If Sinners Entice Thee Part 10

He had never been the same towards her since that memorable evening when he had forbidden her to accept George's offer. Yet her mind was full of thoughts of her absent lover, and she sent him by post boxes of flowers from the garden, that their sweet perfume should remind him of her.

Another fact also caused her most intense anxiety and apprehension. The secret which she believed locked securely within her own bosom was undoubtedly in possession of some unknown person, for having gone into the garden one morning, a week after that night when she had buried the small box from her jewel-case, she fancied that the ground had been freshly disturbed, and that someone had searched the spot.

If so, her actions had been watched.

Thus she lived from day to day, filled by a constant dread that gripped her heart and paralysed her senses. She knew that the most expert officers from Scotland Yard were actively endeavouring to discover the ident.i.ty of Nelly's a.s.sa.s.sin, and was convinced that sooner or later the terrible truth must be elicited.

Twice each week George wrote to her, and she read and re-read his letters many times, sending him in return all the gossip of the old-world village that he loved so well. Thanks to the generosity of the Major, who had decided to give him a small property bringing in some two hundred a year, he was not so badly off as he had antic.i.p.ated; nevertheless, were it not for that he must have been in serious straits, for, according to his letters, work at the Bar was absolutely un.o.btainable, and for a whole month he had been without a single brief.

Old Mr Harrison sometimes gave him one, but beyond that he could pick up scarcely anything.

One evening in late autumn, when the air was damp and chilly, the orchard covered with leaves and the walnuts were rattling down upon the out-house roof with every gust of wind that blew across the hills, the Captain received a telegram, and briefly observed that it was necessary he should go to London on the morrow. He threw the piece of pink paper into the fire without saying who was the sender, and next morning rose an hour earlier and caught the train to Paddington, whence he drove in a hansom to an address in Cork Street, Piccadilly.

A man-servant admitted him, and he was at once ushered upstairs to a small, well-furnished drawing-room, which, however, still retained the odour of overnight cigars. He had scarcely time to fling himself into a chair when a door on the opposite side of the room opened, and Zertho entered, well-dressed, gay and smiling, with a carnation in the lappel of his coat.

"Well, Brooker, old chap," he cried, extending his white hand heartily, "I'm back again, you see."

"Yes," answered the other, smiling and grasping the proffered hand.

"The dignity of Prince appears to suit you, judging from your healthful look."

"It does, Brooker; it does," he answered laughing. "One takes more interest in life when one has a plentiful supply of the needful than when one has to depend upon Fortune for a dinner."

"I wonder that no one has yet spotted you," Brooker observed, leaning back in the silken armchair, stretching out his feet upon the hearthrug, regarding the Prince with a critical look from head to toe, and lighting the cigar the other had offered him.

"If they did, it might certainly be a bit awkward," Zertho acquiesced.

"But many people are ready to forgive the little peccadilloes of anybody with a t.i.tle."

"Ah! that's so. It's money, money always," the luckless gamester observed with a sigh.

"Well, hang it, you can't grumble. You've won and lost a bit in your time," his friend said, casting himself upon a couch near, stroking his dark beard, and blowing a cloud of smoke from his full lips. "If you're such an idiot as not to play any more, well you, of course, have to suffer."

"Play, be hanged!" cried Brooker, impetuously. "My luck's gone. The last time I played trente-et-quarante, I lost a couple of ponies."

"But the system is--"

"Oh, the system is all rot. The Johnnie who invented it ought to have gone and played it himself. He'd have been a candidate for the nearest workhouse within three days."

"Well, we brought it off all right more than once," Zertho observed, with a slight accent.

"Mere flukes, all of them."

"You won at one coup thirty-six thousand francs, I remember. Surely that wasn't bad?"

"Ah! that was because Liane was sitting beside me. It's wonderful what luck that girl has."

"Then why not take her back again this season?" his companion suggested.

"She wouldn't go," he answered, after a slight pause.

"Wouldn't go!" cried the Prince, raising his dark, well-defined brows.

"You are her father. Surely she obeys you?"

"Of late she's very wilful; different entirely from the child as you knew her. Since poor Nelly's death she seems to have been seized with a sudden desire to go to church on Sunday, and is getting altogether a bluestocking," the Captain said.

"Poor Nelly!" sighed the Prince. "I have never ceased to think of that sad evening when she grasped my hand through the carriage-window as the train was moving, and with a merry mischievous laugh waved me farewell.

She was bright and happy then, as she always was; yet an hour later she was shot dead by some villainous hand. I wonder whether the mystery will ever be explained," he added, reflectively.

The Captain made no reply, but smoked on steadily, his head thrown back, gazing fixedly at the opposite wall.

"The police have done their best," he answered at length. "At present, however, they have no clue."

"And I don't believe they ever will have," answered Zertho, slowly.

"What makes you think that?" Brooker inquired, turning and looking at him.

"Well, I've read all that the papers say about the affair," he answered, "and to me the mystery seems at present one that may never be solved."

"Unless the crime is brought home to the a.s.sa.s.sin by some unexpected means."

"Of course, of course," he answered. "You're a confounded fool to remain down in that wretched, dismal hole, Brooker. How you can stand it after what you've been used to I really can't think."

"My dear fellow, I've grown quite bucolic," he a.s.sured his companion, laughing a trifle bitterly. "The few pounds I've still got suffice to keep up the half-pay wheeze, and although I'm in a chronic state of hard-up, yet I manage to rub along somehow and just pay the butcher and baker. Hang it! Why, I'm so infernally respectable that a chap came round last week with a yellow paper on which he wanted me to declare my income. Fancy me paying an income-tax!"

The Prince laughed at his friend's grim humour. In the old days at Monte Carlo, Erle Brooker had been full of fun. He was the life and soul of the Hotel de Paris. No reverse ever struck him seriously, for he would laugh when "broke" just as heartily as when, with pockets bulky with greasy banknotes, he would descend the steps from the Casino, and crack a bottle of "fizz" at the cafe opposite.

"If I were you I'd declare my income at eight hundred a year, pay up, and look big," Zertho laughed. "It would inspire confidence, and you could get a bit of credit here and there. Then when that's exhausted, clear out."

"The old game, eh? No, I'm straight now," the other answered, his face suddenly growing grave.

"Honesty is starvation. That used to be our motto, didn't it? Yet here you are with only just enough to keep a roof over your head, living in a dreary out-of-the-way hole, and posing as the model father. The thing's too absurd."

"I don't see it. Surely I can please myself?"

"Of course. But is it just to Liane?"

"What do you mean?"

"It is essential for a young girl of her temperament to have life and gaiety," he said, exhibiting his palms with a quick, expressive movement. "By vegetating in Stratfield Mortimer, amid surroundings which must necessarily possess exceedingly painful memories, she will soon become prematurely old. It's nothing short of an infernal shame that she should be allowed to remain there."

Brooker did not reply. He had on more than one occasion lately reflected that a change of surroundings would do her good, for he had noticed with no little alarm how highly strung had been her nerves of late, and how pale and wan were her cheeks. Zertho spoke the truth.

"I don't deny that what you say is correct," he replied thoughtfully.

"But what's the use of talking of gaiety? How can any one have life without either money or friends?"

"Easily enough. Both you and Liane know the Riviera well enough to find plenty of amus.e.m.e.nt there."

"No, she wouldn't go. She hates it."

"Bah!" cried the prince, impatiently. "If, as you say, she's turned a bit religious, she of course regards the old life as altogether dreadful. But you can easily overcome those prejudices--or I will."