Together we went out into the hall where stood the man-servant who had admitted me.
“Is everything ready, Davies?” his master inquired. “Everything, sir. The carriage is at the door.”
“I would ask of you one favour,” the Tempter said, in a low voice; “do not express any surprise. All will be afterwards explained.”
From the inner pocket of his frock-coat he produced a pair of white kid gloves, which he handed me, observing, with a smile —
“They are large for you, I fear; but that will not much matter. You will meet my daughter at the church; it looks better.”
Then, as I commenced putting on the gloves, we went out together, and entered the smart brougham awaiting us. All preparations had evidently been made for my marriage.
Our drive was not a long one; but so bewildered was I by my singular situation, that I took little notice of the direction in which we were travelling. Indeed, I was utterly unfamiliar with that part of London, and I only know that we crossed Sloane Street, and, after traversing a number of back streets, suddenly stopped before a church standing in a small cul-de-sac.
The strip of faded red baize upon the steps showed that we were expected; but the church was empty save for a wheezy, unshaken old verger, who, greeting us, preceded us to a pew in front.
Scarcely had we seated ourselves, conversing in whispers, when we heard a second carriage stop; and, turning, I saw in the entrance the silhouette of my unknown bride in her white satin gown. She advanced up the aisle leaning heavily upon the arm of a smartly-dressed man, who wore a monocle with foppish air. Her progress was slow – due, no doubt, to extreme weakness. Her veil was handsome, but so thick that, in the dim gloom of the church, I was quite unable to distinguish her features.
As she passed where I sat, silent, anxious, and wondering, the Tempter prompted me, and I rose and took my place beside her, while at the same moment the officiating clergyman himself appeared from the vestry. His face was red and pimply, showing him to be of intemperate habits; but at his order I took my unknown companion’s slim, soft hand in mine, and the scent of the orange blossom in her corsage filled my nostrils. I stood like a man in a dream.
At that instant the Tempter bent tenderly to her, saying —
“Beryl, my child, this is your wedding day. You are to be married to the man you love. Listen!” Then in a nasal tone, which sounded weirdly in the silence of the place, the clergyman began to drone the first words of the Marriage Service, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together,” until he came to the first question to which I responded in a voice which sounded strange and cavernous.
I was selling myself for twenty thousand pounds. The thought caused me a slight twinge of conscience. Turning to the woman at my side, he asked —
“Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep ye only unto him as long as ye both shall live?”
A silence fell, deep and complete.
Two ordinary-looking men, who had entered the church to serve as witnesses, exchanged glances. Then a slight sound escaped my unknown bride, like a low sigh, and we could just distinguish the reply —
“I will.”
The remainder of the service was gabbled through. A ring which the Tempter had slipped into my hand I placed upon her finger, and ten minutes later I had signed the register, and was the husband of a woman upon whose face I had never looked.
The name which she signed with mine was “Beryl Wynd”; beyond that I knew nothing. Utterly bewildered at my position, I sat beside my bride on the drive back, but she preserved silence, and I exchanged no word with her. She shuddered once, as though cold. Her father accompanied us, keeping up a lively conversation during the whole distance.
Arrived at the house, the woman who had sought me at Rowan Road came forward to meet my bride, and at once accompanied her upstairs, while we entered the dining-room. The two witnesses, who had followed in the second carriage, quickly joined us. The butler Davies opened champagne, and my health, with that of the bride, was drunk in solemn silence. The man with the monocle was absent. Truly my nuptial feast was a strange one.
A few minutes later, however, I was again alone in the library with the Tempter, whose eyes had grown brighter, and whose face had assumed an even more demoniacal expression. The door was closed, the silence unbroken.
“So far all has been perfectly satisfactory,” he said, halting upon the hearthrug suddenly and facing me. “There is, however, still one condition to be fulfilled, before I place the money in your hands.”
“And what is that?” I inquired.
“That your wife must die before sunset,” he answered, in a hoarse, earnest whisper. “She must die – you understand! It is now half-past twelve.”
“What?” I cried, starting forward. “You would bribe me to murder your own daughter?”
He shrugged his thin shoulders, made an impatient movement, his small eyes glittered, and in a cold hard voice, he exclaimed —
“I said that it is imperative she should die before the money is yours – that is all.”
Chapter Three
Concerning a Compact
“Then you make murder one of the conditions of payment?” I said, facing him.
“I have only said she must die before sunset,” he answered. “She cannot live, in any case, longer than a few hours. It is easy for you, a doctor, to render her agony brief.”
“To speak plainly,” I said, with rising indignation, “you wish me to kill her! You offer me twenty thousand pounds, not for marriage, but for the committal of the capital sin.”
His thin lips twitched nervously and his brows contracted.
“Ah!” he responded, still quite cool. “I think you view the matter in a wrong light. There are various grades of murder. Surely it is no great crime, but rather a humane action, to put a dying girl out of her agony.”
“To shorten her life a single minute would be a foul assassination,” I replied, regarding him with loathing. “And further, sir, you do not appear to fully realise your own position, or that it is a penal offence to attempt to bribe a person to take another’s life.”
He laughed a short, defiant laugh.
“No, no,” he said. “Please do not waste valuable time by idle chatter of that kind. I assure you that I have no fear whatever of the result of my action. There is no witness here, and if you endeavoured to bring me before a judge, who, pray, would believe you?” There was some truth in those defiant words, and I saw by his attitude that he was not to be trifled with.
“I take it that you have objects in both your propositions – in your daughter’s marriage, and in her death?” I said, in a more conciliatory tone, hoping to learn something further of the motive of his dastardly proposal.
“My object is my own affair,” he snapped.
“And my conscience is my own,” I said. “I certainly do not intend that it shall be burdened by the crime for which you offer me this payment.”
He fixed me with flaming eyes. “Then you refuse?” he cried.
“Most certainly I refuse,” I responded. “Moreover, I intend to visit your daughter upstairs, and strive, if possible, to save her.”
“Save her?” he echoed. “You can’t do that, unless you can perform miracles. But perhaps,” he added with a sneer, “such a virtuous person as yourself may be able to work marvels.”
“I may be able to save her from assassination,” I answered meaningly.
“You intend to oppose me?”
“I intend to prevent you from murdering your own daughter,” I said warmly. “Further, I forbid you to enter her room again. I am a medical man, and have been called in by you to attend her. Therefore, if you attempt to approach her I shall summon the police.”
“Rubbish!” he laughed, his sinister face now ashen pale. “You cannot prevent me from approaching her bedside.”
“I can, and I will,” I said. “You have expressed a desire that she should, for some mysterious reasons, die before sunset. You would kill her with your own hand, only you fear that when the doctor came to give his certificate he might discover evidence of foul play.”
“Exactly,” he responded with perfect coolness, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “It is because of that I offer you twenty thousand pounds. I am prepared to pay for your scientific knowledge.”
“And for a death certificate?”
“Of course.”
“Well, to speak plainly, I consider you an inhuman scoundrel,” I said. “If your daughter’s dying hour is not sacred to you, then no man’s honour or reputation is safe in your hands.”
“I thank you for your compliment,” he replied with a stiff bow. “But I might reply that you yourself are not very remarkable for honour, having in view the fact that, in the hope of gaining a sufficient price, you have married a woman upon whom you have never set eyes.”
“You tempted me!” I cried furiously. “You held the money before my gaze and fascinated me with it until I was helpless in your power. Fortunately, however, the spell is broken by this inhuman suggestion of yours, and I wash my hands clean of the whole affair.”
“Ah, my dear sir, that is not possible. Remember you are my daughter’s husband.”
“And yet you ask me to kill her.”
“Who has greater right to curtail her sufferings than her husband?”
“And who has greater right to endeavour to save her life?”
“But you cannot. It is impossible.”
“Why impossible?”
“She is doomed.”
“By you. You have resolved that she shall not live till morning,” I said, adding: “If, as you tell me, her mysterious illness must prove fatal, I see no reason why you should offer me a bribe to encompass her death. Surely a few hours more or less are of no consequence.”
“But they are,” he protested quickly. “She must die before sundown, I tell you.”
“Not if I can prevent it.”
“Then you will forgo the money I have offered you,” he inquired seriously.
“I have no intention of touching a single farthing of it.”
“Until you are forced to.”
“Forced to!” I exclaimed. “I don’t understand your meaning.”
“You will understand one day,” he answered with a grin – “one day when it may, perhaps, be too late. It would be best for us to act in unison, I assure you.”
“For you, possibly; not for me.”
“No – for you,” he said, fixing his crafty, evil-looking eyes upon me. “You have taken one step towards the goal, and you cannot now draw back. You have already accepted your price – twenty thousand pounds.”
“Enough!” I cried indignantly. “If I were to give information to the police regarding this conversation, you would find yourself arrested within an hour.”
“As I have already told you, my dear sir, I am not at all afraid of such a contretemps; I am no blunderer, I assure you.”
“Neither am I,” I answered quickly, resolving to remain there no longer discussing such a subject. From the first moment of our meeting I had entertained a suspicion of him. Several facts were evident. He had some strong motive, first in marrying his daughter Beryl, secondly in encompassing her death before sundown, and thirdly in implicating me so deeply that I should be unable to extricate myself from the net which he set to entrap me.
A fourth fact, apparently small in itself, had caused me considerable reflection: the hand that I had held and on the finger of which I had placed the bond of matrimony, was in no sense chilly or clammy. It was not the wasted hand of a moribund invalid, but rather that of a healthy person. While I had held it I felt and counted the pulsations. The latter had told me that my mysterious bride was without fever, and was apparently in a normal state of health. It was curious that she should have walked and acted involuntarily, if only half-conscious of her surroundings.
The Tempter was endeavouring to deceive me in this particular. But it was in vain.
“Cannot we come to terms?” he asked in a low, earnest voice. “There is surely no object to be gained in our being enemies; rather let us act together in our mutual interests. Recollect that by your marriage you have become my son-in-law and heir.”
“Your heir!” I echoed. I had not thought of that before. His house betokened that he was wealthy. “You are very generous,” I added, not without some sarcasm. “But I do not feel inclined to accept any such responsibility from one whose name even I do not know.”
“Of course,” he said easily. “I was stupid not to introduce myself. In the excitement it quite slipped my memory. Pray forgive me. My name is Wynd – Wyndham Wynd.”
“Well, Mr Wynd,” I said with some forced politeness, “I think we may as well conclude this interview. I wish to make the acquaintance of my wife.”
“Quite natural,” he answered, smiling good-humouredly. “Quite natural that you should wish to see her; only I beg you, doctor, to prepare for disappointment.”
“Your warning is unnecessary,” I responded as carelessly as I could.
My curiosity had been aroused by the healthfulness of that small, well-formed hand, and I intended to investigate for myself. That house was, I felt certain, a house of mystery.
I had turned towards the door, but in an instant he had reached it and stood facing me with his back to it resolutely, saying —
“You will go to her on one condition – the condition I have already explained.”
“That I take her life seriously, and give a certificate of death from natural causes,” I said. “No, Mr Wynd, I am no murderer.”
“Not if we add to the sum an extra five thousand?”
“I will not harm her for an extra fifty thousand. Let me pass!” I cried with fierce resolution.
“When you have promised to accede to my request.”
“I will never promise that.”
“Then you will not enter her room again.”
Almost as the words left his lips there was a low tap at the door, and it opened, disclosing Davies, who announced —
“The Major, sir.”
“Show him in.”
The visitor, who entered jauntily with his silk hat still set at a slight angle on his head, was the well-groomed man who had led my bride up the aisle of the church. I judged him to be about forty-five, dark-complexioned, good-looking, but foppish in appearance, carrying his monocle with ease acquired by long practice.
“Well, Wynd,” he said, greeting his friend, cheerily, “all serene?”
“Entirely,” answered the other. And then, turning to me, introduced the new-comer as “Major Tattersett.”
“This, Major, is Dr Colkirk, my new son-in-law,” he explained. “Permit me to present him.”
“Congratulate you, my dear sir,” he responded laughing good-humouredly, while the Tempter remarked —
“The Major is, of course, fully aware of the circumstances of your marriage. He is our nearest friend.”
“Marriage rather unconventional, eh?” the other remarked to me. “Poor Beryl! It is a thousand pities that she has been struck down like that. Six months ago down at Wyndhurst she was the very soul of the house-parties – and here to-day she is dying.”
“Extremely sad,” I remarked. “As a medical man I see too vividly the uncertainty of human life.”
“How is she now?” inquired the Major of her father. “The same, alas!” answered the Tempter with well-assumed sorrow. “She will, we fear, not live till midnight.”
“Poor girl! Poor girl!” the new-comer ejaculated with a sigh, while the Tempter, excusing himself for an instant left the room.
I would have risen and followed, but the Major, addressing me confidentially, said —
“This is a strange whim of my old friend’s, marrying his daughter in this manner. There seems no motive for it, as far as I can gather.”
“No, none,” I responded. “Mr Wynd has struck me as being somewhat eccentric.”
“He’s a very good fellow – an excellent fellow. Entirely loyal to his friends. You are fortunate, my dear fellow, in having him as a father-in-law. He’s amazingly well off, and generosity itself.”
I recollected his dastardly suggestion that my wife should not live longer than sundown, and smiled within myself. This friend of his evidently did not know his real character.
Besides, being an observant man by nature, I noticed as I sat there one thing which filled me with curiosity. The tops of the Major’s fingers and thumb of his right hand were thick and slightly deformed, while the skin was hardened and the nails worn down to the quick.
While the left hand was of normal appearance, the other had undoubtedly performed hard manual labour. A major holding her Majesty’s commission does not usually bear such evident traces of toil. The hand was out of keeping with the fine diamond ring that flashed upon it.
“The incident of to-day,” I said, “has been to me most unusual. It hardly seems possible that I am a bridegroom, for, truth to tell, I fancied myself the most confirmed of bachelors. Early marriage always hampers the professional man.”
“But I don’t suppose you will have any cause for regret on that score,” he observed. “You will have been a bridegroom and a widower in a single day.”
I was silent. His words betrayed him. He knew of the plot conceived by his friend to bribe me to kill the woman to whom I had been so strangely wedded!
But successfully concealing my surprise at his incautious words, I answered —
“Yes, mine will certainly have been a unique experience.”
He courteously offered me a cigarette, and lighting one himself, held the match to me. Then we sat chatting, he telling me what a charming girl Beryl had been until stricken down by disease.
“What was her ailment?” I inquired.
“I am not aware of the name by which you doctors know it. It is, I believe, a complication of ailments. Half a dozen specialists have seen her, and all are agreed that her life cannot be saved. Wynd has spared no expense in the matter, for he is perfectly devoted to her.”
His words, hardly coincided with the truth, I reflected. So far from being devoted to her, he was anxious, for some mysterious reason, that she should not live after midnight.
“To lose her will, I suppose, be a great blow to him?” I observed, with feigned sympathy.
“Most certainly. She has been his constant friend and companion ever since his wife died, six years ago. I’m awfully sorry for both poor Beryl and Wynd.”
I was about to reply, but his words froze upon my lips, for at that instant there rang through the house a shrill scream – the agonised scream of a woman.
“Listen!” I cried. “What’s that?”
But my companion’s jaw had dropped, and he sat immovable, listening intently.
Again the scream rang out, but seemed stifled and weaker.
The Tempter was with his daughter whom he had determined should die. The thought decided me, and turning, without further word, I dashed from the room, and with quickly-beating heart ran up the wide thickly-carpeted staircase.
Chapter Four
The Note of Interrogation
On reaching the corridor I was confronted by the thin, spare figure of the Tempter standing resolutely before a closed door – that of Beryl’s chamber.
His black eyes seemed to flash upon me defiantly, and his face had reassumed that expression which was sufficient index to the unscrupulousness of his character.
“Let me pass!” I cried roughly, in my headlong haste. “I desire to see my wife.”
“You shall not enter?” he answered, in a voice tremulous with an excitement which he strove in vain to control.
“She is in distress. I heard her scream. It is my duty, both as a doctor and as her husband, to be at her side.”
“Duty?” he sneered. “My dear sir, what is duty to a man who will sell himself for a handful of banknotes?”
“I yielded to your accursed temptation, it is true!” I cried fiercely. “But human feeling is not entirely dead in my heart, as it is in yours. Thank God that my hands are still unsullied!”
He laughed – the same harsh, discordant laugh that had escaped him when, below in the library, I had refused to accept the vile condition of the compact.
He stood there barring my passage to that room wherein lay the unknown woman who had been so strangely united to me. Whoever she was, I was resolved to rescue her. Mystery surrounded her – mystery that I resolved at all hazards to penetrate.
“You were in want of money, and I offered it to you,” the Tempter answered coldly. “You have refused, and the matter is ended.”
“I think not,” I said warmly. “You will hear something more of this night’s work.”
He laughed again, displaying an uneven row of discoloured teeth. To argue with him further was useless.
“Come, stand aside?” I cried, making a movement forward.
He receded a couple of paces, until he stood with his back against the door, and as I faced him I looked down the shining barrel of a revolver.
I do not know what possessed me at that instant. I did not fully realise my danger, that is certain. My mind was too full of the mystery surrounding the unknown woman who was lying within, and whose hand had showed me that she was no invalid. Physically I am a muscular man, and without a second’s hesitation I sprang upon my adversary and closed with him. His strength was marvellous. I had under-calculated it, for he was wiry, with muscles like iron.
For a few moments we swayed to and fro in deadly embrace, until I felt that he had turned the weapon until the barrel touched my neck. Next instant there was a loud report. The flash burned my face, but fortunately the bullet only grazed my cheek.
I was unharmed, but his deliberate attempt to take my life urged me to desperation, and with an almost superhuman effort I tripped him by a trick, and kneeling upon him, wrenched the weapon from his grasp. Then, leaving him, I dashed towards the door and turned the handle, but in vain. It was locked. Without more ado I stepped back, and taking a run, flung myself against the door, bursting the lock from its socket and falling headlong into the chamber.
The light was insufficient in that great chamber; therefore I drew up one of the blinds partially and crossed to the bed, full of curiosity.
My wife was lying there, silent and still. Her wealth of dishevelled hair strayed across the lace-edged pillow, and the hand with the wedding-ring I had placed upon it was raised above her head and tightly clenched in that attitude often assumed by children in their sleep.
She had screamed. That sound I had heard, so shrill and plain, was undoubtedly the voice of a young woman, and it had come from this room, which was directly above the library. Yet, as far as I could see, there was nothing to indicate the cause of her alarm.
Utterly bewildered, I stood there gazing at the form hidden beneath the silken coverlet of pale blue. The face was turned away towards the wall, so that I could not see it.
Why, I wondered, had the Tempter barred my entrance there with such determination, endeavouring to take my life rather than allow me to enter there?
The small ormolu clock chimed the hour upon its silver bell. It was one o’clock.
Attentively I bent and listened. Her breathing seemed very low. I touched her hand and found it chilly.
For a moment I hesitated to disturb her, for she was lying in such a position that I could not see her face without turning her over. Suddenly, however, it occurred to me that I might draw out the bed from the wall and get behind it.
This I did, but the bed, being very heavy, required all my effort to move it.
Strangely enough at that moment I felt a curious sensation in my mouth and throat, and an unaccountable dizziness seized me. It seemed as though my mouth and lips were swelling, and the thought occurred to me that I might have ruptured a blood-vessel in my exertions in moving the bed.
Eager, however, to look upon the face of the woman who was my wife, I slipped between the wall and the bed, and, bending down, drew back the embroidered sheet which half concealed the features.
I stood dumb-stricken. The face was the most beautiful, the most perfect in contour and in natural sweetness of expression, that I had ever gazed upon. It was the face of a healthful and vigorous girl of twenty, rather than of an invalid – a face about the beauty of which there could be no two opinions. The great blue eyes were wide open, looking curiously into mine, while about the mouth was a half-smile which rendered the features additionally attractive.
“You are ill,” I whispered in a low, intense voice, bending to her. “Cannot you tell me what is the matter? I am a doctor, and will do all in my power to make you better.”
There was no response. The great blue eyes stared at me fixedly, the smile did not relax, the features seemed strangely rigid. Next second a terrible suspicion flashed across my mind, and I bent closer down. The eyes did not waver in the light as eyes must do when a light shines straight into them. I touched her cheek with my hand, and its thrilling contact told me the truth only too plainly.
My wife was dead. She had died before sunset, as the Tempter had intended.
The discovery held me immovable. Hers was a face such as I had never seen before. She was a woman before whom, had I met her in life, I should have fallen down and worshipped. Indeed, strange as it may seem, I confess that, as I stood there, I fell in love with her – even though she was a corpse.
Yet, as my eyes fixed themselves lovingly upon her features, as sweet, tender, and innocent in expression as a child’s, I could not imagine the cause of death. There was no sign of disease or unhealthiness there.
Why had she uttered those screams? Why, indeed, had the door of the death-chamber been afterwards locked? Had she, after all, fallen a victim to foul play?
I drew down the bed-clothes and exposed her neck in order to make an examination. She wore, suspended by a thin gold chain, a small amulet shaped like a note of interrogation and encrusted with diamonds. My observations told me that she had not worn it very long, for the edges of the stones were sharp, yet the delicate skin remained unscratched. A desire possessed me to have some souvenir of her, and without further ado, I unclasped the chain from her neck, and placed it and the little charm in my pocket.
Then, in continuation of my examination, I placed my hand upon her heart, but could detect no cause of death.
Upon her breast, however, I found a curious tattoo-mark – a strange device representing three hearts entwined. Now in my medical experience, I have found that very few women are tattooed. A woman usually shrinks from the operation – which is not unaccompanied by pain – and, on careful examination of this mark, I came to the conclusion that it had been pricked some years ago by a practised hand; further, that it had some distinct and mysterious signification.
It was in the exact centre of the breast, and just sufficiently low to remain concealed when she had worn a décolleté dress. The light was dim and unsatisfactory, but all my efforts to trace the hand of an assassin were futile.
Suddenly, however, as I examined her eyes, the left one, nearest the pillow, bore an expression which struck me as unusual. Both organs of sight seemed to have lost their clearness in the moments I had been standing there, and were glazing as rigor mortis set in, but the left eye was becoming more blurred than its fellow – an unusual circumstance which attracted me. The bright blue which I had seen in its unfathomable depths had contracted in a manner altogether unaccountable until it was now only the size of a pin’s head. I bent again closely and peered into it. Next instant the awful truth was revealed.
She had been foully murdered.
With quick heart-beating I examined the eye carefully, finding symptoms of death from some deliriant – a neurotic acting on the brain and producing delirium, presbyopia, and coma. Certain it was that if this were actually the Tempter’s work, he was a veritable artist in crime, for the manner in which death had been caused was extremely difficult to determine.
Finding myself undisturbed there, I made further and more searching examination, until I held the opinion that death must have been almost, if not quite, instantaneous.
But such theory did not coincide with the screams that had escaped her. On reviewing the whole of the circumstances, I felt confident that she must have been fully conscious at the time, and that those shrieks were shrieks of terror. She had divined the intention of her enemies.
About the vicinity of the bed I searched for any bottle of medicine that might be there, but in vain. If she had really been ill previously, as the Tempter had alleged, the medicine prescribed might give me some clue to the nature of her disease.
Upon a chair close by, her bridal veil of Brussels lace was lying crumpled in a heap, while her gown of white satin was hanging upon the door-knob of the handsome wardrobe. The orange-blossoms diffused their perfume over the room, but to me it was a sickly odour emblematic of the grave.
My wife, the most beautiful woman upon whom my eyes had ever fallen, was lifeless – struck down by the hand of a murderer.
As I bent, looking full into the contracted pupil, I suddenly detected something half concealed in the lace edging of the pillow. I drew it forth, and found it to be a crumpled letter, which I spread out and read. It had evidently been treasured there, just as invalids treasure beneath the bolster all the correspondence they receive.
In an angular hand, evidently masculine, was written the simple words, without address or signature, “I have seen La Gioia!”
Who, I wondered, was “La Gioia”? Was it a happy meeting or a disconcerting one? The announcement was bare enough, without comment and without detail. Significant, no doubt, it had been received by her and kept secret beneath her pillow.
I started across the room to investigate my dead wife’s surroundings and to learn, if possible, by observation, something concerning her life. A room is often indicative of a woman’s character, and always of her habits. The apartment was, I found, artistic and luxurious, while the few books lying about showed her to be a woman of education, culture, and refinement. Upon a little side-table, concealed behind a pile of books, I found a small blue bottle which, taking up, I held to the light, and afterwards uncorked and smelt, wondering whether its odour would give me any clue to its composition. The bottle contained pure chloroform.