LITMIR.BIZ

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warn you in all seriousness,” she said. “I – well, the fact is, I came out here – I followed you out – in order to tell you this in secret. Leave here, I beg of you; leave early to-morrow morning, and do not allow the hotel people to know your new address. Go somewhere – far away – and live in secret under an assumed name. Let Owen Biddulph disappear as though the earth had swallowed him up.”

      “Then you are aware of my name!” I exclaimed.

      “Certainly,” she replied. “But do – I beg of you for your own sake – heed my warning! Ah! it is cruel and horrible that I – of all women – have to tell you this!”

      “I always carry a revolver,” I replied, “and I have long ago learned to shoot straight.”

      “Be guarded always against a secret and insidious attack,” she urged. “I must go in – now that I have told you the truth.”

      “And do you, then, refuse to become my friend, Miss Pennington?” I asked very earnestly. “Surely you are my friend already, because you have told me this!”

      “Yes,” she answered, adding, “Ah! you do not know the real facts! You would not ask this if you were aware of the bitter, ghastly truth. You would not ask my friendship – nay, you would hate and curse me instead!”

      “But why?” I asked, amazed at her words. “You speak in enigmas.”

      She was silent again. Then her nervous fingers once more gripped my arm, as, looking into my face, her eyes shining with a weird, unusual light, she replied in quick, breathless sentences —

      “Because – because friendship between us must never, never be; it would be fatal to you, just as it would be fatal to me! Death – yes, death – will come to me quickly and swiftly – perhaps to-night, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps in a week’s time. For it, I am quite prepared. All is lost – lost to me for ever! Only have a care of yourself, I beseech of you! Heed what I say. Escape the cruel fate which your enemies have marked out for you – escape while there is yet time, and – and,” she faltered in a low, hoarse voice, full of emotion, “some day in the future, perhaps, you will give a passing thought to the memory of a woman who revealed to you the truth – who saved you from an untimely end – the unhappy woman without a friend!”

      “But I will be your friend!” I repeated.

      “No. That can never be —never!” and she shuddered. “I dare not risk it. Reflect – and escape – get away in secret, and take care that you are not followed. Remember, however, we can never be friends. Such a course would be fatal – yes, alas! fatal!”

      Instinctively she put out her tiny white hand in frank farewell. Then, when I had held it for a second in my own, she turned and, drawing her shawl about her, hurried back to the big hotel.

      Utterly dumbfounded, I stood for a few seconds dazed and wondering, the sweet odour of Rose d’Orsay filling my nostrils. What did she know?

      Then suddenly I held my breath, for there I saw for the first time, standing back in the shadow of the trees, straight before me, motionless as a statue, the tall, dark figure of a man who had evidently watched us the whole time, and who had, no doubt, overheard all our conversation!

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE CLERGYMAN FROM HAMPSHIRE

      What was the meaning of it all? Why had that tall, mysterious stranger watched so intently? I looked across at him, but he did not budge, even though detected.

      In a flash, all the strange warnings of Sylvia Pennington crowded upon my mind.

      I stood facing the man as he lurked there in the shadow, determined that he should reveal his face. Those curious words of the mysterious girl had placed me upon my mettle. Who were the unknown enemies of mine who were conspiring against me?

      Should I take her advice and leave Gardone, or should I remain on my guard, and hand them over to the police at first sign of attack?

      The silent watcher did not move. He stood back there in the darkness, motionless as a statue, while I remained full in the light of the moon, which had now come forth, causing the lake and mountains to look almost fairy-like.

      In order to impress upon him the fact that I was in no hurry, I lit a cigarette, and seated myself upon the low wall of the terrace, softly whistling an air of the café chantant. The night was now glorious, the mountain crests showing white in the moonlight.

      Who was this man, I wondered? I regretted that we had not discovered his presence before Sylvia had left. She would, no doubt, have recognized him, and told me the reason of his watchfulness.

      At last, I suppose, I must have tired him out, for suddenly he hastened from his hiding-place, and, creeping beneath the shadow of the hotel, succeeded in reaching the door through which Sylvia had passed.

      As he entered, the light from the lounge within gave me a swift glance of his features. He was a thin, grey-faced, rather sad-looking man, dressed in black, but, to my surprise, I noticed that his collar was that of an English clergyman!

      This struck me as most remarkable. Clergymen are not usually persons to be feared.

      I smiled to myself, for, after all, was it not quite possible that the reverend gentleman had found himself within earshot of us, and had been too embarrassed to show himself at once? What sinister motive could such a man possess?

      I looked around the great lounge, with its many tables and great palms, but it was empty. He had passed through and ascended in the lift to his room.

      Inquiry of the night-porter revealed that the man’s name was the Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, and that he came from Andover, in England. He had arrived at six o’clock that evening, and was only remaining the night, having expressed his intention of going on to Riva on the morrow.

      So, laughing at my fears – fears which had been aroused by that strange warning of Sylvia’s – I ascended to my room.

      I did not leave next morning, as my fair-faced little friend had suggested, neither did Pennington return.

      About eleven o’clock I strolled forth into the warm sunshine on the terrace, and there, to my surprise, saw Sylvia sitting upon one of the seats, with a cream sunshade over her head, a book in her lap, while by her side lounged the mysterious watcher of the night before – the English clergyman, Mr. Shuttleworth of Andover.

      Neither noticed me. He was speaking to her slowly and earnestly, she listening attentively to his words. I saw that she sighed deeply, her fine eyes cast upon the ground.

      It all seemed as though he were reproaching her with something, for she was silent, in an attitude almost of penitence.

      Now that I obtained a full view of the reverend gentleman’s features in full daylight they seemed less mysterious, less sinister than in the half-light of midnight. He looked a grave, earnest, sober-living man, with that slight affectation of the Church which one finds more in the rural districts than in cities, for the black clerical straw hat and the clerical drawl seem always to go together. It is strange that the village curate is always more affected in his speech than the popular preacher of the West End, and the country vicar’s wife is even more exclusive in her tea-and-tennis acquaintances than the wife of the lord bishop himself.

      For a few moments I watched unseen. I rather liked the appearance of the Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, whoever he might be. He had the look of an honest, open, God-fearing man.

      Yet why was he in such earnest consultation with the mysterious Sylvia?

      With his forefinger he was touching the palm of his left hand, apparently to emphasize his words, while she looked pale, even frightened. She was listening without comment, without protest, while I stood watching them from behind. Many other visitors were idling about the terrace, reading letters or newspapers, or chatting or flirting – the usual morning occupations of a fashionable lake-side hotel far removed from the strenuous turmoil of the business or social worlds.

      Suddenly she objected to some words which he uttered, objected strongly, with rapid interruption

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