written to-day saying that she will attend theservice on Sunday evening."
"You will preach?" she asked.
"I don't know," he answered evasively. "I may be away."
"You mean that by that time you may have resigned and left the Church,"I said quickly. "No, Jack. Don't think of such a thing. Muriel know?more than she has told us, and if she will assist us, I have no doubtthat the mystery will be cleared up, and the guilty brought topunishment."
"Do you wish me to preach on Sunday?" Yelverton asked of my beloved.
"Certainly," was her response. "But, tell me--she never remains afterthe evening service, does she?"
"No, never," he replied. "By the time I'm out of the vestry she hasalways departed. It seems as though her quick, impetuous nature willnot allow her to await me."
"Then preach on Sunday night, and leave the remainder to me," she said.
"You appear to know all her movements," Yelverton observed. "Where doesshe go usually after church?"
"Her destination is always the same--a secret one. But remain patient,"she added, a strange look in her dark eyes, as though she were intentupon a fierce and terrible revenge. "You are her lover, and havediscovered, as others have done, that she is possessed of a spirit ofevil that holds you appalled in wonder. Her actions are trulyastounding, yet the truth, when revealed, will be more startling andmore bewildering than any of the strange things which have alreadyhappened."
"And you promise to explain everything?" I asked in breathlesseagerness.
"No. I cannot promise that. I will furnish you with the necessary clueto the solution of the mystery, but even I myself know not all thefacts."
Both of us tried to obtain from her some further information regardingAline, but without avail. She remained absolutely mute, likewiserefusing to reveal the identity of her would-be assassin. That she hadmet him face to face upon the stairs she admitted, but in response to myinquiries declared that the time was not yet ripe for the denunciation,and urged us to remain in patience.
This we did until at last Sunday night came. At about half-past six Iaccompanied my beloved in a cab to a small and very dismal little streetin the immediate vicinity of St Peter's, one of those mean, drabthoroughfares which abound in South London; and when at length theservice concluded, we stood together in the gloom waiting for Aline'sstriking figure to emerge among the congregation.
At last she came, dressed neatly in black, her fair hair well coiledbeneath a neat black toque, and in her hand her tiny prayer-book, withthe ivory cross upon the cover. She walked straight in our directionwithout, of course, dreaming of our presence, but outside thesmoke-blackened railings of the churchyard she paused for a momentbeneath the street-lamp to glance at the little jewelled watch pinnedupon her breast. Her lover's sermon had been a trifle longer thanusual, therefore, on noting the time, she at once hurried away along thenarrow little street towards the Walworth Road, in order, apparently, tokeep some mysterious appointment.
"Come!" Muriel said. "Let us follow her!" And together we walked on,eagerly keeping her well in sight in the crowd of dispersingworshippers.
My heart beat wildly in those moments, for I knew we were upon the vergeof some extraordinary discovery, the nature of which my beloved hadpredicted would be stranger than we had dreamed.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
IN THE SHADOW.
Ere we had gained the Walworth Road, Yelverton, so breathless in hishaste that he could scarce gasp "Good night" to the small crowd whosaluted him as he passed, overtook us.
"Where is she?" he inquired.
"There--in front of us, standing on the kerb," I answered, halting inorder to escape observation. "She's evidently waiting for an omnibus."
My surmise proved true, for a few moments later she entered one of thosegreen omnibuses which ply to Camberwell Green, and the moment theconveyance moved off again Muriel, turning to me quickly, said--
"We must now lose no time, but take a cab at once to Herne Hill."
We therefore hailed the first four-wheeler, and in one of those mostterrible of all conveyances which ply for hire in London--vehicles knownin the vernacular as "fever-traps"--we made our way with much rattle andjolting along the Camberwell Road, past Camberwell Green, and up DenmarkHill.
The cab deposited us on the brow of the hill at the corner of that steeproad, Red Post Hill, one of the few thoroughfares untouched by themodern builder, and together we descended Herne Hill until we came to agreat old house standing back in its own grounds, with large treesaround it, and approached by a broad carriage drive. It had undoubtedlybeen an important residence a century ago, but in the darkness I coulddiscern that weeds had been allowed to grow upon the drive, thatshutters closed the windows of the ground floor, that pieces of paper,straw, and other rubbish, the flotsam and jetsam of the street, lay uponthe moss-grown steps leading to the front door, and the large boardwhich announced that the desirable site was for sale "for buildingpurposes" told conclusively how the neighbourhood had decayed until itwas being gradually swallowed up by overgrown, overcrowded Camberwell.
The double gates rusting on their hinges were secured together by achain and formidable padlock, but following Muriel we went to a smallside door in the high wall, which she opened with a key, admitting us,closing it, and locking it after her.
Within the old tangled garden, where the shrubs, weeds, and flowers hadgrown wild and unpruned for years, all was silent as the grave. The oldplace, partly overgrown with ivy, which had almost hidden several of thewindows, looked grim and ghostly in the gloom, for the moon was hiddenbehind a bank of fleecy cloud, and only shed a mystic half-light, whichadded to rather than decreased the sense of forlorn dreariness whichoppressed one. By the aspect of the place it appeared as though it hadremained untenanted for fully ten years.
As I stood with my two companions, in the deep shadow, preserving thestrict silence which Muriel had now imposed upon us, I confess toentertaining some misgivings. There was a weirdness about the wholeaffair which I did not like, and I felt a foreboding of some vague evilwhich I could not define.
With a whispered word of caution Muriel crept forward, treadingnoiselessly on the carpet of weeds which had hidden the gravel, andskirting the house, swiftly approached a door at the side, evidentlyonce the tradesmen's entrance.
"Hush!" she whispered, "make no noise. If we were discovered here itwould be fatal to all our plans--fatal, indeed, to us!"
Noiselessly she opened the door with her key, while we stood behind her,scarce daring to breathe, and then we all three passed silently into asmall, dark passage, down which we groped our way, after Muriel hadagain locked the door behind her.
I thought I heard a movement at my back like the swish of silk, but nextinstant reassured myself that it must be a rat disturbed by ourintrusion. The place was silent as the tomb, for upon the passage werethe remains of some old cocoa-nut matting, which deadened the sound ofour footsteps as we crept forward to our unknown goal.
Jack whispered an inquiry to her, but gripping his arm, she answered--
"Not a word! While you are here speak not a word, nor utter anyexclamation. Prepare yourselves for amazing surprises, but controlyourselves so as to remain silent on witnessing them."
Suddenly she halted, passed her hands quietly over some panelling in thelong, narrow passage which seemed to run the whole length of the house,and searched in the darkness for something she could not at firstdiscover. At length she found what she sought, a small door, apparentlyconcealed in the panelling, and through this we passed, down somewinding stone steps where the air was foul and damp, and the wallsseemed overgrown with fungi.
We were descending into a cellar. Was Muriel about to reveal to us thehidden evidence of some terrible crime? I shuddered, for the darknesswas appalling. We could only feel our way lightly with our hands,taking care not to stumble nor to create any noise.
Of a sudden, I saw straight before me five circular rays of light whichtogether for
med themselves into a star, and as we approached we foundthat before us was a partition of wood, and that these round rays wereof the light from a chamber beyond shining through what were apparentlyair-holes.
"Now!" whispered Muriel, hoarsely. "Utter not a sound, but lookwithin!"
I placed my eye at one of the holes and gazed through. What I witnessedthere held me dumb with terror. I stood rigid, open-mouthed, not daringto breathe. The scene was, as Muriel had predicted, stranger than anyin my wildest dreams.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
THE EVIL-DOERS.
Truly our gaze encountered a scene of the most bewildering and terribledescription. Within, was a spacious cellar-like chamber, the walls ofwhich were hung with black whereon were curious devices in white, andaround in sconces were burning
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