CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE DEATH KISS
Sylvia sank into a chair, while I stood upon the hearth-rug facingher, eager to hear her explanation.
Her hands were clasped as she raised her wonderful blue eyes to mine.Yes, her beauty was perfect--more perfect than any I had ever seen inall my wandering, erratic life.
"Why do those men still intend that I shall die?" I asked. "Now that Iknow the truth I shall remain wary."
"Ah, yes," she responded. "But they will take you unawares. You do notknow the devilish cunning and ingenuity of such men as they, who liveupon their wits, and are utterly unscrupulous."
"Well, what do they now intend?" I asked, much interested, for itseemed that she knew very much more than she would admit.
"You have escaped," she said, looking straight into my face. "Theynaturally fear that you will tell the police."
"I shall not do that--not at present, at least," I replied. "I amkeeping my own counsel."
"Yes. But cannot you see that while you live you are a menace to theirdastardly plans? They dare not return to that deserted house inBayswater."
"Where are they now?"
"Abroad, I believe. They always take care to have an outlet forescape," she answered. "Ah! you don't know what a formidablecombination they are. They snap their fingers at the police ofEurope."
"What? Then you really admit that there have been other victims?" Iexclaimed.
"I have no actual knowledge," she declared, "only suspicions."
"Why are you friendly with them?" I asked. "What does your father sayto such acquaintances?"
"I am friendly only under compulsion," she answered. "Ah! Mr.Biddulph, you cannot know how I hate the very sight or knowledge ofthose inhuman fiends. Their treatment of you is, in itself, sufficientproof of their pitiless plans."
"Tell me this, Sylvia," I said, after a second's pause. "Have you anyknowledge of a man--a great friend of mine--named Jack Marlowe?"
Her face changed. It became paler, and I saw she was slightlyconfused.
"I--well, I believe we met once," she said. "His father livessomewhere down in Devonshire."
"Yes," I said quickly. "What do you know of him?"
"Nothing. We met only once."
"Where?"
"Well--our meeting was under rather curious circumstances. He is yourfriend, therefore please pardon me if I do not reply to yourquestion," was her vague response.
"Then what do you anticipate from those men, Reckitt and Forbes?" Iasked.
"Only evil--distinct evil," she replied. "They will return, and strikewhen you least expect attack."
"But if I do not go to the police, why should they fear me? They arequite welcome to the money they have stolen--so long as they allow mepeace in the future."
"Which I fear they will not do," replied the girl, shaking her head.
"You speak very apprehensively," I said. "What is there really tofear? Perhaps it would be best if I went to the police at once. Theywould then dig over that neglected garden and reveal its secrets."
"No!" she cried again, starting wildly from her chair as though insudden terror. "I beg of you not to do that, Mr. Biddulph. It wouldserve no purpose, and only create a great sensation. But the culpritswould never be brought to justice. They are far too clever, and theirconspiracies are too far-reaching. No, remain patient. Take thegreatest care of your own personal safety--and you may yet be able tocombat your enemies with their own weapons."
"I shall be able, Sylvia--providing that you assist me," I said.
She held her breath, and remained silent. She evidently feared them.
I tried to obtain from her some details of the occurrences of thatnight of horror, but she refused to satisfy my curiosity. Apparentlyshe feared to incriminate herself. Could it be possible that she hadonly learnt at the last moment that it was I who was embraced in thenext room by that fatal chair!
Yet it was all so puzzling, so remarkable. Surely a girl with such apure, open, innocent face could not be the accomplice of dastardlycriminals! She was their friend. That much she had admitted to me. Buther friendship with them was made under compulsion. She urged me notto go to the police. Why?
Did she fear that she herself would be implicated in a series of darkand terrible crimes?
"Where is your father?" I inquired presently.
"In Scotland," was her prompt reply. "I heard from him at theCaledonian Hotel, at Edinburgh, last Friday. I am staying here withMr. Shuttleworth until his return."
Was it not strange that she should be guest of a quiet-manneredcountry parson, if she were actually the accomplice of a pair ofcriminals! I felt convinced that Shuttleworth knew the truth--that hecould reveal a very remarkable story--if he only would.
"Your father is a friend of Mr. Shuttleworth--eh?" I asked.
She nodded in the affirmative. Then she stood with her gaze fixedthoughtfully upon the sunlit lawn outside.
Mystery was written upon her fair countenance. She held a dread secretwhich she was determined not to reveal. She knew of those awfulcrimes committed in that dark house in Bayswater, but her intentionseemed to be to shield at all hazards her dangerous "friends."
"Sylvia," I said tenderly at last, again taking her hand in mine, "whycannot you be open and frank with me?" She allowed her hand to liesoft and inert in mine, sighing the while, her gaze still fixed beyondas though her thoughts were far away. "I love you," I whispered."Cannot you see how you puzzle me?--for you seem to be my friend atone moment, and at the next the accomplice of my enemies."
"I have told you that you must never love me, Mr. Biddulph," was herlow reply, as she withdrew her hand slowly, but very firmly.
"Ah! no," I cried. "Do not take offence at my words. I'm aware thatI'm a hopeless blunderer in love. All I know, Sylvia, is that my onlythought is of you. And I--I've wondered whether you, on your part, canever entertain a spark of affection for me?"
She was silent, her white lips pressed close together, a strangeexpression crossing her features. Again she held her breath, as thoughwhat I had said had caused her great surprise. Then she answered--
"How can you love me? Am I not, after all, a mere stranger?"
"I know you sufficiently well," I cried, "to be aware that for methere exists no other woman. I fear I'm a blunt man. It is my nature.Forgive me, Sylvia, for speaking the truth, but--well, as a matter offact, I could not conceal the truth any longer."
"And you tell me this, after--after all that has happened!" shefaltered in a low, tremulous voice, as I again took her tiny hand inmine.
"Yes--because I truly and honestly love you," I said, "because eversince we have met I have found myself thinking of you--recallingyou--nay, dreaming of happiness at your side."
She raised her splendid eyes, and looked into mine for a moment; then,sighing, shook her head sadly.
"Ah! Mr. Biddulph," she responded in a curious, strained voice,"passion may be perilously misleading. Ask yourself if you are notinjudicious in making this declaration--to a woman like myself?"
"Why?" I cried. "Why should it be injudicious? I trust you,because--because I owe my life to you--because you have already provedyourself my devoted little friend. What I beg and pray is that yourfriendship may, in course of time, ripen into love--that you mayreciprocate my affection--that you may really love me!"
A slight hardness showed at the corners of her small mouth. Her eyeswere downcast, and she swallowed the lump that arose in her throat.
She was silent, standing rigid and motionless.
Suddenly a great and distressing truth occurred to me. Did she believethat I pitied her? I hoped not. Any woman of common sensibility wouldalmost die of shame at the thought of being loved out of pity; and,what is more, she would think none the better of the man who pitiedher. The belief that "pity melts the heart to love" is an unfoundedone.
So I at once endeavoured to remove the wrong impression which I fearedI had conveyed.
What mad, impetuous words I uttered I ca
n scarcely tell. I know that Iraised her soft white hand to my lips and kissed it fervently,repeating my avowal and craving a word of hope from her lips.
But she again shook her head, and with sadness responded in a low,faltering tone--
"It is quite impossible, Mr. Biddulph. Leave me--let us forget all youhave said. It will be better thus--far better for us both. You do notknow who or what I am; you----"
"I do not know, neither do I care!" I cried passionately. "All I know,Sylvia, is that my heart is yours--that I have loved only once in mylife, and it is now!"
Her slim fingers played nervously with the ribbon upon her cool summergown, but she made no response.
"I know I have not much to recommend me," I went on. "Perhaps I am toohulking, too English. You who have lived so much abroad are more used,no doubt, to the elegant manners and the prettily turned complimentsof the foreigner than the straight speech of a fellow like myself. YetI swear that my only thought has been of you, that I love you with allmy heart--with all my soul."
I caught her hand and again looked into her eyes, trying to read whatresponse lay hidden in their depths.
I felt her tremble. For a moment she seemed unable to reply. Thesilence was unbroken save for the drowsy hum of the insects in thesummer heat outside, while the sweet perfume of the flowers filled ournostrils. In the tension of those moments each second seemed an hour.You who have experienced the white heat of the love-flame can onlyknow my eager, breathless apprehension, the honest whole-heartednessof my declaration. Perhaps, in your case, the flames are all burntout, but even now you can tell of the white core and centre of firewithin you. Years may have gone, but it still remains--the sweetmemory of your well-beloved.
"Tell me, Sylvia," I whispered once more. "Tell me, will you not breakdown this strange invisible barrier which you have set up between us?Forget the past, as I have already forgotten it--and be mine--my own!"
She burst into tears.
"Ah!" she cried. "If I only could--if I only dared!"
"Will you not dare to do it--for my sake?" I asked very quietly. "Willyou not promise to be mine? Let me stand your friend--your champion.Let me defend you against your enemies. Let me place myself beside youand defy them."
"Ah, no!" she gasped, "not to defy them. Defiance would only bringdeath--death to both of us!"
"Your love, Sylvia, would mean life and happiness, not death--tome--to both of us!" I cried. "Will you not give me your promise? Letour love be in secret, if you so desire--only let us love each other.Promise me!" I cried, my arm stealing around her narrow waist."Promise me that you will try and love me, and I, too, will promise tobe worthy of your affection."
For a moment she remained silent, her handsome head downcast.
Then slowly, with a sweet love-look upon her beautiful countenance,she raised her face to mine, and then for the first time our lips metin a fierce and passionate caress.
Thus was our solemn compact sealed.
Hushed Up! A Mystery of London Page 15
