On opening the door of the taxi I stood amazed to find that the occupant was not a man ­but a woman.

It was Sylvia!

She started at sight of me.  Her countenance blanched to the lips as she drew back and sat erect, a cry of dismay escaping her lips.

“You!” I gasped, utterly dumbfounded.

“Why ­Mr. Biddulph!” she cried, recovering herself in a moment and stretching forth her small gloved hand; “fancy meeting you like this!”

What words I uttered I scarcely knew.  This sudden transformation of the scoundrel Forbes into Sylvia Pennington held me bewildered.  All I could imagine was that Sylvia must have been awaiting the man in another cab close to the bank, and that, in the course of our chase, we had confused the two taxis.  Forbes had succeeded in turning away into some side street, while we had followed the cab of his companion.

She had actually awaited him in another cab while he had entered the bank and cashed the stolen cheque!

My taxi-driver, when he saw that a lady, and not a man, occupied the fugitive cab, drew back, returning to his seat.

“Do you know!” exclaimed the girl, with wonderful calmness, “only yesterday I was thinking of you, and wondering whether you were in London!”

“And only yesterday, too, Miss Pennington, I also was thinking of you,” I said meaningly.

She was dressed very quietly in dead black, which increased the fairness of her skin and hair, wearing a big black hat and black gloves.  She was inexpressibly smart, from the thin gauzy veil to the tips of her tiny patent-leather shoes, with a neat waist and a figure that any woman might envy.  Indeed, in her London attire she seemed even smarter than she had appeared on the terrace beside the blue Italian lake.

“Where is your father?” I managed to ask.

“Oh! ­well, he’s away just now.  He was with me in London only the other day,” she replied.  “But, as you know, he’s always travelling.”  Then she added:  “I’m going into this shop a moment.  Will you wait for me?  I’m so pleased to see you again, and looking so well.  It seems really ages since we were at Gardone, doesn’t it?” and she smiled that old sweet smile I so well remembered.

“I’ll wait, of course,” I replied, and, assisting her out, I watched her pass into the big drapery establishment.  Then I idled outside amid the crowd of women who were dawdling before the attractive windows, as is the feminine habit.

If it had been she who had rescued me from death and had released me, what a perfect actress she was.  Her confusion had only lasted for a few seconds.  Then she had welcomed me, and expressed pleasure at our re-encounter.

I recollected the bow of ribbon-velvet which reposed in my pocket, and the Indian bangle I had found.  I remembered, too, those agonized, terrified cries in the night ­and all the mysteries of that weird and silent house!

When she came forth I would question her; I would obtain from her the truth anent those remarkable happenings.

Was it of that most ingenious and dastardly plot she had warned me?  Was her own conviction that she must suffer the penalty of death based upon the knowledge of the deadly instrument, that venomous reptile used by the assassins?

Could it be that Pennington himself ­her own father ­was implicated in this shameful method of obtaining money and closing the lips of the victims?

As I stood there amid the morning bustle of Regent Street out in the broad sunshine, all the ghastly horrors of the previous night crowded thickly upon me.  Why had she shrieked:  “Ah! not that ­not that!” Had she, while held prisoner in that old-fashioned drawing-room, been told of the awful fate to which I had been consigned?

I remembered how I had called to her, but received no response.  And yet she must have been in the adjoining room.

Perhaps, like myself, she had fainted.

I recalled her voice distinctly.  I certainly had made no mistake.  She had been actually present in that house of black torture.  Therefore, being my friend, there seemed no doubt that, to her, I owed my mysterious salvation.  But how?  Aye, that was the question.

Suddenly, as I stood there on the crowded pavement, I became conscious that I was attracting attention.  I recollected my dusty clothes and dirty, dishevelled face.  I must have presented a strange, dissipated, out-all-night appearance.  And further, I had lost a thousand pounds.

Up and down before the long range of shop-windows I walked, patiently awaiting her reappearance.  I was anxious to know the truth concerning the previous night’s happenings ­a truth which I intended she should not conceal from me.

I glanced at my watch.  It was already past eleven o’clock.  Morning shopping in Regent Street had now commenced in real earnest.  The thoroughfare was lined with carriages, for was it not the height of the London season?

In and out of the big drapery establishment passed crowds of well-dressed women, most of them with pet dogs, and others with male friends led like lambs to the slaughter.  The spectacle of a man in silk hat out shopping with a lady friend is always a pitiable one.  His very look craves the sympathy of the onlooker, especially if he be laden with soft-paper parcels.

My brain was awhirl.  My only thought was of Sylvia and of her strange connection with these undesirable persons who had so ingeniously stolen my money, and who had baited such a fatal trap.

Anxious as I was to get to a telephone and ring up Jack, yet I could not leave my post ­I had promised to await her.

Nearly an hour went by; I entered the shop and searched its labyrinth of “departments.”  But I could not distinguish her anywhere.  Upstairs and downstairs I went, inquiring here and there, but nobody seemed to have seen the fair young lady in black; the great emporium seemed to have swallowed her up.

It was now noon.  Even though she might have been through a dress-fitting ordeal, an hour was certainly ample time.  Therefore I began to fear that she had missed me.  There were several other exits higher up the street, and also one which I discovered in a side street.

I returned to her taxi, for I had already paid off my man.  The driver had not seen his “fare.”

“I was hailed by the lady close to Chapel Street,” he said, “and I drove ’er to Oxford Street, not far from Tottenham Court Road.  We stood at the kerb for about ten minutes.  Then she ordered me to drive with all speed over ’ere.”

“Did you see her speak with any gentleman?”

“She was with a dark, youngish gentleman when they hailed me.  She got in and left ’im in Chapel Street.  I heard ’im say as we went off that he’d see ’er again soon.”

“That’s all you know of her?”

“Yes, sir.  I’ve never seen ’er before,” replied the driver.  Then he added with a smile, “Your man’s been tellin’ me as how you thought I had a bank-thief in my cab!”

“Yes, but I was mistaken,” I said.  “I must have made a mistake in the cab.”

“That’s very easy, sir.  We’re so much alike ­us red ’uns.”

Sylvia’s non-appearance much puzzled me.  What could it mean?  For another half-hour ­an anxious, impatient, breathless half-hour ­I waited, but she did not return.

Had she, too, cleverly escaped by entering the shop, and passing out by another entrance?

Another careful tour of the establishment revealed the fact that she certainly was not there.

And so, after a wait of nearly two hours, I was compelled to accept the hard and very remarkable fact that she had purposely evaded me, and escaped!

Then she was in league with the men who had stolen my thousand pounds!  And yet had not that selfsame man declared that she, having betrayed him, was to meet the same terrible fate as that prepared for me?

For a final five minutes I waited; then annoyed, disappointed and dismayed, entered the taxi, and drove to Wilton Street.

On entering with my latch-key, Browning came forward with a puzzled expression, surprised, no doubt, at my dishevelled appearance.

“I’ve been very anxious about you, Mr. Owen,” exclaimed the old man.  I was always Mr. Owen to him, just as I had been when a lad.  “When I went to your room this morning I found your bed empty.  I wondered where you had gone.”

“I’ve had a strange adventure, Browning,” I laughed, rather forcedly I fear.  “Has Mr. Marlowe rung me up?”

“No, sir.  But somebody else rang up about an hour ago, and asked whether you were in.”

“Who was it?”

“I couldn’t quite catch the name, sir.  It sounded like
Shuffle ­something.”

“Shuttleworth!” I cried.  “Did he leave any message?”

“No, sir.  He merely asked if you were in ­that’s all.”

As Sylvia was in London, perhaps Shuttleworth was in town also, I reflected.  Yet she had cleverly made her escape ­in order to avoid being questioned.  Her secret was a guilty one!

I called up Jack, who answered cheerily as usual.

“You didn’t ring me up about one o’clock this morning, did you?” I inquired.

“No.  Why?” he asked.

“Oh ­well, nothing,” I said.  “I thought perhaps it might have been you ­that’s all.  What time shall you be in at White’s?”

“About four.  Will you be there?”

“Yes.”

“Right-ho!  Good-bye, old man,” and he rang off.

I ascended to my room, changed my clothes, and made myself respectable.  But during the time I was dressing I reflected whether I should go to Scotland Yard and relate my strange experience.  Such clever fiends as Reckitt and Forbes deserved punishment.  What fearful crimes had been committed in that weird, neglected house I dreaded to think.  My only hesitation, however, was caused by the thought that perhaps Sylvia might be implicated.  I felt somehow impelled to try and solve the problem for myself.  I had lost a thousand pounds.  Yet had I not fallen into that trap in utter disregard of Sylvia’s warning?

Therefore, I resolved to keep my own counsel for the present, and to make a few inquiries in order to satisfy my curiosity.  So, putting on a different suit, a different collar, and a soft felt hat which I never wore, in a perhaps feeble attempt to transform myself from my usual appearance, I went forth again.

My first visit was to the bank, where I saw the manager and explained that the cheque had been stolen from my pocket, though I did not expose the real facts.  Then, after he had condoled with me upon my loss, and offered to send the description of the thief to the police at once, I re-entered the taxi, and drove back to Porchester Terrace, alighting a short distance from Althorp House.