The Temptress

by William Le Queux

gentleman--emerged from the vestry, leaving thedoor ajar.

  Dolly pushed the door open and walked in, closing the door after her.

  Holt was still in his surplice, standing beside the small writing-table.

  He looked up as the intruder entered. The colour left his face, and hedrew back in dismay when he recognised her.

  "You!" he stammered. "I--I did not know you were here!"

  "Yes," replied she sternly. "I'm not a welcome visitor, am I?Nevertheless, now I've found you, we have an account to settle."

  He did not reply; but, the subject being distasteful to him, he walkedquickly round the table and opened the door, which led into the church.She saw that his intention was to escape.

  "Shut that door, if you don't wish our conversation to be overheard,"she said, pale and determined. "Re member, you are in my hands, myreverend murderer!" Starting at the word "murderer," he closed the doorslowly, and stood with his back against it, and head bowed before her.

  "Now," she said, advancing towards him, "first of all, I want to knowwhat harm I have ever done you that you should drug me, and then attemptto kill me." The pointed question was asked in a tone that was thereverse of reassuring.

  "I did not."

  "To deny it is useless," she declared vehemently. "I have ample proofof your villainy; moreover, I intend that you shall be justly punished."

  "Why, what do you mean to do?" he cried in alarm. He had been cleverlyentrapped, and saw no means of escape from his irate victim.

  "What I do depends entirely upon your attitude towards me," answered shein a calm tone. "Like a foolish girl, I trusted implicitly to yourhonour, and you--a clergyman--tried to kill me."

  "I did not do it--indeed I did not."

  "No; I am well aware that you were too cowardly to draw the knife acrossmy throat. But you enticed me to dine with you: you put a narcotic intomy wine and conveyed me to that house--for what purpose? Why, so thatyour cowardly accomplice might kill me." He was thoroughly alarmed.She evidently knew the whole circumstances, and it was useless, hethought, to conceal the truth.

  "If--if I admit all this, may I not ask your pardon--your mercy?"

  "Mercy!" she repeated. "What mercy did you show me when I was helplessin your hands? Only by a mere vagary of Fate I am not now in my grave.You thought you were safe--that your holy habiliments would prevent youbeing recognised as the man with whom I dined. But you made a greatmistake, and I have found you."

  "Will you not accept my apology?" he asked in a low voice.

  "Upon one condition only."

  "What is that?" he inquired eagerly.

  "That you tell me the reasons which caused you to drug me, and the nameof the scoundrel who assisted you," she replied calmly.

  Their conversation was interrupted at this juncture by the reappearanceof the verger, who inquired whether he would be wanted any more, as hehad locked up the church, and was ready to go to his dinner. Holtreplied in the negative, and the feeble old man departed, swinging hisgreat bunch of jingling keys as he went.

  When they were alone, the artist's model again referred to herstipulation, and pressed for an answer.

  "No," he replied decisively, "I cannot tell you--I cannot."

  "For what reason, pray?"

  "The reason is best known to myself," he answered, endeavouring toassume an air of unconcern.

  "You flatly refuse?"

  "I do."

  "In that case, then, I shall call the police, and have you arrested."

  "No, my God! not that!" he cried; "anything but that."

  "Ah, I can quite understand that police inquiries would be distastefulto you."

  She paused, reflecting whether she should hazard a statement which shehad overheard among other things in the conversation of her janitors atthe lonely house near Twickenham.

  At length she resolved to make an assertion, and watch its effect.

  "If I'm not mistaken," she continued, regarding him closely, "the policeare very desirous of interviewing you. They might like to hear some ofyour glib remarks about spiritual welfare, like those you made in thepulpit this morning."

  "I don't understand you."

  "If I speak plainer possibly you will. Some months ago a man was founddead on the railway. The affair is being investigated by the police,and--"

  "God! You know of that!" he cried hoarsely, as he rushed towards her,and gripped her white throat with his hands in a frenzy of madness."Speak lower--whisper--or--"

  "No," urged Dolly, as coolly as she was able. "It would only addanother crime to your list. Besides, if you comply with mystipulations, your secret will still be safe."

  Her words had the desired effect. He released his hold, and, graspingher hand, pleaded forgiveness.

  Flinging himself upon his knees before her, he pleaded for mercy,declaring that the injury he had done her was under sheer compulsion.He admitted he was a base, heartless villain, undeserving of pity orleniency; still he implored forgiveness on the ground that he had beensufficiently punished by a remorseful conscience.

  But Dolly was inexorable to his appeals, and turned a deaf ear to hisexpressions of regret. She had come there for a fixed purpose, whichshe meant to accomplish at all hazards. It was evident he had someconnection with the crime which she had heard discussed by the man andwoman who had kept her prisoner, and it was likewise apparent that hewas in deadly fear of the police. The effect of her remark about themurder had been almost magical, and she was at a loss how to account forit.

  "Your entreaty is useless," she said coldly, after a few moments'reflection, stretching forth her hand and assisting him to his feet.She despised the cringing coward. "Before you need hope for leniency, Idesire to know where Hugh Trethowen is to be found."

  "I don't know him. How should I know?" he stammered confusedly.

  By his agitation she was convinced he was not telling the truth.

  "Oh, perhaps you will tell me next that you are unacquainted with Mr.Egerton, the artist," she observed, with a curious smile.

  "I've met him once, I think," replied the curate, with feignedreflection.

  "And you declare solemnly that you know nothing of Hugh Trethowen?" sheasked incredulously.

  He shook his head.

  "Then you are speaking falsely," she said angrily; "and the sooner weunderstand each other the better. You believe me to be a weak girl,easily cajoled, but you'll discover your mistake, sir, when it's toolate--when you have fallen into the clutches of the police and yourcrime has been exposed."

  "Do you think I'm going to allow you to give information!" he criedfiercely, shaking his fist threateningly before her face.

  This outburst of passion did not intimidate her. Laughing, she said--

  "I'm well aware that we are alone, and I'm completely in your power. Ifyou are so anxious to murder me, you'd better set about it at once."

  "Bah!" he exclaimed, turning from her with chagrin. "Why do you tauntme like this? Why did you come here and incite me to lay murderoushands upon you?"

  "Merely because I desire some information--nothing more."

  "Why do you seek it of me?"

  "Because I know that with your assistance I can discover Hugh Trethowen.But we have parleyed long enough. I ask you now, for the last time,whether you wish me to show you mercy--whether you will answer myquestions in confidence?"

  He drew a deep breath, and stood motionless, perplexed and hesitating.They had emerged from the vestry, and were standing close to the altar.About her fair face shone a stream of richest life. This came from thepainted window above--three bars of coloured sunlight, that bathed thehair in fire and left the dark body in deepest shadow.

  "By betraying the secret I should run a great risk--how great you havelittle idea."

  "Will not the risk be greater if you refuse to answer me?" she asked,looking at him steadily.

  Her argument was conclusive. A few minutes, and he had apparentlydecided.

  "Well, if you compel
me, I suppose I must tell you," said he, droppinginto a hoarse whisper. "If I do, you'll promise never to repeat it?"

  "Yes," she replied eagerly.

  "Swear to keep the secret. Indeed, it was through my efforts that yourlife was saved."

  "I'll preserve silence," she promised. "Then, the truth is that youwere the dangerous rival of a woman in the affections of a man whom shedesired should marry her. The man merely admired her, but loved you.Having set her mind upon marrying him, she deliberately planned thatyou, the only obstacle, should be removed. The woman--"

  "Whose name is Valerie Dedieu," interposed Dolly calmly.

  "Why, how did you know?" he asked in surprise.

  "I know more than you anticipate," replied she meaningly.

  "Ah, it was a diabolical plot! The woman--I mean Valerie--planned itwith Victor."

  "Victor? Who is Victor?"

  "Berard--the man who attempted to take your life. But I was about totell you how it was that I became complicated in the affair. The truthis, they compelled me. The Frenchwoman holds a certain power over mewhich causes me to be absolutely ruled by her caprices. In her hands Iam helpless, for she can order me to perform any menial service, anycrime, being fully aware that I could not--that I dare not--disobeyher."

  He spoke with heartfelt bitterness, as if the whole of the transactionswere repugnant to him.

  "And you--a clergyman!" Dolly incredulously observed.

  "Yes. Unfortunately, our evil deeds pursue us. At times, when we leastanticipate, the closed pages of one's life are reopened and revealed inall their hideousness."

  "Yours is a bitter past, then?" she said in a tone of reproach. "Ah!now I understand. You are bound to mademoiselle with the same bond ofguilt as Jack Egerton?"

  "Who--who told you it was guilt?" he stammered.

  "You and Mr. Egerton are bound to Valerie Dedieu by a secret," she said.

  An astounding thought had just crossed her mind. The Christian nameVictor occurred frequently in the report in the _Gaulois_, which she hadhad translated, and which she had since treasured carefully, determinedto use it as a final and unimpeachable document to bring Nemesis uponher enemy when occasion offered.

  "I understand. Much is now plain to me," she continued in a firm, harshvoice. "Yet you have not answered my first question. Mademoiselle'shusband left England some months ago, and has not since been heard of.Tell me, where is he?"

  "I'm quite as ignorant of his whereabouts as yourself."

  "Then, I'll put the question in another form. Why has Hugh Trethowendisappeared?"

  "I don't know."

  "I'm convinced that you know where he is."

  "I do not. How should I?" he asked impatiently. "It is futile toprevaricate. If you are one of mademoiselle's myrmidons, as you admit,you surely can form some idea why he has disappeared so mysteriously.Are you not aware that he is no longer living with her, and that allefforts to discover him have been in vain?"

  "I--I really know nothing, and care less, about your lover," he answereddisdainfully. "Besides, why should you renew your friendship with himnow he is married?"

  His words maddened her. She had attacked her adversary withcircumspection, but in her sudden ebullition of passionate indignationshe gave vent to a flood of words, which, as soon as they were uttered,she regretted.

  "I did not ask you to assist Hugh," she cried. "I know he--likemyself--has fallen a victim to the machinations of your hired assassins.But you refuse to tell me where I can find him, and speak of him as mylover. Even if we do love one another, what does it concern you? Wouldyou preach to me of morals?" This last remark caused him to start, andhe scowled at her ominously. "I warn you," she said. "The day is notfar distant when the whole mystery will be cleared up, and your villainyexposed."

  "Perhaps so," he replied, with a forced laugh. "I'm sure I don't care."

  "But you will, I fancy. You'll be glad enough, when the time arrives,to fall upon your knees, as you did just now, and beg for mercy."

  "You're mad," he said in a tone of disgust.

  She did not heed his remark, but continued--

  "Perhaps," she cried, "you will deny that a celebrated case was recentlyinvestigated by the Assize Court of the Seine, and was popularly knownas the Mystery of the Boulevard Haussmann. Perhaps you will deny thatValerie Dardignac and Mrs. Trethowen are the same person; that she--"

  "What are you saying?"

  "The truth. Moreover, I tell you I intend having satisfaction from youwho lured me almost to my death."

  "Oh! How?" he asked defiantly.

  "By a very simple process. I have merely to place the police inpossession of the true facts regarding the crime which startled Parisnot long ago. You shall not escape me now."

  He stood erect, glaring at her, his mouth twitching, his face pale, witha murderous expression upon it.

  "So those are your tactics, miss?" he cried, with rage, springing uponher, and clutching with both hands at her throat. "You are the onlyperson who knows our secret."

  "Help! police!" she shouted in alarm, noticing his determined manner.

  Her cries echoed through the great empty church, but no assistance came.

  His fingers tightened their hold upon her throat. He was stranglingher.

  The light had died away from above, and the shadows mingled in ashapeless mass.

  "Help! help!" she screamed again; but her voice was fainter, for she waschoking.

  "Silence!" he hissed. "It's you--you who would brand me as a murderer,and send me to the gallows! Do you think I'm going to allow you to dothat! By heaven, you shan't do it!"

  She attempted to scream, but he placed his hand over her mouth.

  His face was blanched, and his eyes gleamed with murderous hate as heglanced quickly around. His gaze fell upon the altar. Releasing her,he bounded towards it, and snatched up a heavy brass vase.

  She saw his intention, but was powerless to recede.

  "Help!" she shrieked.

  Upon her throat she felt a hot hand; she saw the heavy vase upliftedabove her.

  "Take that!" he cried, as he brought it down upon her head with acrushing blow, and she fell senseless upon the stone pavement.

  For a second or two he looked at her, wondering if she were dead. Thentearing off his surplice, he rushed into the vestry, and, putting on hiscoat and hat, fled from the church, locking the door after him.

  The upturned face of the prostrate girl was calm and deathlike. She laymotionless upon the cold grey flags. The sun shone out again, and thecoloured light, streaming from the stained-glass window, fell full uponher handsome features. But its warmth did not rouse her; she gave nosign of life.

  Late in the afternoon, however, she struggled back to consciousness, andsat for a long time on the pulpit steps trying to calm herself anddecide how to act.

  The excruciating pain in her head would not allow her thoughts to shapesufficiently, so she made a tour of the building to discover some modeof egress. It was not long before she found that in one of the maindoors the key had been left, and, unlocking it, she stepped out into thebright, warm afternoon with a feeling that a strange, oppressive weighthad suddenly clouded her brain.

  That evening the city clerks, small shopkeepers, with their wives andrelations, who comprise the majority of the congregation of St.Barnabas, Camberwell, were agog when it transpired that their popularspiritual guide, the Rev. Hubert Holt, had suddenly thrown up hiscuracy. The vicar took the service, and at the conclusion announcedwith regret that his assistant had written to him that afternoonresigning his appointment, stating that a pressing engagement made itimperative that he should leave England at once. He gave no reason, butwhen the vicar sent round to his lodgings to request him to call andwish him adieu, it was discovered that he had packed a few thingshurriedly, and already departed.

  Then a local sensation was produced in the district between Denmark Hilland Camberwell Gate, and the devout parishioners prayed for th
epreservation and well-being of their popular but absent curate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

  SILKEN SACKCLOTH.

  The certificate of death is all we require.

  "I have it here."

  "Why, how did you obtain it?"

  "By a most fortunate circumstance. We saw one day, in the _IndependanceBelge_, that an unknown Englishman, apparently a gentleman, had died atthe Hotel du Nord at Antwerp. Pierre at once suggested that he mightidentify him as Hugh Trethowen. He went to Antwerp and did so. The manwas buried as my husband, and here is the certificate."

  "A very smart stroke of business--very smart. But--er--don't talk quiteso plainly; you--"

  "What do you mean? Surely you have no qualm of conscience? The paymentwe agreed upon ought to counteract all that."

  "Of course. Nevertheless, it is unnecessary to refer to the strategytoo frequently. As long as we have an indisputable death certificate inthe name of Hugh Trethowen, and you have your marriage certificate ashis wife, there will not be the slightest difficulty."

  "I know that. To me you appear afraid lest we should be exposed."

  "You need not upbraid me for exercising due caution. The success of theplan you have been so long maturing depends upon it.