The Seven Secrets Part 22

"He suspects," his wife replied.

"But what ground has he for suspicion?"

I stood there transfixed. They were talking of myself!

They had halted quite close to where I was, and in that low roar had raised their voices so that I could distinguish every word.

"Well," remarked his wife, "the whole affair was mysterious, that you must admit. With his friend, a man named Jevons, he has been endeavouring to solve the problem."

"A curse on Ambler Jevons!" he blurted forth in anger, as though he were well acquainted with my friend.

"If between them they managed to get at the truth it would be very awkward," she said.

"No fear of that," he laughed in full confidence. "A man once dead and buried, with a coroner's verdict upon him, is not easily believed to be alive and well. No, my dear; rest a.s.sured that these men will never get at our secret--never."

I smiled within myself. How little did he dream that the man of whom he had been speaking was actually overhearing his words!

"But Ethelwynn, in order to regain her place in the doctor's heart, may betray us," his wife remarked dubiously.

"She dare not," was the reply. "From her we have nothing whatever to fear. As long as you keep up the appearance of deep mourning, are discreet in all your actions, and exercise proper caution on the occasions when we meet, our secret must remain hidden from all."

"But I am doubtful of Ethelwynn. A woman as fondly in love with a man, as she is with Ralph, is apt to throw discretion to the winds," the woman observed. "Recollect that the breach between them is on our account, and that a word from her could expose the whole thing, and at the same time bring back to her the man for whose lost love she is pining. It is because of that I am in constant fear."

"Your apprehensions are entirely groundless," he declared in a decisive voice. "She's the only other person in the secret besides ourselves; but to betray us would be fatal to her."

"She may consider that she has made sufficient self-sacrifice?"

"Then all the greater reason why she should remain silent. She has her reputation to lose by divulging."

By his argument she appeared only half-convinced, for I saw upon her brow a heavy, thoughtful expression, similar to that I had noticed when sitting opposite her at dinner. The reason of her constant preoccupation was that she feared that her sister might give me the clue to her secret.

That a remarkable conspiracy had been in progress was now made quite plain; and, further, one very valuable fact I had ascertained was that Ethelwynn was the only other person who knew the truth, and yet dared not reveal it.

This man who stood before me was old Mr. Courtenay, without a doubt.

That being so, who could have been the unfortunate man who had been struck to the heart so mysteriously?

So strange and complicated were all the circ.u.mstances, and so cleverly had the chief actors in the drama arranged its details, that Courtenay himself was convinced that for others to learn the truth was utterly impossible. Yet it was more than remarkable that he sought not to disguise his personal appearance if he wished to remain dead to the world. Perhaps, however, being unknown in that rural district--for he once had told me that he had never visited his wife's home since his marriage--he considered himself perfectly safe from recognition.

Besides, from their conversation I gathered that they only met on rare occasions, and certainly Mary kept up the fiction of mourning with the greatest a.s.siduity.

I recollected what old Mrs. Mivart had told me of her daughter's erratic movements; of her short mysterious absences with her dressing-bag and without a maid. It was evident that she made flying visits in various directions in order to meet her "dead" husband.

Courtenay spoke again, after a brief silence, saying:

"I had no idea that the doctor was down here, or I should have kept away. To be seen by him would expose the whole affair."

"I was quite ignorant of his visit until I went in to dinner and found him already seated at table," she answered. "But he will leave to-morrow. He said to-night that to remain away from his patients for a single day was very difficult."

"Is he down here in pursuance of his inquiries, do you think?"

suggested her husband.

"He may be. Mother evidently knew of his impending arrival, but told me nothing. I was annoyed, for he was the very last person I wished to meet."

"Well, he'll go in the morning, so we have nothing to fear. He's safe enough in bed, and sleeping soundly--confound him!"

The temptation was great to respond aloud to the compliment; but I refrained, laughing within myself at the valuable information I was obtaining.

CHAPTER XVIII.

WORDS OF THE DEAD.

Justice is always vigilant--it stops not to weigh causes or motives, but overtakes the criminal, no matter whether his deeds be the suggestion of malice or the consequence of provoked revenge. I was all eagerness to face the pair in the full light and demand an explanation, yet I hesitated, fearing lest precipitation might prevent me gaining knowledge of the truth.

That they had no inclination to walk further was evident, for they still stood there in conversation, facing each other and speaking earnestly. I listened attentively to every word, my heart thumping so loudly that I wondered they did not hear its excited pulsations.

"You've seen nothing of Sir Bernard?" she was saying.

"Sir Bernard!" he echoed. "Why, of course not. To him I am dead and buried, just as I am to the rest of the world. My executors have proved my will at Somerset House, and very soon you will receive its benefits. To meet the old doctor would be to reveal the whole thing."

"It is all so strange," she said with a low sigh, "that sometimes, when I am alone, I can't believe it to be true. We have deceived the world so completely."

"Of course. That was my intention."

"But could it not have been done without the sacrifice of that man's life?" she queried. "Remember! The crime of murder was committed."

"You are only dreaming!" he replied, in a hard voice. "A mystery was necessary for our success."

"And it is a mystery which has entirely baffled the police in every particular."

"As I intended it should. I laid my plans with care, so that there should be no hitch or point by which Scotland Yard could obtain a clue."

"But our future life?" she murmured. "When may I return again to you?

At present I am compelled to feign mourning, and present a perfect picture of interesting widowhood; but--but I hate this playing at death."

"Have patience, dear," he urged in a sympathetic tone. "For the moment we must remain entirely apart, holding no communication with each other save in secret, on the first and fifteenth day of every month as we arranged. As soon as I find myself in a position of safety we will disappear together, and you will leave the world wondering at the second mystery following upon the first."

"In how long a time do you antic.i.p.ate?" she asked, looking earnestly into his eyes.

"A few months at most," was his answer. "If it were possible you should return to me at once; but you know how strange and romantic is my life, compelled to disguise my personality, and for ever moving from place to place, like the Wandering Jew. To return to me at present is quite impossible. Besides--you are in the hands of the executors; and before long must be in evidence in order to receive my money."

"Money is useless to me without happiness," she declared, in a voice of complaint. "My position at present is one of constant dread."

"Whom and what do you fear?"

"I believe that Dr. Boyd has some vague suspicion of the truth," she responded, after a pause.