The House by the Lock Part 9

"So great an anxiety to disarm the suspicions of a stranger might tend to confirm and strengthen them," I said, slowly.

"As you will. I see you don't intend to take my overtures of peace in the spirit in which they were offered. Well, you seem fond of proverbs, so here is a Roland for your Oliver--'_forewarned is forearmed_.'

You will not have me for a friend; you are indiscreet enough to advise me that you intend to make mischief for me if you can--_if you can_, mind! My conscience is clear as to my past; and here and now I dare you to do your worst!"

Leaning his elbow on the table, his head upon his hand, he faced me, looking up sideways with a mocking brilliance in his pale eyes.

"It is my turn to give you warning, and it is this: _I make a bad enemy_. Even had I some black secret, jealously guarded for years--which I haven't--you would never drag it from me. I believe myself to be a cleverer man than you, and if I had chosen the _role_ of villain I should have been a successful one, there is no doubt. You would not, Mr. Stanton. Had I something which it was vital to my interests to conceal, I should have gone about it in such a way that not the devil himself pitted against me should worm my secret from me.

Had I elected to commit a crime, it would not have been until after I was ready with an absolutely infallible _alibi_.

"Now, if you are sensible, the very fact that I have made these admissions will prove my innocence to you. It will be a waste of your valuable time if you attempt to stand in my way, in _any quarter whatever_." He rose lazily. "Good-evening, Mr. Stanton," he said, in a louder tone, which he made both cordial and impressive for the benefit of any listening ears. "This has been a most interesting chat with you, one I am not likely soon to forget. I hope it may not be long before I have the pleasure of meeting you again."

He had certainly scored. I was obliged, hot with indignation and self-scorn, mentally to confess as much. He had kept his temper, and he had got the better of me. If my time would only come!

CHAPTER XII

Karine's Engagement Ring

In the first hour of my anguish after hearing that Karine was lost to me, I had come very near to registering a vow that voluntarily I would not see her again. Now, however, since our memorable chance meeting in the hotel, my resolve was different. I determined, on the contrary, that I would see her as often as possible.

Even if I had to follow the Tressidys into the country on a pretence of hunting, or some other flimsy pretext of the sort, I would be near her.

I had luckily kept my head sufficiently to breathe no word of love to Karine. I had even dwelt with some emphasis upon my "friends.h.i.+p," as though to a.s.sure her that she need fear no more, need dread no persecution at my hands. I believed that she did not suspect my real feeling for her, and certainly Sir Walter and Lady Tressidy had no reason to fancy anything of the kind.

Wildred had suspicions, I was sure, but they could only have been born of quick and jealous intuitions. He could make no charge against me, and it was not likely, I thought, that he would choose deliberately to put such an idea into his _fiancee's_ head, unless I were far less cautious in my behaviour than I meant to be.

I could not conceal from myself that the talk I had had with the fellow at the Wayfarers' had somewhat discouraged me as to the ultimate success of my efforts to expose him, and as days went on I found it impossible entirely to shake off the impression made by his words.

His personality was disagreeably magnetic to me. I had to acknowledge its power, and in spite of myself there were moments when I felt daunted by his defiance.

Had he not been very sure of himself he would not have dared to say what he had said. I believed, as firmly as ever, that there was a black spot in his past, upon which I could put my finger if only I could place him in my mental gallery of photographs, in which his portrait had been so mysteriously blurred or changed. But he and Karine Cunningham would in all probability be man and wife at the end of six weeks; and six weeks was, after all, but a short s.p.a.ce in which to tear the mask from so preternaturally clever a scoundrel.

I thought then (and even yet, I trust) that my resolution to save Karine from this man, if I were able to do so, was not all selfishness.

Knowing nothing, yet suspecting much with haunting vagueness, it seemed a horrible desecration to me that the beautiful, gentle girl should be given up to Wildred. I had little enough hope for myself with her, whatever might betide, for even had it been possible, under happier circ.u.mstances, that she could have learned to care for me, she and her friends would be sure to misunderstand and condemn my motives in working against the man she had promised to marry.

Should I have the good fortune to show him to her and those in authority over her, as the villain I believed him to be, I could not imagine myself ever attempting to take selfish advantage of his downfall.

What I might do, or try to do, I told myself, must be without any hope of future reward.

I had persuaded myself that the oftener I could see Karine, and impress upon her the strength and disinterestedness of my friends.h.i.+p, silently a.s.suring her of my unforgotten resolve to help, the better it would be for her. She had said once that she had "many acquaintances but no friends," and she had seemed glad to welcome my friends.h.i.+p; so that now I wanted her to see I did not mean to fail her--that, after all, it might not be as she had thought, _too late_. At least, I succeeded in convincing myself that these were my only motives in calling again within the week on Lady Tressidy.

It was Thursday, and the family was to flit away to the country on the following afternoon. I was informed of this by the footman, whose duty it was to tell me that his mistress was superintending her packing at the moment, but would be down almost immediately. Meanwhile, Miss Cunningham was in Lady Tressidy's boudoir, and would see me.

I could scarcely believe in my good luck, and in her courage--or good nature.

She had been writing at a little davenport by the window, but rose to receive me, and extended her hand. To the other--the left--she had transferred the pen, with the ink still wet, and so it was that as she greeted me my eyes fell upon a ring which had not before adorned her finger.

It was the third of the left hand, and to my amazement I recognised the magnificent diamond--still in the old setting--worn for so many years by Harvey Farnham.

CHAPTER XIII

"Kismet and Miss Cunningham"

Had I paused for an instant's reflection I must have felt that it would be impossible for me to take any open notice of the ring, but so great was my surprise at seeing Harvey Farnham's treasured possession on Miss Cunningham's finger that involuntarily I uttered a slight exclamation.

Biting her lip she hastily withdrew the hand, das.h.i.+ng the pen she had been holding with a petulant little gesture on to the desk where she had been writing.

"Why do you look so astonished," she cried, a certain bitterness in her voice, "at seeing me wear the sign of my bondage?"

She tried to laugh as she spoke, giving an effect of lightness to the words, but the effort was a failure.

I would not let her continue to think that she was right in the guess she had made as to my emotion.

"It was not wholly that, Miss Cunningham," I returned. "Say, rather I was surprised at seeing you wear this particular ring."

"It _is_ a remarkable one, isn't it? Far too gorgeous and conspicuous to please me, for myself; but Mr. Wildred was anxious for me to have it. I believe it has been in his family a long time, and has been handed down from generation to generation of betrothed brides--happier than myself." The last three words were spoken almost in a whisper, but I heard and understood them as I would have understood the faintest murmur from those lips so dearly loved.

Some dim awakening thought, scarcely clear to my own consciousness, stirred in my mind at her strange announcement. I could not resist further questioning.

"Did Mr. Wildred tell you that the ring was an heirloom in his family?"

"Yes. There is a romance attached to it."

She sighed faintly, as though at the death of romance in her own young life. Then, more quickly--

"Why, Mr. Stanton? Why do you ask me that?"

I could not tell her why; but my heart was bounding with a new excitement.

"Forgive my curiosity," I said evasively. "I am interested in all that concerns you."

She turned from me, ostensibly to arrange her scattered papers on the little davenport, and, relieved of the thraldom of those lovely eyes, I endeavoured to collect my scattered thoughts.

Somehow I felt that I was on the eve of a discovery which might be of vast importance in both our lives. How had Wildred obtained that ring from Harvey Farnham? Why had he lied about it to Karine? That he was a villain and a schemer I was sure, though I had had no possible means of proving it. What if this seemingly small matter should put a clue into my hands.

So clever a scoundrel should not have committed himself to a lie thus easily disproved, I thought. Only _necessary_ lies were worth the risk for a man of ac.u.men such as his. But even the most crafty of mortals is fallible, I reflected, and liable to make some insignificant mistake, which, like one stone wrongly placed in the foundation of a vast building, renders the whole structure unstable. Possibly Wildred had found a stealthy pleasure in weaving a pretty romance round the ring which he had chosen as the sign of his betrothal, and in weaving it he had forgotten that I, as an acquaintance of Farnham's, might have been conversant with its real history. Or, perhaps, he had not counted upon the fact that Karine might retell the version he had given her to me.

I know how greatly Farnham had valued the marvellous diamond, in its quaint setting, and I remembered how, only on the night of our last meeting, he had reiterated to me his determination to keep it. It was too small to be removed save by cutting, he had said, and I had satisfied myself by observation that he had not exaggerated.

He must, then, have gone so far as to have the ring cut from his finger before sailing for America, that he might leave it as a parting pledge of friends.h.i.+p with Carson Wildred.