interview with her," I remarked. For ever since I had met themonk, Antonio, there had seemed some curious connexion between thesecret of the dead cardinal and the Church of Rome.
"We must try and find out," declared Reggie. "You mustn't remain here.It's getting too cold for you," he added, springing to his feet. "I'llfollow them while you return home."
"No," I said. "I'll walk with you for a bit. I'm interested in thelittle game," and, rising also, I linked my arm in his and went forwardby the aid of my stick.
They were walking side by side in earnest conversation. I could tell bythe priest's quick gesticulations, the way in which he first waved hisclosed fingers and then raised his open hand and touched his leftforearm, that he was speaking of some secret and the possessor of it whohad disappeared. If one knows the Italian well, one can follow in asense the topic of conversation by the gestures, each one having itsparticular signification.
Hurrying as well as I could we gradually gained upon them, for presentlythey slackened their pace, while the priest spoke earnestly, as thoughpersuading the daughter of the ex-boatswain of the _Annie Curtis_ to actin some way he was directing.
She seemed silent, thoughtful and undecided. Once she shrugged hershoulders, and half-turned from him as though in defiance, when in amoment the wily cleric became all smiles and apologies. They weretalking in Italian without a doubt, so as passers-by might notunderstand their conversation. His clothes, too, I noticed were of adistinctly foreign cut and he wore low shoes, the bright steel bucklesof which he had evidently taken off.
As they had come across the bridge she had been laughing merrily at somequaint remark of her companion's, but now it appeared as though all hergaiety had died out and she had realised the true object of thestranger's mission. The path they had taken led straight across to theHorse Guards' Parade, and feeling a few moments later that my weaknesswould not allow me to walk farther, I was compelled to turn back towardsthe York Column steps, leaving Reggie to make what observations hecould.
I returned home thoroughly exhausted and very cold. Even my big friezeovercoat, which I used for driving when down at Helpstone, did not keepout the biting wind. So I sat over the fire for fully a couple of hoursuntil my friend at last returned.
"I've followed them everywhere," he explained, throwing himself into anarmchair opposite me. "He's evidently threatening her, and she isafraid of him When they got to the Horse Guards they turned back alongBirdcage Walk and then across the Green Park. Afterwards he drove herin a cab to one of Fuller's shops in Regent Street. The old priestseems mortally afraid of being recognised. Before he left the GreenPark he turned up the collar of his overcoat so as to hide that piece ofpurple at his collar."
"Did you discover his name?"
"I followed him to the _Savoy_, where he is staying. He has given hisname as Monsignore Galli, of Rimini."
There our information ended. It, however, was sufficient to show thatthe ecclesiastic was in London with some distinct purpose, probably toinduce the Ceco's daughter to give him certain information which heearnestly desired, and which he intended to obtain by reason of certainknowledge which he possessed.
The days passed with gloom and rain, and Bloomsbury presented its mostcheerless aspect. No trace could I discover of my lost love, and nofurther fact concerning the white-haired monsignore. The latter had, itappeared, left the _Savoy_ on the following evening, returning, in allprobability, to the Continent, but whether successful in his mission orno we were in complete ignorance.
Dolly Dawson, with whom Reggie had struck up a kind of pleasantfriendship, more for the purpose of being able to observe and questionher than anything else, called upon us on the day following to inquireafter me and hear whether we had learnt anything regarding Mabel'swhereabouts. Her father, she told us, was absent from London for a fewdays, and she was about to leave for Brighton in order to visit an aunt.
Was it possible that Dawson, having learned of my solution of thecipher, had returned to Italy in order to secure the Cardinal's secretfrom us? I longed hour by hour for strength to travel out to that spotbeside the Serchio, but was held to those narrow rooms by my terribleweakness.
Four long and dreary weeks passed, until the middle of May, when I hadgathered sufficient strength to walk out alone, and take short strollsin Oxford Street and its vicinity. Burton Blair's will had been proved,and Leighton, who visited us several times, told us of the recklessnesswith which the man Dawson was dealing with the estate. That theadventurer was in secret communication with Mabel was proved by the factthat certain cheques signed by her had passed through his hands into thebank, yet strangely enough, he declared entire ignorance of herwhereabouts.
Dawson had returned to Grosvenor Square, when one day at noon thefootman, Carter, was ushered in to me by Glave.
I saw by his face that the man was excited, and scarcely had he beenshown into my room before he exclaimed, saluting respectfully--
"I've found out Miss Mabel's address, sir! Ever since she's been goneI've kept my eyes on the letters sent to post, just as Mr. Fordsuggested that I should, but Mr. Dawson never wrote to her until thismorning, by accident I think, he sent a letter to the post addressed toher, among a number of others which he gave to the page-boy. She's atthe Mill House, Church Enstone, near Chipping Norton."
In quick delight I sprang to my feet. I thanked him, ordered Glave togive him a drink and left London by the half-past one train forOxfordshire.
Just before five o'clock I discovered the Mill House, a grey,old-fashioned place standing back behind a high box hedge from thevillage street at Church Enstone, on the highroad from Aylesbury toStratford. Before the house was a tiny lawn, bright with tulip bordersand sweet-smelling narcissi.
A broad-spoken waiting-maid opened the door and ushered me into a small,low, old-fashioned room, where I surprised my love crouched in a bigarmchair, reading.
"Why? Mr. Greenwood!" she gasped, springing to her feet, pale andbreathless, "you!"
"Yes," I said, when the girl had closed the door and we were alone, "Ihave found you at last, Mabel--at last!" and, advancing, I took both hersmall hands tenderly in mine. Then, carried away by the ecstasy of themoment, I looked straight into her eyes, saying, "You have tried toescape me, but to-day I have found you again. I have come, Mabel, toconfess openly to you, to tell you something--to tell you, dearest,that--well, that I love you!"
"Love me!" she cried, dismayed, starting back, and putting me from herwith both her small, white hands. "No! no!" she wailed. "You mustnot--you cannot love me. It is impossible!"
"Why?" I demanded quickly. "I have loved you ever since that firstnight when we met. Surely you must long ago have detected the secret ofmy heart."
"Yes," she faltered, "I have. But alas! it is too late--too late!"
"Too late?" I exclaimed. "Why?"
She was silent. Her countenance had suddenly blanched to the lips, andI saw that she was trembling from head to foot.
I repeated my question seriously, my eyes fixed upon her.
"Because," she answered slowly at last in a tremulous voice so low thatI could scarce distinguish the fatal words she uttered, "because I amalready married!"
"Married!" I gasped, standing rigid. "And your husband! His name!"
"Cannot you guess?" she asked. "The man you have already seen--HerbertHales." Her eyes were cast down from me as though in shame, while herpointed chin sank upon her panting breast.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
THE SACRED NAME.
What could I say? What would you have said?
I was silent. I knew not what words to utter. This scoundrelly younggroom, the ne'er-do-well son of the respectable old seafarer who spentthe evening of his days at the crossways, was actually the husband ofthe millionaire's daughter! It seemed utterly incredible, yet, onrecollecting that midnight scene in Mayvill Park, I at once recognisedhow powerless she was in the hands of that low, arrogant cad, who, in amoment of mad frenzy, had made su
ch a desperate attempt upon her.
I recognised, too, that the love between them, if any, had ever existed,had disappeared long ago, and that the man's sole idea was to profit bythe fact of his union with her, and blackmail her just as so manywealthy and upright women are being blackmailed in England at this verymoment. It flashed through my mind that the reason she did not followand punish the fellow for that dastardly attempt on her life was nowmade plain.
She was his wife!
The very thought convulsed me with jealousy, regret and hatred, for Iloved her with all the passion, honest and true, of which a man iscapable. Since Mrs. Percival had revealed to me the truth, I had livedonly for her, to meet her again and openly declare my
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