FORMS A BEWILDERING ENIGMA.
"Found Drowned" was the verdict of the twelve respectable villagers
who formed the Coroner's jury to inquire into the tragic death of
young Mrs. Courtenay. It was the only conclusion that could be arrived
at in the circumstances, there being no marks of violence, and no
evidence to show how the unfortunate lady got into the river.
Ambler Jevons, who had seen a brief account of the affair in the
papers, arrived hurriedly in time to attend the inquest; therefore it
was not until the inquiry was over that we were enabled to chat. His
appearance had changed during the weeks of his absence: his face
seemed thinner and wore a worried, anxious expression.
"Well, Ralph, old fellow, this turns out to be a curious business,
doesn't it?" he exclaimed, when, after leaving the public room of the
Golden Ball, wherein the inquiry had been held, we had strolled on
through the long straggling village of homely cottages with thatched
roofs, and out upon the white, level highroad.
"Yes," I admitted. "It's more than curious. Frankly, I have a distinct
suspicion that Mary was murdered."
"That's exactly my own opinion," he exclaimed quickly. "There's been
foul play somewhere. Of that I'm certain."
"And do you agree with me, further, that it is the outcome of the
tragedy at Kew?"
"Most certainly," he said. "That both husband and wife should be
murdered only a few months after one another points to motives of
revenge. You'll remember how nervous old Courtenay was. He went in
constant fear of his life, it was said. That fact proves conclusively
that he was aware of some secret enemy."
"Yes. Now that you speak of it, I recollect it quite well," I
remarked, adding, "But where, in the name of Fortune, have you been
keeping yourself during all these weeks of silence?"
"I've been travelling," he responded rather vaguely. "I've been going
about a lot."
"And keeping watch on Ethelwynn during part of the time," I laughed.
"She told you, eh?" he exclaimed, rather apprehensively. "I didn't
know that she ever recognised me. But women are always sharper than
men. Still, I'm sorry that she saw me."
"There's no harm done--providing you've made some discovery regarding
the seven secrets that compose the mystery," I said.
"Seven secrets!" he repeated thoughtfully, and then was silent a few
moments, as though counting to himself the various points that
required elucidation. "Yes," he said at last, "you're right, Ralph,
there are seven of them--seven of the most extraordinary secrets that
have ever been presented to mortal being as part of one and the same
mystery."
He did not, of course, enumerate them in his mind, as I had done, for
he was not aware of all the facts. The Seven Secrets, as they
presented themselves to me, were: First, the identity of the secret
assassin of Henry Courtenay; second, the manner in which that
extraordinary wound had been caused; thirdly, the secret of Ethelwynn,
held by Sir Bernard; fourthly, the secret motive of Ethelwynn in
remaining under the roof of the man who had discarded her in favour of
her sister; fifthly, the secret of Courtenay's reappearance after
burial; sixthly, the secret of the dastardly attempt on my life by
those ruffians of Lisson Grove; and, seventhly, the secret of Mary
Courtenay's death. Each and every one of the problems was inscrutable.
Others, of which I was unaware, had probably occurred to my friend. To
him, just as to me, the secrets were seven.
"Now, be frank with me, Ambler," I said, after a long pause. "You've
gained knowledge of some of them, haven't you?"
By his manner I saw that he was in possession of information of no
ordinary character.
He paused, and slowly twisted his small dark moustache, at last
admitting----
"Yes, Ralph, I have."
"What have you discovered?" I cried, in fierce eagerness. "Tell me the
result of your inquiries regarding Ethelwynn. It is her connection
with the affair which occupies my chief thoughts."
"For the present, my dear fellow, we must leave her entirely out of
it," my friend said quietly. "To tell you the truth, after announcing
my intention to give up the affair as a mystery impenetrable, I set to
work and slowly formed a theory. Then I drew up a deliberate plan of
campaign, which I carried out in its entirety."
"And the result?"
"Its result--" he laughed. "Well, when I'd spent several anxious weeks
in making the most careful inquiries, I found, to my chagrin, that I
was upon an entirely wrong scent, and that the person I suspected of
being the assassin at Kew was innocent. There was no help for it but
to begin all over again, and I did so. My inquiries then led me in an
entirely opposite direction. I followed my new and somewhat startling
theory, and found to my satisfaction that I had at length struck the
right trail. Through a whole fortnight I worked on night and day,
often snatching a few hours of sleep in railway carriages, and
sometimes watching through the whole night--for when one pursues
inquiries alone it is frequently imperative to keep watchful vigil. To
Bath, to Hereford, to Edinburgh, to Birmingham, to Newcastle, and also
to several places far distant in the South of England I travelled in
rapid succession, until at last I found a clue, but one so
extraordinary that at first I could not give it credence. Ten days
have passed, and even now I refuse to believe that such a thing could
be. I'm absolutely bewildered by it."
"Then you believe that you've at last gained the key to the mystery?"
I said, eagerly drinking in his words.
"It seems as though I have. Yet my information is so very vague and
shadowy that I can really form no decisive opinion. It is this
mysterious death of Mrs. Courtenay that has utterly upset all my
theories. Tell me plainly, Ralph, what causes you to suspect foul
play? This is not a time for prevarication. We must be open and
straightforward to each other. Tell me the absolute truth."
Should I tell him frankly of the amazing discovery I had made? I
feared to do so, lest he should laugh me to scorn. The actual
existence of Courtenay seemed too incredible. And yet as he was
working to solve the problem, just as I was, there seemed every reason
why we should be aware of each other's discoveries. We had both
pursued independent inquiries into the Seven Secrets until that
moment, and it was now high time we compared results.
"Well, Jevons," I exclaimed, hesitatingly, at last, "I have during the
week elucidated one fact, a fact so strange that, when I tell you, I
know you will declare that I was dreaming. I myself cannot account for
it in the least. But that I was witness of it I will vouch. The
mystery is a remarkable one, but what I've discovered adds to its
inscrutability."
"Tell me," he urged quickly, halting and turning to me in eagerness.
"What have you found out?"
"Listen!" I said. "Hear me through, until you discredit my story."
Then, just as I have already written down the strange incidents in the
foregoing chapters, I related to him everything that had occurred
since the last evening he sat smoking with me in Harley Place.
He heard me in silence, the movements of his face at one moment
betraying satisfaction, and at the next bewilderment. Once or twice he
grunted, as though dissatisfied, until I came to the midnight incident
beside the river, and explained how I had watched and what I had
witnessed.
"What?" he cried, starting in sudden astonishment. "You actually saw
him? You recognised Henry Courtenay!"
"Yes. He was walking with his wife, sometimes arm-in-arm."
He did not reply, but stood in silence in the centre of the road,
drawing a geometrical design in the dust with the ferrule of his
stick. It was his habit when thinking deeply.
I watched his dark countenance--that of a man whose whole thought and
energy were centred upon one object.
"Ralph," he said at last, "what time is the next train to London?"
"Two-thirty, I think."
"I must go at once to town. There's work for me there--delicate work.
What you've told me presents a new phase of the affair," he said in a
strange, anxious tone.
"Does it strengthen your clue?" I asked.
"In a certain degree--yes. It makes clear one point which was hitherto
a mystery."
"And also makes plain that poor Mrs. Courtenay met with foul play?" I
suggested.
"Ah! For the moment, this latest development of the affair is quite
beyond the question. We must hark back to that night at Richmond Road.
I must go at once to London," he added, glancing at his watch. "Will
you come with me?"
"Most willingly. Perhaps I can help you."
"Perhaps; we will see."
So we turned and retraced our steps to the house of mourning, where,
having pleaded urgent consultations with patients, I took leave of
Ethelwynn. We were alone, and I bent and kissed her lips in order to
show her that my love and confidence had not one whit abated. Her
countenance brightened, and with sudden joy she flung her arms around
my neck and returned my caress, pleading--"Ralph! You will
forgive--you will forgive me, won't you?"
"I love you, dearest!" was all that I could reply; and it was the
honest truth, direct from a heart overburdened by mystery and
suspicion.
Then with a last kiss I turned and left her, driving with Ambler
Jevons to catch the London train.