went off in a flounce, and I hope she'll never darken mydoor again. You may think me very timid, but if you had seen what Idiscovered after she had gone you'd have been of my way of thinking."
"What did you discover?" I asked, surprised.
"Well, in her bedroom there was, in a small silver box, an old ring thatmy late husband had prized very much. It had belonged to one of thePopes, and had been blessed by him. The relic was no doubt an extremelyvaluable one."
"And when she went?" I asked.
"When she went I had a look round her room to see that nothing had beentaken, but to my surprise I found the ring and the box actually burntup. Only the ashes remained! There was a picture of the Virgin also inthe room, an old panel-painting which my husband had picked up inHolland, and what was most extraordinary was that although this picturehad also been wholly consumed, the little easel had been left quiteintact. Some Devil's work was effected there, but how, I can'timagine."
This was certainly a most startling statement, and the old lady wasevidently still nervous regarding it. Did it not fully bear out whathad already occurred in my own rooms and in those of the man whose lifehad so suddenly gone out?
"Do you think, then, that the picture was deliberately burned?" Iinquired.
"I examined the ashes very closely," she replied, "and found that bywhatever means the picture was destroyed, the table-cloth had not evenbeen singed. Now, if the picture had been deliberately lighted, a holemust have been burned in the cloth; but as it was, it seemed as thoughthe picture, which the Roman Catholics hold in such reverence, had beendestroyed by something little short of a miracle."
"Have you preserved the ashes?"
"No," responded the old lady; "Ann threw them into the dustbin at once.I didn't like to keep them about."
"And what is your private opinion?" I asked, now that we had grownconfidential.
"I believe," she answered decisively, "I believe that the hussy musthave been in league with the very Evil One himself."
Such was exactly my own opinion, but I had no desire to expose all myfeelings, or confess the fascination which she had held over me byreason of her wondrous beauty. It was strange, I thought, how, evilthough her heart, she had uttered those ominous warnings. True, I hadloved her; I had adored her with all the strength of my being; but shein return had only urged me to love my Platonic little friend Muriel.She who held me powerless beneath her thrall had, with self-denial,released me in order that I might transfer my affections to thebright-eyed woman who was wearing out her heart at Madame Gabrielle's;she had implored me to cast her aside, and thus escape the mysteriousunknown fate which she predicted must inevitably fall upon me.
The reason why she had forbidden me to call at Mrs Popejoy's, or toaddress a letter there, was now quite plain. She had deceived me, and Icould trust her no further.
Yet had she actually deceived me? Had she not plainly told me that shewas an evil-doer, a malefactor, one whose mission was to bringill-fortune to her fellow-creatures. Yes, Aline Cloud was a mystery.More than ever I now felt that she was the possessor of some unknownsubtle influence, some unseen supernatural power by which she couldeffect evil at will.
"I suppose," I said, in an endeavour to allay the nervous old lady'sfears, "I suppose there is some quite ordinary explanation for thestrange occurrence. Many things which at first appear inexplicable are,when the truth is made plain, quite ordinary events. So it was, Isuppose, with the picture and the ring which were consumed by whatappears like spontaneous combustion."
"I don't know," she replied. "I've thought over it a great deal, butthe more I think of it, the more extraordinary it seems."
"I regret to have troubled you," I said. "I must try and find her atwhatever cost, for the matter is a most important one. If you should byany chance come across her again, or if she visits you, I should beobliged if you would at once communicate with me," and I handed her acard.
"Certainly, sir," she replied. "The hussy entirely misled you, and Ishould like to be able to fathom the mystery how my picture and ringwere reduced to ashes. If I ever do see her again, depend upon it thatI'll let you know." Then, with woman's curiosity, pardonable in thecircumstances, she asked, "Is the matter on which you wish to speak toher a personal one?"
"It is, and yet it is not," I responded vaguely. "It concerns anotherperson--a friend."
With that I shook her hand, and accompanied by Ash, walked out and leftthe house.
As we drove back down the Hampstead Road I turned to the valet andsaid--
"Do you remember whether a tall, dark, shabby-genteel man in afrock-coat and tall hat--a man with a thin, consumptive-looking face--ever called upon your master?"
I was thinking of Aline's companion, and of their remarkableconversation. At that moment it occurred to me that it might be ofRoddy they had spoken, and not of myself. Did he urge her to kill myfriend? Ash reflected deeply.
"I don't remember any man answering that description," he responded."After he became a Member of Parliament one or two strange people fromhis constituency called to see him, but I don't recollect anybody likethe man you describe. How old was he?"
"About forty; or perhaps a trifle over."
The man shook his head. "No," he declared, "I don't think he evercalled."
"When your master sent you out with the note that morning had you anysuspicion that he meant to receive a secret visitor? Now, don't concealanything from me. Together we must fathom this mystery." He hesitated,then turning to me, answered--
"Well, to tell the truth, sir, I did."
"What caused you to suspect?"
"First, the letter being unaddressed was a rather curious fact," heresponded slowly. "Then, I was to meet a lady whom he did not describefurther than that she was youngish, and would wear a bunch of flowers.All this appeared strange, but my curiosity was further aroused becausehe had dressed more carefully than he usually did in a morning, asthough visitors were coming."
"Was he down at the House on the previous night?"
"Yes, sir; I took a telegram down there, and delivered it to him in theLobby. He opened it, read it, and uttered a bad word, as if itscontents annoyed him very much. Then I returned, and he arrived homeabout half an hour after midnight. I gave him some whiskey and soda,and left him smoking and studying a big blue-book he had brought homewith him."
"Have you any suspicion that the telegram had any connection with themysterious lady whom you were sent to meet?"
"I've several times thought that it had. Of course I can't tell."
A silence fell between us. At last I spoke again, saying--
"Remember that all you have heard to-day must be kept secret. Nobodymust know that we have been to Mrs Popejoy's. There is a mysterysurrounding this lady named Cloud, and when we get to the bottom of itwe shall, I feel certain, obtain a clue to the cause of your poormaster's death. You, his faithful servant, were, I feel assured,devoted to him, therefore it behoves us both to work in unison with aview to discovering the truth."
"Certainly, sir; I shall not utter a single word of what I have heardto-day. But," he added, "do you believe that my poor master wasmurdered?"
"It's an open question," I replied. "There are one or two facts which,puzzling the doctors, may be taken as suspicious, yet there are otherswhich seem quite plain, and point to death from natural causes."
Then, having given him certain instructions how to act if he discoveredanything further regarding the mysterious Aline, he alighted at thecorner of Cranbourne Street, while I drove on to my own rooms, full ofsaddest memories of the man who had for years been one of my closestfriends.
CHAPTER TEN.
IN DUDDINGTON.
When the winter rains made London dreary, rendering the Strand averitable quagmire, and when the shops began to display Christmas cardsand Christmas numbers, I went South, as I did each year, accompanied bymy married sister and her husband, in search of sunshine. I knew theRiviera well. I had enjoyed the rather d
ull exclusiveness of Cannes; Ihad stayed one season at the Grand at Nice and capered through Carnivalin a clown's dress of mauve and green; I had spent a fortnight once inMentone, that paradise of the consumptive; and I had paid some lengthybills at the Hotel de Paris at Monte Carlo. My brother-in-law, however,had taken a little white villa on the olive-clad hillside at Beaulieu,which we found was on the verge of everything.
But to me life on the Riviera soon becomes tiresome. A couple or threevisits to "the Rooms;" a "five o'clock" or two at La Reserve; tea in awicker chair in the entrance-hall of that colossal hotel, the Excelsior,at Cimiez,
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