Guilty Bonds

by William Le Queux

theexpense of yourself. I see. Now, hear me. All my questions you haveevaded; to none will you give direct answers. Enough of mysteries whichyou have refused to reveal ever since knowing me; therefore, we can donaught else but part."

  "What--you will leave me because of this?" she moaned, with a wild,hysterical cry. "Why don't you go a step further--why don't you say atonce you are tired of me?" she cried, with an outburst of passion. "Saythat you wish me dead."

  "That would be untrue," I answered. "You know well I have lived onlyfor you, Vera, and at nothing should I rejoice more than to be able toprove myself mistaken; yet, until that can be done, we must separate."

  She was grave and thoughtful for a moment, then, looking into my face,said haughtily:

  "If you are determined upon this step, I am powerless to prevent it."

  "No, you are not," I asserted.

  "Why?"

  "Because you might answer satisfactorily the questions I put to you justnow."

  "No; no, anything but that," she replied promptly, as with a franticgesture she covered her face with her hands, continuing, "It--it wouldbe far better for us to part, or the result--the result--might provefatal."

  "What do you mean?" I demanded incredulously, as the mystery of theseal recurred to me.

  "I mean that my secret must be kept, even if we part," she gasped, witha futile endeavour to compose herself.

  "This is your final decision, then?"

  "Alas! it must be."

  "Very well, Vera, I wish you adieu," I said sadly, for I was completelybroken-hearted at the thought of my idol's deceit, and the transparentsubterfuges by which she had endeavoured to conceal her guilt. "We havebeen happy during the few months of our wedded life, but that is a thingof the past. Henceforth mine will be a dark, hopeless existence, whileyours, I trust, may be as pleasant as it has hitherto been; for thoughyou have dishonoured me, I love you too well, even now, to wish anycalamity should ever befall you."

  "No, Frank, don't leave me. I could not bear it!" she shrieked,bursting into a torrent of tears. "I have told you the truth--I have,by heaven! It is my terrible misfortune that I am unable to explain whothat man was, and from the same cause it has not been possible for me toacquaint you with anything relating to my past. Wait patiently for alittle, and I promise you faithfully--I swear you shall knoweverything."

  She was terribly in earnest, I could see; her whole future dependingupon my decision that moment. It was the secret of her life I wasanxious to learn beyond anything, and I asked:

  "How long must I wait?"

  She gazed at me for a few seconds blankly, apparently making somecalculation.

  "Three weeks. Wait till then before you condemn me--do, I implore ofyou!"

  What ingenious motive could there be in thus gaining time, I askedmyself. Could it be that in three weeks' time the murderer would besafely out of the country?

  This seemed more than probable.

  I felt half inclined to demand an immediate explanation or carry out thealternative, when, on a moment's reflection, I resolved not to resort toextremes without giving her an opportunity of disproving my allegations.

  "Very well," I said impatiently, at last; "the matter shall rest for thepresent; but this day three weeks I shall be prepared--I shall expect tohear a complete explanation. Bear that in mind."

  As I spoke the door had opened noiselessly, and Demetrius, with anexpectant expression on his good-humoured face, and a cigarette in hismouth, stood upon the threshold.

  Vera, who had been awaiting my reply with breathless agitation, murmuredin a low, intense voice, "In three weeks you shall know all, I--promise--you," and before I could save her she had swayed forwardhelplessly and fallen full length in a dead swoon.

  "_Ma foi_!" exclaimed Demetrius; "why, what has happened?" as he rushedforward in consternation and assisted me to lift her upon the couch.

  "Nothing," I replied. "A little difference of opinion between us,that's all;" and ringing the bell violently to summon the servants, Ileft the room without further utterance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

  STORMS OF FATE.

  It will readily be imagined that it was in no amiable state of mind Ileft the house. Distraction was what I wanted--distraction fromthoughts of the sad events which had just transpired, and whichthreatened to wreck all the hopes of wedded happiness I had founded uponVera's supposed love for me. It was a bitter experience of the vanityof human pleasures, and was one more proof of the falsity and hollownessof her whom I had loved more than life itself.

  Determined to leave the Dene and rid myself of these remorsefulthoughts, I jammed on my hat and rushed from the house.

  While walking down the drive the postman passed me, bearing the seconddelivery of letters. The sight of him recalled to my mind the factthat, in the midst of the morning's excitement, the usual batch ofcorrespondence had escaped my notice. Turning hastily, I made for thestudy, where a number of letters were awaiting me.

  There was only one communication which possessed for me any interest.It was from my old friend Bob Nugent, and a thrill of pleasure passedthrough me as I recognised the familiar scrawl--Bob was never a neatwriter.

  The letter was as follows: "Dear Old Frank,--I am writing in greathaste, and at the usual high pressure, to give you the welcome news thatTeddy Rivers has turned up after his New Zealand experiences, as freshas paint. He hasn't much time to spare; so if you want to have one ofthe old dinners at the Junior Garrick, my boy, and can tear yourselfaway from the little wife for a few hours, why--come soon.--Yours ever,Bob Nugent."

  "Tear yourself away from the little wife!" I repeated to myself with agroan. Bob was quite right; Vera had truly charmed me, laying me underthe spell of her beauty and the vivacity of her manner--for what! Witha savage stamp of my foot I threw the letter upon the fire.

  A moment's reflection convinced me that my best course would be to runup to town and meet my friends. As a matter of fact, the opportunitywas just what I needed. It would afford a little excitement to drownthe weary hours, and cause the time to pass more quickly.

  I decided to go.

  My preparations were soon complete, and the afternoon mail saw me beingrapidly conveyed to town, after having left an explanatory note forVera, to the effect that I should in all probability be absent threeweeks.

  That journey I shall ever remember. The mad noisy whirl of the expresstrain was as nothing compared with the wild tormenting dance of mythoughts as they again and again reverted to the unhappy events of themorning. At one time I blamed my precipitation; at another I bemoanedmy weakness in allowing myself to be wheedled into waiting another threeweeks. Should I ever live those fearful twenty-one days? Somepresentiment seemed to fill my brain, and as the train rushed throughthe stations one after another, every moment seemed bearing me nearerand nearer to some catastrophe.

  With a sense of vast satisfaction, therefore, I alighted from a cab inAdam Street, Strand, the same evening, and found myself standing outsidethe time-stained old building, with which so much of my past had beenassociated. As its well-known entrance met my gaze it appeared to bebut yesterday when I left that very spot on the morning the first murderwas committed in Bedford Place.

  Brushing aside these memories--for they threatened to become verydismal--I walked quickly upstairs to the well-remembered smoking-room,and glanced around.

  As I did this it occurred to me that I had made a great omission. I hadforgotten to inform Bob by telegram that I so promptly accepted hisinvitation, and consequently he was not awaiting me, nor did I know asingle face about me.

  Evidently there was no utility in staying there, for it might be hoursbefore my friend put in an appearance. I knew his address, but did notfeel in the humour for going to hunt him up; finally I resolved to go toa hotel at once.

  On regaining the street I noticed, crouching beside the iron railings,which, however, afforded him very little shelter, a haggard-looking man.His threadbare coat was buttoned tightly
across his chest, and abattered silk hat, which had seen better days, was pulled down over hiseyes, giving him a peculiar, almost repulsive, appearance. Under therim of his hat a pair of sharp keen eyes glittered with a baleful yetanxious glare, and these two orbs were the most striking part of theman's _tout ensemble_. Something about the fellow's appearance causedme to regard him with attention.

  He did not withdraw his glance as mine rested on him. On the contrary,he seemed to become satisfied of my identity. With earnest gesture herose and stopped me as I was about to enter the cab.

  "Now then; move on!" shouted a harsh voice, as the unknown placed hishand, lean, thin and dirty, upon the sleeve of my ulster. The figure ofa constable loomed up suddenly in the flickering gaslight.

  "Stay! What is it you want?" I