The Temptress

by William Le Queux

withoutregard for those who stood in my way. Therefore, there are noextenuating circumstances. No. I staked my life upon the game, but, myusual luck having deserted me, I have lost--lost irretrievably. I mustpay."

  Her frenzy of passion had been succeeded by a calm thoughtful mood, andshe was silently reviewing her past, recognising for the first time howvile and hideous were her sins.

  "God," she cried, in an intense, pitiful voice, "I would give all--everything I possess--if it were possible to atone--if I could obtainHugh's forgiveness! He loved me so dearly, lavished all his affectionand money upon me, and closed his ears to the truth, which he thoughtcalumnies, yet--I killed his brother--stabbed him--afterwards sendingHugh himself to penal servitude. And for what? Merely for my ownaggrandisement--in order that I might become mistress of this place, andlive in luxury and ease. It was a foul, horrible plot," she added,shuddering. "Repentance is useless, forgiveness hopeless; I can only--die--_die_!"

  As she uttered these words her eyes fell upon the davenport which stoodon the opposite side of the room. A thought suddenly occurred to her.She crossed the boudoir, and, seating herself, took up a pen andcommenced to write rapidly.

  The letter was long and rambling, devoid of any endearing terms. Itcommenced with an admission of her marriage with Willoughby and thesubsequent divorce, followed by a full confession of the murder ofDouglas Trethowen. She wrote:

  _I was walking along Pall Mall alone, about ten o'clock at night, when Iencountered him, not by accident but by design. He quickly recognisedme, and appeared pleased that we had met. For nearly a quarter of anhour we stood talking, until he told me he had an appointment atLiverpool Street Station. At that moment an omnibus slackened speedopposite us to allow two men to alight. I suggested we should go to theCity together in the 'bus, and we entered it. There was no conductor,and we were alone. Scarcely had we entered the vehicle when his mannersuddenly changed, and he spoke of the affair of the Boulevard Haussmann.His attitude was threatening, and he said that now I was there with himwithout any chance of escape, he intended to give me up to the police asa murderess when the conveyance arrived at its destination. I grewfrightened, for I was convinced from his manner that he meant what hesaid. It was not by accident, but by intention, that I had met him, andI was fully prepared. I saw the time had come, and, drawing from mypocket the handkerchief I had prepared, I soon quieted him. Then Istruck the blow. I drove the knife in hard; it killed him. It allhappened in a few moments, and while the omnibus was still in motion andabout to enter the Strand I jumped out quickly and made my escape_.

  The remainder of the letter was a confused and disjointed declaration oflove, combined with a penitent entreaty for forgiveness, without anyattempt at palliation.

  Blotting the tears that had fallen and blurred the words as she wrote,she placed it in an envelope and addressed it with a nervous, shaky hand"To Hugh."

  "Ah, well," she murmured, sighing heavily.

  Again she opened the davenport, and from under some papers took a littlemorocco case. Rigid and determined, she rose, more calm than before.Her lips were thin and white, her teeth tightly clenched, and in hereyes was a fixed, stony look. Walking with firm steps to the door, shelocked it, afterwards flinging herself upon a chair beside the smallbamboo table in the centre of the room.

  Overwhelmed by despair, she had no longer any desire for life.Insanity, begotten of despondency and fear, prompted with headlongwilfulness, an ardent longing for death.

  Opening the case, she extracted from its blue velvet interior a tinysilver hypodermic syringe and a small glass phial. Examining the latterin the dim light, she saw it was labelled "Chloral." This was not thedrug she desired. She was in the habit of injecting this for thepurpose of soothing her nerves, and knew that it was too weak to producefatal effect.

  Her breath came and went in short uneven gasps, while her half-uncoveredbreast heaved and fell with the excitement of her temporary madness.

  Staggering to her feet, she returned swiftly to the davenport, fromwhich, after a few moments' search, she abstracted a small dark-bluebottle containing morphia, afterwards reseating herself, and, uncorkingit, placed it upon the table.

  Taking up the syringe, she tried its needle-point with her finger. Itpricked her, and she cast it from her with an exclamation of repugnance.

  "_Dieu_!" she gasped hoarsely. "I have no courage. Bah! I am still acoward!"

  Yet, as it lay upon the table she fixed her strained eyes upon it, foras an instrument of death it possessed a fatal fascination for her.

  Slowly she stretched forth her hand, and again took it between her coldfingers. Then, with a sudden resolve, she filled it to its utmostcapacity with the drug from the bottle.

  "A certain remedy for mental ailments," she remarked to herself, smilingbitterly as she held it up contemplatively. "Who will regret my deathor shed a tear? No one. I have no adieux to make--none. As afriendless, sinful wretch, I adopt the preferable mode of speedy deathrather than undergo the ordeal of a criminal trial, with its inevitableresult. I would live and atone for the past if I could, but that isimpossible. Ah! too late, alas! Pierre has forsaken me, and I amalone. Forgiveness! Bah! A mere mockery to set the conscience atrest. What use? I--I can never be forgiven--never!"

  While speaking she had, with a feeble, trembling hand, applied the sharppoint of the syringe to her bare white arm. Unflinchingly she ran theneedle deep into the flesh, and thrice slowly emptied the liquid intothe puncture.

  She watched the bead of dark blood oozing from the wound when shewithdrew the instrument, and quickly covered it with her thumb in orderthat the injection should be fully absorbed in her veins.

  "Ah!" she gasped, in sudden terror a moment later, as the syringedropped from her nerveless grasp, "I--I feel so giddy! I can't breathe!I'm choking! The poison's killing me. Ha, ha, I'm dying!" she laughedhysterically. "They thought to triumph over me, the vultures! but,after all, I've cheated them. They'll find that Valerie Duvauchel wasneither coward nor fool when run to earth!"

  Springing to her feet she clutched convulsively at her throat, tearingthe flesh with her nails in a horrible paroxysm of pain.

  The injection had swiftly accomplished its work.

  "Pierre! Pierre!" she articulated with difficulty, in a fierce, hoarsewhisper, "where are you? Ah! I see! You--you've returned. Why didyou leave me in their merciless clutches when you knew that--that Ialways--loved you? Kiss me--_mon cher_! Kiss me--darling,--kiss me,Pierre--"

  The words choked her.

  Blindly she staggered forward a few steps, vainly endeavouring to steadyherself.

  With a short, shrill scream she wheeled slowly round, as if on a pivot,then tottered, and fell backwards, inert, and lifeless!

  A dead, unbroken silence followed. The spirit of Valerie Duvauchel haddeparted, leaving the body as that of a dishevelled fallen angel.

  In a few moments the strains of another plaintive waltz penetrated intothe chamber of death, forming a strange incongruous dirge.

  When, a few hours later, the yellow winter's dawn crept in through thewindow, the dull, uncertain light fell upon the calm, upturnedcountenance.

  It was beautiful--very beautiful. Before the last breath had departed,the drawn, haggard features had relaxed and resumed their enchantingsmile.

  Yet there was something in the expression of the blanched face whichcast a chill upon the admiration of its loveliness--the brand of guiltwas there.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

  CONCLUSION.

  When the door of the boudoir was forced open, old Jacob was the first toenter and find his mistress rigid in death. While Nanette and two ofthe domestics were endeavouring to raise her, his quick eyes caughtsight of the letter addressed to his master which lay upon theblotting-pad, and unnoticed he slipped it into his pocket.

  By this a scandal was avoided, for a coroner's jury at the inquestsubsequently held returned a verdict of "Accidental death, due to anoverdose o
f morphia." There was not the least suspicion of suicide inthe minds of the twelve respectable tradesmen, for, prior to the roombeing visited by the bucolic constable, Jacob had picked up the remainsof the diamond ornaments, and carefully obliterated other traces of herpassion. The jury expressed an opinion that the sudden appearance ofMrs. Trethowen's husband, who was believed to be dead, had caused aviolent shock to the nervous system, and that, being in the habit ofinjecting narcotics, she had accidentally administered to herself anoverdose.

  Hugh, in order to further allay any conjecture that she had taken herown life, put on deep mourning and attended the funeral. He endured themournful ceremony, the nasal mumbling of the clergyman, and the tortureof the service, with feelings of disgust at his own hypocrisy. Heaffected inconsolable grief, and his friends, ignorant of the truth,sympathised with him. Yet his generous nature asserted itself.