If Sinners Entice Thee

“Ah!” she sobbed bitterly. “You will expose me – you who have only just declared that you are my friend!”

“Be patient,” the other answered. “I know your fear. You dread that I shall tell a truth which you dare not face.”

She hung her head, sinking back rigidly into her chair with lips compressed. George stood watching her, like a man in a dream. He saw her crushed and hopeless beneath the terrible load upon her conscience, held speechless by some all-consuming terror, trembling like an aspen because she knew this woman intended to divulge her secret.

With all his soul he loved her, yet in those painful moments the gulf seemed to widen between them. Her white haggard face told him of the torture that racked her mind.

“Speak, Liane,” he cried in a low intense tone. “What is it you fear? Surely the truth may be uttered?”

“No, no!” she cried wildly, struggling to her feet. “No, let me leave before she tells you. I knew instinctively that, after all, she was not my friend.”

“Hear me before you judge,” Mariette exclaimed firmly.

“Cannot you place faith in one who declares herself ready to assist you?” he added.

She shook her head, holding her breath the while, and glaring at him with eyes full of abject fear.

“Why?”

“Ah! don’t ask me, George,” she murmured, with her chin sunk upon the lace on her breast. “I am the most wretched woman on earth, because I have wilfully deceived you. I had no right to love you; no right to let you believe that I was pure and good; no right to allow you to place faith in me. You will hate me when you know all.”

“For what reason?” he cried, dismayed.

“My life is overshadowed by evil,” she answered vaguely, in a despairing voice. “I have sinned before God, and must bear the punishment.”

“There is forgiveness for those who repent,” the woman observed slowly, a hard, cold expression upon her face, as she watched the desperate girl trembling before her.

“There is none for me,” she cried in utter despondency, haunted by fear, and bursting again into tears. “None! I can hope for no forgiveness.”

At that instant the door of the room was opened, and two persons entered unannounced. George and Liane were standing together in the centre of the saloon, while Mariette was still seated with her back to the door, so that the new comers did not at first notice her presence.

The men were Brooker and Zertho.

“We have followed you here with your lover,” exclaimed the Prince angrily, addressing Liane. “We saw you driving to the station together, and watched you. We – ”

“The Golden Hand” hearing the voice, turned, and springing to her feet faced them.

“Mariette!” Zertho gasped, blanched and aghast, the words dying from his pale lips. In their eagerness to follow Liane and George they had entered the villa, not knowing that therein dwelt the woman from whom they intended on the morrow to fly.

Chapter Nineteen

The Miniature

Zertho gave her a single glance full of hatred, then, with a gesture of impatience after a few quick words, turned to make his exit. As he did so, however, he found himself face to face with a man who, standing in the doorway, resolutely barred his passage.

He stood glaring at him as one stupefied. The man was Max Richards.

“No,” the latter said. “Now that you have chosen to call here uninvited it is at least polite to remain at the invitation of your hostess.”

“Let me pass!” he cried threateningly.

“I shall not!” Richards answered with firmness, his back to the half-closed door, while Brooker stood watching the scene, himself full of fear and dismay.

“This is a conspiracy!” Zertho exclaimed, his trembling hands clenched, his face livid.

“Listen!” Mariette cried, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she stepped boldly forward and faced him. “This is a counterplot only to combat your dastardly intrigue. The innocent shall no longer suffer for the sins of the guilty.”

“The guilty!” he echoed, with an insolent laugh. “You mean yourself!”

“I am not without blame, I admit,” she answered quickly, her flashing eyes darting him an angry look. “Nevertheless, I have to-day determined to make atonement; to end for ever this conspiracy of silence.” Then, turning to Liane, who was standing whitefaced and aghast, she said, “First, before I speak, it will be necessary for you to make confession. Explain to George of what nature is this bond which holds you to yonder man.”

“No, I – I cannot,” she protested, covering her face with her hands.

“But it is necessary,” she urged. “Speak! Fear nothing. Then the truth shall be made known.”

The slim, fair-faced girl stood with bent head, panting and irresolute, while all waited for the words to fall from her dry, white lips. At last, with eyes downcast, she summoned courage, and in a low, hoarse voice said, —

“Zertho compelled me to accept him because – because he can prove that my father murdered Charles Holroyde.”

“Your father a murderer!” her lover echoed. “Impossible.”

“Let me speak,” Mariette interrupted, hastily. “Two winters ago I met in Nice a wealthy young Englishman named Holroyde. We saw one another often at Monte Carlo, and our acquaintance ripened into love. He offered me marriage, and I accepted; but one night, after winning a considerable sum, he returned to Nice about eleven o’clock, was waylaid in a narrow lane running from the Promenade des Anglais into the Rue de France, robbed and murdered. Thus was the man I loved cruelly snatched from me just at the moment when happiness was in my reach; just within a few weeks of making me his wife. This villa, which I have since bought, he designated as our home, and this ring upon my finger is the one he gave me. The crime, enshrouded in mystery, has not yet been forgotten either by the police or the people of Nice. It seemed amazing that such a dastardly assassination could take place so swiftly without a single person hearing any cry, yet the police had no clue. The murderer, who had no doubt accompanied or followed his victim from Monte Carlo, must have struck him down with unerring blow and escaped, leaving no trace behind. Yet there was nevertheless a witness of the deed – a witness who is present.”

“A witness!” gasped Liane.

“Yes,” Mariette said. “Max Richards will tell you what he saw.”

The man indicated, still standing with his back to the door, smiled triumphantly at Zertho, then said, —

“Yes, it is true. I witnessed the murder of Charles Holroyde. On that night I had left the Café de la Régence, and crossing the road overtook, in the Avenue de la Gare, Nelly Bridson, Captain Brooker’s adopted daughter. We had met before on several occasions, and after she had told me that she had been to a chemist’s to obtain something for Liane, who was not well, I offered, as it was late, to accompany her as far as her house in the Rue Dalpozzo. To this she made no objection, and we walked together along the Rue de France as far as the corner of the street wherein she lived. The moon, however, was bright upon the sea, and at my suggestion she consented to accompany me for a stroll along the Promenade. To reach the latter we had to pass through a narrow lane, which we had just entered, when we saw straight before us figures of men struggling together. Instantly I dragged Nelly back into the deep shadow where we could see without being observed. Suddenly I heard one of the men cry in English ‘My God! I’m stabbed!’ and he staggered back and fell. Then, discerning for the first time that the man had been attacked by two assailants, I rushed forward, but already they had bent and secured the contents of their victim’s pocket, and as I approached one of them threw the knife away. That man I recognised in the moonlight as Captain Brooker!”

A low groan escaped the lips of the pale-faced, agitated man who had been thus denounced, and he stood paralysed by fear, clutching the back of a chair for support.

“The man, however, who threw away the knife he had snatched up, was not the murderer,” Richards continued, in a clear, calm voice. “Both Nelly and myself were afterwards in complete accord that it was his companion who had, in the mêlée, struck the fatal blow. The murderer was the man there – Zertho d’Auzac.”

“It’s a lie!” cried the man indicated, “a foul, abominable falsehood! Brooker crept up behind him and tried to gag him with a scarf, when, finding that he was too powerful for him, he struck him full in the breast. In an instant he was dead.”

“Your story is an entire fabrication,” Richards answered, in a deprecatory tone. “We were both quite close to you, and saw your murderous face in the moonlight at the moment when you killed your victim. To us it seemed as though you alone had acted with premeditation, and that instead of assisting you, Brooker was endeavouring to release Holroyde, for I heard him cry in dismay, ‘Good God! Zertho, what are you doing?’ It was you who bent and secured the notes, while Brooker snatched up the knife, held it for an instant in hesitation, then seeing me approach in the darkness, flung it away and fled after you. I sped along the Promenade for some distance, leaving Nellie beside the prostrate man, but you both escaped, and when I returned she had gone. She had, I suppose, rushed home, fearing to be discovered there. But the young Englishman was already lifeless, therefore I left the spot hurriedly. Next morning, when the town was in a state of great excitement over the murdered Englishman, Nelly called at my rooms and begged me to say nothing to the police, because she felt certain the Captain would be arrested and convicted as an accessory. Therefore, in obedience to her wish, I have kept my knowledge secret until such time as I should choose to make the truth known.”

“Is that the actual truth?” Brooker asked, agape in wonderment.

“It is the entire truth of what I saw with my own eyes – of what I am prepared to swear in any court of justice.”

“So confused were the memories of that terrible incident that I have all along believed that I myself was the actual murderer,” said the Captain. “That night I had drunk more wine than usual, and remember very little of the occurrence save that I held the knife in my hand, and that on the following morning when I awoke I found my hands stained with blood, while in my pocket were some of the stolen notes. Zertho told me, when we met next day, that, in a frenzy of madness at having lost almost every sou I possessed, I had attacked Holroyde suddenly, murdered him, and filched his winnings from his pocket. He said, however, he would preserve my secret, and did so until a few weeks ago, when Liane refused to become his wife. Then he declared that if I did not compel her to marry him he would denounce me. I begged him to at least spare Liane, but he was inexorable. Therefore I was compelled to make confession to her, and she, rather than I should pay the terrible penalty, sacrificed all her love and happiness for my sake.”

His voice was broken with emotion, and although his lips moved, he could utter no further words.

George, standing beside his well-beloved, grasped her tiny hand and pressed it tenderly. At last he knew the secret of her acceptance of Zertho’s offer, and recognised all the tortures she must have suffered in order to save her father from degradation and shame.

“He lies!” Zertho cried, his sallow face bloodless. He saw how ingeniously he had been entrapped. “It was he himself who killed Holroyde.”

“If so,” exclaimed Max Richards, “why have you paid me so well for my silence?”

He did not reply.

“You are silent,” he went on. “Then I will tell you. You were shrewd enough to see that while I held my tongue you would still hold Captain Brooker in your power, and through the pressure you could place upon him, secure Liane as your wife. I knew this all along, although you believed me to be entirely ignorant of it. Still I allowed you to pay me, and I can assure you that the money you gave me with such bad grace often came in very useful,” he laughed. “I am not a Prince, and although I may be an adventurer, I thank Heaven I’m not an assassin.”

“I paid you all you demanded, every penny, yet now you turn upon me. It is the way of all blackmailers,” Zertho cried, still livid with anger.

“I speak the truth in order to save from your merciless clutches one woman whose fair name has never been besmirched. I speak for Liane’s sake.”

Zertho turned from him with a fierce imprecation on his lips, declaring that the whole story was a tissue of falsehoods, and denouncing his companion Brooker as the actual assassin.

“You forget,” said Richards, “that in addition to myself there was a second witness, Nelly Bridson, the girl with whom your victim had carried on a mild and harmless flirtation prior to meeting Mariette. You forget that she was with me, and actually saw you commit the deed.”

This truth rendered him voiceless.

“May I, in future, enjoy an absolutely clear conscience that I had no hand in the actual crime?” the Captain asked earnestly, turning to Richards.

“Certainly,” he answered, quickly. “Both Nelly and myself saw every movement clearly, for the moon was shining bright as day. We heard you shout in horror and dismay to the assassin; we saw the blow struck; we saw the theft committed, and watched you pick up the knife, which you threw down again instantly at the moment when I rushed forward.”

“I was, alas, only half-conscious of my actions,” he answered. “But the enormity of the crime must have sobered me instantly, for I remember a man approaching – who it was I was not aware until this moment – and knowing that we had been discovered and were in peril, flew for my life back to the Promenade, reaching home by a circuitous route about midnight.”

“You need have no further fear of this man,” Richards assured him. “His plan was ingenious, to shift the crime from his own shoulders to yours, and at the same time to marry Liane, but fortunately his own actions convict him. Liane has shown bravery and self-denial, which should further endear her to the heart of the man who loves her, and if the truth I have told brings back her happiness and peace of mind I shall not have spoken in vain.”

“I have much to thank you for,” Liane faltered, her face bright with a new-born happiness. “You have indeed revived within me hope, life and love. I knew this man was crafty and cruel, but I never dreamed that he himself had committed the crime with which he charged my father. I saw that he was inexorable and relentless, and was compelled to wrench myself from George, whom I loved, and promise to become the wife of – of this assassin.”

“Assassin!” cried Zertho. “No, the prospect of becoming Princess d’Auzac proved too attractive for you! It was because both you and your father wanted money and position, that you were ready to become my wife.”

“We desired nothing from you,” she answered proudly. “Both of us detested you when you found us in England, and thrust yourself upon us. Upon the gold of the guilty there always lies a curse.”

But shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, he said nothing. He fidgetted, anxious to escape, for although he preserved a calm, insolent, almost indifferent manner, he nevertheless knew that concealment of the truth was now no longer possible. At the very instant when he had felt his position the most secure, his perfidy, his cunning, and his crime had been laid bare before them all.

He clenched his hands, muttering an oath behind his set teeth, while his dark eyes, with a glance of hatred in them, flashed with an unnatural brilliance.

For a few moments no one spoke. The silence was complete save for the roar of the waves on the rocks outside and the sobs that now and then escaped Liane. She clung to George, burying her beautiful head upon his shoulder.

At last Mariette spoke, saying, —

“There is yet another fact which is, in itself, sufficient proof of this man’s unscrupulousness. One witness of his crime still lives; the other, Nelly Bridson, is dead. Nelly was once my friend. Unknown to Captain Brooker I knew her intimately as a bright girl months before Charles Holroyde met and admired her. Indeed, it was by her that I was introduced to the man who afterwards loved me, and was so brutally done to death. When at last she became aware that her lover had forsaken her some ill-feeling arose between us. I knew that she must hate me, but I treated her jealousy with unconcern, and remained towards her the same as before. In my heart, however, I envied her her youth and good looks, and feared that Charles Holroyde might return to his first love. But, alas! he was murdered mysteriously – by whom I knew not, until three days ago, when Max Richards divulged to me the truth. Then I resolved that punishment should fall upon the guilty. Well, I hated Nelly because I knew that Holroyde had admired her, and I likewise hated Liane, entertaining a suspicion that because she always avoided me she had spoken of me detrimentally to the man whom I loved. After Holroyde’s death I left the Riviera and went to Paris, to Wiesbaden, to Vienna, caring little whither I went, until at last, about a year afterwards, I returned to Monte Carlo, and heard from one of Captain Brooker’s friends that he and the girls had left long ago for England, where they had resolved to live in the future. Immediately after my lover’s death luck had forsaken me entirely, and I passed a spurious bank-note for a large amount at Marseilles. The police were endeavouring to find me, and it was to avoid arrest that I was travelling. I wrote several times to Nelly and received replies, stating how happy they were in their country home in England, and how much more peaceful and enjoyable it was than at Nice. Still there was one matter upon which I desired to see her, a matter connected with the family of the man who was dead. He had, I believed, told her of his relations in England, but he had spoken no word of them to me. I had in my possession a Cosway miniature he had one day left at my house, an antique portrait of an elderly lady, beautifully painted on ivory and set round with brilliants. He had mentioned to me that it was an heirloom, and I desired to return it to the family if I could find them. With that object I went to England, and one summer’s evening met Nelly by appointment in a country lane a short distance from Stratfield Mortimer.”

“You met her?” Captain Brooker exclaimed. “She never told me so.”

“She had, alas, no opportunity,” Mariette answered. “For it was on that evening she met with her death. She had ridden her cycle, and I found her resting in the gateway she had indicated in her letter. She seemed unusually nervous, I noticed, nevertheless I attributed it to the fact that she regarded me as her rival, even though the man we both loved was dead. For nearly an hour we remained together chatting, until the sunset faded and dusk crept on. I asked her what the man had told her regarding his family, and showed her the antique miniature. Then she told me a fact which held me speechless in amazement. Charles Holroyde was no other than the son of a man living close by that spot, Sir John Stratfield.”

“My brother!” cried George. “Impossible!”

“It was the truth. He had told her everything. The father of Charles Holroyde was actually living within a mile of that spot, and the portrait was one of Lady Anne Stratfield, a noted beauty, which was painted by the fashionable miniaturist, Cosway, shortly before his death. At first I could not credit that he was actually Sir John’s son, but she brought proof positive to show that what she said was correct, and at her request I gave her the miniature to return to Sir John. She promised to call next day and give it into his hands, saying that it came from a person who desired to remain anonymous.”

“Why did you not come to the Court yourself?” George asked quickly.

“I had no desire to meet the father of my dead lover,” she replied.

“But he must have been acquainted with you, because he mentioned you in his will.”

“Yes,” she answered reflectively, “he must, I suppose, have known of me.”

“Then what occurred afterwards?” Brooker eagerly inquired. “Tell us the events of that night in their proper sequence.”

“After we had talked for some time, she telling me how happy both she and Liane were, and how the latter had become engaged clandestinely to the Baronet’s son, George, she rode beside me as far as the lodge gates of the Court, where we parted. Then she remounted and rode back in the direction of the spot where she was afterwards discovered, while I strolled slowly on to the station, whence I returned to London. It was dusk before I left Stratfield Mortimer, but as I changed at Reading to enter the train for Paddington, I caught a glimpse of a face I thought I knew. It was only for a single instant, but the face was one that once seen is never forgotten. It was the face of Zertho.”

“You saw me!” he gasped.

“Yes. You were in a crowd on Reading platform, and were about to enter the same train as myself, but changing your mind, suddenly left the station hurriedly,” she said. “At that time, remember, I had no idea that you were in England, for Nelly had not mentioned your visit. Two days later, however, I was appalled by reading in the papers that poor Nelly had been murdered almost immediately after I had left her, and quite close to the spot where we had at first stood. Afterwards in the report of the inquest, I saw that you were present and had given evidence. Then there was silence. The affair was an enigma, and the police possessed no clue. The papers mentioned a broad mark a foot wide upon the dust, which they regarded as mysterious. It was made by my skirt which swept the road. I alone held the key to the enigma. In order to assure myself that my suspicions were not unfounded, I returned to Reading, made careful inquiries there, and when I had satisfied myself, left England with the knowledge I had obtained still in my possession.”

“What did you discover?” inquired George, quickly, while Liane still clung to him tremblingly.

“I discovered absolute proof of the identity of Nolly’s assassin. It was Zertho d’Auzac!”

Chapter Twenty

At Cross Lane

“You lie!” the Prince cried indignantly. “There is no proof.”

“Listen!” Mariette retorted in a firm, harsh tone, gazing at him steadily. “Listen while I recall to your memory the events of that fateful night. In my inquiries I traced your progress step by step, and every movement is entirely plain to me. You went to England with solely one object in view, namely, to get rid of Nelly Bridson, the woman who could convict you of murder.”

“I deny that I had any hand whatever in the affair,” he protested. “Why, she went with me to the station and saw me off to Reading! It was given in evidence that the police inquired of the station officials at Stratfield Mortimer, and also at Reading, and were entirely satisfied that there was no suspicion upon me. Therefore, whatever you say is utterly worthless,” he added, turning from her contemptuously.

“We shall see,” she replied. “If you have so conveniently forgotten what your movements were, I will describe them. It is quite true that Nelly saw you off to Reading. But prior to this, while alone in the dining-room of Captain Brooker’s cottage, you found lying about the letter I had written her making the appointment. Curiosity prompted you to read its contents, and you therefore knew that at seven o’clock she would be in Cross Lane. You bade her farewell at eight minutes past six, and your train arrived at Reading at twenty minutes past. You immediately took a fly back towards Stratfield, but dismissed the man at Threemile Cross, and after watching the conveyance out of sight, took a cut across the fields for about a mile and a half to Cross Lane, thus completely doubling. It was growing dark when you reached the railway bridge, but you saw your victim coming from the opposite direction, and drew back half-way up the steep ascent, where you knew she must pass slowly. Suspecting no danger, the light-hearted girl allowed her machine to run swiftly down the incline, then pedalled hard for the ascent, when suddenly you raised your weapon, took deliberate aim and fired. With a cry she dropped sideways on her feet, the machine falling with her. Then she blindly staggered forward two or three paces, and sank to earth, dying. For an instant you waited, but even while you looked the poor girl sighed heavily and passed away. Then, fearing detection, you turned and fled back across the fields to Reading station, where I saw you an hour later.”