The House of Whispers

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE VELVET PAW

  The new-comer stood before Gabrielle, hat in hand, smiling pleasantlyand uttering a greeting of surprise.

  Her response was cold, for was not all her present unhappiness due tohim?

  "I've come here to speak to you, Gabrielle--to speak to you inconfidence."

  "Whatever you have to say may surely be said in the hearing of a thirdperson?" was her dignified answer. His sudden appearance had startledher, but only for a moment. She was cool again next instant, and on herguard against her enemy.

  "I hardly think," he said, with a meaning smile, "that you would reallylike me to speak before a third party."

  "I really care nothing," was her answer. "And I cannot see why you seekme here. When one is hopeless, as I am, one becomes callous of what thefuture may bring."

  "Hopeless! Yes," he said in a changed voice, "I know that; living inthis dismal hole, Gabrielle, you must be hopeless. I know that yourexile here, away from all your friends and those you love, must besoul-killing. Don't think that I have not reflected upon it a hundredtimes."

  "Ah, then you have at last experienced remorse!" she cried bitterly,looking straight into the man's face. "You have estranged me from myfather, and tried to ruin him! You lied to him--lied in order to saveyourself!"

  The man laughed. "My dear child," he exclaimed, "you really misjudge meentirely. I am here for two reasons: to ask your forgiveness for makingthat allegation which was imperative; and, secondly, to assure you that,if you will allow me, I will yet be your friend."

  "Friend!" she echoed in a hollow voice. "You--my friend!"

  "Yes. I know that you mistrust me," he replied; "but I want to provethat my intentions towards you are those of real friendship."

  "And you, who ever since my girlhood days have been my worst enemy, askme now to trust you!" she exclaimed with indignation. "No; go back toLady Heyburn and tell her that I refuse to accept the olive-branch whichyou and she hold out to me."

  "My dear girl, you don't follow me," he exclaimed impatiently. "This hasnothing whatever to do with Lady Heyburn. I have come to you from purelypersonal motives. My sole desire is to effect your return toGlencardine."

  "For your own ends, Mr. Flockart, without a doubt!" she said bitterly.

  "Ah! there you are quite mistaken. Though you assert that I am yourfather's enemy, I am, I tell you, his friend. He is ever thinking of youwith regret. You were his right hand. Would it not be far better if heinvited you to return?"

  She sighed at the thought of the blind man whom she regarded with suchentire devotion, but answered, "No, I shall never return toGlencardine."

  "Why?" he asked. "Was it anything more than natural that, believing youhad been prying into his affairs, your father, in a moment of anger,condemned you to this life of appalling monotony?"

  "No, not more natural than that you, the culprit, should have made methe scapegoat for the second time," was her defiant reply.

  "Have I not already told you that the reason I'm here is to crave yourforgiveness? I admit that my actions have been the reverse ofhonourable; but--well, there were circumstances which compelled me toact as I did."

  "You got an impression of my father's safe-key, had a duplicate made inGlasgow, as I have found out, and one night opened the safe and copiedcertain private documents having regard to a proposed loan to the GreekGovernment. The night I discovered you was the second occasion when youwent to the library and opened the safe. Do you deny that?"

  "What you allege, Gabrielle, is perfectly correct," he replied. "I knowthat I was a blackguard to shield myself behind you--to tell the lie Idid that night. But how could I avoid it?"

  "Suppose I had, in retaliation, spoken the truth?" she asked, lookingthe man straight in the face.

  "Ah! I knew that you would not do that."

  "You believe that I dare not--dare not for my own sake, eh?"

  He nodded in the affirmative.

  "Then you are much mistaken, Mr. Flockart," she said in a hard voice."You don't understand that a woman may become desperate."

  "I can understand how desperate you have become, living in this 'SleepyHollow.' A week of it would, I admit, drive me to distraction."

  "Then if you understand my present position you will know that I amfearless of you, or of anybody else. My life has ended. I have neitherhappiness, comfort, peace of mind, nor love. All is of the past. Toyou--you, James Flockart--I am indebted for all this! You have held mepowerless. I was a happy girl once, but you and your dastardly friendscrossed my path like an evil shadow, and I have existed in an inferno ofremorse ever since. I----"

  "Remorse! How absurdly you talk!"

  "It will not be absurd when I speak the truth and tell the world what Iknow. It will be rather a serious matter for you, Mr. Flockart."

  "You threaten me, then?" he asked, his eyes flashing for a second.

  "I think it is as well for us to understand one another at once," shesaid frankly.

  They had halted upon a small bridge close to the entrance to Apethorpevillage.

  "Then I'm to understand that you refuse my proffered assistance?" heasked.

  "I require no assistance from my enemies," was her defiant and dignifiedreply. "I suppose Lady Heyburn is at the villa at San Remo as usual, andthat it was she who sent you to me, because she recognises that you'veboth gone a little too far. You have. When the opportunity arises, thenI shall speak, regardless of the consequences. Therefore, Mr. Flockart,I wish you good-evening;" and she turned away.

  "No, Gabrielle," he cried, resolutely barring her path. "You must hearme. You don't grasp the point of my argument."

  "With me none of your arguments are of any avail," was her response in abitter tone. "I, alas! have reason to know you too well. For you--byyour clever intrigue--I committed a crime; but God knows I am innocentof what was intended. Now that you have estranged me from my father andmy lover, I shall confess--confess all--before I make an end of mylife."

  He saw from her pale, drawn face that she was desperate. He grew afraid.

  "But, my dear girl, think--of what you are saying! You don't mean it;you can't mean it. Your father has relented, and will welcome you back,if only you will consent to return."

  "I have no wish to be regarded as the prodigal daughter," was her proudresponse.

  "Not for Walter Murie's sake?" asked the crafty man. "I have seen him. Iwas at the club with him last night, and we had a chat about you. Heloves you very dearly. Ah! you do not know how he is suffering."

  She was silent, and he recognised in an instant that his words hadtouched the sympathetic chord in her heart.

  "He is not suffering any greater grief than I am," she said in a low,mechanical voice, her brow heavily clouded.

  "Of course I can quite understand that," he remarked sympathetically."Walter is a good fellow, and--well, it is indeed sad that mattersshould be as they are. He is entirely devoted to you, Gabrielle."

  "Not more so than I am to him," declared the girl quite frankly.

  "Then why did you write breaking off your engagement?"

  "He told you that?" she exclaimed in surprise.

  The truth was that Murie had told Flockart nothing. He had not even seenhim. It was only a wild guess on Flockart's part.

  "Tell me," she urged anxiously, "what did he say concerning myself?"

  Flockart hesitated. His mind was instantly active in the concoction of astory.

  "Oh, well--he expressed the most profound regret for all that hadoccurred at Glencardine, and is, of course, utterly puzzled. It appearsthat just before Christmas he went home to Connachan and visited yourfather several times. From him, I suppose, he heard how you had beendiscovered."

  "You told him nothing?"

  "I told him nothing," declared Flockart--which was a fact.

  "Did he express a wish to see me?" she inquired.

  "Of course he did. Is he not over head and ears in love with you? Hebelieves you have treated him cruelly."
r />   "I--I know I have, Mr. Flockart," she admitted. "But I acted as any girlof honour would have done. I was compelled to take upon myself a greatdisgrace, and on doing so I released him from his promise to me."

  "Most honourable!" the man declared with a pretence of admiration, yetunderlying it all was a craftiness that surely was unsurpassed. Thatvisit of his to Northamptonshire was made with some ulterior motive, yetwhat it was the girl was unable to discover. She would surely have beencleverer than most people had she been able to discern the hidden,sinister motives of James Flockart. The truth was that he had not seenMurie, and the story of his anxiety he had only concocted on the spur ofthe moment.

  "Walter asked me to give you a message," he went on. "He asked me tourge you to return to Glencardine, and to withdraw that letter you wrotehim before your departure."

  "To return to Glencardine!" she repeated, staring into his face. "Walterwishes me to do that! Why?"

  "Because he loves you. Because he will intercede with your father onyour behalf."

  "My father will hear nothing in my favour until--" and she paused.

  "Until what?"

  "Until I tell him the whole truth."

  "That you will never do," remarked Flockart quickly.

  "Ah! there you're mistaken," she responded. "In all probability Ishall."

  "Then, before you do so, pray weigh carefully the dire results," heurged in a changed tone.

  "Oh, I've already done that long ago," she said. "I know that I am inyour hands, utterly and irretrievably, Mr. Flockart, and the only way Ican regain my freedom is by boldly telling the truth."

  "You must never do that! By Heaven, you shall not!" he cried, lookingfiercely into her clear eyes.

  "I know! I'm quite well aware of your attitude towards me. The clawscannot be entirely concealed in the cat's paw, you know;" and shelaughed bitterly into his face.

  The corners of the man's mouth hardened. He was about to speak and showhimself in his true colours; but by dint of great self-control hemanaged to smile and exclaim, "Then you will take no heed of thesewishes of the man who loves you so dearly, of the man who is still yourbest and most devoted friend? You prefer to remain here, and wear outyour young life with vain regrets and shattered affections. Come,Gabrielle, do be sensible."

  The girl did not speak for several moments. "Does Walter really wish meto return?" she asked, looking straight at him, as though trying todiscern whether he was really speaking the truth.

  "Yes. He expressed to me a strong wish that you should either return toGlencardine or go and live at Park Street."

  "He wishes to see me?"

  "Of course. It would perhaps be better if you met him first, either downhere or in London. Why should you two not be happy?" he went on. "I knowit is my fault you are consigned to this dismal life, and that you andWalter are parted; but, believe me, Gabrielle, I am at this momentendeavouring to bring you together again, and to reinstate you in SirHenry's good graces. He is longing for you to return. When I saw himlast at Glencardine he told me that Monsieur Goslin was not so clever attyping or in grasping his meaning as you are, and he is only awaitingyour return."

  "That may be so," answered the girl in a slow, distinct voice; "butperhaps you'll tell me, Mr. Flockart, the reason you evinced such anunwonted curiosity in my father's affairs?"

  "My dear girl," laughed the man, "surely that isn't a fair question. Ihad certain reasons of my own."

  "Yes; assisted by Lady Heyburn, you thought that you could make money byobtaining knowledge of my father's secrets. Oh yes, I know--I know morethan you have ever imagined," declared the girl boldly. "You hope to getrid of Monsieur Goslin from Glencardine and reinstate me--for your ownends. I see it all."

  The man bit his lip. With chagrin he recognised that he had blundered,and that she, shrewd and clever, had taken advantage of his error. Hewas, however, too clever to exhibit his annoyance.

  "You are quite wrong in your surmise, Gabrielle," he said quickly."Walter Murie loves you, and loves you well. Therefore, with regret atmy compulsory denunciation of yourself, I am now endeavouring to assistyou."

  "Thank you," she responded coldly, again turning away abruptly. "Irequire no assistance from a man such as yourself--a man who entrappedme, and who denounced me in order to save himself."

  "You will regret these words," he declared, as she walked away in thedirection of Woodnewton.

  She turned upon him in fierce anger, retorting, "And perhaps you, onyour part, will regret your endeavour to entrap me a second time. I havepromised to speak the truth, and I shall keep my promise. I am notafraid to sacrifice my own life to save my father's honour!"

  The man stood staring after her. These words of hers held himmotionless. What if she flung her good name to the winds and actuallycarried out her threat? What if she really spoke the truth? Ay, whatthen?