at Earl's Court, living herein the immediate vicinity," I said.
"I've only been once," she answered. "Although we've had this housenearly two years, exhibitions don't appeal to me very much. I was thereat night, and the gardens were prettily illuminated, I thought."
"Yes," I said. "With the exception of the gardens, there is far toomuch pasteboard scenic effect. I suppose you noticed that serrated lineof mountains over which the eternal switchback runs? Those self-samemountains, repainted blue, grey, or purple, with tips of snow, have,within my personal knowledge, done duty as the Alps, the Pyrenees, theRockies, and the Atlas, not counting half a dozen other notable ranges."
She laughed, slowly fanning herself the while.
By her reply I had obtained from her own lips a most important fact inthe inquiry I intended now to prosecute, namely, that this house hadbeen her home for nearly two years. Therefore it had been in MrsAnson's possession at the time of the tragedy.
Since the moment when I had first recognised that; room as the one inwhich I had been present on the night of the mysterious assassination,the possibility had more than once occurred to me that Mrs Anson mighthave; unwittingly taken it ready furnished after the committal of thecrime. Such, however, was not the fact. Mabel had asserted that fornearly two years she had lived, there.
Again, even as I sat there at her side, deep in admiration of hermagnificent figure in that striking toilette of coral-pink, with itssoft garniture of lace and chiffons, I could not help reflecting uponthe curious fact that she should have recognised the dead man'spencil-case. And she had, by her silence, assented to my suggestionthat he had been her lover. That little gold pencil-case that I hadfound in his pocket when he lay dead at that very spot where we were nowsitting had been one of her love-gifts to him.
The mystery hourly grew more puzzling and bewildering. Yet so also eachhour that I was at her side I fell deeper and deeper in love with her,longing always for opportunity to declare to her the secret of my heart,yet ever fearing to do so lest she should turn from me.
Our unexpected meeting at Grosvenor Gate, after I had received thatletter from my anonymous correspondent, combined with the startlingdiscovery that it was actually in her house that the mysterious tragedyhad been enacted; that in that very room the smart, refined young manwho had been her lover had fought so fiercely for life, and had yet beenstruck down so unerringly, formed an enigma inscrutable and perplexing.
The mystery, however, did not for one moment cause me to waver in myaffection for her. I had grown to love her fondly and devotedly; toadore her as my idol, as the one who held my whole future in her hands,therefore whatever suspicion arose within my mind--and I admit thatgrave suspicion did arise on many occasions--I cast it aside and felldown to worship at the shrine of her incomparable beauty.
Miss Wells's carriage was announced at last, and the Irritating Woman,tinkling and jingling, rose with a wearied sigh and took her leave,expressing her thanks for "a most delightful evening, my dear."
Mabel, mischievous as a school-girl, pulled a grimace when the music ofthe bangles had faded in the hall outside, at which we laughed in merrychorus.
With Hickman I remained ten minutes or so longer, then rose, alsodeclaring that it was time we left. The grave man-servant Arnold servedus with whiskies and sodas in the dining-room, and, Mabel having helpedme on with my covert-coat, we shook hands with our hostess and herdaughter, and left in company.
The night was bright and starlit, and the air refreshing. Turning tothe left after leaving the house, we came immediately to a road whichgave entrance to that secluded oval called The Boltons. I looked at thename-plate, and saw it was named Gilston Road. It must have been atthis corner that I had been knocked down by a passing cab when, on myfirst adventurous journey alone, I had wandered so far westward.
I turned to look back, and noticed that from the dining-room window ofthe house we had just left any occurrence at the corner in questioncould be distinctly seen. Edna had explained that she had witnessed myaccident from that window, and in this particular had apparently told methe truth.
The remarkable and unexpected discoveries of that evening had produced averitable tumult of thoughts within my brain, and as I walked withHickman I took no note of his merry, irresponsible gossip, until heremarked--
"You're a bit preoccupied, I think. You're pondering over Mabel's goodlooks, I suppose?"
"No," I answered, starting at this remark. Then, to excuse myself, Iadded, "I was thinking of other things. I really beg your pardon."
"I was asking your opinion of Mabel. Don't you consider her extremelyhandsome?"
"Of course," I answered, trying to suppress my enthusiasm. "She'scharming."
"A splendid pianist, too."
"Excellent."
"It has always been a wonder to me that she has never become engaged,"he remarked. "A girl with her personal charms ought to make anexcellent match."
"Has she never been engaged?" I inquired quickly, eager to learn thetruth about her from this man, who was evidently an old friend of thefamily.
"Never actually engaged. There have been one or two littlelove-affairs, I've heard, but none of them was really serious."
"He'd be a lucky fellow who married her," I remarked, still striving toconceal the intense interest I felt.
"Lucky!" he echoed. "I should rather think so, in many ways. It isimpossible for a girl of her beauty and nobility of character to goabout without lots of fellows falling in love with her. Yet I happen toknow that she holds them all aloof, without even a flirtation."
I smiled at this assertion of his, and congratulated myself that I wasthe only exception; for had she not expressed pleasure at mycompanionship on her walks? But recollecting her admission that thevictim of the assassin's knife had been her lover, I returned to thesubject, in order to learn further facts.
"Who were the men with whom she had the minor love-affairs--any one Iknow?" I inquired.
"I think not, because it all occurred before they returned to live inEngland," he answered.
"Then you knew them abroad?"
"Slightly. We met in a casual sort of way at Pau, on the Riviera, andelsewhere."
"Both mother and daughter are alike extremely pleasant," I said. "Inhigh spirits Mrs Anson is sometimes almost as juvenile as Mabel."
"Quite so," he laughed. "One would never believe that she's nearlysixty. She's as vivacious and merry as a woman half her age. I'vemyself been surprised at her sprightliness often and often."
Again and again I endeavoured to turn the conversation back to theidentity of Mabel's former lover, but he either did not know orpurposely refused to tell me. He spoke now and then with an intentionalvagueness, as though his loyalty to the Ansons prevented him frombetraying any confidences reposed in him as a friend of the family.Indeed, this cautiousness showed him to be a trustworthy man, and hischaracter became thereby strengthened in my estimation. On firstacquaintance I had instantly experienced a violent aversion to him, butnow, on this walk together along the Fulham Road, I felt that we shouldprobably end by becoming friends.
He walked with long strides and a swinging, easy gait that seemed almostmilitary, while his air of careless merriment as he laughed and joked,smoking the choice cigar which the man had handed to him in the halljust before our departure, gave him the aspect of an easy-goingman-about-town.
"I fully expect, my dear fellow," he laughed--"I fully expect thatyou'll be falling in love with the pretty Mabel if you're in her companyvery much."
"You're chaffing," I protested, echoing his laugh.
"Not at all," he asserted. "Only take care. Love-making with her is adangerous pastime--devilish dangerous, I assure you."
"Dangerous to the man's heart--eh?"
"Yes," he responded in a vague tone, glancing at me curiously; "if youlike to put it in that way."
We had passed from the Fulham Road into the King's Road, Chelsea, and atthat moment he halted suddenly at the corner o
f a street of high,regularly built houses, most of which were in darkness, saying--"I livedown here. Come in and have a final whisky and soda with me; then youcan take a cab back to the Strand. There are cabs all night on the rankin Sloane Square."
"I fear it's too late," I protested, glancing at my watch, and findingit past one o'clock.
"No, no, my dear fellow, come along," he urged. "You'll want a drinkbefore you get home;" and, thus persuaded, I accompanied him up thestreet to one of the high houses, each exactly similar to its neighbour,with a flight of hearthstoned steps leading up to its front door, and adeep, grimy basement protected by a few yards of iron