The Temptress
Page 3
officer said, bending downand re-examining the dead man's wound. "From the time he got into the'bus until you discovered him dead could not have been more than six orseven minutes?"
"Not so much," replied the driver. "I generally reckon it takes fourminutes from Dent's to the corner here, including the stoppage in frontof the lions."
"But you didn't pull up there to-night?"
"No, because I was not aware I had any fare inside."
"Ah?" exclaimed the detective confidently. "The murder was evidentlycleverly planned, and the assassin has got away very neatly indeed."
"It couldn't be suicide, could it?" suggested one of the constables.
"Impossible, for the knife has disappeared. But here's the ambulance;we must remove the body and disperse the crowd."
At that moment a hansom, which had turned from the Strand towards PallMall, was compelled to pull up owing to the throng of eager onlookerswhich had now become so augmented as to reach across the road.
Pushing up the flap in the roof with his walking-stick, the fare, awell-dressed and rather handsome young man, whose face bore that frank,good-humoured expression which always impresses favourably,asked--"What's the fuss, cabby?"
"Can't exactly make out, sir," replied the man. "They say a murder'sbeen committed."
"Somebody murdered!" he exclaimed in surprise. "By Jove, a crime in a'bus isn't a sight to be witnessed every day. Wait over there, cabby,opposite the church. I'll go and have a look."
Alighting, he quickly made his way through the excited crowd. As heedged in towards the omnibus, two constables, who had just lifted thebody out, were placing it carefully upon the stretcher, for a doctor hadalready made an examination and pronounced that death had been almostinstantaneous.
In the brief moment while the constables arranged his head the light ofthe gas lamps outside the public-house shone full upon the pale,bloodless features, revealing a man of about thirty-five, whose face waswell moulded and refined, with closed eyes, very wavy hair, and short,pointed beard. That he was a gentleman was evident. His hands lookedsoft and white, his finger-nails showed that attention had been bestowedupon them; a large diamond glittered on his finger, and in his scarf wasanother valuable stone. His attire, too, was the reverse of common, forhis overcoat was lined with sable in a style which only a West-Endtailor could produce, and his other garments were of the best qualityand latest fashion.
"Poor fellow--he looks as if he's asleep," exclaimed a womansympathetically, at the young man's elbow.
"Ah," remarked another, "he'll never wake again. Whoever killed himaccomplished the deed very effectually."
"He's a thorough gentleman, too," commented a cabman, who was eagerlywatching with several of his companions. "I wonder what the motivecould have been?"
"They'll call Teddy Mills's 'bus the hearse, now," said another cabman;but his companion replied--
"G'arn, 'Arry, it ain't no laughing matter."
"Well, it's a bold stroke, at any rate," rejoined the man addressed."Why, he couldn't have been seated in the 'bus a minute before he waskilled."
"Is it such a mysterious affair, then?" asked the young man who hadalighted from the cab, turning to them.
"Mysterious? I should rather think it was. It all happened between thecorner of Pall Mall and here. The victim must have entered the 'bus asit was going along, but whether the murderer was inside or whether hefollowed, nobody knows."
"Pass along, please; pass along!" two constables commanded.
The body, which had by this time been placed on the ambulance andlightly covered, was being wheeled away, and the police were busydispersing the ever-increasing crowd.
"By Jove, it's terrible! Such sights are enough to give one the blues,"the young man exclaimed aloud, as he made his way towards his cab. "Iwonder who the Johnnie is? The face seems familiar, yet for the life ofme I can't recollect where I've seen it before. But, there, it isn'tany use making oneself glum over the troubles of others, and, goodnessknows, my own cursed luck is hard enough."
He sighed, and, springing into the hansom, shouted--"Drive on, cabby, asfast as you can make that bag of bones travel."
The man laughed at his fare's humorous cynicism, and, whipping hishorse, drove rapidly away.
CHAPTER THREE.
IN BOHEMIA.
"Look here, Hugh, what is the cause of this confounded gloominess?"
"Nothing that concerns anybody, except myself," was the morose reply.
"Well, you needn't snarl like that at an old friend. Come, out with it,and let's have no secrets."
"There's not much to tell, old fellow, beyond the fact that I'm ruined."
"What!" exclaimed John Egerton, open-mouthed in amazement. "Ruined?"
"Yes."
"Are you really serious; or is this another of your confoundedly grimjokes?"
"It's too true, alas!" the other replied, with a sigh. The artist,laying his palette and mahlstick aside, turned and faced his visitor,exclaiming--
"Sit down and relate the circumstances; we must see what can be done."
"Nothing can prevent the catastrophe. I've considered the problem longenough, and can find no solution."
"Well, don't knock under without a struggle, my dear old chap. Men workfor fame and fortune, but expect happiness as a gift. Confide in me,and perhaps we may arrange things."
The other smiled sadly, but shook his head.
It was the afternoon following the events related in the previouschapter. The two speakers who were in such serious conversation stoodin a shabby studio in Fitzroy Square gravely contemplating one another.
John Egerton, the owner of the place was a successful artist, whoseworks sold well, whose black and white illustrations were much soughtafter by magazine proprietors, and whose Academy pictures had broughthim some amount of notoriety. His success was well deserved, for, aftera rather wild student life on the Continent, he was now exceedinglyindustrious. Art was his hobby, and he had but little pleasure outsidethe walls of his studio. Though discarding a collar, and attirednegligently in a paint-besmirched coat very much the worse for wear, apair of trousers much bespattered, and feet thrust into slippers, yethis face spoke of genius and indomitable perseverance, with its deepgrey eyes, firm, yet tender mouth, and general expression of power andindependence.
His visitor, Hugh Trethowen, was of a different type--handsome, andperhaps a trifle more refined. A splendid specimen of manhood, with hisfine height and strongly-built frame, well-cut Saxon features, andbright colouring, with laughing blue eyes, the earnest depths of whichwere rendered all the more apparent by the thoughtful, preoccupied lookwhich his countenance wore.
A young girl, undeniably beautiful, with a good complexion, stoodwatching them. She was dressed in a bright but becoming costume of theharem, and had, until the arrival of Trethowen, been posing to theartist. Upon the easel was a full length canvas almost complete--amarvellous likeness, representing her laughing face, with its clearbrown eyes, and her bare white arms swinging the scimitars over her headin the undulating motion of the Circassian dance.
Besides acting in the capacity of model, Dolly Vivian was the artist'scompanion, critic and friend. Among the brethren of the brush she waswell-known as a quiet, patient, unobtrusive girl, who, with commendableself-sacrifice, had supported her mother and invalid sister by herearnings. Egerton had become acquainted with her years ago, long beforehe became known to fame, at a time when his studio was an attic in astreet off the Edgware Road, when he used frequently to eat but one meala day, and had often shared that with her. She was his friend andbenefactor then, as now. When times were hard and money scarce, shewould give him sittings and accept no payment, or, if she did, she wouldspend the greater portion in the necessaries of life, which she wouldconvey to his sky parlour on the following morning.
This platonic friendship, which sprang up in days of hardship anddisappointment, had been preserved in affluence. From her model therising artist had painted most of t
he pictures that had brought himrenown, and he acknowledged the debt of gratitude by making her hisconfidante. It was not surprising, therefore, that at his studio sheconducted herself as if thoroughly at home, nor that she should be wellacquainted with such a constant visitor as Hugh Trethowen.
When, however, the two men commenced so momentous a question, she feltthat her presence was not desired, so busied herself, with a good dealof unnecessary noise, with the teacups which stood on a small tablebeside the easel.
Suddenly she raised her handsome head, and, looking at Egerton, said:
"If you are talking of