The Wiles of the Wicked

by William Le Queux

mother.

  "Good-night," she cried merrily, and next instant the fine pair of baysplunged away into the rainy night.

  I returned into the hall, and my host helped me into my overcoat.

  We were alone, for I had made my adieux to his wife and daughters.

  "Wilford," he said very gravely, as he gripped my hand prior to mydeparture, "we are old friends. Will you permit me to say one wordwithout taking offence at it?"

  "Certainly," I answered, surprised. "What is it?"

  "I've noticed to-night that, like many another man, you are entranced bythe beauty of Mabel Anson. Be careful not to make a fool of yourself."

  "I don't understand," I said quickly.

  "Well, all I would say is, that if you desire happiness and peace ofmind, steel your heart against her," he answered with a distinct air ofmystery.

  "You speak in enigmas."

  "I merely give you a timely warning, that's all, my dear fellow. Now,don't be offended, but go home and think it over, and resolve neveragain to see her--never, you understand--never."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  THE FOURTEENTH OF OCTOBER.

  Long and deeply I pondered over the Colonel's words. That he had someunderlying motive in thus warning me against the woman by whom I hadbecome so fascinated was vividly apparent, yet to all my demands heremained dumb. On the afternoon following I found him in the StJames's Club--that club of diplomatists--and reverted to the subject.But all the response he vouchsafed was--

  "I've merely warned you, my dear fellow. I shall say no more. I, ofcourse, don't blame you for admiring her, I only tell you to pullyourself up short."

  "But why?"

  "Because if you go further than admiration you'll be treading dangerousground--devilish dangerous, I can assure you."

  "You mean that she has a jealous lover?" I suggested.

  "She has no lover, as far as I'm aware," he answered.

  "Then, speaking candidly, Channing," I said, "I don't see why you shouldturn prophet like this without giving me any reason."

  "My reason is briefly told," he said with unusual gravity. "I don'twish to see you upset and unhappy, now that you've recovered yoursight."

  His words seemed very lame ones.

  "Why should I be unhappy?"

  "Because Mabel Anson can never be more to you than an acquaintance; shecan never reciprocate your love. I tell you plainly that if you allowyourself to become entranced and all that sort of thing, you'll onlymake a confounded ass of yourself."

  "You certainly speak very plainly," I observed, annoyed that he shouldinterfere so prematurely in a matter which was assuredly my affairalone.

  "I speak because I have your welfare at heart, Wilford," he answered ina kindly tone. "I only regret now that I asked you to my table to meether. It is my fault--entirely my fault."

  "You talk as though she were some genius of evil," I laughed. "Let meact as I think fit, my dear Channing."

  "Let you go headlong to the devil, eh?" he snapped.

  "But to love her is not to go on the downward path, surely?" I criedincredulously.

  "I warn you, once and for all, to have nothing whatever to do with her,"he said. "I know her--you do not."

  But I laughed him to scorn. His words seemed utterly absurd, as thoughhis mind were filled by some strong prejudice which he dared not toutter for fear of laying himself open to an action for slander. If heracquaintance were so extremely undesirable, why did he invite her andher mother to his table? His words were not borne out by his ownactions.

  So I bade him farewell rather coolly, and left the club abruptly, inanger with myself at having sought him, or bestowed a single thoughtupon his extraordinary warning.

  In the days that followed my mind was fully engrossed by recollectionsof her charm and beauty. Like every other man, I had had, before myblindness, one or two minor affairs of the heart, but never before had Iexperienced the grand passion. I had, indeed, admired several otherwomen of various ages and various stations, but none had ever approachedin grace, beauty, or refinement the woman who had so suddenly come intomy life, and so quickly gone out of it.

  Yes, I openly confess that I, who had of later years determined toremain a bachelor, was deeply in love with her. Indeed, for the time, Iactually forgot the grim shadow of evil which had in my blindness fallenupon me.

  Hither and thither in the great world of London I went with my eyes everopen in eagerness to catch a glimpse of her. I lounged in the Row atthe fashionable hour; went to the opera, and swept boxes and stalls withmy glasses; and strolled about Regent Street, Oxford Street, and HighStreet, Kensington, in the vicinity of those great drapery emporiums sodear alike to the feminine heart and to the male pocket. For ten daysor so I spent greater part of my time in searching for her slim, erectfigure among the bustling London crowds. I knew her address, it wastrue, but my acquaintance was not sufficient to warrant a call,therefore I was compelled to seek a chance encounter.

  All, however, was in vain. I had firmly resolved to take no heed of theColonel's extraordinary premonition, and laughed at his dehortatorysuggestions; for I meant at all costs to meet her again. One day Isuddenly recollected that in conversation Mrs Anson had mentioned thather daughter was a student at the Royal Academy of Music. If so, thenshe would undoubtedly go there alone on certain days to take herlessons. By carefully watching I might, I thought, meet her as if byaccident. So I at once set to work to make inquiries, and discoveredthrough tipping one of the hall-porters of the institution that MissAnson came there every Tuesday and Friday at two o'clock in theafternoon. The next day chanced to be Tuesday, therefore I went toHanover Square and waited for her at the corner of Tenterden Street. AsI watched I saw quite a number of smart-looking lady students pass intothe institution, but, although I remained on the alert for nearly twohours, she did not come, and at length I was compelled to return homewearied, unsuccessful, and dispirited.

  That night, however, a blow fell upon me. An incident which I hadconstantly dreaded occurred, for by the last post was delivered one ofthose strange typewritten mandates from the unknown. The envelope was ablue-grey one, such as lawyers use, and the postmark showed that it hadbeen dispatched from the Lombard Street office, in the City. I tore itopen in fear and trepidation, and glanced at the few even lines itcontained. The lines I read were signed by the word "Avel," traced witha heavy hand in rough Roman capitals, and were as follows:--

  "To-morrow, the fourteenth of October, enter the Park at Grosvenor Gateat four o'clock, and wait at the third seat on the path which leads tothe band-stand."

  I stood silent, with the mysterious missive in my hand. Some secretservice was evidently required of me. The shadow of that fateful nighthad again fallen, crushing me beneath its weight of mystery and crime.I thought of the unknown Edna, and pictured her in comparison withMabel. In my helplessness I had become an unwilling tool in the handsof the former, and now I hated and despised her. This galling servitudewhich she had imposed upon me under penalty of death was doubly irksomenow that I loved; yet so mysterious and tragic were all thecircumstances that I feared to break the bond that I had given.

  In ordinary circumstances I think I should have been eager to obey thissudden demand to go to the Park on the following day. There was adistinct air of adventure in the appointment, and, eager to fathom themystery surrounding Edna, I saw that this meeting might furnish me withsome clue. But I recollected Mabel, all sweetness and purity, and hatedit all. Edna had declared that she herself was not the mysterious"Avel," yet I had no reason to disbelieve her statement. To me itseemed as though she were acting under instructions which had for theirobject the preservation of the secret of the midnight crime.

  Who was the young man who had fallen victim? His identity puzzled mealways, until the problem had become so perplexing as to drive me todespair. Although time after time I had searched the newspapers, I hadfound no one answering to his description mentioned as missing. He hadevidently been do
ne to death and his body disposed of without a singleinquiry, while the crime had been concealed with an ingenuity whichappalled me. Might I, myself, not fall victim in a similar manner if Irefused to obey these strange mandates of an unknown hand?

  These thoughts were the reverse of reassuring, for even if I went to thepolice they would be unable to assist me. A detective might keep theappointment in the Park, but it was certain on seeing a stranger in thevicinity the person who intended to meet me would give him a very wideberth.

  That hot night I lay awake through many hours calmly reviewing the wholesituation. On the last occasion when I had obeyed the order of mymysterious correspondent--sent undoubtedly at Edna's instigation--I hadprofited considerably. Was the present order