THE RESERVED COMPARTMENT
Lenise Elroy arrived at the station and looked around for Mr. Rolfe.
He was not there; at least she did not see him. As the time drew near
for the departure of the train she became anxious; she hoped much from
this railway journey in a reserved compartment: they would be able to
talk without interruption.
Hector had seen Brack, who explained how Mrs. Elroy had questioned him
at Torquay, and also Carl Hackler.
"You'd best be careful," said Brack; "I saw you talking with her on
the course."
"She has no idea who I am. I thank you all the same," he answered.
"Mr. Woodridge has given me a hundred pounds and a new boat," said
Brack.
"And you richly deserve it! Here's a twenty-pound note to add to it,"
said Hector.
"I'll be a rich man before I get back to Torquay," said Brack.
"Here you are; I thought you were not coming," said Mrs. Elroy, as
Hector came up.
"There's plenty of time," he said; "ten minutes."
"You can't think how anxious I felt."
"Why? You could have gone on alone."
"That would not have suited me; I want your company," she said.
They were shown to a reserved compartment, the guard locking the door
until the train started; it was crowded, and some of the race-goers
are not particular where they get in.
"It's a non-stop train; we are alone until we arrive at King's Cross,"
said Hector.
Lenise was at her best. She confessed she was really in love this
time; she meant to find out how matters stood with him.
Despite all she had done, he felt her charm still. She was not a good
woman, far from it, but there was something so subtle and attractive
about her he found it hard to resist the spell.
The thought of Sir Robert's words, "I wish the Admiral could have seen
this," gave him courage. It had to be done--why not do it now? There
was no escape for her; it was not a corridor train; they were boxed up
for three hours or more. She looked at him with softly gleaming
eyes; her whole being thrilled toward him; she had never been so
fascinating.
"You are quiet. What are you thinking about?" she said. "Reckoning up
your winnings on Tearaway, I suppose."
"My thoughts were far away from there," he said.
"Where were they wandering?"
"I was thinking about you," he said.
"How nice of you," she said quietly.
"You prefer me to Fletcher Denyer?"
"How can you ask such an absurd question?"
"I was wondering whether I loved you; I was thinking whether you would
be my wife, if I had the courage to ask you."
"Try," she said, her eyes on him.
"Do you really love me?" he asked.
"You know I do; you must have known it from the first time we met."
"There should be no secrets between us," he said. "I have something to
tell you."
She turned pale, a faint shiver passed through her; he noticed it.
Would she confess what she had done?
"I too have a confession to make, if you love me, and wish me to be
your wife."
"Otherwise?"
"I shall keep my counsel; it would not interest you."
"Let me tell you something first," he said.
"As you please, confidence for confidence," she said with a faint
smile.
"I have not always lived a decent life," he said. "I once committed a
crime, I paid the penalty, I was sent to prison, to Dartmoor."
She started again, a look of fear was in her eyes.
"When I told you I was mining on Dartmoor it was not true; I worked
on Dartmoor, but it was as a prisoner. I was in the same gang as Mr.
Woodridge's brother."
"You were," she said in a hollow voice, wondering why he told her
this.
"Yes, poor fellow. I never saw a man so broken down in my life; his
face haunted me. I said something about it before, you may remember."
"Yes, I recollect," she said.
"We had very little chance of speaking but I heard his story in
fragments, how he hated the woman who had brought him down so low. He
swore to me he did not kill the woman's husband, but he would not tell
me who did, although I asked him many times. From what I heard I came
to the conclusion she fired the shot."
His eyes were on her; she could not face their searching glance.
She made no remark, and he went on: "It was mainly through me he
escaped," he said. "When I was released I searched out his brother
and made a suggestion. Mr. Woodridge has no idea I was in prison; he
thought I had been abroad for several years. Needless to say, I did
not enlighten him; I will trust you not to do so."
"I shall never speak of it."
"Does this alter your opinion of me? Shall I go on?" he asked.
"I love you," she said. "I shall always love you, no matter what
happens."
"As you know, Hector Woodridge escaped."
"But he is dead."
"That is uncertain. He may be, or he may have got away and be in
hiding. He must be greatly changed, no one would recognize him," he
said.
"It is hardly possible," she said.
"Perhaps not, but still he may be alive, and if he is, the woman who
ruined him had better beware. I believe he would kill her if he
met her. What have you to confess to me? You see I have placed my
character in your hands; you can ruin me socially if you wish."
"I do not wish, and I thank you for the trust you have placed in me,"
she said. "I am afraid to confess all to you, afraid you will never
speak to me again when you know who I am."
"Who you are?" he exclaimed.
"I told you, when you remarked on the curious coincidence that my name
was Mrs. Elroy, that I was not the Mrs. Elroy connected with Hector
Woodridge's case."
"Well," he said.
"I told you a lie. I am the same Mrs. Elroy. It was my husband Hector
Woodridge shot. It was me he was in love with."
He looked at her without speaking for several minutes. The silence was
painful; he was thinking how to launch his thunderbolt, how best to
trap and overwhelm her. There was no escape, she was entirely at his
mercy.
"You ruined Hector Woodridge, sent him to penal servitude for life,"
he said.
"I was not entirely to blame. We loved, or at least we thought so."
"How did it happen?" he asked.
"The shooting?"
"Yes."
"It was quite unpremeditated; had the revolver not been there it would
never have happened. I believe my husband intended to shoot him, and
me--it was his revolver."
Hector wondered if this were true.
"The revolver was on a small table. I saw it but did not remove it;
had I done so the tragedy would not have happened."
"Why did you leave it there?" he asked.
"I do not know; probably because I did not wish my husband to know
I was afraid. I was aware he had found us out, that an exposure must
come sooner or later. He was madly in love with me; I almost hated
him, he was so weak, almost childish, and I wanted a strong man to
rule me. Shall I go on, do you despise me, look upon me as a very
wicked woman?" she asked in a strained voice.
"Go on," he said; "tell me the whole story, how he was shot,
everything."
"I will, I will make a full confession; but be merciful in your
judgment, remember I am doing this because I love you, that I do not
want it to stand between us, I plead to you not to throw all the blame
on me. Hector Woodridge was a strong man and I loved him, I believe he
loved me, he overcame all my scruples. I yielded to him, gave myself
to him--surely that was a great sacrifice, my name, honor, everything
for his sake. We were together in my husband's study. We thought he
was in London, but he did not go; he set a trap and caught us. I shall
never forget the look on his face when he came into the room. I saw
his eyes rest on the revolver, and I felt it was our lives or his, but
we stood between him and the weapon.
"Hector Woodridge guessed what was in his mind; he must have done so,
for he laid his hand on the revolver. My husband saw the movement and
said, 'Put that down, you scoundrel,' and advanced toward us. Hector
raised the revolver and told him to stand back. He did so; he was
afraid.
"There was an angry altercation. I remember saying I was tired of him,
that I would live with him no longer, that I loved Hector Woodridge.
This drove him to distraction; he became furious, dangerous; he would
have killed us without hesitation had he possessed the revolver, there
was such a murderous look in his eyes. Does my sordid story interest
you?" she asked.
"It does; everything you do or say interests me," he said.
"And you do not utterly despise me, think me too bad to be in decent
society, to be sitting here alone with you?"
"Go on," he said in a tone that was half a command, and which caused
her to feel afraid of something unknown.
"At last Elroy's rage got the better of his prudence; he made a dash
forward to seize the revolver, raised in Hector's hand. It was the
work of a second, his finger was on the trigger; he pulled it, there
was a report, Elroy staggered forward, fell on his face, dead," she
said with a blanched face, and trembling voice.
"_You_ pulled the trigger," he said, calmly looking straight at her.