Devil's Dice Part 12

"For how long?"

"He said he would be back again last night," and placing her hand in her pocket she drew forth the letter, and read it to rea.s.sure herself that she had made no mistake.

"I want to see him on a most important matter; if he does not return I shall have to run down to Hounslow," I said. Then, as if suddenly remembering, I added, "Oh, by the way, do you know any maid named Ashcombe--Annie Ashcombe?"

"Ashcombe," she repeated, puzzled. "Why do you want to know the names of servant-maids? What interest have you in her?"

"I--er--well, I want to find her, that's all. If I can discover her she'll hear something to her advantage, as the solicitors'

advertis.e.m.e.nts say."

"I'm sorry I can't help the young person to her good fortune," she laughed. "However, I'll bear the name in mind, and if I come across her I won't fail to let you know."

"Thanks," I said. "It is most important that I should find her as quickly as possible, so you might render me a real service if you would make inquiries among your friends."

"Of course, I'll do anything to oblige you," she said frankly.

"Ashcombe--I shall remember the name."

"And you will let me know as soon as you hear from Jack?"

"Certainly," she answered. "I'll send you word at once."

At that moment our tete-a-tete was interrupted by the reappearance of Lady Stretton, who said:

"Dora and I are going to the Lyceum first night. If you'll join us in our box we shall be charmed."

"Thanks very much," I replied. "I shall be delighted." I had no especial desire to witness an Irving play, but in my gloomy frame of mind any diversion seemed better than the loneliness of my own chambers.

"Very well. Run home and dress, return and dine with us, and we will go along together. We shall meet Mr Gilbert Sternroyd there. Do you know him?" her ladyship asked.

The mention of the name caused me to start, and I felt that a sudden pallor overspread my face.

"Mabel introduced me," I stammered.

"Charming young fellow! So wealthy, too," exclaimed Lady Stretton, a remark which was received with a little grimace by Dora, at that moment standing behind her mother.

"I know very little of him," I said in a strained voice. "I only met him once."

Then I left, went home, dressed and returned. Dinner was served with that old-fashioned stateliness that characterised everything in the Stretton household, and I was thoroughly glad when dessert was reached.

Afterward, we drove to the theatre, and found in several boxes and scattered over the stalls many mutual acquaintances. Several men and women came to us and exchanged greetings, and more than once her ladyship observed:

"I wonder why Mr Sternroyd does not come, Dora? He promised me faithfully."

"I don't know, mother," answered her daughter unconcernedly. "I suppose he is better engaged at his club, or elsewhere."

"Well, it is decidedly ungentlemanly not to have sent a line of regret,"

the old lady observed, sniffing angrily.

Did they perceive by my silence and my face that their talk was torturing me? Did they expect a dead man to seat himself in the vacant chair awaiting him? These constant references to the victim of the tragedy unnerved me. What would they think if they knew that the young man who had promised to escort them was now lying stiff and cold?

The play proceeded, the calls were taken, the curtain fell, and when the usual bouquets had been presented to Miss Terry, the great actor addressed a few well-chosen words to his admirers. All was brilliant, everyone was enthusiastic; the play was voted an unqualified success.

Yet I, the most lethargic, conscience-stricken wretch amid that gay, well-dressed, bejewelled throng, was oppressed by the knowledge of an awful secret, for upon me had been forced by Dora's words increased suspicion that one of the most popular writers of the day was an a.s.sa.s.sin.

Outside, under the portico, the vendors of "extra specials" were shouting the latest news, varying their strident cries with the monotonous question, "Keb or kerridge?" In eagerness I listened to their words and glanced at the contents-bills--pink, green, amber, and white--thrust under my nose, but in a few moments rea.s.sured myself that the tragedy still remained undiscovered.

The Stretton carriage quickly drew up, and as the ladies were handed in I thanked them for a pleasant evening and bade them good-night, not, however, before I had managed to whisper to Dora, "If you hear from Jack, telegraph at once to my chambers."

"You don't seem quite yourself to-night," she had replied. "I believe something has happened."

"No," I stammered, "nothing unusual has occurred." Then I excused myself by adding, "The heat of the theatre has been rather oppressive, that's all."

The night air refreshed me, and as I strolled along the Strand westward I suddenly overtook Thackwell, the cotton-king, also returning from a theatre. His greeting was as usual, bluff and hearty, and we had supper together at the National Liberal Club, of which inst.i.tution he was one of the shining lights.

I congratulated him upon the success of his recent reception, but he smiled rather sadly, saying:

"Ay, ay, lad, it's only because aw've got a bit o' bra.s.s. Creawn a foo, an' folk'll goo deawn o' their knees to him. Society's all very well, if it's n.o.bbut to see heaw th' n.o.bs carry'n on, but a man is a sight more happy as a journeyman than when he can reckon in millions. What saysta?"

"But money makes the world hum," I said.

"Aw'll tell thee what, lad, for me it hums the wrong tune," he said, and upon his frank, wrinkled face there settled a look of despondency.

"It's true the fine folk flatter me and teem warm wayter deawn my back, makkin' it itch where it has no' been bitten, but my gowd is mixed wi'

bra.s.s and pain wi' pleasure. Awm a lonely mun, and aw find cross looks among smiles and friendship wi' a bit o' suspicion o' booath sides."

I described minutely the strange man I had encountered in his rooms on the night of the reception, and his girlish companion in pink, hoping to obtain some clue to their ident.i.ty, but although he was unusually, confidential, his mind at this point seemed a perfect blank.

"Aw never know who's invited," he declared smiling. "They're all welcome, all the folk, but they come to meet each other, and doant care a bobbin for their host. Half of 'em come out o' sheer curiosity to see my place, because they've 'eard from th' papers heaw mich it cost me.

Hawe, lad, awm baffled in every effort to improve my social standing; while in business--in business everything aw touch turns to gowd."

When we entered the great smoking-room a little later I felt for my match-box--a small gold one with my initials engraved upon it, that I wore suspended from my watch-chain--but it was gone. I valued it highly, as it was a present from my mother, and was much concerned regarding its loss. On reflection I could not remember having used it that day, and suddenly the possibility occurred to me that I might have dropped it when I had stumbled and fallen over the body of Gilbert Sternroyd. If it were found beside the corpse, I might be suspected of the crime. I had no clear proof that I had dropped it there, but an impression of dread gripped my heart. There is an infinite distance between our fancies, however precise they may be, and the least bit of reality. The discovery of the crime had stirred my being to its utmost depths, and summoned up tragic pictures before my eyes. Even after I had read the letter, and the half-burnt writing in Sybil's hand repeatedly, I had cherished a secret hope that I was mistaken, that some slight proof would arise and dispel suspicions that I denounced as senseless, perhaps because I had a foreknowledge of the dreadful duty which must devolve upon me when the body was discovered.

Excusing myself by lame apologies, I left the millionaire and went straight to my chambers.

"Saunders," I cried as I entered, "you handed me my watch and chain this morning. Did you notice anything remarkable about it?"

"Yes, sir," my man answered promptly. "I noticed your match-box was not there."

"Then, confound it, I've lost it--I must have lost it last night," I gasped. "I remember distinctly using it once or twice during the evening."

"I thought you had taken it off and put it in your vest pocket," he said. "You do sometimes."

"Yes," I answered. "But look here, the swivel has snapped from the box," and taking off the chain I handed it to him to examine.

On my sitting-room table lay a note, and as I took it up I saw the envelope bore a coronet and the wyvern's head couped at the neck vert, the crest of the Strettons.

"That came by boy-messenger a quarter of an hour ago, sir," Saunders said, as I eagerly tore it open.

It was a hurried scribble from Dora in pencil, and read as follows: "Dear Mr Ridgeway,--I have found on my return a letter from Jack. I must have your advice at once, and will therefore call at your chambers at eleven o'clock to-morrow. The letter was posted at Dover this morning.--Yours sincerely, Dora Stretton."

"I shall want nothing more, Saunders," I said, as calmly as I could, and the man wishing me good-night withdrew.