THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE.
May Penfold was a very pretty girl, tall and fair-haired, with a pair
of merry blue eyes, and a charming complexion. Her parents died when
she was young and left her to the guardianship of Sir Rupert
Balscombe, who certainly fulfilled his trust admirably. He had her
well educated both intellectually and physically, so when she made her
_début_ in London Society she was much admired. An accomplished
musician and linguist, a daring horse-woman and a kindly disposition,
it was no wonder that she was much sought after; but when added to
these gifts it was also discovered that she possessed twenty thousand
a year in her own right, she became the catch of the season, and many
were the attempts made by hard-up scions of noble houses to secure her
hand in marriage.
But alas, for the contrary disposition of womankind, she would have
none of the gilded youth but fixed her affections on Myles Desmond, a
poor Irish gentleman, with nothing to recommend him but a handsome
face, a clever brain and a witty tongue. In vain Lord Calliston asked
her to be his wife, she coolly refused him, telling the astonished
nobleman that neither his morals nor his manners were to her liking,
and informed Sir Rupert that she intended to marry Myles Desmond.
The baronet was furious at this declaration, and as May was under age
and could not marry without her guardian's consent, he forbad Myles
the house and ordered his ward not to speak to him. But see how the
duplicity of love can circumvent the watchfulness of guardians. May
and Myles met secretly in the Park, at garden parties, and at balls,
whenever they chose, and so cleverly did they manage their meetings
that Sir Rupert never for a moment suspected the truth. He wanted his
ward to marry Calliston, but when that fickle young man ran off with
Lady Balscombe he changed his tune altogether, and had May been clever
enough to have taken advantage of his dismay, he would doubtless have
consented to her union with Myles despite the disadvantages of the
match. Sir Rupert was paralysed at the scandal caused by his wife's
elopement. He was deeply in love with her, and having known Calliston
from his boyhood it had never entered his head that such a thing could
happen. He was a very proud man, and when he discovered the elopement
he shut himself up in his library, refusing to see anyone. The guilty
pair had gone to the Azores, and knowing that sooner or later they
would return to England, he awaited their coming with the intention of
divorcing his treacherous wife and punishing her seducer.
Sir Rupert having taken up this position, May was left a good deal to
herself, and as the whole affair caused such a scandal she, as a ward
of Balscombe's, refused to go out into society until some definite
settlement of the matter had been arrived at. She had written several
times to Myles asking him to see her, but on some plea or another he
had always refused to come, much to her bewilderment. When she
received his telegram asking her to meet him at the Marble Arch, she
was delighted; and slipping out of the house in Park Lane, went to
keep her appointment.
At this time of the year there were comparatively few people in town
who knew her nevertheless, for the sake of safety, she dressed herself
plainly in a dark dress and wore a thick veil which concealed her
face. Thus disguised she had no fear of being recognised, and arrived
at the rendezvous about five minutes past three o'clock. There she
found Myles waiting for her and they walked together into the Park,
feeling perfectly secure from interruption or detection. But they did
not know that they were being shadowed by a small ragged boy who was
apparently playing idly about them.
Dowker recognising Myles pointed him out to Flip and departed at once,
lest he should by seen by Desmond, so when Flip saw May join the young
Irishman he knew it was the couple whose conversation he was there to
overhear and followed them promptly.
Myles and Miss Penfold walked a short distance into the Park and then
seated themselves for a while--two ordinary looking figures not
calculated to attract much notice, for, the day being cold, Myles was
muffled up in a large ulster and May's dress, as previously noticed,
was not conspicuous.
Flip sat down on the grass at the back of them, apparently engaged in
spelling out a dirty bit of newspaper, but in reality drinking in
every word the lovers uttered.
They were continuing a conversation begun when they first met.
"Does this man suspect you?" said May, evidently referring to Dowker.
"I'm afraid so," he replied gloomily, "and I cannot open my mouth to
defend myself."
"Why?"
"Because my only defence would be an explanation of the events of that
night, and I cannot explain."
"Why not?"
He remained silent, at which the girl turned pale.
"Is there any reason--strong reason?"
"Yes."
"Is that reason--a woman?"
Myles bowed his head.
Miss Penfold grew a shade paler and laughed bitterly.
"A pleasant reason to give me," she said, with a sneer. "I have
given up all else for your sake, because I thought you loved me, and
you--you--talk of another woman to me."
"This is nonsense," he answered impatiently. "There is no love in the
case; it simply involves the breaking of a promise given to a woman,
and you would be the last to ask me to do that. Can you not believe in
my honour?"
May looked at him doubtfully.
"Can I believe in any man's honour?" she replied sadly.
"That depends who the man is," answered Myles quietly. "It is simply a
case of Lovelace over again:
"'I would not love thee dear so much,
Loved I not honour more.'
"It is absurd--quixotic--ridiculous--to talk about honour in these
days, I grant you, but unfortunately I inherit loyal blood, and--well,
I must ask you to trust me till I can speak."
"And you will speak?"
"Yes; if it comes to the worst," he replied with a slight shiver.
The girl gave him her hand, which he took and pressed slightly. So
thus, mutely, they made up their quarrel.
All the foregoing conversation about honour was Greek to Flip, who,
after some cogitation, came to the conclusion it was a scene out of a
play. But now they began to talk on a subject more suited to his
comprehension.
"May," said Myles, "I want you to tell me all that Lady Balscombe did
on--on that night."
"The night when she eloped?"
"Yes."
"Let me see," said May, knitting her pretty brows, "we went to a
ball--to Lady Kerstoke's."
"At what time?"
"Between nine and ten."
"And what time did you leave?"
"Very early--about half past ten; in fact, we were there only a few
minutes. Lady Balscombe said she had a headache and went home. You
know our house is only a few doors away. I expect she only went there
to avert suspicion as to her elopement."
"What happened when she came home?"
"There was a woman waiting to see her in her boudoir."
"A woman?" repeated Desmond; "who was she?"
"I don't know; I didn't even see her. She saw Lady Balscombe and then
left the house, between eleven and twelve."
"How do you know?"
"My maid told me."
"And what time did Lady Balscombe leave?"
"I don't know. I did not see her again that night. She went to bed
because of her headache, and, I suppose, departed early in the morning
to catch the train to Shoreham."
"Where was Sir Rupert all this time?"
"He had been down in Berkshire, but arrived some time before
twelve--he and Lady Balscombe had quarrelled lately and occupied
different rooms. Besides, he went off to his club on arriving in town,
so he would not know of her flight till the morning."
"Did she leave a letter for him?"
"I suppose so; but why do you ask all these questions?"
"Because I want to save my neck, if possible. The woman who was
murdered is said to be Lena Sarschine, whom I saw during the day. I
saw a woman in Calliston's rooms on the same night, whom the detective
thinks was the same person. Now, between the time I left the chambers
and the time I met Spencer Ellersby I was wandering about the streets
and, as I spoke to no one, I cannot prove an alibi. Ellersby met me
coming up St. James' Street, and the scene of the crime was not far
off, so, if I am arrested, circumstances will tell very hard against
me. Nobody will believe my assertion that I did not see the dead woman
that night, and I cannot prove it without breaking my promise."
"I see what you mean, but what has Lady Balscombe to do with it?"
"Simply this. I am anxious to find out if Calliston really left town
on that night, because I want to know if he had anything to do with
the death of his mistress. He left his chambers to catch the ten
minutes past nine train from London Bridge; but did he catch it?
I think not, because he would not have left town without Lady
Balscombe, and from your own showing, she did not leave her house till
early on Tuesday morning. So I think Calliston must have remained in
town at some hotel, where she joined him, and they went down to
Shoreham by the first train in the morning."
"But you don't think Calliston killed this woman?"
"No, I don't think so," he answered thoughtfully. "I really don't
think so, but I would like to have all his movements on that night
accounted for. As for myself, I am in a very awkward position, for, if
arrested, I cannot extricate myself from it till Calliston returns."
"Why?"
"Because till his yacht comes back I cannot prove my innocence."
"But you are innocent?"
"Yes; can you doubt me?"
"I was certain of it."
"I hope the jury of twelve good and lawful men will be as certain," he
replied grimly, as they walked away.
Flip followed them at a distance, but only caught scraps of
conversation which seemed to him to be about trivial matters. So, with
all the conversation he had heard in the Park indelibly inscribed on
his brain, Flip darted away, to give his patron an accurate report and
thus add another link to the chain which was gradually encircling the
murderer of Lena Sarschine.