The Seven Secrets Part 27

"I had no idea you were in London," I said, by way of allowing her to explain the object of her visit, for, in the light of the knowledge I had gained on the Nene bank two nights previously, her call was of considerable interest.

"I'm only up for a couple of days," she answered. "London has not the charm for me that it used to have," and she sighed heavily, as though her mind were crowded by bitter memories. Then raising her veil, and revealing her pale, handsome face, she said bluntly, "The reason of my call is to talk to you about Ethelwynn."

"Well, what of her?" I asked, looking straight into her face and noticing for the first time a curious shifty look in her eyes, such as I had never before noticed in her. She tried to remain calm, but, by the nervous twitching of her fingers and lower lip, I knew that within her was concealed a tempest of conflicting emotions.

"To speak quite frankly, Ralph," she said in a calm, serious voice, "I don't think you are treating her honourably, poor girl. You seem to have forsaken her altogether, and the neglect has broken her heart."

"No, Mrs. Courtenay; you misunderstand the situation," I protested.

"That I have neglected her slightly I admit; nevertheless the neglect was not wilful, but owing to my constant occupation in my practice."

"She's desperate. Besides, it's common talk that you've broken off the engagement."

"Gossip does not affect me; therefore why should she take any heed of it?"

"Well, she loves you. That you know quite well. You surely could not have been deceived in those days at Kew, for her devotion to you was absolute and complete." She was pleading her sister's cause just as Courtenay had directed her. I felt annoyed that she should thus endeavour to impose upon me, yet saw the folly of betraying the fact that I knew her secret. My intention was to wait and watch.

"I called at the Hennikers' a couple of days ago, but Ethelwynn is no longer there. She's gone into the country, it seems," I remarked.

"Where to?" she asked quickly.

"She's visiting someone near Hereford."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as though a sudden light dawned upon her. "I know, then. Why, I wonder, did she not tell me. I intended to call on her this evening, but it is useless. I'm glad to know, for I don't care much for Mrs. Henniker. She's such a very shallow woman."

"Ethelwynn seems to have wandered about a good deal since the sad affair at Kew," I observed.

"Yes, and so have I," she responded. "As you are well aware, the blow was such a terrible one to me that--that somehow I feel I shall never get over it--never!" I saw tears, genuine tears, welling in her eyes.

If she could betray emotion in that manner she was surely a wonderful actress.

"Time will efface your sorrow," I said, in a voice meant to be sympathetic. "In a year or two your grief will not be so poignant, and the past will gradually fade from your memory. It is always so."

She shook her head mournfully.

"No," she said, "for in addition to my grief there is the mystery of it all--a mystery that grows each day more and more inscrutable."

I glanced sharply at her in surprise. Was she trying to mislead me, or were her words spoken in real earnest? I could not determine.

"Yes," I acquiesced. "The mystery is as complete as ever."

"Has no single clue been found, either by the police or by your friend--Jevons is, I think, his name?" she asked, with keen anxiety.

"One or two points have, I believe, been elucidated," I answered; "but the mystery still remains unsolved."

"As it ever will be," she added, with a sigh which appeared to me to be one of satisfaction, rather than of regret. "The details were so cleverly arranged that the police have been baffled in every endeavour. Is not that so?"

I nodded in the affirmative.

"And your friend Jevons? Has he given up all hope of any satisfactory discovery?"

"I really don't know," I answered. "I've not seen him for quite a long time. And in any case he has told me nothing regarding the result of his investigations. It is his habit to be mute until he has gained some tangible result."

A puzzled, apprehensive expression crossed her white brow for a moment; then it vanished into a pleasant smile, as she asked in confidence:

"Now, tell me, Ralph, what is your own private opinion of the situation?"

"Well, it is both complicated and puzzling. If we could discover any reason for the brutal deed we might get a clue to the a.s.sa.s.sin; but as far as the police have been able to gather, it seems that there is an entire absence of motive; hence the impossibility of carrying the inquiries further."

"Then the investigation is actually dropped?" she exclaimed, unable to further conceal her anxiety.

"I presume it is," I replied.

Her chest heaved slightly, and slowly fell again. By its movement I knew that my answer allowed her to breathe more freely.

"You also believe that your friend Jevons has been compelled, owing to negative results, to relinquish his efforts?" she asked.

"Such is my opinion. But I have not seen him lately in order to consult him."

In silence she listened to my answer, and was evidently rea.s.sured by it; yet I could not, for the life of me, understand her manner--at one moment nervous and apprehensive, and at the next full of an almost imperious self-confidence. At times the expression in her eyes was such as justified her mother in the fears she had expressed to me. I tried to diagnose her symptoms, but they were too complicated and contradictory.

She spoke again of her sister, returning to the main point upon which she had sought the interview. She was a decidedly attractive woman, with a face rendered more interesting by her widow's garb.

But why was she masquerading so cleverly? For what reason had old Courtenay contrived to efface his ident.i.ty so thoroughly? As I looked at her, mourning for a man who was alive and well, I utterly failed to comprehend one single fact of the astounding affair. It staggered belief!

"Let me speak candidly to you, Ralph," she said, after we had been discussing Ethelwynn for some little time. "As you may readily imagine, I have my sister's welfare very much at heart, and my only desire is to see her happy and comfortable, instead of pining in melancholy as she now is. I ask you frankly, have you quarrelled?"

"No, we have not," I answered promptly.

"Then if you have not, your neglect is all the more remarkable," she said. "Forgive me for speaking like this, but our intimate acquaintanceship in the past gives me a kind of prerogative to speak my mind. You won't be offended, will you?" she asked, with one of those sweet smiles of hers that I knew so well.

"Offended? Certainly not, Mrs. Courtenay. We are too old friends for that."

"Then take my advice and see Ethelwynn again," she urged. "I know how she adores you; I know how your coldness has crushed all the life out of her. She hides her secret from mother, and for that reason will not come down to Neneford. See her, and return to her; for it is a thousand pities that two lives should be wrecked so completely by some little misunderstanding which will probably be explained away in a dozen words. You may consider this appeal an extraordinary one, made by one sister on behalf of another, but when I tell you that I have not consulted Ethelwynn, nor does she know that I am here on her behalf, you will readily understand that I have both your interests equally at heart. To me it seems a grievous thing that you should be placed apart in this manner; that the strong love you bear each other should be crushed, and your future happiness be sacrificed. Tell me plainly," she asked in earnestness. "You love her still--don't you?"

"I do," was my frank, outspoken answer, and it was the honest truth.

CHAPTER XXII.

A MESSAGE.

The pretty woman in her widow's weeds stirred slightly and settled her skirts, as though my answer had given her the greatest satisfaction.

"Then take my advice, Ralph," she went on. "See her again before it is too late."

"You refer to her fresh lover--eh?" I inquired bitterly.