Hushed Up! A Mystery of London. Le Queux William

eyes met mine, and he stared at me. But I passed on, in pretence that I had not recognized him as the watcher of the previous night.

      I idled about the terrace and the little landing-stage till noon, when the steamer for Riva came up from Desenzano; and Shuttleworth, taking leave of Sylvia, boarded the little craft with his two kit-bags, and waved her farewell as the vessel drew away, making a wide wake upon the glassy surface of the deep blue waters.

      When he had gone, I crossed to her and spoke. She looked inexpressibly charming in her white cotton gown and neat straw sailor hat with black velvet band. There was nothing ostentatious about her dress, but it was always well cut and fitted her to perfection. She possessed a style and elegance all her own.

      “Ah! Mr. Biddulph!” she exclaimed reproachfully. “Why have you not heeded my words last night? Why have you not left? Go! – go, before it is too late!” she urged, looking straight into my face with those wonderful eyes of hers.

      “But I don’t understand you, Miss Pennington,” I replied. “Why should I leave here? What danger threatens me?”

      “A grave one – a very grave one,” she said in a low, hoarse whisper. “If you value your life you should get away from this place.”

      “Who are these enemies of mine?” I demanded. “You surely should tell me, so that I can take precautions against them.”

      “Your only precaution lies in flight,” she said.

      “But will you not tell me what is intended? If there is a conspiracy against me, is it not your duty, as a friend, to reveal it?”

      “Did I not tell you last night that I am not your friend – that our friendship is forbidden?”

      “I don’t understand you,” I said. “As far as I know, I haven’t an enemy in the world. Why should I fear the unknown?”

      “Ah! will you not take heed of what I have told you?” she cried in desperation. “Leave here. Return to England – hide yourself – anywhere – for a time, until the danger passes.”

      “I have no fear of this mysterious danger, Miss Pennington,” I said. “If these secret enemies of mine attack me, then I am perfectly ready and able to defend myself.”

      “But they will not attack openly. They will strike at a moment when you least expect it – and strike with accuracy and deadly effect.”

      “Last night, after you had left me, I found a man standing in the shadow watching us,” I said. “He was the clergyman whom I saw sitting with you just now. Who is he?”

      “Mr. Shuttleworth – an old friend of mine in England. An intimate friend of my father’s. To him, I owe very much. I had no idea he was here until an hour ago, when we met quite accidentally on the terrace. I haven’t seen him for a year. We once lived in his parish near Andover, in Hampshire. He was about our only friend.”

      “Why did he spy upon us?”

      “I had no idea that he did. It must have been only by chance,” she assured me. “From Edmund Shuttleworth you certainly have nothing to fear. He and his wife are my best friends. She is staying up at Riva, it seems, and he is on his way to join her.”

      “Your father is absent,” I said abruptly.

      “Yes,” she replied, with slight hesitation. “He has gone away on business. I don’t expect he will be back till to-night.”

      “And how long do you remain here?”

      “Who knows? Our movements are always so sudden and erratic. We may leave to-night for the other end of Europe, or we may remain here for weeks yet. Father is so uncertain always.”

      “But why are you so eager that I shall leave you?” I asked, as we strolled together along the terrace. “You have admitted that you are in need of a friend, and yet you will not allow me to approach you with the open hand of friendship.”

      “Because – ah! have I not already explained the reason why – why I dare not allow you to show undue friendship towards me?”

      “Well, tell me frankly,” I said, “who is this secret enemy of mine?”

      She was silent. In that hesitation I suspected an intention to deceive.

      “Is it against your own father that you are warning me?” I exclaimed in hesitation. “You fear him, evidently, and you urge me to leave here and return to England. Why should I not remain here in defiance?”

      “In some cases defiance is distinctly injudicious,” she remarked. “It is so in this. Your only safety is in escape. I can tell you no more.”

      “These words of yours, Miss Pennington, are remarkably strange,” I said. “Surely our position is most curious. You are my friend, and yet you conceal the identity of my enemy.”

      She only shrugged her shoulders, without any reply falling from her lips.

      “Will you not take my advice and get back to England at once?” she asked very seriously, as she turned to me a few minutes later. “I have suggested this in your own interests.”

      “But why should I go in fear of this unknown enemy?” I asked. “What harm have I done? Why should any one be my bitter enemy?”

      “Ah, how do I know?” she cried in despair. “We all of us have enemies where we least suspect them. Sometimes the very friend we trust most implicitly reveals himself as our worst antagonist. Truly one should always pause and ponder deeply before making a friend.”

      “You are perfectly right,” I remarked. “A fierce enemy is always better than a false friend. Yet I would dearly like to know what I have done to merit antagonism. Where has your father gone?”

      “To Brescia, I believe – to meet his friends.”

      “Who are they?”

      “His business friends. I only know them very slightly; they are interested in mining properties. They meet at intervals. The last time he met them was in Stockholm a month ago.”

      This struck me as curious. Why should he meet his business friends so clandestinely – why should they come at night in a car to cross-roads?

      But I told her nothing of what I had witnessed. I decided to keep my knowledge to myself.

      “The boat leaves at two o’clock,” she said, after a pause, her hand upon her breast as though to stay the wild beating of her heart. “Will you not take my advice and leave by that? Go to Milan, and then straight on to England,” she urged in deep earnestness, her big, wide-open eyes fixed earnestly upon mine.

      “No, Miss Pennington,” I replied promptly; “the fact is, I do not feel disposed to leave here just at present. I prefer to remain – and to take the risk, whatever it may be.”

      “But why?” she cried, for we were standing at the end of the terrace, and out of hearing.

      “Because you are in need of a friend – because you have admitted that you, too, are in peril. Therefore I have decided to remain near you.”

      “No,” she cried breathlessly. “Ah! you do not know the great risk you are running! You must go – do go, Mr. Biddulph – go, for —for my sake!”

      I shook my head.

      “I have no fear of myself,” I declared. “I am anxious on your behalf.”

      “Have no thought of me,” she cried. “Leave, and return to England.”

      “And see you no more – eh?”

      “If you will leave to-day, I – I will see you in England – perhaps.”

      “Perhaps!” I cried. “That is not a firm promise.”

      “Then, if you really wish,” she replied in earnestness, “I will promise. I’ll promise anything. I’ll promise to see you in England – when the danger has passed, if – if disaster has not already fallen upon me,” she added in a hoarse whisper.

      “But