Part 46 (1/2)

”I have no cousin,” replied Mary.

”The person, I mean, you have been staying with?”

”Better, thank you.”

”Almost a pity, is it not--if there should come trouble about this ring?”

”I do not understand you. The ring will, of course, be found,” returned Mary.

”In any case the blame will come on you: it was in your charge.”

”The ring was in the case when I left.”

”You will have to prove that.”

”I remember quite well.”

”That no one will question.”

Beginning at last to understand her insinuations, Mary was so angry that she dared not speak.

”But it will hardly go to clear you,” Sepia went on. ”Don't imagine I mean you have taken it; I am only warning you how the matter will look, that you may be prepared. Mr. Redmain is one to believe the worst things of the best people.”

”I am obliged to you,” said Mary, ”but I am not anxious.”

”It is necessary you should know also,” continued Sepia, ”that there is some suspicion attaching to a female friend of yours as well, a young woman who used to visit you--the wife of the other, it is supposed. She was here, I remember, one night there was a party; I saw you together in my cousin's bedroom. She had just dressed and gone down.”

”I remember,” said Mary. ”It was Mrs. Helmer.”

”Well?”

”It is very unfortunate, certainly; but the truth must be told: a few days before you left, one of the servants, hearing some one in the house in the middle of the night, got up and went down, but only in time to hear the front door open and shut. In the morning a hat was found in the drawing-room, with the name _Thomas Helmer_ in it: that is the name of your friend's husband, I believe?”

”I am aware Mr. Helmer was a frequent visitor,” said Mary, trying to keep cool for what was to come.

This that Sepia told her was true enough, though she was not accurate as to the time of its occurrence. I will relate briefly how it came about.

Upon a certain evening, a few days before Mary's return from Cornwall, Tom would have gone to see Miss Yolland had he not known that she meant to go to the play with a Mr. Emmet, a cousin of the Redmains. Before the hour arrived, however, Count Galofta called, and Sepia went out with him, telling the man who opened the door to ask Mr. Emmet to wait.

The man was rather deaf, and did not catch with certainty the name she gave. Mr. Emmet did not appear, and it was late before Sepia returned.

Tom, jealous even to hatred, spent the greater part of his evening in a tavern on the borders of the city--in gloomy solitude, drinking brandy-and-water, and building castles of the most foolish type--for castles are as different as the men that build them. Through all the rooms of them glided the form of Sepia, his evil genius. He grew more and more excited as he built, and as he drank. He rose at last, paid his bill, and, a little suspicious of his equilibrium, stalked into the street. There, almost unconsciously, he turned and walked westward. It was getting late; before long the theatres would be emptying: he might have a peep of Sepia as she came out!--but where was the good when that fellow was with her! ”But,” thought Tom, growing more and more daring as in an adventurous dream, ”why should I not go to the house, and see her after he has left her at the door?”

He went to the house and rang the bell. The man came, and said immediately that Miss Yolland was out, but had desired him to ask Mr.

Helmer to wait; whereupon Tom walked in, and up the stair to the drawing-room, thence into a second and a third drawing-room, and from the last into the conservatory. The man went down and finished his second, pint of ale. From the conservatory, Tom, finding himself in danger of havoc among the flower-pots, turned back into the third room, threw himself on a couch, and fell fast asleep.

He woke in the middle of the night in pitch darkness; and it was some time before he could remember where he was. When he did, he recognized that he was in an awkward predicament. But he knew the house well, and would make the attempt to get out undiscovered. It was foolish, but Tom was foolish. Feeling his way, he knocked down a small table with a great crash of china, and, losing his equanimity, rushed for the stair.

Happily the hall lamp was still alight, and he found no trouble with bolts or lock: the door was not any way secured.