The Bond of Black. Le Queux William
to be a mean one, of those poor-looking houses which bear the stamp of weekly rents, but was surprised to find a quiet, eminently respectable suburban road at the very edge of London. At the back of the houses were open fields, and one or two of the residences had carriage-drives before them.
There was still a light over the door, which showed that the lost one was expected, and as she descended she allowed her little, well-gloved hand to linger for a moment in mine.
“Good night,” she said, merrily, “and thank you ever so much. I shall never forget your kindness – never.”
“Then you will repay me by meeting me again?” I urged.
“No,” she answered, in an instant serious. “It is best not.”
“Why? I trust I have not offended you?”
“Of course not. It is because you have been my friend to-night that I wish to keep apart from you.”
“Is that the way you treat your friends?” I inquired.
“Yes,” she replied, meaningly. Then, after a pause, added, “I have no desire to bring evil upon you.”
“Evil!” I exclaimed, gazing in wonderment at her beauty. “What evil can you possibly bring upon me?”
“You will, perhaps, discover some day,” she answered, with a hollow, artificial laugh. “But I’m so very late. Good night, and thank you again so much.”
Then turning quickly, with a graceful bow she entered the gate leading to the house, and rang the bell.
I saw her admitted by a smart maid, and having lit a fresh cigarette settled myself in a corner, and told the cabman to drive back to Charing Cross Mansions.
The man opened the trap-door in the roof of the conveyance, and began to chat, as night-cabmen will do to while away the time, yet the outlook was very dismal – that broad, long, never-ending road glistening with wet, and lit by two straight rows of street-lamps as far as the eye could reach right down to Oxford Street.
I was thinking regretfully of Aline; of her grace, her beauty, and of the strange circumstances in which we had become acquainted. Her curious declaration that she might cause me some mysterious evil sorely puzzled me, and I felt impelled to seek some further explanation.
I entered my chambers with my latch-key, and the ever-watchful Simes came forward, took my hat and coat, drew forward my particular armchair, and placed the whiskey and syphon at my elbow.
I had mixed a final drink, and was raising my glass, when suddenly my eyes fell upon the little triangular side-table where the curios were displayed.
What I saw caused me to start and open my eyes in amazement. Then I walked across to inspect it more closely.
The ivory crucifix, the most treasured in my collection, had been entirely consumed by fire. Nothing remained of it but its ashes, a small white heap, the silver effigy fused to a mass.
“Simes!” I cried. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“I don’t know, sir,” he answered, pale in alarm. “I noticed it almost the instant you had left the house. The ashes were quite warm then.”
“Are you sure you haven’t had an accident with it?” I queried, looking him straight in the face.
“No, sir; I swear I haven’t,” he replied. “Your cab had hardly driven away when I found it just as it is now. I haven’t touched it.”
I looked, and noted its position. It was in the exact spot where Aline had placed it after taking it in her hand.
I recollected, too, that it was there where she had seen the object which had so disturbed her.
That some deep and extraordinary mystery was connected with this sudden spontaneous destruction of the crucifix was plain. It was certainly an uncanny circumstance.
I stood before that little table, my eyes fixed upon the ashes, amazed, open-mouthed, petrified.
A vague, indefinite shadow of evil had fallen upon me.
Chapter Three
Woman’s World
The more I reflected, the greater mystery appeared to surround my pretty acquaintance of that well-remembered evening.
Three days went by, and, truth to tell, I remained in an uncertain, undecided mood. For a year past I had been the closest friend and confidant of Muriel Moore, but not her lover. The words of love I had spoken had been merely in jest, although I could not disguise from myself that she regarded me as something more than a mere acquaintance. Yet the strange, half-tragic beauty of Aline Cloud was undeniable. Sometimes I felt half-inclined to write to her and endeavour to again see her, but each time I thought of her, visions of Muriel rose before me, and I recollected that I admired her with an admiration that was really akin to love.
On the third evening I looked in at the St. Stephen’s Club, finding Roddy stretched in one of the morocco-covered chairs in the smoking-room, with a long whisky and soda on the table by his side.
“Hullo!” he cried gaily, as I advanced, “where did you get to the other night?”
“No, old fellow,” I answered, sinking into a chair near him; “ask yourself that question. You slipped away so very quickly that I thought you’d met some creditor or other.”
“Well,” he answered, after a pause, “I did see somebody I didn’t want to meet.”
“A man?” I asked, for my old chum had but few secrets from me.
“No; a woman.”
I nodded.
At that instant a thought occurred to me, and I wondered whether Roddy had encountered Aline, and whether she was the woman he did not wish to meet. “Was she young?” I asked, laughing.
“Not very,” he replied vaguely, adding, “There are some persons who, being associated with the melancholy incidents in one’s life, bring back bitter memories that one would fain forget.”
“Yes, yes; I understand,” I said.
Then presently, when I had got my cigar under way, I related to him what had afterwards occurred, omitting, however, to tell him of the remarkable fusion of my crucifix. The latter fact was so extraordinary that it appeared incredible.
He listened in silence until I had finished, and then I asked him —
“Now, you’ve had a good long experience of all kinds of adventure. What do you think of it?”
“Well, when you commenced to tell me of her loneliness I felt inclined to think that she was deceiving you. The alone-in-London dodge has too often been worked. But you say that she was evidently a lady – modest, timid, and apparently unused to London life. What name did she give you?”
“Cloud – Aline Cloud.”
“Aline Cloud!” – he gasped, starting forward with a look of inexpressible fear.
“Yes. Do you know her?”
“No!” he answered promptly, instantly recovering himself.
But his manner was unconvincing. The hand holding his cigar trembled slightly, and it was apparent that the news I had imparted had created an impression upon him the reverse of favourable.
I did not continue the subject, yet as we chatted on, discussing other things, I pondered deeply.
“Things in the House are droning away as usual,” Roddy said, in answer to a question. “I get sick of this never-ending talk. The debates seem to grow longer and longer. I’m heartily weary of it all.” And he sighed heavily.
“Yet the papers report your speeches, and write leaders about them,” I remarked. “That speech of yours regarding Korea the other night was splendid.”
“Because I know the country,” he replied. “I’m the only man in the House who has set foot in the place, I suppose. Therefore, I spoke from personal observation.”
“But