An Eye for an Eye

by William Le Queux

truly," she protested, bursting into tears, "hesurely would not treat me so cruelly as this. I've done nothing towarrant this denunciation as a worthless flirt--indeed, I haven't."

  "And you love him?" I asked with deep sympathy, for I saw how intensewas her suffering.

  "He knows that I do," she answered. "He could see but little of mebecause his work prevented him, yet I was supremely happy in theknowledge of his love. Yet now he has forsaken me," she added, sobbing."I'm but a poor girl, and I suppose if the truth were known he admiressome one else better educated and more attractive than I am."

  "No, I think not," I said, although at heart I felt that she spoke thetruth. "This is merely a lover's quarrel, and you'll quickly make it upagain. Look at the brighter side of things--come."

  But she shook her head gloomily, saying--

  "Never. I feel confident that Dick will never come back to me,although--although I shall love him always," and she raised her veil towipe the hot tears from her cheeks.

  "No, no," I exclaimed, endeavouring to comfort her, "don't meet troublehalf-way. That's one of the secrets of happiness. We all of us haveour little spasms of grief and despair sometimes, you know."

  "Ah! yes, of course," she cried quickly. "But this sorrow has, alas!not come alone. Still another misfortune has fallen upon me."

  "What's that?" I inquired, surprised.

  "My father!" she exclaimed huskily.

  "And what of him?" I asked. "I called upon him a short time ago.Surely nothing has happened to him?"

  "Well," she replied, "it occurred like this. I got permission this dayweek to leave business at five o'clock, and, as usual, went home. When,however, I arrived at the shop I found it shut, and to my amazement abailiff was in possession."

  "For debt?" I inquired.

  "Yes. He showed me some papers, and said it would cost about fourhundred pounds to settle both bill and costs of the court."

  "And your father? What was his explanation?" I asked, greatlyinterested and surprised.

  "He wasn't there," she responded. "That's the curious part about thewhole affair. I made inquiries, and discovered that he had suddenlyshut up the shop about noon three days before, and had gone off with aheavy trunk placed on a four-wheeled cab."

  "Does no one know where he's gone?"

  "Nobody," she answered excitedly. "It's so strange that he has notwritten me a single line in explanation. I can't understand it."

  I paused for a few moments, deeply puzzled.

  "From the fact that the bailiff was in possession it would appear thathe had preferred flight to facing his creditors," I said slowly. "Wereyou aware that he was in debt?"

  "Not in the least," she answered. "He has some property abroad, youknow."

  "Where?"

  "In France, I think. He never spoke of it to any one, although I knewthat the rent was remitted regularly by a draft on the Credit Lyonnaisin Pall Mall. I used to go there with him to receive the money. It wasquite a pile of banknotes each quarter."

  "Then he could not really have been so badly off as he appeared?" Iobserved.

  "No. He was eccentric, and very miserly, and although he always hadenough and to spare he used constantly to deplore our poverty. I took asituation merely to satisfy him, as he had so often expressed regretthat I should be idling at home. There was, however, absolutely no realnecessity."

  "But surely," I said, "he has not intentionally left you alone in theworld? He will write very soon. Perhaps just now he does not write forfear his whereabouts should become known. He's evidently escaped hiscreditors. Has he been speculating, do you think?"

  "Not that I am aware of."

  "Can't you think of any reason why he should have fled soprecipitately?" I asked, at the same time reflecting that it might bedue to the fact that he had aroused the suspicions of the police by theillegal sale of drugs.

  "No," she answered. "None whatever, beyond what I've already explained.His flight is an entire mystery, and it was to seek the advice of Dick,as my closest friend, that I called here. How had I best act, do youthink?"

  "I really don't know," I replied, after some reflection. "Hisdisappearance is certainly remarkable, but if he is in hiding, it is notat all strange that he should omit to write to you. He knows youraddress, therefore, when he deems it safe in his own interests tocommunicate with you and explain, he will do so, no doubt."

  "Then I'm to wait in patience and see our home sold up?" she asked,tears again welling in her dark, luminous eyes.

  "You can do nothing else," I said. "He evidently means that it shouldbe sold, for he has made no attempt to rescue it."

  "There are so many of my poor mother's things there. I should so liketo keep them--her little trinkets and such trifles. It seems very hardthat they should be sold to a second-hand dealer."

  "That's so, but you have no means of rescuing them," I pointed out. "Itis certainly very hard indeed for you to be left alone and friendlesslike this, but without doubt your father has some reason in actingthus."

  "He's fled like some common thief," she cried, with a choking sob. "Andnow I haven't a single friend."

  "I am your friend," I said, echoing her sigh. "You have my sympathy,Lily, and if I can render you any service I shall always be ready to doso."

  She thanked me warmly in a voice choked by sobs, for the two greatsorrows had fallen upon her, and she was overwhelmed and broken.

  I promised I would speak to Dick, and if possible arrange a meetingbetween them, in order to try and effect a reconciliation. Inwardly,however, I knew that this was quite impossible, for he had really growntired of her, and had more than once in the past few days openlycongratulated himself upon his freedom. She remained a short timelonger, and before she left had become more composed and was in betterspirits.

  Then, when she shook my hand to go forth, she said--

  "I thank you so much for all your kind words, Mr. Urwin. I have atleast to-day found a real friend."

  "I hope so," I laughed. "Good-bye."

  "Good-bye; I hope you'll soon be about again."

  Then the door closed and I was again alone.

  I was heartily sorry for her, poor girl. The sudden flight of the oldherbalist was, to say the least suspicious. That he had money and couldpay the debt was certain. Without doubt he had disappeared on accountof a too close attention from the police. Morris Lowry was, I knew, notvery remarkable for paternal affection, therefore I feared that he had,as Lily suspected, left her at the mercy of the world.

  A week later I was able to go down to my office again, and about sixo'clock on the second day I had resumed my duties I accidentally metBoyd at the bottom of Fleet Street.

  As merry as usual, we drank together at the _Bodega_ beneath the railwayarch in Ludgate Hill, but in reply to my eager questions he told me thatabsolutely nothing fresh had transpired regarding the curious affair atKensington. I explained that I was still a frequent visitor atRiverdene, but up to the present had discovered nothing. I, of course,did not tell him all my suspicions, preferring to keep my own counseland allow him to prosecute his inquiries after his own method. From hisconversation, however, I saw that he had many other matters in hand, andfrom his attitude it seemed as though he had given up hope of obtaininga clue to the mystery.

  On finishing our wine we rose from the barrel on which we had beensitting, and he having announced his intention to walk along to thebookstall in Ludgate Hill Station to buy a magazine for his wife--for hewas just off home by motor-bus to Hammersmith--we strolled togetherthrough that short arcade leading to the station, at that hour crowdedby hungry City men eager to get back to their suburban homes.

  Into every door they surged, springing up the two staircases to theplatform above as though they had not a further moment to live, whileevery few seconds the deep voices of the ticket-collectors cried thenames of the stations from the City to Blackheath or Victoria, or fromHerne Hill down to Dover. Amid this black-coated, silk-hatted,perspir
ing crowd a man suddenly brushed past me, rushing up the stairstwo steps at a time, slipping through the barrier just as the door wasslammed, and disappearing on to the platform.

  "Hulloa!" cried Boyd, pressing my arm quickly. "See! Look at thatman--the one with the bag, running up the steps. Do you see him?"

  "Yes," I answered, myself confounded.

  "Well, that's the fellow I saw in St. James's Park, and who got away soneatly from Ebury Street--you remember?"

  "That man!" I