William Le Queux - The Sign of the Stranger

Walking forward along the dim forest path covered with moss and wild flowers, where the rising sun glinted upon the grey trunks of the trees and the foliage above rustled softly in the wind, I was sorely puzzled over the innkeeper’s manner when I had put that direct question to him.

Notwithstanding his denial, I felt convinced that he had recognised the dead man.

I had almost gained the outer edge of the wood, walking noiselessly over the carpet of moss, when of a sudden the sound of voices caused me to start and halt.

At first I saw nothing, but next moment through the tree trunks twenty yards away I caught sight of two persons strolling slowly in company – a man and a woman.

The man’s face I could not see, but the woman, whose hair, beneath her navy blue Tam o’ Shanter cap showed dishevelled as a ray of sunlight struck it, and whose white silk dress showed muddy and bedraggled beneath her dark cloak, I recognised in an instant – although her back was turned towards me.

It was Lady Lolita, the goddess of my admiration. Lolita – my queen – my love.

I held my breath, open-mouthed, utterly dumbfounded.

Lolita’s appearance showed too plainly that she had been out all the night. Her cloak was torn at the shoulder, evidently by a bramble, and the weary manner in which she walked was as though she were exhausted.

The man, bearded, broad-shouldered and athletic, seemed, as far as I could judge from his back, to be of middle age. He wore a rough tweed suit and a golf cap, and as he strode by her side he spoke with her earnestly, emphasising his words with gesture, as though giving her certain directions, which she heard resignedly and in silence.

I noticed that when he stretched out his hand to add force to his utterance that she shrank from him and shuddered. She was probably very cold, for the early morning air was chilly, and the dew was heavy on the ground.

Without betraying my presence, I crept on noiselessly after them, hoping that I might overhear the words the fellow uttered, but in this I was doomed to disappointment, for at the edge of the wood, before I realised the man’s intention, he suddenly raised his hat, and turning, left her, disappearing by the narrow path that led through a small spinney to Lowick village. Thus I was prevented from obtaining a glance at his features and blamed myself for not acting with more foresight and ingenuity.

After he had left her, she stood alone, gazing after him. No word, however, escaped her. By his attitude I knew that he had threatened her, and that she had no defence. She was inert and helpless.

In a few moments, with a wild gesture, she sank upon her knees in the grass, and throwing up her two half-bare arms to heaven cried aloud for help, her wild beseeching words reaching me where I stood.

My adored was in desperation. I heard the words of her fervent prayer and stood with head uncovered. Long and earnestly she besought help, forgiveness and protection; then with a strange, determined calm she rose again, and stood in hesitation which way to proceed.

For the first time she seemed to realise that the sun was already shining, and that it was open day, for she glanced at her clothes, and with feminine dexterity shook out her bedraggled skirts and glanced at them dismayed.

I recognised her utter loneliness: therefore I walked forward to her.

Slowly she recognised me, as through a veil, and starting, she fell back, glaring at me as though she were witness of some appalling apparition.

“You!” she gasped. “How did you find me here?”

“No matter how I found you, Lady Lolita,” I responded. “You are in want of a friend, and I am here to give you help, as I promised you last night. This is no time for words; we must act, and act quickly. You must let me take you back to the Hall.”

“But look at me!” she cried in dismay. “I can’t go back like this! They would – they would suspect!”

“There must be no suspicion,” I said, thoroughly aroused to the importance of secrecy now that the police were already in the park making their investigations. “You cannot return to the Hall like this, for the servants would see you and know that you’ve been absent all night.”

“I’m afraid of Weston,” she said. “She is so very inquisitive.” Weston was her maid.

“Then you must come with me to my house,” I suggested. “We could reach it across the fields and enter by the back way unobserved. I can send Mrs Dawson out on some pretext, and you can remain locked in my sitting-room while I go up to the Hall and fetch one of your walking-dresses. I can slip up to your wardrobe and manage to steal something without Weston suspecting. Then, when you return, you can explain that you’ve merely been out for an early walk.”

The suggestion, although a desperate one, commended itself to her, and with a few words of heartfelt thanks she announced her readiness to accompany me.

I longed to inquire the name of the male companion, but feared to do so, seeing how pale and agitated she was. Her face had changed sadly since the previous night, for she was now white, wan and haggard, presenting a strange, terrified appearance, dishevelled and bedraggled as she was. She must certainly have been out in the park for fully seven hours. Was she aware of the tragedy, I wondered?

I told her nothing of the discovery. How could I in those circumstances? True, she was not wearing the ermine collar, as I had suspected, yet the prints made by her shoes as she now walked with me were assuredly the same as those I had effaced.

We spoke but little as we hurried along, creeping always beneath walls and behind trees, and often compelled to make long détours in order to obtain cover and avoid recognition by any of those working in the fields.

Compelled to scale the high wall of the park at last, I assisted her over without much difficulty, for although she preserved all her natural beauty, she was athletic, fond of all games and a splendid rider to hounds.

“If I can only conceal the fact that I’ve been absent all night, it will be of such very material assistance,” she said after we had crossed the high road and gained the shelter of a long narrow spinney. “I shall never be able to sufficiently repay you for this,” she added.

“Remember the confession of my heart to you last night, Lolita,” was my answer. “We will discuss it all later on – when you are safe.” And we pushed forward, our eyes and ears on the alert as we approached the village.

At last, by good fortune, I managed to get her unobserved inside my house. Creeping noiselessly up the stairs I took her to one of my dusty, disused attics in preference to my sitting-room, and there she locked herself in. Not, however, before I had pressed her hand in silence as assurance that she might place her trust in me.

A few moments later I found my old housekeeper in the kitchen, and having given her directions to go on an errand for me to a farm about a mile and a half distant, I started off up to the Hall upon as strange an errand as man has ever gone, namely to steal a dress belonging to his love.

I had, of course, disregarded my appointment with Pink, and not wishing to meet the searchers or the doctor himself, I reached the Hall by the bypath that led from Lowick, passing along the edge of the Monk’s Wood wherein I had met Lolita.

On entering the mansion I found that the startling news of the tragedy had just reached there, for the servants were all greatly alarmed. They crowded about me to learn the latest details, but I passed quickly on to my room and for a few minutes pretended to be engrossed in correspondence, although my real reason was to await an opportunity to reach her ladyship’s room after the servants’ bell had sounded and the faithful maid Weston had gone down to breakfast.