The sensation of relief was almost more than she could bear. How good he was! Frank had accurately gauged the extent of her folly, and had taken instant steps to guard her from the consequences of her own misconduct. How little was she deserving of such a husband? With a blinding mist before her eyes she got out on to the platform.

"Come," said the woman. "I've a cab waiting."

"A cab--shall we want a cab?"

"Of course we shall,--trust me for knowing what we want. You had better move yourself, there may be someone else here to meet you, and someone may see you whose recognition you had rather be without."

What did the woman mean? There was something in her tone which was not altogether agreeable. Could tidings of her escapade have already leaked out, and did she go in fear of the condemnatory glances of censorious friends? In a state of nervous doubt she pressed after the woman through the crowd. They reached a four-wheeler. Opening the door her companion let her enter first. When they had started she put a question on the subject which was preying on her mind, a little stammeringly.

"Does--anyone know of what I've done?"

Her companion's tone, as she replied, was dry--even grim.

"Just one or two. More than you perhaps imagine, or would quite care for if you knew. If you don't keep your eyes wide open this'll be the worst Christmas ever you spent in all your life."

Edith began to suspect that this might turn out to be only too true.

Her heart sank lower. Amidst the noise made by the cab her voice was scarcely audible.

"Is he--so very--angry?'

"That's a pretty question to ask! You've made a mess of it--about as bad a mess as you could make, and then you wonder if folks are angry.

I don't know much about it, I'm not told everything, and I don't want to be told, sometimes the less I know the better I'm pleased; but from what I have heard, I should say anger wasn't the word for it; and that you're in for about as bad a time as ever you had in all your days!"

Edith did not like her companion's manner,--she liked it less and less. Her voice was not that of an educated woman; her bearing, from one in her station, was unpleasantly familiar--at times, almost threatening. Mrs Bankes wondered why her husband had chosen such an agent, and how he had chanced on her.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"Never mind where I'm taking you. Do as I do, and don't want to know more than you can help. As I've said, sometimes the less you know the more comfortable you feel."

"But I insist on knowing where you are taking me. I don't want to go too far away from the station; I wish to go back by the nine o'clock train."

"The devil you do!" The woman actually swore. Edith shuddered. What a dreadful creature she seemed. How could Frank have selected such a being to be her companion even for a fleeting hour. "Then you can take my word for it that you'll go back by no nine o'clock train--not much."

"Then by what train shall I return?"

"How should I know? Return! I shouldn't have thought that you'd have been anxious to return after what you've done. I should have thought that it would have been a little bit too warm for you down there."

What was the woman insinuating? Why did she use such exaggerated language? It could hardly have been warranted by any instructions which she had received from Frank.

"I think that you hardly understand the situation?"

The stranger cut her short.

"You're right there--I don't, and I don't want to. If you take my advice, so far as I'm concerned, you'll keep your mouth shut tight.

Say what you've got to say to someone else, you'll soon have plenty to say it to, who'll want to hear all, and perhaps a bit besides. All I've to do is to see you safe; after I've done that, I don't want to see no more of you."

Edith was silent. She was beginning to be conscious of a feeling of vague distrust; to wonder if, in entering a cab with this woman, she had not made the biggest of all her mistakes. As she began to think, she perceived the improbability, to say the least, of Frank's having communicated with anyone in town. Proposing to take a holiday till after Christmas, he had intended remaining at the office that evening unusually late. It was extremely unlikely that he would have returned home until after seven; before then she had reached her journey's end.

In any case he would hardly have had time to telegraph instructions for her to be met, even if he had suspected her destination. In any case, who was this woman? What were the instructions which she claimed to have received, that she should refuse to vouchsafe any information as to where she was taking her?

The more Mrs Bankes thought it over the more she was convinced that she had been the victim of some extraordinary misunderstanding, and the more desirous she became of opening the cab door, and jumping straightway out into the street. With some hazy idea of resorting to such an extremely desperate measure she leaned over towards the window. Immediately her companion gripped her by the shoulder.

"Stop that! What are you up to?"

"I think there's been some mistake."

Mrs Bankes spoke faintly. Her companion's voice was anything but faint as she replied.

"Don't you try any of your tricks with me. I shouldn't be surprised if there has been a mistake, and it's just to give you a chance of explaining how it came about that you're going where you are. My instructions are to see you safe, and I'm going to see you safe. I carry out my instructions whatever other folks may do; I've got something to see you safe with, and if you make any fuss you shall have a taste of what's inside--see?"

To Mrs Bankes' petrifaction, a revolver gleamed in the speaker's hand, the muzzle of which was pointed towards her head. It was a form of argument with which, at the moment, she felt wholly powerless to cope.

Before she again found courage enough to enable her to speak, the cab drove up before a house. Her companion favoured her with a further hint or two.

"Here we are; and don't you make a sound or try to speak a word to anyone before we get inside, or--"

The sentence was not concluded; but the speaker moved the weapon, which she still held in her hand, in a fashion which, so far as Mrs Bankes was concerned, rounded it off with more than sufficient point.

CHAPTER III.--A HOUSE OF THIEVES

The house in front of which they had stopped seemed empty. At least, the hurried, agitated glance which Mrs Bankes cast up and down failed to discover any sign of a light at either of the windows. She had not, however, much time allowed her for inspection. Her companion, gripping her arm with uncomfortable firmness, drew her towards the door, which she opened with a key held in her other hand. So soon as it was opened she drew Mrs Bankes inside with a force and suddenness which almost precipitated that lady headforemost on to the floor. Instantly the door was slammed, and Mrs Bankes found herself standing with the stranger in pitchy blackness. Nor did the sound of the other's voice add to her sense of comfort.

"Now I've done what I was told to do,--I've brought you safe. You'd better be on your best behaviour, or you'll quickly find yourself in worse trouble than you are already. Come this way." The woman dragged her along what seemed to be a pa.s.sage. "Here's the stairs--up you go."

And up Mrs Bankes went, pushed and pulled up the unseen staircase in a way which was more than a little disconcerting. They reached what was apparently a landing. The stranger, throwing open a door, disclosed a room, immediately in front of them.

"In you go."

And in Mrs Bankes did go, propelled by a well-directed push from the rear. When she was in, the door was pulled to behind her. She heard the key turned in the lock outside. Retreating footsteps were distinctly audible. In a state of bewilderment, which was unlike anything she had ever been conscious of before, she glanced about her.

She found herself in a small room, whose entire furniture consisted of a solitary wooden chair--and the back of that was broken. There was neither carpet nor table. The dirty, tawdry paper was peeling off the walls. The sole illumination proceeded from a candle stuck in a broken, battered tin candlestick, which stood upon the greasy mantelshelf.

She seated herself on the solitary chair. Her life was ordinarily placid and uneventful. So much of the unexpected had been crowded into the last few hours that her mental faculties were in a state of seemingly inexplicable confusion. This was running away with a vengeance! This was indeed playing with dignity the part of outraged and indignant wife! This was a pleasant prelude to the Christmas season! Where was she? Of what extraordinary misunderstanding was she the subject? For whom had she been mistaken? What had the other person done? What was the fate which was awaiting her? Or was it not possible that there had been no misunderstanding at all; but that her credulity had been played upon; that she had been tricked into entering a den of criminals, where she was destined to be the victim of some horrible outrage?

As she asked herself these and similar questions, to which she sought in vain for answers, she became conscious, all at once, of the sound of voices. She looked about her, and perceived for the first time that the apartment had two doors--the one through which she had entered and another immediately facing it. This second door had been covered with paper of the same pattern as that which was on the walls; and it was this peculiarity, probably, which had caused its existence to hitherto escape Mrs Bankes' notice. A moment's attention made plain the fact that it was through this door that the sound of voices came. Edith hesitated. Eavesdropping was not to her taste; but in circ.u.mstances such as hers she was surely ent.i.tled to take advantage of anything which might tend to elucidate the position she was in, or which would prepare her for whatever danger threatened. She stood close up to the door.

Apparently there was a room beyond. There seemed to be several speakers. They were engaged in an animated discussion. She could distinguish the tones of at least three voices. Presently distinct words and phrases began to reach her ears.

"If I had my way I'd cut the heart clean out of her."

She shuddered. Could the reference be to her? The expression of opinion seemingly met with the approbation of its hearers. Another voice became audible--coa.r.s.e, rough, threatening, and yet, unless Mrs Bankes erred, its proprietor was feminine. Indeed to her it appeared that all the speakers were women.

"That's what I say. Let's make short work of her. No cackle, and no beating about the bush. She's done us, we'll do her--and waste no time about it either!" A third voice followed. "That's right; then let's have her in and get through with it as soon as possible."

The proposition seemed to be approved. Steps were heard approaching the door against which the listener stood. A key was turned. The door was flung open.

"Now then!--in here! and look sharp about it too!"

The words were addressed to Mrs Bankes as if she had been a dog. She shrank back. The command was repeated.

"Do you hear? Out you come! Or have I to fetch you? No nonsense, or it'll be the worse for you!"