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CHAPTER XIV.=IS DISTINCTLY
CURIOUS.
The dark days of the London winter
brightened into spring, but the myiatery
of old lir.'Courtenay's death remainer.
an enigma inexplicable;,to police and
public. Ambler Jevops 1iid prosecs.
ted independent enquilies assiduously
in varioun quarters d' tectives hid
watched the subsequent cuovements of
Short and the other serf'unts, but all to
no purpioe; The sudden disappear
ance of Shdit was di-covered to be due
to the illness of his brother.
The identity of the issaashi, as well
as the mode in which the extraordinary
wound had been infiieted, both remal's
ed mysteries impenetrable.
At Guy's we were a trifle under
staffed, and my work was consequently
heavy; while, added to that, Sir Ber
nard was suffering from the effects of
'a severe chill, and had not been able
to come: to town for nearly.a mon'.h.
Therefore, I had been kept at its prac
tically night and day, dividing my time
between the hospital, Harley-street, and
any own rooms. I new little of I my
friend Jpvons, for his partner had been
or ered'to:foleunemsuth for his health,
and therefore his constant attendaice
at h1je office in Mark Labe was impera
tive. Ambler. had now but little
leisure, save on Sundays, when we
would usually dine -together at the
Cavour, the Globe, the Florence, or
some other foreign restaurant.
Whenever I spoke to him of the
tragedy, he would sigh, his face would
assume a puzzled expression, and, he
would declare that the affair utterly
i passed his comprehension. Once .;r
twice he referred to Ethelwynn, but it
struck me that he did not give tongue
,to what passed within his mind for fear
of offending me. His methods were
based on patience, therefore I often
wondered whether he was still secretly
at work upon the case, and, If so,
whether he had gained any additional
facts. Yet he told me nothing. It
was a mystery, he said-that was all.
Of Ethelwynn I saw but little, mak
ing my constant occupation with Sir
Bernard's patients my excuse. She
had taken up her abode with Mrs. I-eIn
sliker-a married cousin, living in Red
cliffe Square, at whose house Mary had
stayed on the night of the tragedy.
The furniture at Richmond road had
been removed and- the house advertised
for sale, young Mrs. Couctenay having
moved to her aunt's house in the conn
try, a few miles from Bath.
On several occasions a had dined at
Re-deliffe Square, finding both Mrs.
Henniker and her husband extremely
agreeable. Henniker was partner in a
big brewing concern at Clapham, an'
a very good fellow; while his wife was
a middle-awed, fair-haired woman, of
the type who shop of afternoons in
1-1gh-street, Kensington. Ethelwynn
had always been a particular favourite
with both, hence she was a welcome
guest at Redcliffe Square. Old, air.
Courtenay had had business relations
with Henniker a couple of years -before,
and a slight difference had led to an
open quarrel. For that reason they
had never visited at Kew.
On the occasions I had spent the
evening with Etielwynn at their hotuse
I had watched her 'narrowly, yet neither
by look nor by action did she betray any
sign of a guilty secret. Her manner
had during those weeks changedi en
tirely; for she seemed perfectly calm
and self-possessed, and, although she
alluded but seldom to our love, she
treated me with the same sweet ten
derness as before the fatal night of her
brother-in-law's assassination.
I must admit that her attitude, al.
though it inspired me with a certait
amount of confidence, nevertheless
caused me to ponder deeply. I knew
enough of human nature to be aware
that it is woman's metier to keep up
appearances. Was she keeping up an
appearance of innocence, although liir
heart was blackened by a crime?
One evening, when we chanced to he
alone in the little smoking-room after
dinner, she suddenly turned to me.
saying:
"I've often thought how strange yea
must have thought my visit to your
eooms that night, Ralph. It was on
parddeiable, I know-only I wanted to
warn you of that man."
"Of Sir Bernard?" I observed, laugh
In_.
"Yes. But it appears that you have
not heededa me." she sighed. "I fear,
Ralph, that you will regret some day."
"Why should I regret? Your fears
are surely baseless."
"No," she answered decisively. "They
are not baseless. I have reasons
strong ones-for urging you to break
your connection with him. He is no
friend to you."
I smiled. I know quite well that
he was no friend of hers. Once or
twice of hate be had said in that
peevish snappy voice of his:
"I wonder' what that woman, Mra
Courtenay's sister, is doing? I hear
nothing of her."
I did not enlighten him, for I had
no desire to hear her maligned. I knew
the truth myself sufficiently well.
But, turning to her, I looked straight
into her dark luminous eyes, those eyes
that held 'me always as beneath a
spell, sayinig:
"He has, proved himself my best
friend-, up 'to the present. I have no
reason to -.doubt him."
"But you' will have. I warn you."
"In what manner, then, is he 'my
enemy?"
She hesitueted, as though half-fearing
to respond Ito my question. Presently
she said:-
"I-e is mny enemy-and therefore
yours." - I . i r
"Why is ise your enemy?" I asked,
eager to clear up a point which had
so long puzzled me.
"I cannot 'tell," she responded. "One
sometimes gives offence and makes
enemies withlast. being aware of it."
The evasion was a clever one. An
other illustration of her - 'tactful In
genuity.
By dint of enref pl cross-examination
I endeavouredl to worm frd'm her the
secret of my chief's antagonism, but
she was dumb to every enquiry, fenc
ing with me it a manner that would
have cone credit' `o a police court so'i
citot'. Though a'weet, innocent, anti
intensely charmal,, there was a ra
verae side of her character, ctrong,
firm-minded, almost stern in its aus
terity.
I must here say' that our love, onte
so passionate nn. -lisplayed by onad
kisses and hrsd-pressing, in the usa-el
manner of lovens, hat* gradually slach:
ened. A kiss on a'tival, and another
on departure wasi all the demnunsttra
tion of affection that now passed be
tween us. I dottsbtrd .:er; anid, though
I strove hard to -sneoal my true feel
ings, I fear thur 'my el'neus was ap
parent, eot only to ''er, but to thi
I-?ennikers also. She bad: complaines
of it wvhun she calleil at my rooms.
and certainly she leaf :ull reason far
doing so. I am not one0 of 'those who
can feign love. Some. mm caa; I car.
not. 'b
Thus itwill se eon -'hlrt, -although
a certain coolnoss hod aro'ieu between
us, In 'a manuel' that iseamed' almost
mutual, we were noverhlseises .the iteet
of friends. Once or twIco -.het dined
with me at' a restaurant, cat wont to
a play afterwards, on 'mcli eamelons
remarkusng that -It sesned li1ke "old
times," itn the early clays' of our blibs
fii love. 'And esnomtimn .nhc wotnti
recall these sweet halcyon lsturu. suntil
I felt a pang of regret tb-al' ui t~ust iii
her bail been uhakens by that letter
found 'among the dead' manr's -elects aitt
that tIny plece of chenille. lButI
steeled my heart. Ibecatuse I leb" assured
thet the trutht mutt out come, day.
(To be Continued.)
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