In White Raiment Part 16

"You were entrapped, it's true; but I take it that you really admire this mysterious Feo?"

"Admire her!" I cried with enthusiasm. "That's the most curious feature of the whole affair. I freely confess to you, my dear fellow, that not only do I admire her, but I'm madly in love with her! She's the most graceful and beautiful woman I've ever beheld."

"Well, d.i.c.k," he observed after a pause, during which time he puffed vigorously at his big briar, "you are about the last man I should have suspected of having a romance. Every detail of it is, however, bewildering. It's a perfect maze of mystery--a mystery absolutely incredible!"

CHAPTER TEN.

THE MAJOR.

On the following day I was seized by a burning desire to again see the woman whom I had so strangely grown to love. Time after time I discussed the matter with Bob, and he was full of my opinion that I might, by watching my wife's movements, discover some fact which might give me a clue.

I proposed to Bob that I should go straight to her and make a full explanation, but he urged patience and diplomacy.

"Go down to Whitton and watch her at a distance, if you like," he answered. "But be very careful that you are not recognised. No man cares to be spied upon. In this matter you must exercise the greatest discretion, if you really intend to get to the bottom of this puzzling affair."

"I do intend to solve the enigma," I declared. "If I'm ten years over it, I mean to claim Feo as my wife."

"You can't do that until you've obtained absolute proof."

"And, in the meantime, Wynd and his accomplice may make another attempt upon her life," I observed dubiously.

"Forewarned is forearmed," he answered. "It seems your duty to act in secret as her protector."

"Exactly. That's my object in going down to Whitton. Somehow I feel sure that her life is insecure, for the facts plainly show that Wynd's motive was to get rid of her."

"Without a doubt. Go down to Hounslow to-morrow and discover what you can regarding these friends of hers, the Chetwodes, and their a.s.sociates. In inquiries of this sort you must carefully work back."

Now, I had for years rather prided myself upon my shrewdness. I had often set myself the task of clearing up those little unimportant mysteries of life which occur to every man; and more than once, while at the hospital, I had rendered service to the police in their inquiries.

That same afternoon, while Bob was out visiting his patients, I chanced to put my hand in the ticket-pocket of my frock-coat, and felt something there. The coat was the one I had worn when called out to become the husband of Feo Ashwicke, and from the pocket I drew a half-smoked cigarette.

I am not in the habit of placing cigarette ends in my pockets, and could not, at first, account for its presence there; but, on examination, I saw that it was the remains of one of an unusual brand, for upon the paper were tiny letters in Greek printed in blue ink. A second's reflection, however, decided me: it was the cigarette which the Major had given me. It had gone out while I had been speaking, and with it in my hand I had rushed upstairs to my wife's room, and instead of casting it away had, I suppose, thrust it into my pocket, where it had remained unheeded until that moment.

I examined it with the utmost care and great interest. Then I descended to Bob's little dispensary, at the back of the house, and, finding a microscope, took out some of the tobacco and placed it beneath the lens.

Tiny but distinct crystals were revealed clinging to the finely-cut tobacco, crystals of some subtle poison which, dissolved by the saliva while in the act of smoking, entered the system.

The cigarette had narrowly proved fatal to me.

At once I lit the spirit-lamp, cleaned and dried some test-tubes, and set busily to work to make solutions with the object of discovering the drug. But although I worked diligently the whole afternoon, and Bob, on returning, a.s.sisted me, we were unable to determine exactly what it was.

The remainder of the cigarette, including the paper bearing the mark of manufacture, I carefully preserved, and on the following morning went down to Hounslow to ascertain what I could regarding my unconscious wife. Bob remained at Rowan Road to look after his patients, but declared his intention of relieving me if any watching were required.

Therefore, I went forth eager to ascertain some fact that would lead me to a knowledge of the truth.

Hounslow, although but a dozen miles from Charing Cross, was, I found, a dull, struggling place, the dismal quiet of which was only relieved by a few boisterous militiamen in its long street.

I took up my quarters at the historic _Red Lion_, and over a whisky-and-soda made inquiries of the plethoric landlord as to the whereabouts of Whitton. It lay beyond the town, half-way towards Twickenham, he told me.

"There's a Whitton Park, isn't there?" I inquired.

"Yes; Colonel Chetwode's place. That's just before you get to Whitton Church."

"It's a large house, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes; he's the squire there, and magistrate, and all that."

"I've heard his name," I said, "but I've never seen him. What sort of a man is he?"

"Oh, a bit stand-offish, tall, thin, and grey-haired. We hotel-keepers don't like 'im, because he's always down on us on the licensing-days over at Brentford," the man replied, chewing his cheap cigar.

"He's married, isn't he?"

"Yes; he married 'is second wife about three years ago. She's a good looking woman with reddish hair. They say she don't get on very well with the Colonel's grown-up son."

"Oh," I remarked, at once interested. "How old is the son?"

"About twenty-five. He's a jolly fellow 'e is. He's a lieutenant in the 7th Hussars, and they're stationed here just now. He often comes in and gets a drink when e' pa.s.ses."

"And he doesn't hit it off well with his stepmother?"

"No; I've heard some queer stories about their quarrels from the servants," he answered. He was a gossip, like all landlords of inns, and seemed extremely communicative because I had asked him to drink with me. The effect of a shilling spent upon drink is ofttimes amazing.

"Stepmothers are generally intruders," I laughed. "Well, things came to such a pa.s.s down at the Park, a month or two ago, that Mrs Chetwode demanded that the Colonel should turn young Mr Cyril out of the house, and threatened that if he did not she would leave. The Colonel, so it's said, grew furious, stormed down the place, and in the end Mrs Chetwode packed her trunks and went with Sherman, her maid, to Switzerland.

About three weeks ago the Colonel followed her and brought her back, so I suppose they've made it up again."

"Do they entertain many friends?"

"Oh yes, there's always visitors there; it's so near to London, you see."

"Do you know the names of any of the visitors?" I inquired. Adding, "I think a friend of mine comes down to see them sometimes--a Sir Pierrepoint-Lane."

"Oh yes," he said; "I've seen both Sir Henry and his wife driving.

They've got a place somewhere in Wiltshire, I've heard. They're great friends of Mrs Chetwode's."

"And there's a Miss Ashwicke who comes with them," I said eagerly. "Do you know her?"

"I may know her by sight," the man replied, "but I don't know her by name."

"She's tall, blue-eyed, with golden-brown hair. Very pretty, and always very smartly dressed."

"Yes; she wears a big black hat, and very often a drab-coloured dress.

When she smiles she shows her teeth very prettily," he said.

"That's her, no doubt."

"Well," he said, "her description is exact. She's Mr Cyril's young lady."

"What?" I cried, starting up in surprise.