Devil's Dice

by William Le Queux

very acceptable wereit not for the melancholy facts surrounding it," and an expression ofsadness crossed his heavy brow as he added with a touch of sorrow: "Poorlad--poor lad!"

  "Yes, he seemed a good-hearted young fellow," I said. "I met him on oneoccasion with Mabel."

  "Where?" he inquired, quickly. "Where were you?"

  "In Radnor Place."

  "Radnor Place? What took you there?" he demanded with undisguisedanxiety.

  "I went there to try to find a certain house."

  "And did you discover it?"

  "Yes."

  "And you met them there!" he cried, as if a sudden amazing thoughtoccurred to him.

  "Certainly, I met them there. The carriage was waiting, and together wedrove towards the Reform to call for you. I alighted, however, atPiccadilly Circus."

  "They--they gave you no explanation--I mean you did not enter this houseyou speak of?" he added, bending towards me, restlessness portrayed onhis countenance.

  "On that occasion, no. But I have been inside since."

  "You have! And--and you found her there--you saw her!"

  "No," I replied calmly; "I have never seen Mabel in the house. But whyare you so upset at these words of mine? Was it not within yourknowledge that Gilbert was seen in public with your wife, that--"

  "Of course it was. I'm not an idiot, man," he cried, as, crimson withanger, he rose and paced the room in feverish haste. "But I have beenmisled, fooled, and by heaven! those who have deceived me shall paydearly. I won't spare them. By God! I won't," and he brought down hisfist so heavily upon the dining-table that some flowers were jerked fromthe epergne.

  Then halting unsteadily, and pouring out some brandy into a liqueurglass, he swallowed it at one gulp, saying:

  "Let us go to the drawing-room, but remember, not a word to her. Shemust not know that you have told me," and he led the way to where hiswife awaited us.

  He entered the room jovial and smiling as if no care weighed upon hismind, and throughout the evening preserved a pleasant demeanour, thatseemed to bring full happiness to Mabel's heart.

  I knew she longed to declare her contentment, now that a public scandalwas avoided and they were reconciled, and although she was unable, Irecognised in her warm hand-shake when I departed an expression ofthanks for my promise to conceal the truth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY.

  ONE THOUSAND POUNDS.

  The enigma was maddening; I felt that sooner or later its puzzlingintricacies must induce mania in some form or other. Insomnia hadseized me, and I had heard that insomnia was one of the most certainsigns of approaching madness. In vain I had striven to penetrate themystery of my union and its tragic sequel, at the same time leavingundisturbed that cold, emotionless mask which I had schooled myself towear before the world.

  Days had passed since my visit to Eaton Square, and through all my painthe one thought had been dominant--I must obtain from Dora therevelation she had promised. It seemed that blindly, willingly I hadresigned every hope, joy, and sentiment that made life precious; I had,like Faust, given my soul to the Torturer in exchange for a few sunnydays of bliss and fleeting love-dreams.

  Wearied, despondent, and anxious I lived through those stifling hourswith but one thought, clinging tenaciously to one hope; yet after all,what could I expect of a woman whose mind was affected, and whose loveraccused of a capital offence? In this distracted mood I was wanderingone evening along the Strand and arriving at Charing Cross Stationturned in mechanically to purchase a paper at the bookstall. The handsof the great clock pointed to half-past eight, and the continental trainstood ready to start. Porters who had wheeled mountains of luggagestood, wiped their brows and pocketed the tips of bustling touristsabout to commence their summer holiday. City clerks in suits of cheapcheck and bearing knapsacks and alpenstocks were hurrying hither andthither, excited over the prospect of a fortnight in Switzerland for aten-pound note, while constant travellers of the commercial class strodeleisurely to their carriages smoking, and ladies already seated peeredout anxiously for their husbands. The scene is of nightly occurrenceafter the London season, when everyone is leaving town, and I hadwitnessed it many times when I, too, had been a passenger by the nightmail. As I stood for a moment watching I heard two men behind meengaged in excited conversation in French.

  "I tell you it's impossible," exclaimed one in a decisive tone.

  "Very well, then, you shall not leave London," the other said, and as Iturned I was surprised to find that one of them was Markwick, the othera short, rather elderly, shabbily-dressed little Frenchman, whose greybeard and moustache were unkempt, whose silk hat was sadly rubbed andwhose dark eyes were keen and small. In an attitude of firmdetermination he held Markwick by the arms and glared for a momentthreateningly into his face. The latter, too occupied to notice mypresence, retorted angrily--

  "Let me go, you fool. You must be mad to act like this, when you knowwhat we both have at stake."

  "No, no," the irate Frenchman cried. "No, I am not mad. You desire toescape, but I tell you that you shall not unless you give me the moneynow, before you go."

  "How much, pray?" Markwick asked with a dark, severe look.

  "What you promised. One thousand pounds. Surely it is not a greatprice."

  "You shall have it to-morrow--I'll send it to you from Paris."

  "Ah! no, m'sieur, you do not evade me like that! You are playing a deepgame, but you omitted me from your reckoning. The ticket you boughtthis morning was not for Paris, but for New York via Havre."

  "How--how do you know my intentions?" Markwick demanded, starting."You confounded skunk, you've been spying upon me again!"

  But the little Frenchman only grinned, exhibited his palms, and with aslight shrug of his shoulders, said:

  "I was not at the police bureau in Paris for fifteen years withoutlearning a few tricks. You are clever, M'sieur, shrewd indeed, but ifyou attempt to leave to-night without settling with me, then you will bearrested on arrival at Dover. Choose--money and liberty; no money andarrest."

  "Curse you! Then this is the way you'd blackmail me?" Markwick cried,his face livid with rage. "I secured your services for a certain fixedsum, which I paid honourably, together with three further demands."

  "In order to secure my silence," the Frenchman interrupted. "Becauseyou were well aware of your future if I gave information."

  "But you will not--you shall not," answered the man who had met me inthe garden at Richmond on that memorable night. His face wore amurderous look such as I had never before seen. It was the face of anunscrupulous malefactor, a countenance in which evil was portrayed inevery line. "If it were not that we are here, in a public place, I'dwring your neck like a rat."

  "Brave words! brave words!" exclaimed the other, laughingcontemptuously. "A sign from me and the prison doors would close behindyou for ever. But see! The train will leave in a few moments. Willyou pay, or do you desire to stay and meet your accusers?"

  Markwick glanced at the train wherein all the passengers had taken theirscats. The guards were noisily slamming the doors, and theticket-examiners, passing from end to end, had now finished their work.He bit his lips, glanced swiftly up at the dock, and snatching up hissmall bag said, with a muttered imprecation:

  "I care nothing for your threats. I shall go."

  Shaking off the Frenchman's hand he moved towards the barrier, but hisopponent, too quick for him, sprang with agility before him, barring hispath.

  This action attracted the attention of several bystanders, who paused insurprise, while at the same moment the engine gave vent to a whistle ofwarning and next second the train slowly moved away. Markwick, seeinghimself thus thwarted and the centre of attraction, turned to the littleforeigner, and cursing him audibly strode quickly out of the station,while his irate companion walked away in the opposite direction.

  In the yard Markwick jumped into a hansom and was driven rapidly away,and as I watched I saw almost at the same moment a tall, well-dr
essedman spring into another cab, give the driver rapid directions, and thenfollow the conveyance Markwick had taken.

  As the stranger had mounted into the cab and conversed with the man hisface was turned full towards me, and in that instant I recognised him.It was Grindlay! He, too, had evidently watched unseen.

  That this ex-detective held Markwick's secret was evident, and asGrindlay--whom I had imagined far away in Germany--was taking such akeen interest in the doings of the man I hated, the thought occurred tome that by following the Frenchman I might be of some assistance. Itherefore turned suddenly on my heel, crossed the station-yard, andhurried along the Strand citywards in the direction he had taken.Before long I had the