A CONSPIRACY of SILENCE

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIX, Issue 210, 2 September 1908, Page 10

A CONSPIRACY of SILENCE

_B_Y SIDNEY WARWICK, 'Author of "In "Name Only,"-"Leffert's Dilemma," The Knave of Diamonds," "A Perilous Tryst," etc.

r CHAPTER "VI. ~ HTJSBAXD AXD WIFE. The man whom her wild, passionate - outcry was on the verge of incriminating - was her husband! It was that swift re- --- membrance that left Olive dumb, the pas- - sionate sentence uncompleted. A tragic feeling of utter helplessness - swept over her —the confused sense of - helplessness and tmreality that will some- - times trouble a sleeper in a dream. Itennis—JDennis, wnose promised -wife she fiad been-but-a—week ago, was charged ivith this crime, and she, who knew the ■truth, who could have cleared him, must remain silent; she who that morning had tecome that other man's wife. "Olive, don't worry about mc," she heard Dennis say. "It will be all right, i-ever fear. Some stupid blunder has occurred, but it is bound to be cleared up soon. No sane per3on can seriously think 1 killed Roden." And then she heard one of the two plain-clothe 3 men speaking." '■"You must come now, Mr. Garth." The tones, if brusk, were not unkindly. Olive stood as if dazed. It was almost on this very spot that Dennis had parted from her before, less than a week ago. If she had only not let him go then in her foolish pride and pique! If she had not let him go then in anger, how different everything would have been! "This charge could not have been brought against him; she -would not have 'been the wife of a man she did not love. The aching sense of irreparable loss that filled her lay too deep for tears. i All right; I am ready." Dennis had pride; it showed in his air of indifference a≤ he turned to go with the two men. •'Oh, Dennis, Dennis " Olive's wild cry ended in a strangled sob; -instinctively-she made a pitiful gesture she saw him go,, then her arms fell with a weary hopelessness to her side, as she realised the impotence of her revolt against the blind fate that had dis-1

posed of their lives. 1 She stood, her dull eyes following the three figures along the path until lost to sight. Then at last ehe turned and ■walked back to the great house. As she crossed the lawn, Olive saw the light in the window of Lady Trent's room, saw the figure of the trained nurse outlined for a passing-instant on the blind. Behind the long French windows overlooking the lawn, the drawingroom was lit only by the blaze of the beech logs burning on the low hearth. The closed windows were uncurtained. In the fitful illumination of the firelight she saw Ailwyn there alone.

For a moment Olive hesitated, for a moment she felt that she would give any- . thing to run away and hide herself from her new responsibilities —from her husTiband of a few hours; then she forced rierself to tap at the_window. Ailwyn started-neryously and looked round; he crossed the"foom quickly and ■unfastened the window. - The red nicker of the fire_conterasted with the pallor of Jher face; Hie white lace falling from her dark hair over her shoulders -was not whiter. He looked at her with a fierce wistfutoess.- -Iα- the sorrow, in' the clouded eyes, she never looked more beau-__tifal—this-daiaty. slender slip of a girl, ■who bore his name now, and was his ■wife. A longing posseted him to take her in his arms In the sudden tenderness

that thrilled himj only the constraint " 'hQrnroJLtte knowledge; that it was not Z- love:of;hi3S that_had won-her--conquered - tEe Tnrpnlse.- -He-only £oucfied-b.er hand; —tlte flugem Tvere icy-celdr- A little shiver Tan through her at the touch. "Olive," he said, "I have been looking for you. Why-did you slip out alone? It is our wedding-day—and.. I have scarcely eeen you alone. -tOlixe, we are man and ivife now; you "won't l€t~the~ shadow of this thing, "this secret, keep-tts -apart? God knows it was not premeditated— that a moment has not passed since but I would have given all I possess for it to be undoner~But "for the thought of it, and the thought-that itVmay make you shrink from mc,, dear, how happy I should Mve been .-to-night -with you as my jbride!" r~": ; ' _~ She did-not spea-k.__A strange stupor _ seemeT-tg-'have fallein on her. There was so nraeh" to say—but words would - not-comer- — -

"Olive," lie went-on, and a deeper note of passion crept into his voice, "I wonder it/4rhea the horror of this thing •wears "off and" is forgotten, whether you -will ever come to care for me —as 1 care, Olive-J- Dear,. until to-day, which made us husSand and wife, I never realised how much I cared"for you!" He stood looking at, her wistfully, but her face was turned away. In the dusk of the room the flicker of the beech logs found an answer-ing-flame-in her hair. "Promise mc, Olive, -when .pututhis tragedy beihind~ us,~ and it is gome and forgotten, you will try to care a little, too." - "Don't, she cried, turning to■wafcl "him, - with her eyes full of tears and a. sob in her voice. '"Tou—you don't know what has happened to-night!" "What do you mean?" A sudden fear leaped into his voice, looked out of his eyes. "For Heaven's sake, what has happened?' _ "Ailwjn," 'something terrible has happened!" was speaking hur-siedly-and-feverishly now, ...her eyes unnaturally bright—"l married you to-day to prevent the truth coming out, that your mother might be spared. But it -was useless—all so useless! The truth cannot be hidden—cannot be! Ailwyn, the time has come for you to "Olive!" : His face had become white. In a moment her words had dashed him from the growing sense of security. He caught Jier wrist and searched her face. -'"We cannot keep silent any longer," she whispered "So long as our conspiracy of silence wronged no one, we were right to "keep this a secret. But our silence is wronging someone now! They ■hav-e arrested Dennis Garth to-night for what you did. Ailwyn!" She heard his quick intake of breath. "You say Dennis Garth is arrested?" he n?peated_incredulously. "How can yon Know?" It must be some mistake. On the face. of. it the thing is absurd, impossible!" His tones were hoarse. Thi- lutnd-he had-flmigrout to steady himself >hook as it gripped the back of a ctinir. "Oh. if it were only a mistake!" she said hopelessly. "I was speaking to him when the police came up and arrested hi in. It is no mistake!" At first, in the overwhelming horror that swept over him, Ailwyn Trent could not trust his voice. When at last -he spoke it was shrill with a sharp quaver of fear: "But—-bnt there is no" case against him —tisereis "no to possibly connect brni with that man's death." -v

recovered , euffi-

ciently to tell the police what she saw — what she fancied she saw, for she mistook you for him as she saw you rushing away in a moment after it all happened!" Olive cried. "And it was known that there was bad blood between Dennis Garth and the dead man; Dennis was heard to utter threats."

'*My God!" The man's lips were bloodless as the hoarse cry broke from them.

"Ailwyn, you see. don't you, that we have no longer the right to keep silent?" she cried appealingly. "You must speak now. There is nothing else for it. After all, you didn't intend to kill him; it was ai» accident "

'"Yes, but—but will they believe that? ,, he muttered desperately. 'The coastguard's evidence at the inquest—that the man who threw Roden over was the assailant, had sprung at Roden as if to hurl him over the cliff! And then my silence after all this time. If I had gone to the police immediately after he fell, then there would have been a chance of my story being believed. But—what if they think I meant to hurl him over, to kill" him?"

Ailwyn Trent' was thinking, too, of something else.

Not only the consequences of Ernest Hoden's tragic threatened him if he spoke now to exculpate young Garth. Inevitablr his portrait would be published in the papers, and that portrait scattered broadcast might be the means of his being identified with the George Ailwyn whose whereabouts Scotland Yard was endeavouring to trace in connection with the widely discussed murder in the Battersea flat of that woman who had been his wife.

■•Mrs. Ailwyn" had been alive on the very day when he was applying for the license to insure his immediate marriage with Olive; but she had been murdered on that day. And he was known to have been at her flat. That evidence would come out—fatal evidence of a motive. To speak now meant for Ailwyn Trent not only the scandal of that horrible exposure, but in all probability his arrest for the murder of hie first wife.

I The ground seemed mined under his feet. His face twitched pitiably; his nerve was gone.

With a start he suddenly noticed how closely she was looking at him. Was it a flicker of scorn he saw in her eyes?

""Ailwyn, you must understand; it is riot a matter of what they will believe, whether you can convince the world of the truth of your story. That is not the point at issue. It has become a matter of duty, of honour! Another man has been arrested for your act; there is only one course to take —for an honourable man to take!"

There was passion in the lowered voice. Her eyes, fastened on his face, were lit by the intensity of her emotions as a> painted window leaps out vivid in the dark from the light behind.

■'There is no other way for an honourable man," she repeated.

"But —but I tell you the charge against Garth is absurd; it will be dropped —it must be!" His voice was quavering. "At worst it can be only temporary inconvenience for him—a matter of days, perhaps only hours. You don't want your husband to put his head into the lion's mouth for no reason at all!"

"Ailwyn!"

She caught his wrist ; looked into his nervously twitching face as though she would read his soul. TTi« cje& fell -efore that intense scrutiny.

"Ailwyn, I cannot believe that you are a coward —I won't let myself think it— only don't you realize that Dennis Garth, a friend of yours, has been arrested, will sleep to-night in prison unless you speak out? There must have ed stTong evidence against him, or no magistrate would have signed the warrant. If you keep silent—but you can't do that: you are a Trent—one of an old family that is proud of its stainless name. You can't keep silent!" she panted. "Ailwyn, I made a sacrifice for your seke—for your mother's sake—my marriage, that has been a wasted sacrifice, after all. Now it is your turn to make a [sacrifice. You must,, clear Dennis Garth!"

Almost roughly hp drew his wrist from her grasp. "It isn't time to speak yet. We must wait the march of events. The police are certain to find out their mistake, and Garth will be set free/ he said, his face drawn and colourless. "Do you care for this man more than for your husband?"

The delicate face coloured faintly; a contemptuous scorn lurked in the curve of the proud mouth.

"It is not my feelings—it is a point of honour we-are discussing. Do you not understand that your honour is at stake now —in my eyes, in your own soul?" she flashed out. "What if your silence should drive mc to speak?"

"You cannot. You are my wife. You cannot speak!"

She drew a deep breath.

"Ho; I did not realise what I was saying. I am your wife, and I could not betray you, of course. But your wife in name only!" she said slowly.

He frowned impatiently. '"It isn't time to speak yet," he repeated stubbornly. "It isn't "

There was a tap at the door. The nurse put her head into the room and spoke hurriedly: "Mr. Trent, will you come at once? Sir Lionel has sent mc " '■'Then Lady Trent is worse?" It was Olive who put the anxious question. ''1 am afraid she Is worse, madam." "Tell my father I am coming," said Ailwyn hastily. He waited till the nurse had gone, and the door '.yas shut again. He turned to Olive feverishly.

"What did I say? It isn't the time to speak yet, with my mother's life or death in the balance! Rather than that Garth should suffer a —a temporary indignity, would you persuade mc to deal my mothers deaihblow? jOh, I can't believe that, Olive."

She did not speak. He followed the the nurse.

His mother's death-blow! Yes, it might mean that. She had almost forgotten Ailwyn's mother in her agony of mind. How horribly complex was the duty that faced him and her. If Ailwyn spoke, were arrested, it might mean the death of that gentle, suffering woman up-stairs. The news could not be kept from her. ■

Only, was it consideration for his mother—or only a selfish cowardice, clutching at this excuse, that made him shrink from exculpating Dennis? If she could only have believed that it -was not cowardice! A little shiver ran through Olive as she slowly twisted the p ain

gold ring about her finger. Her husband—to love, honour, and obey!

Was the case against Dennis so slight as he represented? Ought she to let Dennis suffer this "temporary indignity" —the suspense of waiting in prison on a shameful charge—to spare Ailwyn's mother the shock? At the thought Sir Lionel's face rose up before her, passionate and pleading, as she had seen it when he begged her to make this sacrifice—the useless sacrifice, as it had turned out. Olive pictured his agony of mind now as he waited in the room upstairs. A strange stillness seemed to pervade the house, as though death were already hovering there.

She crossed wearily over to the window and opened it. The cool night air touched her face, bringing the odour of pines, the smell of the damp earth, and the faint, far-away throb of the sea. She stood staring out, a lonely figure with tragic eyes against the dying firelight—wondering, waiting.

Ailwyn came back at last. She turned and went across the room to him. The fire had burned so low that she could hardly see hia face in the dark.

"What is your news?" she asked quickly.

"We are very anxious. My mother's condition is very critical. But, happily, she has at last fallen asleep." .

"I am glad of that. Can I '

"Xo, Olive, there is nothing you can do. My father does not wish you to be disturbed. He will remain in her room, of course—poor old father. That she has fallen asleep is a good sign." "I should like to be of help if I could. If not, I think I shall go to my room She walked slowly toward the suite of rooms that had been set apart for Ailwyn and his bride. In silence he walked by her side. "Olive, dear, I am sure that on reflection you see how impossible it is for mc to speak —yet? I know how you feel, but we must think of my suffering , mother. I don't remind you of the promise you made to my father "

"The circumstances were different when I made that promise—but I am in no danger of forgetting it," she said slowly. "And, in any case, I am your wife, now.''

"Yes, my wife," he repeated in a low

Husband and wife stood for an instant facing each other, on this their weddingnight, outside the door of the inner room —that was so different from the little shabby bedroom of her old home, for which she so much longed now.

"Olive, ,, he whispered, seizing her band on a sudden fierce impulse, "do you think I have nothing to bear? Have you no tenderness or pity for mc, you who are my wife now?"

His voice was not quite under bis control. A bitterness of longing and regret surged into it. This was his wed-ding-night, the beginning of the new life with a sweet, good woman, whom lie loved with his heart and soul—the day which should spell for a man the consummation of all his dearest hopes and dreams in life —which might have meant for this man the parting of the ways from all that was sordid and evil in those years behind him —the period marked by the scattering of a plentiful crop of wild oats; but she stood aloof, indifferent,' leaving his hands empty, unsatisfied.

Husband and wife? They might have been the merest acquaintances. The coldness of her manner stung him.

"Olive, is thi3 infernal thing alwaye going to throw its shadow between us? If it brought about our marriage—is it also going to keep us apart?" She looked at him, and she thought of a wronged man sleeping to-night in a prison-eell —the man who was now beyond her tenderness and help, because of her marriage—because of this man. She drew away her hand. "I am very tired," she said, speaking tonelessly. ''Good night." She crossed the threshold of the room and closed the door behind her.

He heard the key clink almost noiselessly in the lock as he stood aside alone

(To be continued next Saturday.)