Inspector Stoddart's Most Famous Cases. Annie Haynes

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      "For that matter I cannot imagine you married, but I presume that some day I shall have to get accustomed to the idea, and you had better do the same. But that is enough of my affairs and of my first piece of news. The second is that an old friend wants to see you."

      "What old friend? I don't think I have any old friends," Hilary said languidly.

      "Oh, well! Perhaps you haven't," Miss Lavinia agreed hurriedly. "Anyway, you shall see for yourself." She bustled out of the room.

      Hilary felt half inclined to follow her, and demand an explanation, but her desire was conquered by the general malaise from which she had suffered of late, and she laid her head back on her chair and gave herself up to a daydream of the past. From it she was awakened by a gentle tap at the door.

      Wondering whether this could be the old friend spoken of by her aunt she said, "Come in."

      The door opened and Basil Wilton stood on the threshold. Then at last Hilary was startled into a momentary semblance of her old self. The hot blood surged over cheeks and neck and temples.

      "You!" she said in an amazed tone. "Why have you come here?"

      "To see you," Basil Wilton answered quietly.

      He came across the room and stood before her.

      "Will you forgive me, Hilary?"

      As quickly as it had come Hilary's colour faded away.

      "Oh, yes, I forgive you," she said listlessly. "You were quite right to marry Miss Houlton if you liked her best, only—you might have told me."

      "Told you what?" Wilton began. Then he broke off—"Liked her best! Hilary, is that what you have been thinking? Dear, didn't you understand?"

      "No. I did not understand. I don't know what you mean," Hilary said slowly, in the same uninterested fashion.

      Basil possessed himself of one hand, noting as he did so that both were ringless.

      "It has all been a miserable tangle, Hilary, but one thing has never varied—my love for you."

      A faint, mocking laugh came from Hilary's pale lips.

      "Why did you never write to me? Why did you marry Miss Houlton if your love for me had not altered? No, no! Please go! I can't talk. My head is not clear."

      But Wilton still clasped the cold hand that tried to withdraw itself.

      "Let me try to make you understand, Hilary. I wrote to you again and again, but I had no answer. Of course my letters to you were stopped, as yours were to me, by Skrine."

      As the last word left his lips Hilary shivered from head to foot.

      "Not—not that!"

      "Just this once, dear, and then his name need never be mentioned between us again. There can be no doubt that our letters were intercepted by Skrine. And he helped Iris, who—Heaven knows why she should—had apparently taken one of those unbalanced fancies to me that one hears of sometimes. She asked me to her flat and we had always got on very well together—I need not say that I had never suspected her of any knowledge or complicity in the cruel end. So—I was feeling very unhappy and depressed; I heard on all sides that you were going to marry Skrine, and I was at a loose end; there seemed no reason why I shouldn't go. I was taken ill there. She drugged me, so much is certain, probably incited by Skrine, who found me in his way. At any rate I was kept under the influence of a certain preparation of morphia, and the purchase of it has now been definitely traced to Skrine. A marriage was suggested to me. She had been very good to me. She had nursed me. You were out of reach, and there seemed nothing else to be done. Then I dare say I was an expensive luxury and the flat must have cost a lot. I am afraid she must have asked for more money than Skrine could give. The idea of shooting her, poor thing, and putting the blame on me must have occurred to him. Thus at one blow he meant to rid himself of both the obstacles in his path. It was a diabolical scheme; it nearly succeeded."

      Hilary shuddered. "I wish I was dead. I wish I had died when I was ill. Now—now—I am young, I suppose I shall live for years and years and never forget—anything." Her lips quivered and two tears trickled slowly down her cheeks.

      There was a great pity in Wilton's eyes as he watched her. Presently he said in a voice that not his best efforts could steady:

      "Hilary, let me teach you to forget. I—I am going abroad. People have been very kind. I have got an appointment at a hospital in Kenya—I want to take you with me, Hilary."

      The girl shook her head.

      "No, I am not going anywhere with anybody. I shall stay here—till the end."

      "The end!" Wilton repeated. "Darling, the end of all this unhappy business is going to be that you will marry me."

      "No, no! I am not going to marry anybody!" Hilary cowered down among her cushions, the terror in her eyes going to the heart of the man who loved her.

      "Oh, Hilary dear!" he said, not offering to touch her again. "You are so young, all this dreadful time will—must pass into the mists eventually. No one remembers for ever."

      "I shall!" Hilary shivered. "Oh, Basil, if I could only forget!"

      The use of his Christian name in some unexplainable way gave Wilton hope.

      "You must let me teach you, dearest. Hilary, why did you promise to marry him—Skrine? Did he force you to it?"

      "No—not exactly. I promised to marry him to save you."

      "To save me!" Basil echoed in amazement.

      "Yes, yes!" Hilary said feverishly. "He wouldn't defend you unless I said I would marry him, and everybody said he was the only man to get you off; so I promised—and then—you wouldn't let him."

      "He wouldn't have got me off," Basil said at once. "I always hated Skrine. It was more than jealousy in my heart. I suspected him all along. Oh, Hilary, the bitterest drop in my cup was the thought that you would belong to him—that you would be his wife."

      "It was all for your sake, Basil. I could not let you be—be—"

      "Why not?" Basil Wilton inquired quietly.

      "You say you will not marry me. Why should you mind if I was convicted?"

      Once more the colour surged over Hilary's pale cheeks.

      "I did not want you to be—be—hanged."

      "Plenty of people are," Wilton said callously. "And you do not seem to take much notice. Why should you mind one more?"

      "Oh, well!" She hesitated. "You are different, of course. I know you—"

      "Is that all?" Basil smiled down at her. "Oh, Hilary, you little humbug!" He managed to get one arm round her and his lips just touched her soft, short hair.

      "Oh, Hilary, Hilary dear," he said brokenly, "it is happiness—it is worth it all to know that you are mine—that you never belonged to him, not for one day—one hour."

      "Basil, I would have died rather than marry Sir СКАЧАТЬ