Part 24 (1/2)
”Only evil--distinct evil,” she replied. ”They will return, and strike when you least expect attack.”
”But if I do not go to the police, why should they fear me? They are quite welcome to the money they have stolen--so long as they allow me peace in the future.”
”Which I fear they will not do,” replied the girl, shaking her head.
”You speak very apprehensively,” I said. ”What is there really to fear? Perhaps it would be best if I went to the police at once. They would then dig over that neglected garden and reveal its secrets.”
”No!” she cried again, starting wildly from her chair as though in sudden terror. ”I beg of you not to do that, Mr. Biddulph. It would serve no purpose, and only create a great sensation. But the culprits would never be brought to justice. They are far too clever, and their conspiracies are too far-reaching. No, remain patient. Take the greatest care of your own personal safety--and you may yet be able to combat your enemies with their own weapons.”
”I shall be able, Sylvia--providing that you a.s.sist me,” I said.
She held her breath, and remained silent. She evidently feared them.
I tried to obtain from her some details of the occurrences of that night of horror, but she refused to satisfy my curiosity. Apparently she feared to incriminate herself. Could it be possible that she had only learnt at the last moment that it was I who was embraced in the next room by that fatal chair!
Yet it was all so puzzling, so remarkable. Surely a girl with such a pure, open, innocent face could not be the accomplice of dastardly criminals! She was their friend. That much she had admitted to me. But her friends.h.i.+p with them was made under compulsion. She urged me not to go to the police. Why?
Did she fear that she herself would be implicated in a series of dark and terrible crimes?
”Where is your father?” I inquired presently.
”In Scotland,” was her prompt reply. ”I heard from him at the Caledonian Hotel, at Edinburgh, last Friday. I am staying here with Mr. Shuttleworth until his return.”
Was it not strange that she should be guest of a quiet-mannered country parson, if she were actually the accomplice of a pair of criminals! I felt convinced that Shuttleworth knew the truth--that he could reveal a very remarkable story--if he only would.
”Your father is a friend of Mr. Shuttleworth--eh?” I asked.
She nodded in the affirmative. Then she stood with her gaze fixed thoughtfully upon the sunlit lawn outside.
Mystery was written upon her fair countenance. She held a dread secret which she was determined not to reveal. She knew of those awful crimes committed in that dark house in Bayswater, but her intention seemed to be to s.h.i.+eld at all hazards her dangerous ”friends.”
”Sylvia,” I said tenderly at last, again taking her hand in mine, ”why cannot you be open and frank with me?” She allowed her hand to lie soft and inert in mine, sighing the while, her gaze still fixed beyond as though her thoughts were far away. ”I love you,” I whispered.
”Cannot you see how you puzzle me?--for you seem to be my friend at one moment, and at the next the accomplice of my enemies.”
”I have told you that you must never love me, Mr. Biddulph,” was her low reply, as she withdrew her hand slowly, but very firmly.
”Ah! no,” I cried. ”Do not take offence at my words. I'm aware that I'm a hopeless blunderer in love. All I know, Sylvia, is that my only thought is of you. And I--I've wondered whether you, on your part, can ever entertain a spark of affection for me?”
She was silent, her white lips pressed close together, a strange expression crossing her features. Again she held her breath, as though what I had said had caused her great surprise. Then she answered--
”How can you love me? Am I not, after all, a mere stranger?”
”I know you sufficiently well,” I cried, ”to be aware that for me there exists no other woman. I fear I'm a blunt man. It is my nature.
Forgive me, Sylvia, for speaking the truth, but--well, as a matter of fact, I could not conceal the truth any longer.”
”And you tell me this, after--after all that has happened!” she faltered in a low, tremulous voice, as I again took her tiny hand in mine.
”Yes--because I truly and honestly love you,” I said, ”because ever since we have met I have found myself thinking of you--recalling you--nay, dreaming of happiness at your side.”
She raised her splendid eyes, and looked into mine for a moment; then, sighing, shook her head sadly.
”Ah! Mr. Biddulph,” she responded in a curious, strained voice, ”pa.s.sion may be perilously misleading. Ask yourself if you are not injudicious in making this declaration--to a woman like myself?”