"I fear nothing while I have my revolver in my pocket," I answered, as coolly as I could. "Both of us are ready and anxious to carry out any plan you may form."

"But of what character is the plan?" asked the vicar, with natural caution.

"It's Friday to-day," she observed, disregarding his question. "Tell me when Aline will next visit you."

"On Sunday. She has written to-day saying that she will attend the service on Sunday evening."

"You will preach?" she asked.

"I don't know," he answered evasively. "I may be away."

"You mean that by that time you may have resigned and left the Church,"

I said quickly. "No, Jack. Don't think of such a thing. Muriel know?

more than she has told us, and if she will a.s.sist us, I have no doubt that the mystery will be cleared up, and the guilty brought to punishment."

"Do you wish me to preach on Sunday?" Yelverton asked of my beloved.

"Certainly," was her response. "But, tell me--she never remains after the evening service, does she?"

"No, never," he replied. "By the time I'm out of the vestry she has always departed. It seems as though her quick, impetuous nature will not allow her to await me."

"Then preach on Sunday night, and leave the remainder to me," she said.

"You appear to know all her movements," Yelverton observed. "Where does she go usually after church?"

"Her destination is always the same--a secret one. But remain patient,"

she added, a strange look in her dark eyes, as though she were intent upon a fierce and terrible revenge. "You are her lover, and have discovered, as others have done, that she is possessed of a spirit of evil that holds you appalled in wonder. Her actions are truly astounding, yet the truth, when revealed, will be more startling and more bewildering than any of the strange things which have already happened."

"And you promise to explain everything?" I asked in breathless eagerness.

"No. I cannot promise that. I will furnish you with the necessary clue to the solution of the mystery, but even I myself know not all the facts."

Both of us tried to obtain from her some further information regarding Aline, but without avail. She remained absolutely mute, likewise refusing to reveal the ident.i.ty of her would-be a.s.sa.s.sin. That she had met him face to face upon the stairs she admitted, but in response to my inquiries declared that the time was not yet ripe for the denunciation, and urged us to remain in patience.

This we did until at last Sunday night came. At about half-past six I accompanied my beloved in a cab to a small and very dismal little street in the immediate vicinity of St Peter's, one of those mean, drab thoroughfares which abound in South London; and when at length the service concluded, we stood together in the gloom waiting for Aline's striking figure to emerge among the congregation.

At last she came, dressed neatly in black, her fair hair well coiled beneath a neat black toque, and in her hand her tiny prayer-book, with the ivory cross upon the cover. She walked straight in our direction without, of course, dreaming of our presence, but outside the smoke-blackened railings of the churchyard she paused for a moment beneath the street-lamp to glance at the little jewelled watch pinned upon her breast. Her lover's sermon had been a trifle longer than usual, therefore, on noting the time, she at once hurried away along the narrow little street towards the Walworth Road, in order, apparently, to keep some mysterious appointment.

"Come!" Muriel said. "Let us follow her!" And together we walked on, eagerly keeping her well in sight in the crowd of dispersing worshippers.

My heart beat wildly in those moments, for I knew we were upon the verge of some extraordinary discovery, the nature of which my beloved had predicted would be stranger than we had dreamed.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

IN THE SHADOW.

Ere we had gained the Walworth Road, Yelverton, so breathless in his haste that he could scarce gasp "Good night" to the small crowd who saluted him as he pa.s.sed, overtook us.

"Where is she?" he inquired.

"There--in front of us, standing on the kerb," I answered, halting in order to escape observation. "She's evidently waiting for an omnibus."

My surmise proved true, for a few moments later she entered one of those green omnibuses which ply to Camberwell Green, and the moment the conveyance moved off again Muriel, turning to me quickly, said--

"We must now lose no time, but take a cab at once to Herne Hill."

We therefore hailed the first four-wheeler, and in one of those most terrible of all conveyances which ply for hire in London--vehicles known in the vernacular as "fever-traps"--we made our way with much rattle and jolting along the Camberwell Road, past Camberwell Green, and up Denmark Hill.

The cab deposited us on the brow of the hill at the corner of that steep road, Red Post Hill, one of the few thoroughfares untouched by the modern builder, and together we descended Herne Hill until we came to a great old house standing back in its own grounds, with large trees around it, and approached by a broad carriage drive. It had undoubtedly been an important residence a century ago, but in the darkness I could discern that weeds had been allowed to grow upon the drive, that shutters closed the windows of the ground floor, that pieces of paper, straw, and other rubbish, the flotsam and jetsam of the street, lay upon the moss-grown steps leading to the front door, and the large board which announced that the desirable site was for sale "for building purposes" told conclusively how the neighbourhood had decayed until it was being gradually swallowed up by overgrown, overcrowded Camberwell.

The double gates rusting on their hinges were secured together by a chain and formidable padlock, but following Muriel we went to a small side door in the high wall, which she opened with a key, admitting us, closing it, and locking it after her.

Within the old tangled garden, where the shrubs, weeds, and flowers had grown wild and unpruned for years, all was silent as the grave. The old place, partly overgrown with ivy, which had almost hidden several of the windows, looked grim and ghostly in the gloom, for the moon was hidden behind a bank of fleecy cloud, and only shed a mystic half-light, which added to rather than decreased the sense of forlorn dreariness which oppressed one. By the aspect of the place it appeared as though it had remained untenanted for fully ten years.

As I stood with my two companions, in the deep shadow, preserving the strict silence which Muriel had now imposed upon us, I confess to entertaining some misgivings. There was a weirdness about the whole affair which I did not like, and I felt a foreboding of some vague evil which I could not define.

With a whispered word of caution Muriel crept forward, treading noiselessly on the carpet of weeds which had hidden the gravel, and skirting the house, swiftly approached a door at the side, evidently once the tradesmen's entrance.

"Hush!" she whispered, "make no noise. If we were discovered here it would be fatal to all our plans--fatal, indeed, to us!"

Noiselessly she opened the door with her key, while we stood behind her, scarce daring to breathe, and then we all three pa.s.sed silently into a small, dark pa.s.sage, down which we groped our way, after Muriel had again locked the door behind her.

I thought I heard a movement at my back like the swish of silk, but next instant rea.s.sured myself that it must be a rat disturbed by our intrusion. The place was silent as the tomb, for upon the pa.s.sage were the remains of some old cocoa-nut matting, which deadened the sound of our footsteps as we crept forward to our unknown goal.

Jack whispered an inquiry to her, but gripping his arm, she answered--

"Not a word! While you are here speak not a word, nor utter any exclamation. Prepare yourselves for amazing surprises, but control yourselves so as to remain silent on witnessing them."

Suddenly she halted, pa.s.sed her hands quietly over some panelling in the long, narrow pa.s.sage which seemed to run the whole length of the house, and searched in the darkness for something she could not at first discover. At length she found what she sought, a small door, apparently concealed in the panelling, and through this we pa.s.sed, down some winding stone steps where the air was foul and damp, and the walls seemed overgrown with fungi.

We were descending into a cellar. Was Muriel about to reveal to us the hidden evidence of some terrible crime? I shuddered, for the darkness was appalling. We could only feel our way lightly with our hands, taking care not to stumble nor to create any noise.

Of a sudden, I saw straight before me five circular rays of light which together formed themselves into a star, and as we approached we found that before us was a part.i.tion of wood, and that these round rays were of the light from a chamber beyond shining through what were apparently air-holes.

"Now!" whispered Muriel, hoa.r.s.ely. "Utter not a sound, but look within!"

I placed my eye at one of the holes and gazed through. What I witnessed there held me dumb with terror. I stood rigid, open-mouthed, not daring to breathe. The scene was, as Muriel had predicted, stranger than any in my wildest dreams.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE EVIL-DOERS.

Truly our gaze encountered a scene of the most bewildering and terrible description. Within, was a s.p.a.cious cellar-like chamber, the walls of which were hung with black whereon were curious devices in white, and around in sconces were burning candles of black wax. At the end, opposite where we stood, was a church Communion-table whereon burnt long, black candles, and before it stood a kind of low stool with a large cushion of black velvet upon it. All was black save the strange designs upon the walls, while the candles shed a curious mystic light upon the whole apartment, illuminating the central object so weirdly that our startled eyes were riveted upon it. This object, placed immediately over the altar, was nothing less than a great effigy of Satan, with a leering grin upon his ghastly features, holding in one hand an apple, and in the other a wine-bottle. In the eyes there burned a blood-red light, and the protruding tongue, as he laughed, seemed pointed as that of a serpent. It was hideous; and I heartily wished myself out of that noisome place.

Suddenly I saw something which paralysed me with terror. The effigy moved. What I had believed to be but a statue, bent down and uttered some words to a thin, pale-faced man who had at that instant entered by the door on the opposite side of the chamber.

"Look!" gasped Yelverton. "Look! It is living!"

But Muriel placed her hand upon his mouth, demanding that he should preserve silence and not risk our lives.