In White Raiment

by William Le Queux

marvellous; he has succeeded inmany cases where the cleverest detectives have utterly failed."

  "But how can he have found her?" she went on, greatly agitated by mystatement.

  "I have no idea. I only tell you this just as he made the announcementto me--without any explanation."

  She was silent, her eyes downcast. The ornament at her throat caughtthe light and glittered. My words had utterly upset her.

  "I must tell Nora," she said briefly, at last.

  "But I presume that you know this person called La Gioia?" I remarked.

  "Know her?" she gasped, looking up at me quickly. "Know her? Howshould I know her?"

  "Because she visited you as a messenger from the friend whose name yourefused to tell me."

  "I did not know it was her?" she declared wildly. "I cannot think thatit was actually that woman."

  "You have, then, a reason for wishing not to meet her?"

  "I have never met her," she declared in a hard voice. "I do not believeshe was actually that woman?"

  "I have merely told you Hoefer's statement," I answered. "I knownothing of who or what she is; the name sounds as though she were anactress."

  "Did he tell you anything else?" she demanded. "Not another word beyondwhat you have already said?"

  "He only told me that he had discovered her identity."

  "He has not found out her motive in visiting me?" she cried quickly.

  "Not yet--as far as I am aware."

  She breathed more freely. That she desired to preserve the secret ofthis woman, whom she feared, was plain, but for what reason it wasimpossible to guess. Indeed, from her attitude, it seemed very much asthough she were actually aware that her visitor and La Gioia were oneand the same person. I saw by the twitching of her lips that she wasnervous, and knew that she now regretted allowing Hoefer to prosecutehis inquiries into the curious phenomena.

  As I sat there with her, feasting my eyes upon her peerless beauty, Ithought it all over, and arrived at the conclusion that, to discover thetruth, I must remain patient and watchful, and never for a singleinstant show "my hand."

  I was suspicious of the baronet's wife, and regarded her rather as anenemy than as a friend. She had forced herself upon me with someulterior motive, which, although not yet apparent, would, I feltconfident, be some day revealed.

  Fortunately, at that moment, a smart woman in a cream gown went to thepiano and began to play the overture from Adams' _Poupee de Nuremburg_,rendering silence imperative. And afterwards, at my suggestion, my wifeand I strolled along to the billiard-room, where we joined a partyplaying pool. She handled her cue quite cleverly, for a woman, and wasfrequently applauded for her strokes.

  Of the agitation caused by my words not a single trace now remained.She was as gay, merry, and reckless as the others; indeed, she struck meas the very soul of the whole party. There was a smartness about her,without that annoying air of mannishness, which has, alas! developedamong girls nowadays, and all that she did was full of that gracefulsweetness so typically English.

  The billiard-room echoed with laughter, again and again, for the gameproved an exciting one, and the men of the party were, of course,gallant to the ladies in their play. There was a careless freedom in itall that was most enjoyable. The baronet was altogether an excellentfellow, eager to amuse everybody. What, I wondered, would he say if heknew of the vagaries of his smart wife, namely, that instead of visitingher relatives, she had run up to London for some purpose unknown? Onefact was plain to me before I had been an hour in his house: he allowedher absolute and complete liberty.

  We chatted together, sipping our whiskies between our turns at the game,and I found him a true type of the courteous, easy-going Englishgentlemen. I cannot, even to-day, tell what had prejudiced me againsthis wife, but somehow I did not like her. My distrust was a vague,undefined one, and I could not account for it.

  She was eager to entertain me, it was true, anxious for my comfort,merry, full of smart sayings, and altogether a clever and tactfulhostess. Nevertheless, I could not get away from the distinct feelingthat I had been invited there with some ulterior motive.

  The thought was a curious one, and it troubled me, not only thatevening, but far into the silent night, as I lay awake striving to formsome theory, but ever in vain.

  Of one thing alone I felt absolutely assured--I am quick to distinguishthe smallest signs, and I had not failed to become impressed by thetruth I had read in her eyes that night--she was not sincere, she wasplotting against me. I knew it, and regretted that I had accepted herinvitation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

  FACE TO FACE.

  The days passed merrily until the end of September. There was never adull moment, for Sir Henry's wife was one of those born hostesses whoalways gauge accurately the tastes of her guests, and was constantlymaking arrangements for their pleasure.

  All the young ladies--save one young widow--and several of the men hadbrought their cycles, and many were the enjoyable spins we had in thevicinity. The fashion of cycling nowadays relieves a hostess of muchresponsibility, for on fine days guests can always amuse themselves,providing that the roads are good. I obtained a very decent machinefrom Bath, and, at Beryl's side, accompanied the others on excursionsinto Bath or Chippenham, or, on longer journeys, to Malmesbury, Stroud,and Trowbridge. In her well-cut cycling skirt, cotton blouse, and strawhat, her wealth of hair dressed tightly by her maid, and her narrowwaist girdled by a belt of grey chamois leather, she looked smart andlithe awheel. As a rule there is not much poetry in the cycling skirt,for it is generally made in such a manner as to hang baggy at the sides,which become disturbed by every puff of wind, and give the wearer thegreatest amount of unnecessary annoyance. The French _culottes_ arepractical, if not altogether in accordance with our British view offeminine dress, and that they impart to a woman a considerable chicness,when in the saddle, cannot be denied. Yet there is nothing moregraceful, nor more becoming to a woman than the English cycling skirtwhen cut by an artist in that form.

  Sometimes alone, but often accompanied by our hostess, Sir Henry, orsome of the guests. Beryl and I explored all the roads in the vicinity.My love constituted herself my guide, showing me the Three Shire Stones(the spot where the counties of Gloucester, Somerset, and Wilts join),the old Abbey of Lacock, the ancient moat and ruins at Kington Langley,the Lord's Barn at Frogwell, the Roman tumuli at Blue Vein, and otherobjects of interest in the neighbourhood.

  After my hard, laborious life in London these bright hours--spent in thefresh air by day, and in dancing and other gaieties at night--wereindeed a welcome change. But it was not of that I reflected; my everythought was of her.

  A score of times, during the week that had passed since my arrival atAtworth, I had been on the point of declaring my love for her andrelating to her all I knew. Yet I hesitated. By so doing I mightarouse her indignation. I had spied upon her; I was endeavouring tolearn her secret.

  Thus, from day to day I lingered at her side, played tennis, walked inthe park, danced after dinner, and played billiards in the hour beforewe parted for the night, with eyes only for her, thoughts only of her,my life was hers alone. Perhaps I neglected the other guests. I thinkI must have done. Yet, well aware how quickly gossip arises among ahouse-party, I was always careful to remain sufficiently distant towardsher to avoid any suspicion of flirtation. With a woman's naturalinstinct she sometimes exerted her coquetry over me when we were alone,and by that I felt assured she was by no means averse to mycompanionship.

  Often I gave young Chetwode a passing thought. I hated the prig, andthanked the Fates that he was not there. Sometimes his name wasmentioned by one or other of the guests, and always in a manner thatshowed how her engagement to him was accepted by all her friends. Thusany mention of him caused me a sharp twinge.

  During those warm, clear August days, spent with my love, I becamesomehow less suspicious of her ladyship's actions. Hers was a complexnature; but I could not fail to notice her
extreme friendliness towardsme, and more than once it struck me that she contrived to bring Beryland myself together on every possible occasion. The motive puzzled me.

  Little time, however, was afforded for rumination, save in the privacyof one's room at night. The round of gaiety was unceasing, and as oneguest left another arrived, so that we always had some fresh diversionand merriment. It was open house to all. We men were told that noformalities would be permitted. The tantalus was ever open, the glassesready, the soda in the ice, and the cigars of various brands placedinvitingly in the smoking-room. Hence, every one made himselfthoroughly at home, and helped himself, at any hour, to whatever hepleased.

  The phantasmagoria of life is very curious. Only a fortnight before Iwas a penniless medico, feeling pulses and examining tongues in order toearn a shilling or two to keep the wolf from the door, yet, within