"NO TRUMPS."
In the failing London light, as Kirk rose and stood near the window, his
countenance was even more sinister and more mysterious than ever. About
his lips played that enigmatical, sarcastic smile which so tantalised
and irritated me. Here was a man who had actually deceived the
hard-headed Sheffield magnate into a belief that he possessed power and
influence, while, in reality, he was only a clever adventurer.
"Sit down, Holford," he said, in a cheery voice, inviting me to a big
leather arm-chair. "The time has come when it is very necessary for you
and me to arrive at some clear and definite understanding."
"Yes," I cried, "I agree with you. Have I not asked you all along for a
clear statement of facts? Have I not urged you to tell me where I can
find my wife?"
"You have," he said, leaning against the big, old-fashioned mahogany
table piled with books and scientific periodicals. "But until the
present I have been unable to satisfy you. Even now I am still in a
great measure in the dark as to the--well, the unfortunate occurrence,
shall we call it?--which took place in this house."
"But you have, I understand, been acting in concert with the man who
calls himself Greer?" I remarked. "You've been with him abroad!"
"I don't deny that. Why should I?"
I shrugged my shoulders impatiently. His evasion was always cunning,
always well-contrived.
"When you first brought me here," I said, "it was to obtain my
assistance to discover who killed Professor Greer, and--"
"And you made a promise which you did not keep!" he interrupted. "Hence
I have been unable to keep faith with you. Is not that quite feasible?"
"My wife's disappearance is the point which most concerns me," I said.
"The other matter is, to me, of secondary importance. If you cared to
divulge, you could tell me my wife's whereabouts. I happen to know that
she has been in Vienna, staying at the Hotel Continental, and she has
been seen in your company, Mr. Kirk."
"Now that's really quite smart of you!" he laughed, with a patronising
air, his grey face changing slightly, I thought. "I wonder how you came
to know that?"
"The source of my information does not matter," I said sharply.
"Suffice it that it is a reliable one."
"Well," he laughed, "since that evening when you sat with me in Bedford
Park I've been compelled to be active, and I've discovered quite a
number of things which at that time I never dreamed--facts that have
amazed me, as they will, before long, amaze you, Holford."
"Nothing can amaze me in this crooked affair," I declared. "You sought
my aid in an endeavour to discover who killed Professor Greer, yet,
having gained my confidence, you at once abused it!" I cried, with
bitter reproach.
"That is your present opinion," he said, with a keen, crafty look.
"An opinion based upon your actions towards me!" I exclaimed hotly.
"My dear Holford," he said, "now let us speak quite frankly, as man to
man." And he bent towards me in an eager attitude. "I put it to you
whether, in the circumstances--not overlooking the fact that Scotland
Yard has refused you assistance--to forget what you saw that night
upstairs in the laboratory, to place it aside as though you never
witnessed it, is not the best plan?"
"Ah, you wish still to hush up the tragedy!" I cried. "The reason is,
of course, quite obvious."
"You misinterpret my words. I wish to avoid bringing scandal upon
innocent folk," Kirk replied quickly. "You once gave me a pledge of
secrecy, and you broke it. Will you give me another?"
"And if I gave it," I asked, not without some hesitation, "would these
precious friends of yours give me back my wife?"
"I cannot answer for others. Personally, I will do all I can to assist
you," was his somewhat evasive reply.
"Why do you wish to extract this promise from me?" I demanded
dubiously.
"Because--well, because you must give it. You _must_ remain silent,
Holford. It is imperative!"
"You really ask too much of me," I laughed sarcastically. "I know the
ghastly truth. You showed it to me of your own accord--you yourself
drew me into this dark, mysterious affair, and now you coolly demand my
silence, because you are, I suppose, interested in the money realised by
the sale of Professor Greer's secret."
"Ethelwynn Greer makes the same demand as myself," he said calmly.
"Surely you don't believe that the girl has participated in any
shamefully obtained profits?"
"The girl saw her father dead, and now refuses to admit it," I
responded.
"How do you know that she did?" he asked. "What actual evidence have
you upon that point, beyond my word--repeated from the story told to me
by Antonio?"
"Ah! so Antonio is changing his tale in order to fit the new order of
events--is he?"
"Well," Kirk said, after a brief pause, "that there is a new order of
events--as you put it--I admit. Yet, whatever they may be, your
silence, Holford, as well as mine, is imperative. You hear that!" he
added, looking straight into my face.
"To hear and to heed are scarcely synonymous," I remarked in anger. I
was incensed with this man who refused to give me any satisfaction
concerning Mabel, and yet commanded my silence.
Was it not a very curious feature of the affair, I reflected, that
Ethelwynn had ingeniously approached me, offering me news of Mabel in
return for my undertaking to make no further inquiry into her father's
secret death? How much did Langton know, and what was the extent of the
knowledge of that friend of his, the specialist in diseases of the
throat and nose?
For a few moments I sat in silence, longing for the return of the bogus
Professor, the man whom I had followed through Edinburgh and Glasgow,
yet who had so very cleverly escaped my vigilance.
I was anxious to meet him, and to see what kind of man he could be. As
an impostor he was, it seemed, shameless and bold beyond human credence.
How many thousands had Edwards and Sutton paid to him for that great
secret that was not his own?
Antonio, suave and cringing, suddenly put his head in at the door,
asking:
"Did you ring, signore?"
"No!" I cried, rising angrily, "Mr. Kirk did not ring. I suppose
you've been listening outside--eh? You are one of the accomplices in
the murder of your master--and by Heaven, you shall pay for it! If
Scotland Yard will not help me, then I'll take the law into my own hands
and give the public an illustration of the red-tape and the uselessness
of the police!"
"The signore is a little excited!" was the man's quiet remark to Kirk.
"Excited, by Heaven!" I cried. "I'll be fooled no longer by any of
you--band of assassins that you are! You ask me to believe that black
is white, and tell me that my own eyes deceive me. But I'll be even
with you yet--mark me!"
"Pray calm yourself, Holford," said Kirk, shifting his position slightly
and still leaning easily against the table, "No good can be served by
recrimination."
The man's cunning was unequalled; his ingenuity almost superhuman. Once
I had held him in awe, but now, knowing the truth, that I held
information which it was his earnest desire to suppress, I felt
triumphant.
"I admit," he said, still speaking calmly, as Antonio disappeared and
shut the door--"I admit that there are certain ugly facts--very ugly
facts which are difficult to forget, but is it not better to be merciful
to the innocent and living than to revenge the dead?"
"You desire to seal my lips, my dear sir," I said. "Why don't you speak
quite plainly?"
"Yes," he admitted, "I make that appeal to you because--well, for
several very strong reasons--Ethelwynn's future being one."
"And what, pray, need I care for that girl's future, now that mine has
been wrecked by the devilish machinations of you and your gang?" I
cried in bitter anger.
"Your denunciation is quite uncalled for, Holford!" he exclaimed.
"It is not," I protested. "You know where my wife is, and you refuse to
tell me!" was my quick answer.
"Please don't let us discuss that further," he urged. "The point is
whether you will, or you will not, regard all you saw in this house a
couple of months ago as entirely confidential."
"Why?"
"For reasons which you shall know later. I regret that I cannot explain
at this moment, because I should be breaking a confidence," he
responded. "But," he added, looking at me very seriously, "a life--a
woman's life--depends upon your silence!"