“I only tell you the truth, dear. Mother
thinks she can induce me to marry him because he is
so rich, but I repeat that I have no intention whatever
of doing so. I love you, Hugh—and only
you.”
Again he took her in his strong arms and pressed her
to him, still being watched by the mysterious individual
who had followed Dorise.
“Ah! my darling, these are, indeed, moments
of supreme happiness,” Hugh exclaimed as he
held her tightly in his arms. “I wonder
when we dare meet again?”
“Soon, dear—very soon, I hope.
Let us make another appointment,” she said.
“On Friday week mother is going to spend the
night with Mrs. Deane down at Ascot. I shall
make excuse to stay at home.”
“Right. Friday week at the same place and
time,” he said cheerily.
“I’ll have to go now,” she said
regretfully. “I only wish I could stay
longer, but I must get back at once. If mother
misses me she’ll have a fit.”
So he walked with her out of the Victoria Gate into
the Bayswater Road and put her into an empty taxi
which was passing back to Oxford Street.
Then, when he had pressed her hand and wished her
adieu, he continued, towards Notting Hill Gate, and
thence returned to Kensington.
But, though he was ignorant of the fact, the rather
lank figure which had been waiting outside the house
in Grosvenor Gardens now followed him almost as noiselessly
as a shadow. Never once did the watcher lose
sight of him until he saw him enter the house in Abingdon
Road with his latchkey.
Then, when the door had closed, the mysterious watcher
passed by and scrutinized the number, after which
he hastened back to Kensington High Street, where
he found a belated taxi in which he drove away.
ON THE SURREY HILLS
On the following morning, about twelve o’clock,
Emily, Mrs. Mason’s stout maid-of-all-work,
showed a tall, well-dressed man into Hugh’s
frowsy little sitting-room where he sat reading.
He sprang to his feet when he recognized his visitor
to be Charles Benton.
“Well my boy!” cried his visitor cheerily.
“So I’ve found you at last! We all
thought you were on the Continent, lying low somewhere.”
“So I have been,” replied the young man
faintly. “You’ve heard of that affair
at Monte Carlo?”
“Of course. And you are suspected—wanted
by the police? That’s why I’m here,”
Benton replied. “This place isn’t
safe for you. You must get away from it at once,”
he added, lowering his voice.
“Why isn’t it safe?”
“Because at Scotland Yard they know you are
somewhere in Kensington, and they’re hunting
high and low for you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Harpur, one of the assistant Commissioners
of Police, happened to be in the club yesterday, and
we chatted. So I pumped him as to the suspected
person from Monte Carlo, and he declared that you were
known to be in this district, and your arrest was
only a matter of time. So you must clear out
at once.”
