As We Forgive Them

by William Le Queux

at stake.We know not who are our friends or who our enemies. We ought both to goout to Italy and discover the spot indicated in that cipher record, orothers will probably forestall us, and we may then be too late."

  He agreed that the record being bequeathed to me, I ought to takeimmediate steps to establish my claim to it, whatever might be. Wecould not disguise from ourselves the fact that Dawson, as Blair'spartner and participator of his enormous wealth, must be well aware ofthe secret, and that he had already, most probably, taken steps toconceal the truth from myself, the rightful owner. He was a power to bereckoned with--a sinister person, possessed of the wiliest cunning andthe most devilish ingenuity in the art of subterfuge. Report everywheregave him that character. He possessed the cold, calm manner of the manwho had lived by his wits, and it seemed that in this affair hisingenuity, sharpened by a life of adventure, was to be pitted against myown.

  Mabel's sudden resolution and disappearance were maddening. The mysteryof her letter, too, was inscrutable. If she were really dreading lestsome undesirable fact might be exposed, then she ought to have trustedme sufficiently to take me entirely into her confidence. I loved her,although I had never declared my passion, therefore, ignorant of thetruth, she had treated me as I had desired, as a sincere friend. Yet,why had she not sought my aid? Women are such strange creatures, Ireflected. Perhaps she loved that fellow after all!

  A fevered, anxious week went by and Mabel made no sign. One night Ileft Reggie at the Devonshire about half-past eleven and walked thedamp, foggy London streets until the roar of traffic died away, the cabscrawled and grew infrequent and the damp, muddy pavements were givenover to the tramping constable and the shivering outcast. In the thickmist I wandered onward thinking deeply, yet more and more mystified atthe remarkable chain of circumstances which seemed hour by hour tobecome more entangled.

  On and on I had wandered, heedless of where my footsteps carried me,passing along Knightsbridge, skirting the Park and Kensington Gardens,and was just passing the corner of the Earl's Court Road when somefortunate circumstance awakened me from my deep reverie, and I becameconscious for the first time that I was being followed. Yes, theredistinctly was a footstep behind me, hurrying when I hurried, slackeningwhen I slackened. I crossed the road, and, before the long high wall ofHolland Park I halted and turned. My pursuer came on a few paces, butdrew up suddenly, and I could only distinguish against the glimmer ofthe street lamp through the London fog a figure long and distorted bythe bewildering mist. The latter was not sufficiently dense to preventme finding my way, for I knew that part of London well. Nevertheless,to be followed so persistently at such an hour was not very pleasant. Iwas suspicious that some tramp or thief who had passed me by and foundme oblivious to my surroundings had turned and followed me with evilintent.

  Forward I went again, but as soon as I had done so the light, eventread, almost an echo of my own, came on steadily behind me. I hadheard weird stories of madmen who haunt the London streets at night andwho follow unsuspecting foot-passengers aimlessly. It is one of theforms of insanity well known to specialists.

  Again I recrossed the road, passing through Edwarde's Square and outinto Earl's Court Road, thus retracing my steps back towards the HighStreet, but the mysterious man still followed me so persistently that inthe mist, which in that part had grown thicker until it obscured thestreet lamps, I confess I experienced some uneasiness.

  Presently, however, just as I was turning the corner into Lexham Gardensat a point where the fog had obscured everything, I felt a sudden rush,and at the same instant experienced a sharp stinging sensation behindthe right shoulder. The shock was such a severe one that I cried out,turning next instant upon my assailant, but so agile was he that, ere Icould face him, he had eluded me and escaped.

  I heard his receding footsteps--for he was running away down the Earl'sCourt Road--and shouted for the police. But there was no response. Thepain in my shoulder became excruciating. The unknown man had struck mewith a knife, and blood was flowing, for I felt it damp and sticky uponmy hand.

  Again I shouted "Police! Police!" until at last I heard an answeringvoice in the mist and walked in its direction. After several furthershouts I discovered the constable and to him related my strangeexperience.

  He held his bull's eye close to my back and said--

  "Yes, there's no doubt, sir, you've been stabbed! What kind of a manwas he?"

  "I never saw him," was my lame reply. "He always kept at a distancefrom me and only approached at a point where it was too dark todistinguish his features."

  "I've seen no one, except a clergyman whom I met a moment ago passing inEarl's Court Road--at least he wore a broad-brimmed hat like aclergyman. I didn't see his face."

  "A clergyman!" I gasped. "Do you think it could have been a RomanCatholic priest?" for my thoughts were at that moment of Fra Antonio,who was evidently the guardian of the Cardinal's secret.

  "Ah! I'm sure I couldn't tell. I couldn't see his features. I onlynoted his hat."

  "I feel very faint," I said, as a sickening dizziness crept over me. "Iwish you'd get me a cab. I think I had better go straight home to GreatRussell Street."

  "That's a long way. Hadn't you better go round to the West LondonHospital first?" the policeman suggested.

  "No," I decided. "I'll go home and call my own doctor."

  Then I sat upon a doorstep at the end of Lexham Gardens and waited whilethe constable went in search of a hansom in the Old Brompton Road.

  Had I been attacked by some homicidal maniac who had followed me allthat distance, or had I narrowly escaped being the victim of foulassassination? To me the latter theory seemed decidedly the mostfeasible. There was a strong motive for my death. Blair had bequeathedthe great secret to me and I had now learnt the cipher of the cards.

  This fact had probably become known to our enemies, and hence theirdastardly attempt.

  Such a contingency, however, was a startling one, for if it had becomeknown that I had really deciphered the record, then our enemies wouldmost certainly take steps in Italy to prevent us discovering the secretof that spot on the banks of the wild and winding Serchio.

  At last the cab came, and, slipping a tip into the constable's palm, Igot in, and with my silk muffler placed at my back to staunch the blood,drove slowly on through the fog at little more than foot's-pace.

  Almost as soon as I entered the hansom I felt my head swimming and astrange sensation of numbness creeping up my legs. A curious nauseaseized me, too, and although I had fortunately been able to stop theflow of blood, which tended to prove that the wound was not such aserious one after all, my hands felt strangely cramped, and in my jawswas a curious pain very much like the commencement of an attack ofneuralgia.

  I felt terribly ill. The cabman, informed by the constable of myinjury, opened the trap-door in the roof to inquire after me, but Icould scarcely articulate a reply. If the wound was only a superficialone it certainly had a strange effect upon me.

  Of the many misty lights at Hyde Park Corner I have a distinctrecollection, but after that my senses seemed bewildered by the fog andthe pain I suffered and I recollect nothing more until, when I opened myeyes painfully again, I found myself in my own bed, the daylight shiningin at the window and Reggie and our old friend Tom Walker, surgeon, ofQueen Anne Street, standing beside me watching me with a serious gravitythat struck me at the moment as rather humorous.

  Nevertheless, I must admit that there was very little humour in thesituation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  WHICH IS IN MANY WAYS AMAZING.

  Walker was puzzled, distinctly puzzled. He had, I found, strapped up mywound during my unconsciousness after probing it and injecting variousantiseptics, I suppose. He had also called in consultation Sir CharlesHoare, the very distinguished surgeon of Charing Cross Hospital, andboth of them had been greatly puzzled over my symptoms.

  When, an hour later, I was sufficiently recovered to be able to talk,Walker held
my wrist and asked me how it all happened.

  After I had explained as well as I could, he said--

  "Well, my dear fellow, I can only say you've been about as near to deathas any man I've ever attended. It was just a case of touch and go withyou. When Seton first called me and I saw you I feared that it was allup. Your wound is quite a small one, superficial really, and yet yourcollapsed condition has been most extraordinary, and there are certainsymptoms so mysterious that they have puzzled both Sir Charles andmyself."

  "What did the fellow use?"

  "Not an ordinary knife, certainly. It was evidently a long, thin-bladeddagger--a stiletto, most probably. I found outside the wound upon thecloth of your overcoat some grease, like animal fat. I am having aportion of it analysed and do you know what I expect to find in it?"

  "No; what?"

  "Poison," was his reply. "Sir Charles agrees with me in the theory thatyou were struck with one of those small, antique poignards withperforated blades, used so frequently in Italy in the fifteenthcentury."

  "In Italy!" I cried, the very name of that country arousing within mesuspicion of an attempt upon me by Dawson or by his close friend, theMonk of Lucca.

  "Yes; Sir Charles, who, as you probably know, possesses a largecollection of ancient arms, tells me that in mediaeval Florence theyused to impregnate animal fat with some very potent poison and then rubit upon the perforated blade. On striking a victim the act ofwithdrawing the blade from the wound left a portion of the envenomedgrease within, which, of course, produced a fatal effect."

  "But you surely don't anticipate that I'm poisoned?" I gasped.

  "Certainly you are poisoned. Your wound would neither account for yourlong insensibility nor for the strange, livid marks upon your body.Look at the backs of your hands!"

  I looked as he directed and was horrified to find upon each small, dark,copper-coloured marks, which also covered my wrists and arms.

  "Don't be too alarmed, Greenwood," the good-humoured doctor laughed,"you've turned the corner, and you're not going to die yet. You've hada narrow squeak of it, and certainly the weapon with which you werestruck was as deadly as any that could be devised, but, fortunately, youhad a thick overcoat on, besides other heavy clothing, vests and things,all of which removed the greater part of the venomous substance beforeit could enter the flesh. And a lucky thing it was for you, I can tellyou. Had you been attacked like this in summer, you'd have stood nochance."

  "But who did it?" I exclaimed, bewildered, my eyes riveted upon thoseugly marks upon my skin, the evidence that some deadly poison was atwork within my system.

  "Somebody who owed you a very first-class grudge, I should fancy,"laughed the surgeon, who had been my friend for many years and who usedsometimes to come out hunting with the Fitzwilliams. "But cheer up, oldchap, you'll have to live on milk and beef-tea for a day or two, havejour wound dressed and keep very quiet, and you'll soon be bobbing aboutagain."

  "That's all very well," I replied, impatiently, "but I've got a host ofthings to do, some private matters to attend to."

  "Then you'll have to let them slide for a day or two, that's verycertain."

  "Yes," urged Reggie, "you must really keep quiet, Gilbert. I'm onlythankful that it isn't so serious as we at first expected. When thecabman brought you home and Glave tore out for Walker, I really thoughtyou'd die before he arrived. I couldn't feel any palpitation of yourheart, and you were cold as ice."

  "I wonder who was the brute who struck me!" I cried. "Great Jacob! ifI'd have caught the fellow, I'd have wrung his precious neck there andthen."

  "What's the use of worrying, so long as you get better quickly?" Reggieasked philosophically.

  But I was silent, reflecting that in the belief of Sir Charles Hoare anold Florentine poison dagger had been used. The very fact caused me tosuspect that the dastardly attack had been made upon me by my enemies.

  We, of course, told Walker nothing of our curious quest, for the presentregarding the affair as strictly confidential. Therefore he treated myinjury lightly, declaring that I should quickly recover by the exerciseof a little patience.

  After he had left, shortly before midday, Reggie sat at my bedside andgravely discussed the situation. The two most pressing points at thatmoment were first to discover the whereabouts of my well-beloved, andsecondly to go out to Italy and investigate the Cardinal's secret.

  The days passed, long, weary, gloomy days of early spring, during whichI tossed in bed impatient and helpless. I longed to be up and active,but Walker forbade it. He brought me books and papers instead, andenjoined quiet and perfect rest. Although Reggie and I still had ourlittle hunting box down at Helpstone we had not, since Blair's death,been down there. Besides, the season in the lace trade was an unusuallybusy one, and Reggie now seemed tied to his counting-house more thanever.

  So I was left alone the greater part of the day with Glave to attend tomy wants, and with one or two male friends who now and then looked in tosmoke and chat.

  Thus passed the month of March, my progress being much slower thanWalker had at first anticipated. On analysis a very dangerous irritantpoison had been discovered mixed with the grease, and it appeared that Ihad absorbed more of it into my system than was at first believed--hencemy tardy recovery.

  Mrs. Percival, who at our urgent request still remained at GrosvenorSquare, visited me sometimes, bringing me fruit and flowers from thehothouses at Mayvill, but she had nothing to report concerning Mabel.The latter had disappeared as completely as though the earth had openedand swallowed her. She was anxious to leave Blair's house now that itwas occupied by the usurpers, but we had cajoled her into remaining inorder to keep some check upon the movements of the man Dawson and hisdaughter. Ford had been so exasperated at the man's manner that, on thefifth day of the new _regime_, he had remonstrated, whereupon Dawson hadcalmly placed a year's wages in banknotes in an envelope, and at oncedispensed with his further services, as, of course, he had intended todo all along.

  The confidential secretary was, however, assisting us, and at thatmoment was making every inquiry possible to ascertain the whereabouts ofhis young mistress.

  "The house is absolutely topsy-turvy," declared Mrs. Percival one day,as she sat with me. "The servants are in revolt, and poor Noble, thehousekeeper, is having a most terrible time. Carter and eight of theother servants gave notice yesterday. This person Dawson represents thevery acme of bad manners and bad breeding, yet I overheard him remarkingto his daughter two days ago that he actually contemplated putting upfor the Reform and entering Parliament! Ah! what would poor Mabel say,if she knew? The girl, Dolly, as he calls her, the common little wench,has established herself in Mabel's boudoir, and is about to have itre-decorated in daffodil yellow, to suit her complexion, I believe,while as for finances, it seems, from what Mr. Leighton says, that poorMr. Blair's fortune must go entirely through the fellow's hands."

  "It's a shame--an abominable shame!" I cried angrily. "We know thatthe man is an adventurer, and yet we are utterly powerless," I addedbitterly.

  "Poor Mabel!" sighed the widow, who was really much devoted to her. "Doyou know, Mr. Greenwood," she said, with a sudden air of confidence, "Ihave thought more than once since her father's death that she is inpossession of the truth of the strange connexion between her father andthis unscrupulous man who has been given such power over her and hers.Indeed, she has confessed to me as much. And I believe that, if shewould but tell us the truth, we might be able to get rid of thisterrible incubus. Why doesn't she do it--to save herself?"

  "Because she is now in fear of him," I answered in a hard, despairingvoice. "She holds some secret of which she lives in terror. That, Ibelieve, accounts for the sudden manner in which she has left her ownroof and disappeared. She has left the fellow in undisputed possessionof everything."

  I had not forgotten Dawson's arrogance and self-confidence on the nighthe had first called upon us.

  "But now, Mr. Greenwood, will you ple
ase excuse me for what I am goingto say?" asked Mrs. Percival, settling her skirts after a brief pauseand looking straight into my face. "Perhaps I have no right to enterinto your more private matters in this manner, but I trust you willforgive me when you reflect that I am only speaking on the poor girl'sbehalf."

  "Well!" I inquired, somewhat surprised at her sudden change of manner.Usually she was haughty and frigid in the extreme, a scathing critic whohad the names of everybody's cousins aunts and nephews at her fingers'ends.

  "The fact is this," she went on. "You might, I feel confident, induceher to tell us the truth. You are the only person who possesses anyinfluence with her now that her father in dead, and--permit me to sayso--I have reason for knowing that she entertains a very strong regardfor you."

  "Yes," I remarked, unable to restrain a sigh, "we are friends--goodfriends."

  "More," declared Mrs. Percival, "Mabel loves you."

  "Loves me!" I cried, starting up and supporting myself upon one elbow."No, I think you must be mistaken. She regards me more as a brotherthan a lover, and she has, I think, learnt ever since the first day wemet in such romantic conditions, to regard me in the light of aprotector.

  "No," I added, shaking my head, "there are certain barriers that mustprevent her loving me--the difference of our ages, of position and allthat."

  "Ah! There you are