“But why do you say that?”

  “Philip, your wife suspects something is going on.”

  “But that’s impossible! Believe me, when I say that she was praising you after you left.”

  “If that is what se said, then she’s a much more clever woman than I had thought. She is hiding her suspicions from you, until she can prove them.”

  Jane spoke with a grave voice and a serious expression on her face. So much so that Philip became alarmed.

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  “I think we should give up trying to meet each other,” she said.

  “Never! No! I tell you, right now. Never ever will I allow us to be apart again.”

  Jane was silent for a while as the two looked into each other’s eyes. She nodded slowly.

  “Let us wait and watch. We have to be prudent. You too. Please, for both our sakes, be prudent.”

  Philip covered her hand in kisses.

  “Yes, yes!” she said.

  Philip knew he needed to make changes to be able to keep his wife in the dark and keep seeing the woman he loved. He changed the way he lived his life abruptly. He spent less time at his club. He refused invitations to late suppers in the company of his old friends and no longer spent his nights gambling and drinking. He spent more time with his wife, going to the park or the theatre. He began spending his evenings with her and slowly the neighbors began to look on him as a reformed husband. His new life made him deeply miserable, but he held onto the thought that every miserable moment he spent with his wife would lead to a joyful moment with the woman he loved. No matter how young and frail she was, she held his heart with the hand of Attila.

  Many times, though, he complained bitterly.

  “We must be careful,” she would answer. “I have a husband and I’m just as guilty as you are in this matter. Our safety depends on the way we conduct ourselves. You have a wife. I wish her to believe that with me happiness came to her home.”

  Philip couldn’t deny that reason was on the side of Countess Bletchley. What’s more he was more in love with her than ever and he spent most of his days and nights in a haze of jealous anxiety. He was afraid that she would refuse to see him any more and so he didn’t utter a word of objection to her demands.

  Renee hesitated for a while, before she made up her mind to accept the offer of friendship, which Jane had extended to her. The more time they spent together, the more her suspicions waned and the more she opened up her heart to her new friend. Soon she had no secrets from her new friend and one day, after a long and confidential conversation, she revealed to Jane that before she was married she had lost her heart to another man. She was trusting enough to mention Thomas St. Ives by name. Countess Bletchley was delighted at what she heard.

  “I won,” she thought. “I hold her future happiness in my hand and nothing can stop me from taking revenge.”

  Renee considered Jane like a sister. They were almost always together. This had, however, not given Philip the easy opportunities he had hoped he would have to meet Jane. Countess Bletchley visited his house nearly every day. Still he saw less of her than he had done before. Sometimes weeks would go by without him being able to speak with her alone. Jane played her game with skill. She made sure Renee was always placed as a barrier between Philip and herself and like in a comical stage play the keen lover was never left alone to embrace or profess his undying love to the object of his desire. Sometimes his passion overwhelmed his reason, but Jane always had an excellent excuse with which to close his mouth. If his stream of words did not halt, she assumed a haughty air, and said, “Why did you expect us to be alone? Of what base act did you do me the honor to consider me capable?”

  She treated him unfairly and he knew it. She was playing with his heart, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wished to convince her of his love, to tell her to halt her cruel treatment of him, but he was never alone with her. At the house there was always Renee and if she was out and about she now began to surround herself by a band of fashionable admirers, among whom Thomas St. Ives was always to be found. Philip disliked all of these men and women. He felt a special hatred for Thomas St. Ives, whom he regarded as a dandified imbecile.

  “What,” asked Philip, “do you see in this hot air balloon, who is always hanging around you?”

  Jane would smile a meaning smile and give him the same reply, “You are jealous of him? Pray tell me why?”

  Day after day, when she was with Renee, she would turn the conversation skilfully to Thomas St. Ives. As she talked more and more about her new friend, Renee thought more and more about her old friend. As Renee felt more and more comfortable talking about Thomas, Countess Bletchley believed that the moment had arrived to bring the former lovers together again. She reasoned that a sudden and unexpected encounter would have much more impact than continuing to bring back to life the seeds of love in the other woman’s heart with her veiled insinuations. One day, therefore, when Renee went to Jane’s house and was let into the drawing room by a footman, she found it occupied only by Thomas St. Ives. She shrieked and an expression of sheer astonishment was on her face, when their eyes met. Both their faces became pale. Renee, overcome by her feelings, sank into a chair near the door.

  “Ah,” he murmured, out of his mind. “I trusted you and you forgot me.”

  “I’m a married woman, so mind your words, sir,” she answered haughtily. “What could I do?” she added in a softer voice. “I may have been weak in obeying my father’s orders, but I’ve never forgotten you.”

  Countess Bletchley was hiding behind a closed door leading to the dining room. She heard every word. She laughed triumphantly. She knew that a conversation, which began with both sides showing the other their regret of not ending up together, would be repeated. She was correct. It was soon evident that both Renee and Thomas devised reasons to find themselves at her house at the same time. Their friend Jane didn’t seem to notice any of this or at least she abstained from saying anything about it to either of them. As far as Jane was concerned matters were progressing exactly as she wished. She had the time to wait and watch, for she knew that the impending crash wouldn’t be long in coming.

  Summer had passed them by quickly. Autumn had arrived and though the weather was very bad, Lord Swaffham, accompanied by his faithful servant, James, left London to spend some time with his race horses, kept on a farm in Kent. Lately the rows with Jane had taken a toll on his health and sanity. He knew how her constant absences drove him mad and he reasoned she would feel likewise, if he was gone for an extended amount of time.

  “I will reduce her to submission,” he said to himself. “After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  He had been away for two whole days and was growing very anxious at not having heard from Countess Bletchley, when at sunset, as he was leaving a local pub, he was informed by the landlord that there was a man outside, who wished to speak with him. The man was a poor old fellow, who spent most of his days eking out a wretched living by begging for cigarettes and half-emptied glasses of beer.

  “Were you asking for me?” asked Philip.

  With a sly expression on his face, the man took a letter from his pocket.

  “I was asked to give this to you,” he mumbled.

  “All right. Give it, then.”

  Philip’s sole thought was that the letter had come from Jane. He threw a coin to the man and hurried to a spot, where he could read the letter under the lamp post. He didn’t see Jane’s firm, clear handwriting on the envelope.

  “I say! Who can this be from?” he thought, as he tore open the envelope with his name on it. The sheet of paper within was dirty and greasy and the handwriting was clearly of the uneducated sort. It was full of bad spelling.

  “Sir, I hardly dare tell you the truth, but my conscience compels me to say something. I can not bear the thought of seeing a gentleman such as you, being deceived by a woman, who has no honorable feeling. Your wife is unfaithful to you and soon she will make you the laughing stock to all. I will prove my words to you. I don’t lie, because I’m a respectable woman. Tonight between eleven and twelve your wife’s amour will slip into your house through the small door on the left of the garages. He has a key. I feel that you ought to be warned. From she, who knows.”

  Philip read the contents of the anonymous letter quickly. The blood surged to his head. He howled like a wolf. His chauffeur, who was waiting for him ran to him to see what was the matter.

  “Go into that pub and bring me the bearer of this letter,” he said. “You can’t miss him. He’s an old dirty bastard and he looks the part.”

  In a few moments the sturdy chauffeur appeared again, pushing the dirty old man, who seemed near tears.

  “I’m not a thief,” he shouted. “I didn’t steal it. It was given to me, I swear.”

  He was thinking of the coin given to him by Philip, because the amount made him think that the giver had changed his mind.

  “You can keep the money,” said the lord, sternly. “Just tell me, who gave this letter to you.”

  “I can’t tell you,” answered the man. “If I ever saw him before, may I choke on my next glass of beer. He was standing near the pub, where you were and as I was passing by, cursing my empty pockets, he called me and said, “Look at this letter. It will pay for your brandy tonight. Lord Swaffham is inside. Ask the landlord, who he is, if you don’t know.” “Alright,” I say. Then he gave me the letter and ten shilling and disappeared into the next street.”

  “What did the man look like?” Philip asked.

  “Well, it was dark. He was neither young or old or short or tall. All I remember was his gold watch-chain and the gold rings on his left hand.”

  “Very well. You can go in peace.”

  Philip’s anger turned against the writer of the letter. He didn’t believe the accusations levelled against his wife. He didn’t love her, but he respected her.

  “My wife,” he said to himself, “is honor and virtue exemplified. Some mad woman must be trying to take this cowardly route of revenge.”

  When he arrived at his hotel, he inspected the letter more closely. The flaws in the writing seemed intentional to him.

  “Besides,” he thought, “the house is full of servants.”

  He called James and asked him what measures he had taken to leave the house in secure hands.

  “There are more than fifteen servants at any time in the house,” said James, looking worried now. “That is except for this evening.”

  “And why not this night?”

  “Has the young Mistress not told you, Milord? The first cook is going to be married and the Mistress was good enough to allow all servants to go to the wedding, as long as one remained and kept guard at the entrance.”

  Philip nodded calmly, but this was mere pretense, because suspicion and jealousy had entered his mind and no power on earth could remove them.

  “Why shouldn’t she be unfaithful to me?” he thought. “Just because I think she is honorable and right-minded, doesn’t make it so and isn’t it also true that all deceived husbands thought the same of their wives? Why shouldn’t I take advantage of this letter and find out for myself?”

  He looked up and noticed that James and the chauffeur were looking at him with undisguised curiosity.

  “Go to your room,” he said to the driver. “Leave the keys to the car here.”

  He had made up his mind. He needed to know. He looked at his watch and saw that it was just eight o’clock.

  “I have enough time to reach London,” he mumbled.

  Then he turned to James. There was no need to hide anything from his trusty servant.

  “I must go to London,” said the lord. “Without delay.”

  “Because of that letter?” asked the good man with an expression of the deepest sorrow on his face.

  “Yes.”

  “Someone has been making charges against the Mistress.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I can read the writing from here.”

  “Bring the auto to the front of the hotel. I will drive myself.”

  “You must not do that,” countered James gravely.

  “James, this is between me and my wife! Get the car.”

  The servant nodded.

  “Yes, Milord, but please allow me to accompany you.”

  “Good. Be sharp, though. I have not a moment to lose.”

  James left the room in a hurry. Philip went to the closet and changed his clothes. From his suitcase he retrieved a revolver. He inspected the charges with the greatest care then put the revolver in his pocket. The night was very dark. A fine, cold rain was falling and the roads were empty. Philip found James waiting in the car.

  “These shoes are not meant for this weather. Bring me my boots, James.”

  The domestic stepped out of the car and went back into the hotel. Philip put the car into gear and drove away quickly through the darkness like a phantom of the night. His car was an excellent one. It made its way rapidly through the mud and rain. Philip by now was half mad with anger and jealousy and spurred it on to ever greater speeds.

  As he neared London a new idea crossed his mind.

  “Suppose it is a practical joke on the part of my old drinking companions? In that case, they will be doubtlessly watching me.”

  The fear of someone luring him into some kind of trap to ridicule him made him cautious. They all knew what his car looked like. He had to hide it in another street and make his way to his house on foot. He parked his car near a pub, but feared it would be damaged by the rowdy crowds frequenting the establishment. As he was debating what to do, his eyes fell on a soldier, who was probably on his way into the pub.

  “My man,” said the lord, “would you like to earn twenty shilling?”

  “I shouldn’t say no to twenty shilling, but only if it doesn’t bring me into conflict with the rules and regulations of the army.”

  “It’s easily earned, my good man. Keep an eye on my car, while I pay a visit close by.”

  The soldier looked at the warm noise coming out of the pub and then at his watch.

  “I can stay out of the barracks a couple of hours longer, but no more,” said the soldier, shrugging his shoulders.

  Philip thanked the soldier and then walked rapidly to his own house. He reached the small street, which ran along his garden. One of the houses on the other side of the street had a portico and Philip took up his position there. He watched everything carefully. He studied the short tree-lined street from beginning to end. He was convinced that he was the only one out in the rain. He decided that he would wait until midnight and if by that time no one had made his way to his residence, he would feel confident that his wife was innocent of the calumnious allegations and he would return to Kent without anyone but James having known of his suspicions. From his position he could see that three windows on the second floor of his house were lit up and those windows were in his wife’s bedroom. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful.

  “She’s the last woman in the world to have a lover, let alone visit her in her husband’s house,” he thought. “It must be all lies.”

  He thought of the way he had treated Renee. He had made many mistakes. Two weeks after their wedding he had abandoned her and if during the last few weeks he had paid her any attention, it was because he was ordered to do so by another woman.

  “What if she has a lover?” he asked himself. “What moral right have I to accuse her?”

  The law gave him rights, but his conscience invalidated those same rights. He leaned against the cold stone structure, until he became as chilled as it was. At that moment his life seemed to have changed unrecognizably. He had lost count of how long he had been standing there, waiting. He pulled out his watch, but it was too dark to see the hands and the numbers. A clock struck half-hour, but he had no idea which half-hour it was. He had just decided that it must be about midnight and made up his mind to leave, when he heard the sound of steps coming down the street. It was the light step of an athletic man, more used to the woods and fields than the pavement and concrete of the big city. A shadow fell on the opposite wall and disappeared immediately. The door had opened and closed. The unknown man had entered his garden.

  “There is no doubt now,” said the lord.

  Yet he wished to disbelieve his own eyes. It could be a burglar, but burglars never worked alone. It could be a visitor to one of the servants, but all the servants had gone to the wedding. He raised his eyes to the windows of his wife’s bedroom. The light became brighter. A female figure walked across the room in the direction of the door. So the anonymous letter had spoken the truth after all. His wife’s lover had entered the garden of his house and his wife had been expecting him. Philip shook from head to toe. For a moment he thought of going back to Kent and forgetting everything, but his blood seemed to rush through his veins like streams of fire and set his body on fire. He ran across the street, broke down the garden door and rushed into the garden.

  The writer of the anonymous letter had known the truth only too well. That night Mrs. Swaffham was awaiting a visit from Thomas St. Ives. It was to be the first. Step by step her heart had led her further and further down the slippery path and at last she had fallen in the trap. The treacherous woman, whom she believed to be her best friend, had finally ensnared her.

  The day before this infamous night she found herself again alone with Thomas St. Ives in Countess Bletchley’s drawing room. She had been impressed by his earnest expressions of love for her. She was in love with him. She had been from the moment she had met him. She had heard his daily pleas to meet her alone somewhere else and that day for the first time she listened to her heart.

  “You win,” she said. “Tomorrow night at half-past ten, come to my house. The little door in the garden wall will be open. When you enter the garden, clap your hands gently once or twice, so I know that you have arrived.”

  Jane had been eavesdropping as usual. She overheard these words and knowing that Renee would repent her rash decision, she made sure she was by her side until Thomas’s departure, so as to give her no chance to talk to Thomas alone and go back on her promise. The next day she arrived at Renee’s house before breakfast under the guise that she must be lonely as her husband was not there. She spent the whole day with her victim and even dined with her, so as not to leave her alone, until just before the hour of the meeting.