CHAPTER IX. THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE.

May Penfold was a very pretty girl, tall and fair-haired, with a pair of merry blue eyes, and a charming complexion. Her parents died when she was young and left her to the guardianship of Sir Rupert Balscombe, who certainly fulfilled his trust admirably. He had her well educated both intellectually and physically, so when she made her début in London Society she was much admired. An accomplished musician and linguist, a daring horse-woman and a kindly disposition, it was no wonder that she was much sought after; but when added to these gifts it was also discovered that she possessed twenty thousand a year in her own right, she became the catch of the season, and many were the attempts made by hard-up scions of noble houses to secure her hand in marriage.

But alas, for the contrary disposition of womankind, she would have none of the gilded youth but fixed her affections on Myles Desmond, a poor Irish gentleman, with nothing to recommend him but a handsome face, a clever brain and a witty tongue. In vain Lord Calliston asked her to be his wife, she coolly refused him, telling the astonished nobleman that neither his morals nor his manners were to her liking, and informed Sir Rupert that she intended to marry Myles Desmond.

The baronet was furious at this declaration, and as May was under age and could not marry without her guardian's consent, he forbad Myles the house and ordered his ward not to speak to him. But see how the duplicity of love can circumvent the watchfulness of guardians. May and Myles met secretly in the Park, at garden parties, and at balls, whenever they chose, and so cleverly did they manage their meetings that Sir Rupert never for a moment suspected the truth. He wanted his ward to marry Calliston, but when that fickle young man ran off with Lady Balscombe he changed his tune altogether, and had May been clever enough to have taken advantage of his dismay, he would doubtless have consented to her union with Myles despite the disadvantages of the match. Sir Rupert was paralysed at the scandal caused by his wife's elopement. He was deeply in love with her, and having known Calliston from his boyhood it had never entered his head that such a thing could happen. He was a very proud man, and when he discovered the elopement he shut himself up in his library, refusing to see anyone. The guilty pair had gone to the Azores, and knowing that sooner or later they would return to England, he awaited their coming with the intention of divorcing his treacherous wife and punishing her seducer.

Sir Rupert having taken up this position, May was left a good deal to herself, and as the whole affair caused such a scandal she, as a ward of Balscombe's, refused to go out into society until some definite settlement of the matter had been arrived at. She had written several times to Myles asking him to see her, but on some plea or another he had always refused to come, much to her bewilderment. When she received his telegram asking her to meet him at the Marble Arch, she was delighted; and slipping out of the house in Park Lane, went to keep her appointment.

At this time of the year there were comparatively few people in town who knew her nevertheless, for the sake of safety, she dressed herself plainly in a dark dress and wore a thick veil which concealed her face. Thus disguised she had no fear of being recognised, and arrived at the rendezvous about five minutes past three o'clock. There she found Myles waiting for her and they walked together into the Park, feeling perfectly secure from interruption or detection. But they did not know that they were being shadowed by a small ragged boy who was apparently playing idly about them.

Dowker recognising Myles pointed him out to Flip and departed at once, lest he should by seen by Desmond, so when Flip saw May join the young Irishman he knew it was the couple whose conversation he was there to overhear and followed them promptly.

Myles and Miss Penfold walked a short distance into the Park and then seated themselves for a while--two ordinary looking figures not calculated to attract much notice, for, the day being cold, Myles was muffled up in a large ulster and May's dress, as previously noticed, was not conspicuous.

Flip sat down on the grass at the back of them, apparently engaged in spelling out a dirty bit of newspaper, but in reality drinking in every word the lovers uttered.

They were continuing a conversation begun when they first met.

"Does this man suspect you?" said May, evidently referring to Dowker.

"I'm afraid so," he replied gloomily, "and I cannot open my mouth to defend myself."

"Why?"

"Because my only defence would be an explanation of the events of that night, and I cannot explain."

"Why not?"

He remained silent, at which the girl turned pale.

"Is there any reason--strong reason?"

"Yes."

"Is that reason--a woman?"

Myles bowed his head.

Miss Penfold grew a shade paler and laughed bitterly.

"A pleasant reason to give me," she said, with a sneer. "I have given up all else for your sake, because I thought you loved me, and you--you--talk of another woman to me."

"This is nonsense," he answered impatiently. "There is no love in the case; it simply involves the breaking of a promise given to a woman, and you would be the last to ask me to do that. Can you not believe in my honour?"

May looked at him doubtfully.

"Can I believe in any man's honour?" she replied sadly.

"That depends who the man is," answered Myles quietly. "It is simply a case of Lovelace over again:

"'I would not love thee dear so much,
Loved I not honour more.'

"It is absurd--quixotic--ridiculous--to talk about honour in these days, I grant you, but unfortunately I inherit loyal blood, and--well, I must ask you to trust me till I can speak."

"And you will speak?"

"Yes; if it comes to the worst," he replied with a slight shiver.

The girl gave him her hand, which he took and pressed slightly. So thus, mutely, they made up their quarrel.

All the foregoing conversation about honour was Greek to Flip, who, after some cogitation, came to the conclusion it was a scene out of a play. But now they began to talk on a subject more suited to his comprehension.

"May," said Myles, "I want you to tell me all that Lady Balscombe did on--on that night."

"The night when she eloped?"

"Yes."

"Let me see," said May, knitting her pretty brows, "we went to a ball--to Lady Kerstoke's."

"At what time?"

"Between nine and ten."

"And what time did you leave?"

"Very early--about half past ten; in fact, we were there only a few minutes. Lady Balscombe said she had a headache and went home. You know our house is only a few doors away. I expect she only went there to avert suspicion as to her elopement."

"What happened when she came home?"

"There was a woman waiting to see her in her boudoir."

"A woman?" repeated Desmond; "who was she?"

"I don't know; I didn't even see her. She saw Lady Balscombe and then left the house, between eleven and twelve."

"How do you know?"

"My maid told me."

"And what time did Lady Balscombe leave?"

"I don't know. I did not see her again that night. She went to bed because of her headache, and, I suppose, departed early in the morning to catch the train to Shoreham."

"Where was Sir Rupert all this time?"

"He had been down in Berkshire, but arrived some time before twelve--he and Lady Balscombe had quarrelled lately and occupied different rooms. Besides, he went off to his club on arriving in town, so he would not know of her flight till the morning."

"Did she leave a letter for him?"

"I suppose so; but why do you ask all these questions?"

"Because I want to save my neck, if possible. The woman who was murdered is said to be Lena Sarschine, whom I saw during the day. I saw a woman in Calliston's rooms on the same night, whom the detective thinks was the same person. Now, between the time I left the chambers and the time I met Spencer Ellersby I was wandering about the streets and, as I spoke to no one, I cannot prove an alibi. Ellersby met me coming up St. James' Street, and the scene of the crime was not far off, so, if I am arrested, circumstances will tell very hard against me. Nobody will believe my assertion that I did not see the dead woman that night, and I cannot prove it without breaking my promise."

"I see what you mean, but what has Lady Balscombe to do with it?"

"Simply this. I am anxious to find out if Calliston really left town on that night, because I want to know if he had anything to do with the death of his mistress. He left his chambers to catch the ten minutes past nine train from London Bridge; but did he catch it? I think not, because he would not have left town without Lady Balscombe, and from your own showing, she did not leave her house till early on Tuesday morning. So I think Calliston must have remained in town at some hotel, where she joined him, and they went down to Shoreham by the first train in the morning."

"But you don't think Calliston killed this woman?"

"No, I don't think so," he answered thoughtfully. "I really don't think so, but I would like to have all his movements on that night accounted for. As for myself, I am in a very awkward position, for, if arrested, I cannot extricate myself from it till Calliston returns."

"Why?"

"Because till his yacht comes back I cannot prove my innocence."

"But you are innocent?"

"Yes; can you doubt me?"

"I was certain of it."

"I hope the jury of twelve good and lawful men will be as certain," he replied grimly, as they walked away.

Flip followed them at a distance, but only caught scraps of conversation which seemed to him to be about trivial matters. So, with all the conversation he had heard in the Park indelibly inscribed on his brain, Flip darted away, to give his patron an accurate report and thus add another link to the chain which was gradually encircling the murderer of Lena Sarschine.