The Wiles of the Wicked by William Le Queux
I answered, sinking into alow armchair near her. "If so, I'm sure I apologise. The fact is, thatMr Hickman was explaining a new system of how to break the bank atMonte Carlo."
"Oh, Mr Hickman!" she cried, turning at once to him. "Do explain it,and I'll try it when we go to the Riviera."
"Mabel, my dear," exclaimed her mother, scandalised, "you'll do nothingof the kind. You know I don't approve of gambling."
"Oh, I think it's awfully good fun," her daughter declared.
"If you win," I added.
"Of course," she added; then, turning again to Hickman, she induced himto explain his new and infallible system just as he had explained it tome.
The trend of the conversation was, however, lost to me. My ears wereclosed to all sound, and now that I reflect I am surprised that Isucceeded in retaining my self-possession. I know I sat there rigid, asone held motionless in terror; I only replied in monosyllables to anyremark addressed to me, and I knew instinctively that the colour hadleft my countenance. The discovery was as bewildering as it wasunexpected.
Every detail of that handsome room was exactly as I had pictured it.The blind, with their keen sense of touch, are quick to form mentalimpressions of places and things, and the general character of thisapartment I had riveted upon my mind with the fidelity of a photograph.
The furniture was of gilt, just as I had detected from its smoothness,and covered with a rich brocade in wide stripes of art green and dullred-brown--an extremely handsome pattern; the carpet was dark, with apile so thick that one's feet fell noiselessly; the three long windows,covered by heavy curtains of brocade to match the furniture, reachedfrom the high-painted ceiling to the ground, exactly as I had found themin my blind gropings. About the room were two or three tables withglass tops, in trays beneath which were collections of choice_bric-a-brac_, including some wonderful Chinese carvings in ivory, whilebefore the fireplace was spread the great tiger-skin, with paws and headpreserved, which I so well remembered.
I sat there speechless, breathless. Not a single detail was therewanting. Never before, in all my life, had amazement held me soabsolutely dumbfounded.
Close to where I saw was a spacious couch, over the centre of which wasthrown an antimacassar of silken crochet-work. It was covered with thesame brocade as the rest of the furniture, and I stretched forth myhand, with feigned carelessness and touched it. Its contact was thesame, its shape exact; its position in the room identical.
Upon that very couch I had reclined while the foul tragedy had beenenacted in that room. My head swam; I closed my eyes. The great giltclock, with its pendulum representing the figure of a girl swingingbeneath the trees, standing on the mantelshelf, ticked out low andmusically, just as it had done on that fateful night. In an instant, asI sat with head turned from my companions and my eyes shut, the whole ofthat tragic scene was re-enacted. I heard the crash, the woman'sscream, the awe-stricken exclamation that followed in the inner room. Iheard, too, the low swish of a woman's skirts, the heavy blow struck byan assassin's hand, and in horror felt the warm life-blood of theunknown victim as it trickled upon my hand.
Mabel suddenly ran her white fingers over the keys, and the musicbrought me back to a realisation of my true position. I had at lengthdiscovered the actual house in which the mysterious tragedy had beenenacted, and it became impressed upon me that by the exercise ofgreatest care I might further be enabled to prosecute secretinvestigations to a successful issue, and at length solve the enigma.
My eyes fixed themselves upon the couch. It was the very spot where Ihad rested, sightless, helpless, while those strange events had takenplace about me. Was it any wonder that I became filled withapprehensions, or that I sat there petrified as one turned to stone?
The square, dark-green antimacassar had been placed in the exact centreof the couch, and sewed down in order to keep it in its place. Where Iwas sitting was fortunately in the shadow, and when Mabel commencedplaying I rose--unsteadily I think--and reseated myself upon the couch,as being more comfortable. Then, while the woman who held me entrancedplayed a selection from the "Trovatore," I, unnoticed by the others,succeeded in breaking the stitches which tacked the antimacassar to thebrocade. The feat was a difficult one, for one does not care to bedetected tearing the furniture of one's hostess. Nevertheless, afterten minutes or so I succeeded in loosening it, and then, as if by thenatural movement of my body, commenced to work aside.
The music ceased, and even though all my attention was now centred uponmy investigations, I congratulated Mabel upon her accurate execution.Hickman was standing beside her, and together they began to search forsome piece he had requested her to play, while Miss Wells, with herhearts and elephants jingling, turned to me and commenced to talk. Bythis I was, of course, interrupted; nevertheless, some ten minuteslater, I rose, and naturally turned back to straighten the rumpledantimacassar. In doing so I managed to lift it and glance beneath.
In an instant the truth was plain. Concealed beneath that square ofgreen crochet-work was a large dark-brown stain upon the brocade. Itwas the mark of the life-blood of that thin, well-dressed, unknownvictim, who had, in an instant, been struck to the heart!
The shock at its discovery caused me to start, but next instant Ismoothed out the antimacassar into its former place without attractingany attention, and passed across the room with the motive of inspectingan object which I well remembered discovering when I had made my blindsearch. Upon a pedestal of black marble stood an exquisite littlestatuette of a Neapolitan dancing-woman, undoubtedly the work of someItalian master. Without pausing to examine it, I took in its everydetail as I passed. It was exactly as I had felt it, and in theself-same spot as on that fatal night.
Beside the couch, as I turned again to look, I saw that a large skin rughad been thrown down. Without doubt it had been placed there to concealthe ugly stain of blood upon the carpet.
And yet there, on the scene of one of the foulest and most cowardlyassassinations, we were actually spending the evening quietly, as becamea respectable household. The thing seemed absolutely incredible. Adozen times I endeavoured to persuade myself that the whole discoverywas but a chimera, arising from my disordered imagination.Nevertheless, it was impossible to disguise from myself the fact that inevery detail the truth was borne out. In that very room the unknown manhad been struck dead. The marks of his blood still remained as evidenceof the truth.
I saw that beside the high lamps at that moment in use, there was amagnificent candelabra suspended from the ceiling, and in this wereelectric lamps. Then, at the door, I noticed the switch, and knew thatit was the same which I had heard turned off by the assassin beforeleaving the house.
At the end of the room, too, were the folding doors, now concealed bycurtains. It was through those very doors that Edna, my mysteriousprotectress, had passed and repassed to that inner room whence had comethe sound of champagne being uncorked and the woman's piercing scream.
Mabel leaned over and spoke to me, whereupon I sank again into the chairI had previously occupied. She began to chat, but although herbeautiful eyes held me fixed, and her face seemed more handsome than anyI had ever seen, the diamonds in her hair dazzled my eyes, and I fearthat my responses were scarcely intelligible.
"You are not quite yourself to-night, I think," she remarked at last,rising from the piano, and taking the low chair that I drew up for her."Are you unwell?"
"Why?" I asked, laughing.
"Because you look rather pale. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," I answered, as carelessly as I could. "A slight headache.But it has passed now."
My eyes wandered to those curtains of green plush. How I longed toenter that room beyond!
At that moment she took out her handkerchief. Even that action added tothe completion of the mental picture I had formed. Her tiny square oflawn and lace exhaled a sweet odour. It was that of _peau d'Espagne_,the same subtle perfume used by the mysterious Edna! It filled mynostrils until I seemed intoxicated by
its fragrance combined with herbeauty.
Her dress was discreetly _decollete_, and as she sat chatting to me withthat bright vivaciousness which was so charming, her white neck slowlyheaved and fell. She had, it seemed, been striving all the evening toget a tete-a-tete chat with me, but the chatter of that dreadfulIrritating Woman and the requests made by Hickman had prevented her.
As she gossiped with me, now and then waving her big feather fan, sheconveyed to my mind an impression of extreme simplicity in the midst ofthe most wonderful complexity. She seemed to take the peculiar traitsfrom many characters, and so mingle them that, like the combination ofhues in a sunbeam, the effect was as one to the eye. I had studied hercarefully each time we had met, and had found that she had something ofthe romantic enthusiasm of a Juliet, of the truth and constancy of aHelen, of the dignified purity of an Isabel, of the
"Oh, Mr Hickman!" she cried, turning at once to him. "Do explain it,and I'll try it when we go to the Riviera."
"Mabel, my dear," exclaimed her mother, scandalised, "you'll do nothingof the kind. You know I don't approve of gambling."
"Oh, I think it's awfully good fun," her daughter declared.
"If you win," I added.
"Of course," she added; then, turning again to Hickman, she induced himto explain his new and infallible system just as he had explained it tome.
The trend of the conversation was, however, lost to me. My ears wereclosed to all sound, and now that I reflect I am surprised that Isucceeded in retaining my self-possession. I know I sat there rigid, asone held motionless in terror; I only replied in monosyllables to anyremark addressed to me, and I knew instinctively that the colour hadleft my countenance. The discovery was as bewildering as it wasunexpected.
Every detail of that handsome room was exactly as I had pictured it.The blind, with their keen sense of touch, are quick to form mentalimpressions of places and things, and the general character of thisapartment I had riveted upon my mind with the fidelity of a photograph.
The furniture was of gilt, just as I had detected from its smoothness,and covered with a rich brocade in wide stripes of art green and dullred-brown--an extremely handsome pattern; the carpet was dark, with apile so thick that one's feet fell noiselessly; the three long windows,covered by heavy curtains of brocade to match the furniture, reachedfrom the high-painted ceiling to the ground, exactly as I had found themin my blind gropings. About the room were two or three tables withglass tops, in trays beneath which were collections of choice_bric-a-brac_, including some wonderful Chinese carvings in ivory, whilebefore the fireplace was spread the great tiger-skin, with paws and headpreserved, which I so well remembered.
I sat there speechless, breathless. Not a single detail was therewanting. Never before, in all my life, had amazement held me soabsolutely dumbfounded.
Close to where I saw was a spacious couch, over the centre of which wasthrown an antimacassar of silken crochet-work. It was covered with thesame brocade as the rest of the furniture, and I stretched forth myhand, with feigned carelessness and touched it. Its contact was thesame, its shape exact; its position in the room identical.
Upon that very couch I had reclined while the foul tragedy had beenenacted in that room. My head swam; I closed my eyes. The great giltclock, with its pendulum representing the figure of a girl swingingbeneath the trees, standing on the mantelshelf, ticked out low andmusically, just as it had done on that fateful night. In an instant, asI sat with head turned from my companions and my eyes shut, the whole ofthat tragic scene was re-enacted. I heard the crash, the woman'sscream, the awe-stricken exclamation that followed in the inner room. Iheard, too, the low swish of a woman's skirts, the heavy blow struck byan assassin's hand, and in horror felt the warm life-blood of theunknown victim as it trickled upon my hand.
Mabel suddenly ran her white fingers over the keys, and the musicbrought me back to a realisation of my true position. I had at lengthdiscovered the actual house in which the mysterious tragedy had beenenacted, and it became impressed upon me that by the exercise ofgreatest care I might further be enabled to prosecute secretinvestigations to a successful issue, and at length solve the enigma.
My eyes fixed themselves upon the couch. It was the very spot where Ihad rested, sightless, helpless, while those strange events had takenplace about me. Was it any wonder that I became filled withapprehensions, or that I sat there petrified as one turned to stone?
The square, dark-green antimacassar had been placed in the exact centreof the couch, and sewed down in order to keep it in its place. Where Iwas sitting was fortunately in the shadow, and when Mabel commencedplaying I rose--unsteadily I think--and reseated myself upon the couch,as being more comfortable. Then, while the woman who held me entrancedplayed a selection from the "Trovatore," I, unnoticed by the others,succeeded in breaking the stitches which tacked the antimacassar to thebrocade. The feat was a difficult one, for one does not care to bedetected tearing the furniture of one's hostess. Nevertheless, afterten minutes or so I succeeded in loosening it, and then, as if by thenatural movement of my body, commenced to work aside.
The music ceased, and even though all my attention was now centred uponmy investigations, I congratulated Mabel upon her accurate execution.Hickman was standing beside her, and together they began to search forsome piece he had requested her to play, while Miss Wells, with herhearts and elephants jingling, turned to me and commenced to talk. Bythis I was, of course, interrupted; nevertheless, some ten minuteslater, I rose, and naturally turned back to straighten the rumpledantimacassar. In doing so I managed to lift it and glance beneath.
In an instant the truth was plain. Concealed beneath that square ofgreen crochet-work was a large dark-brown stain upon the brocade. Itwas the mark of the life-blood of that thin, well-dressed, unknownvictim, who had, in an instant, been struck to the heart!
The shock at its discovery caused me to start, but next instant Ismoothed out the antimacassar into its former place without attractingany attention, and passed across the room with the motive of inspectingan object which I well remembered discovering when I had made my blindsearch. Upon a pedestal of black marble stood an exquisite littlestatuette of a Neapolitan dancing-woman, undoubtedly the work of someItalian master. Without pausing to examine it, I took in its everydetail as I passed. It was exactly as I had felt it, and in theself-same spot as on that fatal night.
Beside the couch, as I turned again to look, I saw that a large skin rughad been thrown down. Without doubt it had been placed there to concealthe ugly stain of blood upon the carpet.
And yet there, on the scene of one of the foulest and most cowardlyassassinations, we were actually spending the evening quietly, as becamea respectable household. The thing seemed absolutely incredible. Adozen times I endeavoured to persuade myself that the whole discoverywas but a chimera, arising from my disordered imagination.Nevertheless, it was impossible to disguise from myself the fact that inevery detail the truth was borne out. In that very room the unknown manhad been struck dead. The marks of his blood still remained as evidenceof the truth.
I saw that beside the high lamps at that moment in use, there was amagnificent candelabra suspended from the ceiling, and in this wereelectric lamps. Then, at the door, I noticed the switch, and knew thatit was the same which I had heard turned off by the assassin beforeleaving the house.
At the end of the room, too, were the folding doors, now concealed bycurtains. It was through those very doors that Edna, my mysteriousprotectress, had passed and repassed to that inner room whence had comethe sound of champagne being uncorked and the woman's piercing scream.
Mabel leaned over and spoke to me, whereupon I sank again into the chairI had previously occupied. She began to chat, but although herbeautiful eyes held me fixed, and her face seemed more handsome than anyI had ever seen, the diamonds in her hair dazzled my eyes, and I fearthat my responses were scarcely intelligible.
"You are not quite yourself to-night, I think," she remarked at last,rising from the piano, and taking the low chair that I drew up for her."Are you unwell?"
"Why?" I asked, laughing.
"Because you look rather pale. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," I answered, as carelessly as I could. "A slight headache.But it has passed now."
My eyes wandered to those curtains of green plush. How I longed toenter that room beyond!
At that moment she took out her handkerchief. Even that action added tothe completion of the mental picture I had formed. Her tiny square oflawn and lace exhaled a sweet odour. It was that of _peau d'Espagne_,the same subtle perfume used by the mysterious Edna! It filled mynostrils until I seemed intoxicated by
Her dress was discreetly _decollete_, and as she sat chatting to me withthat bright vivaciousness which was so charming, her white neck slowlyheaved and fell. She had, it seemed, been striving all the evening toget a tete-a-tete chat with me, but the chatter of that dreadfulIrritating Woman and the requests made by Hickman had prevented her.
As she gossiped with me, now and then waving her big feather fan, sheconveyed to my mind an impression of extreme simplicity in the midst ofthe most wonderful complexity. She seemed to take the peculiar traitsfrom many characters, and so mingle them that, like the combination ofhues in a sunbeam, the effect was as one to the eye. I had studied hercarefully each time we had met, and had found that she had something ofthe romantic enthusiasm of a Juliet, of the truth and constancy of aHelen, of the dignified purity of an Isabel, of the