At seven o'clock that evening I took the train from Camberwell Gate to
Westminster Bridge, like the industrious compositor that I represented
myself to be.
In order to assert myself more prominently in the neighbourhood I had
accepted the invitation of Williams, the mineral-water foreman, who was
my landlord, to have a glass of ale at the neighbouring public-house;
and in the bar was introduced by him to several other working-men as his
tenant. They seemed a sober, good-humoured set, all having their glass
after the thirst of the day's labour.
My landlord remarked that my wife saw little of me, but I explained how
my employers sent me to various parts of the country in connection with
a new patent type-composing machine in which they were interested.
"Well, my missus does 'er best for Mrs Morton and cheers her up," the
man said. "Only it 'ud be more pleasant for 'er if you were at 'ome a
bit more. The poor young lady mopes dreadfully sometimes. You needn't
say anything, you know, but my old woman has found her a-cryin' to
herself lots of times."
I recollected his words as I sat on the top of the tram passing up those
long broad roads lit by the flare of costermongers' lights and rendered
noisy by the strident cries of the butchers and greengrocers shouting
their wares. In South London commercial life seems to commence with the
sundown, for thrifty working-class housewives go out shopping after
dark.
And Tibbie, the woman whom all smart London knew, who was so brilliant a
figure at receptions, balls and weddings, and of whose beauty the
ladies' papers so constantly spoke, was living amid that poverty and
squalor alone, terrified and crying her heart out.
For what? Had remorse seized her? Was it the awful recollection of
that fatal moment in Charlton Wood, combined with the constant fear that
Ellice Winsloe, whom she had now acknowledged as her enemy, would
discover her and bring against her the terrible charge?
That night, after I had slipped unrecognised into my chambers, I changed
quickly into my own clothes and went along to the Wellington Club to
find Domville. The hall-porter had not, however, seen him that day;
therefore, after strolling through the rooms, I was just on the point of
leaving when, in the hall, I encountered Ellice Winsloe.
"Hulloa! old fellow!" he cried cheerily. "What are you doing to-night?
Come along and dine with me at Boodle's."
I hesitated. I had no wish for the company of the man who was Tibbie's
secret enemy. Once I had distrusted him; now I hated him, for I saw how
ingeniously he had kept observation upon my movements, and how his
invitation, so warmly given, was with the ulterior object of
ascertaining my movements.
In an instant it occurred to me that I might fight him with his own
weapons. I could be as alert as he was. Therefore, I laughed and
declared that I had no prior engagement.
"Come along, then," he said; and we both went out and crossed Hyde Park
corner together.
"I was at the Wydcombes this afternoon. It was Lady Wydcombe's day.
They're till most anxious about Tibbie. Nobody knows where she is," he
added, with a covert glance at my countenance to watch the effect of his
words.
"Yes," I said, "she's certainly a bit erratic. I hear, however, that
she has written to her mother saying that she's all right."
"The police think the letter was written under compulsion. Jack took it
to Scotland Yard, with the result that the Criminal Investigation
Department have redoubled their efforts to trace her. What's your
opinion?"
I shrugged my shoulders. The fellow's object was to get me to talk; but
I knew how to be silent when it suited me, and was determined to tell
him nothing.
"Old Lady Scarcliff is very upset, I hear," he went on as we walked
along Piccadilly to St James's Street.
"It is really too bad of Tibbie, don't you think so? She ought to draw
the line at disappearing like this. She may have met with foul play for
all one knows. It seems, according to Mason, that she took a lot of her
jewellery with her on the night she left Ryhall in the car."
"Does Mason know or suspect anything?" I asked quite innocently.
"Nothing, as far as I'm aware. The detectives have made every inquiry,
but discovered nothing." Then he added, in a voice which sounded to me
to convey a distinct hidden meaning, "They've been just as successful
regarding Tibbie as they have been in the case of the mystery up in
Charlton Wood."