The Temptress

by William Le Queux

his ear closer, at thesame time passing his arm gently under the sufferer's head.

  "A few years ago," he said feebly, "three English students lived inParis, on the first floor of a dingy old house in the Quai Montabello,facing Notre Dame. Their names were Holt, Glanville, and Egerton. Theywere--"

  "Egerton! I have a friend of that name!"

  "Yes, it was he! Like many other hare-brained denizens of the QuartierLatin, they frequently passed their evenings at the Bal Bullier. Onenight while dancing there, Egerton met a young and handsome woman. Hercharms were irresistible, and he fell madly in love with her, young foolthat he was! She was poor when these men first knew her, and,discovering that she was in the chorus at the Chatelet, they bestowedupon her the name of `La Petite Hirondelle.' She was a clever woman,and not to be easily overtaken by adverse fortune. Indeed, hers hadalready been an adventurous career, and she had few scruples--"

  "What was the woman's name?" asked Hugh anxiously.

  "She had many. But--I was telling you. The man with whom she lived wasan expert thief, and she, a _voleuse_ also, was his accomplice, being anadept at abstracting jewellery from counter-trays in shops she visitedon pretence of making a purchase. The money upon which they had beenliving was the proceeds of an extensive plate robbery at a mansion atAsnieres, which had been perpetrated by this man and a youthfulassistant; the man you know as Adolphe Chavoix."

  "Chavoix! Your friend!"

  The other nodded. He had spoken in broken sentences, without looking upand his breath now came with hard laboured gasps in the intervals, as ifspeaking and keeping silence were alike a pain to him. The stronger manfelt touched with a reverent pity for the weak one at his side.

  Again the swelling in the dying man's throat increased his agony. Histhoughts wandered, and he uttered fierce imprecations with words thathad neither meaning nor context.

  "Valerie! Valerie!" he cried in deep guttural tones, after giving ventto a volley of fearful oaths. "It's you--your accursed treachery thathas brought me to this! I die--I die in horrible torture the death of adog, while you laugh, take your ease, and congratulate yourself upongetting rid of me so easily. _Diable_!" he screamed, making a desperatebut futile effort to raise himself, "Trethowen shall know all--everything, and if he lives you will--ha, ha! you'll die in greaterdegradation than myself. You shall suffer--by Heaven you shall--"

  His hands were clenched and his face distorted by an expression ofintense hatred and dogged revenge. He closed his eyes, as if to shapehis thoughts, and lay for some time motionless, while Trethowen, who hadwatched the changes of his countenance and listened to the wildallegations against his wife, whom he thought so pure, sat regarding himanxiously, awaiting the convict's further revelations.

  Egerton and Valerie had met in Paris, he reflected. He had not beenmistaken when jealousy had taken possession of him on that day he foundthem together in the studio. This truth cut short his resolution not toprejudge her without a full knowledge of the facts. It rose suddenly inhis mind and covered every thought with a veil. His resolution brokedown, and he argued with himself against it.

  Clutching his arm, Berard turned his fevered eyes again upon him, withan expression of terrible earnestness.

  "I want," he said, articulating with difficulty--"I want to tell yousomething more."

  "Concerning her?"

  Making a gesture in the affirmative, he raised his head and glanced witheager eyes over the gunwale at the dear, calm sea.

  "Water!" he implored piteously. "I--I must have some--some of that. Mythroat! Ah! I can't breathe."

  Hugh noticed his effort to dip his hand into the sea, and arrested hisarm, exclaiming in a calm voice--

  "No, by Heaven! you shan't. That means death. Hope on; we may bothlive yet."

  "Ah," he replied mechanically, his head sinking slowly back upon hiscompanion's arm. Presently he resumed, in low, broken tones, sometimesso feeble that the anxious listener could scarcely catch them. "I toldyou that when these students first met this woman she was poor. Cruelin her coquetry as was her wont by nature, she encouraged the attentionsof Egerton, although his pocket was light as his heart. The artistadored her, with the same passionate ardour that dozens of men havedone, yourself included--"

  "Do you mean that Valerie was a thief's mistress?" he cried inamazement, as the truth flashed upon him.

  "Yes."

  "I don't--I can't believe it. How can you prove it? What was thisman's name?" he demanded.

  "Victor Berard," and he hesitated for a second. "The unfortunate devilwho afterwards, in order to assist her in a nefarious plot which hasbeen only too successful, assumed the name of the Comte LucienChaulin-Serviniere!"

  "What! You!" cried Trethowen, scarcely believing his ears, andwithdrawing his hand from the prostrate man's head with a feeling ofrepulsion. "You were her lover!"

  "Yes," he continued, unmoved by his companion's astonishment. "Rememberwhen Egerton met her he believed she lived at home with her mother, whokept a little _estaminet_. He told her of his love, and she madepretence of entertaining true, honest affection for him. It was notlong, however, before he discovered that she was no better than the restof the women who sipped _sirops_ at the Bullier. He found that in ahandsome suite of rooms in the Boulevard Haussmann there resided a richEnglishman, named Nicholson. With this man she had a _liaison_, andwhen the artist charged her with it she admitted the truth, telling himthat the Englishman held such power over her that she dare not refuse tovisit him."

  "Was that the truth?"

  "Judge for yourself by subsequent events. This man Nicholson was adiamond merchant, and the safe in his rooms frequently contained gemsworth large sums. Egerton fostered a murderous hatred towards this man,whom he had never seen, but who was the only obstacle to his happiness.One day he met them both in the Bois, and she introduced him. Onsubsequent occasions the two men met, and the artist ingratiated himselfwith his rival. Ah!"

  He paused, and gasped for breath. Then, resuming, said--

  "I--I needn't go into details. It is sufficient to say that she grewtired of Nicholson, and announced the fact to Egerton, remarking that ifshe could free herself from the odious bond she would become hismistress. This--this had the--desired effect. A few days laterNicholson was found dead in his room. He had been murdered byEgerton--"

  "Jack Egerton a murderer?"

  "Yes. And the safe, which had contained a quantity of valuable uncutstones, had been ransacked."

  "Great heavens! you cannot be speaking the truth! Do you mean to saythat this Nicholson was killed by my friend Egerton?"

  "Yes. Stabbed to the heart," he replied faintly, with closed eyes.

  "Do you expect me to accept this without proof?" asked Trethowen.

  The prostrate man opened his eyes. In them the film of death hadalready gathered.

  "I--I--can--prove it. He killed Nicholson because--because he lovedValerie?"

  "Was she aware of his intentions?"

  "No, no--_mon Dieu_!--no!" he gasped.

  "Tell me all the circumstances which led to the tragedy," demanded Hugh,with fierce impatience.

  "It's a long story. The whole facts would astonish you. You remember--your brother--was murdered? Ah! _Dieu_! My throat! I'm choking! Myhead! It's all so strange! Yet now I--I feel quite well again--quite--well!"

  The colour had left his lips, and his eyes, although wide-open, weredim. The death-rattle was in his throat.

  "For God's sake, tell me more before you die?" implored Hugh, bendingover him.

  But the convict took no heed.

  "Valerie! Valerie!" he moaned in a hoarse, feeble voice.

  His jaw suddenly dropped, and the light went out of his face.

  Trethowen placed his hand upon his heart, but there was no movement.The spark of life had fled.

  Scrambling along to where the madman lay silent and motionless, hetouched him on the shoulder. A second later, however, he started back,as he became
conscious that to the thwarts was bound a corpse.

  Hugh Trethowen was left alone with two bodies to suffer death by slowtorture, the horrors of which he had already witnessed.

  Shading his aching eyes with his hand, he struggled back and gazedaround.

  No sign of assistance--only a wide stretch of horizon unrelieved by asingle hope-inspiring speck.

  The revelations made by the dead man had killed all desire for lifewithin him. With a heart bursting with grief at finding the woman heloved so well guilty of such vile dishonour, he cast himself into thebottom of the boat and lay awaiting his end, praying that his agonymight not be protracted.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

  A WANDERER.

  A wet winter's night in London.

  Heedless of the heavy rain and biting east wind that swept in violentgusts along the dismal, deserted Strand, Hugh Trethowen, with bent head,plodded doggedly on towards Westminster. His scanty clothes, or ratherthe patched and ragged remains of what once were garments, weresaturated and clung to him, while the icy wind blew through him,chilling him to the bone. Although unprotected by either umbrella orovercoat, he neither hesitated nor sought shelter, but, apparently quiteunconscious of the inclement weather, continued to walk as briskly ashis tired limbs would allow. Trudging onward, without glancing eitherto right or left, he splashed with heavy, careless steps through themuddy street, absorbed in his own sad thoughts.

  Weary, hungry, and penniless, he nevertheless experienced a feeling ofsatisfaction, not unmingled with surprise, at finding himself againtreading the well-remembered London streets, after escaping death sonarrowly.

  The two years' absence had aged him considerably. The hard lines on hisstill handsome features told of the privations and sufferings he hadundergone, and he no longer carried himself erect, but with a stoopwhich was now habitual, the result of hard toil in the mine.

  His rescue had been almost providential.

  The shock at finding both his companions dead, combined with the agonyof mind caused by the revelations made by Berard, overwhelmed him. Indespair he felt that his end was near, and as a natural consequence soonlapsed into unconsciousness. For hours, days, he may have remained inthat condition, for aught he knew. When he recovered his senses he wasastonished at finding himself lying in a berth in a clean, cool cabin.A man was bending over him--a big, bearded, kindly-looking seaman, whosmoothed his pillow, and uttered some words in an unfamiliar language.By using French, however, both men were able to converse, and it wasthen he learnt that he had been picked up by the Norwegian steamer_Naes_, which was on a voyage from Sydney to San Francisco. The utmostkindness was shown to him by the captain, to whom he told the story ofhis imprisonment and escape, and after an uneventful voyage he landed atthe American port. Utterly destitute, with only two dollars in hispocket, which had been given to him by a passenger for rendering somelittle services, he at once sought work, intending to earn enough toenable him to cross America and return to England.

  Berard's allegations against Valerie and Egerton were mysterious andincomprehensible, and, with the sole object of getting to London andseeking a full explanation, he toiled diligently at various menialoccupations, always moving from town to town in the direction of theAtlantic. Successively he pursued the vocations of cattle drover,watchman, farm labourer, and railway stoker, until at length, after manymonths of anxious work, he arrived at New York, and shipped on board asteamer bound for London, giving his services as fireman in return forthe passage home.

  Thus he had reached the Metropolis that evening without possessing asingle penny, and was therefore compelled to tramp the whole distancefrom the docks through the steadily-falling rain.

  Had he written to Egerton for money to pay his passage he knew he shouldhave obtained it, but he was determined to make his reappearance inLondon unexpectedly. He intended to descend suddenly upon both hisfriend and Valerie, to ascertain how much truth was contained in thedying confession of the convict. If he sent for money, he told himselfthat he might be asking a favour of his wife's lover, hence he decidedto work his own way towards his goal, if slowly, nevertheless witheffect.

  Once only he raised his head. He was passing the entrance of Terry'sTheatre, where upon the step there stood two young men in evening dress,who were smoking during the _entr'acte_. Looking up he recognised themas bachelor acquaintances, but desirous of being unobserved in thatplight, he quickly bent his head again, and continued his dreary walk.The keen wind blew through his scanty garments, causing him to shiver,yet the atmospheric change from the hot, stifling stokehold to themidwinter blast troubled him not. He merely drew his wet jacket closeraround him, quickened his pace, and strode across Trafalgar Square,turning in the direction of Victoria Street.

  Indeed, he had little upon which to congratulate himself. True, he hadescaped a terrible death; yet even this was counterbalanced by the factthat all that was nearest and dearest to him had been swept away. Hisidol had been thrown from her pedestal; the woman he had trusted andloved, turning a deaf ear to warning and entreaty alike, had beendenounced as a crafty, shameless adventuress. Nevertheless, even in thedepths of his despair he refused to give entire credence to the words ofhis dead comrade, and, arguing against himself, resolved to face herbefore judging her.

  Strange it is how we men cling to the belief that the woman we love ispure, notwithstanding the most obvious proofs of infamy are thrust underour very noses. The moment we regard a woman as our ideal, we at onceclose our eyes to her every fault; and the more beautiful andkind-mannered she is, the less prone are we to accept what is told us ofher past. It is so in every case of passionate affection. Woman alwaysholds the whip-hand, while her adorer is weak and helpless as a child,easily misled, deceived with impunity, and made the shuttlecock offeminine caprice.

  After marriage, when the glamour fails and man's natural caution assertsitself, then follows remorse--and frequently divorce.

  Hugh had little difficulty in discovering Victoria Mansions, in whichValerie's flat was situated. Shortly before their marriage he hadrenewed the lease of the suite in order that they might have a place oftheir own in town; therefore he felt certain that he should find herthere. With anxious feelings he ascended the broad staircase, and rangthe bell of the outer door.

  There was neither response nor sound of movement within, and although herepeated his summons several times it was evident no one was at home.

  As he stood before the door the porter ascended, and, noticing hisattire, inquired gruffly what his business was.

  "I want Mrs. Trethowen," he replied.

  "She's away."

  "Where is she?"

  "How should I know?"

  "When did she leave?"

  "A week ago. She and the gentleman and the two maids went awaytogether. I believe they've gone to their country place."

  "The gentleman! Who's he?" asked Hugh in surprise.

  "Why, madame's husband, I suppose. But there--I don't know anythingabout people's business in this place. Got enough to do to look aftermy own," he added, with a sardonic grin.

  "What sort of man is this gentleman?" inquired Trethowen excitedly.

  "Find out," replied the man in uniform arrogantly. "I don't want any ofyour cross-examination. She's gone away, and that's enough for you."

  Then he turned and ascended the stairs to the next floor, leaving Hughdisconcerted and perplexed.

  The gentleman! Madame's husband! Could it be that Valerie had alreadyforgotten him? It was clearly useless to remain there, so he quicklyresolved to go to Egerton, seek what information he could afford, andendeavour to obtain an explanation of the terrible allegations made byBerard.

  With this object he descended into the street, and with hastening stepspursued his way to Chelsea.

  The artist was sitting alone before the studio fire, lazily smoking, andreading a novel, when Mrs. O'Shea opened the door for Hugh to enter.

  Unaware of the presence of a visitor, he did not glan
ce up from his bookfor a few seconds, but when his eyes suddenly fell upon the gaunt,ragged figure before him, he was speechless with amazement.

  "Good God!--Hugh!" he cried, springing to his feet, and making amovement as if to grasp his friend's hand.

  But his visitor calmly put his hand behind his back, and, in a deep,earnest tone, he replied coldly--

  "Yes, Jack. Before we shake hands, however, I have some questions toput to you."

  "Questions!" exclaimed the artist. "Why, what's the matter?" Then,noticing the state of his clothing, he added. "You were reported dead.Where have you been; what's the reason of your long silence?"

  "I've been in prison."

  "In prison!"

  The other nodded an affirmative, and briefly described how he had beenarrested and transported, and the manner in which he had effected hisescape.

  The artist listened in dumb amazement.

  "But what was your crime?" he asked, when Hugh had concluded hisnarrative. "Surely there must have been some very serious mistake."

  "No, none. I have been the victim of a foul conspiracy, in which you,my old and best friend, have assisted," he replied bitterly.

  "Why, Hugh, what do you mean? Of what do you accuse me?"

  "Valerie was your mistress!"

  "Valerie!" he cried, starting up. "I--indeed, I--"

  "It is useless to deny it," interrupted Hugh coolly. "Your villainy hasbeen exposed to me. Perhaps in your endeavour to prove your innocenceyou will