Mysterious Mr. Sabin by E. Phillips Oppenheim (read novel full .TXT) 📖

him, and appeared generally uncomfortable.

“At Miss Merton’s request, Lord Wolfenden,” he said nervously, “I allowed him to come in. I understood that he had been sent for by her ladyship. I trust that I did not do wrong.”

“You are an ass, Blatherwick,” Wolfenden exclaimed angrily. “You seem to enjoy lending yourself to be the tool of swindlers and thieves. My father has lost his reason entirely now, and it is your fault. You had better leave here at once! You are altogether too credulous for this world.”

Wolfenden strode away towards his mother’s room, but a cry from upstairs directed his steps. Lady Deringham and he met outside his father’s door, and entered the room together. They came face to face with the Admiral.

“Out of my way!” he cried furiously. “Come with me, Wolf! We must follow him. I must have my papers back, or kill him! I have been dreaming. He told me that he was C. I gave him all he asked for! We must have them back. Merciful heavens! if he publishes them, we are ruined ... where did he come from?... They told me that he was dead.... Has he crawled back out of hell? I shot him once! He has never forgotten it! This is his vengeance! Oh, God!”

He sank down into a chair. The perspiration stood out in great beads upon his white forehead. He was shaking from head to foot. Suddenly his head drooped in the act of further speech, the words died away upon his lips. He was unconscious. The Countess knelt by his side and Wolfenden stood over her.

“Do you know anything of what has happened?” Wolfenden asked.

“Very little,” she whispered; “somehow, he—Mr. Sabin—got into the library, and the shock sent him—like this. Here is the doctor.”

Dr. Whitlett was ushered in. They all three looked down upon the Admiral, and the doctor asked a few rapid questions. There was certainly a great change in his face. A strong line or two had disappeared, the countenance was milder and younger. It was like the face of a child. Wolfenden was afraid to see the eyes open, he seemed already in imagination to picture to himself their vacant, unseeing light. Dr. Whitlett shook his head sadly.

“I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that when Lord Deringham recovers he will remember nothing! He has had a severe shock, and there is every indication that his mind has given way.”

Wolfenden drew his teeth together savagely. This, then, was the result of Mr. Sabin’s visit.

CHAPTER XXXIV BLANCHE MERTON’S LITTLE PLOT

At about four o’clock in the afternoon, as Helène was preparing to leave the Lodge, a telegram was brought in to her from Mr. Sabin.

“I have succeeded and am now en route for London. You had better follow when convenient, but do not be later than to-morrow.”

She tore it into small pieces and hummed a tune.

“It is enough,” she murmured. “I am not ambitious any longer. I am going to London, it is true, my dear uncle, but not to Kensington! You can play Richelieu to Henri and my cousin, if it pleases you. I wonder——”

Her face grew softer and more thoughtful. Suddenly she laughed outright to herself. She went and sat down on the couch, where Wolfenden had been lying.

“It would have been simpler,” she said to herself. “How like a man to think of such a daring thing. I wish—I almost wish—I had consented. What a delightful sensation it would have made. Cécile will laugh when I tell her of this. To her I have always seemed ambitious, and ambitious only ... and now I have found out that I have a heart only to give it away. Hélas!”

There was a knock at the door. A servant entered.

“Miss Merton would be glad to know if you could spare her a moment before you left, Miss,” the man announced.

Helène glanced at the clock.

“I am going very shortly,” she said; “she had better come in now.”

The man withdrew, but returned almost immediately, ushering in Miss Merton. For the first time Helène noticed how pretty the girl was. Her trim, dainty little figure was shown off to its utmost advantage by the neat tailor gown she was wearing, and there was a bright glow of colour in her cheeks. Helène, who had no liking for her uncle’s typewriter, and who had scarcely yet spoken to her, remained standing, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“I wanted to see Mr. Sabin,” she began. “Can you tell me when he will be back?”

“He has gone to London,” Helène replied. “He will not be returning here at all.”

The girl’s surprise was evidently genuine.

“But he said nothing about it a few hours ago,” she exclaimed. “You are in his confidence, I know. This morning he gave me something to do. I was to get Mr. Blatherwick away from the Hall, and keep him with me as long as I could. You do not know Mr. Blatherwick? then you cannot sympathise with me. Since ten o’clock I have been with him. At last I could keep him no longer. He has gone back to the Hall.”

“Mr. Sabin will probably write to you,” Helène said. “This house is taken for another fortnight, and you can of course remain here, if you choose. You will certainly hear from him within the next day or two.”

Miss Merton shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, I shall take a holiday,” she declared. “I’ve finished typing all the copy I had. Haven’t you dropped something there?”

She stooped suddenly forward, and picked up a locket from the floor.

“Is this yours?” she asked. “Why——”

She held the locket tightly in her hand. Her eyes seemed rivetted upon it. It was very small and fashioned of plain gold, with a coronet and letter on the face. Miss Merton looked at it in amazement.

“Why, this belongs to Wolf—to Lord Wolfenden,” she exclaimed.

Helène looked at her in cold surprise.

“It is very possible,” she said. “He was here a short time ago.”

Miss Merton clenched the locket in her hand, as though she feared for its safety.

“Here! In this room?”

“Certainly! He called to see Mr. Sabin and remained for some time.”

Miss Merton was a little paler. She did not look quite so pretty now.

“Did you see him?” she asked.

Helène raised her eyebrows.

“I scarcely understand,” she said, “what business it is of yours. Since you ask me, however, I have no objection to telling you that I did see Lord Wolfenden. He remained some time here with me after Mr. Sabin left.”

“Perhaps,” Miss Merton suggested, with acidity, “that was why I was sent out of the way.”

Helène looked at her through half-closed eyes.

“I am afraid,” she said, “that you are a very impertinent young woman. Be so good as to put that locket upon the table and leave the room.”

The girl did neither. On the contrary, she slipped the locket into the bosom of her gown.

“I will take care of this,” she remarked.

Helène laid her hand upon the bell.

“I am afraid,” she said, “that you must be unwell. I am going to ring the bell. Perhaps you will be good enough to place the locket on that table and leave the room.”

Miss Merton drew herself up angrily.

“I have a better claim upon the locket than any one,” she said. “I am seeing Lord Wolfenden constantly. I will give it to him.”

“Thank you, you need not trouble,” Helène answered. “I shall send a servant with it to Deringham Hall. Will you be good enough to give it to me?”

Miss Merton drew a step backwards and shook her head.

“I think,” she said, “that I am more concerned in it than you are, for I gave it to him.”

“You gave it to him?”

Miss Merton nodded.

“Yes! If you don’t believe me, look here.”

She drew the locket from her bosom and, holding it out, touched a spring. There was a small miniature inside; Helène, leaning over, recognised it at once. It was a likeness of the girl herself. She felt the colour leave her cheeks, but she did not flinch.

“I was not aware,” she said, “that you were on such friendly terms with Lord Wolfenden.”

The girl smiled oddly.

“Lord Wolfenden,” she said, “has been very kind to me.”

“Perhaps,” Helène continued, “I ought not to ask, but I must confess that you have surprised me. Is Lord Wolfenden—your lover?”

Miss Merton shut up the locket with a click and returned it to her bosom. There was no longer any question as to her retaining it. She looked at Helène thoughtfully.

“Has he been making love to you?” she asked abruptly.

Helène raised her eyes and looked at her. The other girl felt suddenly very insignificant.

“You must not ask me impertinent questions,” she said calmly. “Of course you need not tell me anything unless you choose. It is for you to please yourself.”

The girl was white with anger. She had not a tithe of Helène’s self-control, and she felt that she was not making the best of her opportunities.

“Lord Wolfenden,” she said slowly, “did promise to marry me once. I was his father’s secretary, and I was turned away on his account.”

“Indeed!”

There was a silence between the two women. Miss Merton was watching Helène closely, but she was disappointed. Her face was set in cold, proud lines, but she showed no signs of trouble.

“Under these circumstances,” Helène said, “the locket certainly belongs to you. If you will allow me, I will ring now for my maid. I am leaving here this evening.”

“I should like,” Miss Merton said, “to tell you about Lord Wolfenden and myself.”

Helène smiled languidly.

“You will excuse me, I am sure,” she said. “It is scarcely a matter which interests me.”

Miss Merton flushed angrily. She was at a disadvantage and she knew it.

“I thought that you were very much interested in Lord Wolfenden,” she said spitefully.

“I have found him much pleasanter than the majority of Englishmen.”

“But you don’t care to hear about him—from me!” Miss Merton exclaimed.

Helène smiled.

“I have no desire to be rude,” she said, “but since you put it in that way I will admit that you are right.”

The girl bit her lip. She felt that she had only partially succeeded. This girl was more than her match. She suddenly changed her tactics.

“Oh! you are cruel,” she exclaimed. “You want to take him from me; I know you do! He promised—to marry me—before you came. He must marry me! I dare not go home!”

“I can assure you,” Helène said quietly, “that I have not the faintest desire to take Lord Wolfenden from you—or from any one else! I do not like this conversation at all, and I do not intend to continue it. Perhaps if you have nothing more to say you will go to your room, or if you wish to go away I will order a carriage for you. Please make up your mind quickly.”

Miss Merton sprang up and walked towards the door. Her pretty face was distorted with anger.

“I do not want your carriage,” she said. “I am leaving the house, but I will walk.”

“Just as you choose, if you only go,” Helène murmured.

She was already at the door, but she turned back.

“I can’t help it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got to ask you a question. Has Lord Wolfenden asked you to marry him?”

Helène was disgusted, but she was not hard-hearted. The girl was evidently distressed—it never occurred to her that she might not be in earnest. She herself could not understand such a lack of self-respect. A single gleam of pity mingled with her contempt.

“I am not at liberty to answer your question,” she said coldly, “as it concerns Lord Wolfenden as well as myself. But I have no objection to telling you this. I am the Princess Helène of Bourbon, and I am betrothed to my cousin, Prince Henri of Ortrens! So you see that I am not likely to marry Lord Wolfenden!