"A--a friend--" she gasped, half choking with emotion. "A--friend--yes."

"You knew him intimately. You visited him at his rooms unknown to me!" I went on fiercely.

"Ah!" she shrieked. "Don't torture me like this, Teddy, when I love you so deeply. You don't know--you can never know all I have suffered--and now this woman has sought to ruin and crush me!"

"Has she spoken the truth when she says that you visited Digby--at night--in secret!" I demanded, bitterly, between my teeth, still holding her, her white, hard-set face but a few inches from my own.

She drew a long, deep breath, and in her eyes was a strange half-fascinated look--a look that I had never seen in them before.

"Ah! Teddy," she gasped. "This--this is the death of all our love. I foresee only darkness and ruin before me. But I will not lie to you. No!

I--I----"

Then she paused, and a shudder ran through her slim frame which I held within my grasp. "I'll tell you the truth. Yes. I--I--went to see your friend unknown to you."

"You did!" I cried hoa.r.s.ely, with fierce anger possessing my soul.

"Yes, dear," she faltered in a voice so low that I could scarce catch her reply. "Yes--I--I went there," she faltered, "because--because he--he compelled me."

"Compelled you!" I echoed in blank dismay.

But at that instant I saw that the blackness of unconsciousness had fallen upon my love even as I held her in my embrace.

And for me, too, alas! the sun of life had ceased to shine, and the world was dead.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE FUGITIVE'S SECRET.

Tenderly I placed my love upon the couch, and then rang the bell.

In answer to my summons the young Italian man-servant appeared.

"Send Mallock here quickly," I said. "Miss Shand is not well. But say nothing of this to your mistress, or to the other servants. You understand, Egisto?"

"Cer-tainly, sare," replied the smart young Tuscan, and a few moments later the door re-opened to admit the thin-faced maid in black, wearing her muslin ap.r.o.n and gold-rimmed gla.s.ses.

She dashed across to the couch in an instant, and bent, looking into the white, immobile face of my well-beloved.

"I fear your mistress has fainted, Mallock, so I thought it best to call you. I have, unfortunately, imparted to her some news which has upset her. Will you please see after her?"

"Of course, sir. I'll go and get some smelling salts and some water."

And quickly the girl disappeared. Then, when she had gone, I stood before the inanimate form of the woman I loved so well, and wondered what could be the real, actual truth.

Her admission had taken me aback. She had confessed to visiting my friend, but had alleged that he had compelled her. Was she actually beneath some mysterious thraldom--was she held in some secret bondage by the man I had trusted and who was my best friend?

The very suspicion of it filled me with a fierce irresponsible anger, and I clenched my fists.

Ah! I would find him and face him. I would clutch his throat and force the truth from his lips.

And if he had betrayed me--if he had exercised any evil influence over Phrida--then, by heaven! I would take his life!

Mallock bustled in the next moment, and sinking upon her knees began to apply restoratives.

"Tell your mistress that I will return after luncheon, if she will see me," I said.

"Yes, sir."

"And--and tell her, Mallock, to remain calm until I see her. Will you?"

"Yes, sir," answered the maid, and then I went out into the hall, struggled into my overcoat, and left the house.

Out in Cromwell Road the scene, grey, dull and dismal, was, alas! in accord with my own feelings.

The blow I had feared had fallen. The terrible suspicion I had held from that moment when, upon the stairs at Harrington Gardens, I had smelt that sweet, unusual perfume and heard the jingle of golden bangles, had been proved.

She had actually admitted her presence there--with the man I had believed to be my friend, the man, whom, up to the present, I had sought to shield and protect!

I hailed a taxi, and not knowing what I did, drove to the Reform. As I pa.s.sed up the steps from Pall Mall the porter handed me my letters, and then, heedless of where my footsteps carried me, I entered the big, square hall and turned into the writing-room on the left--a room historic in the annals of British politics, for many a State secret had been discussed there by Ministers of the Crown, many a point of the Cabinet's policy had been decided, and also the fate of many a bill.

The long, sombre room with the writing tables covered with blue cloth, was empty, as it usually is, and I flung myself down to scribble a note--an apology for not keeping an appointment that afternoon.

My overburdened heart was full of chagrin and grief, for my idol had been shattered by a single blow, and only the wreck of all my hopes and aspirations now remained.

In a week's time the coroner would hold his adjourned inquiry into the tragedy at Harrington Gardens, and then what startling revelations might be made! By that time it was probable that the police would be able to establish the ident.i.ty of the accused, and, moreover, with Mrs. Petre vengeful and incensed against Phrida, might she not make a statement to the authorities?

If so, what then?

I sat with my elbows upon the table staring out into Pall Mall, which wore such a cold and cheerless aspect that morning.

What could I do? How should I act? Ah! yes, at that moment I sat utterly bewildered, and trying in vain to discern some way out of that maze of mystery.

I had not looked at the unopened letters beneath my hand, but suddenly chancing to glance at them, I noticed one in an unfamiliar feminine handwriting.

I tore it open carelessly, expecting to find some invitation or other, when, within, I found three hastily scrawled lines written on the notepaper of the Great Eastern Hotel at Liverpool Street. It read:

"Since I saw you something has happened. Can you meet me again as soon as possible? Please wire me, Mrs. Petre, Melbourne House, Colchester."

I gazed at the note in extreme satisfaction. At least, I had the woman's address. Yes, after I had again seen Phrida I would see her and force from her lips the truth.

I rose quickly, placed the other letters in my pocket without opening them, and drove down to the City, where I was compelled to keep a business appointment.

At half-past three Egisto admitted me to Mrs. Shand's, and in reply to my question, told me that the "Signorina," as he always called Phrida, was in the morning-room.