Devil's Dice

by William Le Queux

message, apparently from the dead andintended no doubt for me, had read, "Seek and you may find." That hourI renewed my search with increased vigour and a keen desire to revengethe death of Sybil, which I felt convinced had been brought about byfoul play.

  For many days I wandered aimlessly about London, expecting to hear ofJack's arrest, and scarcely daring to glance at the contents bills ofthe evening papers lest my eyes should fall upon the words I dreadedthere to see.

  Since my meeting with Sybil and the inexplicable and startling eventsthat had followed I had become so utterly world-weary that I carednothing for the festivities I attended. I accepted invitations merelyout of habit, but truth to tell, had it not been for the keen desire toelucidate the ever-deepening mystery I should have returned to thecountry or gone abroad. I felt, however, that in London alone a cluemight be discovered, therefore I remained; but, although day after day,I racked my brains in an endeavour to form some plan of action, I couldsee no ray of light through the impenetrable veil. On several occasionsI had met Grindlay accidentally, and had tried in vain to learn from himwhether any further evidence had been obtained against Bethune. Healways affected ignorance, and the only point on which he deigned toenlighten me was that the two men he had pointed out to me at the Empirehad successfully succeeded in eluding him.

  Dora, having remained three weeks at Wadenhoe, had returned to LadyStretton at Blatherwycke, and was daily expected in town for the season;Jack had left and gone to North Wales, for the purpose of getting localcolour for a new historical romance dealing with life in Wales in thesixteenth century; and, as far as I could ascertain, the Earl ofFyneshade had gone to the Continent. I had not seen Mabel for nearly amonth, and had not the slightest desire to meet her, but I heard rumoursthat she went about a good deal with Markwick, who was a constantvisitor at her house. The Earl's friendship with this man on thatmemorable evening at the Empire was extraordinary. There was some deepmotive underlying his feigned good-nature, but what it was I was utterlyunable to discover. That it must be of a sinister character I knew, butfurther I could surmise nothing.

  Alone, my brain ever racked by the torments of this tantalising mystery,I strove with every endeavour to learn something of the movements of thepolished adventurer who had been designated as a "vile, despicablecoward," but could hear little beyond the fact that Mabel and he wereclose friends.

  She had distinctly denied the insinuation that there was a liaisonbetween them, and I confess I believed her words were true. If he hadnot been attracted by her beauty then his friendship meant conspiracy.The conversation I had overheard at Blatherwycke was sufficient proof ofthis.

  It was in a despairing, uncertain state of mind when, alone in my roomone afternoon, I reverently drew Sybil's portrait from its hiding-placeand looked lingeringly at it. Her grave eyes peered forth with justthat sweet expression of sadness that had puzzled me in that gay littlemountain town where we had first met. What strange secret was hidden inher mind? What suspicion, deep rooted, terrible perhaps, had causedthat woeful look upon her flawless countenance? Through my brain therefloated memories of the past--sweet, tender memories of the fewbrilliant sun-lit idle days among the mountains; sad, bitter memories ofa never-to-be-forgotten night, each event of which was photographedindelibly upon my memory. All recurred to me. The meeting withMarkwick at Richmond, his devilish cunning, and the weird and tragicceremony in that mysterious mansion. The recollection of the house inGloucester Square caused me to deeply ponder. I remembered that I hadset out to inspect the place on one occasion, and the persons who hadprevented me had been Mabel and her murdered admirer, Gilbert. Wasthere any reason why she had met me at the door? Could it have beenpossible that she had followed me with the determination that I shouldnot enter there? On calm reflection it certainly seemed as if such hadactually been the case, even though I remembered there was a board upannouncing that the great house was to let.

  I locked the photograph away and sat motionless for a long timethinking, at last resolving to revisit the house. I had a morbid desireto again stand in that great drawing-room wherein I had been married,and where Sybil had died; I wanted to inspect the house and refresh mymemory as to its details. The solution of the mystery was now the soleobject of my life. All previous effort having failed, I determined torevert again to the very beginning.

  That afternoon I drove past the house in a cab, and taking notice of theaddress of the firm of estate agents who, according to the notice-board,had the letting of it, went on to their office in Sloane Street,arriving there just as they were closing. I ascertained that the househad been let six months before to an Indian merchant, named Fryer, whohad signed an agreement for five years. I observed that the house wasstill empty and the board had not been removed, whereupon the clerk toldme that the new tenant had, before returning to India, said it wasprobable that he would not return to take possession for perhaps anotheryear.

  "I have a very keen desire to go over the place," I said disappointedly,after he had told me that they had given up the key. "Some relatives ofmine once lived there, and the house has so many pleasant memories forme. Is it absolutely impossible to obtain entrance to it?"

  "I'm afraid so, sir," the man answered. "The tenant has possession. Itis his own fault that the board has not been removed."

  "Come," I said, bending over the counter towards him, "I feel sure thetenant would not object to me going over the place. Here is my card,and if there are any little out-of-pocket expenses I'm prepared to paythem, you know."

  He smiled and glanced at me with a knowing air, as if calculating theamount of the "tip" that I might be expected to disburse, and thenexclaimed in a low tone so that his fellow-clerks should not overhear:

  "The case is rather peculiar. Although this Mr Fryer has taken thehouse and we have given up the key, yet to effect an entrance wouldreally be easy enough. You must keep secret from the firm what I tellyou, but the fact is when the house was first put into our hands, someyears ago, we had a caretaker who did not live on the premises, and aswe required to keep a key here in case anyone called to go over thehouse, we had to have a duplicate key made for him. We have that keystill in our possession."

  Slowly I drew from my vest-pocket a sovereign and slipped it unobservedinto his palm, saying: "Lend me that key until to-morrow."

  He walked away with a business-like air in order to disarm any suspicionthat he had been bribed, returned with a ledger, commenced to recommendother houses, and subsequently gave me a latch-key, with onestipulation, that it must be returned to him at 9:30 next morning.

  While hurrying along Knightsbridge I met Fyneshade unexpectedly, andwishing to hear about Mabel and Markwick, accepted his invitation todine at the St Stephen's Club, instead of going on direct to GloucesterSquare. During the meal I learnt that since the evening I had left himstealing from his house like a thief, he had not returned there. Onlythat morning he had arrived back from Rome, and knew nothing of Mabel orof the man who, according to her statement, had been the cause of theirestrangement. Finding that he could give me no information, I excusedmyself soon after dinner, and purchasing a cheap bull's-eye lantern anda box of matches in a back street in Westminster, entered a hansom.

  Had it not been for the fact that I had promised to return the key tothe house-agent's clerk at that early hour in the morning, I would havegladly postponed my investigations until daylight, but hindered as I hadbeen by Fyneshade, it was nearly half-past nine when I alighted from thecab at the corner of Hyde Park and walked to Radnor Place, where thefront entrance of the houses forming one side of Gloucester Square aresituated. Halting under the great dark portico of number seventy-nine,I glanced up and down the street. The lamps shed only a dim sicklylight, the street was deserted, and the quiet only broken by themonotonous tinkling of a cab-bell somewhere in Southwick Crescent, andthe howling of a distant dog.

  I am not naturally nervous, but I confess I did not like the prospect ofentering that great gloomy mansion alone. This
main entrance being atthe rear, only one or two staircase-windows looked out upon the streetin which I stood, and all were closely barred. About the exterior, withits grimy conservatory, mud-bespattered door, and littered steps, thereseemed an indescribable mysteriousness. I found myself hesitating.

  What profit could an intimate knowledge of this place be to me? I askedmyself. But I answered the question by reflecting that the place wasempty, therefore there was at least nothing to fear as long as I got inunobserved. If the police detected me I should, in all probability, becompelled to go to the nearest station and submit to a cross-examinationby an inspector.

  All was quiet, and, having no time to lose, I therefore slipped out thekey, inserted it in the heavy door, and a few seconds later stood in thespacious hall with the door closed behind me. For a moment the totaldarkness unnerved me, and my heart thumped