inability toresist her that caused me to commit the crime--the crime of murder."
"Then you admit you stained your hands with blood?" Trethowen exclaimedanxiously.
"Yes, yes; but don't shrink from me," he cried, in a beseeching tone."It was for her sake--for Valerie's sake. Prompted by the beautifulwoman, whose loveliness maddened me, I took my rival's life. You willkeep my secret, I know, so I will tell you how it came about. We wereseated late one night in the Chat Noir, when she told me she haddiscovered that Nicholson and I were friends. I was not surprised, forI had anticipated that sooner or later she would find this out: but inthe conversation which ensued I reproached her for continuing herintrigue with him. The words I uttered appeared to cause her a fit ofremorse, for she protested that it was through no fault of hers, butunder absolute compulsion. She declared that this man was in possessionof a secret which, if divulged, would ruin her, and hence he held powerover her which made it imperative that she should continue therelationship even against her will. We went out and wandered along thedeserted streets. With such terrible earnestness did she speak,entreating pity, and asserting her affection for me, that, like a blind,trusting imbecile that I was, I believed her. Indeed, it was evidentthat whatever love she had entertained for Nicholson had turned to hate.The remembrance of that night is so confused that I can scarcerecollect the words I uttered. However, it was she who suggested thecrime, for she assured me that if he died she would be willing to marryme. What greater incentive could a jealous lover have to kill the manwho barred his happiness? In the few days that followed I tried to tearmyself away from her; yet still I was drawn towards her, and at lastValerie--your wife--and I sat together one night actually plotting hisdeath. Blindly I resigned myself to a fate worse than that of thedoomed. I promised to murder him!"
He spoke in low, hoarse tones, and gazed around the dimly-lit studiowith a bewildered, frightened expression in his haggard eyes.
Trethowen stood by him in silent wonder, waiting for him to continue.
"I deemed that by striking the blow I should be rendering her a serviceas well as securing our mutual felicity. I did not know that I waspreparing a living torture for myself, that I was resigning every hope,joy, and sentiment that makes life precious. No; in my frame of mind,with my intense hatred excited by the words of the woman I loved, Ithought naught of the enormity of the crime, and only regarded the deedas a justifiable means of ridding her of an obnoxious and unholy tie.She planned the crime with care and forethought, even arranging the day,the hour, the moment, that it should be committed. But there--whyshould I blame her when it is I who was the coward, the criminal? Youwill understand when I say that at ten o'clock one night I softlyascended the stairs from the boulevard, and cautiously enteredNicholson's apartments by means of a key provided by Valerie. Passingalong a short, dark passage, I saw a light coming through the chinks ofthe door which led into the front room that he used as a library andoffice. In this room was the safe in which he kept his gems, cunninglyconcealed behind a mock bookcase, so that anyone entering saw nothing ofthe great green iron doors with shining brass handles. Scarcely daringto breathe, I pushed open the door of this room, and saw my victimseated at his writing-table with his back towards me. The cosyapartment was in comparative darkness, except for the shadedreading-lamp which shed a subdued light in the vicinity of the table.My rival had evidently only just come in, for he had not removed hisInverness coat, and was apparently engrossed in a sheet of accounts hehad spread out before him. At first I faltered, but my hand struck thehandle of the long, keen, surgeon's knife with which I had armed myself.Its touch gave me courage; in a moment I remembered all that I shouldgain by striking the fatal blow. It was enough! I crept up behind himstealthily, and, lifting the knife, buried it almost up to the hilt inhis back! He fell forward dead, without a groan."
The artist sat pale and trembling, with a clammy moisture upon his brow.
"Only for a moment I stood regarding my foul handiwork, then I turnedand made my way cautiously out, descending to the boulevard and walkingas fast as I could to a small cafe on the other side of the Seine, whereI spent the remainder of the evening in drinking cognac."
"And what of Valerie?" asked Hugh, eager to learn the whole of thisalmost incredible story. "Did she keep her promise?"
"No, curse her! Two days later, when all Paris was discussing what thepapers called the `Mystery of the Boulevard Haussmann.' I met her, andasked her to redeem her promise and become mine. But she only laughedand treated me with scorn, urging me to leave the city, and announcingher own departure, saying that she was afraid that the police wouldascertain her relations with the murdered man, and interrogate her. Invain I implored her to allow me to accompany her, but she refused, andwith a cold, formal farewell left me. The sudden change which had comeover her was extraordinary, as likewise was the mysterious manner inwhich she afterwards disappeared. With a broken heart and a heavyburden of guilt, I, too, fled from Paris--anywhere--everywhere.By-and-by I found consolation in my Art--but no ambition. There was agloomy, morbid pleasure in trying to catch and reproduce those divinelineaments which hid so bad a spirit. And so I wandered from place toplace in Italy, in Spain, in Germany, until I returned to London."
"When did you next meet her?" inquired Trethowen.
"Though I heard of her, discovered further proofs of her infamy, andascertained that at the time she was pretending to love me she wasliving under the protection of Victor Berard, a notorious thief, I neverset eyes upon her until we met her together that afternoon atEastbourne. Then I found that she had assumed the name of Dedieuinstead of Duvauchel, and that she had managed to acquire sufficientmoney to live in affluence."
"But why did you not warn me?" asked Hugh, with bitter reproach.
"I told you all I dared. As soon as she knew that you admired her shecame to me, and threatened that if I divulged anything she would give meup to the police. Therefore I was powerless to save you, and could onlygive vague warnings which were worse than useless. Don't you think thatthe knowledge of your blind implicit trust in such a woman caused meanxiety, especially when I knew that ruin only could be the ultimateresult?"
The men looked at one another earnestly; each pitied the other.
"Ah! I understand Jack," exclaimed Trethowen. "Your explanation showsthat you did your best to prevent me from falling a victim. We haveboth been duped; but she shall not go unpunished."
"What! You mean to denounce her?" he cried, in alarm.
"Why not?"
"Because--because--I am a murderer, and she will have me arrested andtried for taking the life of her lover! Cannot you see that for my ownsafety we must preserve silence?"
Trethowen started as this truth flashed across his mind. He had notbefore thought of that contingency, and with a sinking heart wascompelled to admit the truth of the assertion.
The fetters of matrimony which bound him to this woman were irrevocablywelded around his life, unless, perchance, by divorce he could freehimself. The "gentleman" of whom the hall-porter had spoken, who washe?
"I have a strong suspicion that it was by her plotting you were sent toNew Caledonia," continued Egerton. "Depend upon it, sooner or later, weshall discover that `La Belle Hirondelle' has had a hand in it."
"What causes you to think so?" his companion asked, in amazement.
"It was to her interest that you should be imprisoned. When you weresafely out of the way, with a long sentence before you, her course wasquite clear."
"How?"
"Simply this: A man who died at a hotel in Antwerp was identified asyourself, a death certificate was obtained in your name, and--"
"And what then?" cried Hugh, astonished.
"Your will was proved."
"My will?"
"Yes; you left everything unreservedly to your wife, and consequentlyshe has obtained possession of it."
"How did you know?" asked the other, dumbfounded.
The artist, without replyin
g, went to his secretaire and took out anewspaper, which he handed to his companion.
Then he flung himself into his chair again, and sat staring blankly intothe fire, his face wearing an expression of abject despair.
As Hugh read the paragraph indicated, he uttered an imprecation underhis breath, and savagely flung the paper from him. Presently he placedhis hand upon his friend's shoulder, exclaiming in a sad, sympathetic,voice:
"Jack, forgive me! I have judged you unjustly, for before my marriage Iwas jealous of you, and from the day I found Valerie here in your studioI confess I distrusted; now, however, I find you are my companion inmisfortune--that you have also been duped by her. I clearly understandyour inability to warn me by relating the terrible story I have justheard from
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