“No, no!” she said, holding up both her hands. “Enough! I only pray that the evil I dread may not befall you. Farewell!” and bowing low she turned, and swept out of the room, leaving me alone, bewildered, dumbfounded.
The words she had uttered were completely confounding. She was apparently possessed of attainments which were supernatural; indeed, she seemed to me as a visitant from the Unknown, so strangely had she spoken; so mysterious had been her allegations regarding Roddy.
For nearly an hour I remained deep in thought, plunged in abject despair. Aline the beautiful had left me, urging me to transfer my affections. The situation was extraordinary. She had, it seemed, gone out of my life for ever.
Suddenly I roused myself. Her extraordinary statement that Roddy had committed suicide at Monte Carlo oppressed me. If she really knew Muriel’s innermost thoughts, then it was quite feasible that she knew more of my friend than I had imagined. Besides, had he not left the theatre hurriedly on catching sight of her? There was a mystery which should be elucidated. Therefore I assumed my hat and coat and went round to Roddy’s chambers in Dover Street, Piccadilly, to endeavour to obtain some explanation of her amazing statement.
He lived in one of those smoke-blackened, old-fashioned houses with deep areas, residences which were occupied by families fifty years ago, but now mostly let out as suites of chambers. The front door with its inner swing-door was, as usual, open, and I passed through and up the stairs to the second floor, where upon the door was a small brass plate bearing my friend’s name.
The door was ajar, and pushing it open I walked in, exclaiming cheerily as was my habit—
“Anybody at home?”
There was no response. Roddy was out, and his man had evidently gone downstairs to obtain something. I walked straight on into the sitting-room, a good-sized, comfortable apartment, which smelt eternally of cigars, for its owner was an inveterate smoker; but as I entered I was surprised to discover Roddy in his old velvet lounge-coat, sitting alone in his chair beside the fire.
“Morning, old chap!” I cried. But he was asleep and did not move.
I crossed the room and shook him by the shoulder to awaken him, at the same moment looking into his face.