has called himself Massari. I must find him, at allhazards. If he chooses to speak--to tell the truth--then he can save mylife. If not, I'm lost. Will you help me to discover him? Perhaps youknow where he has gone? I throw myself upon your sympathy--upon yourmercy. See!" she cried hoarsely, with a wild look in her beautifuleyes, for she was indeed desperate, "I am begging of you, a perfectstranger, begging for my freedom, for my woman's honour--nay for mylife!"
I stood before her stunned.
What could I reply? What would you have replied in such circumstances?
CHAPTER THREE.
GIVES SOME EXPLANATIONS.
Her voice was soft and refined. She was evidently a lady.
The mysterious stranger had held the secret which might liberate her,yet he had carried it with him to the grave!
Who was he? Who was she?
The situation was certainly one of the most difficult in which a mancould find himself. Miss Gilbert, in order to conceal the fact that adeath had occurred in her boarding-house, had pretended that Massari hadleft. I saw, however, that the pale-faced girl before me was desperate,and felt convinced that the melancholy truth should be revealed to her.
The man's death sealed her doom. She had made that entirely plain tome.
I now distinguished that her dress was dusty, her dark hair slightlydishevelled, and she bore traces of long travel. She had evidently, onarrival from the Continent, come straight from Charing Cross out toShepherd's Bush. Therefore, by some secret means, she knew of Massari'sintention of hiding himself at Mrs Gilbert's.
"You do not reply," she said, in a voice full of reproach. "Do youreally refuse to render me assistance, sir? Remember, I am a helplesswoman who begs her life of you. You have seen and spoken with that man.Where is he now?"
For a moment I hesitated. Then seeing that she must sooner or laterknow the truth I drew my breath and said:--
"Come, follow me." And opening the door we ascended the stairs.
"Ah!" she cried excitedly. "He is still here! That woman lied when shetold me he had gone, eh? He is still in the house!"
I made no reply, but went on, she following closely behind.
Then a few moments later, having gained the top landing, I threw openthe door of the darkened chamber of death and drew aside the curtains.
She dashed to the bed and tore the sheet from the dead, white face.
Then she staggered back as though she had received a blow.
"My God!" she cried. "Too late!--_too late_!"
Dull, dazed, she stood there, with the stare of blank despair in hereyes and pale as ashes. The dead white face seemed to wear a smile--thesmile of cheerful resignation, as though his body had parted with itsspirit in gladness and in triumph.
For a little while she stood stock-still and speechless--the livingdead! Suddenly--ah! it is nothing in the telling; one should have heardand seen to realise--suddenly there welled up from the depths of herheart the sigh of its aching, the sob of its breaking. Then sheshrieked with the ghastly laughter of despair. Then she lashed out to acursing of the dead man and all his deeds; and her execrations were themost shocking because they proceeded from the tongue of a sweet-mouthedwoman.
Of a sudden her eyes fell upon the stranger's two portmanteaux, anddashing across she knelt to open them.
"No," I said quietly, "I cannot permit you to touch anything there."
"You cannot permit--_you_!" she cried, facing me.
"And who, pray, are you? Have I not more right to know what he has herethan you?"
And with a sudden wrench she broke the hasp of the weak, foreign-madelock, and next instant turned the whole of the contents, clothes andpapers, out upon the floor.
Quickly she searched among the quantity of papers, as though looking forsomething. Yet she was disappointed.
I took up several of the folded documents and found that they were bondsand other securities. It almost seemed as though the mysterious Massarihad fled at an instant's warning and taken all the valuables he had athand.
The second portmanteau resisted her efforts to break it open, thereforeI handed her the key. If, as she said, that man had held her future inhis hands, she certainly had a right to look through what he had leftbehind.
In her eagerness she tossed the papers hither and thither, now pausingto scan a letter and now breaking open a sealed envelope and hastilyascertaining the contents.
"No," she cried hoarsely at last, turning fiercely to where the deadbody lay. "You have left no written record. Brute! coward! assassin!"she hissed between her teeth, shaking her fist in the dead man's face."You refused to give me my freedom--to clear my honour--you laughed inmy face--you who knew the truth but refused to speak!"
The scene was terrible, the living execrating the dead. I took her bythe arm and tried to lead her away. But she shook me off, crying:--
"He has died of the terrible disease with which God had afflicted him.He knew, too well, that after his death I should be helpless anddefenceless. He was wealthy, but what did all his wealth serve him--compelled to fly at night and hide himself here, hoping that I shouldnot discover him. He little dreamed that I knew of his hiding-place."
"Then he could have cleared you of some false charge, had he been soinclined?" I inquired, hoping that she would reveal the truth to me.
"Yes. A foul dastardly charge has been made against me--one of thecruellest and blackest that can be laid against a woman," she answered."By a word he could have established my innocence. He knew I wasinnocent, yet he refused--he laughed in my face, and told me that hewould not lift a little finger to help either me or my father."
"Why not?"
"Because the establishment of my innocence would have given me myhappiness."
"And he denied it to you. He had a motive, I suppose?"
"Yes--oh yes!" she said. "Even my tears did not move him. I went uponmy knees and begged him to speak, but he was obdurate. That was eightdays ago. And how soon has Fate overtaken him! Two days later he wascompelled to fly in secret in order to avoid arrest, and to-day he islying there dead--his lips, alas! sealed."
"Ah! unfortunately," I sighed, "he can no longer bear witness on yourbehalf, miss--I have not the pleasure of your name?" I said, hesitatingpurposely.
"Miller--Lucie Miller," she replied. "And yours?"
"Godfrey Leaf."
"Yes, Mr Leaf, it is unfortunate for me," she said, with a dark look ofdesperation. "I am a doomed woman!"
"Oh, no, you must not speak like that," I urged. "Surely the chargeagainst you is not so very serious!" To me it seemed impossible thatsuch a sweet-faced girl should have any grave imputation against her.
"I have enemies, bitter, relentless enemies," was her brief response.She had grown a little calmer, and I had replaced the sheet over thecold, lifeless countenance of the man who had refused to tell the worldthe truth and thus save her.
"Have you travelled from Rome alone?" I inquired.
"No. I had a companion," she answered, but did not satisfy me whetherit was a male or female.
"You live in Rome, perhaps?" I asked, for I saw that she had acosmopolitan air which was not that of an English-bred woman.
"No. I generally live in Leghorn."
"Ah! in Tuscany. I know Leghorn quite well--the Brighton of Italy, avery gay place in summer. Pancaldi's at four o'clock in the season isalways bright and amusing."
"You really know Pancaldi's?" she exclaimed, brightening. "Only fancy!We have so very few English in Leghorn. They prefer Vallombrosa or theBagni di Lucca. Indeed an Englishman in Leghorn, beyond the shippingpeople, is quite a rarity."
"And this man Massari--it was not his real name?" I said.
"No. But I regret that I am not permitted to tell you who he reallywas. He was a person very well-known in Italy--a person of whom youread frequently in the newspapers. That is all I may tell you."
"Well, really, Miss Miller, all this is very mystifying," I said. "Whydid he come he
re?"
"Because he thought that he would be able to live in hiding. He fearedlest I might follow him."
"But you said that he also feared arrest."
"That is so. He was compelled to escape. His enemies laid a trap forhim, just as he did for my father and myself."
"But why did he refuse to give you back your happiness by clearing youof the charge? To me it seems almost incredible that a man should thustreat an innocent woman."
"Ah! Mr Leaf, you didn't know him. He was one of the mostunscrupulous and hard-hearted men in the whole of Italy. Every _soldo_he possessed bore upon it the blood and tears of the poor. He lentmoney at exorbitant interest to the _contadini_, and delighted to
The Mysterious Mr. Miller Page 4
