“When you said you were going abroad?”
“We did go abroad immediately after our marriage. I intended it to be a secret marriage until the time came I hoped to be able to obtain a divorce from the woman I had first married. Until I met May I had not cared nor thought of this. I made her an allowance, and never made any inquiries about her life. But the nephew of the ladies with whom I had left May got to know this woman, this actress, Kathleen Weir—”
“Kathleen Weir!”
“Yes, Kathleen Weir; and I knew after you had discovered through young Henderson where May was that the whole story could no longer be kept a secret. But I believed she cared for me too well to part from me—”
Here Temple’s voice broke and faltered, and he paused.
“But she did part from you?” asked Mrs. Temple, quickly.
“I will tell you,” went on John Temple, speaking with a great effort. “I took her to an hotel, and I told her the truth, and after the first shock, which nearly killed her, was over, I thought she had become reconciled to the idea. I said we should never part; that I would take her to Australia, anywhere, and devote my whole life to her, and that I hoped some day to be free. I left her for a short time to get some things that she required before we went away, as she did not wish to see her father, and—and when I left her she said we could not live apart. I was not away more than an hour, but when I returned to the hotel she was gone. She had left no note, no address—not a word—and from that day to this I have heard nothing,” and Temple covered his face with his hand, deeply affected.
“But you sought her, surely? You made inquiries?”
“Every effort was made to find her. I employed the police, I wandered about the streets of London day and night, but it was all in vain. One thing only I heard—that someone like her, on the night she disappeared from the hotel, had taken a cab and asked to be driven to Westminster bridge—”
“But surely you did not think—”