town."
"Oh, I hope you will be!" exclaimed her ladyship; "I can't think whydoctors go and bury themselves in the country."
"There are just as many patients in the country districts as in thetowns," I responded. "And in the country one carries on one'sprofession amid more congenial surroundings."
I repeated my farewells, and, with a final and longing glance at mymysterious wife, went forth into the hall, and was let out by theliveried servant.
To approach my wife boldly and demand the truth was, I saw, useless.First I must, by my own careful observation, establish her identity withBeryl Wynd, and, secondly, clear up the mystery of how a woman could bedead and yet still live.
The expression of those clear, honest eyes, the form of the beautifulface, as flawless as that of Titian's "Flora" in the Tribune of theUffizzi, the unusual tint of that gold-brown hair were all unmistakable.They set at rest any doubt which arose within me that the woman whosehand I had held was not the same upon whose finger I had placed thewedding-ring. Incredible though it seemed, I had that morning spokenwith my unknown wife, and she had not known me. We were strangers, yetunited in matrimony.
Mechanically I walked towards Kensington Church in order to take theomnibus back to Hammersmith. My mind was filled with the mystery of mymarriage and the reason why the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds hadbeen offered me if I would consent to secretly kill my bride.
Certain it was that I had been the victim of a cunningly devised plot,and further, that the fact of my return to London was known to those whohad conspired against me. Therefore, it behoved me to exerciseconsiderable care and caution in the prosecution of my inquiries. Thetwo scoundrels, Wyndham Wynd and Major Tattersett, must, I resolved, bediscovered at all hazards, while I must also leave no stone unturned tofind out the house in which the marriage had taken place.
The man Wynd had intended that my wife should die, but it was plainthat, by some good fortune, she had escaped him. Yet the most curiousphase of the affair was that she appeared utterly unconscious of it all.
It struck me that I might, by dint of careful questioning, learnsomething from Sir Henry's wife. But she was, I knew, a clever,intelligent woman; and if she held a secret, it would be exceedinglydifficult to obtain knowledge of it.
I returned to Rowan Road, and, on entering with my latch-key, found Bobstanding in the hall.
"Why, my dear fellow?" he cried; "I had a wire to say you were missing,and so came up to look after you. Where, in the name of fortune, haveyou been?"
"I've been abroad," I responded vaguely.
"Abroad!" he cried incredulously. "Why? What made you go abroad?"
"I'll tell you all when we get upstairs," I answered; and we ascendedtogether to the little den.
Then, over our pipes, I related to him the curious story.
"Well," he declared, in profound amazement. "I've never heard of astranger adventure than that! Do you mean to say that you're actuallymarried?"
"Without a doubt. A special licence was obtained and the marriage is,therefore, quite legal. The most remarkable fact of all is, that whileI know my wife, she doesn't know me. To her I'm a perfect stranger."
"But the fellow, Wynd, whoever he is, is evidently no novice in crime,"Bob declared thoughtfully. "The contraction of the eye was a curioussymptom."
"Yes. It was in the pupil of the left eye."
"And yet the girl you have met to-day is perfectly sound in both eyes?"he remarked.
"Perfectly."
"But, my dear fellow, it can't be! If she were dead, as you say, shecan't, as you yourself know, be still alive."
"That's just where the mystery becomes so inscrutable?" I cried. "Thewoman whom I married evidently died. Indeed, I'd have given acertificate of death and backed it by my professional reputation. Yetshe's alive and well, and I have, only an hour ago, spoken with her."
"Bless my soul?" cried Bob. "Most extraordinary thing I've ever heardof! There must have been some very strong reason why you should marryher, or that scoundrel Wynd would not have offered such a sum. Heevidently wished to get her married, and then do away with her forreasons which I hope we shall, some day, be able to discover. Thething's a complete enigma," he went on, "and if I can help you to solveit, Dick, I'll do so willingly. In my opinion there's a great deal morein this affair than we dream of. The whole thing seems to have beenmost carefully worked out, and I shouldn't wonder if her ladyship hasnot had a hand in the affair. She seems too bold; and therefore I havesuspicions of her."
"So have I, old fellow," I said. "The strongest suspicions. Her verywords have betrayed her."
"Unless"--he hesitated--"unless she saw you at the _Savoy_ when we fedtogether in honour of my birth, and was struck by your appearance--infact, to put it plainly, unless she has fallen in love with you."
"But why?" I demanded. "I've never met the woman before, to myknowledge."
"But you're a good-looking Johnnie, my dear Dick," my friend declared,laughing; "and she's certainly not the first woman who has fallen overhead and ears in love with you."
"You're devilish complimentary, old chap," I answered; "but if she is,as you think, really attracted towards me, then she'll have a cruelawakening when she finds that I'm actually the husband of her cousinFeo."
"That's just what I've been thinking," he replied, with a seriousexpression on his face. "Your position is an exceedingly difficult one,and the inquiries must be made with the utmost tact and care. At allhazards you must humour her ladyship, and retain her as your friend.Indeed if, as you say, your wife is not aware that you are actually herhusband, then it might not be a bad plan to flatter her ladyship bymaking violent love to her."
"I can't, Bob," I declared. "In this matter I must at least actstraightforwardly. Feo has fallen a victim, just as I myself have--that's evident."
"You were entrapped, it's true; but I take it that you really admirethis mysterious Feo?"
"Admire her!" I cried with enthusiasm. "That's the most curiousfeature of the whole affair. I freely confess to you, my dear fellow,that not only do I admire her, but I'm madly in love with her! She'sthe most graceful and beautiful woman I've ever beheld."
"Well, Dick," he observed after a pause, during which time he puffedvigorously at his big briar, "you are about the last man I should havesuspected of having a romance. Every detail of it is, however,bewildering. It's a perfect maze of mystery--a mystery absolutelyincredible!"
CHAPTER TEN.
THE MAJOR.
On the following day I was seized by a burning desire to again see thewoman whom I had so strangely grown to love. Time after time Idiscussed the matter with Bob, and he was full of my opinion that Imight, by watching my wife's movements, discover some fact which mightgive me a clue.
I proposed to Bob that I should go straight to her and make a fullexplanation, but he urged patience and diplomacy.
"Go down to Whitton and watch her at a distance, if you like," heanswered. "But be very careful that you are not recognised. No mancares to be spied upon. In this matter you must exercise the greatestdiscretion, if you really intend to get to the bottom of this puzzlingaffair."
"I do intend to solve the enigma," I declared. "If I'm ten years overit, I mean to claim Feo as my wife."
"You can't do that until you've obtained absolute proof."
"And, in the meantime, Wynd and his accomplice may make another attemptupon her life," I observed dubiously.
"Forewarned is forearmed," he answered. "It seems your duty to act insecret as her protector."
"Exactly. That's my object in going down to Whitton. Somehow I feelsure that her life is insecure, for the facts plainly show that Wynd'smotive was to get rid of her."
"Without a doubt. Go down to Hounslow to-morrow and discover what youcan regarding these friends of hers, the Chetwodes, and theirassociates. In inquiries of this sort you must carefully work back."
Now, I had for years rather prided myself upon my shrewdness.
I hadoften set myself the task of clearing up those little unimportantmysteries of life which occur to every man; and more than once, while atthe hospital, I had rendered service to the police in their inquiries.
That same afternoon, while Bob was out visiting his patients, I chancedto put my hand in the ticket-pocket of my frock-coat, and felt somethingthere. The coat was the one I had worn when called out to become thehusband of Feo Ashwicke, and from the pocket I drew a half-smokedcigarette.
I am not in the habit of placing cigarette ends in my pockets, and couldnot, at first, account for its presence there; but, on examination, Isaw that it was the remains of one of an unusual brand, for upon thepaper were tiny letters in Greek printed in blue ink. A second'sreflection, however, decided me: it was the cigarette which the Majorhad given me. It had gone out while I had been speaking, and with it inmy hand I had rushed upstairs to my wife's room, and instead of castingit away had, I suppose, thrust it into my pocket, where it had remainedunheeded until that moment.
I examined it with the utmost care and great interest. Then I descendedto Bob's little dispensary, at the back of the house, and, finding amicroscope, took out some of the tobacco and placed it beneath the lens.Tiny but distinct crystals were revealed clinging to the finely-cuttobacco, crystals of some subtle poison which, dissolved by the salivawhile in the act of smoking, entered the system.
The cigarette had narrowly proved fatal to me.
At once I lit the spirit-lamp, cleaned and dried some test-tubes, andset busily to work to make solutions with the object of discovering thedrug. But although I worked diligently the whole afternoon, and Bob, onreturning, assisted me, we were unable to determine exactly what it was.
The remainder of the cigarette, including the paper bearing the mark ofmanufacture, I carefully preserved, and on the following morning wentdown to Hounslow to ascertain what I could regarding my unconsciouswife. Bob remained at Rowan Road to look after his patients, butdeclared his intention of relieving me if any watching were required.Therefore, I went forth eager to ascertain some fact that would lead meto a knowledge of the truth.
Hounslow, although but a dozen miles from Charing Cross, was, I found, adull, struggling place, the dismal quiet of which was only relieved by afew boisterous militiamen in its long street.
I took up my quarters at the historic _Red Lion_, and over awhisky-and-soda made inquiries of the plethoric landlord as to thewhereabouts of Whitton. It lay beyond the town, half-way towardsTwickenham, he told me.
"There's a Whitton Park, isn't there?" I inquired.
"Yes; Colonel Chetwode's place. That's just before you get to WhittonChurch."
"It's a large house, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; he's the squire there, and magistrate, and all that."
"I've heard his name," I said, "but I've never seen him. What sort of aman is he?"
"Oh, a bit stand-offish, tall, thin, and grey-haired. We hotel-keepersdon't like 'im, because he's always down on us on the licensing-daysover at Brentford," the man replied, chewing his cheap cigar.
"He's married, isn't he?"
"Yes; he married 'is second wife about three years ago. She's a goodlooking woman with reddish hair. They say she don't get on very wellwith the Colonel's grown-up son."
"Oh," I remarked, at once interested. "How old is the son?"
"About twenty-five. He's a jolly fellow 'e is. He's a lieutenant inthe 7th Hussars, and they're stationed here just now. He often comes inand gets a drink when e' passes."
"And he doesn't hit it off well with his stepmother?"
"No; I've heard some queer stories about their quarrels from theservants," he answered. He was a gossip, like all landlords of inns,and seemed extremely communicative because I had asked him to drink withme. The effect of a shilling spent upon drink is ofttimes amazing.
"Stepmothers are generally intruders," I laughed. "Well, things came tosuch a pass down at the Park, a month or two ago, that Mrs Chetwodedemanded that the Colonel should turn young Mr Cyril out of the house,and threatened that if he did not she would leave. The Colonel, so it'ssaid, grew furious, stormed down the place, and in the end Mrs Chetwodepacked her trunks and went with Sherman, her maid, to Switzerland.About three weeks ago the Colonel followed her and brought her back, soI suppose they've made it up again."
"Do they entertain many friends?"
"Oh yes, there's always visitors there; it's so near to London, yousee."
"Do you know the names of any of the visitors?" I inquired. Adding, "Ithink a friend of mine comes down to see them sometimes--a SirPierrepoint-Lane."
"Oh yes," he said; "I've seen both Sir Henry and his wife driving.They've got a place somewhere in Wiltshire, I've heard. They're greatfriends of Mrs Chetwode's."
"And there's a Miss Ashwicke who comes with them," I said eagerly. "Doyou know her?"
"I may know her by sight," the man replied, "but I don't know her byname."
"She's tall, blue-eyed, with golden-brown hair. Very pretty, and alwaysvery smartly dressed."
"Yes; she wears a big black hat, and very often a drab-coloured dress.When she smiles she shows her teeth very prettily," he said.
"That's her, no doubt."
"Well," he said, "her description is exact. She's Mr Cyril's younglady."
"What?" I cried, starting up in surprise.
"When she's down here she's always about with the Colonel's son, andeverybody says they're engaged," he went on. "The servants have told methat they're a most devoted couple."
"But is that lady the same one that I mean?" I inquired dubiously.
"I don't know her surname, but her Christian name is Miss Beryl."
"Beryl?" I gasped. Could this be the actual truth, that she wasengaged to young Chetwode?
Beryl! Then she was evidently known here by the name in which she hadmarried me--Beryl Wynd.
"Is she often here?" I asked at last, when I found voice again. I wasso upset by this statement, that with difficulty I remained calm.
"Oh yes, very often; especially now that Mr Cyril is at the barracks.They ride out together every morning, and are very often about in thetown in the afternoon. You'll no doubt see them."
"Ah," I said, with the object of misleading my garrulous informant, "itcan't be the lady I mean, as her name is not Beryl."
"The description is very much like her," he observed, knocking the ashfrom his cigar.
"Is there any talk of young Chetwode marrying?" I inquired.
"Well, yes, there are rumours of course," he answered. "Some say thatthe Colonel is against it, while others say that Mrs Chetwode isjealous of her stepson, so one doesn't know exactly what to believe."
"I suppose you hear a lot of gossip about them, eh?"
"Oh, a lot. Much, too, that ain't true," he laughed. "Why, somebodysaid once that Miss Beryl was the daughter of an officer who got sent topenal servitude."
"Who said that?" I said, at once pricking up my ears. Was it not MajorTattersett who had accompanied her to the registry at Doctors' Commons,and who had given me that cigarette?
"Oh, it was a story that got about."
"Did they say who the officer was? or what was his offence?"
"He was a major in the Guards, they said."
"You didn't hear his name?"
"No, I've never heard her name. Everybody here knows her as Miss Beryl.But it would be easy enough to find out." And, rising, he leantforward into the tap-room, where a rural postman was sitting, hot anddusty, drinking ale from a pewter, and shouted, "I say, Allen, what'sthe name of Mr Chetwode's young lady?"
"The young lady that's so often at the Park? Why, Miss Beryl Wynd."
I sat motionless for some moments. The truth seemed plain--that she hadallowed herself to be introduced to me at Gloucester Square under analias. For what reason, I wondered?
She was undoubtedly in love with this young lieutenant of Hussars. Ifso, then she would seek to preserve the secret of her marriage, and ev
enrepudiate it if necessary. The rumours of her being the daughter of adisgraced officer was another curious feature. It almost appeared as ifthere were some truth underlying it.
"You hear what the postman says, sir," observed the landlord, turningagain to me. "He knows, because he delivers the letters at the Park.Her name is Wynd--funny name, isn't it?"
"Yes," I answered mechanically, for the discovery that this youngChetwode was the accepted suitor of my love was a staggering blow. Whatcould I do? How should I act?
She was my wife by law--mine.
I rose, announcing that I was going for a stroll, and, walked unsteadilyout into the long, deserted street. I wandered down the Hanworth Road,past rows of cottages with gardens filled with flowers, to the station,and, crossing the bridge, soon found myself before the old-fashionedlodge at the entrance to Whitton Park.
I was curious