, and const.i.tute the Avenue de la Toison d'Or. Their dead white fronts were the reverse of artistic, although their general character spoke of stability and wealth, for the majority were of almost stereotyped exactness, each with its wide _porte cochere_, its enormous door, its three tall drawing-room windows with white jalousies thrown back, and its four storeys above.