The Wiles of the Wicked

by William Le Queux

own discretionalone," he protested. "They are evidently awaiting a reply in DawsonCity."

  "Let them wait," I said. "I don't want to bother my head over mattersin which I can have no possible concern. This alleged matrimonialalliance of mine is of far more importance to me than all the gold inthe Klondyke."

  "Well, the lady is your wife, so why worry further about it?" he said.

  "And how do you know, pray?"

  "Because I was present at the ceremony."

  I looked at him for a moment, unable to utter further words.

  "I suppose you'll tell me next that you were my secretary in my bachelordays?" I said at last.

  "Certainly I was."

  "And you say that you were actually present at the church, and saw memarried?" I cried, absolutely incredulous.

  "I was. You were married at St Andrew's, Wells Street. It was a smartwedding, too, for Mrs Fordyce was very well known in society, and had alarge circle of friends."

  "Fordyce?" I echoed, puzzled.

  "Yes, that was Mrs Heaton's name before her marriage with you."

  "Then she was a widow?" I gasped.

  He nodded in the affirmative.

  I groaned. The affair grew more puzzling now that he declared himselfan actual witness of my matrimonial misfortune.

  But how could such a thing have taken place without my knowledge? Itwas impossible. The mystery, like the strange incidents which hadpreceded this remarkable situation in which I found myself, grew moreand more inexplicable each hour.

  We went forth, together, passing from room to room through the greatcountry mansion. The place was handsome, of rather modern type,furnished glaringly in the manner which bespoke the parvenu. Itpossessed no mellow, time-worn appearance, as did the dear old ManorHouse beside the Severn. The furniture and hangings were too apparentlyof the Tottenham Court Road type, and the art displayed was that of theart furnisher given _carte blanche_ to furnish with the newest and mostfashionable fancies in the matter of wallpapers, dadoes, cornices, andart-pottery. There were art-carpets and art-curtains, art-cupboards andart-chairs, art-china and art-chintzes. Art was everywhere in painfulenamel and impossible greens. There were pictures, too, but different,indeed, to the long row of noble faces with their ruffles and doubletsand their arms painted on shields in the corners that looked down sosolemnly in the great hall at Heaton. The pictures in that modernmansion were of the _queue-de-siecle_ French school, daubs by themiscalled impressionists, some being rather too _chic_ to be decent.

  That a large amount of money had been expended upon the place I couldnot doubt, but the effect was that of dazzling the gaze by colour, andnowhere seemed there a good, comfortable old-fashioned sitting-room.All the apartments were arranged to please the eye, and not for personalcomfort. The house was just the kind that a man suddenly successful inthe city might set up in the vain endeavour to develop into a countrygentleman; for to become such is the ideal of every silk-hatted businessman, whether he trades in stocks or stockings.

  "That I should be compelled to show you over your own house is, to saythe least, very amusing," said Gedge, as we were passing up the grandstaircase. "If people were told of this they wouldn't believe itpossible."

  "I myself don't believe what you tell me is possible," I remarked. "Butwho gave orders for this furniture?"

  "You did."

  "And who chose it--approved of the designs, and all that sort of thing?"

  "You certainly did," he answered. "Some of the ideas were, of course,Mrs Heaton's."

  "I thought so. I don't believe myself capable of such barbaric taste asthose awful blues and greens in the little sitting-room."

  "The morning-room you mean."

  "I suppose so. The whole place is like a furniture show-room--thisstyle complete, thirty-five guineas, and so on. You know the sort ofthing I mean."

  He smiled in amusement at my words.

  "Your friends all admire the place," he remarked.

  "What friends?"

  "Sir Charles Stimmel, Mr Larcombe, Lady Fraser, and people of thatclass."

  "I never heard of them in all my life. Who are they?" I inquired,interested.

  "Friends of yours. They visit here often enough. You surely ought toknow them. Lady Fraser is your wife's dearest friend."

  "Fraser?" I said reflectively. "The only Fraser I know is a baker inClare Market, who supplies my old servant, Mrs Parker, with bread."Then, after a pause, I added, "And you say that these people are friendsof mine? Have I many friends?"

  "Lots. A rich man has always plenty of good-humoured acquaintances."

  "They like to come down here for a breath of country air, I suppose,eh?" I laughed.

  "That's about it," he answered. "A good many of them are not verysincere in their friendship, I fear. The man who has money, lives well,keeps a good table, and has choice wines in his cellar need never be ata loss for genial companions."

  "You seem to be a bit of a philosopher, my friend." I remarked.

  He smiled knowingly.

  "I haven't acted as your secretary without learning a few of the crookedways of the world."

  "What?" I exclaimed. "Don't I always act honestly, then?" This wassomething entirely new.

  "Nobody can be honest in finance."

  "Well," I said, resenting his imputation, "I wasn't aware that I hadever swindled a person of sixpence in my life."

  "Sixpences in such sums as they deal in at Winchester House don't count.It's the thousands."

  We passed a couple of gaping maid-servants in long-stringed caps, whostood aside, looking at me in wonder. No doubt the news that a dementedman was in the house had reached the servants' hall. I was, in fact, onshow to the domestics.

  "Then you mean to imply that these financial dealings of mine--of which,by the way, I have no knowledge whatsoever--are not always quitestraight?" I said, as we walked together down a long carpeted corridor.He looked at me in hesitation.

  "It's, of course, business," he answered--"sharp business. I don't meanto imply that the dealings at Winchester House are any more unfair thanthose of any other financier in the City; but sometimes, you know,there's just a flavour of smartness about them that might bemisconstrued by a clever counsel in a criminal court."

  "What?" I cried, halting and glaring at him. "Now, be frank with me,Gedge. Tell me plainly, have I ever swindled anybody?"

  "Certainly not," he said, laughing. "Why, it's this very smartness thathas made you what you are to-day--a millionaire. If you had not beenvery wide awake and shrewd you'd have been ruined long ago."

  "Then, I suppose, I'm well known in the city, eh?"

  "Your name's as well known as Bennett's clock, and your credit stands ashigh as any one's between Ludgate Hill and Fenchurch Street."

  "Extraordinary!" I said. "What you tell me sounds like some remarkablefairy tale."

  "The balance at your banker's is sufficient proof that what I say istruth," he remarked. "There may be a good many fairy tales in certainprospectuses, but there certainly is none in your financial soundness."

  We wandered on from room to room. There must, I think, have been quitethirty sleeping apartments, guests' rooms, etc, all furnished in thatsame glaring style, that greenery-yellow abomination miscalled art.

  "The next room," explained my secretary, as we approached the end of thecorridor, "is Mrs Heaton's boudoir. I expect she's in there. I sawDalton, her maid, enter a moment ago."

  "Oh, for Heaven's sake, leave her alone!" I said, turning at once on myheel. I had no wish to meet that awful rejuvenated hag again.

  I fancy Gedge smiled, but if he did he was very careful to hide hisamusement from me. He was, without doubt, a very well-trainedsecretary.

  The thought of Mabel Anson crossed my mind. All the recollections ofthe dinner on the previous night, and the startling discoveries Isubsequently made recurred to me at that moment, and I felt dazed andbewildered. This painted and powdered person could surely not be myw
ife, when I loved Mabel Anson with all my soul! Only yesterday I hadsat at her side at dinner, and had felt the pressure of her soft,delicate hand upon mine. No; it could not be that I was actuallymarried. Such a thing was utterly impossible, for surely no man couldgo through the marriage ceremony without knowing something about it.

  Hickman's treachery angered me. Why, I wondered, had he enticed me tohis rooms in order to make that extraordinary attempt upon my life? Thewound upon my head was undoubtedly due to the blow he had dealt me. Thetheory that