Part 41 (2/2)

”Very well. I'll wait.”

The girl who had listened with disgust to the Sunday morning sermon preached by the Rev. Hubert Holt, and who had afterwards gone round to the vestry of the church of St. Barnabas, Camberwell, was Dolly Vivian.

A few days previously, while walking along Buckingham Palace Road, she unexpectedly pa.s.sed the man who called himself Mansell. Attired as he was in the garb of a clergyman, she was not quite certain as to his ident.i.ty with the man who had a.s.sisted in her abduction. Yet, with justifiable curiosity, she turned and set herself to watch him. For hours she dogged his footsteps, always at a respectable distance. First he went up Victoria Street, and along the Embankment to the City, then he crossed London Bridge and continued through the Borough and Walworth Road, ultimately entering one of a terrace of smoke-begrimed houses in Boyson Road, Camberwell. Once or twice while following him she contrived to obtain an uninterrupted view of his features, and each time felt more convinced that he was the man for whom she was in search.

When he had disappeared she returned, and noticed upon the railing outside the house was a small, tarnished bra.s.s plate bearing the name, ”Rev. Hubert Holt.” Carefully noting the number, she proceeded to make diligent inquiries, and was not long in discovering that Holt and Mansell was one and the same person, and that he was curate of St.

Barnabas church, which was situated at the end of the road.

At first she was prompted to call upon him at once and denounce him; but on reflection she saw that such a course might not effect the object she had in view. She regarded him as a scoundrel, and in consequence carefully prepared a tableau by which she could obtain the information she sought, and if possible, compa.s.s his ruin. The vindictive nature latent in every woman was aroused in her when she discovered his hypocrisy, and she saw that if she met him face to face in the midst of his holy duties her revenge could be rendered more complete.

As she stood awaiting the interview her cheeks were flushed by excitement, and she nervously toyed with the b.u.t.tons of her gloves. Her lips were compressed, her fair forehead was furrowed by an unbecoming frown of resolution, for she had resolved to meet him boldly, and show him no mercy.

”What name shall I tell Mr. Holt, miss?” the verger asked, re-entering the small, bare anteroom a moment later.

”Never mind,” she replied. ”He--he doesn't know my name.” Then the verger went out.

While she was uttering these words the curate's visitor--a tall, military-looking old gentleman--emerged from the vestry, leaving the door ajar.

Dolly pushed the door open and walked in, closing the door after her.

Holt was still in his surplice, standing beside the small writing-table.

He looked up as the intruder entered. The colour left his face, and he drew back in dismay when he recognised her.

”You!” he stammered. ”I--I did not know you were here!”

”Yes,” replied she sternly. ”I'm not a welcome visitor, am I?

Nevertheless, now I've found you, we have an account to settle.”

He did not reply; but, the subject being distasteful to him, he walked quickly round the table and opened the door, which led into the church.

She saw that his intention was to escape.

”Shut that door, if you don't wish our conversation to be overheard,”

she said, pale and determined. ”Re member, you are in my hands, my reverend murderer!” Starting at the word ”murderer,” he closed the door slowly, and stood with his back against it, and head bowed before her.

”Now,” she said, advancing towards him, ”first of all, I want to know what harm I have ever done you that you should drug me, and then attempt to kill me.” The pointed question was asked in a tone that was the reverse of rea.s.suring.

”I did not.”

”To deny it is useless,” she declared vehemently. ”I have ample proof of your villainy; moreover, I intend that you shall be justly punished.”

”Why, what do you mean to do?” he cried in alarm. He had been cleverly entrapped, and saw no means of escape from his irate victim.

”What I do depends entirely upon your att.i.tude towards me,” answered she in a calm tone. ”Like a foolish girl, I trusted implicitly to your honour, and you--a clergyman--tried to kill me.”

”I did not do it--indeed I did not.”

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