“Because—well,” she answered in hesitation; “because I have some curious, inexplicable feeling that he is not your friend.”
Then it occurred to me that they had been sitting together that evening in a cosy-corner in the drawing-room, deep in conversation, and it might be that Paul had uttered some compliments meant to be polite, but which she had misconstrued into flirtation. In that case, it was only natural that, loving me so deeply as she did, she should warn me that Paul was not my friend.
“In what way do you suspect him of being my enemy?” I inquired.
“He is untrustworthy,” she replied, an answer that tended to confirm my supposition. On several other occasions I laughed at her fears, but she always made the same reply, that she believed he was not straightforward, and even went so far as to ask me not to invite him to our house in future. This caused me some little annoyance, for of all men Paul Verblioudovitch was one of my most valued friends; and, further, while she had conceived a violent dislike towards him, she nevertheless allowed herself to be flattered by the man of whom I had once been madly jealous—Andrew Beck.
Thus the early days of our married life proceeded, blissful and full of love, but with one tiny cloud of mystery that, although growing no larger, still cast its ominous shadow ever between us. Sometimes when alone I pondered deeply, wondering whether my confidence had after all been ill-placed, puzzled over one or two incidents such as I have already described. Trifling as they were in themselves, they nevertheless caused me much uneasiness, yet when Ella entered, bright and radiant, greeting me with an affectionate caress, I could not doubt her. I knew that, however suspicious her actions might appear in my eyes, she loved me honestly, with a passion as fierce and uncontrollable as my own.
Meanwhile Renouf, who explained his absence on the night of the Embassy ball to Ella’s complete satisfaction, still continued to remain in service at Pont Street, and each time we dined there he hovered about us noiselessly and ever watchful, like a spirit of evil. When our eyes met, I saw in his a cold glance of contemptuous triumph, for he had already seen that I feared to denounce him for Paul’s sake, and he was pursuing his mysterious investigations, whatever they were, without let or hindrance. Mrs Laing, sighing as stout ladies will, was always loud in his praise, declaring him to be the most steady and attentive servant that had ever been in her service, while Ella expressed a wish that we could meet with a man possessed of similar virtues. A dozen times I longed to take my wife and her mother into my confidence, but dared not, for the silence imposed upon me was absolutely imperative.
One day, early in January, I had received a message from Lord Warnham to call at his house in Berkeley Square, but when I arrived found a note stating that he had been compelled unexpectedly to go down to Lord Maybury’s seat in Hertfordshire to consult him. Therefore I left, and it being a cold but invigorating afternoon I resolved to walk home. Proceeding along Piccadilly and Knightsbridge, I skirted the Park, and entering Kensington Gardens by the Alexandra Gate, strolled towards Kensington in the full enjoyment of a cigar. Ella had, I knew, gone to Pont Street, her mother being rather unwell, therefore I walked leisurely beneath the leafless, smoke-blackened trees. The short, gloomy day was now fast drawing to a close, and, with the falling gloom, a chill wind had sprung up, whistling mournfully through the bare branches, causing me to turn up my coat-collar and draw on my gloves. I fancied myself alone, for at four o’clock in winter the place is dismal and deserted. Having passed Queen’s Gate, I was approaching the Broad Walk, when I was attracted by two figures strolling slowly together in front of me, a man and a woman. At first I took no heed, and would in a few moments have overtaken them, when it occurred to me that the silhouette of the woman was familiar even in the dusk. Again I looked, and noticed that she was fashionably dressed in a dark-brown tailor-made gown, a sealskin cape and close-fitting hat. Next second I realised the amazing truth.
The woman walking before me was Ella.
Her companion, a tall, broad-shouldered young man, wore a long drab overcoat of distinctly “horsey” cut, a silk hat of the latest shape, and displayed a good deal of shirt cuff. He was evidently a fop, and his whole exterior, from his varnished boots to the velvet cuffs of his overcoat, pronounced him to be a cad. Leisurely he strode by her side, smoking a cigarette, and earnest in conversation, now and then emphasising his words by striking the palm of one gloved hand with his fist.
Once, as I dogged their footsteps, my teeth clenched in fierce anger, I heard her give vent to a rippling peal of laughter that echoed among the black, gaunt tree trunks. I knew by that laugh she was tantalising him. My first impulse was to rush up to them and demand an explanation, but my second thought had been to hold my anger in control, and ascertain the true extent of her perfidy. Was not this the second time I had detected Ella walking alone with a man in lover-like attitude?