The Temptress

by William Le Queux

glass of brandy and soda; but it wasflat, having been poured out half an hour before.

  Suddenly he tugged vigorously at his moustache, as if in deepcontemplation, and, rising, crossed the room and touched a gong.

  His summons was answered by an aged male servant, the venerableappearance of whose white hair was enhanced by his suit of spotlessblack and narrow strip of shirt front.

  "Anybody called, Jacob?"

  "No, sir; nobody's called, sir," replied the old man in a squeaky voice.

  "You may close the door, Jacob, and sit down. I want to have a wordwith you."

  The aged retainer shut the door, and stood near the table, opposite hismaster, fully prepared to receive a reprimand for having performed hiswork unsatisfactorily. "Sit down, Jacob; we must have a serious talk."Surprised at these unusual words, the old man seated himself upon theedge of a chair, waiting for his master to commence.

  "Look here, Jacob," said Trethowen; "you and I will have to part."

  "Eh? what? Master Hugh? Have I done anything wrong, sir? If I have,look over it, for I'm an old man, and--"

  "Hush, you've done nothing wrong, Jacob; you've been a good servant tome--very good. The fact is, I'm ruined."

  "Ruined, Master Hugh? How, sir?"

  "Well, do you ever take an interest in racing?"

  "No, sir; I never do, sir."

  "Ah, I thought not. Fossils such as you do not know a racehorse from apark-hack. The truth is, I've chucked away nearly every farthing Ipossess upon the turf and the card-table; therefore I am compelled to gosomewhere out of the reach of those confounded duns. You understand?When I'm gone they'll sell up this place."

  "Will the furniture be sold, sir? Oh, don't say so, Master Hugh!"exclaimed the old servant, casting a long glance around the room.

  "Yes; and, by Jove, they'd sell you, too, Jacob, only I suppose such abag of bones wouldn't fetch much."

  "You--you can't mean you are going to leave me, sir?" he implored. "Fornigh on sixty years, man and boy, I've been in the service of yourfamily, and it does seem hard that I should remain here and see thethings sold--the pictures and the china that came from the Hall."

  "Yes, I know, Jacob: but it's no use worrying," said Hugh, somewhatimpatiently. "It cannot be avoided, so the things from the old placewill have to travel and see the world, as I am compelled to."

  "And you really mean to go, Master Hugh?"

  "Yes; I tell you I must."

  "And cannot I--cannot I come with you?" faltered the old man.

  "No, Jacob--that's impossible. I--I shall have no need of a servant. Imust discharge you, but here's fifty pounds to keep you from theworkhouse for the present. I'd give you more, Jacob, but, indeed thefact is, I'm deuced hard up."

  And he took some notes from a drawer in his escritoire, and handed themto his faithful old servant.

  "Thank you very kindly, sir--thank you. But--hadn't you better keep themoney, sir? You might want it."

  "No," replied Hugh, with a sad smile. "I insist upon you taking it;and, look here, what's more, the basket of plate is yours. It is allgood stuff, and belonged to the dear old governor; so sell it to-morrowwhen I'm gone, and put the money into your pocket. Take anything elseyou like as well, because if you don't others will. And, by the way,should you ever want to write to me, a letter to the `Travellers' willbe forwarded. I--I'm busy now, so good-night, Jacob." Grasping thevenerable servant's bony hand, he shook it warmly.

  "Good-night, Master Hugh," murmured the latter in a low, broken voice."Good-night; may God watch over you, sir."

  "Ay, Jacob, and may this smash bring me good luck in the future.Good-night."

  The old man tottered out, closing the door noiselessly after him.

  "Poor old Jacob," said Hugh aloud, as he stood before the fireplace withhis hands thrust deep in his pockets in an attitude of despair. "Itmust be truly hard for him to leave me. He was my father's valet whenhe was a young man; he has known me ever since I could toddle, and nowI'm compelled to throw him out of doors, as if he were a common drudgewho didn't please me. He's been more than a servant--he was the friendand adviser of my youth. Yet now we must part, owing to my own madfolly. Some people carry wealth in their pockets, others in theirhearts."

  With a sigh and a muttered imprecation, he paced the room withdeliberate, thoughtful steps.

  Suddenly he noticed the evening newspaper that had been placed upon thetable by his servant. Anxious to know the result of a race, he took itup mechanically, when his eyes fell upon the head-line in largecapitals, "Mysterious murder in the Strand."

  "Good heavens!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Why, I had really forgottenthat strange incident last night. It must be the man I saw taken fromthe omnibus. By Jove, that was a curious affair; I wonder what thepaper says about it?"

  Reseating himself, he commenced to read the column of elaboratelyworked-up sensation with which the journal regaled its readers.

  It certainly was an extraordinary case, inasmuch as the crime must havebeen committed with a swiftness and dexterity that was little short ofmarvellous. As far as the representative of the journal had been ableto ascertain, the body was still unidentified, and, after advancing anextravagant theory of his own, the enterprising scribe terminated withthe stereotyped phrase, invariably used on such occasions, declaringthat the police, "though very reticent upon the matter, were prosecutingdiligent inquiries."

  "Remarkable!" ejaculated Trethowen, when he had finished reading thisaccount. "I wonder who the victim is, and what object anybody couldhave had in murdering him? So daring, too--in a public conveyance inthe very heart of London. There was some motive, I suppose; butevidently the person who committed the crime was no novice, and went towork with swiftness and caution for the purpose of baffling the police.I've been thinking so much of my own affairs to-day that the remembranceof last night's tragedy had entirely gone out of my head. Yet, afterall, why should I puzzle my brains over a case that will require all thewit and cunning of skilled detectives before the guilty person isrevealed?"

  He cast the paper aside, and passed his hand wearily across his achingbrow.

  "No," he continued, after a brief silence. "I've got too much to thinkof with my own affairs. Here am I, ruined irretrievably, with no hopebeyond that of dragging out a miserable existence in a poverty-strickensort of way, while my friends laugh over my misfortunes, and makethemselves fat upon what they've won from me by foul means as well asfair. Bah! I've been a downright consummate fool, and deserve all thispunishment; by Heaven I do!"

  And he sprang to his feet, and again paced the room.

  "What is my punishment?" he asked of himself, after some soliloquy."Social ostracism, perpetual poverty, interminable despair. Yet, afterall, what have I done to deserve it? I've not been more wild than otherfellows during the sowing of my wild oats, as old fogies term it. No;the simple reason for it all is merely because I'm a younger son. Mybrother has enough to keep him in luxury, whereas I had but a pittanceat most, and upon it was expected to keep up appearances and spend itlike other fellows. I've done so, and now am doomed to pay the penaltyof poverty. Even death would be preferable to the life before me."

  He halted, suddenly impressed by the idea. His face was pale andhaggard, and in his eyes was a strangely intense look.

  "Death! Why not?" he repeated in a hoarse whisper. "I have no longerany interest in life, therefore death would be the easiest means to endmy difficulties. It would be all over in a moment."

  Shuddering, he sank slowly into the chair, and resting his arms upon thetable, buried his face in his hands.

  "Yes," he muttered in bitter despair. "I've staked everything, andlost, through my cursed ill-luck. If I exiled myself it would berunning away from my creditors, as if I feared them. No, by God! I--Iwon't do that; I'll choose the other alternative."

  With a firm, resolute expression upon his grave features he rose, strodequickly across the room, and, unlocking a Japanese cabinet, tooktherefro
m a tiny phial of colourless liquid.

  Holding it up to the light, he gazed upon it with a curious smile ofgratification at having the poison in his possession. Strange that aman should laugh when about to take his own life; yet such is frequentlythe case. What is the motive that prompts him to smile when the graveis before him? What, perhaps, but the fascination of suicide. Thereare some men who at first feel like jumping from a high elevation intothe void below. The feeling grows if at all indulged. There is astrange and, indeed, wonderful fascination in high precipices. The veryfact that