“Ah! Then your enemies have arisen because of your engagement to the girl—eh?”
“The girl!” How strange! Pennington’s mysterious friends of the Brescia road had referred to her as “the girl.” So had those two assassins in Porchester Terrace! Was it a mere coincidence, or had he, too, betrayed a collusion with those mean blackguards who had put me to that horrible torture?
Had you met this strange man at night in St. James’s Park, would you have placed any faith in him? I think not. I maintain that I was perfectly justified in treating him as an enemy. He was rather too intimately acquainted with the doings of Harriman and his gang to suit my liking. Even as he stood there beneath the light of the street-lamp, I saw that his bright eyes twinkled behind those gold pince-nez, while the big old-fashioned amethyst he wore on his finger was a conspicuous object. He gave one the appearance of a prosperous merchant or shopkeeper.
“What makes you suggest that the attempt was due to my affection for Sylvia?” I asked him.
“Well, it furnishes a motive, does it not?”
“No, it doesn’t. I have no enemies—as far as I am aware.”
“But there exists some person who is highly jealous of mademoiselle, and who is therefore working against you in secret.”
“Is that your opinion?”
“I regret to admit that it is. Indeed, Monsieur Biddulph, you have every need to exercise the greatest care. Otherwise misfortune will occur to you. Mark what I—a stranger—tell you.”
I started. Here again was a warning uttered! The situation was growing quite uncanny.