Kitabı oku: «The Sign of the Stranger», sayfa 16
Chapter Thirty One
Gives the Keyword
Still very unwell, my head gave me excruciating pain when next morning I joyfully took my discharge from the hospital. My first destination was the telegraph-office, whence I sent a message to Lolita, and afterwards I went to the Cavour, where I found that, in consequence of my protracted absence, my bag had been taken from my room.
However, I soon had another apartment, although the hotel people looked askance at my bandaged head, and after a wash and a change of clothes, I went forth to the Questore, as I had arranged to meet my friend the delegato to whom I had so fortunately spoken in Biffi’s.
In his upstairs room he explained how he had circulated the description of the two men, Belotto and Ostini, to the various cities and to the frontiers, and how, owing to the pair being so well-known as bad characters, he felt certain of their arrest. That day I attended the official inquiry regarding the death of the woman Lejeune, and after giving some formal evidence, was allowed to leave.
My great fear had been that Marigold and Logan might be arrested. If so the arrest of the former must produce a terrible scandal, and if the latter the result, I feared, must reflect upon my love’s good name. My only hope, therefore, was that they had already passed the frontier police at Modane, Ventimiglia or Chiasso, and had escaped from Italy.
The chief of police was very emphatic in his order that I must remain in Milan for an indefinite period, as perhaps my evidence would be wanted against the men, but after consultation with Mr Martin Johnson, now most active on my behalf, because he hoped to obtain the good-will of my cousin, his chief, I resolved to disobey the mandate of the Questore and slip away from Italy in secret. I was not under arrest, hence the police had no power to detain me.
Therefore, travelling by Turin, Modane and Paris, I arrived at Charing Cross at dawn three days later, and took train at once to Sibberton.
What had happened during my absence I feared to guess. On entering my room at the Hall at noon, I found my table piled with the accumulated correspondence. I had before my departure from London telegraphed to the Earl my intention of taking a fortnight’s holiday, therefore my absence had not been remarked. Only Keene and Lolita knew the truth.
I rang the bell, and old Slater appeared.
“Is his lordship hunting this morning?” I inquired.
“No, sir,” responded the aged retainer, surely a model servant. “He’s across with her ladyship at the stables looking at some new horses.”
“How long has her ladyship been back?”
“She returned from London yesterday, sir.”
“And Lady Lolita?”
“Her ladyship has gone in the motor to luncheon at Deene, sir. Lady Maud Dallas, and one of the other visitors, a lady, are with her.”
With that I dismissed the servant, and walking down the corridor went out into the wide courtyard, through the servants’ quarters and round to the left wing of the house to the great stables where there were stalls for a hundred horses.
The stablemen and grooms in their jerseys of hunting red always gave a picturesque touch of colour to the huge grey old place, and I saw in a corner of the great paved yard, the Earl with a small group of his visitors watching a fine bay mare being paraded by a groom.
One of the traditions of the Stanchesters was to keep good horses, and George spared no expense to maintain the high standard of his forefathers. He had three motors, but Marigold used them more than he did because they were the fashion.
She had learnt to drive herself, and would often drive up to London, eighty-five miles, accompanied by Jacques, the French chauffeur. In town, too, she had an electric brougham in which she paid afternoon calls and did her shopping. Indeed her motor brougham with yellow wheels was a common object in Regent Street in the season.
“Hulloa, Willoughby!” cried the Earl as I approached. “Didn’t know you were back?”
“I’m a day or so earlier than I expected,” I laughed, at the same time saluting the woman whose adventure in Milan had undoubtedly been a strangely tragic one, as well as Keene and the other guests.
“Why, what’s the matter with your head?” asked old Lord Cotterstock, noticing a bandage upon it as I raised my straw hat.
“Oh, nothing very much,” I answered then. “I slipped on the kerb in the Strand, fell back, and struck it rather badly. But it’s getting better. The unsightliness of the plaster is its worst part.”
I dared not glance at Marigold as I uttered this excuse. I felt sure that she was aware of the attack made upon me – whether it had been by Logan or any one else.
The colour had left her cheeks when her startled eyes encountered me, and she glared at me as though I were a ghost. By that alone I knew that my re-appearance there was utterly unexpected – in truth, that she believed that I was dead!
She had turned away from the party at once, to speak with the stud-groom in order to conceal her dismay. Her face had, in an instant, assumed a death-like pallor, and I saw how anxious she was to escape me. Though she made a desperate effort to remain calm and to face me, she was unable, for her attitude in itself betrayed her guilty knowledge.
I saw in her face sufficient to convince me of the truth. She managed to move away, still giving instructions to the man, while I remained with the party watching the cantering of the horse on show. Every man or woman present there was a judge of a horse, for all were hunting people and knew what, in stable parlance in the Midlands, is known as “a good bit of stuff” when they saw it.
Presently when the decision was given, I moved away with Keene, and as soon as we were alone in the pleasure-garden I told him quickly of my startling adventure. He stood open-mouthed.
“Then the woman Lejeune is actually dead,” he gasped, his brows knit thoughtfully. “The Italians must have murdered her!”
“Undoubtedly,” I said, recollecting that he was acquainted with them, for had not one of them, if not both, been in concealment at Hayes’s Farm.
“Well,” he sighed. “This means, I’m afraid, the worst to Lolita.”
“Ah! no!” I cried. “Don’t say that. We must save her! We must! If I could only know the truth I feel sure I could devise some means by which she could be extricated from this perilous position.”
“No,” he answered sadly. “I think not. The assassination of that woman tells me that the conspiracy is a more daring and formidable one than I had even imagined.”
“But what connexion could Marigold or Logan have had with the affair?” I asked. “What is your theory? Why did they travel there in secret? If Marigold was to be their victim, then I could understand it; but she was not.”
“It seems evident she was taken out to Milan by Logan in order to meet Marie in secret,” he said.
“But if the murder was not pre-arranged, why should they have taken possession of a dwelling that was not their own? That fact, in itself, shows that their object was a sinister one,” I argued.
“Stanchester believes that his wife has been at Bray with her sister Sibyl. He has no idea she’s been abroad.”
“And Logan? What of him?”
“I know nothing,” he declared. “He is probably still abroad. My own idea is that he crossed the Channel in order to meet Marigold and escort her to Italy.”
“Then the affair is as great a mystery as it ever was?” I remarked with dissatisfaction. I had risked my life and narrowly escaped being placed on trial for murder – all to no purpose.
“Greater,” he said. “For my own part I cannot see what they’ve gained by sealing Marie’s lips. I know,” he added, “that Belotto made an attempt upon her during her stay at the farm in this vicinity, but they were prevented.”
“Who prevented them?” I inquired eagerly, as this was the first time he had admitted knowledge of their concealment at the farm to which Pink had been called on that fateful night.
“Well, as a matter of fact,” he answered, looking me straight in the face, “I did.”
“You!” I cried.
“Yes,” he responded. “Belotto, who was madly jealous of her, took her for a walk in the wood on purpose, I believe, to get rid of her. Fortunately, however, I had suspicion of his intention, and followed him. Just as she was struck, I emerged and denounced him, but too late. He then attacked me, but I defended myself. Then fearing the girl would die, the others did all they could to succour her, as they dreaded that by her death they would all be arrested for murder.”
“Then the reason they left Hayes’s Farm so suddenly was because they were in fear of you?”
“Exactly. Marie Lejeune was equally afraid of me, and escaped with them – abroad, it seems.”
I related how the doctor, Pink, had been called to the girl, and of the investigations he and I made afterwards, whereupon he said, smiling —
“Yes, I know. I remained in the vicinity, and watched you both ride up to the house that afternoon.”
“And now you have told me so much, Mr Keene,” I said. “Have you no theory regarding the murder of Hugh Wingfield?”
“Ah! That’s quite another matter,” he said as a strange expression crossed his bearded features. “That’s a question which it is best for us not to discuss.”
“Why?”
“Because I can say nothing.”
“But you have a theory?”
“It may not be the right one,” he answered in a hard, strained voice.
“At least you know who the man was?” I said. “You have already mentioned his name.”
“Can you tell me why he, a perfect stranger, wore upon his finger the portrait of Lady Lolita?” I asked.
“For the same reason, I suppose, that a woman wears in a locket a portrait of a man.”
“You imply that he was Lolita’s lover?”
“I imply nothing,” he said vaguely. “I make no statement at all. I have indeed told you that the matter is one which it is wiser not to discuss.”
“But can’t you see how, in my position, that terrible affair is of greatest moment to my happiness and peace of mind?” I pointed out. “Who was he? What brought him to the park on that night?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lolita went forth to meet him, that I know,” I said.
“Yes,” he remarked. “That was proved by the marks of her heels at the spot where the body was found. She must therefore have met him.”
“If so, then she must know the truth, Mr Keene,” I said in a hard voice, watching his dark face. “What I want to discover is the reason he came here in secret that night.”
He paused a moment his eyes fixed upon me, as though he were debating within himself whether he should betray my love’s secret. Then at length he said —
“You mentioned, I think, to Lady Lolita that you had secured from the dead man’s pocket a scrap of paper bearing a message in cipher – did you not?”
“Yes,” I exclaimed eagerly. “It is the checker-board cipher, I know, but I am unable to read it because I am ignorant of the keyword.”
“If you really desire to decipher it, and think it will help you to a knowledge of the real facts, why not try the single and very unusual word – her own name!”
“Lolita!” I gasped quickly in eagerness. “Then the keyword is Lolita!”
To which he made no response, but nodded gravely in the affirmative.
Then, without further ado, I rushed back to my room took out the folded scrap of paper that had brought Hugh Wingfield to his doom, and spread it before me together with the checker-board.
In a quarter of an hour I had reduced the numerals to letters, subtracted my love’s name, and deciphered it – yes, the fatal message stood revealed.
Chapter Thirty Two
Weston Expresses Certain Fears
On reference to the checker-board which my friend had sent me, I found that the word “Lolita” read 31. 34. 31. 24. 44. 11.
These numbers I began to subtract from the first six numbers of the secret message, but the letters represented by the remaining numbers were a mere unintelligible jumble. At last, however, after considerable thought, I tried taking the numbers down the columns: – namely 63. 49. 46. 68. Subtracted by the keyword there remained 32. 15. 15. 44., which I found on reference to my checker-board was the word “meet.”
At last the secret was mine! Very soon I had deciphered the numerals into this message: —
“Meet me in the avenue on Monday. Fear nothing. Marie betrayed to police. – Lol.”
Lolita herself had therefore enticed the unfortunate young man to his doom.
The very signature “Lol,” combined with the fact of the portrait in the ring, confirmed my suspicion that there was affection between them.
I paced the room still utterly mystified.
At four o’clock I heard the horn of the motor in the avenue, and rushed forth to meet my love. She descended in dust-cloak and veil, and took my hand in silent greeting, but Keene, who was also at the door, whispered to her, and she walked away with him. I knew that he was telling her of all that had happened to me – and of the real reason of Marigold’s absence.
She went to her room, and though I waited for an hour or more, she did not descend.
I sent a message up to Weston, and the reply was —
“Her ladyship has a very bad headache after the dust.”
This I told Keene, who shrugged his shoulders.
At tea in the hall, where the guests were nearly all assembled – as gay and well-dressed a crowd as could be found in all England – the Countess approached me quite calmly, and said in a loud voice —
“George has just said that you’ve hurt your head, Mr Woodhouse. I’m so very sorry. How did you manage it?”
The woman’s imperturbable daring was simply marvellous. Her question took me utterly aback.
“I – well, I slipped in the street, and fell,” I stammered. “I gave my skull a nasty knock. I suppose it would have been fractured if I had not had such a thick head,” I laughed, endeavouring to turn the conversation into a joke.
“Ah! You’re inviting compliments now!” exclaimed the brilliant vivacious woman, whom surely none would suspect of associating with those two men of the type of Belotto and Ostini.
“Any compliment from your ladyship is a compliment indeed,” I declared, bowing with mock gravity, whereupon the party laughed, and I saw that she bit her lips in vexation. She knew that I was her enemy; and yet she dare not openly quarrel.
She feared lest I might announce to her husband and her guests her visit to Milan, and its tragic sequel.
Keene stood by, stroking his beard in wonder, half-fearing that she might burst forth in fury at my sneer and dreading the result of hot words between us.
Fortunately, however, she was discreet and laughed it off, while the Earl remarked as he passed Lady Maud her cup —
“I like to hear Willoughby and Marigold quarrel. They slang each other so very gracefully. Willoughby, you’d make a splendid ambassador. You’re so very diplomatic.”
“I’m a good liar, if that’s any qualification,” I laughed openly. “Somebody has said that the two essentials for success as an ambassador are to have a lie ever ready on the lips, and a good coloured ribbon and cross at the throat.”
“Ah! and that’s pretty near the mark too,” observed Lord Cotterstock, who had himself been in the diplomatic service. “It is said of Lord Barmouth that when he was Ambassador at the Porte, he, for a joke, wore the Blue Ribbon, and the Turkish Court thought it the highest of British distinctions. He told the unspeakable ones that it was the Order of Saint Schweppe!”
Whereupon there was a general laugh.
Tea concluded, and the guests dispersed. I was surprised at the non-appearance of my beloved, for I longed to speak with her alone – to learn what had occurred during my enforced absence.
Keene accompanied the Earl and some others across to the kennels after tea, but by no amount of manoeuvring could I obtain an interview with the Countess alone. She walked in the garden with old Lady Cotterstock, in order that I should have no chance of speaking with her.
The house-party assembled in the white drawing-room prior to dinner, yet Lolita did not put in an appearance. I therefore sent one of the under-servants for the faithful Weston, who came to me at the top of the grand staircase.
“Her ladyship has a very bad headache, sir. She’s been lying down. But she’s now in her boudoir writing, and has told me that I am not to disturb her this evening.”
“But isn’t she going to dine?” I inquired in surprise.
“She hasn’t dressed, sir. She said she, had no appetite.”
“She’s not well, I believe, Weston,” I said.
“No, sir,” replied the maid anxiously. “I’ve noticed this last week or two a very great change in her. She seems highly nervous, and when alone always thinking very deeply, and – and – ”
“And what?” I asked, seeing the excellent servant’s hesitation.
“Well, sir, I don’t know whether I really ought to mention it, but one thing worries me very much. You know, sir, I’ve been her ladyship’s maid ever since she came back from school, and I’m much attached to her.”
“I know, Weston. I know quite well,” I said. “You are most devoted to her. But what is this you fear?”
“I really don’t know, sir,” was the young woman’s answer. “But of late the young mistress’s mind seems constantly filled with morbid thoughts. She’s always talking of her death – and only a few days ago she actually gave me some of her trinkets, saying that she would never require them again.”
“That’s strange,” I said, sighing, for I, alas! knew the reason. “You must try and prevent her giving way to such thoughts. Go to her boudoir, and tell her that after dinner I desire to see her. I’ll come up here later and see you – at nine o’clock.”
“Very well, sir,” was the maid’s reply, and then I descended to the long meal, where the chatter was gay, and the serving of the most ceremonious character.
The brilliant women on either side of me interested me not a jot. My only thought was for my absent well-beloved.
After dinner I eagerly sought Weston, who said – “No, sir. She has not rung.”
“Then take me to her,” I said, “I wish to see her at once.”
“But – ”
“I will take the responsibility upon myself,” I said. “Go and announce me.”
Reluctantly the maid went along the corridor and tapped at the door. There was no response. I stood behind her as she tapped twice, then opened the door. But the room was empty. The candles were burning upon the writing-table, and in the room was a smell of burnt paper, while in the grate lay a quantity of tinder. She had been destroying some letters or papers. Weston was aghast to find that her mistress was absent.
I went to the grate and saw that every particle of paper had been consumed.
The maid went along to my love’s room, but emerged quickly, saying —
“I think her ladyship must have gone out. Her cape and motor-cap have gone.”
In an instant it was evident that having destroyed her private papers she had slipped out into the park unseen.
I rushed downstairs, and finding Keene in the smoking-room took him quickly out into the hall, and told him of my grave apprehensions, whereupon he was in an instant on the alert.
“She surely cannot have carried out her threat!” he gasped. “We must try to find her at once. Not an instant must be lost! The burning of her papers is sufficient proof of the fatal step she contemplated. Come, let’s go in search at once.”
And breathlessly, fearing the worst, we took our caps and hurried out into the chill windy night.
Chapter Thirty Three
Reveals some Secrets
For some time we rushed hither and thither in breathless anxiety, convinced that having burned all her letters, her intentions were those of self-destruction.
Some untoward event had evidently occurred of which we knew nothing, and she had been forced to the last extremity. We had explored all my love’s favourite walks, but in that gusty storm that swept across the park we could hear nothing. It was not exactly dark, but the moon was overcast by heavy rain-clouds, and passing through that portion of the grounds known as “the wilderness,” a wild tangle of rhododendrons and laurels, with big old trees from which the leaves fell in showers upon us, we at length approached the lake, a large sheet of water in the centre of the wild uncultivated spot, where the moorhen nested undisturbed and the lordly heron roosted high above. The spot was lonely and unfrequented – the place, no doubt, she would select if she really intended to take her own life.
We both approached it, fearing the worst. The shrill cries of the night-birds sounded above the moaning of the wind, while before us lay the broad sheet of water grey and mysterious in the clouded moon.
We had walked some distance along its edge, when Keene suddenly gripped my arm, and whispered —
“Look! – look ahead! can’t you see her? – with a man!”
I strained my eyes, and there, sure enough, wearing a dark cloak, she stood erect, statuesque, with the pale light falling upon her white face, while the man had apparently gripped her arm and dragged her from the water’s edge.
Next moment I was beside the pair, and to my dismay recognised that her companion was the fellow Logan, whom I had last seen entering that dark unlit house outside Milan.
“What’s the meaning of this?” I cried in quick anger. “Release that lady, and tell me why I find you here with her.”
“I am here to save her,” was his calm reply. “I have already prevented her taking a fatal step, and if you will accompany me to the Hall I think you will find that, instead of proving myself her enemy, I shall show her that I am her friend. You think evil of me, I know – both of you. But an innocent woman’s life shall not be sacrificed. I came here from London to-night, in order to meet another lady, the Countess of Stanchester, but by good fortune I met Lady Lolita, and she has told me the truth.”
“Of what?” inquired Keene.
“Of what I will reveal on our return to the Hall,” was the man’s answer. “You know much that you have not told, but to save her ladyship here, I will now make the whole thing plain.”
“But why have you not spoken before? You had plenty of opportunity,” Keene remarked.
“Because something that Lady Lolita has just told me makes it plain how cleverly her enemies succeeded in closing my lips. Come, it is cold. Her ladyship is shivering.”
“Come with me, Lolita,” I said, and linking my arm in hers led her back along the path through the wilderness and across her Saints’ Garden to the Hall.
The four of us were silent, all too occupied with own our thoughts to discuss the matter with each other. The sudden determination of the man Logan showed me that he meant at last to tell all that he knew.
“Lolita,” I whispered into her ear, just as we were about to enter the house, “whatever caused you to contemplate such a terrible step to-night?”
A shudder ran through her as she answered —
“Because – because of the letter Marigold sent to me by Weston. She told me that to-night, because I refused to give you up, she would tell George the truth!”
The man Logan overheard her answer, and urged her to remain patient.
“Take us at once to Lady Stanchester, Mr Woodhouse,” he urged, as we went in by a side entrance to avoid any guests who might be playing bridge in the large hall.
Thereupon I rang for Slater, and told him to make inquiries where her ladyship was, and to take us straight to her.
Ten minutes later the old butler returned saying —
“Her ladyship is with the Earl in the blue boudoir, sir.” And eyeing Logan with some surprise, he added, “Will you step this way?”
We followed him upstairs, along a corridor on the first floor, until he opened a door, and bowing said —
“Mr Woodhouse desires to see you urgently, m’lady.”
Next second the four of us were in the small elegantly furnished room upholstered in pale blue damask and gold, where the Earl and his wife were in consultation.
“You!” he cried in fury, when his eyes fell upon Lolita. “Leave this place at once, woman! Marigold has just told me everything – that it was you who killed your lover in the park – that it was you who – ”
“Excuse me, my lord,” interrupted Logan, coming forward, whereupon at sight of him the Countess fell back with a loud cry of dismay – a deathly pallor overspreading her countenance.
Her hand went to her throat convulsively and she gasped as though she were being strangled. Then, next instant, her teeth were set hard, her nails were clenched into the palms, her shoulders were elevated, and she stood rigid as a statue, and yet magnificent in her dinner-gown of pale pink and shimmering silver.
She tried to face Lolita, the woman whom she had hounded to her death, but her gaze wavered, and I saw that her effort to regain her self-composure was an utterly vain one. She trembled visibly from head to foot, while the expression in her eyes was sufficient to show the terror now consuming her.
The Earl noticing the change in her, and how she shrank from us, looked from Keene to the stranger, and asked —
“Well, sir? I have not the pleasure of knowing you. Who are you?”
“My name is Alfred Logan, architect by profession and – well, adventurer by inclination,” he replied. “I presume from your words that your wife has denounced your sister, Lady Lolita, as the murderess of young Hugh Wingfield in your park, and has also laid certain other charges against that lady? Fortunately, however, I am in a position to reveal to you the other side of the question, and reveal facts which I believe you will find both startling and remarkable.”
“Tell me?” exclaimed George hoarsely. “I suppose you intend to retaliate by making charges against my wife – eh?”
“Yes!” cried the unhappy woman, clinging to her husband. “That man is my worst enemy, George – save me from him – save me if you love me!”
“Your husband has no power to save you, madam,” exclaimed Logan in a cold distinct voice, while we all stood rooted to the spot. “It is my duty, knowing the truth as I do, to tell it, and to leave your husband to form his own conclusions. To-night, knowing that Lady Lolita, driven to desperation by you, had threatened to commit suicide, rather than a scandal should rest upon her noble house, you have written to her, telling her of your intention of making these charges, with the sole object of causing her death by her own hand, and thus placing yourself in a position of safety. Heaven, however, is just, and I am here to reveal those things that you have hidden from your husband – to tell the world what I know regarding your past.”
“Ah! no!” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “No! Enough! Spare me!”
“You have not spared Lady Lolita, therefore you must hear the hard and bitter truth.” Then, disregarding the terrible effect his words had upon her, he faced the Earl, and said, “What I am about to say will be borne out partially by our friend here, Mr Richard Keene – whom you know by the name of Smeeton – partly by Mr Woodhouse, and partly by your sister herself.”
“Go on,” said the Earl in a low voice. “I am all attention.”
“Then, in order to understand events in their true sequence, I must begin at the very beginning,” he said. “You will recollect that two years before your marriage you, with Lady Lolita, spent the spring at the Villa Aurora at San Remo, while Lady Marigold was staying with her mother at the Hotel Royal, close by. At the same hotel was staying Richard Keene, the man you afterwards met out in Africa under the name of Smeeton, together with his valet, a good-looking young fellow named Hugh Wingfield. The latter had very foolishly given a promise of marriage to a rather pretty young French lady’s maid named Marie Lejeune, but on sight of Lady Lolita, he forsook the young woman and fell madly in love with her ladyship. The latter, of course, had no idea at the time that he was a valet. They first met casually when walking in one of the olive woods behind the town, and he rendered her some little service in arranging the easel upon which she was sketching. He spoke well, dressed well, and as he mentioned he was staying at the Royal, the best hotel, she naturally concluded that he was a gentleman. She had, of course, no suspicion of the passion for her which had been aroused within his heart. The young Frenchwoman, however, quickly discovered the truth, and her intense jealousy was at once aroused. She was a woman of rather questionable character, being in association with two Italian adventurers named Belotto and Ostini, who lived over at Mentone, and at once set to work to intrigue against Lady Lolita and Lady Marigold Gordon. The two being great friends, in consequence of your engagement to Lady Marigold, revenge did not present any very great difficulty to that interesting trio who lived by their wits. I admit that I, myself, was living upon what I could win at the tables, and being at that time very hard-up had been induced to join them in various nefarious schemes which, although they brought us the wherewithal to live, caused us to be wanted by the police for helping ourselves to other people’s property.”
“To put it plainly,” remarked the Earl, “you were thieves.”
“Exactly,” Logan replied. “But our recent schemes had met with little success and we were at our wits’ end for money, when Marie Lejeune, who was a born adventuress, suggested a scheme whereby, in addition to revenging herself upon the woman who had robbed her of her lover, we could blackmail both Lady Marigold and Lady Lolita. Therefore, after considerable forethought and much ingenious intrigue, the scheme was put into practice. A watch was placed upon Lady Marigold, and it was found that she was in the habit of meeting clandestinely on the sea-road towards Bordighera an old friend, a certain Major Atherton, and that she one day went over to Monte Carlo with him in secret, where she was seen by the valet Wingfield, who told his master. It was found that Atherton was an old lover of her ladyship’s, and a letter of hers was secured in which Lady Marigold wrote, ‘I am only accepting George for his money. You know my heart is yours alone.’ Having secured that, the intriguers turned their attention to young Wingfield and Lady Lolita. Marie, with the Frenchwoman’s keen jealousy, discovered that she had met the young man once or twice, and that he had copied his master’s checker-board cipher, and with her own name as the keyword, corresponded with her by its means. Lady Lolita had already discovered, to her great surprise, that the prepossessing young man was desperately in love with her, and his affection rather amused her than otherwise, for every woman is flattered by attention. At last, however, the adventurers, of whom I myself was one, contrived to effect a coup that was about as ingenious as any devised by a gang of evildoers. The love-sick valet – still concealing his real avocation – had arranged to meet her ladyship after dinner one evening in the olive wood at the back of your villa, but his master gaining possession of a cipher message which Lady Lolita had sent him, was, of course, able to read it and resolved upon watching the pair. What he saw he will, perhaps, relate with his own lips.” And then the speaker paused and turned to Richard Keene.
