"Well?" I asked, with an effort to restrain my own anxiety.
"I watched, and my suspicions were more than ever confirmed. His
frequent and mysterious absences had long ago puzzled me, more
especially when Asta refused to give me any reason for them. Sometimes
for months at a time she has been left in this big place alone, with
only the servants. Why did he disappear and reappear so suddenly? Then
two months ago--I tell you this, of course, in the strictest
confidence--I was going home on my motor-cycle from Corby station one
dark wet night, when I overtook a poor miserable-looking man, ill-clad,
and drenched to the skin. I wished him good-night, and in his response
I was startled to recognise the voice of Harvey Shaw. So presently I
dismounted to repair my machine, so that he might again approach. But
he held back, yet near enough for me to recognise his features as I
turned my acetylene lamp back along the road. Next day I made casual
inquiry of Asta as to his whereabouts, but she told me he was in Paris
on business, and he certainly did not return here until a fortnight
afterwards."
"Well, and what do you make out from that incident?" I asked.
"That he visited the place in secret that night, though Asta believed
him to be on the Continent."
"But the disguise?"
"Ah! there you are! Surely a gentleman doesn't go about in shabby
clothes and trudge miles through the mud and rain without some sinister
motive. The express from London had stopped at Corby twenty minutes
before, therefore I concluded that he had arrived by that, and was
making his way to pay a secret visit."
"Are you quite sure that Asta was in ignorance of it?"
"Quite confident."
"You told her nothing?"
"Of course not. I have kept my own counsel and remained with my eyes
very wide-open. Every day has rendered it more plain that our friend is
not what he pretends to be."
The situation was, I saw, a most critical one. The young man loved Asta
very devotedly, and, suspecting some undefined evil of Shaw, was now
watching his movements as narrowly as a cat watches a mouse. This was
curious, having regard to Arnold's written words of caution. The
latter's suspicion seemed to have been aroused after his arrival in
London.
"Have you mentioned this to anybody?" I asked him.
"Not to a soul."
"Then if I may be permitted to advise," I said, "I should say no word to
anybody--not even to Miss Seymour. I will assist you, and we will
continue to watch and act together."
"Good!" he cried. "Your hand upon it, Kemball." And we grasped hands.
"I somehow fear that something will happen to Asta," he said in a low
hoarse voice. "I may be foolish and unjust in my suspicions, yet I seem
to have a distinct presage of evil."
"Personally, I don't think you need have any uneasiness upon that
score," I said. "Miss Seymour is his sole companion--probably his
confidante--for he has but few friends."
"Exactly. But perhaps she knows just a little too much, eh?"
I had not looked at the matter in that light. My companion's discovery
was certainly one that must cause anybody to pause and think, but
suspicion of Shaw's hatred of Asta was, I felt, too absurd. But when a
man is in love he is very prone to jump to hasty conclusions.
"Well," I said, "now that you have been frank with me so far, and have
taken me into your confidence, Nicholson, will you not tell me what you
really do suspect?"
"You are Shaw's friend. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken as I have,"
he said.
"I am no more his friend than you are," I replied, recollecting Arnold's
warning regarding the Hand--whatever that might be. "Have I not agreed
with you that the circumstances are suspicious, and have I not promised
to help you to watch? What actual conclusions have you formed?"
"H-s-s-h!" he said, and next moment I heard a light footstep behind me,
and turning, found myself face to face again with Asta.
"They're worrying Dad on the telephone from London," she exclaimed,
laughing merrily. "He gets so out of patience with it. But really it
is awfully trying sometimes. They ring you up and then keep you half an
hour waiting."
"I know," laughed Guy. "My own experience is exactly the same. Why,
only the other day I wanted to ring you up, and it took nearly half an
hour."
As she stood there with the sunlight full upon her face she looked
inexpressibly dainty and charming. Truly Guy Nicholson was a lucky man.
They were not actually engaged, it seemed, for he had not yet asked
Shaw for her hand. Probably Guy hesitated because of the dark suspicion
which had entered his mind.
I saw the love-light in her magnificent brown eyes, she stood laughing
with him, while he took from his case a cigarette, tapped its end
lightly, as is the habit of some men, and lit it.
A few moments later Shaw joined us, smiling merrily, and as he came up
he clapped Guy on the back heartily, saying--
"You two fellows will stay and have dinner, won't you? I'm glad you are
friends, as you ought to be."
"I really think I must go," I said. "It will take me hours to get home
by train."
"Train! Why, Gray will drive you back, of course," he cried. "No,
never mind about dressing. Asta will excuse us, and you'll stay."
So, having glanced at each other meaningly, we both accepted, and very
soon were seated in the long handsome dining-room, where the table,
laden with splendid old silver, was decorated tastefully with roses.
Wheaton served us with due stateliness, yet as I sat watching his grey
clean-shaven face, I felt somehow that there was a strange mysterious
craftiness in its expression, unusual in the countenance of a
gentleman's servant. The manner in which he performed his service was,
however, perfect. More than once, during the merry meal, I glanced
across at Guy Nicholson, and wondered what were his thoughts.
Fortunately he betrayed nothing in his face, for he joked and laughed
with his host, and praised the excellent claret which Wheaton had served
with such dignity.
The girl had eyes only for her lover, while Shaw himself, seated at the
head of the table, was full of fun and overflowing geniality. How very
strange was the situation!
After dinner we took our coffee and liqueurs on the verandah, for the
night was breathless and balmy, and the air full of the sweet scent of
the flowers.
Then after a long gossip alone with Shaw, at half-past ten the car was
ordered for me and came round to the front entrance.
Before leaving I managed to obtain a word alone with Nicholson.
"You'll come over and see me," I asked. "Now, don't disappoint me, will
you?"
"No, I won't." Then he whispered quickly: "I told you that I had
certain proofs. I've been upstairs. When I come I will show them to
you. They will astound you, and they are fully corroborated by what I
have noticed to-night. Perhaps it escaped you. Beware of Wheaton.
He's only been here six months, but I know something--have _seen_
something?"
And we shook hands and parted.