fellow," Boyd said. "His ingenuity in eluding us in EburyStreet showed that he had already prepared a snug hiding-place forhimself before that tragedy at Phillimore Place. Besides, the otherevening his clothes showed an attempt at disguise--didn't they?"
"Certainly. He's very smartly dressed always; indeed, rather a fop inhis way."
"Depend upon it that he's never dared to set foot outside London allthis time. He knows well enough that the Metropolis is the safest placein the whole world in which a criminal may conceal himself. Only abungler attempts to get away abroad."
Silence again fell between us. The quiet was unbroken save for the slowticking of the clock upon the mantelshelf. Of a sudden, with a rathercurious glance, he bent forward to me, eagerly saying--
"Now in this affair we must be perfectly candid with each other. Youmust conceal nothing from me."
"I have concealed nothing," I protested, surprised at his curiousattitude, as though he held me in some suspicion.
"I don't allege that you have," he answered. "But I want you to answertruthfully a question which is of highest importance. I want you totell me whether, on the afternoon of the day you were called byPatterson to Kensington, your friend Cleugh was here, at home."
"No, he certainly wasn't. I arrived home first, and he came in perhapsten minutes or a quarter of an hour later than usual," I answered,wondering what connexion this could have with the inquiry.
"And after you made the discovery you did not telegraph or communicatewith him in any way? I take it that you were surprised to meet him inthat house."
"Certainly I was," I responded. "But he had an appointment with LilyLowry, and finding that she could not keep it, he came along toKensington to ascertain the nature of the event about which Pattersonhad wired to me."
The detective's features relaxed into a strange smile.
"Would you be surprised then to know that your friend never called atthe Police-Station on that evening, but went straight to PhillimorePlace and there joined me while you were absent inquiring of theneighbours? That very evening I inquired of the constable on duty atthe door of the station, and of others, all of whom told me that no onehad called to inquire for Patterson except yourself."
"That's certainly extraordinary," I said in wonderment.
"Yes," he observed mechanically. "It's a very curious fact; one whichappears to prove that he knew something more of the mysteriousoccurrence than he has admitted--in fact, that he was aware of it longbefore we were."
"What!" I gasped, gazing at my companion in alarm. "Surely you don'tmean that you suspect Dick of having had any hand in the affair?"
Then, at that instant, I recollected how, when I had received thetelegram on that memorable evening, his face had suddenly changed, andhis hand had trembled.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
"YOU WILL NEVER KNOW--NEVER!"
Dick returned about eleven, and shortly afterwards Boyd swallowedanother whisky-and-soda and left.
I thought my friend started slightly at finding the detective with me,but he betrayed not the slightest annoyance. Indeed, he himself startedthe discussion regarding the mystery, appearing in no way loth todiscuss it in all its phases.
The detective's suspicion was certainly a startling one, and of courseaccounted for his anxiety that Dick should in future remain in utterignorance of our actions. When Boyd had gone he at once commenced toquestion me upon what theories he had expressed, and in what directionhe was prosecuting inquiries. Although I would not allow myself tosuspect my best friend, I nevertheless preserved the silence which Boydhad imposed upon me, evading giving him direct answers, preserving thesecret of the identity of the man seen in St. James's Park, and managingto put aside his questions by a declaration that personally I was sickof the whole matter, for I felt that it would now ever remain a mystery.
That night, however, I remained awake many hours thinking fondly of Eva,and calmly revolving in my mind all that had fallen from the lips ofBoyd. He, one of the most skilful officers in London, had formed notheory. He only entertained certain suspicions, vague perhaps, yet byno means groundless. I had not seen Eva since that day when thestrange, incomprehensible attempt had been made to take my life, and astrong desire again possessed me to stroll at her side, to hear hervoice, to hold her hand. Was it, I wondered time after time, that hand,so soft, slim and delicate, that had actually attempted to secretly takemy life?
The detective had calmly reviewed all the facts I had explained, and, asa professional investigator of crime, had openly expressed a suspicionin the affirmative.
Often had I wondered what kind of woman was Eva's mother, whom I hadnever met. That she was somewhat eccentric was evident from herdaughter's words on the last occasion I had visited Riverdene. I laythere thinking of Eva, scouting every suspicion which the detective'swords had aroused within me, until with the first streak of dawn I fellasleep and dreamed of her.
Next afternoon, without mentioning anything to Dick save the sending ofa telegram to say I should not dine at home, I left my office half anhour earlier, and full of conflicting thoughts travelled down toRiverdene.
Having been informed by the servant that Mrs. Blain and Miss Mary wereabsent in London shopping, but that Miss Glaslyn was at home, I wasshown into the long, pleasant drawing-room which opened upon the widelawn sloping to the river's brink. The great bowls of cut flowersdiffused a pleasant odour, and the books and papers lying in thecosy-corner, with its soft cushions of pale-blue silk, betrayed signs ofrecent occupation.
It was a low-ceilinged, comfortable apartment, cool and restful afterthe dust and glare of the white road outside.
In a few moments the door opened and Eva entered, fresh and charming ina cool dress of cream flannel, her sweet face illumined by a smile ofglad welcome.
"This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Urwin!" she exclaimed,rushing towards me gladly with outstretched hand. "I had no idea thatyou'd come down to-day. The Blains are up in town, you know. I shouldhave gone, only I had a rather bad headache. We went up to Windsoryesterday with the Thurleys on their launch, and I suppose the sun upsetme. It was unbearably hot."
"Why do you persist in calling me Mr. Urwin?" I asked in a ratherreproachful tone, still retaining possession of her hand. "Cannot youcall me Frank?"
She blushed slightly, and drew her hand forcibly away. Then motioningme to a seat she cast herself into a low armchair near me, stretchingforth her tiny foot, neat in its silk stocking and patent leather shoe.She made no response to my suggestion, so I repeated it.
"Why should I call you by your Christian name?" she asked.
"Because I call you by yours, Eva," I answered earnestly. "I reallycan't bear this persistent formality."
She smiled, a rather curious smile it was, I thought.
"So you're staying as guest here?" I went on, after a moment's pause.
"Yes," she explained. "My Uncle Henry, in Inverness, is very ill andnot expected to live; therefore they summoned mother by telegraph, withother members of the family. As the servants have had no holiday thisyear, she sent them away for a fortnight and closed the house, Mrs.Blain having invited me here."
"Have you heard from your mother?"
"Yes, I had a wire yesterday to say that she had arrived, safely," sheanswered, not, however, without a second's hesitation, as though shewere debating whether or no to tell me the truth.
"And Mr. Blain has not returned from Paris yet?" I asked.
"No," she responded. "The Blains are talking of joining him next week,or perhaps the week after, and have invited me to accompany them. Ishould be delighted, for I love Paris."
"You find the shops interesting?" I laughed.
"Yes," she answered. "All women do, I suppose. At least I've met veryfew who, having been in Paris, haven't hunted for bargains at theLouvre, the Printemps, or the Bon Marche. Paris is worth visiting ifonly for one's hats, for you can often buy a hat for twenty francsexactly the same style and of better material t
han that for which youpay three or four guineas in Regent Street."
"I'm not much of an expert in such things," I laughed, neverthelessrecollecting how curious it was that Blain remained still in London.Might not his wife and daughter have gone up that day to visit him inhis hiding-place?
"But you've been awfully queer, I hear," she said concernedly. "Youreally don't look quite yourself even now. What has been the matter?We were all so concerned when we heard about it."
Our eyes met. In hers there was a deep, earnest look as though she werereally solicitous of my welfare, yet I fancied somehow that those clearblue eyes wavered beneath my steady, searching glance. She
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