last sentence with bitter contempt, and stamping her shapelyfoot vehemently, she added--
"Why should I barter myself? By going through the ceremony I haveeffectually closed his mouth for at least seven years, yet I still havefreedom and the means whereby to enjoy life. Shall I calmly submit,then, and pose before the world as a social outcast--the wife of anotorious convict?"
The words were uttered in a tone that clearly demonstrated her intensehatred of the man to whom she had bound herself.
After pausing, deeply engrossed in thought, she exclaimed resolutely--
"No, I will not."
In a frenzy of passion she tore the ring from her finger, and with afierce imprecation flung it into the water as far as her strengthallowed.
"And so I cast aside my vows," she muttered between her teeth, as shewatched it disappear.
Then, without a second glance, she turned upon her heel, and, with aharsh, discordant laugh, resumed her walk towards Noumea.
CHAPTER TWO.
THE CHARING CROSS MYSTERY.
Two years later. A frosty evening, clear and starlit--one of those drynights in early spring so delightful to the dweller in London, toofamiliar with choking fog, drizzling rain, and sloppy mire.
In the vicinity of Charing Cross the busy stream of traffic had almostsubsided. At ten o'clock the Strand is usually half deserted--the shopsare closed, foot passengers are few, and the theatres have not yetdisgorged their crowds of pleasure-seekers anxious to secure conveyancesto take them to the suburbs. For half an hour previous to eleveno'clock the thoroughfare, notwithstanding the glare of electricity attheatre entrances and the blaze of garish restaurants and public-houses,assumes an appearance of almost dismal solitude. Boys who have hithertoindefatigably cried "special editions," congregate at corners to chatamong themselves, the few loungers stroll along dejectedly, and cadgersslink into doorways to await the time when they can resume theirimportunities among returning playgoers.
A similar aspect was presented this calm, bright night, as one of theomnibuses plying between the Strand and Kilburn slowly crossed TrafalgarSquare, mounted the short incline to Charing Cross at walking pace, and,turning into Duncannon Street, pulled up before the public-house whichat that time was the starting-point for that route.
The driver, facetiously adjuring his colleague on the 'bus, which wasjust moving off, to get "higher up," unfastened his waist-strap, and,casting aside his multifarious wraps, descended. Stamping his feet topromote circulation, he was about to enter the bar. Suddenly heremembered that the conductor, after collecting the fares, had left thevehicle at the corner of the Haymarket for the purpose of walking theremainder of the journey--a proceeding not unusual in cold weather, whenone's hands become numbed, and a walk proves a welcome exercise.
It occurred to him that some one might still be inside. His surmiseproved correct for, ensconced in a corner in the front of theconveyance, sat a well-dressed, middle-aged man. His fur-trimmedovercoat was unbuttoned, his head had fallen forward upon his chest, andhe was apparently slumbering soundly.
"Charin' Cross, sir," shouted the plethoric old driver, peering in atthe door.
The man showed no sign of awakening.
Sleeping passengers, who at their journey's end awake irate and in greatconsternation at finding themselves a mile or two past theirdestination, are the daily experience of every omnibus conductor; and itis a remarkable fact that the rattle, combined with the rocking of thevehicle, is conducive to slumber.
Chuckling at the unconscious man's probable chagrin, the driver enteredthe conveyance, and, grasping his shoulder, shook him violently,exclaiming in a loud voice--
"'Ere y'are! Charin' Cross, sir. Wake up, guv'nor, please."
The passenger did not stir. His arm dropped inertly by his side, and asthe driver relaxed his hold, he swayed forward, and, before the mishapcould be prevented, fell heavily upon the cushions opposite, and rolledupon the floor.
"He must be ill," the driver exclaimed to himself in alarm.
Then stooping, he seized the prostrate man round the waist, and withsome difficulty succeeded in dragging him to his feet and replacing himupon the seat.
As he did so he felt his fingers come into contact with some wet, stickysubstance. Holding his hand against the dim oil lamp, he examined itclosely.
"Blood, by God!" he gasped.
Glancing quickly down at the feet of the inanimate man, he noticed forthe first time a small, dark pool, beside which lay a whitehandkerchief.
In a moment the terrible truth dawned upon him.
Vaguely apprehensive of foul play, he pulled aside the overcoat, andplaced his hand upon the heart of the prostrate man.
There was no movement.
"Hullo, Teddy, what's up? Any one would think you were robbing thechap," shouted a voice jocosely at the door.
The driver started, and, looking up, saw his conductor who, having takena shorter route than the omnibus by walking along Pall Mall, across thenorth side of Trafalgar Square, and entering Duncannon Street from theopposite end, had just arrived.
"Bill," replied the driver in an awe-stricken tone, his face wearing ascared look, "there's something wrong here. I believe the gent's dead."
"Dead?"
"Yes. Come here."
The conductor grew pale, and got into the conveyance beside hiscompanion.
"Look! that's blood," the latter said, pointing to the floor.
"You're joking," the other replied incredulously, bending down toexamine it.
"'Pon my honour I'm not. There's some on my hand here. Besides, hisheart doesn't beat."
Leaning hastily forward, the conductor pressed his hand to thepassenger's breast. He quickly withdrew it, admitting that such indeedwas the case.
"But what can be wrong with him, Ted? He looks like a gentleman," headded in amazement.
"I can't tell. In this 'ere light it's impossible to see."
Striking a vesta, the conductor held it close to the man's coat. As itshed its light in fitful gleams, their eager eyes at once discerned asmall hole in the breast, from which blood was slowly oozing.
Both drew back in dismay.
"He's been stabbed?" the man who held the match exclaimed in a low,terrified voice. "See, the overcoat must have been opened first, as itisn't pierced."
The victim had been wounded in the heart, struck by a steady hand, andevidently with great violence.
They stood aghast at the horrifying discovery.
"What do you think of it, Bill?" asked the old driver timorously.
"Murder, without a doubt."
"I wonder whether this will give any clue to the murderer?" the elderman said, picking up the handkerchief.
It was a lady's--a small square of fine cambric with a delicate borderof lace.
"Let's look," exclaimed his companion, taking it in his hands, andholding it to the lamp.
"Any mark on it?"
"No, nothing," he replied. "There's some funny scent on it, though," headded, placing it nearer his nose.
"Good heavens, Bill, what shall we do?" ejaculated the driver,thoroughly alarmed at the startling discovery.
"Call the police at once. Wait here a minute, and I'll fetch aconstable," the other replied, getting out of the omnibus, and runningto the corner of the Strand, where an officer is constantly stationed onpoint duty.
Already a small crowd had collected, for the cabmen from the shelteropposite had quickly discerned that something unusual had occurred, and,on learning of the crime, grouped themselves around the vehicle in astate of great excitement, and eager to obtain a glimpse of the corpse.
A minute later the conductor returned with two constables. These wereimmediately followed by a detective-sergeant, who chanced to be passing,and another constable. The detective himself was astounded, although hehad been present on more than one occasion when bodies had been found.
The circumstances having been briefly explained, he despatched one ofthe men to Agar Street fo
r the hospital ambulance, and gave otherorders, which were executed with obedience and promptitude.
"Do you know the gentleman by sight?" asked the detective of theconductor, as they both stood gazing upon the body, awaiting the arrivalof the ambulance.
"No, I've never seen him before," the man replied; "and the strangestpart of the affair is, that when I got off at the Haymarket corner hewasn't inside. There were two gentlemen in the 'bus."
"They got out at Spring Gardens," interrupted the driver. "I stoppedfor them."
"Then he must have entered immediately afterwards," remarked thedetective thoughtfully.
"Yes, that's the only way I can account for it."
"It is certainly an extraordinary case," the
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