A little after ten o'clock that same evening, in our guise as working
people, we walked along the Briggate, in Leeds, and presently found a
small eating-house, where Tibbie obtained accommodation for the night.
Dressed as we were, Tibbie's trunk at the station, and a small bag in my
hand, I was unable to go to any of the larger hotels. Therefore, after
supping off a chop and tomatoes, washed down with a tankard of ale, I
bade her good-night and went off to find a bed round in Commercial
Street.
Next day, in the dull grey morning, we walked the busy streets of
Leeds--Kirkgate, Bond Street, Albion Street, and the neighbouring
thoroughfares--and took counsel with each other. Her advertisement,
which I saw printed in that morning's _Telegraph_ puzzled me. Yet I
could not admit knowledge of the cipher without also admitting that I
was in possession of the key.
I showed it to her in the paper, but she only smiled and thanked me,
saying,--
"I suppose you suspect that I am communicating with some lover--eh?"
"Well, Tibbie," I remarked, in as calm a voice as I could command, "I
must admit that I'm much surprised. You seem, somehow, to be misleading
me."
"Because I am compelled to do so," was her frank, outspoken answer.
I longed to ask right out who was the man Nello--brief for Lionel--the
man to whom she sent a secret message of trust.
We were passing St John's Churchyard towards North Street, and had been
discussing the advisability of her taking a furnished room in one of the
respectable houses in Roundhay Road, where we had seen "Apartments to
let: Furnished," when, catching her countenance, I suddenly said,--
"Eric has disappeared. He left Bolton Street some days ago, and I've
heard nothing of him. I'm getting very anxious."
"Eric!" she echoed. "Well, he's hardly the kind of a man to disappear,
is he? I've often heard from his friends that he goes away abroad
frequently and forgets to write. Perhaps he's abroad now."
She did not tell me that he was in Paris, the statement which she made
in secret to the man she called Nello.
I discussed the subject further, but she steadfastly refused to admit
that she knew of his whereabouts. By her attitude I was much mystified.
Neither the Sussex Constabulary nor the Scarcliffs themselves
entertained the slightest suspicion that the sudden departure of the
Honourable Sybil from Ryhall had any connection with the mysterious
affair in Charlton Wood. I had made careful inquiry when I had visited
old Lady Scarcliff at Grosvenor Street, and young Lady Wydcombe, visits
which I had purposely made in town in order to allay any suspicion that
I was aware of Tibbie's place of hiding.
The whole family were, of course, extremely anxious, and I was compelled
to play a double game, pretending to make every inquiry in those
quarters in London where she was so well known. I had even invented
stories as to her having been seen at Oddenino's at supper, with two
other ladies, and accompanied by both ladies on the departure platform
at St Pancras, stories concocted with a dual purpose, to reassure Jack
and his mother that she was well, and also to mislead those who were so
eagerly in search of her.
As we walked side by side through that busy centre of commercial life,
all of which was so strange to her, I expressed regret that she could
tell me nothing further.
"If I knew the truth," I said, "it would enable me to steer clear of
pitfalls, and render your life happier and brighter."
"You are posing as my husband," she said, looking straight into my face
with those wonderful eyes of hers. "Your self-sacrifice is surely
great, Wilfrid, for one who entertains no affection. When a man loves
he will do anything--he will ruin himself for the sake of a woman, as so
many do. But when love is absent it is all so different."
And she sighed and turned her head away. She was a neat, demure little
figure in her cheap black dress, her small toque, and her black cotton
gloves, with the false badge of matrimony underneath.
"I cannot for the life of me imagine what safeguard I am to you--
pretending to be your husband."
"Ah?" she said. "You will know everything some day--some day you will
realise my awful peril," and her mouth closed tightly as tears welled in
her eyes. Did she refer to the crime in Charlton Wood? That afternoon
we engaged apartments in what seemed to be a pleasant little house in
Roundhay Road, kept by an honest old Yorkshire woman, who spoke broadly
and welcomed us warmly. Therefore Tibbie obtained her trunk from the
cloak-room, and took up her abode there, while I explained my enforced
absence from my wife, saying that I was compelled to go to Bradford.
Instead of that, however, I returned to my quarters in Commercial
Street, and met her in Kirkgate at eleven o'clock next morning.
Ours was a strange, adventurous life in the days that followed, and were
it not for the veil of mystery upon everything, and the grave suspicion
which I still entertained of my dainty little companion, it would have
all been very pleasant.
In order to kill time, as well as to avoid being met in Leeds together
by our landlady, we visited the various outlying places of interest,
Kirkstall with its ruined abbey and its umbrageous landscapes, the old
church of Adel with the pretty glen, _par excellence_ a walk for lovers,
Cookridge Hall, Chapeltown, the village on the Great North Road where
one obtains such magnificent views, and lastly the splendid old mansion
of Temple Newsham, where walking in the park one sunny, afternoon Tibbie
halted, and looking away to the distant Tudor mansion, said,--
"How strange life is, Wilfrid. Only two years ago I was staying here
with Cynthia, and now you and I come here as working-class holiday
makers. Ah!" she sighed, bitterly, "I was happy then, before--" and she
did not conclude her sentence.
"Before what?" I asked, standing at her side beneath the great old elm
with the sheep grazing quietly around.
"Before evil fell upon me," she said, hoarsely, with poignant
bitterness.
We remained in Leeds a week, and although I had given Budd my address at
the post-office I received no word from him concerning Eric.
Day by day I watched the columns of the _Telegraph_ until one morning
there came an answer to Tibbie's cipher advertisement, a reply which I
read as,--
"To S.--You have been betrayed! Exercise caution, and escape at once,
the instant you see this.--Your Friend."
I lost no time in seeking her, and with affected carelessness handed her
the paper, making a casual remark upon the news of the day. I watched
her, however, and saw that she at once turned to the column which held
the greatest interest for her.
Her eyes fell upon the reply to her secret message. In a few moments
she had deciphered it, and sat with the journal still in her hand,
staring straight before her.
"Wilfrid!" she exclaimed, in a low, strained voice when she at length
found tongue, "I must leave here at once. Every moment's delay
increases my peril. I must escape."
"Why?"
But again she refused any explanation, merely saying that her departure
from Leeds was imperative, and expressing despair that her enemies would
never relinquish their hot pursuit. They were hounding her down, she
said in despair, and they must sooner or later triumph over her.
"No," I exclaimed. "Hope on, Tibbie. You must escape--you will escape.
They shall never harm you as long as I have strength to be your
protector."
"Ah!" she cried. "How can I thank you, Wilfrid. To you I owe my very
life. Without you I should have ended it all long ago."
"Never mind that now," I urged. "You must escape. Where shall you go?"
"Anywhere. It is just the same to me," was her answer.
"Then I suggest you take the midday train up to Newcastle. There's a
quiet hotel where you may live comfortably and unnoticed, the Douglas,
in Grainger Street West. Remain there a few days, and then move on
across to Carlisle."
"I know Carlisle," she said. "I've broken the journey there often when
going to Scotland."
"But you are not known there?"
"Only at the County Hotel. I can go somewhere else, of course. But are
you not coming?" she asked, quickly. "Remember my whole future depends
upon you passing yourself off as my husband, William Morton."
"For the next few days I think it would be as well for us to remain
apart," I replied, for truth to tell I had suddenly formed a plan, and
was now anxious to make a flying visit up to London in order to put it
into execution.
Her face fell.
"But you will return to me?" she asked, very anxiously.
"Yes--I will meet you in Carlisle in a week's time. Go to Newcastle for
four days, and thence to Carlisle. Indeed, change your address
constantly. In Newcastle assume another name, and in Carlisle another.
Do not go in the name of Morton again until we meet. I shall write to
you at the post-office in Carlisle. To-day is Tuesday. Next Tuesday
you shall hear from me."
"Why do you leave me alone?" she pouted. "How can I spend a whole week
wandering about without a companion?"
"Don't you see, Tibbie, that it is very necessary that I should show up
to your mother and Jack in order to still pretend to make an effort to
find traces of you?" I asked.
"Ah! yes," she sighed. "I suppose you are right. You do all you can in
my interests, so I ought not to complain."
"I am glad you are convinced that my return to London is with the object
of averting suspicion," I said. "Go up to Newcastle and escape these
enemies of yours--whoever they are. Travel constantly if possible. You
have money. If not I can give you some."
"Thanks--I have plenty," was her reply; and then she reluctantly
commenced packing her trunk preparatory to her hurried departure.
And at noon we had grasped hands on the platform and I had seen her into
a third-class compartment of the express bound for Newcastle.
"_Au revoir_," she said, bending to me from the carriage window.
"Remember, next Tuesday in Carlisle. You are my friend--promise you
will not desert me."
"Next Tuesday," I repeated, lifting my cloth cap. "I promise. Till
then, adieu."
And she smiled sadly as the express glided out of the station.
Half an hour later I was on my way to London again, and a little after
five o'clock entered the offices of the _Daily Telegraph_ and handed in
a cipher advertisement, which read,--
"To Nello.--Meet me outside Baker Street Station to-night at eight.
Very urgent. Nothing to fear.--S."
I was convinced that the mysterious Nello lived in London, and therefore
would see the paper next morning. I was determined to ascertain who it
was in whom Tibbie placed such implicit trust.
I feared to approach Bolton Street; therefore I took a room at the
Caledonian Hotel on Adelphi Terrace and sent a note to Budd to come and
see me.
In an hour my man stood before me, telling me of the eager inquiries
made for me by Mr Ellice Winsloe, and the message he had left, asking
me to call and see him as soon as ever I returned.
The scoundrel never believed that I would return. He expected that my
body was far out to sea by this time, just as other bodies had been
despatched from that house of mystery.
Budd brought me some clean linen and my letters, but I still retained my
guise as a working-man, for I had yet a very difficult and delicate task
before me, namely, the watching of the man whom Tibbie addressed as
Nello.
At noon next day I received a telegram from the woman upon whom rested
the dark shadow of a secret crime, telling me of her safe arrival in
Newcastle, and reminding me of my promise to return. Then I went forth
and lounged about the Burlington in the hope of catching a glimpse of
the man who was her enemy as well as mine.
He generally strolled through the Arcade about five o'clock, for he went
daily to old General Taylor, in the Albany. I knew his haunts well,
therefore, keeping away from his path, I watched until I saw him pass in
deep conversation with a man of his own age, whose sharp, clean-shaved
face gave me the impression that he was a barrister. Winsloe looked
more refined, more fashionably dressed, with his frock coat cleanly
brushed and his glossy silk hat apparently only that moment out of the
ironer's hands.
I pretended to be deeply interested in a hosier's window as he passed.
But even had we met face to face I doubt if he would have recognised me
in the disguise of a working-man.
His face was harder and more evil-looking and his shifty eyes were
everywhere. From the way the pair were talking, I could not resist the
conviction that the clean-shaven fellow was one of his associates or
accomplices.
To that elegant man who passed as a gentleman, and was invited to half
the best houses in London, I owed all my present distress and anxiety,
while at the same time he was Sybil's enemy, the man who held her future
in his merciless hands.
I watched him out of sight, and then turning upon my heel went back
citywards.
That night, just before eight, I strolled along the Marylebone Road, and
slowly passed Baker Street Station and along by Madame Tussaud's,
without, however, seeing traces of anyone. A couple of newsboys were
idling on the kerb gossiping, but all else was bustle, and there were no
lingerers.
I could not well remain there fearing lest Winsloe or any of his
associates who knew me might recognise me. Therefore I was compelled to
stroll up and down on the opposite side of the way, my eyes eager to
discern any man who halted there in expectation.
One man dressed like a City clerk came to a sudden standstill just after
eight, looked at his watch and peered inside the station. But I was
disappointed, for a few moments later a young woman, in brown, probably
his sweetheart, met him, and they both walked away in company. Again a
second man emerged from the station and stood for a long time in
indecision. He, too, was keeping an appointment, for he was joined
presently by a much older man, and they went into a neighbouring
saloon-bar.
Half-past eight struck; even nine o'clock. But the appointment was not
kept. Perhaps the mysterious Nello had not seen the message?
I was beginning to fear that such was the case, or that my ruse had
failed, when a dark-eyed rather handsome young girl, dressed plainly,
like a shop assistant, alighted from a hansom about a hundred yards from
the station, paid the driver, and hurriedly approached the spot where I
stood.
She took no notice of my presence, but crossing the roadway entered the
station and searched eagerly everywhere as though she were late for her
appointment.
She came forth again upon the pavement, looked up and down, and then
strolled patiently along the kerb.
She never gave me a single glance. This fact I noted, causing me to
wonder if she were not waiting for a woman.
Was she awaiting Sybil? Could she be a messenger from the mysterious
Nello, in whom my dainty little friend seemed to place such implicit
trust?
I crossed the road and idled past her in order to get a good look at her
face.
Then I sauntered on, wondering and perplexed.