Horrified and appalled, my startled eyes were riveted upon the flawless
face that in life had entranced me.
"See! She's dead--dead!" I gasped wildly, when a few seconds later I
fully realised the ghastly truth.
Then throwing myself upon my knees, heedless of the presence of
strangers, I seized her clammy hand that bore the wedding ring, and
covered it with mad, grief-impassioned caresses. In her breast was a
spray of tuberoses, flowers ineffably emblematic of the grave. Faugh!
how I have ever since detested their gruesome, sickly odour. There is
death in their breath.
The despairing look in her sightless eyes was so horrible that I covered
my face with my hands to shut it out from my gaze. The secret terror
that she had dreaded, and to which she had made such veiled, gloomy
references, had actually fallen. Her incredible presage of evil, which
in Luchon I had at first regarded as the fantastic imaginings of a
romantic disposition, had actually become an accomplished fact--some
dire, mysterious catastrophe, sudden and complete, had overwhelmed her.
The woman I adored was dead!
In those moments of desolation, stricken down by a sudden grief, I bent
over the slim, delicate hands that had so often grasped mine in warm
affection, and there came back to me memories of the brief joyous days
in the gay little mountain town, when for hours I walked by her side in
rapturous transports and sat with her each evening under the trees,
charmed by her manner, fascinated by her wondrous fathomless eyes, held
by her beautiful countenance as under a spell. There had seemed some
mysterious rapport between her soul and mine. The sun shone more
brightly for me on the day she came into my world, and my heart became
filled with a supreme happiness such as I, blase and world-weary, had
never known. Heaven had endowed her with one of those women's souls
embodying pity and love, a ray of joy-giving light from a better world,
that consoled my being, softened my existence, and aroused within me for
the first time the conviction that in this brotherhood of tears there
existed one true-hearted, soft-voiced woman, who might be the sweet
companion of my future life. Through those few sunny days we had been
forgetful of all earth's grim realities, of all the evil thoughts of the
world. We had led an almost idyllic existence, inspired by our
love-making with great contempt for everything, vainly imagining that we
should have no other care than that of loving one another.
Ah! how brief, alas! had been our paradise! How sudden and complete was
my bereavement! how bitter my sorrow!
True, Sybil had spoken of the mysterious spectral terror which
constantly held her in a paroxysm of fear; yet having been satisfied by
her declaration that she was not already married, I had continued to
love her with the whole strength of my being, never dreaming that her
end was so near. Dead! She could no longer utter those soft,
sympathetic words that had brought peace to me. No longer could she
press my hand, nor smile upon me with those great eyes, clear and
trusting as a child's. Only her soulless body was before me; only her
chilly form that ere long would be snatched from my sight forever.
No, I could not realise that she had departed beyond recall. In mad
desperation I kissed her brow in an attempt to revivify her. At that
moment her sweet voice seemed raised within me, but it was a voice of
remembrance that brought hot tears to my eyes.
A second later I sprang up, startled by a loud knocking at the door of
the room. The unknown onlookers, breathless and silent, exchanged
glances of abject terror. "Hark!" I cried. "What's that?"
"Hush!" they commanded fiercely. For a few seconds there was a dead
silence, then the summons was repeated louder than before, as a deep
voice outside cried:
"Open the door. We are police officers, and demand admittance in the
name of the law."
Upon the small assembly the words fell like a thunderbolt.
"They have come!" gasped one of the women, pale and trembling. She was
of middle age, and wore an elaborate toilette with a magnificent necklet
of pearls.
"Silence! Make no answer," the man who had conducted me from Richmond
whispered anxiously. "They may pass on, and we may yet escape."
"Escape!" I echoed, looking from one to the other; "what crime have you
committed?"
A third time the knocking was repeated, when suddenly there was a loud
crash, and the door, slowly breaking from its hinges, fell, with its
silken portiere, heavily into the room as three detectives, springing
over it, dashed towards us.
"See! there she is!" cried one of the men authoritatively, pointing to
Sybil. "Arrest her!"
The two others dashed forward to execute their inspector's orders, but
as they did so the clergyman stepped quickly before her chair, and,
raising his bony hand, cried:
"Back, I command you! Back! The lady for whose arrest I presume you
hold a warrant has, alas! gone to where she is not amenable to the law
of man."
The men halted, puzzled.
"What do you mean?" cried the inspector.
"Look for yourselves, gentlemen," the man answered calmly. Then, in a
voice full of emotion he added, "She is dead!"
"Dead! Impossible!" all three echoed dismayed, as next second they
crowded around her, gazed into her calm, sweet face, and touching her
stiffening fingers, at last satisfied themselves of the terrible truth.
Then they removed their hats reverently, and, aghast at the sudden and
unexpected discovery, stood eagerly listening to the grave-faced man who
had made the amazing announcement.
"Yes," he continued, preserving a quiet demeanour. "Such an occurrence
is undoubtedly as unexpected by you as it is bitterly painful to us.
This intrusion upon the death-chamber is, I know, warranted by certain
unfortunate circumstances; nevertheless it is my duty, as the
officiating priest, to inform you that shortly before this lady expired
she was united in matrimony by special licence to this gentleman, Mr
Stuart Ridgeway, and of course if you wish you can inspect the register,
which I think you will find duly in order."
"The marriage does not concern us," the red-faced inspector answered,
murmuring in the same breath an apology for causing us unnecessary pain
by forcing the door. "The lady is dead, therefore we must, of course,
return our warrant unexecuted."
The others also expressed regret at their hasty action, and, having
quite satisfied themselves that Sybil was not merely unconscious, they
consulted among themselves in an undertone, and afterwards withdrew with
disappointment plainly portrayed upon their features.
"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded angrily of the clergyman when
they had gone.
"Unfortunately I can make no explanation," he replied.
"But while I have been unconscious you have, without my knowledge or
consent, performed the ceremony of marriage, uniting me to a dead bride.
You have thus rendered yourself distinctly liable to prosecution,
therefore I demand to know the reason at once," I exclaimed fiercely.
Unconcernedly he shrugged his shoulders, answering: "I regret extremely
that it is beyond my power to satisfy you. No doubt all this appears
exceedingly strange; nevertheless, when the truth is revealed, I venture
to think you will not be inclined to judge me quite so harshly, sir. I
was asked to perform a service, and have done so. This lady is your
wife, although, alas! she no longer lives."
"But why was I entrapped here to be wedded to a dying woman?"
"I have acted no part in entrapping you--as you term it," he protested
with calm dignity. "I had but one duty; I have performed that
faithfully."
"Then I am to understand that you absolutely refuse to tell me the name
of my dead wife, or any facts concerning her?"
"I do."
"Very well, then. I shall invoke the aid of the police in order to
fully investigate the mystery," I said. "That all of you fear arrest is
evident from the alarm betrayed on the arrival of the officers. What
guarantee have I that Sybil has not been murdered?"
"Mine," interposed one of the men, bald-headed and grey bearded, who had
until then been standing silent and thoughtful. "I may as well inform
you that I am a qualified medical practitioner, and for two years have
been this lady's medical attendant. She suffered acutely from
heart-disease, and the hurry and excitement of the marriage ceremony
under such strange conditions has resulted fatally. I think my
certificate, combined with my personal reputation in the medical
profession, will be quite sufficient to satisfy any coroner's officer."
Approaching my dead bride as he spoke, he tenderly closed her staring
eyes, composed her hands, and, taking up the veil I had torn aside,
folded it and placed it lightly across her white face.
I was about to demur, when suddenly the man who had acted as my guide
placed his hand upon my shoulder, saying in a calm, serious tone:
"Remember, you have taken your oath never to attempt to elucidate this
mystery."
"Yes, but if I have suspicion that Sybil has been murdered I am
justified in breaking it," I cried in protest. "She has not been
murdered, I swear," he replied. "Moreover, the doctor here stakes his
professional reputation by giving a certificate showing natural causes."
This did not satisfy me, and I commented in rather uncomplimentary terms
upon the unsatisfactory nature of the whole proceedings.
"But before coming here you accepted my conditions," the man said,
thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. "Sybil sought your aid to
save her from a deadly peril, and you were willing to assist her. You
have done so, although alas! all our efforts have been unavailing. You
have had the unique experience of having been a bridegroom and a widower
within ten minutes. Although I admit that there are many mysterious
circumstances surrounding your tragic union, yet for the present it is
impossible to give my explanation. Indeed, as I have already told you,
any inquiries must inevitably increase your burden of sorrow and
unhappiness. Therefore preserve silence and wait until I am able to
render you full satisfaction. When the true facts are exposed, you will
find that the only safeguard to ourselves lies in the present
preservation of our secret."
I observed that he was fully alive to my suspicions, that he divined
them, and anxiously followed my words. I surprised a swift gleam in his
eye that revealed the instinctive terror of the animal attacked at the
moment of its fancied security. I felt convinced that a crime had been
committed. At thought of it my heart-beats were quickened, and my
nerves thrilled. Again he placed his hand upon my shoulder, but I
shrank with unconquerable repugnance from that contact. "I intend to
elucidate this mystery," I said firmly. "Neither threats nor oaths
shall deter me from seeking the truth."
"Very well," he replied hoarsely; "if you intend to violate your oath,
taken before your Creator, do so. Nevertheless, I and my friends warn
you of the penalty for so doing."
"Well, and what is the penalty, pray?"
He shrugged his shoulders, but no answer passed his lips.
His face had strong individuality and vivid expression. As he stood
there between the two handsomely-dressed women, in his grey furtive
eyes, too wide apart, and always seeming to shun observation; in his
prematurely grey hair, in his mouth set round with deep wrinkles; in his
dark, blotched, bilious complexion, there seemed to be a creature of
another race. What passions had worn those furrows? What vigils had
hollowed those eyeballs? Was this the face of a happy man who had known
neither the wearying cares of ambition, the toil of money-getting, nor
the stings of wounded self-love? Why did all these marks of trouble and
exhaustion suddenly strike me as effects of a secret cause, and why was
I astonished that I had not sooner sought for it?
"Then you threaten me?" I said slowly, after a moment's pause.
"I threaten nothing," he answered, raising his dark eyebrows, and
adding, "There is no reason, as far as I can see, why we should be
enemies, but rather let us be friends. Sybil's death has brought to my
heart grief quite as poignant as that which you are suffering; therefore
in our mourning for one who was pure and good, should we not be united?
I have given you my word that I will elucidate the mystery as soon as I
feel confident that no catastrophe will follow. I consider that this
should satisfy you for the present, and that your own discretion should
induce you to wait at least with patience."
As he spoke there were some little details--the quick flutter of the
eyelids, the rapidly dismissed expression of disagreeable surprise when
I announced my intention of breaking my oath--that did not escape me.
But was it not the same with myself? I could have sworn that at the
same moment he experienced sensations exactly similar to those which
were catching me at the breast and in the throat. Did this not prove
that a current of antipathy existed between him and me?
Why had the police held a warrant for Sybil's arrest? Why had such care
been taken to conceal her identity? Why had I been married to her so
mysteriously? Why had she so suddenly passed to that land that lies
beyond human ken? Had a fatal draught been forced between her lips; or
had she, too, been placed in that room where I had so narrowly escaped
asphyxiation?
"Since I have been in this house," I said, "an attempt has been made to
kill me. I have therefore a right to demand an explanation, or place
the matter in the hands of the police."
"There was no attempt to injure you. It was imperative that you should
be rendered unconscious," the man said.
"And you expect me to accept all this, and make no effort to ascertain
the true facts?" I cried. "Sybil feared an unknown terror, but it
appears to me more than probable that she lived in constant dread of
assassination."
The man frowned, and upon the faces of those about him settled dark,
ominous expressions.
"It is useless to continue this argument in the presence of the dead,"
he said. "I have your address, and, if you desire it, I will call upon
you to-morrow."
"As you wish," I replied stiffly. "I have no inclination to remain in
this house longer than necessary."
Crossing to where the body of Sybil reclined, I slowly raised the veil,
gazing for some moments upon her calm, pale face, as restful as if
composed in peaceful sleep. Bending, I pressed my lips to her clammy
brow, then taking a piece of the drooping orange-blossom from her hair,
I replaced the veil, and, overcome with emotion, walked unsteadily out
over the fallen door, followed by the man whom I felt instinctively was
my enemy.
Together we descended the fine staircase, brilliantly lit by a huge
chandelier of crystal and hung with large time-mellowed paintings, into
a spacious hall, in which a footman with powdered hair awaited us. Half
dazed, my senses not having recovered from the shock caused to them,
first by the charcoal fumes and secondly by the appalling discovery of
Sybil's death, I remember that when the flunkey threw open the door a
hansom was awaiting me, and that my strange companion himself gave the
cabman my address. I have also a distinct recollection of having
refused to grasp my enemy's proffered hand, but it was not until I found
myself seated alone before the dying embers of the fire in my chambers
in Shaftesbury Avenue, my mind troubled to the point of torment, that it
suddenly occurred to me that in leaving the mysterious mansion I had
been culpably negligent of the future.
I had actually failed to take notice either of the exterior of the
house, or of the thoroughfare in which it was situated!
I had, I knew, driven along Oxford Street eastward to Regent Street, and
thence home, but from what direction the conveyance had approached the
Marble Arch I knew not. In blank despair I paced my room, for I saw I
should be compelled to search London for a house, of which all I knew of
the exterior was that it had a wide portico in front and was approached
from the pavement by three steps.
My omission to take notice of its aspect overwhelmed me with despair,
for there were thousands of similar houses in the West End, and I knew
that, while I prosecuted my inquiries, those responsible for Sybil's
death would be afforded ample time to effect their escape.
That such a search was beset with difficulty I was well aware. But
nervousness gave way to determination, at once feverish and fixed, and
it was in a mood of perfect self-mastery that, after a long period of
mental conflict, I flung myself upon my couch with my plan of operations
clearly laid out, and lay thinking over them until the yellow light of
the wintry dawn struggled in between the curtains.