which I so
suddenly had found myself involved.
By what agency had Sir Crichton met his death? Did Nayland Smith know?
I rather suspected that he did. What was the hidden significance of
the perfumed envelope? Who was that mysterious personage whom Smith so
evidently dreaded, who had attempted his life, who, presumably, had
murdered Sir Crichton? Sir Crichton Davey, during the time that he had
held office in India, and during his long term of service at home, had
earned the good will of all, British and native alike. Who was his
secret enemy?
Something touched me lightly on the shoulder.
I turned, with my heart fluttering like a child's. This night's work
had imposed a severe strain even upon my callous nerves.
A girl wrapped in a hooded opera-cloak stood at my elbow, and, as she
glanced up at me, I thought that I never had seen a face so seductively
lovely nor of so unusual a type. With the skin of a perfect blonde,
she had eyes and lashes as black as a Creole's, which, together with
her full red lips, told me that this beautiful stranger, whose touch
had so startled me, was not a child of our northern shores.
"Forgive me," she said, speaking with an odd, pretty accent, and laying
a slim hand, with jeweled fingers, confidingly upon my arm, "if I
startled you. But--is it true that Sir Crichton Davey has
been--murdered?"
I looked into her big, questioning eyes, a harsh suspicion laboring in
my mind, but could read nothing in their mysterious depths--only I
wondered anew at my questioner's beauty. The grotesque idea
momentarily possessed me that, were the bloom of her red lips due to
art and not to nature, their kiss would leave--though not
indelibly--just such a mark as I had seen upon the dead man's hand.
But I dismissed the fantastic notion as bred of the night's horrors,
and worthy only of a mediaeval legend. No doubt she was some friend or
acquaintance of Sir Crichton who lived close by.
"I cannot say that he has been murdered," I replied, acting upon the
latter supposition, and seeking to tell her what she asked as gently as
possible.
"But he is--Dead?"
I nodded.
She closed her eyes and uttered a low, moaning sound, swaying dizzily.
Thinking she was about to swoon, I threw my arm round her shoulder to
support her, but she smiled sadly, and pushed me gently away.
"I am quite well, thank you," she said.
"You are certain? Let me walk with you until you feel quite sure of
yourself."
She shook her head, flashed a rapid glance at me with her beautiful
eyes, and looked away in a sort of sorrowful embarrassment, for which I
was entirely at a loss to account. Suddenly she resumed:
"I cannot let my name be mentioned in this dreadful matter, but--I
think I have some information--for the police. Will you give this
to--whomever you think proper?"
She handed me a sealed envelope, again met my eyes with one of her
dazzling glances, and hurried away. She had gone no more than ten or
twelve yards, and I still was standing bewildered, watching her
graceful, retreating figure, when she turned abruptly and came back.
Without looking directly at me, but alternately glancing towards a
distant corner of the square and towards the house of Major-General
Platt-Houston, she made the following extraordinary request:
"If you would do me a very great service, for which I always would be
grateful,"--she glanced at me with passionate intentness--"when you
have given my message to the proper person, leave him and do not go
near him any more to-night!"
Before I could find words to reply she gathered up her cloak and ran.
Before I could determine whether or not to follow her (for her words
had aroused anew all my worst suspicions) she had disappeared! I heard
the whir of a restarted motor at no great distance, and, in the instant
that Nayland Smith came running down the steps, I knew that I had
nodded at my post.
"Smith!" I cried as he joined me, "tell me what we must do!" And
rapidly I acquainted him with the incident.
My friend looked very grave; then a grim smile crept round his lips.
"She was a big card to play," he said; "but he did not know that I held
one to beat it."
"What! You know this girl! Who is she?"
"She is one of the finest weapons in the enemy's armory, Petrie. But a
woman is a two-edged sword, and treacherous. To our great good
fortune, she has formed a sudden predilection, characteristically
Oriental, for yourself. Oh, you may scoff, but it is evident. She was
employed to get this letter placed in my hands. Give it to me."
I did so.
"She has succeeded. Smell."
He held the envelope under my nose, and, with a sudden sense of nausea,
I recognized the strange perfume.
"You know what this presaged in Sir Crichton's case? Can you doubt any
longer? She did not want you to share my fate, Petrie."
"Smith," I said unsteadily, "I have followed your lead blindly in this
horrible business and have not pressed for an explanation, but I must
insist before I go one step farther upon knowing what it all means."
"Just a few steps farther," he rejoined; "as far as a cab. We are
hardly safe here. Oh, you need not fear shots or knives. The man
whose servants are watching us now scorns to employ such clumsy,
tell-tale weapons."
Only three cabs were on the rank, and, as we entered the first,
something hissed past my ear, missed both Smith and me by a miracle,
and, passing over the roof of the taxi, presumably fell in the enclosed
garden occupying the center of the square.
"What