it is decidedly ungentlemanly not to have sent a line of regret,"the old lady observed, sniffing angrily.
Did they perceive by my silence and my face that their talk wastorturing me? Did they expect a dead man to seat himself in the vacantchair awaiting him? These constant references to the victim of thetragedy unnerved me. What would they think if they knew that the youngman who had promised to escort them was now lying stiff and cold?
The play proceeded, the calls were taken, the curtain fell, and when theusual bouquets had been presented to Miss Terry, the great actoraddressed a few well-chosen words to his admirers. All was brilliant,everyone was enthusiastic; the play was voted an unqualified success.Yet I, the most lethargic, conscience-stricken wretch amid that gay,well-dressed, bejewelled throng, was oppressed by the knowledge of anawful secret, for upon me had been forced by Dora's words increasedsuspicion that one of the most popular writers of the day was anassassin.
Outside, under the portico, the vendors of "extra specials" wereshouting the latest news, varying their strident cries with themonotonous question, "Keb or kerridge?" In eagerness I listened totheir words and glanced at the contents-bills--pink, green, amber, andwhite--thrust under my nose, but in a few moments reassured myself thatthe tragedy still remained undiscovered.
The Stretton carriage quickly drew up, and as the ladies were handed inI thanked them for a pleasant evening and bade them good-night, not,however, before I had managed to whisper to Dora, "If you hear fromJack, telegraph at once to my chambers."
"You don't seem quite yourself to-night," she had replied. "I believesomething has happened."
"No," I stammered, "nothing unusual has occurred." Then I excusedmyself by adding, "The heat of the theatre has been rather oppressive,that's all."
The night air refreshed me, and as I strolled along the Strand westwardI suddenly overtook Thackwell, the cotton-king, also returning from atheatre. His greeting was as usual, bluff and hearty, and we had suppertogether at the National Liberal Club, of which institution he was oneof the shining lights.
I congratulated him upon the success of his recent reception, but hesmiled rather sadly, saying:
"Ay, ay, lad, it's only because aw've got a bit o' brass. Creawn a foo,an' folk'll goo deawn o' their knees to him. Society's all very well,if it's nobbut to see heaw th' nobs carry'n on, but a man is a sightmore happy as a journeyman than when he can reckon in millions. Whatsaysta?"
"But money makes the world hum," I said.
"Aw'll tell thee what, lad, for me it hums the wrong tune," he said, andupon his frank, wrinkled face there settled a look of despondency."It's true the fine folk flatter me and teem warm wayter deawn my back,makkin' it itch where it has no' been bitten, but my gowd is mixed wi'brass and pain wi' pleasure. Awm a lonely mun, and aw find cross looksamong smiles and friendship wi' a bit o' suspicion o' booath sides."
I described minutely the strange man I had encountered in his rooms onthe night of the reception, and his girlish companion in pink, hoping toobtain some clue to their identity, but although he was unusually,confidential, his mind at this point seemed a perfect blank.
"Aw never know who's invited," he declared smiling. "They're allwelcome, all the folk, but they come to meet each other, and doant carea bobbin for their host. Half of 'em come out o' sheer curiosity to seemy place, because they've 'eard from th' papers heaw mich it cost me.Hawe, lad, awm baffled in every effort to improve my social standing;while in business--in business everything aw touch turns to gowd."
When we entered the great smoking-room a little later I felt for mymatch-box--a small gold one with my initials engraved upon it, that Iwore suspended from my watch-chain--but it was gone. I valued ithighly, as it was a present from my mother, and was much concernedregarding its loss. On reflection I could not remember having used itthat day, and suddenly the possibility occurred to me that I might havedropped it when I had stumbled and fallen over the body of GilbertSternroyd. If it were found beside the corpse, I might be suspected ofthe crime. I had no clear proof that I had dropped it there, but animpression of dread gripped my heart. There is an infinite distancebetween our fancies, however precise they may be, and the least bit ofreality. The discovery of the crime had stirred my being to its utmostdepths, and summoned up tragic pictures before my eyes. Even after Ihad read the letter, and the half-burnt writing in Sybil's handrepeatedly, I had cherished a secret hope that I was mistaken, that someslight proof would arise and dispel suspicions that I denounced assenseless, perhaps because I had a foreknowledge of the dreadful dutywhich must devolve upon me when the body was discovered.
Excusing myself by lame apologies, I left the millionaire and wentstraight to my chambers.
"Saunders," I cried as I entered, "you handed me my watch and chain thismorning. Did you notice anything remarkable about it?"
"Yes, sir," my man answered promptly. "I noticed your match-box was notthere."
"Then, confound it, I've lost it--I must have lost it last night," Igasped. "I remember distinctly using it once or twice during theevening."
"I thought you had taken it off and put it in your vest pocket," hesaid. "You do sometimes."
"Yes," I answered. "But look here, the swivel has snapped from thebox," and taking off the chain I handed it to him to examine.
On my sitting-room table lay a note, and as I took it up I saw theenvelope bore a coronet and the wyvern's head couped at the neck vert,the crest of the Strettons.
"That came by boy-messenger a quarter of an hour ago, sir," Saunderssaid, as I eagerly tore it open.
It was a hurried scribble from Dora in pencil, and read as follows:"Dear Mr Ridgeway,--I have found on my return a letter from Jack. Imust have your advice at once, and will therefore call at your chambersat eleven o'clock to-morrow. The letter was posted at Dover thismorning.--Yours sincerely, Dora Stretton."
"I shall want nothing more, Saunders," I said, as calmly as I could, andthe man wishing me good-night withdrew.
"Posted from Dover!" I echoed. "Then he has decamped. Jack is amurderer!"
I sank into my chair and re-read Dora's note carefully. What should mycourse be if he were guilty? I put this question to myself plainly, andperceived all the horror of the situation. Yes, I must see Dora andascertain the nature of this letter, but how could I bear to tell herthe truth, to strike her such a cruel blow, bright, fragile being thatshe was? The first glimpse of the double prospect of misery and scandalwhich the future offered, if my suspicions proved just, was too terriblefor endurance, and I summoned all my strength of will to shut out thesegloomy anticipations. I dreaded to meet Dora; I was already shrinkingfrom the pain that my words must inflict upon her.
What if detectives found my match-box beside the corpse? Might I not besuspected? Might they not dog my footsteps and arrest me on suspicion?If the slightest suspicion attached itself to me, I should be precludedentirely from assisting my friend.
It was clear that I had lost it on that fatal night, for I nowremembered distinctly that as I fell my stomach struck heavily againstsome hard substance. I could indeed still feel the bruise. That mylost property was in Jack's chambers was evident. If I intended toclear myself and assist him I should be obliged to act upon aresolution.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
THE LOCKED ROOM.
At first I dared not look the exigency in the face. For fully an hour Ipaced the room in nervous agitation, but the imperative necessity ofrecovering the box impressed itself every moment more deeply upon me.The crime was, as yet, still undiscovered; therefore, might I not enter,search, find the piece of evidence that would link me with the terribletragedy, and return in the same manner as on the previous night?Undoubtedly the body was lying silent and ghastly where I left it, andif only I could get in and out of the flat unobserved, I should be freeto assist the wretched man who was my friend, and who had held in hispossession the extraordinary letter from Sybil.
The mantel-clock told me it was nearly three. At that hour the
re wouldbe little likelihood of meeting anyone on the staircases, therefore Idecided to go.
Taking one of the candles from the piano and a box of matches, I put onmy overcoat and walked quickly along the deserted streets, avoiding thegaze of each constable I met, and eagerly scanning every dark nook as Iwent forward to the entrance of the imposing pile of flats in whichBethune resided.
My heart beat quickly as I placed my key in the lock and gainedadmittance. Then, scarce daring to breathe, I sped swiftly upstairs,and carefully unlocking the door of the flat, entered and closed itagain. For a moment I stood breathless. A piano sounded somewhereoverhead. The darkness unnerved me, for