"Probably fears some revelation which the fugitive might make if he had fallen into the hands of the police," I suggested. "The ex-Minister wasn't a very bright specimen himself from all accounts and from those papers we discovered. He was a blackmailer and a brute, as well as an embezzler."

"Well," declared Sammy, "if you really have direct evidence against this fellow Gordon-Wright, I should just tell the truth at Scotland Yard.

I'd dearly love to see Miller in the dock, too, for if any one deserves to pick oak.u.m for a few years, he does. But he's such a cunning knave, and pa.s.ses so well as a gentleman, that n.o.body ever suspects."

"They say he's dined and slept at half the best country-houses in Dorsetshire and Devonshire, and I believe he's going to hunt from Market Harborough this coming season."

"The deuce he is! What infernal audacity! I feel myself like denouncing him."

"Better not--at least at present, my dear fellow. Besides--for his daughter's sake."

"Daughter be hanged! She's as bad as her father, every bit."

"No, I disagree with you there," I protested. "The girl is innocent of it all. She believes implicitly in her father, but beyond that she is in some deadly fear--of what I can't yet make out."

"Then you've seen her lately, eh?"

"Quite recently," I replied, though I told him nothing of the exciting events of the past seven or eight days. The knowledge I had gathered I intended to keep to myself, at least for the present.

About four o'clock that afternoon I called upon Ella's aunt, a widow named Tremayne, who lived in a comfortable house in Porchester Terrace.

I was ceremoniously shown into the drawing-room by the grey-headed old butler, and presently Mrs Tremayne, an angular old person in a cap with yellow ribbons, appeared, staring at me through her gold-rimmed spectacles and carrying my card in her hand.

I had met her on one occasion only, in the days when Ella and I used to meet in secret in those squares about Bayswater, and I saw that she did not recollect me.

"I have called," I said, "to ask if you can tell me whether your brother, Mr Murray, is in London. I heard that he and Miss Ella have gone back to Wichenford, but I think that they may possibly be in town just now. I have only to-day returned from abroad, and do not want to journey down to Worcestershire if they are in London."

She regarded me for a few moments with a puzzled air, then said in a hard, haughty voice: "Your name is somehow familiar to me. Am I right in thinking that you were the Mr Leaf whom my niece knew two or three years ago?"

"I am," I replied. "I have met Miss Murray again, and our friendship has been resumed."

"Then if that is so, sir," replied the old lady, glaring at me, "I have no information whatever to give you concerning her. I wish you good-afternoon." And the sour old lady touched the bell.

"Well, madam," I said, in rising anger, "I believed that I was calling upon a lady, but it seems that I am mistaken. I fail to see any reason for this treatment. You surely can tell me if your brother is in town?"

"I refuse to say anything. My brother's affairs are no concern of mine, neither are yours. There was quite sufficient unpleasantness on the last occasion when you were running after Ella. It seems you intend to resume your tactics."

"On the contrary, I hear that your niece is engaged to be married to a gentleman named Gordon-Wright."

"That is so," she answered, thawing slightly and readjusting her gla.s.ses. "They are to be married very soon, I believe. The wedding was fixed for Thursday week, but it has been postponed for a short time. My brother is much gratified at the engagement. Mr Gordon-Wright is such a nice gentleman, and just fitted to be her husband. He dined here a week ago, but has now gone abroad."

"And you found him charming?" I asked, though I fear that my voice betrayed my sarcasm.

"Most charming. They appear to be an extremely happy couple."

"And because you think I have an intention to come between them, Mrs Tremayne, you refuse to answer a simple question!"

"I am not bound to answer any question put to me by a stranger," was her haughty reply.

"Neither am I bound to return civility for incivility," I said. "I congratulate this Mr Gordon-Wright upon his choice, and at the same time will say that when we meet again, madam, you will perhaps be a trifle less insulting."

"Perhaps," she said; and as the butler was standing at the open door I was compelled to bow coldly and follow him out.

As he opened the front door I halted a moment and said, as though I had forgotten to make inquiry of his mistress:--

"Miss Ella is staying here--is she not?"

"Yes, sir," was the man's prompt reply. "She came up from the country yesterday."

I thanked the man, descended the steps, and walked along Porchester Terrace wondering how best to act. Of love there is very little in the world, but many things take its likeness.

I must see my love at all costs. She had continued to postpone her marriage so as to allow me time to unmask her enemy and free her from the peril which threatened.

Gordon-Wright was abroad. Therefore a secret meeting with Ella was all the easier. Yes, I would keep watch upon that house, as I had done in the days long ago, and see if I could not meet her and make an appointment. To write to her would be unwise. It was best that I should see her and rea.s.sure her.

Therefore through all the remainder of the afternoon I waited about in the vicinity, but in vain. Even if she went out to dine, or to the theatre, she certainly would return to her aunt's to dress, and, sure enough, just before seven, she came along in a hansom in the direction of the Park.

I was about to raise my hat as my dear one pa.s.sed, when I suddenly discovered that she was not alone. By her side, elegant in silk hat and frock-coat, sat the clean-shaven man who held her enthralled.

He was therefore not abroad, as the snappy old woman had said.

I turned my face quickly to the wall, so that neither should recognise me, and pa.s.sed on.

For three days in succession I kept almost constant watch along that wide-open thoroughfare. Several times I saw Mr Murray, but hesitated to come forward and greet him. Mrs Tremayne drove out each afternoon in her heavy old landau and pair, but curiously enough I saw nothing further either of Ella or of the man to whom she was betrothed.

The hours of that vigil were never-ending. I wanted my dear one to know that I was awaiting her. Time after time I pa.s.sed the house in the hope that she would recognise me from the window, but never once did I catch sight of her.

One afternoon I received a telegram from Miller asking me to call at the hotel. I did not know that they were still in London. On arrival I found him with Lucie. There was another caller, a middle-aged American named George Himes, who appeared to be an intimate friend. After some conversation we all four went out together, and subsequently Mr Himes, who seemed a very amusing type of shrewd New Yorker, invited all of us to his rooms to dinner--to take pot-luck, as he called it.

At first I declined, feeling myself an interloper. Miller's friends were such a mixed lot that one never knew whether they were thieves, like himself, or gentlemen. Himes appeared to be a gentleman.

Therefore on being pressed to join the party I consented, and later on we drove to a cosy little flat at Hyde Park Gate, where we dined most excellently, Lucie joining us when we smoked our cigars.

Himes, a rather stout rosy-faced man, seemed a particularly pleasant companion and full of a keen sense of humour, therefore the evening pa.s.sed quite merrily. Miller and he were old friends, I gathered, and had not met for quite a long time.

"You won't go for a minute or two, Mr Leaf," he said, when, soon after eleven o'clock, Miller drained his gla.s.s and with Lucie rose to leave.

"You'll get home to Shepherd's Bush quickly from here." And thus persuaded, I remained and joined him in a final gla.s.s of whisky and soda.

We were alone in the pretty little smoking-room, lounging in the long low cane chairs. My host was lazily blowing rings of smoke towards the ceiling and remarking what a very excellent fellow Miller was, when I raised my whisky to my lips and took a gulp. It tasted curious, yet I did not like to spit it out or to make any remark.

My host, I noticed, had his eyes fixed strangely upon me, as though watching my countenance.

In an instant I grew alarmed. His face had changed. Its good-humour had given place to an expression of hatred and triumph.

At the same moment I felt a strange sensation of nausea creeping over me, a chill feeling ran down my spine, while my throat contracted, and my limbs became suddenly paralysed.

"You scoundrel!" I cried, staggering to my feet and facing him. "I know now! You've poisoned me--you devil!"

"Yes," he laughed, with perfect sangfroid. "You are one of Jimmy Miller's crowd, and one by one I shall exterminate the lot of you! I owe this to you!"

I swayed forward as I drew my revolver to defend myself, but next instant he had wrenched it from my nerveless grasp.