In White Raiment

by William Le Queux

detection, listening to the music, whichhad recommenced, and wondering what had become of the man whom I hadtried to follow. He seemed to have avoided the house and gone to theopposite side of the park.

  Although I could actually see into the circle of assembled guests, yet Iwas so far off that I could only distinguish the women by the colour oftheir gowns. Had Beryl returned to join them? I wondered. I waslonging for a single glance at her dear face--that face sweeter than anyother in the world.

  A woman in a cream dress, cut low at the neck, came suddenly to thedoorway and peered forth into the night as though in search of some one,but a moment later had disappeared; and again the piano broke forth withthe pretty minuet from _Manon_.

  I had, I felt certain, been there almost, if not quite, an hour;therefore I was resolved to make a tour of the park in an endeavour tofind the man whose suspicious movements had so interested me earlier inthe evening. With that object in view I leaped down upon the lawn,crossed it until I reached the edge of the lake, which I skirted until Igained a rustic bridge which crossed the tiny brook that rippled overthe stones and fell into the pool.

  Of a sudden I heard a sound. It was quite distinct, like ahalf-suppressed cough. I halted in surprise, but no other sound reachedmy ear. Could I have been mistaken? The noise seemed very human, yet Iknew that in the darkness of night the most usual sound becomesexaggerated and distorted. Therefore reassured I continued my way bythe narrow, unfrequented path, which, leaving the lake-side, struckacross the park and led me across a stile into a dark belt of wood.

  Scarcely had I entered it, however, when I heard human voicesdistinctly. I halted and listened. An owl hooted weirdly, and therewas a dead silence.

  I wondered whether the persons I had surprised had detected my presence.I stood upon the narrow path holding my breath so that I could catchevery sound.

  A couple of minutes passed. To me they seemed as hours. Then, again,the voices sounded away to the left, apparently on the edge of the wood.Noiselessly I retraced my steps to the stile, and then found that fromit there ran a path beside the iron railing, whither I knew not. Butsomewhere down that path two persons were in consultation.

  Treading carefully, so that my footsteps should not be overheard, Icrept down the path until, of a sudden, I caught sight of a woman'swhite dress in the gloom. Then, sufficiently close to overhear, Ihalted with strained ears.

  I was hidden behind a high hazel bush, but could just distinguishagainst that reddish glare which shines in the sky of the outskirts ofLondon on a summer's night, two silhouettes, those of a man and a woman.The former had halted, and was leaning against the railing, while thelatter, with a shawl twisted about her shoulders, stood facing him.

  "If you had wished you could certainly have met me before this," the manwas grumbling. "I've waited at the stile there a solid hour. Besides,it was a risky business with so many people about."

  "I told you not to come here," she answered; and in an instant Irecognised the voice. They were the sweet, musical tones of the womanwho was my wife.

  "Of course," laughed her companion sardonically. "But, you see, Iprefer the risk." And I knew by the deep note that the man who stood byher was the Major.

  "Why?" she inquired. "The risk is surely mine in coming out to meetyou?"

  "Bah! women can always make excuses," he laughed. "I should not havemade this appointment if it were not imperative that we should meet."

  "Well?" she sighed. "What do you want of me now?"

  "I want to talk to you seriously."

  "With the usual request to follow," she observed wearily. "You wantmoney--eh?"

  "Money? Oh no," he said, with bitter sarcasm. "I can do without it. Ican live on air, you know."

  "That's better than prison fare, I should have thought," she answeredgrimly.

  "Ah, now, my dear, you're sarcastic," he said, with a touch of irony."That doesn't become you."

  "Well, tell me quickly what you want, and let me get back, or they willmiss me."

  "You mean that your young lover will want to know with whom you've beenflirting, eh? Well, you can mislead him again, as you've done manytimes before. What a fine thing it is to be an accomplished liar. Ialways envy people who can lie well, for they get through life soeasily." He spoke in a familiar tone, as though he held her beneath aninfluence that was irresistible.

  "I am no liar," she protested quickly. "The lies I have been compelledto tell have been at your own instigation."

  "And to save yourself," he added, with a dry, harsh laugh. "But Ididn't bring you here for an exchange of compliments."

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  THE MORNING AFTER.

  "Then why have you compelled me to meet you again?" she demandedfiercely, in a tone which showed her abhorrence of him. "The last timewe met you told me that you were going abroad. Why haven't you gone?"

  "I've been and come back again."

  "Where?"

  "That's my business," he answered very calmly. "Your welcome home isnot a very warm one, to say the least."

  "I have no welcome for my enemies."

  "Oh! I'm an enemy--eh? Well," he added, "I have always consideredmyself your friend."

  "Friend!" she echoed. "You show your friendliness in a rather curiousmanner. You conceive these dastardly plots, and then compel me to doyour bidding--to act as your decoy!"

  "Come, come," he laughed, his temper quite unruffled by her accusation,"you know that in all my actions I am guided by your interests as wellas my own."

  "I was certainly not aware of it," she responded. "It cannot be to myinterest that you compel me to meet you here like this, at the risk ofdiscovery. Would it not have been better if our meeting had taken placein London, as before?"

  "Necessity has driven me to make this appointment," he responded. "Towrite to you is dangerous, and I wanted to give you warning so that youcan place yourself in a position of security."

  "A warning!--of what?" she asked breathlessly.

  "La Gioia is here."

  "La Gioia!" she gasped. "Here? Impossible!" La Gioia! It was thename I had found written upon the piece of paper beneath her pillow.

  "Unfortunately, it is the truth," he responded in an earnest voice."The contretemps is serious."

  "Serious!" she cried in alarm. "Yes, it is serious; and through you Iam thus placed in peril!"

  "How do you intend to act?"

  "I have no idea," she responded, in a hoarse tone. "I am tired of itall, and driven to despair--I am sick to death of this eternal scheming,this perpetual fear lest the terrible truth should become known. Godknows how I have suffered during this past year. Ah, how a woman cansuffer and still live! I tell you," she cried, with sudden desperation,"this dread that haunts me continually will drive me to take my life!"

  "Rubbish!" he laughed. "Keep up your pluck. With a little ingenuity awoman can deceive the very devil himself."

  "I tell you," she said. "I am tired of life--of you--of everything. Ihave nothing to live for--nothing to gain by living!"

  Her voice was the voice of a woman driven to desperation by the fearthat her secret should become known.

  "Well," he laughed brutally, "you've certainly nothing to gain by dying,my dear."

  "You taunt me!" she cried in anger. "You who hold me irrevocably inthis bond of guilt--you who compel me to act as your accomplice in thesevile schemes! I hate you!"

  "Without a doubt," he responded, with a short laugh. "And yet I havedone nothing to arouse this feeling of antagonism."

  "Nothing! Do you then think so lightly of all the past?"

  "My dear girl," he said, "one should never think of what has gone by.It's a bad habit. Look to your own safety, and to the future."

  "La Gioia is here!" she repeated in a low voice, as though unable tofully realise all that the terrible announcement meant. "Well, how doyou intend to act?"

  "My actions will be guided by circumstances," he replied. "And you?"

&nbs
p; She was silent. The stillness of the night was broken only by thedismal cry of a night-bird down near the lake.

  "I think it is best that I should die and end it all," she replied, in ahard, strained voice.

  "Don't talk such nonsense!" he said impatiently. "You are young,graceful, smart, with one of the prettiest faces in London. And youwould commit suicide. The thing is utterly absurd!"

  "What have I to gain by living?" she inquired again, that