Whatsoever a Man Soweth

by William Le Queux

have made casual inquiry regarding the original. Now that itwas in my possession, however, I was unable to approach the subject.Undoubtedly she had missed it, and perhaps believed that in theconfusion of that memorable evening it had been stolen, perhaps for thevalue of its frame.

  One night about ten o'clock, while Eric and I sat by the fire in mychambers, my friend cast aside the _Pall Mall Gazette_ which he had beenreading, exclaiming,--

  "So the Parham affair seems to have concluded to-day. At the adjournedinquest they've returned the usual verdict--wilful murder againstsomeone unknown. Poor girl! She was an entirely innocent victim."

  "Yes," I remarked, smoking my pipe reflectively, "strange that thepolice haven't a scrap of a clue as to who did it."

  "We have the only clue that exists," was his answer. "You saw one ofthe men."

  "Yes, but I doubt if I'd recognise him again. It was only like a shadowpassing across the room. He was tall and thin, but I was too far awayto distinguish his features."

  "Mrs Parham has apparently made no statement to the police of anyvalue, and Parham himself is still absent. He fears, I suppose, certaininquiries regarding the possession of that gruesome object which wefound in the false bottom of the secret hiding-place."

  "I'd like to meet this man Parham," I said. "Recollect that heundoubtedly knew the man who was killed in Charlton Wood."

  "Yes," remarked Eric, slowly. "It certainly seems strange that hedoesn't turn up again. He may, of course, be travelling abroad, as hiswife seems to think he is. She has told the police that he's oftenabroad, and she frequently does not hear from him for a fortnight orthree weeks. It appears that only a short time ago he remarked that hemight be compelled to go out to India on business connected with somejewels which an Indian prince has for sale. Perhaps he has gone, andwill write to her from Port Said. That is what the police believe."

  "And if he does?"

  "Well, I should think it most probable that he'll be detained at Bombayand asked to return at once to London, to explain how the human eye cameinto his possession."

  "I wish we could get sight of a photograph of Parham," I said. "Itwould help us so much."

  "He's never had his portrait taken--objects to it, I hear. The policetold me so. They always look with suspicion upon a man who objects tobeing photographed."

  I entertained the same suspicions regarding Parham as did the police,and resolved to revisit his wife and endeavour to discover somethingfurther.

  Next day, however, receiving an urgent express letter from Tibbie, I wascompelled to assume the guise of William Morton and travel by acircuitous route down to Camberwell. She had the midday dinner of roastsirloin and vegetables ready prepared for me, cooked by herself, andlooked a thoroughly capable housewife in her cheap black gown and whiteapron. The clothes she had bought were well fitted to the station shehad assumed, and beyond a smart saying or two which now and then escapedher, she passed well as the lady's-maid married to an honest,hard-working compositor.

  "The only thing I can't do," she confided to me, as we sat together atthe clean little dinner-table, "is the washing. I put it out, and Ifear that the landlady thinks me horribly extravagant. But the truth isI don't know how to wash, and if I tried I'd at once betray myignorance," she laughed.

  I glanced at her hands, now rather red and rough by unaccustomed work,and smiled.

  "Let them think what they may," I said. "You play your part far betterthan I ever thought you would."

  "Oh, sometimes I find it quite amusing," she declared. "One sees moreof the realities of life in Camberwell than in Mayfair. Here I see howthe poor live, and I pity them. I was ignorant of how hard are thelives of the working people; how they have to struggle to keep the wolffrom the door, or of the long hours of work, and the cutting down, ofwages. Do you know, Wilfrid, I sometimes hear stories of poverty anddistress that make my heart bleed. I want to help them, but how can I?To give them money would be to arouse suspicion against myself. I'vefound a method, however. I send them groceries and meat from certainshops in the Old Kent Road and Camberwell Road, and pay for it myself.They don't then know where it comes from."

  I was somewhat surprised to discover this sympathetic trait in hercharacter. I had never believed that, gay butterfly of fashion as shewas, she entertained any thought of the poor seamstress who worked allnight upon her ball-dress, or the consumptive shop-girl who dancedattendance upon her, compelled to indulge her every whim. TheScarcliffs, if a wild race, were a proud one. They regarded "thepeople" as being different from themselves and treated all theirunderlings, save grave old Adams at Ryhall, without thought orconsideration.

  Yes, the few weeks that Tibbie had lived estranged from her fast, exoticset, and with the example of the workaday world before her eyes, hadwrought a great change in her.

  Yet, was this really so? To what cause could I attribute this suddenoutburst of charitable feeling?

  I held my breath as one suggestion occurred to me.

  Was it repentance?

  I had told her nothing concerning the strange occurrence at SydenhamHill. The name of Parham had been found in the dead man's pocket,therefore, connected as the two crimes seemed to be, I made noexplanation. Without doubt, however, she had read the details in thepaper which she took daily, and had that morning seen the verdict givenat the adjourned inquest.

  How I longed to show her the photograph and to ask her to tell me thetruth.

  One afternoon, a fortnight ago, she had casually remarked to me that shehad seen in the paper the report of a man being found in Charlton Wood,whereupon I merely replied that I, too, had heard the details, and thatI supposed the victim was some unfortunate tramp who had been killed byan enemy.

  "He may have been shot accidentally by one of the keepers, who fears totell the truth," she suggested.

  But I remained silent. I remembered Eric's terrible denunciation.

  I passed that afternoon with her in the cheaply-furnished littlesitting-room, smoking and chatting. After she had removed the cloth shethrew aside her apron, and sat in the low wicker armchair with acigarette. Only when I was present dared she smoke, and I saw howthoroughly she enjoyed it.

  "You, Wilfrid, seem like a visitor from the other world--the world whichnowadays exists only in my dreams," she said, throwing her head lazilyback and blowing a cloud of smoke from her pursed-up lips. "As I sithere alone hour after hour, I wonder how it is that I have lived thelife I have. Our foibles and follies and false appearances are, afterall, wretchedly insincere, and surely the enemies of a smart woman arethe bitterest in the world. Cynthia taught me to believe that our setwas the world, but I now know different, for I see that there ishappiness, yes, far greater happiness in the poor struggling homes aboutme here than in our own world of pleasure. Happiness?" she repeated toherself, looking blankly across the room and sighing, "I wonder if Ishall ever know what real happiness means?"

  "I hope so," I exclaimed quickly. "Surely there is no reason why youshould be unhappy. You are young, wealthy, courted, flattered, and oneof the best-looking women in London. You are well aware of that,Tibbie."

  "Aware of it!" she exclaimed hoarsely, in a low, broken voice."Everyone tells me so. Yes," she added bitterly, "I have everythingexcept the one thing debarred me--happiness."

  "And why not that?"

  "Can one be happy if one does not possess peace of mind? That, alas! Ido not possess."

  "Because you hold a secret," I remarked slowly, looking into her eyes asthey suddenly met mine. "Will you never reveal it to me, Tibbie?" Iasked. "I could surely assist you."

  But she shook her head, replying,--

  "No. The error is mine, and I must bear the punishment. Ah!" shecried, suddenly starting up, placing both palms to her brow, and pacingup and down the little room. "Ah! you don't know what I suffer. Dayand night I sit here and think and think, and wonder, and fear. Yes!"she cried, her eyes starting as she glared at me in her desperation. "Ifear! I fear lest I may
be discovered by those enemies who have swornto effect my ruin! But--but you will save me, Wilfrid," she gasped,suddenly advancing, turning her white face to mine, and clutching myhand. "You will protect me from them, won't you?"

  "Of course," I answered, greatly surprised at her sudden terror, whenonly a few moments before she had been so calm in the enjoyment of hercigarette.

  "But who are these enemies of whom you are in such fear? Tell me, and Imay then act accordingly. Surely it is only just that I should be awareof their identity?" I urged.

  "No. I--I--I mean I can't explain. If I did, I should lose even you,Wilfrid--the only true