But now that the matter had been confirmed in this startling fashion I knew that it was imperative that I should keep a stricter watch than ever upon Debora. For suddenly it seemed to me that my absurd belief in the man was no longer justified. I saw that the doctor had merely adopted that attitude of penitence, the better to put me off my guard. Yet, even while I promised myself that I would do valiant things, I could only remember my own helplessness, in being entirely dependent upon the very man against whom I wished to arm myself. I had in my pocket but a shilling or two, which he had given me for my journey down into London—that journey which I had never taken.
As for any future that might once have seemed bright before me—what future had I? I was practically in hiding under another name, and I had no resources save those I might derive from one who knew my secret, and was, in a great sense, my enemy. I was in love—surely more hopelessly than mortal man had ever been before; and I was liable at any moment to be betrayed by the man Harvey Scoffold, who had penetrated my story. Altogether, as I came to review the position, I could have heartily wished myself back in my prison again, save for one element in the business. That element was Debora Matchwick, and I knew that in the strange game I was playing Fate had destined me to fight on her side, in a matter of life and death.
Bardolph Just returned early in the afternoon, and went straight to his study. Debora I had seen for an instant as she crossed the hall; she gave me a quick smile, and that was all. There seemed to be brooding over the whole house an atmosphere of expectancy—quite as though we waited for something that was to happen, and faced it each in his or her particular way. I found myself listening for the doctor's step in the house, while I felt equally certain that for his part he was wondering what move I should take, and was calmly preparing to meet such a move, whatever it might be.
The long day drew to a close, and presently the harsh bell clanged through the house as a summons to dinner. I happened to be in my room at the time, and as I stepped out of it to go down the stairs, I saw that the doctor was waiting at the head of the stairs, and was peering over into the hall below. He turned his head when he heard my step behind him, and spoke in a whisper. He spoke as though we were on the friendliest terms, and almost as if there were some secret understanding between us. As I stepped up to him he put his hand on my shoulder, and, laughable as it may seem, I felt a little thrill of gratitude and tenderness for the man run through me—such was the fascination of him. All my suspicions of him seemed to go to the wind.
"I thought I ought to prepare you, John, in case you didn't know," he whispered. "Two bits of news—Harvey Scoffold has come to dinner, which may mean mischief; and Capper's missing."
He imparted that last scrap of information with something so like a chuckle that I looked at him quickly, with a new suspicion in my mind. Oddly enough, he must have guessed what I meant, for he shook his head and grinned.
"Oh, nothing to do with me, I assure you," he said. "Only he has gone off without a word to anyone—and I don't quite like it. Of course, I'm relieved to know that he has gone; the old fool was like a ghost wandering about the place. But still, I'd like to know where he is."
"I don't see that it matters very much," I replied. "But what makes you think that Scoffold may mean mischief?"
Still keeping his hand on my shoulder, he turned me about, and began to walk with me down the stairs. "Because it's a long time since he has visited me until the other night, and now he comes again. You see, he knows our story, and he's utterly unscrupulous. More than that, he's always in want of money."
"I'll try what personal violence will do, if he tries any tricks with me," I muttered savagely. And once again I heard the doctor chuckle.