The Avenger

  CHAPTER XXXV

  HIS WIFE

  Wrayson drew a little breath and looked back at Sydney Barnes.

  "You asked me a question," he said. "I believe I have heard of yourbrother calling himself by some such name."

  Barnes grasped him by the arm.

  "Look here," he said, "come and repeat that to the young lady over there.She's with me. It won't do you any harm."

  Wrayson rose to his feet, but before he could move he felt Heneage's handfall upon his arm.

  "Where are you going, Wrayson?" he asked.

  Barnes looked up at him anxiously. His pale face seemed twistedinto a scowl.

  "Don't you interfere!" he exclaimed. "You've done me enough harm, youhave. You let Mr. Wrayson pass. He's coming with me."

  Heneage took no more notice of him than he would of a yapping terrier. Helooked over his head into Wrayson's eyes.

  "Wrayson," he said, "don't have anything more to do with this business.Take my advice. I know more than you do about it. If you go on, I swearto you that there is nothing but misery at the end."

  "I know more than you think I do," Wrayson answered quietly. "I know moreindeed than you have any idea of. If the end were in hell I should nothold back."

  Heneage hesitated for a moment. He stood there with darkening face, anobstinate, almost a threatening figure. Passers-by looked with a gleam ofinterest at the oddly assorted trio, whose conversation was obviously farremoved from the ordinary chatter of the loungers about the place. One ortwo made an excuse to linger by--it seemed possible that there might bedevelopments. Heneage, however, disappointed them. He turned suddenlyupon his heel and left the room. Those who had the curiosity to followalong the corridor saw him, without glancing to the right or to the left,descend the stairs and walk out of the building. He had the air of a manwho abandons finally a hopeless task.

  The look of relief in Barnes' face as he saw him go was a ludicrousthing. He drew Wrayson at once towards the corner.

  "Queer thing about this girl," he whispered in his ear. "She ain't likethe others about here. She just comes to make inquiries about a friendwho's given her the chuck, and whose name she says was Howard. I believeit's Morry she means. Just like him to take a toff's name!"

  "Wait a moment before we speak to her," Wrayson said. "How did youfind her out?"

  "She spoke to me," Barnes answered. "Asked me if my name was Howard, saidI was a bit like the man she was looking for. Then I palled up to her,and I'm pretty certain Morry was her man. I want her to go to the flatwith me and see his clothes and picture, but she's scared. Mr. Wrayson,you might do me a good turn. She'll come if you'd go too!"

  "Do you know why I am here to-night?" Wrayson asked.

  "No! Why?"

  "To meet that young woman of yours," Wrayson answered.

  Barnes looked at him in amazement.

  "What do you mean?" he asked quickly. "You don't know her, do you?"

  His sallow cheeks were paler than ever. His narrow eyes, furtively raisedto Wrayson's, were full of inquisitive fear.

  "No! I don't know her," Wrayson answered, "but I rather fancy, all thesame, that she is the young person whom I came here to meet to-night."

  Barnes waited breathlessly for an explanation. He did not say a word, buthis whole attitude was an insistent interrogation point.

  "You remember," Wrayson said, "that when you and I were pursuing theseinvestigations together, I made some inquiries of the woman at whose flatyour brother called on the night of his murder. I saw her again at Dinantyesterday, and she told me of this young person. She also evidentlybelieved that the man for whom she was inquiring was your brother."

  Barnes nodded.

  "She told me that she was to have met a gentleman to-night," he said."Here, we must go and speak to her now, or she'll think thatsomething's up."

  He performed something that was meant for an introduction.

  "Friend of mine, Miss," he said, indicating Wrayson. "Knew my brotherwell, lived in the flat just below him, in fact. Perhaps you'd like toask him a few questions."

  "There is only one question I want answered," the girl replied, withstraining eyes fixed upon Wrayson's face, and a little break in her tone."Shall I see him again? If Augustus was really--his brother--where is he?What has happened to him?"

  There was a moment's silence. Sydney Barnes had evidently said nothing asto his brother's tragic end. Wrayson could see, too, that the girl was onthe brink of hysterics, and needed careful handling.

  "We will tell you everything," he said presently. "But first of allwe have to decide whether your Augustus Howard and Morris Barnes werethe same person. I think that the best way for you to decide thiswould be to come home to my flat. Mr. Barnes' is just above, and Idare say you can recognize some of his brother's belongings, if hereally was--your friend."

  She rose at once. She was perfectly willing to go. They left the placetogether and entered a four-wheeler. During the drive she scarcely openedher lips. She sat in a corner looking absently out of the window, andnervously clasping and unclasping her hands. She answered a remark ofSydney Barnes' without turning her head.

  "I always watch the people," she said. "Wherever I am, I always lookout of the window. I have always hoped--that I might see Augustus againthat way."

  Wrayson, from his seat in the opposite corner of the cab, watched herwith growing sympathy. In her very conformity to type, she represented sonaturally a real and living unit of humanity. Her poor commonplaceprettiness was already on the wane, stamped out by the fear and troubleof the last few months. Yet inane though her features, lacking altogetherstrength or distinction, there was stamped into them something of thatdumb, dog-like fidelity to some object which redeemed them from utterinsignificance. Wrayson, as he watched her, found himself thinking morekindly of the dead man himself. In his vulgar, selfish way, he hadprobably been kind to her: he must have done something to have kindledthis flame of dogged, persevering affection. Already he scarcely doubtedthat Morris Barnes and Augustus Howard had been the same person. Within avery few minutes of her entering the flats there remained no doubt atall. With a low moan, like a dumb animal mortally hurt, she sank downupon the nearest chair, clasping the photograph which Sydney Barnes hadpassed her in her hands.

  For a few moments there was silence. Then she looked up--at Wrayson. Herlips moved but no words came. She began again. This time he was able tocatch the indistinct whisper.

  "Where is he?"

  Wrayson took a seat by her side upon the sofa.

  "You do not read the newspapers?" he asked.

  She shook her head.

  "Not much. My eyes are not very good, and it tires me to read."

  "I am afraid," he said gently, "that it will be bad news."

  A little sob caught in her throat.

  "Go on," she faltered.

  "He is dead," Wrayson said simply.

  She fainted quietly away.

  Wrayson hurried downstairs to his own flat for some brandy. When hereturned the girl was still unconscious. Her pocket was turned inside outand the front of her dress was disordered. Sydney Barnes was bendingclose over her. Wrayson pushed him roughly away.

  "You can wait, at least, until she is well," he said contemptuously.

  Sydney Barnes was wholly unabashed. He watched Wrayson pour brandybetween the girl's lips, bathe her temples, and chafe her hands. All thetime he stood doggedly waiting close by. No considerations of decency orhumanity would weigh with him for one single second. The fever of hisgreat desire still ran like fire through his veins. He did not think ofthe girl as a human creature at all. Simply there was a pair of lipsthere which might point out to him the way to his Paradise.

  She opened her eyes at last. Sydney Barnes came a step nearer, butWrayson pushed him once more roughly away.

  "You are feeling better?" he asked kindly.

  She nodded, and struggled up into a sitting posture.

  "Tell me," she said, "how did he die? It must have been quite sudden. W
asit an accident?--or--or--"

  He saw the terror in her eyes, and he spoke quickly. All the time hefound himself wondering how it was that she was guessing at the truth.

  "We are afraid," he said "that he was murdered. It is surprising that youdid not read about it in the papers."

  She shook her head.

  "I do not read much," she said, "and the name was different. Who wasit--that killed him?"

  "No one knows," he answered.

  "When was it?" she asked.

  He told her the date. She repeated it tearfully.

  "He was down with me the day before," she said. "He was terribly excitedall the time, and I know that he was a little afraid of somethinghappening to him. He had been threatened!"

  "Do you know by whom?" Wrayson asked.

  She shook her head.

  "He never told me," she answered. "He didn't tell me much. But he wasvery, very good to me. I was at the refreshment-room at London Bridgewhen I first met him. He used to come in and see me every day. Then hebegan to take me out, and at last he found me a little house down atPutney, and I was so happy. I had been so tired all my life," she added,with a little sigh, "and down there I did nothing but rest and rest andwait for him to come. It was too good to last, of course, but I didn'tthink it would end like this!"

  Quietly but very persistently Sydney Barnes insisted on being heard.

  "It's my turn now," he said, standing by Wrayson's side. "Look here,Miss, I'm his brother. You can see that, can't you?"

  "You are something like him," she admitted, "only he was much, much nicerto look at than you."

  "Never mind that," he continued eagerly. "I'm his brother, his nearestrelative. Everything he left behind belongs to me!"

  "Not--quite everything," she protested.

  "What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

  "You may be his brother," she answered, "but I," holding out her lefthand a little nervously, "I was his wife!"