The Wiles of the Wicked

“That is not at all surprising. But the very fact of your own defencelessness should cause you to ally yourself with one who has shown herself to be your protectress, and seeks to remain your friend.”

“What motive can you possibly have for thus endeavouring to ally yourself with me?” I inquired, without attempting to disguise my suspicion.

“A secret one.”

“For your own ends, of course?”

“Not exactly. For our mutual interests. By my own action in taking you in when you were knocked down by the cab I have placed your life in serious jeopardy; therefore, it is only just that I should now seek to rescue you. Yet if I do so without first obtaining your promise of silence and of assistance, I may, for aught I know, bring an overwhelming catastrophe upon myself.”

“You assure me, upon your honour as a woman, that no harm shall befall me if I carry out the instructions in those mysterious letters?”

“If you obey without seeking to elucidate their mystery, or the identity of their sender, no harm shall come to you,” she answered solemnly.

“And regarding the silence which you seek to impose upon me? May I not explain my adventures to my friend, in order to account for the blood upon my clothes and the injury to my head?”

“Only if you find it actually necessary. Recollect, however, that no statement whatever must be made to the police. You must give an undertaking never to divulge to them one single word of what occurred last night.”

There was a dead silence, broken only by the lapping of water, which had already risen and had flooded the chamber to the depth of about two inches. The place was a veritable death-trap, for, being a kind of cellar and below high-water mark, the Thames flood entered by a hole near the floor too small to permit the escape of a man, and would rise until it reached the roof.

“Come,” she urged at last. “Give me your undertaking, and let us at once get away from this horrible place.”

I remained silent. Anxious to escape and save my life, I nevertheless entertained deep suspicions of her, because of her anxiety that I should give no information to the police. She had drawn back in horror at the sight of the blood of the murdered man! Had she not, by her hesitation, admitted her own guilt?

“You don’t trust me,” she observed, with an air of bitter reproach.

“No,” I answered, very bluntly; “I do not.”

“You are at least plain and outspoken,” she responded. “But as our interests are mutual, I surely may presume to advise you to accept the conditions. Life is better than death, even though one may be blind.”

“And you hold back from me the chance to escape from this slow but inevitable fate unless I conform to your wishes?”

“I do.”

“Such action as yours cannot inspire confidence.”

“I am impelled by circumstances beyond my own control,” she answered, with a momentary touch of sadness. “If you knew the truth you certainly would not hesitate.”

“Will you not tell me your name?”

“No. It is useless.”

“At least, you can so far confide in me as to tell me your Christian name,” I said.

“Edna.”

“And you refuse your surname?”

“I do so under compulsion.”

The water had by this time risen rapidly. My legs had become benumbed, for it now reached nearly to my knees.

“Why do you longer hesitate?” she went on. “Give me your word that you will render the assistance I require, and we will at once escape. Let us lose no time. All this seems strange to you, I know; but some day, when you learn the real reason, you will thank me rather than think ill of my present actions.”

Her determination was, I saw plainly, the outcome of some terror which held her fettered, and I knew that, in order to save myself, I must give her the promise she had so persistently desired to extract from me.

Therefore, with sudden determination, prompted by the natural, instinct of self-preservation than by any desire to assist her, I gave her my bond of secrecy.

Again she sighed deeply, as though released of some oppressive weight by my words. Then our hands clasped in mutual trust, and without further word she led me to the opposite side of the noisome cellar into which my enemies had cast me.

“You shall never regret this decision,” she assured me in a strained voice, trembling with emotion – “never, never!”

And with a sudden movement she raised my hand and touched it lightly with her dry, fevered lips.

Chapter Six

Hand and Heart

This impulsive action of hers was as though she were deeply indebted to me. I stood motionless in wonderment.

But only for an instant. She left my side for a moment, and from the sound that escaped her lips appeared to be struggling to open some means of egress from the place.

“Remain where you are,” she said, “and I will return to you in a moment. The way out is rather difficult, and I shall be compelled to assist you.” Her voice sounded above me, as though she had somehow climbed to the roof of the place.

I heard the drawing of a bolt and the clang of iron; then she climbed down again to where I anxiously awaited her. The river flood had risen alarmingly, and was still entering rapidly.

“Come, let me guide you,” she said, taking my arm and leading me to the wall. “Lift your foot, so!” and taking my foot, she placed it in a kind of narrow step in the rough stone wall, at the same time placing my hand upon a piece of iron that seemed to be a large nail driven into the masonry. “Now climb very carefully,” she went on.

Without hesitation, I raised myself from the ground slowly, and with infinite care commenced to scale the wall, while she remained below, wading almost up to her waist in water.

“Take care that you don’t strike your head,” she cried warningly. “Above you is a small hole just large enough for you to get through. Be very careful, and take your time.”

The one hand at liberty I stretched above my head, and found, as she described, a square hole in the roof of the place, and, grasping the stone, I eventually managed to escape through it, finding myself at last standing upon a boarded floor.

A few moments later she was again at my side, and by the clang of iron I knew that the aperture of that fatal place was closed again.

I inquired of her where we were, but she only replied —

“I’ve already explained to you that to seek to elucidate the mystery of these adventures of yours is entirely useless. We have promised to each other mutual faith. That is, in itself, sufficient.”

Then, taking my arm, she hurriedly led me across the room, up some steps, and along two long passages that ran at right angles to each other, until at length we emerged into the street.

Where we were I had not the slightest idea. I only knew that we were beside the river bank, for upon my ears there fell the shrill whistle of a steam-tug.

With her arm linked in mine, and heedless of the water dripping from her skirts, she led me forward through a number of narrow turnings, until by the bustle about me I knew that we must have reached a main road.

I heard the approaching hoot of a taxi, and the vehicle, at her demand, pulled up at the kerb.

“We must now part,” she said, in a low, earnest voice. “Remember that in this remarkable affair our interests are absolutely identical. Any order that you receive you will obey without seeking to discover the why or wherefore, and above all, silence to the police.”