The Wiles of the Wicked

by William Le Queux

that it wasstrange that you shouldn't come home for your bag and things, but shegave me a message from you to send a bag packed with your clothes bytrain from Waterloo to Christchurch Station marked `To be called for.'"

  "But didn't you think her story a very lame one, Parker?" I asked,angry that my old serving-woman should have thus been misled anddeceived.

  "Of course I did, sir, especially as you were absent all night. I toldher that, and she said that you had called upon her, and finding youraunt, Lady Durrant, there on a visit, remained to supper. While atsupper a telegram had arrived summoning your aunt home, as your unclehad been taken dangerously ill, and at once you had resolved toaccompany her. But you've hurt your head, sir, haven't you?" she added,noticing my bandages.

  "Yes," I answered. "I fell down. It is nothing--my own carelessness."

  The story was, to say the least, a most ingenious one. Whoever themysterious woman was she apparently knew that my uncle, Sir CharlesDurrant, lived in the neighbourhood of Christchurch; that he was at thatmoment in a very critical state of health, suffering from paralysis, andfurther, that I had considerable expectations from him, and would nothesitate to travel down to see him if I knew him to be worse. Onething, therefore, was quite plain, namely, that my family affairs wereperfectly well known to these persons whose movements were somystifying.

  "It was foolish of you, Parker, very foolish indeed, to have givencredence to such an absurd tale as that," I said, annoyed. "You areusually a shrewd woman, but you have displayed no discretion in thisaffair--none whatever."

  "I'm very sorry, sir," the woman answered. "But I knew that if SirCharles were worse you'd go down to the Manor at once. Did you reallysend nobody, sir?"

  "No; nobody at all. There's some underhand business in all this,Parker, so keep your wits about you."

  "And haven't you seen her ladyship at all, sir?" she inquired, in herturn astonished.

  "No, and, moreover, I know nothing of this mysterious woman who came toyou with this cock-and-bull story. Did she say where she lived, or giveany card?"

  "No, she didn't, sir."

  "I suppose you'd know her again if you saw her?"

  "Well," she answered with considerable hesitancy, "I don't know as Ishould, sir. You see, she wore one of them white lace veils which makesit difficult to distinguish the features."

  "But what object could any one have in coming to you and telling afalsehood in that manner?" I cried, my anger increased by the knowledgeof Parker's inability to again recognise the bearer of the falsemessage.

  "I don't know, I'm sure, sir," was the woman's reply, in a voice whichshowed how deeply she regretted the occurrence.

  "How long was she here?" I inquired.

  "About five minutes. She asked me to let her see your sitting-room andthe reading-books with the embossed letters, as she was much interestedin you, and had heard so much of you from Lady Durrant."

  "And you showed them to her?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then you had no right to do so without my permission, Parker," I saidangrily. "You are an old and trusted servant, and should have knownbetter."

  "I'm very sorry, sir. The truth was that she seemed such a well-spokenlady, and her manner was so perfect that I thought you would not like tooffend her."

  "Recollect that if any other persons call they are not to enter my roomson any pretext," I said decisively.

  "Very well, sir. I acknowledge that I was entirely in the wrong inallowing her to pry about the place."

  "And when she had gone?"

  "Then I went over to the butcher's in the Strand to get a bit of steak."

  "And saw nothing more of her?"

  "Yes, sir. I did see her again. As I was coming back I met her in theStrand, at the corner of Arundel Street, walking with a gentleman wholooked like a City man. She said something to him, and he turned andhad a good look at me."

  "Then it must have been this same woman who was in my chambers here whenI returned," I said.

  "A woman here?" she ejaculated.

  "Yes; when I entered there was a woman here, and she escaped as thoughshe were a thief. She must have gone out and rejoined the man, who wasawaiting her somewhere in the vicinity. That would bear out the factthat you encountered her again."

  "But how could she get in? I'm always careful to see that the door isproperly closed."

  "Probably she stole the extra latch-key while prying about the place.See whether it is still on the nail." She crossed the room, and nextmoment gasped--"It's gone, sir!"

  "Ah!" I said. "Just as I thought! The story she told you was a mereexcuse to obtain admittance to the place, and, if possible, to getpossession of the key. This she obtained, and, having watched you out,returned and continued her search for something she desired to secure.We must at once examine the whole place, and seek to discover what'sbeen stolen."

  "Do you think she was a common thief, sir?" inquired Parker, dumbfoundedby the ingenuity with which the latch-key had been secured.

  "I don't know what to believe at present," I answered. "We mustinvestigate first, and form our conclusions afterwards. Now, make athorough search and see what has been disturbed and what is missing."

  I had no intention of entering into a long explanation with Parkerregarding the events of that fateful night, or to disturb her peace ofmind by relating any of the tragic circumstances. Therefore, I went tomy room and locked away my muddy, blood-stained clothing, and afterwardsreturned, and with my hands felt the various objects in my sitting-room,to assure myself that none was displaced or missing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  THE STRANGER.

  The visit of this mysterious woman in the white lace veil--at that timea fashionable feminine adornment--was, I felt assured, more than acoincidence. That it had some connexion with the strange events of thepast night seemed certain, yet, try how I would, I could form nodefinite idea of either the motive of the visit or the object of hersearch. As far as Parker could discover, nothing whatever had beentaken. A writing-table, the drawers of which contained some familypapers, had apparently been hastily examined, but no object of value,nor any paper, had been extracted. Therefore I concluded that I hadreturned before the intruder had had time to make the completeexamination of my effects which she had intended.

  A curious thought occurred to me. Was the intruder in the white veilnone other than the mysterious Edna herself?

  As the day wore on I became more and more impressed by the belief thatmy surmise was the actual truth. Yet the cabman West had declared thatshe was young and pretty, while Parker expressed herself positive thatshe was middle-aged. But of the two statements I accepted that of thecabman as the more reliable. He had seen her in the broad daylightwithout the veil.

  The fact of her concealing her features in a species of finewindow-curtain proved an attempt at disguise, therefore what more likelythan that she should contrive to render her features older, and thusimpose upon Parker, whose sight was not over good? In any case,however, if it were really Edna, she had certainly lost no time incarrying out her design, and further, she must have been fully aware ofmy intended return.

  Days passed, hot blazing days and stifling nights, when the dust ofthrobbing, ever-roaring London seemed over my heart. Each morning, withParker's assistance, I searched the newspapers, but nothing appeared toshow that that strange midnight crime had been discovered. Were theretwo victims, or only one? How strange it was that although I had beenpresent I could not tell I only knew that the male victim was young andwell-dressed, probably a gentleman, and that he had been stabbed by acowardly blow which had proved almost instantly fatal. That woman'sscream that had sounded so shrill and agonised in the dead stillness ofthe night I remembered plainly as though it were but an hour ago--indeed, I remember it now as distinctly as ever. Was it the cry of Ednaherself?

  In my helplessness I could do nothing but remain silent, and keep myterrible secret to myself. Unable either to communicate with the policeor
seek the assistance of my friend, I found that any endeavour to seeka solution of the problem was mere sowing of the wind. My thoughts hourby hour, as I sat alone in my dingy room, my poor blind eyes a blackvoid, were of the ghastly affair, and in all its phases I considered it,trying to find some motive in the subsequent actions of the unscrupulouspersons into whose hands I had had the misfortune to fall.

  I heard of Dick through the office of his journal. He was down withfever at some outlandish place on the Afghan frontier, and wouldcertainly not be home for a couple of months or so.

  At first I was puzzled how to get rid of my soiled and blood-stainedclothes so that Parker should not