Rhyl Journal

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL UtRANewmiT. HATSOEVER A MAN SOWETH. BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX Author of "Who Givath Thie Woman?" Th Hoose of the Wicked," The Idol of the Town," Faireet A-"g WOOMS," "Whoso Findeth a Wife," &c., &c. (COPYRIGHT.) CHAPTER XXV.—MAKES PLAIN A WOMAN'S FEAR. "Tett me," I said at last, full of sympathy for her in her dire a&hapfHBeas. Tell me. Tibbie, about this man Rombold." For some momoutti she Wat; silent. Her poia lipg trembled. "What ib there to tBiI ?" Ishe exclaimed, hoarsely. There was nethiag axtraenhuanp in our meeting. We met at a country hcmee, as I met a hundred other men. Together we passed ecme idle summer days. and at last discovered that we loved each other." Well r" Well-that is al I," she answered in a dtraagm bitter voice. It is all at an end now." I never recollect meeting him," I remarked, reflect ively. No—you never have," she said. But please do not let us diecwss him further," site nrged. The memories of it all are too painful. I was a fool!" "A fool for loving himr" I asked, for so platonic were our relations that I ooaid epeak b her with the same frankness as her own brother. of For loving him I" she cehocd, looking straight; at me. No—no. I was a fool because I allowed myself to be in inieft, and believed what I told withont demanding proof." Why do you fear the man who found you in Glasgow ?" "Ah! That is quite another matter," she exclaimed quickly. I warn you to be carnal of John Parham. A word from me would place him under arrest: but. alas! I dare not speak. Thev have successfully closed my lipe!" Was she referring. I wondered, to that bouse witli the fatal statm. "He married, I suppose?" "Yes—aid his wife is in utter ignorance of who and what he is. She livee at Sydenkan. and believes him to be something in the City. t know the poor woman quite well." It was upon the tip of my tongue to ntak4, inquiry about Mies (Vflara. but by so doioe t. c-aw I should admit having acted the spy. I. longed to pnt some leading questions to her con- cerning thf' dead unknown in Chadtlon Wood. but in of Eric's terrible denunciation how could T? W) ere was Biic ? I a;;kd her, but she declared that the was in ignorance. Some time ago." she said. I heard that bm was in Paris. He left. England suddenly, t be! ieve." Why ?" "The real reason I don't know. I only ksow from a. friend who saw him one day "Ittrog before a cafe in the Boulevard des Ifcaliews." Your friend did not speak to him?" I in- quired quickly. "No." "Then if might have been a mistake. TIM person might, I mean, have merely rescmfclBct Erie. Domville. Was your informant an jn- timate friend F" A friend—and also an enemy." Ah Many of us have friends of that pert I remarked, whereat she sighed, recollecting, BO rloubf. the many friends who had played hoc t a ie. The wild, irresponsible worldliness. the thoughtless vices of the tmarf woman, thefHaagy conversation and the loudness of voice that was one of the hall-marks of her go-ahead circle, had now all given place to a quietn of manner ;i,n<t a thoughtful seriousness that utterly amazed me. In her peril, whatever it was, the stern realities* of life had risen before her. She DO longer Tfioked at men and things through rose-coioorerl spectacles, she rranklv admitted to me, but now. saw the grim seriousness ol life around hor. Dull drab Camberwell had been 10 her an object lesson, showing her thai thej-e were other peoples and other spheres beside that gay worlrf around Grosvenor Square, or bridge parties at country houses. Yet fhe had. alas! learned the lesson too late. Misfortune had fallen upon her. and now she wa, hopeless, actually seriously contemplating suicide. This latter fact caused me the most intense anxiety. Apparently her interview with Arthur l.'u;n- hold's mother had caused her to decide to i ake her life The Net of Parham having: found her in GUisgOw was, of cciii i-se a serious contretemps, but thp real reason ct her decision to <Jio was the outcome of her meeting wit:, Mrs. K'nmbold. What had p:1 ri»t«e°n the tv. women? their meeting at Fort illiam a [ re- arranged one, or was it accidental? If must have been pre-arranged, or she would scarcely have gone in the opposite direction to that of which she left word for me. The situation was now growing more serious every moment. As we stood together there I asked her to release me from my imposture her husband, but at the mete suggestion she Cried- "Ah! no Wilfrid: You surely will not desert me now-itist at the moment when I most eed your protection." "But in what way can this pretence of .,t;r marriage assist you?" "It tioes-it will," she assured me. "You do not knew the truth, or- my motive would be quite plain to you. I have trusted you. and I still trust in you that you will not desert er betray me." "Betray you? Why, Tibbie, what are you sav- ing?" I asked, surprised. Could I betray her? c'< I admired her, but I did not Jove her. How could I love her when I recollected the awfal charge against her. "Do you suspect that I would, play you false, as some of your friends have done?'" I ask-d, looking steadily info her fine eyes. "No. no; forgive me, ilfrid," she exclaimed earnestly, returning my gaze. "I sometimes don't know what I am saying. I only mean, that—you will not leave tu" If And yet you asked me to go back to London only a few minutes <1 go I said in a voice of re- proach. I think I'm mad she cried. This mystery is so puzzling;, ;o inscrutable, and so full of hori-or that it is driving me insane." "Then to you also it is a mystery!" I cried, utterly amazed at her words. "I thought you were fully aware of the whole truth." "I only wish I knew it. If go. I might per- haps escape my enemies. But they are much too insenious. They have laid their plans far too well." She referred. I supposed, to the way in which those scoundrels had forced money from her by threats- Sbp was surely not aloae in her terrible ihmldont. The profession of flip blackmailer in I,ondon is perhaps one of the most lucrative of criminal callings, and also one of the safest for the criminal. A demand can cleverly insinuate without making a.nv absolute threat, and the blackmailer is generally a perfect past-master of hi6 art. The general public can conceive no idea of thp, widespread operation* of 'Ile thousands of these blackguards in all grades of society. When swrets cannot be di^cover^d. running (raps a r-e set for the unwary, and many an honest man and woman is at this moment at the mercy of vtvcrupulons villain*, compelled to pay in order to hush up some affai'' or^ which they are iw realitv entirelv innocent. No one is safe. From the poor squalid homes or VV rii.echapel to the big mansions of Belgravia, from garish City office# to the snug villadoni of Norwood, from fickle Finchley to wary Wandsworth, the black- mailer takes his toll, whilc, it is calculated that nearly half the suicides reported annually in Lomicn 'fe of those who take their own liies rather than face exposure. The "unsound mind reidict in many instances merely covers the grim fact that the pockets of the victim have been drained dry by those human vampirps who. drcs^-d smugly and pacing as gentlemen, v rub shoulders with us in society or every grade. I looked at Syhil. and wondered what was th- ctrane secret which she had been compelled to hush up. Those letters I had filched from the dead man were all sufficient proof that she was a victim. But what was the story? Would she ever tell roe? [ looked at her sweet beaatifnl face, and wondered. We moved on again, ftlowlv skirting the picturesque lake. She would not allow me to release myself from my bond. de- claring that I mitit still oose as William Mor- ton, compositor. But everyone knmvs we are net married," I said. "Mrs. Humhold, for instance!" Not everyone. There are some who believe it, or they would not hesitate to attack me," was her vag-ue* and mysteriou.s response. For my own pa't, 1 ibbie. 1 think w"-e carried the masquerade oil quite long enough. I'm be- ginning to fear t hat Jaå. or some of his friends, may discover 11s. Your description is circulated by the police. j-eBiemhei bistres, my prolonged absence- ,11 ready been commeiivc^1 upon 1J four people, -lack and Wydeombe have been te my rooms half«a-do*en tinM". 60 Budd aays." Tkey will not JIi UO. 3&1 r _d .J8.. —— "Wut walking her- openly, and travelling up and down the. country is really inviting reccrni- tioB," I declared. You ivei e remember, in Carlisle, and again in Glasgow. To- waxo™ yPILMy 1)e sp. by one of you I friajids who will wire to lack. And if we are found to- gether—what then ?" "What then?" she echoed. Why. F should be foond with the man who is my t-my only friend." But a scandaJ would be created. You can't afford to risk that, you know." "No," she answered slowly in a low ha.rd voice, I suppose you are righti I can't. Neither can you, for the matter of that. Yes," she added, with a tleep sigh, it woutu be far better for me, as well as for you, if I were dead." I did lion reply. What could I say? She seemed filled by a dark foreboding of evil, and her thoughts now naturally reverted to the action over which she had perhaps for weeks or months been brooding. I had endeavoutfd to assist her for the sake of our passionate idyllic love of long ago, but all was in vain. I said. T recognised that sooner or later she must He discovered, and the blow— the exposure of her terrible crime-must fall. And then ? She had killed the man who had held her in thraldom That was an undoubted fact. Brio had fullv explained it and could testify to the deed, although he would, I knew, never appear as witness against her. The unknown black- guard scorning her defiance had goaded her to a frenzy of madness, and she had taken her Tevenge upon the cowardly scoundrel. Could she be blamed? In taking a life she had committed a crime before God and man, most certainly. The crime of murder can Tiever be pardoned, yet in -uch circumstances surely the reader will bear with me for regard- ing her action with some slight degree of leniency-with what our French neighbours would call extenuating circumstances. And the more so when I recollected what the dead unknown had written to his accomplice in Manchester. The fellow had laid a plot:, but he had failed. The woman, alone, unprotected and desperate, had defended herself, and he had fallen dead by her hand. In my innermost heart I decided that he de- served the death. Why Ellice Winsloe had recognised the body was plain enough now. The two men were friends—and enemies of Sybil Burnet. I clenched my fingers when I thought of the dangerous man who wa6 still posing as the chum of young Lord Scarcliff, and I vowed that I would live to avenge the wrong done to the poor trembling girl at my side. She burst into hot tears again when I d^ clared that it would be better for us to return again to the obscurity of Camberwell. "Yes." she sobbed. A-et as you think best, Wiifrid. I am entirely in your hands. I am yours, indeed, for you saved my life on-en that night when I fled from Ryhall." We turned into the town again througk Gallowgate when she had dried her eyes, and had lunch at a small eating-house in New Bridge Street, she afterwards returning to her hotel to pack, for we had decided to take the afternoon train up to King" Cross. She was to meet me at the station at half- past three, and just before that hour. while idling up and down Neville Street awaitmc the arrival of her cab. of a sudden I saw the figure of a man in a. dark travelling ulster and soft felt hat emerge from the station and owes the road to Grainger Street West. He was hurrying along, but in an instant something about his figure and gait struck me as familiar: therefore, walking quickly after him at an angle before he could enter Grainger Street, I caught a glimpse of his countenance. It was John Parham! And he was going ia the direction of the Douglas Hotel. Ho had again tracked her down with an in- tention which I knew alas: too well could oaly be a. digtinctly evil one. CHAPTER XXVI.—TAKES ME A STEP FURTHER. We were back again in Neate Street, Camber- well. In Newcastle we had a very narrow escape. As Parham had walked towards the hotel, Sybil had fortunately passed him in a closed cab. On her arrival at the station she was in entire ignorance of the fellow's presence, and as the train was already in waiting we entered and were quickly on our way to London, wondering by what meaiis Parham could possibly have known of her whereabouts. Was she watched ? Was some secret agent, of whom we were in ignorance, keeping con&taut observations upon us, and reporting our move- ments to the enemy ? That theory was Sybil's. "Those men are utterly unscrupulous," she declared as we sat together in the little upstairs room in ( zi in No secret is safe from them, and their spie-, are far better watchers than 1 he most skilled detectives of Scotland Yard." At that moment Mrs. Williams eiuored, llplighte-rl to see us back again, for when we had left, Tibbie had. at my suggestion, paid reait for the rooms for a mouth in advance and explained that we were returning. "Two gentlemen came to inquire for you a week ago, Mr. Aloi ton." she exclaimed, address- ing me. "They first asked whether Mrs. Mor- ton was at home, and I explained that she was away. They then inquired for you, and appeared to be most inquisitive." "Inquisitive? About what?" asked my pseudo wife. all about your private affairs, mum. But I told them I didn't know anything, of 'In -n, course. One of the men was a foreigner." "What did they ask your" I inquired in some alarm. nOh, how long you'd been with me, where you worked, how long you'd been married—and C all that. Most impudent, I call it. Especially as they were strangers." How did you know they were strangers?" Because they took the photograph of my poor brother Harry to be yours—so they couldn't have known you." Impostor, I expect," I remarked, in order to allay the gucd woman's suspicions. "No doubt they were trying to get some information from you in order to use it for their own pur- poses. Perhaps to use my wife's name, or mine, as all introduction somew here." they didn't, get much change out of me, I can tell you," she laughed. "I told them I didn't know them and very soon showed them the door. I don't like foreigners. When I asked them to leave their names they looked at each other and appeared confused. They asked where you were. and I told them you were in Ireland." That's right," I said, smiling. If they \d'.Jt me they can come here again and find me." Then, after the landlady ha<] gone downstairs, Tibbie her opinion. "Did I not tell yon that inquiries would be made to ascertain whether I were married?" the said. "The woman evidently satisfied them, for she ha. no suspicion of the true state of affairs." "Then you are safer" "Sate only for the present. I may be in in- creased peril to-morrow." And how long do you anticipate this danger to la>t •" I 1:r S"riously, as she gat there gazing into the meagre fire. "Last: Lntil my life's end," she answered very sadly. Then turning her wonderful eyes to mine she added: "I know you cannot sacri- fice your life for nw in this way much longer, Wilfrid. yet life, afterall, is vry sweet. When I am alonel constantly look back upon ill;" past and recognise how wasted it has been; how I discarded the benefits of Provi- deneet and how from the Ii :t, when I came out, I was dazzled b\ the glitter, gaiety, and extra- vagance of our circle. It has all ended now and I actually believe I am a changed woman. But it is, alas too late—-too late." Those words of hers concealed some extraordi- nary romance—the romance of a broken heart. Sheadmitted as much. Why were these men 6Q persistently hunting her down if they were in no fear of her? It could only be some desperate vendetta- perhaps a life for a lite.' What she had said was correct. Mine was now a most invidious position, for it llil4, posing as William Morton. T was unable to go 10 Bolton Street or even call upon Sea re] fV or Wydeombe for fear that Winsloe and his accomplices should learn that I was still alive. Therefore I was compelled to return to the Cahvlonian Hotel in the Adelpni, when- Budd met m.. in secret each. e\vii"ig with ray letters and necessaries. Another week thus went by. The greater pad; of the day I usually spent with Tibbie in that dull little room in N sate Street, and sometimes, when the w-ather was fine, wp went to get breath of an ill trreenwich Park or to Lewisham or Pulw if", those resorts of the workiug-clag« of South London. At night, ostensibly going to work. I left her and spent hours and hours carefully watching the movements of Ellico Winsloe To Lord Wvdcoinbe s, 111 Curzon Street, I fol- lowed him on several occasions, for he had sud- denly become very intimate with Wydeombe it appeared, and while J stood on the pavement, cutside that house I knew so well my thoughts wandered back to those brilliant festivities which Cynthia so often gave. One night, after Winsloe bad dined there, I saw\ t-he bronghain <ome 'ouud. and he and Cvntlna drove off bj the theatre, followed by Jack and ydcombe in 3. another afternoon I followed -Wi,- sloe to the Scareliff'.s in Grosvonor Place, and lr.frr 011 t-aw him laughing with old Lady Scarcliff at the drawiug-rooBB window that overlooked Hyde Park Corner. annttted 4 <4efifc» to-do appearance, essentially that of a gentleman. His frock-coat was immaculate, his overcoat ol the latest cut. -ind his silk hat always ironed to the highest perfection of glossiness. Tibbie. of course, knew nothing of mv j tent watchfulness. I never went near my "hambers therefore and Parham ccrtainiy believed me dead, while as to DomvHIe's hiding in Paris, 1 confess I doubted the truth of the statement oi Tibbie's friend. If the poor fellow stili .iived he would most certainly have written, to me. He was dead—without a doubt. Ho had fallen a vidim in that grim house of doom. and again I tried to Had the gruesome place, but in vain. Not a street nor an alley in the neighbourhood of Regent-st. I left unex- plored. yet for thp life of me I could not again recognise the house. The only plan, I decided, was to follow Parham, who would one day go there, without a doubt. I called on Mrs. Parham at Sydenham Hill, and found that her husband was still absent—in India, she believed. Mits O'Hara, however, re- mained with her. What connection had the girl with those malefactors, I tried to discern.* At all events she knew their cipher, and they also feared her. as shown by the actions on that dark night if Dean's Yard. My own idea was that Parham was still away in the country. Or if he were in London, he never went near Winsloe. The police were in search of him. as admitted by the inspector at Sydenham, therefore he might at any moment be arrested- But before he fell into the hands of the police I was determined to fathom the secret of that house of mystery wherein I had so nearly lost my life. For Tibbie's personal safety I was now in constant and deep anxiety. They were desperate and would hesitate at nothing in order to secure their own ends. The ingenuity of the plot to seize her in Dean's Yard was sufficient evidence of that. Fortunately, however, Tibbie had not sPell my cipher advertisements. Another week passed, and my pretended wife had quite settled down again amid her humble surroundings. It amused me sometimes to see the girt of whose beauty half London had raved, with the sleeves of her cotton blouse turned up, making a pudding, or kneeling before the grate and applying blacklead with a brush. I, too. helped her to do the housework, and more than cnce scrubbed down the table or cleaned the win- dows. Frequently we worked in all seriousness, hut at times we were compelled to laugh at each other's unusual occupation. And when I looked steadily into those fine vide-open. yes, I wondered what great secret was hidden there. Time after time I tried to learn more of Arthur Rumbold. but she would tell me nothing. In fear that the fact of her disappearance might find its way into the papers, she wrote another reassuring letter to her mother, telling her that she was well and that, one day ere long she would return. This I sent to a friend, a college chum, who was wintering in Cairo, and it was posted from there. Jack naturally 6ent out a man to Egypt to try and find her; and in the meantime we allayed all fears that she had met with foul play. Days and weeks went on. In the security ot those obscure apartments in Neate Street, that mean thoroughfare which by day resounded with the cries of itinerant costermongers. and at even- ing was the playground of crowds of children, Sybil remained patient yet anxious. Mrs. Williams-who, by the way, had a habit of speaking of her husband as her old man"— was a kind. motherly soul, who did her befit to keep her company during my absences, and who performed little services for her without, thought of payment, or reward. The occupation of com- positor accounted not only for my absence each night during the week, but on Sunday nights aisc—to prepare Monday morning e paper, I explained. I told everybody that I worked in Heet Street, but never satisfied them as to which office em- ployed me. There were hundreds of compositors living in the neighbourhood, and if I made a. false statement it would at once be detected. With William^ I friendly, and we often had a glaey together and a pipe. Our life in Camberwell was surely the strauge&t ever led by man and woman. Before those who knew us 1 was compelled to call her "Molly." while she addressed me as "Willie." just as though I were her husband. A thousand times I asked her the real reason of that masquerade, but she steadfastly declined to tell me. You may be able to save me," was all the information she would vouchsafe. Darkness fell early, for it was early in February, and each night I stole forth from t'be Caledonian Hotel on my tour of vigilance. The hotel people did not think it strange that I was a working man. It was a quiet comfortable place. I paid well, and was friendly with tho hall porter. With the ,aithful Budd's assistance—for 110 was friendly with Wineloe's valet—I knew almost as much of the fellow'a movements as he did himself. I dogged his footsteps everywhere. Once he went down to Sydenham Hill, called upon Mrs. Parham. and remained there about an hour while I waited outside in the quiet suburban road. When he emerged he was carry- ing a square parcel packed in brown paper, and thit, he conveyed back to Victoria, and afterwards took a cab to his own chambers. He had not been there more than a quarter of till hour. when along King Street, came a figure that T at once l'ecognised as that of the man I most wanted to meet—John Parham himself. T drew back and crossed the road, watching him enter Winsloe's chambers, of which he ap- parently had a lalch kcy. Then I waited, for I meant, at all hazards, to track the fellow to his hiding-place, and to discover the true identity of the house where I had been so ingeniously entrapped. At last he emerged carrying the square packet which his friend had obtained at Sydenham, and behind him also came Winsloe. They walked across St. James's Square and up York Street to the Trocadero where, after having a drink to- gether. they parted, Winsloe going along Coven- try Street, while his companion, with the packet in his hand. remained on the pavement in Shaftesbury Avenue, apparently undecided which direction to take. I was standing in the doorway of the Caf Monico opposite, watching him keenly, and saw- that lie was evidently well-known at the Troca- dero, for the gold-laced hall-porter saluted him and wished him good evening. A few moments later he got into a cab and drove away, while in a few seconds I had entered another cab, and was following him. We went up Shaftesbury Avenue, turning into Dean Street and thus reaching Oxford Street opposite Rathbone Place, where he alighted, looked around as though to satisfy himself that he was not followed, and walked on at a, rapid pace up Rathbone Place, afterwards turning into many smaller thoroughfares with which I was unacquainted. Once he turned, and I feamt that he had detected mI". therefore I crossed the road and ascended the steps of a house, where 1 pretended to ring the door-bell. He glanced back again, and finding that he was .not being followed increased his pace and turned the corner. I was after him in an instant, and still followed him at a respectable distance until after he had turned several corners and waa walking up a quiet, rather ill-lit street of dark eld-fashioned houses, he glanced up and down and then suddenly disappeared into one of the door- ways. My quick eyes noted the liouee and then, five minutes afterwards, I walked quickly past the place. In a moment I recognised the doorway as that of the house with the fatal stairs! Returning, on the opposite of the road, T saw that the place was in total darkness, yet out- wardly it was in no way different, to its neigh- bours, with the usual flight of stent* leading to the front door, the deep .basement, and the high iron railings still bearing before the door the old extinguishers used by the link-men in the early days of last century. I recognised the house by those extinguishers. The blinds had not been lowered, therefore I conjectured that the place was unoccupied. The street was. 1 found, called Clipsl one Street, and it lay between Cleveland Street, and Great Portland Street, in quite a difl'er"u(. direction than that in which I had imagined :1 to be. After a quarter of an hour Parham emerged without his parcel, closed the door behind him, and walked on to Portland Place where, from, the stand outside the Langliam, he took a cab to Lyric. Chambers, in Whitcomb Street, opposito Leicester Square, where I discovered he had his abode. My heart beat wildly, for I knew that I was now on the verge of a discovery. I had gained knowledge that placed the assassins of Eric Domville in my hands. I lost not éL moment. At the Tottenham Court Road Police Station Twas fortunate in finding Inspector Pickering on duty, and he at once recognised me as the hero of that strange sub- terranean adventure. As soon as I told him I had discovered the mysterious house he was, in an instant, on the alert, and calling two plain-clothes men an- rouneed his intention of with me atonco 10 Clipstone Street to make investigations. • "Better take some tools with you, Edwards, tn open the door, and a lantern, aach of yon," h& B3.id to them. Then turning to me, he added If what we euspect is true, 6ir, there's been some funnj#goingi-oc. in that house. But we shall see." He took a revolver from his dosk and It 1» uniform coat tor a tiark cweea jacket in order not to attract attention in the neighbourhood. Then we all four went forth to ascertain the truth. (T,) be Continued.)