“Yes—yes—I understand you!” cried the Earl, the name of Perdita suggesting itself immediately to his memory: but at the same time he recollected that neither the Countess of Ellingham nor Lady Georgiana was acquainted with the secret of that fatal marriage which Charles had contracted.
“Vile—despicable tool that you are!” resumed Mr. Hatfield, addressing himself to the attorney: “I can see through all your conduct as if your very soul were transparent! The vengeance of an enemy sent you hither—and the demand which the Earl of Ellingham made respecting your object, was suggestive of this extortionate deed that you sought to perpetrate. Begone, sir—do your worst—we fear you not! You may reveal family matters that may cause pain—but you can do no serious injury: for if you allude to the secrets which I myself am referring to, your malignant aim is completely baffled—inasmuch as the documents that could alone corroborate your assertions, are no longer in existence. I myself destroyed them!”
And thoroughly exhausted, Mr. Hatfield sank back upon the pillow.
At this moment the door was hastily opened; and Clarence Villiers rushed into the room.
“Pardon this abrupt intrusion,” he exclaimed, not immediately noticing Green: “but I have news of some importance—though of horrible interest—to communicate. That woman Perdita, who ensnared my friend Charles with her wiles and witcheries, is no more!”
“Dead?” cried Mr. Hatfield, again starting up in the couch.
“Murdered—assassinated—and by her own husband!” ejaculated Villiers. “I was driving past Westbourne Terrace ere now—I saw a crowd—I heard appalling rumours—I enquired the cause—and I learnt the outline of the frightful tragedy! She is dead—and Barthelma, her husband, who destroyed her, has perished by his own hand!”
“Then Charles is beyond all danger for the future!” exclaimed Mr. Hatfield;—and again did he fall back on his pillow.
Lady Georgiana and the Countess of Ellingham hastened to administer restoratives to the invalid: although they themselves were greatly excited by the intelligence which had just arrived—for, it will be remembered, they were aware that Charles had fled from London with an abandoned woman who had gained a powerful ascendancy over him; and horrified as they were at the tidings of the murder, they could not help feeling that all apprehension of a relapse on the young man’s part into the meshes of the intriguing Perdita, was now suddenly removed.
While the ladies were ministering to Mr. Hatfield, Clarence Villiers had turned and recognised Green, who was standing stupefied and motionless at the sudden news which revealed to him that his fair client Perdita Barthelma had been murdered!