“This marriage has only hung a millstone around my neck,” he resentfully brooded. “And I wonder if I was only brought in to relieve ‘Uncle James.’” It was a mean suspicion, but it clung closely to him.
He was now the prey of ugly thoughts, and fleeting fears disturbed “the sleep of Richard.”
There were times when he feared for the safety of the document so deftly hidden away. The copy had been artfully deposited (under receipt) in a Belgian branch bank in Paris, under an assumed name, and the banker’s receipt was now sewed in his waistcoat. “Thank God! That is all safe!” he sighed.
He little reflected that one day, laughing over the “Agony Column” of the London Times, his eye had paused at the name “Martha Wilmot.” Some trace of familiarity, some fleeting memory caused him to read the few lines.
“Handsome reward and the most complete immunity guaranteed. Greatly to your advantage. Communicate in any way.”
The signature, “New York,” followed by an address, closed the expensively placed announcement.
“Some relic of man’s folly and woman’s frailty!” he laughed. “The old, old game goes on forever.”
And yet, he little dreamed that Hugh Conyers and handsome Dan Daly were now the right and left hand men of Judge Hiram Endicott, who was engaged in some very interesting metropolitan researches.
In far-away New York, there was the veiled duel of two fearless intellects going on, even in the summer days, when the town was empty.
Mrs. Elaine Willoughby was again the radiant mistress of Lakemere, although she spent a portion of her time in town at the Circassia.