"But surely," I cried, "the outlook is not so black as you anticipate?
If this woman, in order to safeguard herself, refuses to speak, are
there not other means by which the truth could be revealed?"
"No--none!" was her despairing answer as she shook her head.
"Perhaps I acted unwisely in allowing them to slip through the fingers
of the police?" I suggested.
"No. It was wise, very wise. Had they been arrested they would both
have sought to seriously incriminate me--and--and the blow would have
fallen. I--I should have killed myself to avoid arrest," she added in
the low hoarse voice of a woman absolutely desperate.
"Oh, don't speak like that, Lolita," I urged earnestly. "Recollect you
have at least in me a true and loyal friend. I will defend you by every
means in my power. You refuse to tell me this strange secret of yours;
nevertheless I am ready to serve you without seeking to penetrate the
mystery which you are so determined to withhold."
"I would tell you everything if I dared," she assured me with a sweet
grateful look upon her countenance, and I saw that upon her veil a
teardrop glistened. I saw too how agitated she was, and how she longed
to take me entirely into her confidence--yet dared not do so. Why, I
wondered, had she made no remark upon the tragedy or upon the Coroner's
verdict that morning. Was that, too, a subject which she dare not
mention?
I glanced at the boots she was wearing, and saw that they were small
dark-brown ones but with those same Louis XV heels that had left such
tell-tale traces.
"Is your secret such a terrible one that you fear to entrust it to me?"
I asked gravely after a brief pause.
"You couldn't understand--you couldn't believe the real facts even if I
told you," was her reply. "Besides, this refusal of the woman Lejeune
prevents me knowing the real truth myself. She intends that I shall
suffer--that I shall pay the penalty of the crime of another. She vowed
revenge and, alas!" she sighed, "she has it now."
"But she's quite a common person," I remarked, for knowing the Continent
as I did, and being some thing of a cosmopolitan, I put her down as of
the lower class.
"It is her foreign ill-breeding that renders her such a bitter enemy.
She has no pity and no remorse--indeed what Frenchwoman has?"
"Then I was a fool to let her escape! Had I known, I would have given
the pair into the detective's hands and faced the worst."
"And by so doing you would have caused my death!" was her low remark in
a hard strained voice. We had climbed the hill and arrived at the edge
of Geddington Chase, where we halted at the old weather-worn stile which
gave entrance to the wood.
"Yet by allowing them to escape it seems that I have unwittingly been
their accessory!" I remarked. "You do not anticipate that this woman
Lejeune will reveal the truth and thus place you in a position of
safety. Therefore, why should we shield her?"
"I feel sure she will not--now that she is friendly with Joseph Logan."
"You mean the man who was with you at early morning?"
She nodded in the affirmative, and with a sigh declared: "The interests
of the pair are entirely identical. Even if she wished to reveal what
she knew, he would prevent her. I never anticipated that they would
become acquainted and thus unite their evil intentions against myself!"
"Against you?" I cried. "Why?"
"It is an intrigue--a vile and ingenious plot against myself and certain
persons who are innocent and unoffending. Ah! If you only knew the
woman Lejeune as I have reason to know her, you would not ask such a
question. You, too, would be well aware that the man or woman
unfortunate enough to fall into her cunningly-devised pitfalls may at
once abandon all hope of the future--for death alone can release them
from the bond." I failed to understand the true meaning of those words
which sounded to my ears so wild and tragic. The mystery of it was
all-consuming. I tried to discern some light through the dark cloud
that had so suddenly fallen and enveloped my well-beloved, but all was
utterly inscrutable.
We crossed the stile and walked on into the dim lonely gloom of the
Chase. I took her hand and felt that she was trembling. Of what, I
wondered, was she in fear? Was it because of the sudden return of that
rough seafarer, Richard Keene? Was it of some denunciation that could
be made by Mademoiselle Lejeune; or was it because of what had occurred
down in that damp hollow behind the beeches in the south avenue--that
spot that bore the imprint of her shoes?
"Lolita," I said at last in a soft, low voice, "are you aware of the
terrible affair--I mean the discovery in the park?"
"Yes," was her mechanical answer, without, however, daring to look me in
the face. "I have heard all about it."
"Well," I said, "the unfortunate young man is unidentified except--" and
I hesitated.
"Except what?" she gasped quickly. "What have they discovered?"
"They have discovered nothing," I assured her. "But I myself have
discovered that the man now dead pawned, a year ago, your amethyst and
pearl necklet--the one your father, the Earl, gave you for a birthday
present in India, and, further, that he wore upon his finger a ring
containing your portrait!"
"The police!--do they know these facts?" she gasped, halting and glaring
at me.
"They are known only to myself," I answered in a grave, low tone. "What
have you to say?" For a moment she stood with her countenance blanched
to the lips, and a strange haunted look in her eyes. Summoning all her
courage, her gloved fingers clenching themselves into the palms, she
bowed her head and answered hoarsely--
"I have nothing to say--nothing--nothing!"
I stood in silence regarding her, utterly mystified. Was it guilt that
was written so vividly upon her face, or was it the fierce desperation
of an innocent woman hounded to her death?
Ah! had I known the startling truth at that moment, how differently
would I have acted!