"True; but mine is like stone."
"Why? What has hardened it?"
"Ah, no!" she cried quickly. "You are always, trying to learn my
secret, but I can never tell you--never! Let us go in." And, without
another word, she passed through the French windows into the
billiard-room, where the usual game of pool was in progress and the
merry chatter was general.
Like that of her cousin, her nature was a complex one. The more I
strove to understand her the more utterly hopeless the analysis became.
I loved her--nay, in all the world there was but one woman for my eyes.
Superb in beauty and in grace, she was incomparable--perfect.
That night, when the household was at rest, I still sat smoking in my
room, puzzled over the curious recurrence of the sensation which seized
all who entered the lethal chamber in London. The turret-clock over the
stables had chimed half-past one, yet I felt in no mood to turn in. The
writing of that hasty note by Beryl was an incident which I had
forgotten, but which now came back to me. What if I could discover its
nature? She had written it upon the blotting-pad in Sir Henry's study,
and the thought occurred to me that I might, perhaps, discover the
impression there.
With that object I placed a box of matches in my pocket, switched off my
light, and crept in the darkness noiselessly along the corridor. The
carpeting was thick, and, being without slippers, I stole along without
a sound past the door of Beryl's room, and down the great oaken
staircase into the hall.
I had crossed the latter, and had my hand upon the green baize door
which kept out the draught of the corridors, and was about to open it,
when of a sudden my quick ear caught a sound. In an instant I halted,
straining my ears to listen. In the stillness of the night, and
especially in the darkness, every sound becomes exaggerated and
distorted. I stood there not daring to breathe.
Through the great high windows of the hall, filled with diamond panes
like the windows of an ancient church, the faint starlight struggled so
that the opposite side of the place was quite light. I glanced around
at the shining armour standing weird in the half-light, with visors down
and pikes in hand--a row of steel-clad warriors of the days gone by when
Atworth was a stronghold. They looked a ghostly lot, and quite unnerved
me.
But, as I listened, the suspicious sound again greeted my quick ear, and
I heard in the door on the opposite side of the hall, straight before
me, a key slowly turn. Even in that dead silence it made but little
noise; the lock had evidently been well oiled.
Then cautiously the door gradually opened, and I was no longer alone.
The dark figure of a woman advanced, treading so silently that she
seemed to walk on air. She came straight towards the spot where I stood
watching in the darkness, and I saw that she was dressed in black.
As she reached the centre of the hall the pale light fell upon her face,
and, although uncertain, it was sufficient to reveal to me the truth; I
was face to face with the woman who had been described by Beryl--the
mysterious La Gioia!