Part 55 (1/2)

'No! She couldn't make me _believe_ it. But the artful devil had such a way of talking----'

'I understand. You didn't know whether to believe or not. Just tell me, please, what proof she offered you.'

Hugh hung his head.

'She had heard you talking--in the house--on a certain----'

He looked up timidly, and met a flash of derisive scorn.

'She heard me talking? Hugh, I really don't see much art in this. You seem to have been wrought upon rather easily. It never occurred to you, I suppose, to ask for a precise date?'

He mentioned the day, and Sibyl, turning her head a little, appeared to reflect.

'It's unfortunate; I remember nothing whatever of that date. I'm afraid, Hugh, that I couldn't possibly prove an alibi.'

Her smiling sarcasm made the man wince. His broad shoulders shrank together; he stood in an awkward, swaying posture.

'Dear, I told her she lied!'

'That was very courageous. But what came next? You had the happy idea of going to Wimbledon to make personal inquiries?'

'Try to put yourself in my place, Sibyl,' he pleaded. 'Remember all the circ.u.mstances. Can't you see the danger of such a lie as that? I went home, hoping to find you there. But you had gone, and n.o.body knew where--you wouldn't be back that night. A telegram had called you away, I was told. When I asked where you told the cabman to drive you to--the post-office.'

'Oh, it looked very black!--yes, yes, I quite understand. The facts are so commonplace that I'm really ashamed to mention them. At luncheon-time came an urgent telegram from Weymouth. I sent no reply then, because I thought I knew that you were on your way. But when I was ready to start, it occurred to me that I should save you trouble by wiring that I should join you as soon as possible--so I drove to the post-office before going to Paddington.--Well, you rushed off to Wimbledon?'

'Not till later, and because I was suffering d.a.m.nably. If I hadn't--been what would it have meant? When a man thinks as much of his wife as I do of you----'

'He has a right to imagine anything of her,' she interrupted in a changed tone, gently reproachful, softening to tenderness. A Singularity of Sibyl's demeanour was that she seemed utterly forgetful of the dire position in which her husband stood. One would have thought that she had no concern beyond the refutation of an idle charge, which angered her indeed, but afforded scope for irony, possibly for play of wit. For the moment, Hugh himself had almost forgotten the worst; but he was bidden to proceed, and again his heart sank.

'I went there in the evening. Redgrave happened to be outside--in that veranda of his. I saw him as I came near in the dark, and I fancied that--that he had been talking to someone in the room--through the folding windows. I went up to him quickly, and as soon as he saw me he pulled the window to. After that--I only remember that I was raving mad. He seemed to want to stop me, and I struck at him--and that was the end.'

Sibyl shuddered.

'You went into the room?'

'Yes. No one was there.'

Both kept silence. Sibyl had become very grave, and was thinking intently. Then, with a few brief questions, vigilant, precise, she learnt all that had taken place between Hugh and Mrs. Maskell, between Hugh and the doctor; heard of the woman's disappearance, and of Mrs Fenimore's arrival on the scene.

'What shall you do now?'

'Go back and give myself up. What else _can_ I do?'

'And tell everything--as you have told it to me?'

Hugh met her eyes and moved his arms in a gesture of misery.

'No! I will think of something. He is dead, and can't contradict; and the woman will hide--trust her. Your name shan't come into it at all. I owe you that, Sibyl. I'll find some cause for a quarrel with him. Your name shan't be spoken.'