On opening the door of the taxi I stood amazed to find that the
occupant was not a man--but a woman.
It was Sylvia!
She started at sight of me. Her countenance blanched to the lips as
she drew back and sat erect, a cry of dismay escaping her lips.
"You!" I gasped, utterly dumbfounded.
"Why--Mr. Biddulph!" she cried, recovering herself in a moment and
stretching forth her small gloved hand; "fancy meeting you like this!"
What words I uttered I scarcely knew. This sudden transformation of
the scoundrel Forbes into Sylvia Pennington held me bewildered. All I
could imagine was that Sylvia must have been awaiting the man in
another cab close to the bank, and that, in the course of our chase,
we had confused the two taxis. Forbes had succeeded in turning away
into some side street, while we had followed the cab of his companion.
She had actually awaited him in another cab while he had entered the
bank and cashed the stolen cheque!
My taxi-driver, when he saw that a lady, and not a man, occupied the
fugitive cab, drew back, returning to his seat.
"Do you know!" exclaimed the girl, with wonderful calmness, "only
yesterday I was thinking of you, and wondering whether you were in
London!"
"And only yesterday, too, Miss Pennington, I also was thinking of
you," I said meaningly.
She was dressed very quietly in dead black, which increased the
fairness of her skin and hair, wearing a big black hat and black
gloves. She was inexpressibly smart, from the thin gauzy veil to the
tips of her tiny patent-leather shoes, with a neat waist and a figure
that any woman might envy. Indeed, in her London attire she seemed
even smarter than she had appeared on the terrace beside the blue
Italian lake.
"Where is your father?" I managed to ask.
"Oh!--well, he's away just now. He was with me in London only the
other day," she replied. "But, as you know, he's always travelling."
Then she added: "I'm going into this shop a moment. Will you wait for
me? I'm so pleased to see you again, and looking so well. It seems
really ages since we were at Gardone, doesn't it?" and she smiled that
old sweet smile I so well remembered.
"I'll wait, of course," I replied, and, assisting her out, I watched
her pass into the big drapery establishment. Then I idled outside amid
the crowd of women who were dawdling before the attractive windows, as
is the feminine habit.
If it had been she who had rescued me from death and had released me,
what a perfect actress she was. Her confusion had only lasted for a
few seconds. Then she had welcomed me, and expressed pleasure at our
re-encounter.
I recollected the bow of ribbon-velvet which reposed in my pocket, and
the Indian bangle I had found. I remembered, too, those agonized,
terrified cries in the night--and all the mysteries of that weird and
silent house!
When she came forth I would question her; I would obtain from her the
truth anent those remarkable happenings.
Was it of that most ingenious and dastardly plot she had warned me?
Was her own conviction that she must suffer the penalty of death based
upon the knowledge of the deadly instrument, that venomous reptile
used by the assassins?
Could it be that Pennington himself--her own father--was implicated in
this shameful method of obtaining money and closing the lips of the
victims?
As I stood there amid the morning bustle of Regent Street out in the
broad sunshine, all the ghastly horrors of the previous night crowded
thickly upon me. Why had she shrieked: "Ah! not that--_not that_!" Had
she, while held prisoner in that old-fashioned drawing-room, been told
of the awful fate to which I had been consigned?
I remembered how I had called to her, but received no response. And
yet she must have been in the adjoining room.
Perhaps, like myself, she had fainted.
I recalled her voice distinctly. I certainly had made no mistake. She
had been actually present in that house of black torture. Therefore,
being my friend, there seemed no doubt that, to her, I owed my
mysterious salvation. But how? Aye, that was the question.
Suddenly, as I stood there on the crowded pavement, I became conscious
that I was attracting attention. I recollected my dusty clothes and
dirty, dishevelled face. I must have presented a strange, dissipated,
out-all-night appearance. And further, I had lost a thousand pounds.
Up and down before the long range of shop-windows I walked, patiently
awaiting her reappearance. I was anxious to know the truth concerning
the previous night's happenings--a truth which I intended she should
not conceal from me.
I glanced at my watch. It was already past eleven o'clock. Morning
shopping in Regent Street had now commenced in real earnest. The
thoroughfare was lined with carriages, for was it not the height of
the London season?
In and out of the big drapery establishment passed crowds of
well-dressed women, most of them with pet dogs, and others with male
friends led like lambs to the slaughter. The spectacle of a man in
silk hat out shopping with a lady friend is always a pitiable one. His
very look craves the sympathy of the onlooker, especially if he be
laden with soft-paper parcels.
My brain was awhirl. My only thought was of Sylvia and of her strange
connection with these undesirable persons who had so ingeniously
stolen my money, and who had baited such a fatal trap.
Anxious as I was to get to a telephone and ring up Jack, yet I could
not leave my post--I had promised to await her.
Nearly an hour went by; I entered the shop and searched its labyrinth
of "departments." But I could not distinguish her anywhere. Upstairs
and downstairs I went, inquiring here and there, but nobody seemed to
have seen the fair young lady in black; the great emporium seemed to
have swallowed her up.
It was now noon. Even though she might have been through a
dress-fitting ordeal, an hour was certainly ample time. Therefore I
began to fear that she had missed me. There were several other exits
higher up the street, and also one which I discovered in a side
street.
I returned to her taxi, for I had already paid off my man. The driver
had not seen his "fare."
"I was hailed by the lady close to Chapel Street," he said, "and I
drove 'er to Oxford Street, not far from Tottenham Court Road. We
stood at the kerb for about ten minutes. Then she ordered me to drive
with all speed over 'ere."
"Did you see her speak with any gentleman?"
"She was with a dark, youngish gentleman when they hailed me. She got
in and left 'im in Chapel Street. I heard 'im say as we went off that
he'd see 'er again soon."
"That's all you know of her?"
"Yes, sir. I've never seen 'er before," replied the driver. Then he
added with a smile, "Your man's been tellin' me as how you thought I
had a bank-thief in my cab!"
"Yes, but I was mistaken," I said. "I must have made a mistake in the
cab."
"That's very easy, sir. We're so much alike--us red 'uns."
Sylvia's non-appearance much puzzled me. What could it mean? For
another half-hour--an anxious, impatient, breathless half-hour--I
waited, but she did not return.
Had she, too, cleverly escaped by entering the shop, and passing out
by another entrance?
Another careful tour of the establishment revealed the fact that she
certainly was not there.
And so, after a wait of nearly two hours, I was compelled to accept
the hard and very remarkable fact that she had purposely evaded me,
and escaped!
Then she was in league with the men who had stolen my thousand pounds!
And yet had not that selfsame man declared that she, having betrayed
him, was to meet the same terrible fate as that prepared for me?
For a final five minutes I waited; then annoyed, disappointed and
dismayed, entered the taxi, and drove to Wilton Street.
On entering with my latch-key, Browning came forward with a puzzled
expression, surprised, no doubt, at my dishevelled appearance.
"I've been very anxious about you, Mr. Owen," exclaimed the old man. I
was always Mr. Owen to him, just as I had been when a lad. "When I
went to your room this morning I found your bed empty. I wondered
where you had gone."
"I've had a strange adventure, Browning," I laughed, rather forcedly I
fear. "Has Mr. Marlowe rung me up?"
"No, sir. But somebody else rang up about an hour ago, and asked
whether you were in."
"Who was it?"
"I couldn't quite catch the name, sir. It sounded like
Shuffle--something."
"Shuttleworth!" I cried. "Did he leave any message?"
"No, sir. He merely asked if you were in--that's all."
As Sylvia was in London, perhaps Shuttleworth was in town also, I
reflected. Yet she had cleverly made her escape--in order to avoid
being questioned. Her secret was a guilty one!