With untiring astuteness I watched every movement of the new-comer, but
detected nothing suspicious in his actions. We lunched together, only
five of us, the others being away at Dodington, and were a merry party.
The man with the small eyes was excellent company, full of witty sayings
and droll stories, and was really an acquisition to our party.
Yet I noticed that he spoke little with Beryl, as, though some secret
understanding existed between them. And when he did address her she
answered him vacantly, as though her thoughts were afar off.
That night, on the return of the party from the flower-show, his arrival
was hailed with delight. At all events he was a very popular person at
Atworth. He seemed rejuvenated since we had last met, and appeared
fully twenty years younger than on the night when he had tempted me.
I had many chats with him. I played him at billiards, and was
afterwards his partner at whist before we parted for the night. I did
this in order to put him off his guard, if possible, and to induce him
to believe that I had not recognised him. I had not yet decided how to
act.
When at midnight I left my companions, entered my room, and closed the
door, that strange, weird influence again made itself felt upon me. My
lower limbs became benumbed, my blood seemed frozen in my veins.
I stood glancing around the bedroom in fear and wondering. There was
nothing supernatural there, and yet this unseen influence was as the
finger of Evil. The strange sensation was not of long duration, but
gradually faded until I found myself in my normal state. I tested my
temperature with my thermometer, and saw that I had just a slight
tendency to fever--due, I supposed, to alarm and excitement.
Then, having satisfied myself that my motor nerves, which had become
partially paralysed, had regained their strength, and that the sensitive
portion of the spinal nervous system, that had been affected, had
returned to its normal capacity, I turned in and tried to sleep.
I say I tried to sleep, but I think, if the truth were told, I did not
try. My brain was too perturbed by the events of that day. Beneath
that very roof the Tempter was actually sleeping. I had shaken his
hand, and played billiards with him. Truly, I had been patient in my
efforts to analyse and dissect the various complications of that
extraordinary mystery.
At sunrise I dressed, and on stepping from my room out into the fresh
air of the corridor, I again felt that bewildering influence upon me,
quite distinctly; yet not so strong as to cause me any inconvenience.
The feeling was a kind of cold, creepy one, without any sudden shock.
During the day I lounged at Beryl's side, endeavouring to obtain from
her the truth of her midnight escapade. But she would tell me
absolutely nothing. The man who had posed as her father was undoubtedly
her enemy, and she held him in deadly fear. It was this latter fact
that caused me at last to make a resolution, and in the idle hour before
the dressing-bell went for dinner, I contrived to stroll alone with him
out across the park.
With a good cigar between his lips, he walked as jauntily as a man of
twenty, notwithstanding his grey hairs. He laughed and chatted merrily,
recounting to me all the fun of last year's house-party, with its
ill-natured chatter and its summer flirtations.
Suddenly, when we were a long way from the house, skirting the quiet
lake that lay deep in a hollow surrounded by a small wood, I turned to
him resolutely, saying--
"Do you know that I have a distinct recollection that we have met
before?"
He started almost imperceptibly, and glanced at me quickly with his
small round eyes.
"I think not," he answered. "Not, at least, to my knowledge."
"Defects of memory are sometimes useful," I replied. "Cannot you recall
the twenty-fourth of July?"
"The twenty-fourth of July," he repeated reflectively. "No. There is
no event which fixes the date in my memory."
His face had grown older. The light of youthfulness had gone out of it,
leaving it the grey, ashen countenance of the Tempter.
"You were in London on that date," I asserted.
"No. I was in Alexandria. I sailed from there on the twenty-second."
"Then, at the outset, you deny that you were in London on the date I
have mentioned? Good! Well, I will go a step further in order to
refresh your memory. On that July night you met your friend,
Tattersett."
"My dear fellow," he cried, laughing outright, "I have no idea of what
you're driving at. Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"No," I answered angrily, "I have not, fortunately for myself.
Therefore it is useless to deny the truth."
"I am not denying the truth," he replied. "I am denying the
extraordinary assertion you are making."
"Because you fear to face the truth."
"I fear nothing," he responded defiantly. "What, in Heaven's name, have
I to fear?"
"The consequences of the cleverly-planned conspiracy against myself."
He smiled superciliously, and answered, "I don't understand you. What
conspiracy?"
"Listen!" I cried furiously. "It is useless for you to affect either
ignorance or indifference. This is no case of mistaken identity. You
forget that I am a medical man, and that my eye can detect a mark upon
the flesh where the layman sees nothing. That crinkled depression on
the inside of your wrist is a mark left in infancy. It cannot be
imitated, neither can it be obliterated. You may alter your facial
expression, or the outline of your figure; but you cannot alter that."
He glanced at his wrist, and I saw that he had never before noticed the
indelible mark upon the flesh.
"You bore that mark on the day we met three months ago, and you bear it
now," I went on. "Do you still deny your presence in London on the date
I have mentioned?"
"Of course I do," he said.
"Then, you are a liar, and I will treat you as such!" I responded
firmly.
We were standing facing one another, and I saw in his eyes an evil glint
which told me plainly that he was no mean antagonist.
"You pay me a compliment," he said coolly. "I cannot see what motive
you have in thus insulting me."
"It is no insult," I cried. "You are my enemy. You and your
accomplice, Tattersett, devised an ingenious trap, and then called me in
for professional consultation. The trap was well baited, and, as you
intended, I fell into it. I thank God for one thing--namely, that I did
not commit murder at your instigation."
He smiled again, but no word escaped him.
"You cannot think that I am in ignorance of the plot, or that I am
unaware that, owing to the deception you have practised upon me, Beryl
Wynd is my wife."
"And what connexion have I with all this?" he demanded. "If Beryl Wynd
is your wife, what is it to do with me, pray?"
"The marriage was effected by conspiracy," I answered. "She was your
victim--just as I unfortunately was. The penalty for such conspiracy is
penal servitude."
"Well?" he inquired, smiling again. "And I take it that you suspect me
of being implicated in the conspiracy? All I can reply is that you are
entirely mistaken."
"I am not mistaken," I said hotly. "It was yourself who tempted me,
holding the banknotes in your hand--"
"And if you consented, as you allege, you became equally implicated in
the conspiracy," he observed, interrupting me.
I had never before looked at the matter in such a light. His words were
true. I had sold myself to the conspirators--had become an accessory,
and was therefore just as liable to prosecution as they were!
"You attempted to suborn me to commit murder," I added.
"It's a lie," answered the Tempter flatly.
"But I can prove it," I asserted.
"How?"
"I have proof," I replied ambiguously, for I did not intend to show my
hand.
"Then you are at liberty to use it for whatever purpose you like," he
answered defiantly. "But we were alone."
"Ah!" I exclaimed quickly. "Then you admit your identity?"
"I admit nothing."
"Until I can show proof positive, eh? Until I can bring those who will
bear witness that, on the twenty-fourth of June, you were at number 94,
Queen's-gate Gardens; that you sent for me; that on my arrival you
tempted me to marry Beryl Wynd; that you accompanied me to the church of
St Ann's, and that, having accepted the promise of payment, you
afterwards attempted to induce me to take her life."
"Lies--all of it."
"We shall see. You tried to take my life. Revenge is now mine," I
added in a hard, distinct voice.
It may have been only my fancy, yet I could not help noticing that the
word revenge caused him to shrink, and regard me with some misgiving.
"How?" he inquired.
"No," I responded firmly; "we are enemies. That is sufficient. I have
discovered the whole plot, therefore rest assured that those who
victimised both Beryl and myself, and have made dastardly attempts upon
our lives, shall not go unpunished."
I had altered my tactics, deeming it best to assume a deeper knowledge
of the affair than that which I really possessed. It was a delicate
matter; this accusation must be dealt with diplomatically.
"My private opinion of you, sir, is that you are a confounded fool," he
said.
"I may be," I responded. "But I intend that you, who enmeshed into your
plot a defenceless woman, and who abducted me aboard so cleverly, in
order to gain time, shall bear the exposure and punishment that you
merit."
He nodded slowly as though perfectly comprehending my meaning.
"Then I take it that Beryl is aware of your actual alliance with her?"
he asked, his small eyes flashing at me.
But I made no satisfactory answer. I was wary of him, for I knew him to
be a clever miscreant. His tone betrayed an anxiety to know the exact
extent of Beryl's knowledge.
"Beryl is my wife, and my interests are hers," I replied. "It is
sufficient that I am aware of the whole truth."
"You think so," he laughed with sarcasm. "Well, you are at liberty to
hold your own opinion."
"The fact is," I said, "that you accepted Sir Henry's invitation here,
never dreaming that you would come face to face with me. I am the last
person in the world you desired to meet."
"The encounter has given me the utmost pleasure, I assure you," he
replied with a sneer.
"Just as it will not only to yourself but to a certain other."
"Who?"
"A person whom you know well--an intimate friend of yours."
"I don't follow you."
"It is a woman. Think of your female friends."
"What is her name?"
"La Gioia."
"La Gioia?" he gasped glaring at me.
His face was livid and his surprise apparent. I saw that he had never
dreamt that I knew of her existence.
"You see, I may be a confounded fool, as you have declared," I said.
"But I have not been idle during these past months. La Gioia's revenge
is mine also."
He made no response. My words had, as I intended, produced an
overwhelming effect upon him. He saw, that if La Gioia's secret was out
he stood in deadliest peril. I had impressed him with an intimate
knowledge of the whole affair.
It was at that moment he showed himself full of resourceful villainy.
"The vengeance of La Gioia will fall upon the woman who is your wife--
not upon yourself."
"And through whom?" I cried. "Why, through yourself and your
accomplice, Tattersett, who betrayed Beryl into her hands. The mystery
of Whitton is to me no mystery, for I know the truth."
He glared at me as though I were some evil vision, and I knew that by
these words I was slowly thrusting home the truth.
"What have I to do with the affair at Whitton?" he cried. "I know
nothing of it?"
"I may, perhaps, be enabled to prove differently," I said.
"Do you then allege that I am implicated in the Colonel's death?" he
exclaimed furiously.
"I have my own opinion," I responded. "Remember that you once made a
desperate and dastardly, attempt to kill me, fearing lest I should
denounce you as having tried to bribe me to commit murder."
His eyes glittered, and I saw that his anger was unbounded. We stood
there in the calm sunset near the lakeside, and I could see that he
would rid himself of me, if such a course was possible. But I thought
of Beryl. Ah! how I loved her. That she had fallen a victim of the
cleverly contrived conspiracy incensed me, and I resolved to show the
scoundrel no quarter.
"Well," he said at last, in a tone of defiance, "and after all these
wild allegations, what can you do? Surely you do not think that I fear
any statement that you can make?"
"You may not fear any statement of mine, but I do not anticipate that
you will invite La Gioia to reveal all she knows. The latter might
place you in enforced confinement for a few years."
"La Gioia is at liberty to say whatever she likes," he answered. "If
she is actually a friend of Beryl's she will, no doubt, assist you; but
at present she is her deadliest antagonist. Therefore, if you take my
advice, you'll just calm yourself and await another opportunity for
revenge at a latter date."
His cool words caused my blood to boil.
"You treat this affair as though it were a matter of little importance,
sir!" I cried. "Let me tell you, however, that I have been your
victim, and I intend to probe the matter to the bottom and ascertain
your motives."
"That you'll never do," he laughed.
"I tell you I will!" I cried. "I am Beryl's husband, and she is no
longer defenceless. You have to answer to me!"
"I have answered you by saying that in future you are at liberty to act
as you think fit. I merely warn you that La Gioia is no more your
friend than she is your wife's."
"You contrived to entrap me into marriage. Why? Answer me that
question," I demanded.
"I refuse. You have threatened me with all sorts of pains and
penalties, but I defy you!"
From his silver case he took a cigar, and, biting off the end, leisurely
lit it. His countenance had changed. Again it was the same grey
sinister face that had so long haunted me in my dream--the face of the
Tempter.
"Have you finished?" he asked, with mock politeness.
"For the moment, yes," I answered. "But yours is an ill-advised
defiance, as you will very soon see."
He burst forth into a peal of strained, unnatural laughter, whereat I
turned upon my heel and left him standing there a dark silhouette in the
crimson sunset. Blindly I walked on to the house, dressed mechanically,
and descended late for dinner. But the Tempter was not in his place; he
had been called away to London, it was said, and had been compelled to
catch the 07:30 train from Corsham.
I glanced at my watch; it was already 07:35. I had blundered, and had
allowed him to slip through my fingers. I bit my lip in mad vexation.
Beryl's beautiful eyes were fixed upon me, and in her face I detected
deep anxiety. She looked perfectly charming in a gown of pale pink
_crepe-de-chine_. Had he sought her before departure, I wondered?
"It's an awful disappointment that he has had to leave," said the
baronet's wife. "I endeavoured to persuade him to remain until the
morning, but he received a letter by the afternoon post making it
imperative that he should return to London. But he says he will be back
again either on Monday or Tuesday."
"I do hope he will return," observed some one at the end of the table,
and then the subject dropped. When the ladies had left the room Sir
Henry remarked--"Queer fellow, Ashwicke--a bit eccentric, I always
think. His movements are most erratic--a regular rolling stone."
I embraced that opportunity to inquire regarding his antecedents, but my
host appeared to know very little beyond the fact that he was wealthy,
good company, a keen sportsman, and moved in a very smart set in town.
"I've known him a couple of years or so; he's a member of my club," he
added. "My wife declares that none of the parties are complete without
him."
"Do you know his friend, Tattersett--Major Tattersett?"
"No," responded Sir Henry; "never met him." With the others I went
along to the drawing-room and found Beryl alone in a cozy corner,
obviously awaiting me. She twisted a lace scarf about her shoulders and
we strolled out upon the terrace, as was our habit each evening if fine
and starlight. When we had gained the further end she suddenly halted,
and turning to me said, in a low, husky voice that trembled with
emotion--
"Doctor Colkirk, you have deceived me!"
"Deceived you, Miss Wynd?" I exclaimed, taken completely aback by her
allegation. "How?"
"I know the truth--a truth that you cannot deny. I--I am your wife."
"I do not seek to deny it," I answered in deep, solemn earnestness,
taking her small white hand in mine. "It is true, Beryl, that you are
my wife--true also that I love you."
"But it cannot be possible!" she gasped. "I knew that I was a wife, but
never dreamed that you were actually my husband."
"And how did you discover it?"
"I was down by the waterside this evening, before dinner, and overheard
your conversation with Mr Ashwicke."
"All of it?"
"Yes, all of it. I know that I am your wife;" and she sighed, while her
little hand trembled within mine.
"I love you, Beryl," I said, simply and earnestly. "I have known all
along that you are my wife, yet I dared not tell you so, being unable to
offer sufficient proof of it and unable to convince you of my affection.
Yet, in these few weeks that have passed, you have surely seen that I
am devoted to you--that I love you with a strange and deeper love than
ever man has borne within his heart. A thousand times I have longed to
tell you this, but have always feared to do so. The truth is that you
are my wife--my adored."
Her hand tightened upon mine, and unable to restrain her emotions
further, she burst into tears.
"Tell me, darling," I whispered into her car--"tell me that you will try
to love me now that you know the truth. Tell me that you forgive me for
keeping the secret until now, for, as I will show you, it was entirely
in our mutual interests. We have both been victims of a vile and
widespread conspiracy, therefore we must unite our efforts to combat the
vengeance of our enemies. Tell me that you will try and love me--nay,
that you do love me a little. Give me hope, darling, and let us act
together as man and wife."
"But it is so sudden," she faltered. "I hardly know my own feelings."
"You know whether you love me, or whether you hate me," I said, placing
my hand around her slim waist and drawing her towards me.
"No," she responded in a low voice, "I do not hate you. How could I?"
"Then you love me--you really love me, after all!" I cried joyously.
For answer she burst again into a flood of tears, and I, with mad
passion, covered her white brow with hot kisses while she clung to me--
my love, my wife.
Ah! when I reflect upon the ecstasy of those moments--how I kissed her
sweet lips, and she, in return, responded to my tender caresses, how she
clung to me as though shrinking in fear from the world about her, how
her heart beat quickly in unison with my own, I feel that I cannot
properly convey here a sufficient sense of my wild delight. It is
enough to say that in those tender moments I knew that I had won the
most beautiful and graceful woman I had ever beheld--a woman who was
peerless above all--and that she was already my wife. The man who reads
this narrative, and whose own love has been reciprocated after long
waiting, as mine has been, can alone understand the blissful happiness
that came to me and the complete joy that filled my heart.
We stood lost in the ecstasies of each other's love, heedless of time,
heedless of those who might discover us, heedless of everything. The
remembrance of that hour remains with me to-day like a pleasant dream, a
foretaste of the bliss of paradise.
Many were the questions that I asked and answered, many our declarations
of affection and of fidelity. Our marriage had been made by false
contract on that fateful day, months before, but that night, beneath the
shining stars, we exchanged solemn vows before God as man and wife.
I endeavoured to obtain from her some facts regarding Ashwicke and his
accomplice, Tattersett, but what she knew seemed very unsatisfactory. I
related to her the whole of the curious circumstances of our marriage,
just as I have recounted it in the opening chapters of my narrative,
seeking neither to suppress nor exaggerate any of the singular
incidents.
Then, at last, she made confession--a strange amazing confession which
held me dumb.