The man opened his eyes and looked curiously about him.
"Where am I?" he muttered.
Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him.
"You are in a private room of St. Felix Hospital," he said.
"Hospital? What for? What's the matter with me?"
Courtlaw's voice sank to a whisper. A nurse was at the other end of
the room.
"There was an accident with a pistol in Miss Pellissier's room," he
said.
The light of memory flashed in the man's face. His brows drew a little
nearer together.
"Accident! She shot me," he muttered. "I had found her at last, and
she shot me. Listen, you. Am I going to die?"
"I am afraid that you are in a dangerous state," Courtlaw answered
gravely. "The nurse will fetch the doctor directly. I wanted to speak
to you first."
"Who are you?"
"I am a friend of Miss Pellissier's," Courtlaw answered.
"Which one?"
"The Miss Pellissier in whose rooms you were, and who sings at the
'Unusual,'" Courtlaw answered. "The Miss Pellissier who was at
White's with us."
The man nodded.
"I remember you now," he said. "So it seems that I was wrong. Annabel
was in hiding all the time."
"Annabel Pellissier is married," Courtlaw said quietly.
"She's my wife," the man muttered.
"It is possible," Courtlaw said, "that you too were deceived. Where
were you married?"
"At the English Embassy in Paris. You will find the certificate in my
pocket."
"And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?" Courtlaw
asked.
"Hainault, Celeste's friend. He did everything."
"I thought so," Courtlaw said. "You too were deceived. The place to
which you went was not the English Embassy, and the whole performance
was a fraud. I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since then
has been closed."
"But Hainault--assured--me--that the marriage was binding."
"So it would have been at the English Embassy," Courtlaw answered,
"but the place to which you went was not the English Embassy. It was
rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before."
"But Hainault--was--a pal. I--I don't understand," the man faltered
wearily.
"Hainault was Celeste's friend, and Celeste was Annabel's enemy,"
Courtlaw said. "It was a plot amongst them all to humiliate her."
"Then she has never been my wife."
"Never for a second. She is the wife now of another man."
Hill closed his eyes. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless.
Then he opened them again suddenly, to find Courtlaw still by his
side.
"It was a bad day for me," he said, speaking slowly and painfully.
"A bad thing for me when that legacy came. I thought I'd see Paris,
do the thing--like a toff. And I heard 'Alcide' sing, and that little
dance she did. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me.
Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched
her come in, I watched her go. She dropped a flower--it's in my
pocket-book now. I couldn't rest or eat or sleep. I made Hainault's
acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. He shook his head all
the time. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said. She
had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her
sister--was a lady. But one day he came to me. It was Celeste's
idea. I could be presented as Meysey Hill. We were alike. He
was--a millionaire. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and
since--then--I haven't had a minute's peace. God help me."