The Seven Secrets

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XVI.

  REVEALS AN ASTOUNDING FACT.

  Dinner was announced, and I took Mrs. Mivart into the room on theopposite side of the big old-fashioned hall, a long, low-ceilingedapartment the size of the drawing-room, and hung with some fine oldfamily portraits and miniatures. Old Squire Mivart had been anenthusiastic collector of antique china, and the specimens of oldMontelupo and Urbino hanging upon the walls were remarkable as beingthe finest in any private collection in this country. Many were thevisits he had made to Italy to acquire those queer-looking oldmediaeval plates, with their crude colouring and rude, inartisticdrawings, and certainly he was an acknowledged expert in antiqueporcelain.

  The big red-shaded lamp in the centre of the table shed a soft lightupon the snowy cloth, the flowers and the glittering silver; and as myhostess took her seat she sighed slightly, and for the first timeasked of Ethelwynn.

  "I haven't seen her for a week," I was compelled to admit. "Patientshave been so numerous that I haven't had time to go out to see her,except at hours when calling at a friend's house was out of thequestion."

  "Do you like the Hennikers?" her mother inquired, raising her eyesinquiringly to mine.

  "Yes, I've found them very agreeable and pleasant."

  "H'm," the old lady ejaculated dubiously. "Well, I don't. I met Mrs.Henniker once, and I must say that I did not care for her in theleast. Ethelwynn is very fond of her, but to my mind she's fast, andnot at all a suitable companion for a girl of my daughter'sdisposition. It may be that I have an old woman's prejudices, livingas I do in the country always, but somehow I can never bring myself tolike her."

  Mrs. Mivart, like the majority of elderly widows who have given up theannual visit to London in the season, was a trifle behind the times.More charming an old lady could not be, but, in common with all whovegetate in the depths of rural England, she was just a triflenarrow-minded. In religion, she found fault constantly with thevillage parson, who, she declared, was guilty of ritualisticpractices, and on the subject of her daughters she bemoaned thelatter-day emancipation of women, which allowed them to go hither andthither at their own free will. Like all such mothers, she consideredwealth a necessary adjunct to happiness, and it had been with herheartiest approval that Mary had married the unfortunate Courtenay,notwithstanding the difference between the ages of bride andbridegroom. In every particular the old lady was a typical specimen ofthe squire's widow, as found in rural England to-day.

  Scarcely had we seated ourselves and I had replied to her questionwhen the door opened and a slim figure in deep black entered andmechanically took the empty chair. She crossed the room, lookingstraight before her, and did not notice my presence until she hadseated herself face to face with me.

  Of a sudden her thin wan face lit up with a smile of recognition, andshe cried:

  "Why, Doctor! Wherever did you come from? No one told me you werehere," and across the table she stretched out her hand in greeting.

  "I thought you were reposing after your long walk this morning, dear;so I did not disturb you," her mother explained.

  But, heedless of the explanation, she continued putting to mequestions as to when I had left town, and the reason of my visitthere. To the latter I returned an evasive answer, declaring that Ihad run down because I had heard that her mother was not altogetherwell.

  "Yes, that's true," she said. "Poor mother has been very queer oflate. She seems so distracted, and worries quite unnecessarily overme. I wish you'd give her advice. Her state causes me considerableanxiety."

  "Very well," I said, feigning to laugh, "I must diagnose the ailmentand see what can be done."

  The soup had been served, and as I carried my spoon to my mouth Iexamined her furtively. My hostess had excused me from dressing, buther daughter, neat in her widow's collar and cuffs, sat prim andupright, her eyes now and then raised to mine in undisguisedinquisitiveness.

  She was a trifle paler than heretofore, but her pallor was probablyrendered the more noticeable by the dead black she wore. Her handsseemed thin, and her fingers toyed nervously with her spoon in amanner that betrayed concealed agitation. Outwardly, however, Idetected no extraordinary signs of either grief or anxiety. She spokecalmly, it was true, in the tone of one upon whom a great calamity hadfallen, but that was only natural. I did not expect to find herbright, laughing, and light-hearted, like her old self in RichmondRoad.

  As dinner proceeded I began to believe that, with a fond mother'ssolicitude for her daughter's welfare, Mrs. Mivart had slightlyexaggerated Mary's symptoms. They certainly were not those of a womanplunged in inconsolable grief, for she was neither mopish norartificially gay. As far as I could detect, not even a single sighescaped her.

  She inquired of Ethelwynn and of the Hennikers, remarking that she hadseen nothing of them for over three weeks; and then, when the servantshad left the room, she placed her elbows upon the table, at the riskof a breach of good manners, and resting her chin upon her hands,looked me full in the face, saying:

  "Now, tell me the truth, Doctor. What has been discovered regarding mypoor husband's death? Have the police obtained any clue to theassassin?"

  "None--none whatever, I regret to say," was my response.

  "They are useless--worse than useless!" she burst forth angrily; "theyblundered from the very first."

  "That's entirely my own opinion, dear," her mother said. "Our policesystem nowadays is a mere farce. The foreigners are far ahead of us,even in the detection of crime. Surely the mystery of your poorhusband's death might have been solved, if they had workedassiduously."

  "I believe that everything that could be done has been done," Iremarked. "The case was placed in the hands of two of the smartest andmost experienced men at Scotland Yard, with personal instructions fromthe Superintendent of the Criminal Investigation Department to leaveno stone unturned in order to arrive at a successful issue."

  "And what has been done?" asked the young widow, in a tone ofdiscontent; "why, absolutely nothing! There has, I suppose, been apretence at trying to solve the mystery; but, finding it toodifficult, they have given it up, and turned their attention to someother crime more open and plain-sailing. I've no faith in the policewhatever. It's scandalous!"

  I smiled; then said:

  "My friend, Ambler Jevons--you know him, for he dined at Richmond Roadone evening--has been most active in the affair."

  "But he's not a detective. How can he expect to triumph where thepolice fail?"

  "He often does," I declared. "His methods are different from thehard-and-fast rules followed by the police. He commences at whateverpoint presents itself, and laboriously works backwards with a patiencethat is absolutely extraordinary. He has unearthed a dozen crimeswhere Scotland Yard has failed."

  "And is he engaged upon my poor husband's case?" asked Mary, suddenlyinterested.

  "Yes."

  "For what reason?"

  "Well--because he is one of those for whom a mystery of crime has afascinating attraction."

  "But he must have some motive in devoting time and patience to amatter which does not concern him in the least," Mrs. Mivart remarked.

  "Whatever is the motive, I can assure you that it is an entirelydisinterested one," I said.

  "But what has he discovered? Tell me," Mary urged.

  "I am quite in ignorance," I said. "We are most intimate friends, butwhen engaged on such investigations he tells me nothing of theirresult until they are complete. All I know is that so active is he atthis moment that I seldom see him. He is often tied to his office inthe City, but has, I believe, recently been on a flying visit abroadfor two or three days."

  "Abroad!" she echoed. "Where?"

  "I don't know. I met a mutual friend in the Strand yesterday, and hetold me that he had returned yesterday."

  "Has he been abroad in connection with his inquiries, do you think?"Mrs. Mivart inquired.

  "I really don't know. Probably he has. When he takes up a case he goesinto it with a greater thoroughness than any det
ective living."

  "Yes," Mary remarked, "I recollect, now, the stories you used to tellus regarding him--of his exciting adventures--of his patient trackingof the guilty ones, and of his marvellous ingenuity in laying trapsto get them to betray themselves. I recollect quite well that eveninghe came to Richmond Road with you. He was a most interesting man."

  "Let us hope he will be more successful than the police," I said.

  "Yes, Doctor," she remarked, sighing for the first time. "I hope hewill--for the mystery of it all drives me to distraction." Thenplacing both hands to her brow, she added, "Ah! if we could onlydiscover the truth--the real truth!"

  "Have patience," I urged. "A complicated mystery such as it is cannotbe cleared up without long and careful inquiry."

  "But in the months that have gone by surely the police should have atleast made some discovery?" she said, in a voice of complaint; "yetthey have not the slightest clue."

  "We can only wait," I said. "Personally, I have confidence in Jevons.If there is a clue to be obtained, depend upon it he will scent itout."

  I did not tell them of my misgivings, nor did I explain how Ambler,having found himself utterly baffled, had told me of his intention torelinquish further effort. The flying trip abroad might be inconnection with the case, but I felt confident that it was not. Heknew, as well as I did, that the truth was to be found in England.

  Again we spoke of Ethelwynn; and from Mary's references to her sisterI gathered that a slight coolness had fallen between them. She didnot, somehow, speak of her in the same terms of affection asformerly. It might be that she shared her mother's prejudices, and didnot approve of her taking up her abode with the Hennikers. Be it howit might, there were palpable signs of strained relations.

  Could it be possible, I wondered, that Mary had learnt of her sister'ssecret engagement to her husband?

  I looked full at her as that thought flashed through my mind. Yes, shepresented a picture of sweet and interesting widowhood. In her voice,as in her countenance, was just that slight touch of grief which toldme plainly that she was a heart-broken, remorseful woman--a woman,like many another, who knew not the value of a tender, honest andindulgent husband until he had been snatched from her. Mother anddaughter, both widows, were a truly sad and sympathetic pair.

  As we spoke I watched her eyes, noted her every movement attentively,but failed utterly to discern any suggestion of what her mother hadremarked.

  Once, at mention of her dead husband, she had of a sudden exclaimed ina low voice, full of genuine emotion:

  "Ah, yes. He was so kind, so good always. I cannot believe that hewill never come back," and she burst into tears, which her mother,with a word of apology to me, quietly soothed away.

  When we arose I accompanied them to the drawing-room; but without anymusic, and with Mary's sad, half-tragic countenance before us, theevening was by no means a merry one; therefore I was glad when, inpursuance of the country habit of retiring early, the maid brought mycandle and showed me to my room.

  It was not yet ten o'clock, and feeling in no mood for sleep, I tookfrom my bag the novel I had been reading on my journey and, throwingmyself into an armchair, first gave myself up to deep reflection overa pipe, and afterwards commenced to read.

  The chiming of the church clock down in the village aroused me,causing me to glance at my watch. It was midnight. I rose, and goingto the window, pulled aside the blind, and looked out upon the ruralview lying calm and mysterious beneath the brilliant moonlight.

  How different was that peaceful aspect to the one to which I was,alas! accustomed--that long blank wall in the Marylebone Road. Therethe cab bells tinkled all night, market wagons rumbled through tilldawn, and the moonbeams revealed drunken revellers after "closingtime."

  A strong desire seized me to go forth and enjoy the splendid night.Such a treat of peace and solitude was seldom afforded me, stifled asI was by the disinfectants in hospital wards and the variety ofperfumes and pastilles in the rooms of wealthy patients. Truly thelife of a London doctor is the most monotonous and laborious of any ofthe learned professions, and little wonder is it that when the jadedmedico finds himself in the country or by the sea he seldom fails totake his fill of fresh air.

  At first a difficulty presented itself in letting myself out unheard;but I recollected that in the new wing of the house, in which I hadbeen placed, there were no other bedrooms, therefore with a littlecare I might descend undetected. So taking my hat and stick I openedthe door, stole noiselessly down the stairs, and in a few minutes hadmade an adventurous exit by a window--fearing the grating bolts of thedoor--and was soon strolling across the grounds by the private path,which I knew led through the churchyard and afterwards down to theriver-bank.

  With Ethelwynn I had walked across the meadows by that path on severaloccasions, and in the dead silence of the brilliant night vividrecollections of a warm summer's evening long past came back tome--sweet remembrances of days when we were childishly happy in eachother's love.

  Nothing broke the quiet save the shrill cry of some night bird down bythe river, and the low roar of the distant weir. The sky wascloudless, and the moon so bright that I could have read a newspaper.I strolled on slowly, breathing the refreshing air, and thinkingdeeply over the complications of the situation. In the final hour Ihad spent in the drawing-room I had certainly detected in the youngwidow a slight eccentricity of manner, not at all accentuated, but yetsufficient to show me that she had been strenuously concealing hergrief during my presence there.

  Having swung myself over the stile I passed round the villagechurchyard, where the moss-grown gravestones stood grim and ghostly inthe white light, and out across the meadows down to where the watersof the Nene, rippling on, were touched with silver. The river-path waswide, running by the winding bank away to the fen-lands and beyond. AsI gained the river's edge and walked beneath the willows I heard nowand then a sharp, swift rustling in the sedges as some water-rat orotter, disturbed by my presence, slipped away into hiding. The ruralpeace of that brilliant night attracted me, and finding a hurdle Iseated myself upon it, and taking out my pipe enjoyed a smoke.

  Ever since my student days I had longed for a country life. Thepleasures of the world of London had no attraction for me, my idealbeing a snug country practice with Ethelwynn as my wife. But alas! myidol had been shattered, like that of many a better man.

  With this bitter reflection still in my mind, my attention wasattracted by low voices--as though of two persons speaking earnestlytogether. Surprised at such interruption, I glanced quickly around,but saw no one.

  Again I listened, when, of a sudden, footsteps sounded, coming downthe path I had already traversed. Beneath the deep shadow I saw thedark figures of two persons. They were speaking together, but in atone so low that I could not catch any word uttered.

  Nevertheless, as they emerged from the semi-darkness the moon shonefull upon them, revealing to me that they were a man and a woman.

  Next instant a cry of blank amazement escaped me, for I was utterlyunprepared for the sight I witnessed. I could not believe my eyes; norcould you, my reader, had you been in my place.

  The woman walking there, close to me, was young Mrs. Courtenay--theman was none other than her dead husband!