Part 8 (1/2)
THE BONY-FACED MAN.
Daily the problem grew more puzzling.
The fusing of the crucifix and the carved medallion of the Madonna were clearly due to the presence of the mysterious Aline, the beautiful woman who had warned me against the strange evil she exerted over those with whom she came in contact. Such occurrences seemed supernatural; yet so curious were her words and actions, and so peculiar and impressive her beauty, that I could not help doubting whether she actually existed in flesh and blood, or only in some bright vision that had come to hold me in fascination. Yet Simes had seen her, and had spoken with her. There was therefore no doubt that she was a living person, even though she might be a sorceress.
Nevertheless, they were something more than mere conjuring feats which caused the sacred objects in my room to spontaneously consume in her presence. Had she not told me plainly that evil followed in her footsteps? Did not these two inexplicable events fully bear out her words?
I called Simes, and when I showed him the Madonna he stood glaring at it as one terrified.
”I don't like that lady, sir,” he exclaimed, glancing at me.
”Why not?”
”Well, sir, pardon me for saying so, but I believe she can work the evil of the very Devil himself.”
That was exactly my own opinion; therefore I preserved silence.
As lover of a woman possessed of a mysterious influence, the like of which I had never before heard, my position was certainly an unique one.
In the days which followed I tried to argue with myself that I did not love her; to convince myself that what she had alleged was true, namely, that I admired but did not love her. Yet all was in vain. I was fascinated by her large blue eyes, which looked out upon me with that calm, childlike innocence, and remaining beneath their spell, believed that I loved her.
The mystery with which she had surrounded herself was remarkable. Her refusal to allow me to call upon her, or even to write, was strange, yet her excuse that her aunt would be annoyed was plausible enough.
Compelled, therefore, to await her visit, I remained from day to day anxious to meet her because I loved her.
On entering the club one afternoon I found Roddy alone in the smoking-room, writing a letter.
”Well!” he cried, merrily, gripping my hand. ”How goes it--and how's your little mystery going on?”
I sank into a chair close to him and told him of Aline's visit.
”And you're clean gone on her--eh?” he queried.
I shrugged my shoulders and gave him a vague reply.
”Well, take care,” he said in a serious tone. ”If I were you I'd find out who and what she is. She might be some adventuress or other.”
”Do you suspect her to be an adventuress?” I inquired quickly.
”My dear fellow, how can I tell? There seems to me something rather shady about her, that's all.”
I pondered. Yes, he spoke the truth. There was something shady about her. She would tell me absolutely nothing of herself.
We smoked together for half an hour, then parted, for he was compelled to go down to the House, as a dutiful legislator should.
A week pa.s.sed yet I saw not Aline, nor had any word from her. From day to day I existed in all anxiety to once again look upon that face so angelic in its beauty and so pure in expression. Indeed, more than once I felt inclined to break the promise I had made her and call at Ellerdale Road, but I refrained, fearing lest such a course might annoy her.
One evening, a fortnight after she had visited me, I was walking along the Bayswater Road towards Oxford Street, skirting the railings of Hyde Park, when suddenly I noticed before me two figures, a man and a woman.
They were walking slowly, deep in conversation.
In an instant I recognised the slim, perfect figure in the black jacket and black hat as that of Aline, and drew back to escape observation.