T was in the summer of 1894 that the following strange events occurred.
“Harry Lidderdale has unexpectedly returned to England and will, I hope, dine with us to-night,” wrote my friend, Charles Holdsworth. “Do not fail to be present if you can possibly manage it.”
I crumpled up the brief note of invitation and rose to my feet.
“So Lidderdale has come back,” I said, speaking aloud in my astonishment. I had good reason for my wonder. Harry was an old friend of mine. All during our early years we had been chums; then suddenly and mysteriously he had disappeared from the country. From the date of his departure he had not written a line to any of his old friends; not a soul who knew him in England could even guess at his whereabouts—to all intents and purposes the man was dead. There was a story which in a measure accounted for this.
Lidderdale in the days of his early manhood had fallen desperately in love with a girl of the name of Alma Ramsay. She was a beautiful girl, and report whispered that she loved him in return; there were no tidings, however, of an absolute engagement, and suddenly the news reached me that Alma was about to marry a certain General Colthurst, and that Lidderdale had left the country. Colthurst turned out a cruel husband—un-tender, suspicious, jealous. Fortunately for his young wife, he did not survive the union more than a few years. Now he was dead Mrs. Colthurst was a widow and well off, and Lidderdale had come home.
Charles Holdsworth was a member of Parliament; a quiet, sober, middle-aged gentleman. I often dined at his house, and we had often discussed Lidderdale's mysterious disappearance. I hastily replied to his note, saying that I should certainly dine with him that evening, and when the hour arrived put in an appearance in Curzon Street in good time. Several guests were present, but I looked round in vain for my friend. Holdsworth came to my side.
“You will be disappointed,” he said; “but I have no time at present to explain matters. Lidderdale will not dine with us. Ask me more after dinner—and now you will like to see Mrs. Colthurst—she is present.”
“Does she also know of his return?” I asked, in a low voice.
“I have not told her, but there is no reason why you should not mention it. I have arranged that you are to take her down to dinner.”
A few moments later I found myself seated at table beside Mrs. Colthurst, whom I had not met since her widowhood. I noticed as I glanced at her that her beautiful face was thin to emaciation. I was just turning to say something about Lidderdale, when she uttered a little cry of distress.
“Mr. Gilchrist,” she said, “we are thirteen at table—you know of old how horribly superstitious I am. I wish I had not come to dinner.”
I soothed her, and even laughed a little at her fears.
“The age of superstition is quite over,” I said; “you ought not to think of such mediæval follies. Besides, I have something to tell you which will quite turn your attention—our sitting down thirteen to dinner is a mere accident; it is caused by the non-arrival of one of the principal guests.”
“And who may that be?” she asked, turning and looking at me.
“No less a person than your old friend and mine, Harry Lidderdale.”
Her dark brows were contracted with pain and astonishment.
“Harry Lidderdale? Has he returned to England?” she asked, in an awe-struck voice.
“I believe so—I have not heard many particulars as yet. Holdsworth asked me to meet him here this evening. I am as much astonished as you are,” I continued.
I noticed that she played with her food. Suddenly, as if unable to hold them any longer, she put down her knife and fork.
“It is long since I have met or heard from Mr. Lidderdale,” she said. “It stirs my heart to hear his name mentioned; sometimes I have feared that he was dead. Will you try to find out from Mr. Holdsworth all you can a«bout his return, and why he is not dining with us?”
“I will do so,” I replied. “I shall doubtless have an opportunity when you leave the room after dinner.”
“I shall be greatly obliged,” she answered, with earnestness—her eyes grew large and bright, her face seemed suddenly to fill out and look youthful, the colour flamed in her cheeks, and her whole manner indicated suppressed excitement.
I was about to say something more, when a pretty girl who was seated a little way further down the table bent forward and said, in a tone of
“Mrs. Colthurst, I have great news for you. Do you know what Mrs. Holdsworth has succeeded in doing? She has induced Haridas, the celebrated , to come here after dinner—we can all have our fortunes told.”