Was this the suspicious character who had come up as if he meant to speak to me, and who afterwards vanished?

There was something very awful in the ravings of that man during the next quarter of a hour. At times he was apparently hiding like a beaten hound, cringing and whining, while from the mention of the Junior Garrick Club it struck me that he was, in imagination, pleading to be allowed to stay outside the club house.

"I _will_ see him! I _will_ wait, if I stay here till I die!" he yelled wildly, struggling to rise.

My endeavours to hold him down were at length successful, and, apparently exhausted, he lay back, groaning and muttering.

Slowly and wearily the time pa.s.sed. When at last I looked at my watch its hands pointed to the hour of half-past four.

In a frenzy of excitement I listened breathlessly for every word, hoping to catch some clue to the problem. The sick man moaned and ground his teeth, ever and anon raising his voice, startling me with the suddenness of the outbursts. Lower and lower sank the candle in its socket, until I feared that unless the day soon dawned we should be in darkness.

A cold shiver ran through me.

Then strain was beginning to take effect; my limbs trembled with the tension to which my nerves subjected them.

Presently the day broke, and never was it more welcome.

The candle had just flickered and died out when the injured man spoke with startling distinctness.

"You shall be revenged, Nell, never fear! I'll find him. He has seen him once--red-handed _then_. The blood was upon him--he shall be richly repaid!"

Was he talking of me? I had seen the murderer once, certainly.

"I tell you I will! My oath is sacred. Who will believe me, without him--without Burgoyne?" he continued in his delirium.

Hoping a sudden fright might bring him to consciousness, I laid my hand upon his arm sharply, and exclaimed,--

"What do you want me to do?"

Seemingly startled for a moment, he was silent. Then he asked,--

"What time is it?"

"Half-past six," I answered.

"I've told you all. That cursed fall last night has done for me; or I would have gone with you--gone with you to--to--"

Again he faltered. The fingers which I clasped seemed to stiffen around mine and grow cold.

He was dying!

"For Heaven's sake bear up a few moments!" I implored. "There _must_ be a doctor about now. See, it's getting light!"

Those dark eyes which had pierced me on the previous night once more turned to mine. In their depths a film was gathering. He motioned that he wished to speak, and I leaned down till my face almost touched his.

"Well?" I inquired, kindly and softly.

"It's--for--Nell--I--"

All was over!

For a few seconds I was stunned. It seemed impossible that he was dead--it was not to be realised, in spite of the inanimate body before me.

Then suddenly I gazed about me.

The noise of busy London was in my ears; the day was before me. No more could be learnt from the corpse--why should I stay?

Hastily putting the photograph and the piece of sealed paper into my pocket, I turned and left the room.

The energy of the movement was so great that as I opened the door my attention was attracted by the skirt of a woman's dress disappearing round a corner of the landing.

In spite of my haste, however, the person had gone when I reached the door of the house and stepped into the street. There was no one visible.

Then I remembered an omission.

Retracing my steps, I regained the attic. The body lay rigid and cold as I had left it a few minutes before.

I closed the eyes, and then went home.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE DEAD WOMAN'S PICTURE.

About seven that evening I turned out of the Charing Cross Hotel, where I had taken up a temporary abode, and strolled down the Strand towards the club, having arranged to dine there with Bob and Rivers.

Deeply meditating, endeavouring to account for the strange events of the early morning, I was heedless of those around me, and unconscious of the presence of any one I knew until I felt a smart slap on the back and heard a voice shout,--

"Hulloa, old fellow! Found you at last! Why, you look as glum as if you'd been to a funeral."

It was Demetrius Hertzen.

"What! you in London?" I cried in genuine surprise, heartily glad to meet him.

"Yes, you left the Dene in such an uncommonly mysterious manner, and Vera is so cut up, that I thought I'd come to town, find you, and prevail upon you to return."

Linking his arm in mine, he walked in my direction, as he added, "What's the meaning of all this? Surely you can confide in me, my dear fellow; I am your wife's cousin."

I hesitated. Should I tell him? I longed to do so, and was on the verge of disclosing my secret feelings when suddenly I remembered the promise I had made to Vera to wait three weeks for her explanation.

"Well," I replied endeavouring to smile, but scarcely succeeding, "it is all owing to a few hasty words. Husbands and wives will have little differences sometimes, you know."

He laughed lightly, and regarding me critically for a moment, said,--

"Ah! I see. A lover's quarrel, eh? Why don't you return to Elveham and end all this unpleasantness? It would be far better."

I felt his advice was well-meant, and from the bottom of my heart I thanked him, yet how could I act upon it? Three long anxious weeks must pa.s.s before any explanation.

"No," I answered, "I'll remain in London, at least for the present. I don't know exactly when I shall return."