“You did not tell me that,” said Fensden, quickly.
“I did not deem it necessary,” said Godfrey. “I should have done so when we came to discuss the matter at greater length. But to continue my story. After the Opera I escorted them back to their dwelling, but I did not enter. On my way to my hotel afterward, I was nearly stabbed by a lover of my former model, a man, so she had informed me, who was extremely jealous of any one who spoke to her. Fortunately for me, he did not succeed in his attempt. I knocked him down, and took his dagger from him.”
As he said this, he took the small poniard, with which the Italian had attempted his life, from a drawer, and handed it to the old gentleman.
“Next morning I left Naples, to find, on reaching England, that my mother was decidedly better, and I need not have abandoned my tour. Then I met your daughter, fell in love with her, and in due course our engagement was announced. From the moment I said good-bye to her in Naples, until last Thursday night, I had neither seen nor heard anything of or from my former model.”
“You saw her on Thursday night?” repeated the old gentleman. “In that case she must have returned to England?”
“Yes,” Godfrey replied. “It was after the theatre, and when I had seen Lady Devereux and Molly to their carriage. I was walking down the Strand in search of a cab to take me back to my hotel, when I met her. She recognised me at once, and informed me that her mother was dead, that she had married, she did not say whom, and that her husband was also dead. Though she seemed in great distress, for reasons of her own she would not let me help her. Feeling that she ought not to be in the streets at such an hour, I took a cab and drove her to her home, which was a house in a narrow street leading out of the Tottenham Court Road. I bade her good-bye on the pavement, and having once more vainly endeavoured to induce her to let me help her, walked back to my hotel.”
As he said this, he crossed to the table on which the box had been placed, and once more removed the lid and paper.
“A number of wedding presents have arrived to-day,” he continued, “and this box came with them. We opened it, and you may see for yourself what it contained.”
Sir Vivian approached the table and looked into the box, only to start back with an exclamation of horror. His usually rubicund face turned ashen gray.
“My dear boy, this is more terrible than I supposed!” he gasped. “What does it mean?”