it with the key upon his chain, then, glancing at the clock and rising, said —
“We must lose no time. All is prepared. Come with me.”
My heart at that instant beat so loudly that its pulsations were audible. I was to sacrifice myself and wed an unknown bride in order to gain that packet of banknotes. Mine was indeed a strange position, but, held beneath the spell of this man’s presence, I obeyed him and followed him, curious to see the face of the woman to whom I was to give my name.
Together we went out into the hall where stood the man-servant who had admitted me.
“Is everything ready, Davies?” his master inquired. “Everything, sir. The carriage is at the door.”
“I would ask of you one favour,” the Tempter said, in a low voice; “do not express any surprise. All will be afterwards explained.”
From the inner pocket of his frock-coat he produced a pair of white kid gloves, which he handed me, observing, with a smile —
“They are large for you, I fear; but that will not much matter. You will meet my daughter at the church; it looks better.”
Then, as I commenced putting on the gloves, we went out together, and entered the smart brougham awaiting us. All preparations had evidently been made for my marriage.
Our drive was not a long one; but so bewildered was I by my singular situation, that I took little notice of the direction in which we were travelling. Indeed, I was utterly unfamiliar with that part of London, and I only know that we crossed Sloane Street, and, after traversing a number of back streets, suddenly stopped before a church standing in a small cul-de-sac.
The strip of faded red baize upon the steps showed that we were expected; but the church was empty save for a wheezy, unshaken old verger, who, greeting us, preceded us to a pew in front.
Scarcely had we seated ourselves, conversing in whispers, when we heard a second carriage stop; and, turning, I saw in the entrance the silhouette of my unknown bride in her white satin gown. She advanced up the aisle leaning heavily upon the arm of a smartly-dressed man, who wore a monocle with foppish air. Her progress was slow – due, no doubt, to extreme weakness. Her veil was handsome, but so thick that, in the dim gloom of the church, I was quite unable to distinguish her features.
As she passed where I sat, silent, anxious, and wondering, the Tempter prompted me, and I rose and took my place beside her, while at the same moment the officiating clergyman himself appeared from the vestry. His face was red and pimply, showing him to be of intemperate habits; but at his order I took my unknown companion’s slim, soft hand in mine, and the scent of the orange blossom in her corsage filled my nostrils. I stood like a man in a dream.
At that instant the Tempter bent tenderly to her, saying —
“Beryl, my child, this is your wedding day. You are to be married to the man you love. Listen!” Then in a nasal tone, which sounded weirdly in the silence of the place, the clergyman began to drone the first words of the Marriage Service, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together,” until he came to the first question to which I responded in a voice which sounded strange and cavernous.
I was selling myself for twenty thousand pounds. The thought caused me a slight twinge of conscience. Turning to the woman at my side, he asked —
“Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep ye only unto him as long as ye both shall live?”
A silence fell, deep and complete.
Two ordinary-looking men, who had entered the church to serve as witnesses, exchanged glances. Then a slight sound escaped my unknown bride, like a low sigh, and we could just distinguish the reply —
“I will.”
The remainder of the service was gabbled through. A ring which the Tempter had slipped into my hand I placed upon her finger, and ten minutes later I had signed the register, and was the husband of a woman upon whose face I had never looked.
The name which she signed with mine was “Beryl Wynd”; beyond that I knew nothing. Utterly bewildered at my position, I sat beside my bride on the drive back, but she preserved silence, and I exchanged no word with her. She shuddered once, as though cold. Her father accompanied us, keeping up a lively conversation during the whole distance.
Arrived at the house, the woman who had sought me at Rowan Road came forward to meet my bride, and at once accompanied her upstairs, while we entered the dining-room. The two witnesses, who had followed in the second carriage, quickly joined us. The butler Davies opened champagne, and my health, with that of the bride, was drunk in solemn silence. The man with the monocle was absent. Truly my nuptial feast was a strange one.
A few minutes later, however, I was again alone in the library with the Tempter, whose eyes had grown brighter, and whose face had assumed an even more demoniacal expression. The door was closed, the silence unbroken.
“So far all has been perfectly satisfactory,” he said, halting upon the hearthrug suddenly and facing me. “There is, however, still one condition to be fulfilled, before I place the money in your hands.”
“And what is that?” I inquired.
“That your wife must die before sunset,” he answered, in a hoarse, earnest whisper. “She must die – you understand! It is now half-past twelve.”
“What?” I cried, starting forward. “You would bribe me to murder your own daughter?”
He shrugged his thin shoulders, made an impatient movement, his small eyes glittered, and in a cold hard voice, he exclaimed —
“I said that it is imperative she should die before the money is yours – that is all.”
Chapter Three
Concerning a Compact
“Then you make murder one of the conditions of payment?” I said, facing him.
“I have only said she must die before sunset,” he answered. “She cannot live, in any case, longer than a few hours. It is easy for you, a doctor, to render her agony brief.”
“To speak plainly,” I said, with rising indignation, “you wish me to kill her! You offer me twenty thousand pounds, not for marriage, but for the committal of the capital sin.”
His thin lips twitched nervously and his brows contracted.
“Ah!” he responded, still quite cool. “I think you view the matter in a wrong light. There are various grades of murder. Surely it is no great crime, but rather a humane action, to put a dying girl out of her agony.”
“To shorten her life a single minute would be a foul assassination,” I replied, regarding him with loathing. “And further, sir, you do not appear to fully realise your own position, or that it is a penal offence to attempt to bribe a person to take another’s life.”
He laughed a short, defiant laugh.
“No, no,” he said. “Please do not waste valuable time by idle chatter of that kind. I assure you that I have no fear whatever of the result of my action. There is no witness here, and if you endeavoured to bring me before a judge, who, pray, would believe you?”
