Part 15 (2/2)
”Never mind how they got to know,” he exclaimed. ”I tell you that you mustn't go near Tibbie. It's far too dangerous at this moment.”
His words caused me considerable apprehension. How could I leave Sybil there alone? Would not Mrs Williams and her husband think it very strange? No. She had craved my a.s.sistance, and I had promised it.
Therefore, at all risks I intended to fulfil my promise.
To allay Eric's fears, however, I pretended to agree with him, and made him promise to still keep watch upon Winsloe. Eric was my guest whenever in London; therefore I ordered Budd to prepare his room, and after a snack over at the club we sat smoking and talking until far into the night.
Next morning my companion was early astir. He was in fear of Winsloe ascertaining the whereabouts of Sybil, and went forth to keep watch upon him, promising to return again that same evening. Winsloe had well-furnished rooms in King Street, St James's Square, was one of a go-ahead set of men about town, and a member of several of the gayest clubs frequented by the _jeunesse doree_.
It was both risky and difficult for me to get down to Neate Street, Camberwell, in my dress as a printer; yet against Eric's advice I succeeded, travelling by a circuitous route to South Bermondsey Station and along the Rotherhithe New Road, in reaching Mr Williams' a little after eleven o'clock.
Sybil, looking fresh and neat, was eagerly awaiting me at the window, and when I entered the room she flew across to me, saying in a voice loud enough for the landlady to overhear,--
”Oh! Willie, how very late you are. Been working overtime, I suppose?”
”Yes, dear,” was my response; and we grinned at each other as we closed the door.
”The time pa.s.ses here awfully slowly,” she declared in a low voice. ”I thought you were never coming. I shall have to get a few books to read.”
”I was delayed,” I said, taking off my cloth cap and flinging it upon the sofa. ”I found Eric Domville awaiting me. He came up from Ryhall to-day and told me some strange news.”
”Strange news!” she gasped, turning deathly pale and clutching at the back of a chair in order to steady herself. ”What--what news?”
The truth was instantly plain. Her fear was that the mystery of the unknown had been discovered.
I had quite inadvertently struck terror into her heart, for upon her countenance was that same haunted look as on that night when she had left Ryhall in secret.
”What Eric has told me concerns Ellice Winsloe,” I said, much surprised, and yet allowing her agitation to pa.s.s unnoticed.
”Ellice Winsloe. Is he--has he come to London?” she gasped, staring at me and starting.
”Yes, and more. He knows that you slept the night before last at Harker's. He called to see you an hour after we had left yesterday.”
”He knows!” she cried in a low, terrified voice.
”Ellice knows that I was there! Then he has followed me--he--he means to carry out his threat!”
”What threat?”
”Ah, no. I--I'm mad, Wilfrid. I--I don't know what I'm saying!” she cried, pus.h.i.+ng her hair from her brow with both her hands and pacing up and down the room. ”But you will help me--won't you?” she implored, halting before me and looking me straight in the face.
”Help you--of course,” I said. ”But I confess I can't understand. This man only proposed marriage to you a fortnight ago.”
”I know. I know. And I refused him. Ah! Wilfrid. I would rather kill myself than marry that man!”
”Then you know something concerning him that is not in his favour?”
”I know a great deal. I often wonder why Jack and he are such intimate friends.”
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