The Seven Secrets Part 16

"Yes, sir," and he handed me a card.

I glanced at it. My visitor was the very last person I desired to meet at that moment, for she was none other than Ethelwynn herself.

"I'll go, old chap," Jevons cried, springing to his feet, and draining his gla.s.s at a single draught. "She mustn't meet me here. Good-bye till to-morrow. Remember, betray no sign to her that you know the truth. It's certainly a curious affair, as it now stands; but depend upon it that there's more complication and mystery in it than we have yet suspected."

CHAPTER XIII.

MY LOVE.

As soon as Ambler Jevons had slipped out through my little study my love came slowly forward, as though with some unwillingness.

She was dressed, as at the inquest, in deep mourning, wearing a smartly-cut tailor-made dress trimmed with astrachan and a neat toque, her pale countenance covered with a thick spotted veil.

"Ralph," she exclaimed in a low voice, "forgive me for calling upon you at this hour. I know it's indiscreet, but I am very anxious to see you."

I returned her greeting, rather coldly I am afraid, and led her to the big armchair which had only a moment before been vacated by my friend.

When she seated herself and faced me I saw how changed she was, even though she did not lift her veil. Her dark eyes seemed haggard and sunken, her cheeks, usually pink with the glow of health, were white, almost ghastly, and her slim, well-gloved hand, resting upon the chair arm, trembled perceptibly.

"You have not come to me for two whole days, Ralph," she commenced in a tone of complaint. "Surely you do not intend to desert me in these hours of distress?"

"I must apologise," I responded quickly, remembering Jevons' advice.

"But the fact is I myself have been very upset over the sad affair, and, in addition, I've had several serious cases during the past few days. Sir Bernard has been unwell, and I've been compelled to look after his practice."

"Sir Bernard!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, in a tone which instantly struck me as strange. It was as though she held him in abhorrence. "Do you know, Ralph, I hate to think of you in a.s.sociation with that man."

"Why?" I asked, much surprised, while at that same moment the thought flashed through my mind how often Sir Bernard had given me vague warnings regarding her.

They were evidently bitter enemies.

"I have no intention to give my reasons," she replied, her brows slightly knit. "I merely give it as my opinion that you should no longer remain in a.s.sociation with him."

"But surely you are alone in that opinion!" I said. "He bears a high character, and is certainly one of the first physicians in London. His practice is perhaps the most valuable of any medical man at the present moment."

"I don't deny that," she said, her gloved fingers twitching nervously.

"A man may be a king, and at the same time a knave."

I smiled. It was apparent that her intention was to separate me from the man to whom I owed nearly all, if not quite all, my success. And why? Because he knew of her past, and she feared that he might, in a moment of confidence, betray all to me.

"Vague hints are always irritating," I remarked. "Cannot you give me some reason for your desire that my friendship with him should end?"

"No. If I did, you would accuse me of selfish motives," she said, fixing her dark eyes upon me.

Could a woman with a Madonna-like countenance be actually guilty of murder? It seemed incredible. And yet her manner was that of a woman haunted by the terrible secret of her crime. At that moment she was seeking, by ingenious means, to conceal the truth regarding the past.

She feared that my intimate friendship with the great physician might result in her unmasking.

"I can't see that selfish motives enter into this affair at all," I remarked. "Whatever you tell me, Ethelwynn, is, I know, for my own benefit. Therefore you should at least be explicit."

"I can't be more explicit."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no right to utter a libel without being absolutely certain of the facts."

"I don't quite follow you," I said, rather puzzled.

"I mean that at present the information I have is vague," she replied.

"But if it is the truth, as I expect to establish it, then you must dissociate yourself from him, Ralph."

"You have only suspicions?"

"Only suspicions."

"Of what?"

"Of a fact which will some day astound you."

Our eyes met again, and I saw in hers a look of intense earnestness that caused me to wonder. To what could she possibly be referring?

"You certainly arouse my curiosity," I said, affecting to laugh. "Do you really think Sir Bernard such a very dreadful person, then?"

"Ah! You do not take my words seriously," she remarked. "I am warning you, Ralph, for your own benefit. It is a pity you do not heed me."

"I do heed you," I declared. "Only your statement is so strange that it appears almost incredible."

"Incredible it may seem; but one day ere long you will be convinced that what I say to-night is the truth."

"What do you say?"

"I say that Sir Bernard Eyton, the man in whom you place every confidence, and whose example as a great man in his profession you are so studiously following, is not your friend."

"Nor yours, I suppose?"

"No, neither is he mine."

This admission was at least the truth. I had known it long ago. But what had been the cause of difference between them was hidden in deepest mystery. Sir Bernard, as old Mr. Courtenay's most intimate friend, knew, in all probability, of his engagement to her, and of its rupture in favour of her sister Mary. It might even be that Sir Bernard had had a hand in the breaking of the engagement. If so, that would well account for her violent hostility towards him.

Such thoughts, with others, flashed through my mind as I sat there facing her. She was leaning back, her hands fallen idly upon her lap, peering straight at me through that spotted veil which, half-concealing her wondrous beauty, imparted to her an additional air of mystery.

"You have quarrelled with Sir Bernard, I presume?" I hazarded.

"Quarrelled!" she echoed. "We were never friends."

Truly she possessed all a clever woman's presence of mind in the evasion of a leading question.