The Temptress Part 49

"A few years ago," he said feebly, "three English students lived in Paris, on the first floor of a dingy old house in the Quai Montabello, facing Notre Dame. Their names were Holt, Glanville, and Egerton. They were--"

"Egerton! I have a friend of that name!"

"Yes, it was he! Like many other hare-brained denizens of the Quartier Latin, they frequently pa.s.sed their evenings at the Bal Bullier. One night while dancing there, Egerton met a young and handsome woman. Her charms were irresistible, and he fell madly in love with her, young fool that he was! She was poor when these men first knew her, and, discovering that she was in the chorus at the Chatelet, they bestowed upon her the name of `La Pet.i.te Hirondelle.' She was a clever woman, and not to be easily overtaken by adverse fortune. Indeed, hers had already been an adventurous career, and she had few scruples--"

"What was the woman's name?" asked Hugh anxiously.

"She had many. But--I was telling you. The man with whom she lived was an expert thief, and she, a _voleuse_ also, was his accomplice, being an adept at abstracting jewellery from counter-trays in shops she visited on pretence of making a purchase. The money upon which they had been living was the proceeds of an extensive plate robbery at a mansion at Asnieres, which had been perpetrated by this man and a youthful a.s.sistant; the man you know as Adolphe Chavoix."

"Chavoix! Your friend!"

The other nodded. He had spoken in broken sentences, without looking up and his breath now came with hard laboured gasps in the intervals, as if speaking and keeping silence were alike a pain to him. The stronger man felt touched with a reverent pity for the weak one at his side.

Again the swelling in the dying man's throat increased his agony. His thoughts wandered, and he uttered fierce imprecations with words that had neither meaning nor context.

"Valerie! Valerie!" he cried in deep guttural tones, after giving vent to a volley of fearful oaths. "It's you--your accursed treachery that has brought me to this! I die--I die in horrible torture the death of a dog, while you laugh, take your ease, and congratulate yourself upon getting rid of me so easily. _Diable_!" he screamed, making a desperate but futile effort to raise himself, "Trethowen shall know all-- everything, and if he lives you will--ha, ha! you'll die in greater degradation than myself. You shall suffer--by Heaven you shall--"

His hands were clenched and his face distorted by an expression of intense hatred and dogged revenge. He closed his eyes, as if to shape his thoughts, and lay for some time motionless, while Trethowen, who had watched the changes of his countenance and listened to the wild allegations against his wife, whom he thought so pure, sat regarding him anxiously, awaiting the convict's further revelations.

Egerton and Valerie had met in Paris, he reflected. He had not been mistaken when jealousy had taken possession of him on that day he found them together in the studio. This truth cut short his resolution not to prejudge her without a full knowledge of the facts. It rose suddenly in his mind and covered every thought with a veil. His resolution broke down, and he argued with himself against it.

Clutching his arm, Berard turned his fevered eyes again upon him, with an expression of terrible earnestness.

"I want," he said, articulating with difficulty--"I want to tell you something more."

"Concerning her?"

Making a gesture in the affirmative, he raised his head and glanced with eager eyes over the gunwale at the dear, calm sea.

"Water!" he implored piteously. "I--I must have some--some of that. My throat! Ah! I can't breathe."

Hugh noticed his effort to dip his hand into the sea, and arrested his arm, exclaiming in a calm voice--

"No, by Heaven! you shan't. That means death. Hope on; we may both live yet."

"Ah," he replied mechanically, his head sinking slowly back upon his companion's arm. Presently he resumed, in low, broken tones, sometimes so feeble that the anxious listener could scarcely catch them. "I told you that when these students first met this woman she was poor. Cruel in her coquetry as was her wont by nature, she encouraged the attentions of Egerton, although his pocket was light as his heart. The artist adored her, with the same pa.s.sionate ardour that dozens of men have done, yourself included--"

"Do you mean that Valerie was a thief's mistress?" he cried in amazement, as the truth flashed upon him.

"Yes."

"I don't--I can't believe it. How can you prove it? What was this man's name?" he demanded.

"Victor Berard," and he hesitated for a second. "The unfortunate devil who afterwards, in order to a.s.sist her in a nefarious plot which has been only too successful, a.s.sumed the name of the Comte Lucien Chaulin-Serviniere!"

"What! You!" cried Trethowen, scarcely believing his ears, and withdrawing his hand from the prostrate man's head with a feeling of repulsion. "You were her lover!"

"Yes," he continued, unmoved by his companion's astonishment. "Remember when Egerton met her he believed she lived at home with her mother, who kept a little _estaminet_. He told her of his love, and she made pretence of entertaining true, honest affection for him. It was not long, however, before he discovered that she was no better than the rest of the women who sipped _sirops_ at the Bullier. He found that in a handsome suite of rooms in the Boulevard Haussmann there resided a rich Englishman, named Nicholson. With this man she had a _liaison_, and when the artist charged her with it she admitted the truth, telling him that the Englishman held such power over her that she dare not refuse to visit him."

"Was that the truth?"

"Judge for yourself by subsequent events. This man Nicholson was a diamond merchant, and the safe in his rooms frequently contained gems worth large sums. Egerton fostered a murderous hatred towards this man, whom he had never seen, but who was the only obstacle to his happiness.

One day he met them both in the Bois, and she introduced him. On subsequent occasions the two men met, and the artist ingratiated himself with his rival. Ah!"

He paused, and gasped for breath. Then, resuming, said--

"I--I needn't go into details. It is sufficient to say that she grew tired of Nicholson, and announced the fact to Egerton, remarking that if she could free herself from the odious bond she would become his mistress. This--this had the--desired effect. A few days later Nicholson was found dead in his room. He had been murdered by Egerton--"

"Jack Egerton a murderer?"

"Yes. And the safe, which had contained a quant.i.ty of valuable uncut stones, had been ransacked."

"Great heavens! you cannot be speaking the truth! Do you mean to say that this Nicholson was killed by my friend Egerton?"

"Yes. Stabbed to the heart," he replied faintly, with closed eyes.

"Do you expect me to accept this without proof?" asked Trethowen.

The prostrate man opened his eyes. In them the film of death had already gathered.

"I--I--can--prove it. He killed Nicholson because--because he loved Valerie?"

"Was she aware of his intentions?"

"No, no--_mon Dieu_!--no!" he gasped.

"Tell me all the circ.u.mstances which led to the tragedy," demanded Hugh, with fierce impatience.

"It's a long story. The whole facts would astonish you. You remember-- your brother--was murdered? Ah! _Dieu_! My throat! I'm choking! My head! It's all so strange! Yet now I--I feel quite well again--quite-- well!"

The colour had left his lips, and his eyes, although wide-open, were dim. The death-rattle was in his throat.

"For G.o.d's sake, tell me more before you die?" implored Hugh, bending over him.

But the convict took no heed.

"Valerie! Valerie!" he moaned in a hoa.r.s.e, feeble voice.

His jaw suddenly dropped, and the light went out of his face.

Trethowen placed his hand upon his heart, but there was no movement.

The spark of life had fled.

Scrambling along to where the madman lay silent and motionless, he touched him on the shoulder. A second later, however, he started back, as he became conscious that to the thwarts was bound a corpse.

Hugh Trethowen was left alone with two bodies to suffer death by slow torture, the horrors of which he had already witnessed.

Shading his aching eyes with his hand, he struggled back and gazed around.