As the girl drew back from the window, the soft silk curtains fell from her hand. A thick, white fog rose from the valley, blotting out the landscape; here and there a great elm stood out of it, like a ship becalmed on a moonlit sea. The warmth of the atmosphere chilled suddenly, and the girl in her thin evening dress shuddered. Probably there was a fire in the drawing-room; at any rate, she hoped so. An hour earlier she had been sitting in the garden amidst the full glow of summer roses. But it was often like thus on Dartdale.
How gloomy and depressing it had become all at once, and yet how characteristic of the atmosphere of the place! Time had been when Rawmouth Park was a house of love and sunshine, but that was before the death of Mrs. Martin Faber and her husband, who had followed her into the Silent Land less than six months afterwards. And now the girl was here as the ward and guest of Raymond Draycott, who had succeeded to the property.
From the bottom of her heart Alice Kearns hated Raymond Draycott. It counted for nothing that he was more or less kind to her, that he insisted upon giving her a home until she came into her property some time hence. She was in his hands, for under Martin Faber’s will Draycott became her legal guardian. It was absurd that a stranger should have such power over her future; but the fact remained.
Up to a year ago she had never heard of the man except through Mr. Faber’s casual references. Draycott had been his great chum in the old days before the former set out for the Argentine to make a fortune, and after Faber had been found cut to pieces on the railway it appeared that he had left everything—Alice included—to Raymond. There was very little, so it seemed, beyond the lovely old house and the grounds round it, but it was discovered that Faber had been insured for a large amount, so that Draycott found himself master of nearly a hundred thousand pounds.
He offered a home at Rawmouth to Alice, expressing a desire to have her near him. He would not hear of any other arrangement. From the first she was afraid of him. He was dark, so dark as to suggest Spanish blood in his veins, his hair and moustache were black, though his eyes were blue. This latter fact was only apparent when he removed his glasses. He disliked any allusion to the subject.
There was something mysterious about him. He was furtive and watchful, and apparently found it always necessary to keep a guard upon his tongue. Yet, reserved as he was, he had an extraordinary knowledge of things and places in the locality. Episodes that had happened years ago were perfectly familiar to him. He was a rigid teetotaller, moreover, though he spoke learnedly in unguarded moments on the subject of wine. Deep down in her heart in a blind, unreasoning way, Alice detested him; loathed him more than anything else in the world—with the sole exception of Carl Moler.
On the whole, this clever, silent, watchful German doctor was the worse man of the two. Alice knew by instinct that Draycott hated him more than she did. That being so, what was he doing at Rawmouth? Draycott was boisterously friendly, outwardly pleased with Moler’s society; but there were times when, unthinkingly he regarded him with a glance absolutely murderous. He was like a cat waiting to spring and yet pausing to pounce. Moler had come at first on a chance visit, protesting he had found Draycott quite by accident. Now he was settled at Rawmouth as if the place belonged to him.
There was something amiss here, some mystery that troubled Alice. Nor was she the only one that was under its influence. Jane Mason, the old housekeeper, could unfold a tale if she liked—Alice was sure of that. But when sounded, Jane merely turned white and anxious and changed the subject. “It was no business of hers,” she said.
“We’ve all got our troubles, and I have got my share, miss,” she would remark. “Let sleeping dogs lie. And if anything happens, you’ve got a friend in me. It would be different if we had Mr. Hugh back again, poor innocent dear!”
Ah, if Hugh Grenfell were only here once more! Alice’s heart throbbed with pain as she thought of him. It was the full weight of her own hopeless misery. She was thinking of nothing else as she finished her toilet and went down to dinner. The cold, white fog that lay over Rawmouth enshrouded Hugh Grenfell’s quarters, too. The truth as to that sad story would be told some day, if there were any justice left; it must——
Alice always dressed early, especially at this time of year, when the weather was warm and it was possible to go into the gardens before the others came down. There were happy occasions when Draycott and Moler were absent from the meal altogether, but Alice did not very often have such a lucky interlude, which mostly happened only when Draycott was ill. Still, his attacks did not grow less frequent. Indeed, Alice thought that they were more regular now than they had been before Moler arrived. What was Moler doing here? Why had he come? The girl asked herself these questions over and over again. Alice remembered his arrival quite well. He had not been expected. Draycott had been moody all through dinner; had changed his mind a dozen times whether he would drink or not. He passed for a teetotaller, and boasted that he drank little or nothing save under the doctor’s orders. Sometimes when attacks of fever were imminent he indulged himself, but then he professed to take the liquor as a medicine and against his will.
He had been very moody and shaky that night. Anybody but Alice would have refused to believe Draycott’s protestations; a man of the world would have said bluntly that he was suffering from the very thing that he affected to despise. The bloodshot, watery eyes, shaking lips, and trembling hand proclaimed it as if from the housetops. It was Draycott’s fancy to call it ague, and Alice was constrained to humor him. He had passed many years in foreign parts, and it might have been malaria.
Still, it was very unfortunate, the girl concluded, to have to live under the same roof with him after her experience with Martin Faber, whose drinking having recurred at intervals of about six weeks, and lasted for a few days. At such times he was more or less dangerous and one of the men servants had to keep a close eye on him. Then the fit would pass away. Faber would come down sullen and shaky, and in a short time be himself again.
Was history repeating itself? It mattered little what Draycott called it, seeing that the effect was practically the same. How strange that Martin Faber should have gone out of his way to make this man rich! Poor as he was, he had insured his life for a prodigious sum, only that Draycott might have a good time of it. It must have cost him a serious struggle to pay the premium, and he must have known that it would be impossible to discharge a second premium, in which case the policy would have been forfeited, and Faber have literally wasted his money. Perhaps he had committed suicide in the most cold-blooded and deliberate manner? Had Draycott compelled him to do it? Alice had read of diabolical crimes of that kind.
But Faber’s will was dated some years before. For a long time he had meant, it was clear, to leave everything to Draycott. Alice wondered what the relationship between them was. They were alike, and yet there was a wonderful difference. Though Draycott was much stouter, and his features and expression were different, there was a queer, subtle likeness. Draycott vaguely gave Alice the impression that he was afraid of something, that he expected something to happen. The sight of a stranger made him restless and uneasy. He was just like that the day Moler came.
They were seated at lunch, and Draycott was unusually amiable. A servant brought in a visiting-card, which he laid by Draycott’s plate. The latter glanced at it and started instantly. His face paled, his lips trembled, and Alice could see that his eyes had a wicked gleam in them. Whoever the newcomer was, Draycott had no liking for him. Alice never forgot the singular sense that overtook her of a spirit of tragedy in the air. A second later Draycott burst into a torrent of profanity. He pulled himself up suddenly.
“I beg your pardon, my dear,” he stammered. “An old friend of mine. I—I never expected to meet him again. He reminded me of a most unpleasant time in my earlier career. But I am glad to see him, though I wish he had given me notice he was coming.”
Alice felt that Draycott meant this by the expression in his eyes. He wished this man had arrived quietly, without anybody knowing; in which case—Alice fairly shuddered at the suspicions that crowded her mind.
“Don’t you think you had better ask the gentleman in?” she suggested.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Draycott said with feigned ease. “Ask Mr. Moler in. My dear fellow, I am delighted to see you again. It was a shock at the moment——”
“I guessed it would be,” the other said drily. “There was not time to write. Pray present me.”
He bowed low to Alice and held out his hand. He was not a big man, though he gave a suggestion of strength; he was not handsome, yet his face was attractive in a way. It was a fine, intellectual head, with high forehead and flowing hair, and clear eyes, set a little too closely together. Nevertheless, this man was a mental force, beyond question, a being born to have his own way. The glance of open admiration which he turned on Alice made her hot and uncomfortable.
“I am pleased to meet you,” she said coldly. “Are you staying here?”
“I have come for a few days,” Moler explained, “on business. Quite by accident, I discovered that my dear old friend Raymond Draycott was living in the neighborhood. I am a doctor, Miss Kearns. I have a series of most delicate experiments going on, and I want quiet for them. I am going to ask Mr. Draycott to put me up for a while.”
Once more the singular gleam lit up Draycott’s eyes.
“Miss Kearns is mistress here?” he suggested.
“I—I am sure there can be no possible objection,” Alice stammered. “We have plenty of spare room.”
Alice fancied that Draycott expected her to make a reply like this. It seemed to her that Moler took the answer as a matter of course. He laughed quietly.
“Then that is settled,” he said. “A light luncheon, if you please; a little of that delicious fruit. I rarely touch meat. After luncheon I shall enjoy a talk with Draycott. My dear friend, you will give me an hour or so?” It was not a question, it was a command. With a sullen air, Draycott rose and followed Moler into the library. Alice sat at the table with a curious sinking at her heart.
How long had this state of things lasted? She asked herself the question as she came down to dinner. Had Moler been dominating the house for months or years, making covert love to her? He was going to marry her one of these days—he had told her that plainly and calmly. He had fallen in love with her; and hoped to use her money in completing his wonderful experiments. He had Draycott under his thumb absolutely.
What would it all mean, and where would it end? How much longer would this menacing air of mystery hang like a cloud over Rawmouth? Did onlookers notice, or were they blind to what was going on?
There was no suggestion of mystery or crime.
The great hall was flooded with electric light under pink shades. There were ferns and flowers, pictures, and carpets, everywhere a fine combination of good taste and refinement. In the dining-room, dinner had been laid for three. A flood of light fell on the table, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. A feathery spray of pink orchids adorned the centre, and piles of the famous Rawmouth peaches were ranged on either side. Draycott and Moler were already seated. The latter smiled and rose as Alice entered. His glittering eyes gloated over her figure; the fair hair was brushed back from her forehead, and her white arms gleamed between the meshs of her black dress. The man always made her uncomfortable.
“You are rather late, my dear,” Draycott said.
Alice almost started. There were times when Draycott’s voice reminded her of Martin Faber. It was only now and then, but to-night the resemblance was marked. It gave her a strange, odd feeling that she had been through all this before. It is a sensation that comes to everyone at times. Draycott had a little gesture with his hands, too, that Faber had also used. Strange she had never noticed it before! It was a night of small surprises and coincidences, for Draycott actually had a glass of champagne before him. Faber had been partial to champagne—too partial; for there were frequent intervals when he suffered from ‘nervous headaches’ in the seclusion of his room! Draycott suffered from ‘muscular neuralgia,’ accompanied by intense pain. He also had to lie up from time to time, at tended by Moler. For the first occasion it flashed across Alice’s mind that these periods of suffering coincided as to their intervals with the bouts that Faber had indulged in. She wondered this had not struck her before. Was it possible, that Draycott was a relative of Faber’s—a relationship kept in the background for prudent reasons? A brother perhaps——
“I am trying a new remedy,” Draycott said, as if reading the girl’s thoughts. “I am afraid another of my attacks is coming on. Moler permits me a glass of champagne.”
The German said nothing, though Alice imagined there was something sinister in his smile. How dark and mysterious he looked, in keeping with the fog and the gloom and the air of mystery that always seemed to brood over the old house now! The dinner dragged on with frequent pauses, and little or nothing in the way of conversation for Alice. She dreaded this long ceremonious hour, and looked forward eagerly to the moment when she could escape. She sat with downcast eyes, taking little besides fish and fruit. She slowly peeled and ate a peach. Draycott was talking faster than usual, and said something presently that attracted Alice’s attention.
She looked up quietly. The servants had gone. Draycott was pouring out the last glass of champagne. Obviously he had finished the bottle. It must have been so, for Moler never touched anything. Draycott tossed off the glass and reached for the liqueur brandy. There was a peculiar, uneasy gleam behind his spectacles.
“How long is it since old Toolman met with that fatal accident?” he asked. “I mean——”
“That was before your time,” Alice said. “It must have been four years ago.”
Moler rose to his feet. The smile was no longer on his face; obviously something had happened to disturb him. He crept quietly behind Draycott’s chair and gripped him by the shoulders.
“You are overdoing my instructions,” he said. “It is time to take your medicine. You will come with me to your room at once, if you please.”
It was not a polite request, so much as an imperative order. Just for the moment the wild murderous expression that Alice had seen before crossed Draycott’s face. She could see his hand gripping the dessert knife till the knuckles stood out white and hard.
“Perhaps you are right,” he stammered. “I have had one or two of those infernal twinges during dinner. I’ll ask you to excuse me, my dear. Excellent fellow, Moler. A little too arbitrary for my taste, but very anxious for his patient. When you are married to him, you will learn to appreciate his good qualities.”
Alice flushed scarlet. This was by no means the first time this hateful topic had been mentioned. As she stood in her turn she noticed that Draycott lurched as he moved towards the door. He burst into song as he staggered into the hall—the same song that Faber had indulged in on many a similar occasion. It was as if Martin Faber had come back from the dead—the ghastliness of the idea made Alice shudder. A sudden fear set her trembling from head to foot. She seemed to see the whole mystery laid bare as one sees things in a dream, only to lose sight of them again. Yet Martin Faber was in his grave. It was impossible in the circumstances——
Jane Mason was standing there, white and horrified as was Alice herself.
“Did you hear that?” the girl demanded. “It is like a voice from the dead. But you heard it, Jane, or you would not tremble like that. I believe you could tell me what it all means.”
Jane shook her head sorrowfully.
“Don’t ask me, miss,” she whispered. “Don’t ask me. Let sleeping dogs lie.”
“You always put me off like that,” Alice replied. “At any rate, I don’t see what you have to fear. I am sure you could tell me a great deal if you chose. Who is this man that has all the habits and mannerisms of Mr. Faber, who speaks like him, and who has to hide himself from everybody for a few days every six weeks or so? You may say that it is Mr. Raymond Draycott, who came into the property under Mr. Faber’s will, but——”
“Is there any resemblance between them, Miss Alice?” Jane interrupted.
“Oh, I admit the difficulty. One is dark and the other fair. Mr. Faber had a blunt nose, and Mr. Draycott has a regular one. Their mouths and teeth are different, and Mr. Draycott is shorter than my late guardian was. Yet they speak alike, and have the same gestures and the same weaknesses.”
“My present master has a painful form of neuralgia,” Jane suggested.
“So he says,” Alice replied scornfully. “I refuse to believe it. He had too much wine to-night. It was just like Mr. Faber before his attacks began, and these come to the same regular intervals. Mr. Draycott sang the same song. Though he is a stranger here, he knows of things that happened in the house years ago. Moler watches him as a cat watches a mouse. I cannot make out this bewildering mystery. Did Mr. Faber have a brother who disgraced the family? I am sure Mr. Draycott is a relative. If we did not know that Mr. Faber was in his grave, I should be inclined to imagine—but that is absurd.”
“I can tell you nothing whatever about it, miss,” Jane Mason said.
Alice turned away, baffled and disappointed. Mason’s words carried no conviction to her. She did not for a moment believe what the woman was saying, and longed for some friend in whom she could confide. She had but one in the world, and she could think of him only with tears in her eyes. She passed the drawing-room door on the way to her own room. She had no heart for the music that was her one comfort and consolation.
She heard the clicking of the switches presently as the lights downstairs were extinguished, and threw open her window and looked out. The white mist had lifted and a silver moon was hanging in the blue sky. There were lights dotted over the wide stretch of country, and a row of pin-points of flame was visible to the left. By their means Alice made out the outline of Dartdale convict prison.
She crept on to the balcony that ran along the whole of that side of the house, moved by an impulse of curiosity that it was impossible to resist. A light burned dully, as if from behind drawn curtains at the end of the balcony, picking out a bush of crimson roses on the lawn below. The gleam came from Draycott’s window, as Alice knew quite well. It would be no hazardous matter to go along the balcony and ascertain what was taking place inside. It seemed to the girl that she was justified. The dark mystery involved her future happiness, and possibly even more than that. A glimpse of the pin-points of flame from the windows of the prison decided her. She would find out what was passing in the room at the end of the balcony. Snatching up a long black cloak and extinguishing the light in her room, a moment later she was listening to the sound of voices in Draycott’s room. The window was closed and the blind drawn. All Alice could hear was a confused murmur. The two men were disputing over something, and a violent quarrel seemed to be in progress. There was a noise presently, as if a chair had been overturned, then a shadow pantomime on the blind indicated a struggle. Somebody suddenly burst out into a peal of laughter.
“Grenfell!” a voice cried. “Go and ask Hugh Grenfell! He’s the man to tell you all about it. He stood in this very room and told me to my face that I was a scoundrel. I told him he should pay for that, and by heavens, he has. Ask Hugh Grenfell!”
It was Draycott who spoke. He shouted the name again and again at the top of his voice, till the room rang with it—the mere mention of it filled him with drunken amusement.
“You fool,” Moler hissed. “You thrice-besotted fool, be silent. Do you want the whole world to hear that story? If any of the servants are listening——”
“Let ‘em listen,” Draycott chuckled. “You’re too cautious, Moler—that’s what’s the matter with you my boy. You’re very cunning and very clever, but not half so clever as I am. What you lack is imagination. Ask Hugh Grenfell!”
He yelled out the name once more, followed by a crackle of laughter. Alice distinctly heard the curse that broke from Moler’s lips. A chair fell over with a crash, Draycott burst out into a spasm of rage, then there ensued a prolonged silence. The blind was flung up, the window was opened, and Moler stepped out. He wiped his heated face, as Alice could see from her hiding-place behind a tub of flowers. He had something in his hand that glittered in the moonlight. Alice’s heart almost ceased to beat, but she had no real cause for fear—the shining thing was nothing but a hypodermic syringe.
“That dose will keep his fool’s tongue quiet till to-morrow,” Moler muttered. “But for my presence here the whole thing would have been exposed before now. Yet he hates me like poison. Well, let him go on hating me—I am indifferent to his anger. I should have gone long ago but for the little girl. What an idiot I am to stay here! I should have taken my share of the plunder and left him to his fate. And here I stay for the sake of a pair of grey eyes and a mass of golden hair like spun sunshine. And she hates me worse——”
Moler withdrew sullenly to the bedroom and pulled down the blind. Red and hot and trembling in every limb, Alice crept back to her room again. After all she had seen and heard she supposed she would never be able to sleep again. She lay down on her bed from force of habit and closed her eyes to think——
When she awoke the sun was high in the heavens and breakfast was a thing of the past. Draycott had sent a message to the effect that he had had a restless night and would keep to his room for a day or two. Moler was busy, and excused himself. He would prefer to take his meals with his patient, he said.
Alice was not disappointed to hear it. The more freedom she had from these men the better. She wondered why she stayed at all. She had means of her own, money that nobody could touch, and her affairs were ordered and regulated by the Court of Chancery. The Court had been satisfied in the first instance to let Draycott take up the position of guardian rendered void by the death of Martin Faber. So far as anybody knew, Draycott was a man of substance, having inherited what appeared to be a fine estate, together with a large sum of money. At that time Alice was too young to trouble about such matters. One guardian was much the same as another.
She was old enough now to make application to the Court and have all this changed. She had a number of friends, whom she could visit, but she did not care to do that without returning their hospitality. She was free to ask whom she liked to Rawmouth Park, because, despite his faults, Draycott was not a mean man. But it was impossible to take advantage of this generosity. Alice had tried it once with disastrous results, and was not likely to repeat the experiment.
There was another reason why she had decided to remain for the present. Hugh Grenfell was not far off. She would get to the bottom of his story some day. The affair had happened when she was on the Continent. She did not believe anything she was told so far as Hugh was concerned. Draycott had, she thought, gone out of his way to conceal the truth from her.
“At any rate I’ll stay here till the autumn,” she told herself. “I don’t think I could remain in the house another winter. Summer is a different matter, and there are things to discover. I am certain that Mr. Draycott could tell me all about Hugh, if he liked. That dreadful creature Moler is unspeakable, but for Hugh’s sake——”
She walked into the garden amongst the flowers. It was usually her custom at this time of year to eat an apple or peach before breakfast. At the bottom of the kitchen garden she found Jane Mason. The latter started as if she had been caught doing something wrong.
“What is the matter?” Alice asked. “Jane, what are you doing?”
The housekeeper smiled faintly, and the color crept back into her cheeks again.
“I’ve the most dreadful headache that ever was, miss,” she explained. “I’ve had a good many of ‘em lately. I couldn’t eat my breakfast, and I fancied some fruit. Nothing like an apple to cure a headache, I say.”
She rambled on quickly and nervously, as if talking for the sake of talking. Alice saw how her hands were shaking, and laid her fingers on the woman’s arm.
“Your nerves are in a dreadful state,” she said. “Well, I am not surprised, Jane. If you leave this house you will be ever so much better. I’m thinking of going myself.”
Astonishment, mingled with fear, struggled for the mastery in Jane Mason’s face.
“You don’t mean it, miss,” she gasped. “And yet why not? You’re young and have the world before you. Whereas I’m getting on towards the finish. It doesn’t matter as far as I’m concerned. But for a pretty young lady to be wasting her life in this horrible house——”
She paused, conscious that she was saying too much. Alice faced round on her.
“You know a good deal, if you will only speak,” she said.
“He has had one of his attacks and didn’t come down to breakfast, and one of the maids heard Dr. Moler say that he will not be able to appear for some days to come. I swear that’s all I know, miss.”
Alice concealed the satisfaction that thrilled her. To breakfast alone was a pleasure. She escaped from the house presently for a long ramble over the moor. The day was fair and bright the air invigorating. She walked on and on till the grey walls of Dartdale were in sight. Down below in the quarries gangs of convicts were at work. She could see them moving, about and hear the click of picks and the orders of the armed warders. A feeling of pity for these outcasts filled her heart. There was a gang somewhat apart from the rest, excavating amongst the gorse and heather. A warder sat on a rock watching them. Alice observed that he had dropped his rifle and that his face had fallen forward on his hands. There was something in the attitude of the man that disturbed her. The convicts seemed to notice it, too, for they ceased work and began to talk in excited whispers. Other warders, however, being in sight, there was no great commotion or confusion. Somebody pointed to Alice, who was standing a slight figure on the skyline. There was a brief scuffle, a blow, and one of the convicts stumbled into a mass of bracken. A warder in the distance shouted and began to run towards his colleague, who sat, with his head still buried in his hands. Intensely interested, Alice stood watching. A pair of hands reached out of the bracken and pulled her down. The hands blindfolded her eyes, and hot lips were pressed to hers convulsively. She tried to shout, but words failed her. When she opened her eyes at length the world ceased to revolve dazedly around her.
“Hugh!” she gasped. “Hugh! Is it possible! What has happened?”
She repeated the question dreamily, as if not comprehending what she was saying, as if she did not contemplate a reply. For the miracle had happened, and here was Hugh Grenfell in the flesh. There was not too much flesh, as Alice could see, he was lean and brown and hard, and there was an expression in his eyes that brought the tears to hers. Her hands were in his, and she remarked the workings of the muscles in his throat, as if he were trying to speak and could not.
“Hugh!” she whispered. “It’s a dream, isn’t it? It can’t be really you!”
Grenfell nodded. The words were a long time coming. He would recover himself presently. Alice had forgotten where she was and was taking no heed of the perils of the situation. At any moment they might be disturbed, but so far as she was concerned they might have been in the centre of a desert. To be interrupted was a contingency she had not considered. For here was Hugh, dear old Hugh, holding her hands in his and looking into her eyes with speechless rapture.
“It seems marvellous,” Alice went on in the same intense whisper. “Are you not going to speak, darling?”
Hugh nodded again. If a word at that moment had been the price of his freedom he could not have uttered it. All he could do was to clasp the girl’s hands and gaze into her eyes as if trying to recollect who she was and with what exquisite moment of his past she was connected with.
“It is Alice, isn’t it?” the hoarse words came at last.
“Oh, yes, yes. Alice has come to see you. What a marvellous accident! I feel as if I shall wake presently and find that it’s a dream. Won’t you kiss me, dear?”
Still the man made no sign. Very slowly indeed everything was coming back to him. He had been so long out of the world, that it was in sooth little more than a vague memory.
“It is really and truly you?” he asked.
“Really and truly me, and nobody else,” Alice said, with the tears in her eyes.
“And you haven’t the remotest idea how you got here?”
“Indeed, I haven’t. I blundered upon you and the—the—others by accident. I was taking a walk this way and had not the slightest idea that a gang was working here. The warder seemed to be asleep. He did not call out and order me back as I had expected. When I saw you, I would have come on, had there been a regiment of soldiers in the way—My poor, dear boy. How changed you look, and how rough and hard your hands are! I used to think they were the kindest hands in the world. Hugh, I must get you out of this; we must find some way of escape. We must expose the wicked conspiracy that brought you to this awful spot. I am beginning to find things out. I am watching and waiting. If I could only discover some real friend who would help me, I might be successful. I want a man, cool, clever, and resolute, and I am certain, that we could reach the truth in time. Raymond Draycott——”
Hugh started into something like life for the first time.
“I had forgotten him,” he said. “He is your guardian. He is kind to you, Alice?”
“He is utterly indifferent, Hugh. I am free to come and go as I like, so long as I don’t worry him. He is a bad man, Hugh, a worse man than Martin Faber.”
Hugh passed a hand nervously over his forehead.
“I am trying to piece the puzzle together,” he said. “I know a great deal, if I could only get the chance to say it. I suspect the full significance of the conspiracy. If only I could—but that is out of the question. They took good care of that. They took——”
Alice laid a hand on his arm again. She looked at him imploringly.
“Hugh, you have only kissed me once,” she whispered. “Don’t you know that I love you still, love you more than ever and know that you are as innocent as a child?”
The man in the convict garb kissed her again, holding her to his heart.
“Forgive me, darling,” he whispered. “I couldn’t help it. When I looked up and saw you standing there it seemed as if an angel from heaven had come down to help me. Our warder was taken suddenly ill, and not the first time lately, though they don’t know down yonder. He used to be one of the boys in the old garden at one time. Heart trouble, I fancy. But don’t let me waste the precious time, Alice. How I have longed to see you! I—I did not know whether you still cared for me till I saw your eyes just now——”
“For ever, Hugh!” Alice whispered. “As if I could cease to love you, Hugh! I knew from the first you were innocent. It was a great shock to me when I returned from Germany and found that you had been sentenced to penal servitude. I wondered why I got no reply to my letters, dear. But come along with me, Hugh. You cannot go back to that place now.”
Hugh Grenfell hesitated. Here was the chance of a lifetime. But he shook his head.
“It can’t be done like that, Alice,” he said. “I should be detected at once within an hour, and you have been seen here. I have thought of a plan for escape. If I could get away from here for a week and and no suspicion were aroused, I could prove my innocence. I have my case all written out and stowed away in the lining of my coat. I was planning some means of sending it to you when this glorious opportunity came along. Here it is. You will have to find some man who will——”
“I know, I know,” Alice said eagerly. “There will be no trouble about money. Mr. Draycott is my guardian, but I can borrow a thousand pounds if necessary without his knowing anything about it, Hugh. What am I to do next?”
“Write to Russell Clench—you will find his address on the paper I have given you. Ask him to come and see you secretly. Then you can discuss the plan with him. Now I must go before they miss me. Good-bye, and God bless you, darling.”
Alice caught her lover by the arm. Her eyes were blazing.
“This warder of yours,” she gasped. “He will have to leave the prison; they can’t have invalids here. Tell me his name. I have a scheme, Hugh, a splendid idea. Give me the name, at once, dear.”
“What good could that do?” Hugh asked. “My dear girl, you must realise that you are proposing something very serious.”
A sigh broke from Alice’s lips. With all her quickness, Alice had not grasped the situation yet. All the same, Hugh Grenfell was very real. He was terribly drawn and thin, and his face wore a hard, hunted look, while that horrible drab uniform brought the tears to Alice’s eyes. The mere look of it seemed to take the warmth out of the sunshine and to depress Alice, till she wept bitterly.
“My dear girl,” Grenfell murmured, “I have said nothing to hurt you!”
“It isn’t that,” Alice sobbed. “It’s—it’s everything. You are dreadfully worn and ill—and that hideous dress! And you an innocent man!”
“I can look the whole world in the face and say that,” Grenfell whispered. “I could prove it if I were free. If I could stand for a few minutes face to face with Martin Faber——”
“Who is dead, Hugh. My dear boy, you have forgotten that.”
Grenfell passed his hand across his forehead like a man who brushes the sleep from his eyes.
“True, I had forgotten that. I shall forget my own identity if I stay in this ghastly place much longer. I have to thank Faber for everything, and regarded him as my friend! Still, I could prove any innocence.”
“Do you mean without assistance from anybody,” Alice asked.
Hugh smiled at the artlessness of the question. He was master of himself now, his mind working clearly and smoothly. His first shock of surprise was over and the listlessness had vanished. There was an eager glance in his eyes that Alice was glad to see.
“I don’t quite mean that,” he said. “Until a few minutes ago I’m sure that I should not have been able to explain what I mean. You have no conception of what this life is like. At the moment of your sentence your mind is a blank—you can’t grasp it. If you are an innocent, as I am, you are too utterly stunned to understand anything. Then gradually it comes to you, and the despair of it is overwhelming. Seven years! It sounds like seven centuries. You feel that the time can never come to an end. Looking back, seven years are nothing. Looking forward, they are an eternity. After recovering from the first awful blow, I began to prepare my plan of campaign. But I could make nothing of it. In the first place, you can send nothing from here that is not read. If you say certain things, the letters do not go at all. You see how one’s hands are tied.”
“You could do nothing with the warders?”
“I never tried. I have no money or any inducement to temp them. I understand that such a thing has happened more than once. One learns many strange things in yonder prison, though we are supposed not to talk or communicate with each other in any way.”
“Do you chance to know a warder called Copping, Hugh?”
“Copping, Copping! It sounds familiar. No relation to the Coppings that lived near the old place, I suppose? Oh, you mean the warder who is ill—the one I mentioned. He married an old servant of yours.”
“The same,” Alice answered eagerly. “I know him well, and his wife better. I see them both frequently. Mary Copping is a pretty, delicate little thing, who wants to get away from here. The doctor says that unless she can leave these terrible fogs she will not live very long. I have plenty of money, Hugh.”
Grenfell smiled vaguely. It might be possible to do something in that quarter, but he could not see his way yet. Besides, he had other matters to discuss.