Part 44 (2/2)

My only fear was that the police might recognize her. While she remained in one place, she would, no doubt, be safe from detection.

But if she commenced to travel, then most certainly the police would arrest her.

Fortunately they were not in possession of her photograph, yet all along I remained in fear that the manager of the Coliseum might make a statement, and this would again connect me with the gang.

Yes, I suppose the reader will dub me a fool to have married Sylvia.

Well, he or she may do so. My only plea in extenuation is that I loved her dearly and devotedly. My love might have been misplaced, of course, yet I still felt that, in face of all the black circ.u.mstances, she was nevertheless true to those promises made before the altar. I was hers--and she was mine.

Even then, with the papers raising a hue-and-cry after her, as well as what I had discovered regarding her elopement, I steadfastly refused to believe in her guilt. Those well-remembered words of affection which had fallen from her lips from time to time I knew had been genuine and the truth.

That same night I read in the evening paper a paragraph as follows--

”It is understood that the police have obtained an important clue to the perpetrators of the daring theft of the diamond necklet belonging to the Archd.u.c.h.ess Marie Louise, and that an arrest is shortly expected. Some highly sensational revelations are likely.”

I read and re-read those significant lines. What were the ”sensational revelations” promised? Had they any connection with the weird mystery of that closed house in Porchester Terrace?

I felt that perhaps I was not doing right in refraining from laying before the Criminal Investigation Department the facts of my strange experience in that long-closed house. In that neglected garden, my own grave lay open. What bodies of other previous victims lay there interred?

I recollected that in the metropolis many bodies of murdered persons had been found buried in cellars and in gardens. A recent case of the discovery of an unfortunate woman's body beneath the front doorsteps of a certain house in North London was fresh within my mind.

Truly the night mysteries of London are many and gruesome. The public never dream of half the brutal crimes that are committed and never detected. Only the police, if they are frank, will tell you of the many cases in which persons missing are suspected of having been victims of foul play. Yet they are mysteries never solved.

I went across to White's and dined alone. I was in no mood for the companions.h.i.+p of friends. No one save myself knew that my wife had disappeared. Jack suspected something wrong, but was not aware of what it exactly was.

I went down to Andover next day and called upon the Shuttleworths.

Mrs. Shuttleworth was kind and affable as usual, but whether my suspicions were ungrounded or not, I thought the rector a trifle brusque in manner, as though annoyed by my presence there.

I recollected what the man Lewis had told his friends--that he had seen Shuttleworth down in the Ditches--one of the lowest neighbourhoods--of Southampton. The rector had told him all that had transpired!

Why was this worthy country rector, living the quiet life of a remote Hamps.h.i.+re village, in such constant communication with a band of thieves?

I sat with him in his well-remembered study for perhaps an hour. But he was a complete enigma. Casually I referred to the great jewel theft, which was more or less upon every one's tongue.

”I seldom read newspaper horrors,” he replied, puffing at his familiar pipe. ”I saw something in the head-lines of the paper, but I did not read the details. I've been writing some articles for the _Guardian_ lately, and my time has been so fully occupied.”

Was this the truth? Or was he merely evading the necessity of discussing the matter?

He had inquired after Sylvia, and I had been compelled to admit that she was away. But I did so in such a manner that I implied she was visiting friends.

Outside, the lawn, so bright and pleasant in summer, now looked damp and dreary, littered by the brown drifting leaves of autumn.

Somehow I read in his grey face a strange expression, and detected an eagerness to get rid of me. For the first time I found myself an unwelcome visitor at the rectory.

”Have you seen Mr. Pennington of late?” I asked presently.

”No, not for some time. He wrote me from Brussels about a month ago, and said that business was calling him to Spain. Have you seen him?”

<script>