"Exposure means to me a fate worse than death," she wrote. What could
it mean?
Mrs. Percival divined by my face the gravity of the communication, and,
rising quickly to her feet, she placed her hand tenderly upon my
shoulder, asking--
"What is it, Mr. Greenwood? May I not know?"
For answer I handed her the note. She read it through quickly, then
gave vent to a loud cry of dismay, realising that Burton Blair's
daughter had actually fled. That she held the man Dawson in fear was
plain. She dreaded that her own secret, whatever it was, must now be
exposed, and had, it seemed, fled rather than again face me. But why?
What could her secret possibly be that she was so ashamed that she was
bent upon hiding herself?
Mrs. Percival summoned the coachman, Crump, who had driven his young
mistress to Euston, and questioned him.
"Miss Mabel ordered the _coupe_ just before eleven, ma'am," the man
said, saluting. "She took her crocodile dressing-bag with her, but last
night she sent away a big trunk by Carter Patterson--full of old
clothing, so she told her maid. I drove her to Euston Station where she
alighted and went into the booking-hall. She kept me waiting about five
minutes, when she brought a porter who took her bag, and she then gave
me the letter addressed to Mr. Greenwood to give to you. I drove home
then, ma'am."
"She went to the North, evidently," I remarked when Crump had left and
the door had closed behind him. "It looks as though her flight was
premeditated. She sent away her things last night."
I was thinking of that arrogant young stable worker, Hales, and
wondering if his renewed threats had really caused her to keep another
tryst with him. If so, it was exceedingly dangerous.
"We must find her," said Mrs. Percival, resolutely. "Ah!" she sighed,
"I really don't know what will happen, for the house is now in
possession of this odious man Dawson and his daughter, and the man is a
most uncouth, ill-bred fellow. He addresses the servants with an easy
familiarity, just as though they were his equals; and just now, he
actually complimented one of the housemaids upon her good looks!
Terrible, Mr. Greenwood, terrible," exclaimed the widow, greatly
shocked. "Most disgraceful show of ill-breeding! I certainly cannot
remain here now Mabel has thought fit to leave, without even consulting
me. Lady Rainham called this afternoon, but of course I had to be not
at home. What can I tell people in these distressing circumstances?"
I saw how scandalised was the estimable old chaperone, for she was
nothing if not a straightforward widow, whose very life depended upon
rigorous etiquette and the traditions of her honourable family. Cordial
and affable to her equals, yet she was most frigid and unbending to all
inferiors, cultivating a habit of staring at them through her square
eyeglass rimmed with gold, and surveying them as though they were
surprising creatures of a different flesh and blood. It was this latter
idiosyncrasy which always annoyed Mabel, who held the very womanly creed
that one should be kind and pleasant to inferiors and cold only to
enemies. Nevertheless, under Mrs. Percival's protective wing and active
tuition, Mabel herself had gone into the best circle of society whose
doors are ever open to the daughter of the millionaire, and had
established a reputation as one of the most charming _debutantes_ of her
season.
How society has altered in these past ten years! Nowadays, the golden
key is the open sesame of the doors of the bluest blood in England.
The old exclusive circles are no longer, or if there are any, they are
obscure and dowdy. Ladies go to music halls and glorified night-clubs.
What used to be regarded as the drawback from the dinner at a restaurant
is now a principal attraction. A gentlewoman a generation ago
reasonably objected that she did not know whom she might sit next. Now,
as was the case at the theatre in the pre-Garrick days, the loose
character of a portion of the visitors constitutes in itself a lure.
The more flagrant the scandal concerning some bedizened "impropriety"
the greater the inducement to dine in her company, and, if possible, in
her vicinity. Of such is the tone and trend of London society to-day!
For a quarter of an hour, while Reggie was engaged with Dawson _pere et
fille_, I took counsel with the widow, endeavouring to form some idea of
where Mabel had concealed herself. Mrs. Percival's idea was that she
would reveal her whereabouts ere long, but, knowing her firmness of
character as well as I did, I held a different opinion. Her letter was
one of a woman who had made a resolve and meant at all hazards to keep
it. She feared to meet me, and for that reason would, no doubt, conceal
her identity. She had a separate account at Coutts' in her own name,
therefore she would not be compelled to reveal her whereabouts through
want of funds.
Ford, the dead man's secretary, a tall, clean-shaven, athletic man of
thirty, put his head into the room, but, finding us talking, at once
withdrew. Mrs. Percival had already questioned him, she said, but he
was entirely unaware of Mabel's destination.
The man Dawson had now usurped Ford's position in the household, and the
latter, full of resentment, was on the constant watch and as full of
suspicion as we all were.
Reggie rejoined me presently, saying, "That fellow is absolutely a
bounder of the very first water. Actually invited me to have a
whisky-and-soda--in Blair's house, too! He's treating Mabel's flight as
a huge joke, saying that she'll be back quickly enough, and adding that
she can't afford to be away long, and that he'll bring her back the very
instant he desires her presence here. In fact, the fellow talks just as
though she were as wax in his hands, and as if he can do anything he
pleases with her."
"He can ruin her financially, that's certain," I remarked, sighing.
"But read this, old chap," and I gave him her strangely-worded letter.
"Good Heavens!" he gasped, when he glanced at it, "she's in deadly
terror of those people, that's very certain. It's to avoid them and you
that she's escaped--to Liverpool and America, perhaps. Remember she's
been a great traveller all her youth and therefore knows her way about."
"We must find her, Reggie," I declared decisively.
"But the worst of it is that she's bent on avoiding you," he said. "She
has some distinct reason for this, it seems."
"A reason known only to herself," I remarked pensively. "It is surely a
_contretemps_ that now, just at the moment when we have gained the truth
of the Cardinal's secret which brought Blair his fortune, Mabel should
voluntarily disappear in this manner. Recollect all we have at stake.
We know not who are our friends or who our enemies. We ought both to go
out to Italy and discover the spot indicated in that cipher record, or
others will probably forestall us, and we may then be too late."
He agreed that the record being bequeathed to me, I ought to take
immediate steps to establish my claim to it, whatever might be. We
could not disguise from ourselves the fact that Dawson, as Blair's
partner and participator of his enormous wealth, must be well aware of
the secret, and that he had already, most probably, taken steps to
conceal the truth from myself, the rightful owner. He was a power to be
reckoned with--a sinister person, possessed of the wiliest cunning and
the most devilish ingenuity in the art of subterfuge. Report everywhere
gave him that character. He possessed the cold, calm manner of the man
who had lived by his wits, and it seemed that in this affair his
ingenuity, sharpened by a life of adventure, was to be pitted against my
own.
Mabel's sudden resolution and disappearance were maddening. The mystery
of her letter, too, was inscrutable. If she were really dreading lest
some undesirable fact might be exposed, then she ought to have trusted
me sufficiently to take me entirely into her confidence. I loved her,
although I had never declared my passion, therefore, ignorant of the
truth, she had treated me as I had desired, as a sincere friend. Yet,
why had she not sought my aid? Women are such strange creatures, I
reflected. Perhaps she loved that fellow after all!
A fevered, anxious week went by and Mabel made no sign. One night I
left Reggie at the Devonshire about half-past eleven and walked the
damp, foggy London streets until the roar of traffic died away, the cabs
crawled and grew infrequent and the damp, muddy pavements were given
over to the tramping constable and the shivering outcast. In the thick
mist I wandered onward thinking deeply, yet more and more mystified at
the remarkable chain of circumstances which seemed hour by hour to
become more entangled.
On and on I had wandered, heedless of where my footsteps carried me,
passing along Knightsbridge, skirting the Park and Kensington Gardens,
and was just passing the corner of the Earl's Court Road when some
fortunate circumstance awakened me from my deep reverie, and I became
conscious for the first time that I was being followed. Yes, there
distinctly was a footstep behind me, hurrying when I hurried, slackening
when I slackened. I crossed the road, and, before the long high wall of
Holland Park I halted and turned. My pursuer came on a few paces, but
drew up suddenly, and I could only distinguish against the glimmer of
the street lamp through the London fog a figure long and distorted by
the bewildering mist. The latter was not sufficiently dense to prevent
me finding my way, for I knew that part of London well. Nevertheless,
to be followed so persistently at such an hour was not very pleasant. I
was suspicious that some tramp or thief who had passed me by and found
me oblivious to my surroundings had turned and followed me with evil
intent.
Forward I went again, but as soon as I had done so the light, even
tread, almost an echo of my own, came on steadily behind me. I had
heard weird stories of madmen who haunt the London streets at night and
who follow unsuspecting foot-passengers aimlessly. It is one of the
forms of insanity well known to specialists.
Again I recrossed the road, passing through Edwarde's Square and out
into Earl's Court Road, thus retracing my steps back towards the High
Street, but the mysterious man still followed me so persistently that in
the mist, which in that part had grown thicker until it obscured the
street lamps, I confess I experienced some uneasiness.
Presently, however, just as I was turning the corner into Lexham Gardens
at a point where the fog had obscured everything, I felt a sudden rush,
and at the same instant experienced a sharp stinging sensation behind
the right shoulder. The shock was such a severe one that I cried out,
turning next instant upon my assailant, but so agile was he that, ere I
could face him, he had eluded me and escaped.
I heard his receding footsteps--for he was running away down the Earl's
Court Road--and shouted for the police. But there was no response. The
pain in my shoulder became excruciating. The unknown man had struck me
with a knife, and blood was flowing, for I felt it damp and sticky upon
my hand.
Again I shouted "Police! Police!" until at last I heard an answering
voice in the mist and walked in its direction. After several further
shouts I discovered the constable and to him related my strange
experience.