"What bad news have you received, Geoffrey?"
"None," I answered, smiling. "It is a private matter, of really no
importance at all."
"Oh, I thought it must have been something very, very serious, your hand
trembled so, and you turned so pale."
"Did I?" I laughed cheerily. "Well, it's nothing, dearest; nothing at
all."
Thus reassured, she continued to chat with that bright vivacity that was
one of her most engaging characteristics. I have, however, no idea of
what she said; I only answered her mechanically, for I was too full of
gloomy apprehensions to heed her gossip, even though I loved her with
all my soul.
Half-an-hour later, Dudley, finding that I had to go to town, announced
his intention of walking back to Shepperton.
"The night is lovely, and the moon bright as day," he said, as we all
shook hands with him in the hall. "I shall enjoy the walk."
"Beware of widows!" shouted Beck, standing at the top of the wide flight
of steps.
We all laughed heartily.
"None about to-night," my friend shouted back good-humouredly, and,
setting out briskly, disappeared a moment later down the long, winding
carriage drive.
"It's really too bad to tease Mr Ogle about widows," Ella protested when
we went in.
"He enjoys the joke hugely," I said. "Dudley's an excellent fellow.
I've never in my life seen him out of temper."
"In that case he ought to make a good husband," she replied, laughing,
as together we all entered Mrs Laing's pretty drawing-room, with its
shaded lamps and cosy-corners, where we spent another three-quarters of
an hour chatting until, finding we had just time to catch our train,
Beck and I made our adieux. When I shook hands with Ella she whispered
an earnest appeal for forgiveness, which, truth to tell, I feigned not
to hear. Then we parted.
With Beck at my side, I walked sharply down the drive, rendered dark by
the thick canopy of trees overhead, and had almost gained the gate
leading to the high road when suddenly, catching my foot against some
unseen object in the pathway, I fell heavily forward upon the gravel,
just managing to save my face by putting out both hands.
"Hulloa!" cried Beck; "what's the matter?"
"The matter!" I gasped, groping at the mysterious object quickly with
my hands. "I believe I've fallen over somebody."
"Drunk, I suppose. Come along, or we sha'n't catch our train."
But, still kneeling, I quickly took my vestas from my pocket and struck
one. By its fitful light I distinguished the prostrate body of a man
lying face downwards, with arms outstretched beyond his head. Turning
him over with difficulty, I lit another vesta and held it close down to
his face.
Next second I drew back with a loud cry of dismay and horror. It was
Dudley Ogle.
His bloodless features were hideously distorted, his limbs rigid, his
wildly-staring eyes were already glazed, and his stiffened fingers icy
cold.
In an instant I knew the truth. He was dead.