An Eye for an Eye

by William Le Queux

cream flannel braided with coral pink.

  "Look?" I exclaimed, glad to avoid responding. "You have anothervisitor, I think."

  She glanced in the direction I indicated, then hastened forward to greetthe new-comer.

  The slim-waisted figure turned, and next second I recognised thestrikingly handsome profile of Eva Glaslyn, the mysterious woman Isecretly loved with such passionate ardour and affection.

  "Come, Frank, let me introduce you," Mary cried, after enthusiasticallykissing her friend.

  I stepped forward, and as I did so, she turned and fixed on me herlarge, blue laughing eyes. Not a look, not an expression of her purecountenance was altered.

  As I gazed into those eyes I saw that they were as dear as the purestcrystal, and that I could look through them straight into her very soul.I bowed and grasped the tiny, refined hand she held forth to me--thatsoft hand which I had once before touched--when it was cold andlifeless.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  BEAUTY AT THE HELM.

  Together we stood on the lawn near the river-bank gossiping, and as Ilooked into Eva's flawless face, whereon the expression had now becomesoftened, I longed to tell her the most sacred secret of my heart. Hadshe, I wondered, recognised in me the man she encountered in St. James'sPark when on that mysterious errand of hers? What could have been thenature of that errand? Whom did she go there to meet?

  One fact was at that moment to me more curious than all others, namely,her friendship with Mrs. Blain, the woman who, according to thelandlord, rented that house of mystery. By the exercise of care anddiscretion, I might, I told myself, learn something which would perhapslead, if not to the solution of the enigma, then to some clue upon whichthe police might work. But to accomplish this I should be compelled toexercise the most extreme caution, for both mother and daughter wereevidently acute to detect any attempt to gain their secret, while itseemed more than probable that Eva herself--if actually aware of theaffair, which was, of course, not quite certain--had some motive inkeeping all knowledge of it concealed.

  Who, a hundred times I wondered, was the man who, after lingeringopposite Buckingham Palace, had entered the house in Ebury Street?Without doubt Eva had gone to the park to meet him, but it seemed that,growing impatient, or fearful of recognition by others, she had leftbefore his arrival.

  True, the police had watched the house wherein the man disappeared, butup to the present he had not been seen again. Boyd had told me, when Ihad seen him that very morning, that he had left by some exit at therear, and that his entry there was only to throw any watcher off thescent.

  It was evident that the man, whoever he was, had very ingeniously gotclear away.

  Dick, who was playing tennis, at last came forward to be introduced tomy divinity, and presently whispered to me his great admiration for her.I was about to tell him who she really was, but on reflection felt thatI could act with greater discretion if the truth remained mine alone,together with the secret of my love for her. Therefore I held my peace,and he, in ignorance that she was the missing victim of that amazingtragedy, walked at her side along the water's edge, laughing merrily,and greatly enjoying her companionship.

  Mrs. Blain invited us all to dine, but the Moberlys were compelled todecline, they having a party of friends at home. Therefore, we saw themoff amid many shouts, hand-wavings and peals of laughter, and when theyhad gone we sat again on the lawn, now brilliant in the golden blaze ofsundown.

  It still wanted an hour to dinner, therefore Mary suggested that we allfour should go out on the water, a proposal accepted with mutualenthusiasm. As I was not an expert in punting, Mary and Dick pushed offin the punt, the former handling the long pole with a deftness acquiredby constant practice, while, with Eva Glaslyn in the stern of a gig, Irolled up my sleeves and bent to the oars.

  The sunset was one of those gorgeous combinations of crimson and goldwhich those who frequent the Thames know so well. Upstream the flood ofcrimson of the dying day caused the elms and willows to stand out blackagainst the cloudless sky, while every ripple caused by the boat caughtthe sun-glow until the water seemed red as blood.

  A great peace was there. Not a single boat was in sight, not a soundsave the quiet lapping of the water against the bows and the slightdripping of the oars as I feathered them. We were rowing upstream, sothat the return would be easier, while Dick and his companion had punteddown towards Chertsey. For the first time I was now alone with her.She was lovely.

  She had settled herself lazily among the cushions, lying back at herease and enjoying to the full the calm of the sunset hour, remarking nowand then upon the beauty of the scene and the charm of summer daysupstream. Her countenance was animated and perfect in feature,distinctly more beautiful than it had been on that well-remembered nightwhen I had found her lying back cold and lifeless. How strange it allwas, I thought, that I should actually be rowing her there, when only afew days before I had beheld her stiff and dead. Alone, with no one tooverhear, I would have put a direct inquiry to her regarding the past,but I feared that such question, if put prematurely, might prevent theelucidation of the secret. To get at the truth I must actdiplomatically, and exercise the greatest caution.

  I sat facing her, bending with the oars, while she chatted on in a voicethat sounded as music to my ears.

  "I love the river," she said. "Last year we had a house-boat up beyondBoulter's, and it was delightful. There is really great fun in beingboxed up in so small a space, and one can also make one's placeexceedingly artistic and comfortable at very small expense. We had aripping time."

  "It is curious," I remarked, "that most owners of house-boats go in forthe same style of external decoration--rows of geraniums along the roof,and strings of Chinese lanterns--look at that one over there."

  "Yes," she laughed, glancing in the direction I indicated. "I fear wewere also sinners in that respect. It's so difficult to devise anythingnew." And she added, "Are you up the river much?"

  "No," I responded, "not much, unfortunately. My profession keeps me inLondon, and I generally like to spend my three weeks' vacation on theContinent. I'm fond of getting a glance at other cities, and onetravels so quickly that the thing is quite easy."

  "There are always more girls than men up the river," she said. "Isuppose it is because men are at business and girls have to kill time.We live down at Hampton, not far from the river. It's a quiet,dead-alive sort of place, and if it were not for boating and punting itwould be horribly dull."

  "And in winter?"

  "Oh, in winter we are always on the Riviera. We go to Cannes eachDecember and stay till the end of April. Mother declares she could notlive through an English winter."

  This statement did not coincide with what the innkeeper's wife had toldme, namely, that the Glaslyns were much pressed for money.

  "I spent one season in Nice a few years ago," I said. "It is certainlycharming, and I hope to go there again."

  "But is not our own Thames, with all its natural picturesqueness, quiteas beautiful in its way?" she asked, looking around. "I love it.People who have been up the Rhine and the Rhone, the Moselle and theLoire, say that for picturesque scenery none of those great Europeanrivers compare with ours."

  "I believe that to be quite true," I answered. "Like yourself, I amextremely fond of boating and picnicking."

  "We often have picnics," she said. "I'll get mother to invite you tothe next--if you'll come."

  "Certainly," I answered, much gratified. "I shall be only toodelighted."

  We were at that moment passing two fine house-boats moored near oneanother, one of which my companion explained belonged to a well-knownCity stockbroker, and the other to a barrister of repute at the ChanceryBar. Both were gay with the usual geraniums and creepers, havinginviting-looking deck-chairs on the roof and canaries in gilded cageshanging at the windows.

  "Shall we go up the backwater?" she suddenly suggested. "It is morebeautiful there than the main stream. We might get some lilies."

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sp; "Of course," I answered, and with a pull to the left turned the boatinto the narrower stream branching out at the left, a stream that woundamong fertile meadows yellow with buttercups, and where long lines ofwillows trailed in the water.

  I was hot after a pretty stiff pull; therefore, when we had gone somedistance, I leaned on the oars, allowing the boat to drift on under thebank where the long rushes waved in the stream and the pure white of thewater-lilies showed against the dark green of floating leaves. Heedlessof the rudder-lines, Eva leaned over and gathered some, trailing herhand in the water.

  "How quiet and pleasant it is here," she remarked, her calm, sweet,beautiful face showing what a great peace had come to her at thatmoment. It may not have been quite in keeping with the _convenances_that she should