Outside was the foot of Sydenham Hill.
I allowed her to get on well in front and then followed her along the
silent ill-lit suburban road for half a mile up the steep hill, flanked
on either side by large detached houses. For some reason best known to
herself she had not gone on to the next station, Upper Sydenham.
Perhaps she was too well known there.
Half-way up the hill I walked more quickly and gained upon her, so that
I saw into which gateway she went.
She disappeared through the gate of the house called Keymer--the house
of the mysterious John Parham!
Then I was, of course, convinced that she had kept the appointment on
behalf of the unknown Nello.
I had not called upon Mrs Parham since that tragic incident which I had
witnessed from the pavement, and longed now to follow the dark-eyed girl
and learn the reason of her presence at Baker Street. But a visit at
that hour was entirely out of the question. Besides, my disguise as a
working-man would arouse suspicion.
Therefore I was compelled to retrace my steps, return to my hotel in
Adelphi Terrace, and send a line to Budd, ordering him to bring me a hat
and a decent suit of clothes in a kitbag.
Eric's complete silence now alarmed me. How did Tibbie know that he was
in Paris? Surely she possessed some means of communication with certain
persons of which I was in entire ignorance. There might be other
advertisements in other journals which I had not seen--by
pre-arrangement in some obscure country journal possibly.
Jack and Lord Wydcombe were now anxious regarding the absence of both of
us from London, and must, of course, regard our silence as curious. Yet
so far as I could gather they never for one moment connected my absence
with Tibbie's disappearance. Tibbie they regarded as erratic and
utterly uncontrollable, just as she had ever been from the time she was
expelled from her school at Versailles for defying the principal, and
causing the other pupils to revolt over some fancied grievance.
Next day about twelve, risking recognition by any person who might know
me, I assumed my frock coat, silk hat and gloves and visited Keymer.
Mrs Parham was in the drawing-room, arranging some flowers in a vase,
and turned to me quickly when I was announced.
"Forgive me for calling, madam, but you will, of course, recollect me,"
I said. "I was in this neighbourhood and thought I would pay my
respects and ascertain how you were."
"Ah! of course," she exclaimed. "I remember you perfectly--on that
night--that night when they came here," she faltered, rather tamely, I
thought, and she motioned me to a chair and seated herself.
"The poor girl has, of course, been buried," I said. "I saw accounts of
the inquest in the papers."
"Yes. They brought in a verdict of murder, but up to the present the
police have discovered nothing, it appears. Ah!" she sighed. "They are
so very slow. It's monstrous that such a thing could happen here, in
the centre of a populated district. Out in the lonely country it would
be quite another thing. I should have left the house at once, only I
feared that my husband would be annoyed. He is abroad, you know."
"And have you had no word from him?"
"Not a line. I'm expecting a letter from India by every mail. He is in
India, I know, as he told one of his City friends that he was going. He
sailed on the _Caledonia_ from Marseilles nearly five weeks ago. He may
have written me from Paris and the letter miscarried. That's the only
explanation I can think of."
I recollected that I had never given her a card, therefore she very
fortunately did not know my name, and I did not intend that she should,
if concealment were at all possible.
There was a mystery about that house and its occupants which caused me
to act with circumspection.
I looked around the room. Nothing had been altered save that the couch
upon which they had laid the dead girl was now gone, and the corner of
the carpet which had been torn up had been re-nailed down. The piano at
which my hostess had sat when attacked was still in its place, and the
table whereon had stood the photograph which I had stolen still
contained that same silver and _bric-a-brac_.
As Mrs Parham was speaking the door suddenly opened, and the dark-eyed
young girl whom I had watched on the previous night came gaily into the
room. The instant I saw her I recognised that she was a lady. In a
clean, fresh cotton blouse and neat tailor-made skirt she presented a
much smarter appearance them in that cheap black coat and skirt as she
stood in the muddy roadway. The green stone bracelet was still upon her
wrist, the one object which alone had showed me that she was no shop
assistant.
"This is Miss O'Hara," my hostess exclaimed, introducing us; "she has
kindly come to stay with me until my husband's return."
And as we bowed to each other I saw that the newcomer had no previous
knowledge of me.
"I was present at the unfortunate affair," I said. "Mrs Parham must
have been very upset by it."
"She was," declared the girl, in a quiet, refined voice. "But she's
getting over it now. The worst shock was the maid's death. It was a
most dastardly piece of business, and moreover, no one knows with what
motive it was done."
"To get possession of something which Mr Parham had concealed here," I
said.
"That may be, but as far as Mrs Parham is aware they took nothing
beyond a few of her husband's private papers."
"Nothing except a photograph that stood on the table over there,"
remarked my hostess.
"A photograph!" I exclaimed, in pretended surprise. "Of whom?"
"Of a friend," was the vague response, and I saw that the two women
looked at each other meaningly.
They intended to keep the identity of the original of the stolen
portrait a secret. Yet they were in utter ignorance that it was in my
possession.
Why had this Miss O'Hara gone to meet Sybil in Nello's place? I
wondered.
I chatted with them both for a long time, but without being able to
discover any additional fact. They were both clever women, and knew how
to hold their tongues.