"My husband, Mr Morton, is a compositor on a newspaper in Fleet Street and is always away at nights," Tibbie explained. "We've been married nearly a year. I, too, was in service--a lady's-maid."

"Ah! I thought you 'ad been," replied the landlady, whose name was Williams. "You speak so refined."

So after re-examining the rooms Tibbie seated herself in the wicker armchair of the little parlour, and leaning back suggested that we should engage the apartments.

To this I, of course, agreed, and having given Mrs Williams half a sovereign as deposit, we left promising to take possession with our personal belongings--that same evening.

Outside, Tibbie expressed herself well pleased.

"I rather like that woman. She's honest and genuine, I'm sure," she declared. "Now I must buy a second-hand trunk and some clothes suited to my station as your humble and obedient wife," she laughed.

So we went through into the Old Kent Road, and there purchased two big old travelling trunks, into which we afterwards placed the parcels which she had purchased at a cheap draper's. Then, just before dusk, we returned to our new abode and entered into possession. We had tea together, prepared for us by Mrs Williams.

"You really make a model husband, Wilfrid," she laughed when we were alone, holding her cup in her hand. "I suppose you'll have to go to work very soon. I wonder what time compositors go to work at night?"

"I haven't the ghost of an idea," I declared. "I must find out. I suppose about seven or eight. But," I added, "I hope you will be comfortable, and that you won't be too dull."

"I shall work," she said. "I'll keep the rooms clean and dusted, and when I've got nothing to do there's always needlework."

"We must pretend to be very frugal, you know," I urged. "A compositor's wages are not high."

"Of course. Leave that to me. You'll have to buy some more clothes. A Sunday suit, for instance, and a pair of squeaky boots."

She had made no mention of the affair in Charlton Wood, but on the excuse that she might be lonely when I had left her, she had bought both the morning and evening papers, although as yet she had not glanced at them.

Besides posing as William Morton I had much else to do, and many inquiries to make. I intended to lose no time in ascertaining who was the man living on Sydenham Hill, and whether he had any acquaintance with the dead unknown.

For quite an hour we were alone in the rather cosy little parlour, the blind down and the gas lit. The furniture was indeed a strange contrast to that at Ryhall, yet the couple of wicker armchairs were decidedly comfortable, and the fire gave out a pleasant warmth as we sat near it.

"Ours is a curious position, Wilfrid, isn't it?" she whispered at last, looking at me with those wonderful eyes of hers.

"What would the world think if they knew the truth?"

"If they knew the truth," she said, seriously, "they would admire you for your self-sacrifice in a.s.sisting a helpless woman. Yet it is really very amusing," and Tibbie, so well known and popular in the smart set of London, leaned back and smiled.

I was about to refer to the mystery of her flight, yet I hesitated.

There was time for that, I thought, when she was more settled in her hiding-place.

It was certainly a novel experience to pose as the husband of Tibbie-- the gay, merry, vivacious Tibbie Burnet, who was the life and soul of the go-ahead set in which she moved, and as we sat chatting we had many a good laugh over the ludicrous situation in which we found ourselves.

"You'll have to pretend, in any case, to be very fond of me," she laughed.

"I suppose I ought to call you `dear' sometimes," I remarked humorously.

"Yes, dear," she responded, with the final word accentuated. "And I shall call you William--my dear Willie."

"And what am I to call you?"

"Oh! Molly would be a good name. Yes. Call me Molly," and she held her new wedding ring before my eyes with a tantalising laugh.

"We shall have to be very careful to keep up the fiction," I said.

"These people will, no doubt, watch us at first."

"I shall soon make friends of Mrs Williams," she said. "Leave that to me. I can be circ.u.mspect enough when occasion requires. But--oh--I'd so love to smoke a cigarette."

"A cigarette!" I cried, horrified; "women don't smoke in this neighbourhood. Whatever you do, don't smoke when I'm not here, they'll smell it at once."

"Yes," she sighed. "The ideas of the poor people are quite different to ours, aren't they?" she reflected.

At that moment there was a tap at the door, and the landlady begged leave to introduce her husband, a rather tall, well-set-up man with a closely-cropped dark beard.

He greeted me pleasantly, and expressed a hope that we should be comfortable.

"The missis will do all she can for Mrs Morton, I'm sure," she said.

"I hear you're on night-work."

"Yes, unfortunately," I said, "our work is mostly at night, you know-- getting ready the next day's paper."

He was affable from the first, and apparently entirely unsuspicious, for he sent his wife downstairs for a jug of ale, and I was compelled to take a gla.s.s with him in order to cement our acquaintanceship, after which he and his wife discreetly withdrew with, I hope, the opinion that we were "a very nice, quiet couple."

At eight o'clock I took leave of Tibbie after we had had a supper of cold meat. She rather missed her dinner, but a.s.sured me that she would soon get used to dining in the middle of the day. Then, after seeing that she was quite comfortable, and that the locks on the doors acted, I shook hands with her.

"Good-bye, Willie dear," she laughed. "Come home early, won't you?"

"Of course," I replied, echoing her laugh, and then as William Morton I went out to my work.

Walking through Trafalgar Road I found myself in the Old Kent Road, and presently hailing a hansom I drove as far as Piccadilly Circus, where I alighted and went on foot to my rooms.

As I entered Eric Domville came to the door of my sitting-room to meet me. He had been awaiting my return.

I saw from his face that something had occurred.

"Why, Eric--you?" I gasped. "What has happened?"

He placed his forefinger to his lips, indicative of silence, and glanced behind me along the hall to the room wherein Budd had disappeared.

Then, when I had pa.s.sed into my own cosy den, he closed the door carefully.

"Yes," he said, in a low, strained voice, "something has happened, old fellow--something serious. I've discovered a fact that puts an entirely new complexion upon the affair. You are both in gravest peril. Listen, and I'll explain."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

SHOWS A WOMAN'S WEAKNESS.

Eric, standing with his back to the mantelshelf, revealed to me a fact that was both extraordinary and startling.

"After you'd left Ryhall yesterday," he said, "I was walking across the park to meet Cynthia, who'd gone out to pay a visit to that thin old parson's wife over at Waltham, when, quite unexpectedly, I came across Ellice standing talking to a rather badly-dressed young woman. She was in shabby black, with a brown straw hat trimmed with violets, and an old fur tippet around her neck. They were under a tree a little aside from the by-path that leads across to Waltham, and were speaking excitedly.

I was walking on the gra.s.s and they did not hear me approach. Suddenly she made some statement which caused him to hesitate and think. Then he gave her some money hurriedly from his pocket, and after a further conversation they parted, she proceeding towards the high road, while Winsloe went in the direction of the house. I followed at a respectable distance, and that afternoon, when we a.s.sembled in the hall for tea, he announced that he had been suddenly recalled to town. In this I suspected something, so when he left by the seven-thirty-five express I followed him here."

"Well?" I asked, looking straight into his face.