“But the thing is impossible,” Lord Ravenspur broke out harshly. “It is absolutely out of the question. I had other views for you, but I certainly should not have pressed them against your wishes. But all that is as nothing compared to this—this tragedy. I blame myself bitterly for my want of foresight. My conduct has been almost criminal. But, be that as it may, there must be no engagement between Vera and yourself. Don’t press me to tell you why, because my lips are sealed, and I dare not speak. But, as you value your future, I implore you to carry this thing no further. I know this sounds an outrageous request, but I am speaking from the bottom of my heart. It is the fashion of the world to regard me as one of the most fortunate and enviable of men. I tell you, with all the force at my command, that I would cheerfully change places with the humblest labourer on my estate. I have never dropped the mask before, and I probably never shall again. I am only doing it now so that you may be warned in time. Go back to Vera, and tell her what I say. Tell her that there are urgent reasons why a marriage between you is utterly out of the question. And if you will persist in having your own way, then let me ask you one final favour. Let the engagement be kept a secret. And now I have no more to say. Perhaps I have said too much as it is, only if you were aware what the last twenty-four hours has brought forth—”
Ravenspur broke off abruptly as if fearful of saying too much. His whole attitude had changed; his features quivered with an almost uncontrollable emotion. Then he turned on his heel, and strode down the corridor in the direction of the studio. Walter could hear the latch of the door click as it closed behind him. …
Ravenspur was alone with his own troubled thoughts. For a long time he paced up and down the room, then he took up the photograph which had excited so much attention amongst his guests earlier in the evening. He laid it down on a little table, and gazed at the face there long and sadly.
“Amazing!” Ravenspur muttered to himself. “Absolutely inexplicable! I could have sworn that I had the photograph still under lock and key. When did I take it from the safe, and why? Beyond all question, it was not on the table yesterday. Is this a mere coincidence, or is it a menace and warning of the old trouble which has never ceased to be with me night and day the last twenty years? And how the whole thing works together! First of all, poor Delahay is found murdered in his studio, and now something like the same thing happens to one of my guests who was unquestionably mistaken for me in the darkness. And as if that was not enough, those two young fools must take it into their heads to fancy that they are in love with one another. Heaven only knows how I shall make my way out of this terrible coil, even if I have the good luck to escape the consequences of my folly! The most fortunate man in London! The most popular and most sought for! What a bitter travesty upon the truth it is! If they only knew! If there were only some power to lift the roof off of every house in London, what tragedies would be revealed! And how many friends would be left to me?”
Time was going on. A dozen clocks in different parts of the house struck twelve. As Ravenspur stood by the table, his moody eyes still bent upon the photographs, there was a sudden click and snap, and the whole place was plunged in darkness. The thing was so quick and unexpected that something like a cry of alarm broke from Ravenspur’s lips. It all came to him in a flash that the tragedy of Fitzjohn Square was going to be repeated with himself in the role of the victim. This is just what had happened the previous evening, only there had been nothing to try his nerves then as they were being strained to breaking point now. Shaking and agitated in every limb he made his way across to where the switches were, but there was nothing wrong with them. He could hear no commotion in the house, such as would naturally follow the extinguishing of the light. Indeed, underneath the doorway he could see by the slit of light that the electrics in the corridor were still working.
The full horror of it was almost more than he could bear. A wild desire for light and companionship came upon him. His unsteady hand fumbled at the latch, which seemed in some way to have gone wrong, for the door refused to open. Ravenspur was breathing thickly and heavily. But he was sufficiently in possession of his faculties to realise that he was no longer alone in the room. He could distinctly hear someone breathing close to him. Then he caught the sound of a
